Lorna K. Grant ~ Kiss Me Once Again Excerpt

Chapter One

Solana Beach, CA

May 2007

FORMER HOLLYWOOD LEGEND A NAZI SPY, the headline screamed across the front page of the Times.

“Former?! Who are they calling ‘former’?” Veronica Russell angrily tossed the slightly crumpled paper at her long time friend and continued her frantic pacing. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the glass case holding her three Oscars®, two Emmys® and four Tony® Awards. True, she received her last golden statue three years ago in the Best Supporting Actress category for her role as an aging Holocaust survivor, but scripts and offers still came her way and quite regularly. She could accept “Aging Legend” but no way would she stand by and be called former.

“Do you want me to continue?” Gloria asked as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles in the paper from Veronica’s reaction to the front page. “It gets quite interesting.”

Veronica turned and looked over her shoulder, taking note of the concerned look on Gloria’s face. She sighed and turned back to the window overlooking the ocean below, slowly shaking her head in disbelief. “After all this time, I never thought it would come out. It’s been what? Fifty some odd years?”

“Sixty-four years ago this month, Ronnie.”

Veronica spun around and lifted a brow in shock. “Has it really been that long since I… It seems just like yesterday,” she finished, her voice soft with memories. She sighed and waved her hand in dismissal. “No matter. Sixty-four years or sixty-four hours, time and history eventually judges us all. Go ahead and read the drivel.”

“The once-great Veronica Russell –”

“The once great!? Who does that no good little reporter think he is? The once great my a-”

“Ronnie!”

Veronica stopped her tirade and glared at her friend. “I was going to say…ankle.”

“And I was just offered the romantic female lead in the next Brad Pitt movie,” Gloria retorted.

Veronica responded with an unladylike snort and shook her head. “If this was back in our day, he wouldn’t get away with this,” she fumed.

“Yeah, well. We’re no longer in our day, remember? The days of the studios protecting their contracted stars are long gone.” Gloria sighed and held up the newspaper, gently shaking its pages. “Here’s the evidence. Now, do you want to keep the rants to a minimum while I read this, or should I return in a year or so when you’ve calmed down?”

“Fine. Read the damned thing.” Veronica bit out through a clenched jaw. Perched on the end of a chair, she crossed her legs, primly folded her hands on her knees, and patiently waited. As she’d proven over time, patience was not one of her virtues.

Silence settled in the airy lanai. The longer it stretched out, the tighter the tension coiled in Veronica’s stomach. After a few more agonizing minutes, she stood and paced to the open window, no longer able to sit still. “Gloria,” she warned.

Her friend’s gaze lingered for a few seconds more on the printed words, then she looked up and grimaced. “I just wanted to preview the entire article first so I’d know when to expect the next outburst.”

“That bad?” Veronica cringed at Gloria’s slow nod. She sank in the nearest chair and stared out the window, absently nodding at Gloria to start reading.

“The once great Veronica Russell, born Veronika Mueller to a German father and an English mother, was known decades ago more for her sultry voice and generous curves than her acting ability…” Gloria paused, but Veronica just growled in frustration rather than rant and rave. After all, they hadn’t even gotten through the first sentence of the blasted article yet. She waved her friend to continue and held her tongue.

“Not only was this fading starlet a one-time favorite of the boys in uniform during WWII, she was also a certified Nazi spy – the same time she toured with the virtuous USO entertaining our fighting boys in the Pacific. This reporter learned the awful truth of this modern day Mata Hari and has seen the evidence recently released from the German Archives. It is appalling that someone set to be honored by the President of the United States next week for their achievements to the public has managed to pull the wool over our eyes for sixty plus years. How many good American troops died because of her actions?”

Tears streamed unchecked down Veronica’s face. Those poor boys. Nobody knew the sacrifices that had been made more than she. Her memories of those war-torn years have haunted her dreams every night for the last sixty-four years. She did what she had to do – for the better good. How trite that phrase sounded to her even now – the same words that had been used to persuade her to enter into a deal with the devil. Hollywood’s finest writers couldn’t have come up with a better line. What a fool she’d been.

She let Gloria’s voice fade into the background, no longer listening to the poisonous words read aloud. The reporter’s article had already shattered her soul with the first paragraph. How could it have come to light after all these years? As time sped by, the worry of her activities becoming public knowledge had eased; she grown complacent and had almost forgotten about those months as a spy. It seemed like a lifetime ago. It was a life time ago – sixty-four years, remember? she taunted herself.

Several minutes of silence filled the room before Veronica realized Gloria had stopped talking. Frustration and hurt quickly flamed into anger. She let the emotion flood through her, finding the strength to fight back and tell her side of the story. It would take calling in a few favors, pulling a few strings; but it would be worth the tweaked noses to finally let the truth shine through. Her pride, her shame, had hidden in the dark for too long.

She slowly stood from the wicker chair, letting the anger and determination fill her. Taking a deep breath for courage, Veronica walked to the phone and lifted the receiver from its cradle. Her hands shook as she dialed the Washington, D.C. number. The insistent ringing over the line further irritated her overwrought nerves. After the fourth ring, a female voice pleasantly answered, “Thank you for calling the White House. How may I direct your call?”

“Sam Catterstall, please,” Veronica replied.

“And who may I say is calling?”

“Veronica Russell.”

Silence screamed across the line. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the National Security Advisor is indisposed at the moment,” the operator answered, her voice noticeably cooler than before.

Veronica drew in a calming breath and fortified her resolve. Apparently, everyone has already read the damned article, she thought. She could do this. She had to do this. “I’m sure he is. I’m equally certain he will take the call. Please inform him –”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but he’s not to be interrupted. I’d be willing to take your number and pass along a message –”

“No.” Veronica’s voice rang firm and strong across the open line. It was time for the truth. “As I started to say, please inform the National Security Advisor that his godmother is on the line and needs to speak to him about an urgent matter.”

“I’ll let him know you called –”

“Now. I. Want. To. Speak. To. Sam. Catterstall. Now.” Veronica knew she pushed the boundary and risked the operator disconnecting the call. It was a risk she’d have to take.

“One moment, please,” the stunned woman replied before placing her on hold.

Veronica turned and caught Gloria’s puzzled gaze. She silently shook her head as her friend started to speak. Everything would be explained shortly, but first she needed to set things in motion. Impatience flared as she tapped her foot and stared vacantly out the window.

Seventy-two breaking waves later, the operator came back on the line. “Ma’am?”

“Yes?”

“One moment while I connect you to the National Security Advisor.”

“Thank you.” Veronica fought to keep the relief and triumph from her voice.

The line clicked then she heard muffled voices on the other end. “Aunt Ronnie? Is everything okay?” Sam Catterstall asked, concern lacing his voice.

“Yes and no. You’ve read the article?”

Sam sighed, the weariness of his job evident in his voice. “Yeah. The Press Secretary’s been flooded with calls because of the Kennedy Center Honors next week.”

“I’m sorry, dear. I never thought –”

“It’s okay, Aunt Ronnie. I’ve talked to the President and we’re preparing a statement denying your involvement. I’ve contacted our counterparts in Europe, already.”

“No.”

Static crackled over the line, filling the silence. The National Security Advisor cleared his throat. “No?”

“No, Sam.” Veronica closed her eyes and pulled from an inner strength to face her worse nightmare. “It’s time to tell the truth. The entire truth, Sam.”

“You mean –”

“Yes. Everything. Every person involved, what really happened.”

“You’ll need clearance.”

“Then get it for me. I’m not backing down, Sam. It’s time for it all to come out in the open. Too many men died – good men. I won’t let their deaths mean nothing so some snot-nosed reporter can claim he brought down Veronica Russell, Hollywood Legend.”

Sam chuckled. “Ah, Auntie. You sure do know how to keep us on our toes.”

Veronica laughed with him. “You need it from time to time. So does that mean you’ll help?”

“Yes. Tell me what you have planned. I assume you do have a plan?”

“Of course.”

Twenty minutes later, Veronica hung up the phone and smiled for the first time since reading the morning paper. The prospect of the weight of the past and its secrets finally being lifted from her shoulders brought relief to her heart. She never realized how much the events of the past weighed at her soul until they’d come to light. In a way, she was glad for the exposé in the Times as it now gave her the opportunity to set the past free once and for all. And just maybe, a part of herself would finally be set free as well.

“Don’t you look like the proverbial cat who ate the canary,” Gloria remarked as Veronica turned and walked back to her chair.

“I haven’t been around Hollywood this long without learning a trick or two.”

“Do you think this will work? What if it backfires?”

Veronica sighed and reached for her iced tea. “It has to.”

“Don’t you think you’d better call –”

“No.” Veronica’s answer was emphatic. “I’ll deal with things first and then call him. He’s working right now and will be home tomorrow. I’ll tell him then.”

“Don’t you think he’ll see the story?”

“He’s in the South Pacific. The soonest he’ll hear about it is on the plane back to LA. That’s time enough for me to get everything under control.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Ronnie.”

“I do. Don’t worry too much.”

Gloria shook her head and slumped back into the sofa. “Who do you have in mind to use to drop your bombshell?”

Veronica smiled and leaned back in the wicker chair, running her hands along the cushioned arms. “Sean Smith.”

Gloria sat up straight and leaned forward. “The cutie over at Fox News?” At Veronica’s nod, she let out a low whistle. “You’re out to play hardball.”

“Damn right. I’m not going to sit back and let them come after me. They fired the first shot. I’m just returning the volley.”

“Do you think he’ll agree to it?” Gloria asked.

Veronica smiled. “Would you pass up a confession from a reputed Nazi spy?”

******************************************************************

The next night, Veronica sat in front of the hair and makeup mirror at the Fox News studios in New York City. She absently watched as Marie, the studio’s makeup artist, applied the heavy foundation and powder. No one talked to her; they just stared and whispered. Some went as far as giving her the cut direct, as they used to say. Several literally threw their noses in the air and turned their backs to her as she walked into the studio. Talk about being box office poison. Even on the flight out here from LA, people treated her as a pariah. They had found her guilty without even knowing her story. But that was about to change.

Veronica studied her image in the lighted reflection as the stylist touched up her hair. For being the age she was – and she refused to even think the number let alone admit it out loud – she wasn’t in that bad of shape. Her body was still lean; her eyes still a bright, vibrant green. Though her shoulder length hair had turned mostly gray over the years, with just a hint of her trademark red, it was still thick and lustrous. Tonight she wore it in a style reminiscent of her days as an actress during Hollywood’s Golden Era. She completed the look with a tailored black pantsuit that accented her still trim waist and “generous curves”, as the Times reporter described.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Marie sneaking peeks under her lashes and biting her lower lip. Veronica caught the young girl’s glance and smiled. A red blush stained her cheeks and she quickly turned away. “Is there something you wanted to say?” she asked the stylist.

Marie head jerked up and blushed even deeper. “Uh, no, ma’am. I mean, that is to say –” she stammered then looked away.

Veronica reached out and touched the young girl’s arm in reassurance. “Go ahead. I won’t bite.”

The girl smiled in return and seemed to relax a bit more. “Well, it’s just that I’ve seen every movie you’ve ever made, Ms. Russell, and it was watching you on that screen that made me want to go to Hollywood. Only I can’t act my way out of a paper bag. But I found that I loved doing hair and makeup, and that I’m really good at it.”

“Yes, you are. Too bad you weren’t around in my day. I could have used a great stylist,” Veronica sincerely told her.

Her blush returned once more and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture. “Thank you, Ms. Russell. And, see, I just wanted you to know that I don’t believe a word of what people are saying about you. I mean about being a Nazi spy and killing people in the war.”

“Thank you, dear. There’s always more to the story than just the headlines.” She glanced in the mirror, amazed at the transformation with the application of makeup. “My dear, you are a wonder. You’ve made me look twenty years younger.”

Marie lifted her head and smiled broadly. “It was easy when I had such beauty to work with.”

“Now it’s my turn to blush,” Veronica replied. Marie smiled, then turned and started putting away her brushes and makeup.

Veronica checked her image in the reflection, tucking in a stray wisp of hair. Movement in the mirror caught her attention. A smartly dressed young woman approached, her body language screaming nothing but business. She wore her long blonde hair clipped tightly in a bun at her nape, and her high heels clicked in a staccato rhythm as she walked towards Veronica. The woman stopped and clutched a clipboard to her chest. Her eyes slightly narrowed and her mouth tightened as she glanced at Veronica in the makeup chair.

“Ms. Russell.”

Veronica arched a brow.

The woman’s mouth tightened even more and her knuckles turned white as she clamped down on the edges of the clipboard. “I’m Patricia Adams.”

Veronica sat in silence, a bored look on her face. It was a power game her one time manager, Henry, had taught her when dealing with studio heads.

“I’m Sean Smith’s producer.” The young woman gritted her teeth as Veronica lifted her chin slightly in a nod of acknowledgement.

“Was there something you wanted?” Veronica asked, her voice cool and controlled. If she was to do this, she had to do it right. It was the most important role of her life.

The producer breathed in deeply through her nose, causing her nostrils to flair and her lips to pinch even tighter with apparent distain. “I’m glad to see you came in early to give our hair and makeup department enough time before the show.” She smirked at getting the dig in with the backhanded compliment.

Veronica wasn’t one to let such an insult go without comment. “A habit I picked up in Hollywood. I’m used to producers and directors always wanting to make me into something I’m not.”

“Actually,” the stylist spoke up, “Ms. Russell has the most beautiful skin and hair. I hardly had to touch up anything at all. I hope I’m in as good as shape when I get older.”

“Thank you, my dear. I’m sure your beauty will always shine through,” Veronica told Marie.

“If you two are finished,” Patricia snapped, “I’d like to go over the questions Mr. Smith will be asking you during the interview.” She handed Veronica a thick stack of note cards.

“No.” Veronica handed them back to the producer.

“No?” the stunned producer choked out.

“No. I’m not going to prep anyone. This will be all open and honest. If there’s a question Mr. Smith wants to ask, then he can ask it. If I decline, I will. If I want to answer it, I will. I will tell my story my way or not at all. If this is unacceptable, then I’m sure any one of your competitors would love to have the exclusive.”

The producer’s mouth opened and closed several times, making her look like a fish gasping for water. Anger colored her cheeks a bright red and sparked fire in her eyes. “Fine. I’ll inform Mr. Smith and let you know if he has any concerns.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off across the studio.

Butterflies roared to life in Veronica's stomach as the sounds of the crew preparing for the show sailed around her. Time seemed to stand still as she tuned out those around her and turned her thoughts, her emotions inward. She let the past float around her, remembering and feeling the pain, the triumph, and the heartache again, as if for the first time. Emotions and memories long forgotten welled up and demanded penance.

“Ms. Russell?” a deep, rich male voice softly called.

Veronica took a deep breath and tried to calm her jittery nerves. She opened her eyes, and looking into the mirror’s reflection, locked gazes with the very handsome, very tall anchor of The Soapbox, Sean Smith. His lips curved in a friendly smile and his eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. One look at the reporter and Veronica knew she had picked the right man for her disclosure.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you.” He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I wanted to introduce myself before the show and escort you to the set myself.”

“You didn’t disturb me.” At his look of doubt, Veronica continued, “I wasn’t asleep if that was what you’re thinking. Just because I’m now a senior citizen – whatever that means – I do not just nod off.”

“I know.” He smiled and nodded at her hand on the arm of the makeup chair. “Your fingers were tapping back and forth across your thumb.”

Veronica managed a half-smile, slightly embarrassed. “Nervous habit I’ve never been able to break. I still get stage flutters before an appearance.”

He bent looked around, then, with eyes sparkling with mirth, bent down in a conspiring manner and winked. “Me, too. Just don’t tell anyone,” he said in a loud whisper.

The tension broken, Veronica laughed and held out her hand in greeting. “If only I were a few years younger.”

Sean took her hand and gently shook it, placing his other hand on top. “Ah, but if only I were a few years older.” He assisted her from the chair and let her across the studio to her seat.

Veronica paused from being seated and looked into his sincere face. “Aren’t you afraid this interview could kill your career?”

He laughed in answer. “Heck, no. I mean, here I am with the Veronica Russell. Not only one of Hollywood’s greatest legends, but accused of being a Nazi spy. I wouldn’t want to miss this story for anything. It’s the highlight of my career and an honor I will cherish.”

“Five minutes, everyone,” the producer yelled.

Veronica situated herself comfortably in the oversized chair. “Thank you, Mr. Harris. You won’t be disappointed,” she said as a stagehand attached her microphone to her jacket.

“I know I won’t. That’s why I took the story, Ms. Russell.” He flashed her one last grin and settled himself in his own chair across from her.

Marie walked over and made a few last minute touch-ups on both of them. Stagehands scrambled for last minutes adjustments, cameramen settled behind their cameras. A final sound check was completed and then the set went silent for the last seconds before the cameras flashed red.

“Tonight’s show is one you don’t want to miss. With me here, tonight, and setting the record straight about the accusations of being a Nazi spy during WWII, is Ms. Veronica Russell.” Sean Harris turned to Veronica. “Welcome, Ms. Russell, and thank you for being here tonight.”

“Thank you, Sean. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“For those who have been on another planet for the last sixty years, let me update you on just who Veronica Russell is. Winner of three Oscars®, two Emmys® and four Tony® Awards, she is known as one of the great actresses of Hollywood’s Golden Era.”

Veronica watched the monitor as they flashed different headshots and film stills of her career throughout the years. A lifetime of memories flooded through her as the images paraded across the screen – some heartbreaking, others happy, and a few bittersweet.

“Yesterday, the Times printed a story, Ms. Russell, stating that you had been a Nazi spy during WWII as you toured with the USO in the Pacific.” Sean leaned back in his chair and tapped the end of his pen against the corner of his mouth. “How do you respond to such allegations?”

“They’re true.”

Silence slammed the studio. The anchor was so stunned, his chair was precariously balanced as he leaned back. He jolted upright as the continued silence smothered the studio. The abrupt movement caused the chair to teeter back before springing him forward, his feet thudding into the floor, his hands slapping the desk. The noise jerked the studio back to life, and a whispered hum buzzed in the background as people expressed their disbelief and disappointment.

“You mean to say the allegations are true?” Sean asked, still shocked.

“Yes, Sean. I was a spy for the Germans during WWII.” Veronica took a deep breath. “I was also a spy for the British Security Service, or what is more commonly known as MI5, and their double cross system.”

That bombshell also exploded silence in the studio.

“You were a double agent?” Sean managed to recover and leaned forward, intent on her story.

“Yes.”

“What about the US? Were you a spy for them as well?”

Veronica smiled. “No, I wasn’t an OSS Officer. But they do play a significant part later in the story.”

A light bulb seemed to go off for the anchor. “Did the OSS know you were spying for both MI5 and the Germans?”

“I can see we’ll need to start from the beginning.”

“And when exactly was that?”

“After Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, I was approached by Eddie Kaplan to join his tour to entertain the troops.”

“Eddie Kaplan, the comedian?”

“Yes. Only he wasn’t just a comedian.”

“Are you saying he was a spy, too?”

“Of course. Many Hollywood actors and actresses were spies will on USO tours overseas.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Veronica watched as Sean’s producer jumped up and down, waving one arm around while holding a phone to her ear with the other. She also noticed several others giving Sean the signal to go to commercial. “With that revelation, we’ll take a break. When we return, we’ll hear how Veronica Russell became a spy.”

As soon as they cut to commercial, Patricia Adams ran over, the phone still glued to her ear. “Don’t go any further with the Hollywood spies until we can get some sort of confirmation,” she told Sean.

“What? This is great stuff – exclusive material no one else has.”

“Exactly,” she snapped. “How do we know this just isn’t the ramblings of a senile old woman who’s trying to save her own skin?”

An intern ran over to the producer, another phone held out. “Ms Adams. There’s an urgent call for you.”

“Can’t you see I’m already on the phone with our lawyers, making sure we’re not going to be sued for libel over this?” she hissed at the young man.

“I think you’ll want to take this,” he told her, unphased at her outburst.

She grabbed the phone and threw him the other one. “Yes?”

Patricia turned several shades of red and stammered several times, but was unable to say a word to the other party. Veronica knew exactly who was on the other end of that call. Without saying another word, the producer turned and handed the phone to Sean. “You need to take this call while we’re still at commercial.” She walked off the set and stood off to the side, almost pouting.

Puzzled, the anchor placed the phone to his ear. “This is Sean Harris.”

“Yes, sir, I understand completely. You’ll get my full cooperation.” Surprise crossed his face and he raised his gaze to look at Veronica. He suddenly laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, sir. Aunt Ronnie is doing just fine and couldn’t be in better hands.”

He disconnected the call and handed the phone to a waiting intern. “Aunt Ronnie, huh?”

“It’s good to have friends in high places,” she replied.

“I’d say. The National Security Advisor is up there on the high places list.”

“It’s not common knowledge, that Sam’s my godson. But do you think he’d really be appointed as the NSA if his auntie was a Nazi spy?” Veronica smiled, knowing she’d just proven her point and any doubts about her story were effectively killed.

“Coming out of commercial!” the producer called over the set.

“This is going to be one hell of a story, isn’t it?”

Veronica grinned and folded her hands primly on her lap. “Of course. Would it be anything else?”