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penciled in her perfectly arched brows.
    Outside on Sunset Boulevard, the August breeze tickled the towering palm trees. Sunlight draped like a curtain down the street, over the red-and-black awnings of the Hampton boutiques, the whitewashed Westside Market and Mermaid Club Café, and through the picket fence that cordoned the parking lot of the Café Lamaze. Shiny Rolls Royces caught the gleam as they motored by, others parked at the curb, probably to attend services at Blessed Sacrament Church. Maybe someday she’d have a shiny white convertible Rolls Royce to drive to her Sunday appointments at Jim’s Beauty Salon.
    â€œThe important thing to remember in this business is that it’s fickle. And through it all, you gotta keep ahold of your heart, or Hollywood will break it to pieces.”
    Rosie glanced at the silent-film star, her dark locks burned and curled to perfection, her face powdered, her lips in a perfect heart-shaped contour. She wore a dressing gown and had toted her own hairdresser with her for today’s treatment at Jim’s, in preparation for tonight’s party at the Coconut Grove.
    A party Dash insisted they attend. Rosie could still hear his voice echo through the tiled hallways of their bungalow on Palm Drive. “ You’re going to be there. End of discussion .”
    â€œI just don’t understand why tonight’s shindig at the Grove is so important.”
    She could feel the peroxide bleeding into her scalp. Please don’t let her walk away with burns again. Jim had layered cotton around her face to keep the drips from her skin, but last time she’d exited the parlor out the back, hidden under sunglasses and a headscarf to conceal the red chemical splotches.
    It took her two days to escape the headache.
    Jim leaned her back to attack her brows. Thankfully they hadn’t shaved them completely off. Yet.
    But any day Fletcher might decide to upgrade her regimen. He already had her on cottage cheese and celery. Just for once, she’d like to eat a full meal.
    â€œIt’s Louis Mayer’s birthday party. MGM expects Hollywood to pay their respects,” Clara said.
    â€œIt just seems like we could stay home one night. We’ve been out every night since the West Coast premiere. I’m exhausted.”
    Clara laughed, and Daisy chided her. “Shh. You’re making a mess of this.”
    Rosie liked Clara. Her New York accent made her seem real, not at all like the larger-than-life It Girl portrayed on the silent screen.
    And no one had made Clara a star. She, like Rosie, headed to Hollywood with a dream, armed with nothing but determination, and acting chops.
    No one played an on-screen flapper like Clara. The public loved her—hopefully all the way into her next movie, her first “talkie.”
    â€œJust remember, they’re all snobs, Rox. You just have to play their game, and then you’ll get what you want,” Clara said as Daisy began to work on her lips. “And you know the line, darlin’.” She raised her voice into a singsong. ‘The show must go on.’”
    Daisy flipped the chair upright and went to work teasing her hair. “And the studio is just getting started. I saw your name on the billboard coming into town. Star for a Day is a hit.”
    Maybe. The West Coast premiere doubled the size of the New York opening, and she’d charmed the crowd at home by talking into the radio mic of KFWD radio, while Dash stood on the sidelines, grinning at his creation. She’d worn the pearls, a purple dress, and long, white gloves under a chiffon wrap.
    He’d sat with Irene in the darkened room of Grauman’s Chinese Theater. Next to her, Grayson wrapped his arm around the redhead, a girl named Sally O’Neil.
    And after the premiere, they’d gone to a party at Fletcher’s estate. Dash made the rounds with Irving Thalberg and Jack Warner, talking shop. Rosie took the limousine