“Whose house is it?”
“Louis B. Mayer’s.”
I hesitated. “Mr. Mayer invited us to his house for supper?”
“His wife wanted to meet you,” he said with a shrug. “And L.B. is eager to talk to us about something important.”
“I wish you would have told me so I could have put on something a little more formal.” I was wearing a simple sailor suit with a blue cloche cap.
“You look as beautiful as ever.” The way he looked at me convinced me he was telling the truth. He did think I was beautiful—at least that wasn’t an act.
He motioned to the house with a tilt of his head. “Come on. The Mayers are waiting.”
“Are we late?” I took his hand and stepped out of the vehicle.
“A little.”
“How late?”
He shrugged. “An hour or so.”
“We’re an hour late to Mr. Mayer’s house? Spencer!”
“What? Did you want me to tell your father to hurry up?”
“You could have told him Mr. Mayer was waiting for us.”
Spencer closed the door and wrapped my hand through the crook of his elbow, drawing me close to his side. His cologne was subtle and elicited my senses. “L.B. wanted to keep this meeting quiet for now. He would prefer if your folks don’t know about it.”
“Why not?” I tried pulling back to look at him, but he held me close.
“You’ll see.”
“Spencer, so help me, if you say that to me one more—”
“It’s not my place to question L.B. Mayer.”
“You exasperate me.”
He grinned.
When we reached the wood door, he lifted the knocker, and a maid appeared in a black dress, white apron, and white hat. She was young and cute and immediately aware of Spencer. Her cheeks turned pink as she stepped aside and said, “Mr. Mayer has been expecting you, Mr. Hayes.”
Spencer winked and handed her his bowler hat.
She giggled and held it close to her chest as we passed by.
The inside of the house was spacious and beautifully decorated. We walked from the entrance into a living room where the Spanish influence continued with clay-tiled floors, stucco walls, mosaic tiles inside the fireplace, and wooden beams on the ceilings.
“There you are!” a boisterous voice said as Mr. Mayer appeared from a door off to the side of the living room.
“Sorry we’re late, L.B.,” Spencer said. “Got tied up filming.”
“I completely understand.” He smiled at me. “Welcome to my home, Miss Bennett. Do you mind if I call you Ally?”
“Of course not.”
“Good. Good. Come onto the veranda. Margaret has some refreshments for us.” He motioned for us to follow him out a back door.
