Hitch-hiker Of My Dreams

by Unknown Author

Originally appeared in Forbidden Love comics issue #4 in 1950.

"Good-Bye Hollywood," I muttered as I threw my small suitcase in the back seat of the coupe. "Nice to have met you!" I turned on the ignition, stepped on the gas, and headed for the main highway without a backward glance.

For the first time in weeks, I breathed freely. No more arriving at the studio in the wee hours of the morning, or posing cheese-cake style for the publicity vultures, or telling Monty, my agent, that I wouldn't marry him. From now on, I'd concentrate on just being myself, not the number one glamour girl of Feature Films.

I left a call for late afternoon so that no one would discover I was missing until I had at least several hundred miles behind me. Perhaps by that time, I could find a spot to stop for the night and escape any possible attempt to force me back. I knew Monty well enough to know he'd pull every trick he could to make me return—I had been his meal-ticket for months, and I knew he wouldn't give me up without a fight.

As the warm California air caressed my face, I swept all those ugly possibilities out of my mind and just enjoyed the fresh, green countryside. I relaxed my foot on the gas pedal and settled down to a reasonable speed. It was then I heard a strange sputtering sound in the engine, and before I had time to get panicky, the engine died. I pulled the coupe over to the side of the road and got out. What I knew about the mechanics of a car could be summed up neatly in one word. Nothing. Nevertheless, I pulled up the hood and peered inside.

"Lose something?" someone asked behind me. I turned to meet a tall, bronzed man dressed casually in sports clothes.

"Where did you drop from? Heaven?" I asked, noticing that there was no other car in sight.

"Sure," he said with a friendly smile. "I travel on a pink cloud looking for beautiful women in distress. Can I help?"

I couldn't be sure that he had the face of an angel, but in my predicament, I couldn't afford to be particular. "If you know anything about sick engines, it's all yours."

I sat down on the running board and watched him work busily as if he had known the trouble all along. The bright sunshine emphasized his dark brown skin and blond hair, and I could see that those broad shoulders were all his—not part of the mouse grey coat he was wearing.

"All set for milady," he said, pulling down the hood.

"Say, you're a man after my own heart," I said, appalled at the little time I had lost. "How much do I owe you?"

"It's gratis," he said. "Absolutely free, almost."

"What's the "almost involve?"

"I'm heading north too, so how about a ride?" He had come over to the running board now and stood in front of me. "Think how handy I'd be if your engine feels faint again."

He looked harmless to me, and then, too, he had been a help, so that I felt no qualms when I said, "It's a deal! Hop in!"

We drove along for a few moments, silent. ly until he turned toward me. "Tom's my name. "What's yours?"

"Holly."

"Nice name...for a nice girl." He tucked one leg under him and twisted around so that he now faced me. "Anyone ever tell you that you ought to be in the movies?"

"Hundreds of times," I laughed, remembering why I left a warm, comfortable bed so early that morning.

"Well, what did you do about it?" he asked seriously.

"I ignored it," I lied and changed the subject. I didn't want him to know too much at this point, especially since I wasn't too sure how much of a disguise dark glasses and slacks could be.

By late afternoon I felt weary, and when Tom offered to drive for a while, I gladly moved away from the wheel. What a luxurious feeling, leaning back against the soft cushions and watching the small towns whiz by me. I felt that I could travel on like this forever. With Tom, I teasingly asked myself? But I didn't have time to answer be cause the car stopped abruptly and Tom scooted out of the seat.

"Let's have a bite here," he said, coming around to help me out of the car.

He had parked at a diner that was heavily shaded by tall oak trees. I had ignored my growling stomach, but now that food had been mentioned, I suddenly felt famished.

We sat down in a booth and gave our order to the waitress. Tom had offered me a cigarette when I heard a loud voice coming from a small radio announce: Monty Morgan was offering a reward of $10,000 to anyone who could locate Holly Lane, number one star of Feature Films. Morgan believed that she suffered from a mental disease and needed medical assistance...

I didn't wait to hear any more. I grabbed my purse and ran toward the car. I had to travel fast if I wanted to escape Monty and his offer of $10,000, and sitting comfortably in a diner with a handsome stranger named Tom only delayed my plans.

"Hold on! That's not lady-like, running out on me!" Tom had followed me out and now caught me before I could climb into the car.

"Let me go," I yelled. "I haven't time for games."

"This is no game, Holly Lane," he said, and before I could break away, he was holding me in his arms and kissing me tenderly.

I struggled only for a moment, and then I surrendered to the beautiful feeling of his strong embrace. But I remembered that he had called me HOLLY LANE...he recognized me. Was that the reason for this sudden burst of love?

"Stop it!" I managed to say. "You're more interested in that reward money than you are in me."

He loosened his grip for a moment, gazing at me quizzically. "I think you have a good point," he said thoughtfully. "Get in the buggy."

I climbed into the front seat and prepared myself for the long journey back to Hollywood. I had felt so contented with Tom earlier, and when he had held me in his arms, I had thought—just for a moment—that he might be that ideal guy. "What a bad joke on me," I murmured to myself.

Tom seemed unperturbed by my brooding. He glanced at me frequently, and when the air turned cool, he draped his coat around my shoulders. Strange that I felt relaxed—even cozy-curled up next to Tom, especially with the thoughts of Hollywood looming in front of me like a bad dream.

Late that night, we drove up to Monty's apartment, and Tom ushered me out of the car and up the steps. When Monty opened the door, he stood for a moment gaping at us.

"What's this? Tom Kelly! What are you doing with Holly?"

"Eloping," Tom announced. "But first, I'm legitimately collecting $10,000. Hand it over."

I watched Monty reluctantly give Tom a long envelope from the desk before Tom Kelly's name clicked in my subconscious.

"You're Kelly, the new talent scout for Feature Films?" I asked unbelievingly.

"The same, Holly," he said. "But more important, the Kelly who has fallen in love with you and wants you to be his wife."

"With my $10,000?" Monty screamed.

I couldn't refrain from laughing when I looked at Monty's grief-stricken face. But Tom, I noticed, was watching me expectantly.

"Tom," I said unconvincingly. "I was running away from Hollywood to learn to be myself."

"That, my darling, is why I brought you back. You can be yourself no matter where you are...it makes no difference," he said.

"And as Mrs. Tom Kelly, it should be a cinch."

When Tom put his arms around my waist and pulled me close to him, I knew he was right. I felt as if I had found the real Holly Lane...and with Tom holding me always, I knew I'd never lose her again!

END