“You’re right, Dash. This alone won’t hold up in court. But we called the Bureau of Public Records at City Hall, and they have a copy of this certificate, as well as a license fully filled out by a clerk. According to the city of Los Angeles, Davis and Dash are bound in holy matrimony.”
Dash sat back in his chair. He looked as if someone had just socked him on the jaw. His entire body had gone white and his forehead had broken out in a sweat. He tugged at his collar nervously, and Joan studied him. She raised one eyebrow and looked him full in the eye. “What Harry and I would like to know is how City Hall got a copy of our ‘fake’ marriage certificate.”
Dash swallowed and his eyes darted back and forth between them. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
“What did you say? We couldn’t hear you,” she intoned coldly. She refused to soften her gaze. Maybe if she kept staring at him, he’d admit what she’d known deep down since the moment she’d received that phone call from Leda. That somehow this entire blasted mess was his fault.
“I said it was meant to be a joke,” he muttered, barely louder than the last time.
“A joke? A joke! What did you do, you boorish, brainless, terrible man?” Joan felt herself losing control as she screeched at him. Tears were starting to course down her face, and before she could stop herself, she reached out and slapped him hard across the cheek. The crack as her hand met his face rang through the office, and everyone was silent for a moment before Dash began to laugh again. He turned his head and proffered the other side of his face to her.
“I deserved that,” he said. “Would you like to take a crack at the other one?”
Joan didn’t know what she wanted to do. She wanted to hit him again. She wanted to pound her fists into his chest. And bizarrely, she could not stop staring at his mouth—his full lips quivering with laughter; the muscles and sinews of his neck pulsing as his Adam’s apple bobbed with mirth. So instead, she balled up her fists and stormed across the room to sit back down in the leather chair next to Harry’s desk.
* * *
Dash stopped laughing and massaged the side of his cheek. It stung where Joan had hit him. He was lucky she hadn’t swung at him with the hand bearing her engagement ring. That rock looked like it could do some serious damage.
He liked this side of her. Normally, she was petulant, insistent upon doing things her way. She rarely engaged with him, acting as if she was above him—ice queen deluxe. It was why he pranked her all the time, to see if he could get a rise out of her. He’d tried to apologize after that night at the Cocoanut Grove. But Joan had refused to hear it. Accused him of being in cahoots with Leda and walked straight off the set, declining to come out of her trailer until he agreed to only speak to her about their scenes and nothing else. How could anyone say they were sorry in the face of that?
She was determined to see the worst in him. So, fine then, that’s what he gave her, settling for piquing her anger. He liked her ferocity. It was attractive. It was real. And damned more interesting than the cold shoulder she insisted upon. But now she was back to pouting in the corner, the mask of respectability settling back over her features. There was the Joan he knew so well. A woman so stuck on principle she’d choke on it.
Harry was still leaning against the edge of his desk, his head in his hands. “I’m afraid you need to explain to us how we ended up in this pickle, Dash.”
Dash grimaced; he really didn’t want to admit that he’d played such a petty prank. Or that he was drunk when he did it. Even if he still had no idea how the hell it had gone all the way to City Hall. That was never part of the plan.
“I addressed the certificate to City Hall,” he confessed. “I was drunk that night, celebrating our ‘nuptials’ after we wrapped for the day, and I thought it’d be funny to surprise Joan with it. I snuck into her dressing room and left it on the table. She was supposed to find it and flip her wig. I’ve no idea how it got to City Hall. Maybe Joan does.” He gave her a pointed look. After all, she was the last one to see the damn thing.
But she didn’t look guilty. She looked ready to scream, on the verge of bursting into tears. Again. He didn’t want that. He wanted to evoke emotions in her, get her to do something besides turn her nose up at him. But he took no pleasure in making her cry. No real man made a woman cry.
“I never saw the damn thing,” she gritted through her teeth.
“Well then, what the hell happened to it? It didn’t get up and walk to City Hall,” he retorted.
From her chair in the back of the room, so quiet and unobtrusive he hadn’t even realized she was there, Arlene piped up, her voice barely a squeak. “I think I know what happened.”
All three of their heads snapped to her at once, and she looked so cowed that Dash almost felt sorry for her. They waited with bated breath for Arlene to explain how they’d ended up in this mess.
“This would’ve been about a year and a half ago. I came in early that day, like always. And there was this big envelope out on the table in Joan’s trailer. It had all these flourishes on it, but it was addressed to City Hall and had Joan’s name on it as a return address, so I thought she’d left it out for me to mail and forgot to mention it. I put it in the studio mail that morning.”
Dash didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry. Somehow this was not entirely his fault.
Joan closed her eyes and massaged her temples. “You thought it would be funny to leave our signed marriage certificate in an envelope addressed to City Hall in my trailer, and then when I didn’t mention it, you, what? Assumed I threw it away?”
“That’s exactly what I assumed,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Is it my fault you have the most reliable assistant in Hollywood?”
Arlene cringed and started to blurt out another apology, but Dash stopped her. “No, Arlene, it’s okay. You were just doing your job. But, look, Harry, we didn’t get a license or do our blood test. Why did they even certify this? How did they get the information to fill out the license?”
Harry shook his head. “Apparently the clerk working that day was a big fan of both of yours, and she was so excited, she filed it and filled out a license for you without asking any questions. Your information is public record. Seems fame can cut through the red tape sometimes.”
“So, let me get this straight. Joan and I said vows before a real minister, and then a prop marriage certificate Joan and I signed as part of a harebrained publicity stunt that Arlene accidentally mailed to City Hall was used as evidence to fill out a marriage license and declare us legally married?”
“It appears so, yes.”
“Christ, if this was in a script you were pitching me, I’d say you were losing your touch. The one time City Hall doesn’t get mired in bureaucracy, it has to be because a Davis and Dash fan got goo-goo eyes for our fake marriage.” He slammed his hand down on Harry’s desk.
With that, Joan buried her face in her hands and let loose. Dash produced a handkerchief from his breast pocket and weakly handed it to her. Surprisingly, she cautiously took it from him and began dotting her eyes with it. Boy, he’d really done it this time.
Harry leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Well, I have an idea how to set things right, but neither of you are going to like it. I’ve considered the options, and I think it’s the only way.”