An aspiring makeup artist takes on predatory Hollywood in this addictive debut novel with bite—a sultry, thrilling blend of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Killing Eve, and A Promising Young Woman.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Katherine Blake’s The Unforgettable Loretta Darling, which releases on July 9th 2024.
It’s 1950 and Loretta Reynolds is newly arrived in Hollywood, fresh off a con that brought her from England to the sunny shores of California. She’s running away from a complicated past to fulfill her ambition of becoming a makeup artist to the stars.
When her new husband, a would-be actor, takes her to a sex-fueled Hollywood party on their wedding night—hoping to trade her to a powerful director for a favor—she discovers the dark side of Tinseltown and sets out on a path of revenge against the cruel men who use their money and power to play with lives and dreams.
In her quest for vengeance, Loretta gathers a band of La-La-Land misfits: a fading starlet past her prime, a friendly neighborhood sex worker, and a brooding screenwriter who proves yes, not all men are evil—just most . . .
Now, Loretta is about to get her big break—and Hollywood better beware. Loretta has learned a lot about makeup, and more. . . and some of her clients might not make it out alive.
Chapter 1
Jimmie patted down his pockets, then froze, glaring at me. ‘You!’
‘Me?’
‘You stole my passport, you little bitch. Give it back!’ Frankly, I couldn’t believe it had taken Jimmie this long to notice. We’d already collected our luggage, thankfully deemed unsuspicious by the customs officers who’d sailed out to meet the liner and go through our belongings onboard.
A passing woman in a fur stole threw us a stony glance.
‘Darling, the other passengers are staring,’ I said from behind a frozen smile. ‘Let’s not make a scene.’
‘Don’t you darling me! Where is it?’ He pulled me to one side and I stumbled, still wobbly from the ocean crossing.
‘Get your hands off me.’
Reluctantly, he let go. From over his shoulder, I could see a liner steward watching. I wondered how many marital arguments he’d witnessed in his time. Only, me and Jimmie weren’t married.
I’d first bumped into him at Morecambe’s Winter Gardens. Albert Modley and the Sandow Sisters were playing. He was leaning against the wall as though he was in some sort of funk, but I went over and asked him to buy me a drink. Some men like that – cheek. It made them think that I was naughty, which I am, and that meant they’d hope I’d sleep with them, which I wouldn’t. ‘What’s got you in such a bad mood, anyway?’ I asked, sipping my Coca-Cola through a straw.
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ he said, hands sulking in his pockets.
‘Oh, come on. Try me.’ I’d already noticed that he had an American accent and I was curious. Teeth like a row of condemned houses, which seemed odd for a Yank, but still.
‘I’m having problems with your guys in Liverpool.’ ‘My guys?’
‘Customs.’
‘Oh.’ I took him in then, good and proper. The wide lapels, the thin moustache and greased-back hair. Clichés are usually there for a reason.
‘You’re a spiv,’ I said over the music.
He glanced around. ‘Keep your voice down!’
I couldn’t help laughing. Didn’t have the heart to break it to Jimmie that one look at his dodgy suit and anyone could see exactly what he was.
‘What do you deal in?’ I asked.
‘Stockings.’ Pointedly, he glanced at my bare legs. ‘Maybe you’ve heard of them?’
A thought prickled my skin. ‘So, what’s the problem with our men in Liverpool? They suspicious?’
Jimmie took a long drink of his beer and nodded. My thought was joined by a few more thoughts, and quickly became a plan.
‘You know what you need?’ I said. He stared, clearly confused. ‘A mule.’
‘Hey, what did you say your name was?’ ‘Margaret.’
He frowned again. ‘I don’t get you, lady.’
‘Listen.’ I took a last, noisy suck on my straw and indicated for another Coca-Cola. Jimmie would be paying. ‘What you need is a nice little wife to travel with you.’ Surely, that had to be better than fake bottoms in suitcases. ‘A cover. The veneer of respectability.’ I’d already checked out his ring finger. ‘Now, you already have one, I know, but . . . we can pretend that I’m your wife.’
He swallowed hard. ‘She’s dead.’ ‘Oh.’ I smiled. ‘Even better.’
His eyes widened. ‘How can my dead wife be a good thing?’
I spoke even quicker then. ‘I simply mean that she won’t get annoyed at someone else travelling under her name. What was her name?’
‘Loretta.’ I liked it.
‘It’s a good plan, don’t you think?’ I coaxed.
He looked me up and down. ‘Are all the girls in this town like you?’
I grinned. ‘Oh no. There’s only one of me.’ ‘Thank God.’ He adjusted the collar of his shirt.
It took a little more persuading, but after a while Jimmie saw my point – for me to come out with him as part of his black-market smuggling, travelling under the dual passport he shared with his dead wife. If anyone stopped him, why shouldn’t his missus want a bunch of stockings?
That had been the plan I’d first shared with Jimmie. The plan that had been perfect for both of us. My plan. But I had to look after myself. My dreams were too important to risk losing and, right now as we stood by the exit gate, that passport was hidden inside my unmentionables.
‘Anyone could have taken your passport!’ I pointed out, trying not to wriggle with the booklet’s corner jutting into my derrière.
‘It never left our cabin.’ His hand twitched like he wanted to slap me – I knew the signs – so I was pretty glad of that nosy steward keeping an eye on us. If you’re going to blackmail someone, it’s best to do it out in public. I let out a sigh, as though tired of this little game, when really I was enjoying it immensely.
‘Listen, as it happens, I do have your passport and—’ ‘You!’
‘You really must stop saying that, Jimmie. It’s becoming boring.’
‘After everything I’ve done for—’
‘For me?’ I finished for him. ‘What do you want? An award for a young woman joining you in a gig that could see her end up in jail?’
His mouth dropped open. ‘Are you for real?’
I allowed myself to laugh. ‘You’d better believe it, brother!’
He drew his chin in. ‘Is that your attempt at an American accent?’
‘No good?’ I asked, reverting to my northern vowels. ‘Lousy.’
‘See, Jimmie? Even in a situation like this, you can still have a joke with me.’ I patted him on the arm. ‘You really are one in a million.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘You’re stealing from me! Is there anything you won’t do?’
‘Oh, shush,’ I said. ‘I’m not stealing; I’ve just been looking after it for you.’ Before he could say anything else, I pushed on. ‘Now, listen. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to take me with you all the way to California.’ That’s the address he had in his passport; it had been the greatest stroke of luck.
‘But I don’t need to! The stockings are here!’ He glanced around and lowered his voice at the sight of a port patrol officer stationed at the gate. ‘We just hang around a couple of days and then get the next liner back to Liverpool. That’s what we agreed.’
‘I know, but I’ve changed my mind,’ I explained patiently. ‘I want to go to Hollywood and you’re going to take me there. Once you’ve safely deposited me, you’ll get your passport back.’
‘What is it with women changing their minds all the time?’ He shook his head mournfully. ‘I’ll miss my contact for the stockings.’
‘I don’t give a flying flip about the stockings, Jimmie, and I won’t be coming back with you. Do you understand? You’re taking me to Hollywood and leaving me there. If you do all that, you get your passport back.’
‘Why don’t I just give you the money to get there by yourself?’
‘Because I haven’t a clue how to go about that, and I need someone to help.’ I wasn’t totally deluded. A twenty-year-old northern lass on her own in America with barely any money and no friends? That was asking for trouble.
Besides, I still needed time to nick whatever else he had on him. ‘Just get me safely there and then you never have to see me again.’
‘You are the most despicable human being I have ever met. You know that?’
‘Thank you!’ I said brightly. ‘Now, shall we crack on?’ The crowds had faded away, already through passport control and out into the streets of New York City. ‘I just need to nip to the bathroom.’ I looked around and spotted a public convenience. ‘Back in a mo!’
I went to dig the passport out of my undercrackers and had a quick piss while I was there. As I washed my hands, I looked at myself in the small bathroom mirror above the sink. I felt jubilant. No, more than that – victorious.
‘You’re Loretta now,’ I told myself. ‘And welcome to your brand-new flipping life.’
Reprinted here with permission from Harper Paperbacks, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers
