Time Double

By Denis Gray

Camilla Valentine is a black, twenty-four year old farm girl whose striking beauty stuns Hawk Delano Thompson at first sight at the colored rodeo in Oklahoma. Their brief social engagement leads to Hawk corresponding with Camilla via a series of back and forth letters. Those letters reveal Camilla’s childhood dream to become a black actress in the year 1949—stage and film.

Hawk could help her with that: fulfill her dream.

Hawk, at twenty-seven, is a successful entrepreneur with big ideas living in Crown City (fictional) in California near Hollywood movie studios. Crown City is a black governed city filled with modern ideas and talented, prideful people.

Hawk, who’s no longer smitten by Camilla but who has fallen in love with her, invites Camilla to come to Crown City to study acting at the locally prestigious Desmond Booker’s Acting School.

Camilla agrees. She will stay in the Lion Hotel in the Crown.

But more important than any other arrangement between them, Hawk confesses to Camilla that he’s in love with her, and makes it perfectly clear that he expects her to fall in love with him in due time; not any other man in Crown City.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798369417867

Denis Gray

Denis Gray lives in Long Island, NY with his wife Barbara.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

C amilla Valentine was the most beautiful girl in the world!

It’s what Hawk Delano Hawkins Thompson thought.

Camilla, Camilla! I’m here.

There was a modesty in how Camilla Valentine was dressed, but a touch of glamour in her smile. Hawk was going to hug her even if in public view, that glamorous woman who was coming to Hollywood with the ambition to become a black movie starlet. But then he had a change of mind since there was luggage in both her hands, and it would be awkward and clumsy.

Hawk, she said marveling at Union Station, this timeless edifice of travertine marble and lovely sheen of highly polished dark wood walls and entrances and low hanging brass and crystal chandeliers creating a superb network of brilliant light; with strikingly tall square-shouldered windows of clear, clean glass, and shiny floors.

I can’t believe I’m here. In Los Angeles. Actually here.

Say no more, Camilla, I’ve got your luggage. They’re mine, Hawk said with a devilish smile.

There was tremendous movement in Union Station. It was a late day in Los Angeles, and the station’s rhythm was at a peak: a relentless flow of folk on the move.

You look so pretty, Camilla. I mean, you certainly do.

Thank you, Hawk. It’s nice to hear after such a—

Arduous trip?

Yes, she smiled. A very long one, Camilla said with particular emphasis placed on long.

Just the tone of her voice aroused Hawk.

The voice, perfect tone, weight, projection, but, to be exact, not too much of any regional influence even if Camilla Valentine was from Freeport, Oklahoma. Possibly, soon, she would explain to him this patent aberration: her being so obviously unaffected by Freeport, Oklahoma’s distinct regional dialect and diction. It would be comparable to him, a born and bred Californian somehow capable of being unaffected by Oklahoma’s fierce, gripping winters.

I’m so excited though.

As well you should.

Hawk could feel her breath, as if it were a cool breeze descending over him—he was so innocently swept up in her excitement.

There was the roar and the grind of the trains in the distance in this world famous station, arriving, braking stiffly and noisily on the old, heavy iron tracks, and the trains departing, their tonnage ponderous, and then the full blast of a scream-pitched whistle yanked down by the master motorman signaling another trip out Union Station had begun; tickets punched, the train on a tight schedule, and the tracks clear and squared away for further people transport.

Hawk saw a look of welcomed relief on Camilla’s face—probably pleased that the outbound train was leaving the station without her.

Unconsciously, Hawk laughed aloud.

Hawk, why are you laughing like that? She said, herself laughing.

You look…

At one time I was fond of trains. No more. That is now far behind me now.

Well, I have a golden chariot awaiting you in the parking area. So do not fret my dear lady, Hawk said it in a way that Camilla almost took him to be serious as she frowned then pleasantly smiled.

I can’t wait to see what a ‘golden chariot’ looks like in Los Angeles. Since we don’t have any in Freeport, Oklahoma—that I know of.

And now Hawk whisked her off as if he could create magic by the flip of a switch, or the brown blur of his richly tanned hand.

Up until now, the conversation they had generated was as lively as them rushing out to Union Station’s parking lot. Camilla now living an experience she’d dreamed as a child, landing in Hollywood, something that felt like, when young, as if she were wishing upon a star. And today it was being proven to be real, this Hollywood hope with all its maddening promises of acting jobs, and stardom, and romance, and wondrous fame.

Hawk stopped short in the parking lot.

Surprised, Camilla expected something grand and eloquent for Hawk to announce, since there were more cars in Union Station’s lot than she’d seen in her lifetime, even if Freeport, Oklahoma was a poor yardstick for comparing most extraordinary events to, she thought.

Sorry, Camilla, but, he put down both suitcases on the ground, I want to play a little, uh, harmless game with you—if you don’t mind.

Of course not, Hawk. Go ahead. I’m willing.

"So you are willing to play along—are you? Cooperate?"

Of course. I’m more than eager!

Hawk looked into eyes that could make him forget that the Los Angeles’s sun seemed to be shining directly down on him on that hot, balmy day.

You’re a good sport.

I guess, guess so, Camilla laughed again.

Hawk didn’t know why he was dragging this damned thing out, but he’d been anticipating seeing her since a little over two months ago, when letters exchanged between them became consistent, more dedicated and real. And so he realized he was falling heads-over-heels in love with her—even if the romance had been conducted by mail.

Guess which car’s mine? Which is the ‘golden chariot’ I boasted of inside the Union station? If you can.

Indeed, the parking lot was filled with cars, all shapes and sizes, but Camilla still didn’t seem to mind playing this inspired game with Hawk, her forehead not breaking out into a wrinkled mess, but, instead, her eyes alert in canvassing the cars in the jammed lot. She was looking within a truly narrow circumference since she was certain Hawk didn’t expect her to look at every car there.

But then, closely eyeing Hawk, seeing if his eyes might drop her a clue, their guard—but nothing doing! It was as if Delano Hawkins Thompson had been trained in springing this cute little caper on poor, disadvantaged women like herself, who’d been trapped in his demonic net. But she did, by glancing at him, thinking his blue seer sucker suit fit his tall, athletic frame appropriately well.

Come on, Camilla. Guess. You’re taking too long at it. Give it a try. I think I’ve given you enough time. Uh, don’t you?

He was a sharp dresser, and so there was one car that really stood out among all the others in that narrow section, but it wasn’t golden, but—

The red one, Hawk? The red one? Camilla said, even pointing her finger at it. Is, is it the red—

Precisely. Precisely. The red one!

Spiritly the sun bounced off the top of the red 1949 Ford, the paint shining so boldly one would think the hot sun was baked into its smooth, red skin. The red car was about 30-feet away, packed in with other cars not as apple-polished or pretty or new—not by a long shot.

Hawk hugged her, and Camilla’s green velvet feathered hat was in no way ruffled by his passion.

You’re amazing, Camilla. Simply…simply amazing!

Then both stood back and, admiringly, looked again at the two-door red Ford sedan with the highly polished chrome fender and the big bug-like headlights, and the white-wall tires that were washed clean as if the road hadn’t dirtied them since the day Hawk drove the car out the Ford’s dealership and onto dry ground.

So may we advance forward, Hawk said, back to carrying the suitcases and with an urgent pep in his step. And take a ride in my red chariot, not the golden one—as advertised.

Yes, by all means, Hawk. By all means.

Laughter.

Hawk got to the car’s trunk and opened it. He fit Camilla’s luggage inside.

When he got back to Camilla, he saw the sun had sweated her skin, something that triggered upset in him. I’m sorry, Camilla. Really, really sorry about this.

Camilla gently dabbed her skin with the handy handkerchief. Don’t be, Hawk. It’s all right. I’m sure it’ll be something I’ll have to get used to eventually: Warm weather of this nature in Los Angeles.

But Hawk was not buying that, not any of it, for he felt awful; for her exposure out in the sun was due to the little game he’d practically coerced her to play, and this was the awful consequence, the manifestation of it and his poor judgment: her standing too long in the boiling sun.

No, I won’t accept that. Not that, he said, his head shaking. I take full responsibility, blame for this. Whatever discomfit you’ve suffered because of me.

But, Hawk…

No, Camilla, no, no, I won’t hear it. Any of it. L-let’s get in the car, and get the hell out of here!

Things had calmed once they got in the car. Really, it amused Camilla that in the car, as she’d suspected, she was still sweating a lot, for there seemed no relief from that overpowering sun sitting in the California sky baking things moving or stationary.

Look, Camilla, Camilla, I’m sorry about back there in the parking lot. Trust me. And I hope I didn’t, in any way, shape or form, upset you. Pause. By my language. I didn’t mean to curse. It wasn’t my intention.

She wasn’t upset then or now, especially seeing some of the splendor of Los Angeles’s vista. Of how hills can be cut into a delicate city of streets and lights, and a sense of delight; and a rolling vastness that already felt infinite and exploratory.

Curse? I have a brother Thomas, as you well know. And my father, don’t forget, is a rancher. And if you’ve ever worked, especially with farm animals, you’ll find yourself cursing practically all the time. My father and brother, haha, certainly do.

Hawk’s eyes still set steady on the road. I will never use the word ‘hell’ around you again, he said turning to her, then placing his eyes back on the road. Never curse in your presence again. Never, Camilla. Not ever will I.

She heard a chill in Hawk’s voice; something that caught her completely off guard.

I promise you.

There was a certain seriousness in him, Camilla assessed, that she’d not seen before. Up until now, the letters back and forth, everything had modeled a consistent quality of fun in them, lightness, play, so this, indeed, was a disruption of that feel good casualness between them, enough so that it had her thinking far more than what she wanted.

The Ford was making its way onto Main Land Street, the Crown City community, a colored district of Los Angeles—the Crown’s main strip.

Welcome to Main Land Street, Camilla. We’re here!

It’s …, both hands swung up to her cheeks while she held her breath.

This is where black commerce meets black enterprise—or ‘hustle,’ as most Negroes in Crown City call it.

It was a long commercial strip of stores, one store connected to the other in an endless row of buildings and a constant motion of people, mostly colored, some Latinos, some Asians, but mostly colored, standing on street corners, crossing streets, driving old and new cars, and making life out of what seemed ordinary living for them but what would be considered extraordinary for someone like Camilla Valentine, a person from Freeport, Oklahoma, who’d never seen these kind of colored people before involved so intensely and naturally in this form of modern setting, but knew of colored people in New York’s Harlem and Chicago’s "Stroll,’ but this, so far, was big, heady stuff for her senses to absorb.

Oh there are white businesses here on Main Land Street, Camilla, Hawk chuckled. You know ‘Mr. Charlie’ pops up everywhere, somehow. Like the Rexall drugstore over there is white owned. And you’ll spot an old Jewish tailor shop on the block. Or a Chinese laundry. Or Japanese restaurants. But, basically, mostly, it’s colored businessmen who run the Crown community. Who make things work. Function around here.

I’m speechless, Hawk. Nothing but the look of surprise was in Camilla’s eyes, and her hands remained attached to her even more red cheeks, and a lump was in her throat and a tug in her heart as if Main Land Street was doing this, making such a wild chatter of thrill in her.

You should see Main Land Street at night, Camilla. It’s night life. It’s when the avenue truly comes alive. I’m sure you’ve never seen anything quite like it. Not in your wildest dreams.

But Camilla was imaging a tall, handsome colored gentleman swinging a beautiful, medium height colored woman in one of Main Land Street’s nightclubs on a dance floor into oblivion and then back as if their feet had touched the moon. And this was the strongly vivid imagination she formed for she could create mental images in her mind that glided as freely and recklessly as ice skaters in the sky.

And those two imaginary dancers continued to dance in her mind’s eye while she drank in more of Main Land Street, a place, through Hawk’s descriptive letters of it, she had agreed to live on without seeing it or knowing it, basing it solely on Hawk’s letters; how there was both majesty and charm they exuded that she did not expect to have such persuasive power over her.

Have you recovered, uh, yet, Camilla? Hawk said, his eyes trained on her.

I don’t think I ever will from what I’ve seen so far of Main Land Street, Hawk. This splendor. Delight of delights.

I don’t want to hold this against you, Camilla: But you are from Freeport, Oklahoma, after all.

Yes I am. Haha. But please don’t hold that against me…, Camilla teased.

Hey, not in the least!

A huge lump of pride washed over Hawk, remembering their serendipitous meeting at a colored rodeo in, of all places, Rattlesnake, Oklahoma, near Oklahoma City. He was in Oklahoma City on business, of possibly entering into the building of a meatpacking plant on the outskirts of the Crown, the Bella Vista area. Instead, he went from looking at the colored cowboys in cowboy hats and boots riding the snorting bulls in the makeshift ring, to Camilla Valentine adorned in a cowgirl skirt, and who stood out so dazzlingly brilliant at the time, he scarcely breathed.

He had been invited to the rodeo, was there strictly for pleasure, entertainment. And it was a short trip from Oklahoma City to Rattlesnake, so at the time, that was of no bother. But to see such a young gem of a woman in such a rugged, remote area, and then be able to engage her and become a part of her life that suddenly, immediately, was one amazing feat; fortuitous enough for him to place his best foot forward.

I haven’t forgotten about where I’m taking you off to. The Lion Hotel.’

How—

Far? Don’t worry, you’ll know it when you see it from the side, not the front, so be prepared.

The car braked at what was at the end of Main Land Street, with Alabama Street intersecting it. Hawk now wheeled the red Ford onto Alabama Street. Daytime businesses not nightclubs or anything resembling them commercially, nested near the Lion Hotel.

The hotel’s gold, Camilla said. The building’s brick is, is painted in gold. Actual gold. A lovely gold! Camilla screeched.

"People around here, at the time, thought Roscoe Lion was crazy when they found out what he was up to. What color he was to paint the building. But he proved us all, all of us wrong. Dead wrong. It, it’s a honey-of-a look—isn’t it? Unique. Different.

Roscoe, I refer to him by his first name. Uh, he had to hire out of town workers to work with the craftsmen the Crown provided him. Black workers building a masterpiece for a black man with a vision, Camilla, and tremendous confidence. Who ever thought that could happen in the Crown.

Camilla couldn’t wait to get inside the hotel. A room reserved for her.

The bellhop, Carlton Akins, had relieved Hawk of Camilla’s two suitcases as soon as the red Ford parked in front of the gold painted five-story building consisting of 52 rooms and an east and west wing division of equal number of rooms for its guests. The lobby stated the regal robustness of the Lion Hotel with its bed of thick, plush Oriental rugs of burgundy and gold intermixed colors, and a comfortable accommodation of a sitting area of tastefully hand carved and gilded mahogany chairs, and light iron wrought glass glazed coffee tables.

But what actually ruled over the lobby’s space and its marvelous murals and plasterwork before one got to the glistening hard wood reception desk to check in with the uniformed desk clerk, was the striking, breathtaking chandelier that dropped from a saucer domed ceiling of a rich, deep blue background, and lit the lobby majestically, a chandelier of crystal and a 24-Karat gold finish, 76 lights, and 84 inches in height.

And off to the right of the gold plated elevator, was a grand staircase of detailed ironwork and woodwork producing a balustrade of great finesse and craftsmanship, and for those hotel guests who elected to walk up or down its broad spun carpeted stairs, was the pleasure of the soft footpads and the staircase’s style and rhapsodic grandeur.

He was hotel help.

He was dashing madly down the corridor’s thick carpet, and didn’t look as if he was going to stop unless a hurricane knocked him head-on.

But Jimmy Green, rounding the corridor’s sharp corner in his sharp blue and gold braided hat and two-toned uniform, bumped into Earl Goode, the hat flipping off his head. It was quite an epic collision to say the least. There were two guests strolling down the corridor, farther away, who laughed amusingly at the incident, then continued their walk.

Sorry, sorry, Earl—but, but did you see her? D-did you see her, man! Jimmy said picking his hat up off the floor, having gotten the worst of the collision.

Her? Her? Who’s her?

The, dish! Dame! Chick! Hawk Thompson brought in here. Had holding onto his arm, man. Hawk Thompson!

Ain’t no dish that fine! Earl said, someone the same age as Jimmy Greene, nineteen, who trained him. To get you this excited, man!

Oh no, no…? Then, then go to room 222, t-then, and knock on her door, and when she opens it, b-be prepared to be knocked out your socks, man. I-I ain’t jiving, Earl. ’Cause you ain’t seen nothing as fine as that dame, not in the movie shows, not on Main Land Street. And, shit, man, definitely nowhere in your dreams!

Earl Goode smirked like if he didn’t he might buy into Jimmy Green’s foolishness and that he wasn’t prepared to do: not for Jimmy Green!

Hey, another time, Jimmy. Another time. We’ll talk about it at another time. How’s that. All right with you?

Hawk had left the suite of room’s minutes earlier.

And now Camilla had the opportunity to sink into the room’s warm, intimate personality, the light green-striped couch and the olive antique green rug, and the white and bright yellow accents balancing the living room’s décor imitating a charming summer day. The glass oval coffee table showcased the miniature sculpted swans of ivory finish with feathers in hues of gold and bronze. Each swan had decorative tassels adorning their neck. One swan’s neck was curved, the other stretched high and elegantly with a visible joy from her you could imagine hearing in the wild.

This was a living room large enough in scope and comfort for Camilla’s personal relaxation. And a bay window was there to afford her the ability to look down onto Main Land Street; the sun taking great advantage of it, shining gloriously through it. And with natural light and the well-lit room, this was a room she was going to love staying in and, undoubtedly, further enjoy.

Once again her mind was restless with this time being to herself, not unlike how she was on the connecting trains between Oklahoma and California, her trip through mountains and land she’d not ever seen but gushed at each time she saw another incidence of nature that made her worries feel small and silly in comparison.

If her mother Estelle Barrett Valentine were alive, today’s trip and arrival to Los Angeles would not have happened. She would have opposed the idea, and then ultimately blocked it. But Estelle Valentine had been deceased for five years and Camilla missed her like she’d died only yesterday: their mother/daughter tie that powerful. But it was her brother Thomas whom objected to her taking the train here not her father. He supported her. Cain Theodore Valentine championed her cause.

Knock.

Camilla rushed to the front door, but was smart enough to peek through the peephole first before opening it. In a way, she’d wished she’d removed her peacock feathered hat, but, as yet, hadn’t.

Yes?

I’m Roscoe Lion. The gentleman laughed. And carrying the credentials on me to prove it.

But Camilla laughed since, for some reason, she could smell success and wealth when she saw it, even through a peephole. Camilla proceeded in opening the door.

Ms. Valentine, you are what Hawk claimed you were. Without any need for exceeding exaggeration. Or, touch of mistruth.

W-what do you mean, Mr. Lion? Camilla asked, standing off to the side of the open door.

You’re beautiful, that’s what I mean, Ms. Valentine. Simply stated.

Of course this was the story of Camilla’s life in Freeport.

I’d like to formally introduce myself to you, if I may?

That would be perfectly fine, Mr. Lion. Yes, sir.

So in one sweeping gesture, Roscoe Lion bowed before Camilla. Is that what they do in Freeport, Oklahoma, Ms. Valentine?

I can only pretend as much, Mr. Lion.

Roscoe Lion, Ms. Valentine, the owner of the Lion Hotel, Lion beamed.

Camilla Valentine, a Lion Hotel guest.

Lion seemed more than pleased by this game of cat and mouse, and if he had mouse whiskers, not walrus sized ones, he’d probably flexed them by now. He was a tall, burly, hefty man who looked like he could wrestle an Oklahoma steer and win—hands down!

Hawk knows my hours better than I do. I’m sure it’s the only reason he ignored my office. Didn’t drop by to introduce us when you arrived, Miss Valentine. Pause.

Would you like to come in, Mr. Lion?

Why, I thought you’d never ask.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Lion said. So what do you think of your room, ma’am?

I was bowled over, Mr. Lion. Sir. It’s elegant and so, so tasteful. Oh, is it, Mr. Lion!

It was my desire to build a black hotel the likes of which this area had not seen. I am an ambitious soul, Ms. Valentine. I conceptualized such a hotel for accommodation and luxury. But by the same token, Miss Valentine, affordable to the Crown area’s residents and guests. That was a must. Pause.

I hope that I did not sound, just now, in any way too pompous or self-important. The expression of my concept.

Of course I don’t know the area, but your hotel certainly stands out, and the service is exquisite. And it certainly serves my needs, well.

You sound like a walking advertisement. May I quote you at a future date, Ms. Valentine, if, by chance, the hotel’s reputation should ever fall into disrepute?

Certainly, Mr. Lion. Why, by all means.

And what about the flowers?

Oh, I’m am sorry, sorry, Mr. Lion, Camilla said looking at the fresh cut flowers in two beautifully designed vases in the room, one on the mantelpiece and the other on a handsome side table. How could I forget to thank you for the flowers?

Courtesy of the hotel. After all, you will become less of a guest and more of a resident of the hotel. Something that is rare, I must add, but welcomed.

Pause.

Have you seen the last of Hawk today, ma’am?

Yes.

The trip, then…

It was exhausting, tiring, Mr. Lion. Sir. I do admit.

So you’ve only seen the Crown area, basically, in passing? From a car window?

Exactly. Yes.

You’ll love us, as I’m sure folk around here will love you. Lion smiled. It’s just a wild-eyed guess on my behalf. Haha.

Camilla really liked this distinguished-bearing man who looked to be in his early fifties, someone reminding her of her father, Cain Valentine, he too a self-made black man, maybe not as wealthy on paper as Roscoe Lion gave her reason to believe, but had made something out of himself on a ranch where hard work was, in a social context, the closest thing to godliness.

I imagine you want to sleep for forty days and forty nights? Do you agree?

It’s not out the question, sir.

Good afternoon then. I won’t intrude.

They walked past the aristocratic-looking floor vase accent with a wooden base and legs featuring a glass bowl, metal scrolls and elaborate finial. Reaching the door together, Camilla opened it for Lion.

Thank you, Ms. Valentine.

Back out in the corridor, Lion’s body performed another grandiose-sized sweep.

You are everything my staff said you were, Ms. Valentine. That, he said rising back up, and more. Much, much more—if you would pardon my brazenness, ma’am.

T-thank you, Mr. Lion. Sir.

And Lion strutted up the hallway whistling, his heaviness propelling him forward.

And the next time before I visit you in your room, Ms. Valentine. I will call first, he said over his shoulder, chuckling.

After shutting the door, Camilla rushed to the window and peered down onto Main Land Street, the sun less penetrative than earlier, but Camilla romancing the avenue with her own power—her power to believe she was in the midst of something special.

I love you already. Without a doubt. I knew I would. Even while living in Freeport. There’s nothing I would change. Not one.

In bed, and in a nightgown, the bed felt fluffy to Camilla, something she couldn’t fully define as to what it felt for this unique situation, but it was the right word for her in rendering how relaxed and grateful she was. Gray light had gradually darkened the bedroom, and the furniture was shaped in silhouette.

She felt safe, secure in the bedroom, not that she, earlier, did not have reservations. She’d eaten—so that was good. It was room service, and the plate of fish fillet and sundry vegetables was tasty and filling. She’d ordered from the Lion’s restaurant, the Lion’s Head. Eventually, she’d be dining in what Hawk had described as the most lavish room in the hotel, the Lion Head’s dining area, but that would be tomorrow, when she would begin to try to, in earnest, fully acclimate to the hotel.

Her father had made all of this possible. She was back to thinking of him and how much he supported her; needing little convincing, or arm twisting that she was a big girl now, that she could step outside of Freeport on her own and become a success at whatever it was she chose to do and, in this instance, it was acting. It was in Oklahoma City where she first saw an Oscar Micheaux motion picture. It was the first time she didn’t see colored actors portrayed as maids or servants or slaves; or in faraway African jungles with Tarzan and Jane and Boy and a chimpanzee named Cheetah and being presented as primitives, savages with spears and knives and bones in their noses; and a husky lust for a white man’s blood and a white woman’s blond beauty.

It was eye-opening her first-time experience viewing a Micheaux picture-show, the dignity of the characters and incredibility of some of the scenes that for her seemed to leap off the screen. She was that anxious to identify with a world she didn’t know but had discovered. So it created a spark in her to see more, to try to understand how she could become a part of it if possible.

And so movie magazines stood as her staple that came in the mail by mail order. She ordered them even over her mother’s protests, but over time her mother relented, letting her play out her fantasies in her bedroom atop her bed, looking at the white movie stars, male and female, wishing she were them; but not to wear their white, glossy skin but her own. She was proud of being black. She was proud of being who she was and the Valentine family who raised her no matter if their hue was light-bright-and-nearly-white, she wanted to be a black actress, someone who had nothing to prove but then everything to prove if she were to become an actress whether on screen or stage, this colored person who had beat high odds.

Camilla shut her eyes and began thinking of Roscoe Lion, and how many other wonderful characters she would meet on Main Land Street. But soon she was thinking of Hawk and just how handsome and well-bred and gentlemanly he was. She had to come to Los Angeles to find out if she could fall in love with him.

As of today, she didn’t know. But something, as a twenty-four-year old woman, she hoped to find out. She had no experience with men or with love. All she knew was her father trusted her to do what was right, it’s all she knew. It was the last thing he told her before boarding the train from Freeport to get there.

"Camilla, I trust you to do what’s right. How your mother and I raised you over the years. Your breeding here in our home."

CHAPTER 2

W hen Camilla woke, she thought she was draped in a fantasy, but, as quickly, put things back on track. She simply pawed at her eyes, yawned (the same routine she followed every morning on the ranch), then declared: I’m in Los Angeles. That’s all. After pushing that reality aside, she felt it a joyful morning, one she looked forward to with great urgency and interest.

The only disadvantage was she didn’t know the time. There was a wall clock in the living room, one that had a soft, alert chime, but no clock in