Sheri Cobb South by Babes in Tinseltown Page A

Officer Kincaid walked Frankie to the door of the Hollywood Studio Club, he flattered himself that he had steered her mind into more acceptable channels. But Frankie was made of sterner stuff. While they debated the rival merits of Gary Cooper and Jimmy Stewart, Frankie’s fertile brain was hard at work devising a plan. She could hardly wait until morning, when she would set the first phase of her plan in motion.
    “Thank you for seeing me home,” she told the young policeman. “It was awfully nice of you not to arrest Mitch and me.”
    “Not at all, Miss Foster. I’m sure it was an honest mistake, and you meant well.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly reluctant to leave. “I guess I’d better be getting back to the station. Can I see you again sometime?”
    Naïve Frankie might be, but she could tell when a young man was interested in her. She weighed her options and decided it might be useful to have a friend on the police force . She noted his hesitation and wondered if he was angling for a goodnight kiss; she didn’t think she was ready to be that friendly . She wasn’t at all sure a policeman was allowed to kiss girls while he was on duty anyway. In the end, she settled for a warm smile and a handshake.
     “That would be lovely. Thanks again, and goodnight.”
    Inside the Studio Club, the big common room was empty; most of the girls had gone out on dates, or to work the part-time jobs that supported them while they awaited their big break. Somewhere overhead, someone tap danced to a phonograph scratching out “I Got Rhythm.” Frankie hurried upstairs to her room, where Kathleen sat curled up at the head of the bed perusing the classified ads.
    “What’s taken you so long?” Kathleen demanded, throwing the newspaper aside. “I was getting worried.”
    “We ran into a little trouble.” Frankie kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed. “The police showed up.”
    “The police ?” Kathleen’s voice rose in alarm. “Did they arrest you?”
    “No, thank goodness. I can just see me having to wire Mama for bail money . ” She grimaced at the thought .
    The British girl relaxed against the headboard. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was beginning to wonder. Did you find out anything about Mr. Cohen?”
    “We didn’t have time to do much. Say, Kathleen, tomorrow I’m going on one of those bus tours where they show you where all the stars live. Would you like to go with me? My treat,” she added hastily. Most of the girls at the Studio Club suffered a chronic shortage of money.
    “I’d like to, but I’ve already made plans.” She jerked her head in the direction of the newspaper, which Frankie could now see was marked at random with circles drawn in ballpoint pen. “Job hunting.”
    “Auditions?” Frankie asked eagerly, snatching up the paper.
    “No such luck. Waitress work, mostly. Since I can’t count on Arthur Cohen to give me a job, I guess I’ll have to go out and find one myself.”
    Frankie laughed. “You make it sound like he died just to get out of giving you a job! But I know what you mean. If they decide to scrap The Virgin Queen , I may be job hunting right along with you.”
    The two girls lapsed into sympathetic silence. It was an occupational hazard of aspiring actresses, this necessity of finding work that paid a living wage while still leaving time free for attending auditions.
    “Anyway, why this sudden urge to see how the other half lives?” Kathleen asked. “I thought it was only the tourists who went in for that sort of thing.”
    Frankie shook her head. “Nothing really, just—curious.”
    “You know what they say, ‘curiosity killed the cat.’ ”
    “Maybe.”
    But Frankie didn’t think it was curiosity that had killed Arthur Cohen.
    * * * *
    Mitch dropped by the Studio Club the following morning, just to make sure Frankie hadn’t had any more difficulty with the police—with one policeman, anyway. He found her in the