“At auction several years ago. That particular set is all first editions and I'm very proud of them.” In fact, she was proud of almost everything she had. It had all been hard earned and meant more to her because of that.

“Mind if I take them down?” He glanced at her over his shoulder and he looked more at ease, as Arthur walked into the room with a silver tray and their drinks. A gin and tonic for Faye and scotch on the rocks for Ward, in her pretty crystal glasses from Tiffany in New York.

“Of course, take a look at them.” Faye watched him from where she sat, as he gingerly removed two books, put one down, and opened the other, examining the fly leaf, and then the back pages of the old leather-bound edition. She saw him smile and then he looked at her with an amused expression.

“That's what I thought. These were my grandfather's. I would have known them anywhere.” He grinned, and handed her one of the books, pointing to an interesting handstamped logo on the back page. “He put that in all his books. I have a number of them myself.” His words reminded her of how little she knew about him, and she attempted to draw him out over drinks as they chatted. But somehow Ward remained vague, he talked about his grandfather's interest in ships, summers spent in Hawaii, and she learned only that his mother had been born there. He didn't say much about his father, and she was unable to learn more. “And you, you're from the East, aren't you, Faye?” He always seemed to turn the conversation back to her, as though he thought the details of his life were unimportant. He almost seemed determined to remain a mystery to her. Handsome, poised, there was something terribly worldly about him and she was suddenly dying to know more. She would have to draw him out over dinner. He was watching her quietly, with an appreciative look in his eyes.

'I'm from Pennsylvania, but I feel like I've been out here forever.”

He laughed. “Hollywood does that I think. It's hard to imagine having another life.” He declined a second drink, glanced at his watch, and stood up, reaching for her coat. “I think we'd better go. I made reservations at nine.” She was dying to ask him where, but she didn't want to push, and let him help her on with her coat, as they walked slowly into the hall and once again he looked around. “You have lovely things, Faye.” He seemed to understand the beauty and history of all that he saw and easily recognized a fine English table she had near the door. What he didn't know was the reason why her home meant so much to her, because of the poverty that had come before.

“Thank you, I collected them all myself.”

“That must be fun.” But it had been more than fun. At the time, it had meant everything to her. Now the objects in her life seemed less important, less real. She was more secure now.

His eyes met hers, and he reached the door and opened it for her before Arthur could help them. He smiled at the English butler and seemed unperturbed by his disapproving stare. Arthur felt it was not proper for the young man to open the door himself, but Ward looked happy and carefree as they stepped outside. The night was warm and balmy, and he ran lightly down the marble steps to the car he'd parked out front. It was a bright red Ford convertible, with more than a few dents, but it had a certain rakish look to it, which amused her. “What a great car, Ward.”

“Thanks. I borrowed it for tonight.” Which was true, he had. “Mine is still up on blocks. I just hope I can get it running again.”

She didn't ask him what he had, and slipped into the little Ford as he held the door open for her. The car started easily and rumbled off toward the gate which Arthur had gone ahead to open for them, and Ward sped through with a friendly wave. “Awfully serious houseman you've got, madam.” He grinned at her and she smiled. Arthur and Elizabeth were so good to her she wouldn't have given them up for anything in the world.

“I'm spoiled, I guess.” She looked faintly embarrassed and he smiled at her.

'There's no harm in that, Faye. You should enjoy it.”

“I do.” She blurted the words out and then blushed as the wind whipped her thick blond hair into a froth about her shoulders and they both laughed as she attempted to keep it down.

“Do you want me to put the top up?” he asked her as they sped downtown.

“No, no … I'm fine …” And she was. She enjoyed racing along beside him. There was something wonderfully old-fashioned about what they were doing. Like a Saturday night date back home in Grove City. She didn't feel at all like a movie star as she sat beside him. She just felt like a girl, and she liked it, even more than she had expected. The only thing that concerned her was that she had to get up at five the next morning, and she didn't want to stay out too late.

He stopped the car at Ciro's on the strip, and hopped out with ease as the doorman approached him. He was a tall, handsome black man, and his face lit up when he saw Ward. “Mr. Thayer! You're home!”

“I sure am, John, and believe me, it wasn't easy!” They exchanged a long fervent handshake and a warm smile, and then suddenly the older black man looked with horror at the car.

“Mr. Thayer, what happened to your car?”

“Up on blocks for the duration. I'll have it out again next week, I hope.”

“Thank God … I thought you sold it for this pile of junk.” Faye was a little surprised at the rude remark about the car, and equally so that they seemed to know him so well at Ciro's, but it was more of the same when they went inside. The headwaiter almost cried as he shook Ward's hand, congratulating him on his return, and it seemed as though every waiter in the place knew him and came over to say hello. They were given the best table in the house, and after ordering drinks, he led her out on the floor to dance.

“You're the prettiest girl here, Faye.” His voice was soft in her ear, and his arms felt powerful around her.

She smiled up at him. “I don't need to ask you if you used to come here often.”

He laughed at her remark and circled her expertly around the floor. He was the smoothest partner she had known, and she was growing more intrigued by the moment about who he really was. Just a young L.A. playboy? Someone important? An actor whose name she had never heard before the war? It was obvious that Ward Thayer was “someone,” and she was beginning to seriously wonder who he was. Not because she wanted something from him, but it was strange to be out with someone she barely knew, and had met in such a far-off place, in such an anonymous way.

“Something tells me you're keeping secrets from me, Mr. Thayer.”

Her eyes sought his and he laughed and shook his head. “Not at all.”

“All right, then. Who are you?”

“You know that much already. I told you. Ward Thayer, from L.A.” He reeled off his rank and serial number and they laughed again.

“That doesn't tell me a damn thing and you know it. And you know what else?” She pulled away slightly to look up at him again. “You're enjoying this, aren't you? Making a fool of me, playing mystery man. I suddenly get the feeling that everyone in town knows who you are except for me, Ward Thayer.”

“No, just the waiters … that's it … I was a waiter…” But suddenly as he said it, there was a flurry in the doorway, and a woman in a skintight black dress walked into the room, her hair an explosion of fiery red. It was Rita Hayworth, and she had come here as she always did, with her handsome husband. She and Orson Welles would dance around the floor so he could show her off and it was easy to see why he was so proud of her. Faye thought instantly that she was the most spectacularly beautiful woman she had ever seen. She had seen her once or twice in the past, though only from a distance, and as she brushed past her now, Faye's breath caught she was so impressed. And then, as though the woman had heard her, she stopped, as though startled and quickly turned around. Faye blushed furiously beneath her own mane of peach-colored hair, and was about to apologize for being rude, when suddenly Rita Hayworth seemed to spring into her arms and the next thing she knew, Ward had been pulled from her, and he and Rita were hugging tight on the floor. Orson was standing a few paces away watching them with interest, and eyeing Faye, and Rita squealed with delight as she pulled away from Ward.

“My God, Ward, you made it! You rotten boy, all these years and not a word if you were alive or dead. Everyone kept asking and I never knew what to tell them …” She threw her arms around him again, her eyes closed, her mouth smiling that smile that made grown men cry from desire as Faye watched in awe. Rita hadn't even seen her she was so happy to see Ward. “Welcome home, you bad boy, you.” She grinned and glanced at Faye, nodded, recognition dawning in her eyes, and then interest as she glanced back at Ward. “Aha, I see …” she teased him. “Does anyone know that piece of gossip yet, Mr. Thayer?”

“Now come on, Rita, for chrissake … I've only been back for two days.”

“Fast work.” She grinned at him, and smiled openly at Faye. “It's nice to see you again.” Polite empty words. The two women had never been friends. “Take good care of my friend here.” She patted him on the cheek, and then rejoined Welles, who saluted Ward with a smile from the distance, and as they left for a table at the far side of the room, Faye almost exploded. Ward led her back to their table, and took a sip of his drink, as Faye grabbed his other arm.

“Okay, Major. That does it. The truth.” She was glaring at him in mock fury, and he laughed openly as he set the drink down. “Before I make a complete ass of myself, I want you to tell me what in hell is going on. Who are you? An actor? A director? A gangster … did you use to own this place?” They were both laughing and he was enjoying the game much more than she was.