“What’s that got to do with me?” she asked sharply, all the anger and frustration of the day reaching a boiling point. “Take me home!”
“Sure, but not right away. I feel responsible for what happened. I can’t just dump you in this condition. Do you know anything about cactus thorns?”
“Only that they hurt,” she said, wincing as she touched her throbbing thigh.
“Where are you from?”
“The East Coast.”
“Then I can assume this is the first time you have fallen into a bed of cactus?”
“Yes, and I hope my last!”
“Well, there are some things about cactus thorns you ought to know about. They have little barbs on the end like tiny fish hooks. When I yanked the prickly pear leaf off your leg, I’m sure some of the thorns broke off and stayed under the skin. They’ll itch and fester and cause you all kinds of problems if you leave them there. We need to get them out right away.”
Natalie felt new tears forming. She gritted her teeth, wishing she had never met Kirk Trammer.
He followed winding roads up into the hills north of Bel Air. Finally they pulled into the driveway of a big, ramshackle old frame house. “Come on,” he said, helping her out of the station wagon. “Let’s see if we can give you some first aid.”
All of her will had drained out of her. Numbly, she allowed him to lead her into the house, limping as she walked. Her leg felt as if it were on fire.
He switched on the lights as they entered the hallway, then directed her into a large room off to the right. It appeared to be a kind of study or work room. The walls were covered with old movie posters and glossy stills. Papers and books were stacked everywhere. On one table was a Moviola—a film editing machine.
“I think it would be best for you to sit here,” he said gently, leading her to a straight-back chair. As angry as she was with him, she couldn’t help but appreciate the kind, gentle concern he was showing. Under normal circumstances, her shyness and uneasiness around men would have made her painfully uptight, being alone in this big old house with just Kirk. But he was treating her with the chivalry and tenderness of an older brother. And her pain and emotional exhaustion gave her a sense of detachment from reality. The day seemed so outrageous, it was like playing a part in some kind of ridiculous slapstick comedy.
When she was seated in the chair, he knelt beside her. “Now if you don’t mind, let’s see how bad that leg is.”
Natalie suddenly realized she was still wearing that ridiculous evening dress. It was in shambles, torn and covered with dust. Kirk lifted the hem, rolling it up above her knees.
The situation suddenly took on a sharp reality. Natalie felt a rush of blood to her cheeks as her long, sleek legs were bared. Her modesty was in shambles. She swallowed and her breathing felt strained. She forgot all about her pain in the acute awareness of Kirk, kneeling beside her, gazing at her uncovered thigh. But he was somehow maintaining an impersonal air, like a physician examining a wound.
“This may sting a little, but you’ll feel better when we get those thorns out,” he promised. He went off to a bathroom and came back with a pair of tweezers. He moved a floor lamp closer for better light. Again he knelt beside her. His left hand grasped her thigh, holding the area firmly as he began plucking out the thorns.
Her anger was dissolving in the warmth that spread from the touch of his hand all through her body like a soft, pulsating glow. Once again she had to deal with the effect his attractiveness had on her. She found it impossible to look at anything except his hands intimately touching her thigh as he carefully, gently removed the thorns. His fingers were long, like those of an artist, and had the strength of a craftsman. They were the kind of fingers that could hold a chisel as they carved an exquisite statue out of marble. The nails were kept short and clean. Dark hairs curled above the knuckles.
Her churning emotions fantasized those masculine hands taking more liberties, exploring her thighs with an intoxicating caress, finding delicate areas of heightened response, searching for a secret pocket of warmth that could set her entire body aflame. She felt both shocked and stimulated by the throbbing fantasies.
If there was pain involved in removing the thorns, she was no longer aware of it. She found such pleasure in his touch that she wanted the operation to go on indefinitely.
But after twenty minutes, he looked up, smiling. “Looks like we got all of them. Feel better?”
“Yes,” she mumbled. Now, in a sudden, painful return of modesty, she covered her legs.
“I guess you’d like to get out of that costume,” he said. “If you want to clean up and change, the bathroom is at the end of the hall.”
He went out to the car and brought her the jeans and blouse she had worn to the desert location. In the bathroom, she stared aghast at her reflection in the mirror. The caked dust on her face had turned her into a caricature. She washed her hair and face, then spent the next half hour soaking in a tub of warm, soapy water. With a thick towel, she dried herself until her entire body was a glowing, tingling pink. She dressed in her jeans and blouse, checked the mirror and was pleased at what she now saw.
As she was leaving the bathroom, she became aware of a piano playing a familiar melody. Intrigued, she followed the sound to one of the spacious old rooms on the other side of the hall. She stood in the doorway, surprised to find Kirk at the keyboard of a battered upright. He was playing the old standard, “As Time Goes By.”
Natalie leaned against the piano, watching his fingers move skillfully over the keyboard, impressed at how good he was. When he finished the romantic melody with a flourish, he looked up, smiling. Their eyes met. Natalie smiled. She said softly, “Play it again, Sam.”
Kirk chuckled. “Bogart didn’t really say that in Casablanca, you know.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I know. But he should have.”
Kirk rose. “Are you hungry?”
She suddenly realized she was famished.
He led her to the kitchen where he had arranged a platter of fruit, cheese, cold meats and wine.
With his courtly air, he pulled out a chair and seated her at the kitchen table. “Where did you learn to play the piano like that?” Natalie asked.
“The usual way. When I was a kid my parents made me take lessons. I hated practicing, but they made me keep at it. One day it dawned on me that I loved music. I’ve been grateful to my parents ever since. Now I pay part of my tuition expenses by playing with a jazz group on weekends.”
“Did you grow up here in California?”
“No, Arizona. How about you?”
“The East Coast. Long Island.”
“Umm.” He gave her one of his analytical, measuring looks. “Rich family, expensive finishing school, right?”
She blushed self-consciously. “Is it that apparent?”
“Certainly. The diction. The poise. The good manners. The aristocratic bearing. The Grace Kelly look.”
“You make me uncomfortable.”
“Why? I don’t mean to. I was just stating a fact. Most women would take it as a compliment.”
“Yes, I suppose they would.”
There was a comfortable silence as she tasted the cold fruit and had a sip of wine. It was an inexpensive domestic brand, but delicious. She lingered for a moment with the thought of how strangely relaxed she was with him now. She said, “You’re quite a different person from when you were directing the filming out in the desert.”
“Oh? In what way?”
“You’re more human now. Out there...well, something seemed to be driving you.”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” he said thoughtfully. “Making motion pictures is my life now. You don’t do anything well unless you lose yourself completely in it. You have to throw everything you have into it, forgetting everything else except the effect you’re striving for. I intend to make some great motion pictures. You don’t do that by playing at it. You have to be totally dedicated...committed.”
She was
riveted by the intensity in his eyes, fascinated by it, intrigued and a bit intimidated. She was not accustomed to such inflamed ambition. But then she thought that “ambition” was not a good description. She sensed more of a purpose, a mission almost amounting to zeal in his attitude. “Have—have you always felt this way?”
He laughed. “Lord, no. Until I went into the military, I was just a kid out looking for a good time. I didn’t give a thought to the future or what I wanted to do with my life. I just scraped through school with barely passing grades. I was a motion picture and TV junkie. Instead of doing my homework, I spent my time in movie theaters. One Christmas my folks gave me a movie camera. I turned the kids in the neighborhood into a production company. I spent all my allowance on film, making amateur home movies. But it was all just a game. I never considered seriously getting into the movie industry. I was having too much fun chasing around the country on my motorcycle. Then there was a hitch in the service...Viet Nam. When I came back, I was wilder than ever, trying to make up for the fun I’d been missing, I guess. Bought a brand new motorcycle, the most powerful on the market. One day I missed a turn, plowed into a tree. It was a bad wreck. A good friend riding with me was killed....”
Natalie saw something wrench in his eyes like the twisting agony of a deep wound. He took a swallow of his wine. “Lying in the hospital with almost every bone in my body broken, I had a lot of time to do some thinking. For the first time, it dawned on me that I wasn’t going to live forever and maybe there was more to life besides just having a good time. Sounds kind of corny now when I try to explain it. All I know was something inside me was changed from that moment on. Somehow it had become important for me to do something with my life...maybe it had something to do with my friend who had been killed. When I finally got out of the hospital, I had a purpose, a direction for my life. It was kind of like one of those born-again experiences some people talk about. I wanted to go back to school. What would I study? Well, why not the thing that had interested me the most when I was growing up? My head was filled with the images, the fantasies, the myths of the movies, the TV stories, the comic books that I’d saturated myself with as a kid. I couldn’t think of anything I could put my whole self into except making movies.” He shrugged with a wry smile. “So here I am.”
Listening to Kirk, Natalie had lost all sense of time and place. His personality was overwhelming. She had no difficulty visualizing him taking command of a motion picture production company. As a director he would be a born commander, absolutely certain of where the film was going, listening to nothing except the creative voice within himself, seeing nothing except the vision in his own mind.
“Sorry if I’ve bored you, telling my life’s story,” he apologized. “I usually don’t go on like this. Must be because you’re such a good listener.”
“I wasn’t bored,” she exclaimed truthfully.
His riveting gaze swept over her. “How about you, Natalie? What has motivated the aristocratic beauty of East Coast society to become an actress? I thought debutantes like you married foreign royalty or the presidents of giant corporations.”
She felt a surge of anger. At times he had a talent for saying things that got under her skin. Was he doing it deliberately? “You seem to have put me into a convenient, shallow stereotype.”
“Sorry. Didn’t intend to insult you. I’m just curious about you.”
She frowned, looking away. She couldn’t explain to him or anybody the shaping of her life that had turned her into an actress. It was too personal, too painful. “Acting just happens to be the only thing I’m any good at,” she shrugged. Then her lips twisted in a wry smile. “I wouldn’t be any good married to foreign royalty or the head of a corporation conglomerate.”
“Touché.” He nodded, a strange kind of light in his eyes flaring as he gazed at her. “From what I’ve seen of your acting, you’ll have a bright career. You’re one of the lucky ones.”
“Lucky ones?”
“Yes...for some people, everything in life just falls into place effortlessly. Fate smiles on them.”
She frowned, not sure of what he meant and uncertain of how to pursue the matter. She changed direction slightly. “I didn’t have a chance to do much acting out there on the desert today! What on earth are you trying to do with that film, anyway?”
He waved a hand. “I’m sure it didn’t make much sense to you. Wait until we have it edited. I won’t try to explain until you see a finished cut.”
* * * * * * *
A week later, on campus, she caught sight of his bushy dark hair and lanky frame. He waved and headed in her direction. He was in his usual attire, Western boots and rumpled jeans. He had shadows under his eyes and a two-days’ growth of beard, the result of days and nights of intense editing work. “Hi. Just got our answer print. Would you like to see it?”
At first his words didn’t register. Her thoughts were too involved with seeing him again. For the past week she had been able to think of very little except Kirk Trammer. Never had a man made such an impression on her. He had cost her a lot of sleepless nights. Over and over she had asked herself the ageless question—was there such a thing as love at first sight? When she closed her eyes, his image was burned in her memory. Her ears were filled with the sound of his voice. She remembered the texture of his skin, the masculine smells that surrounded him, the intensity of his gaze that made her knees weaken. In her reverie, she recalled every word they had spoken. When she remembered how tenderly he had picked her up and carried her, her heart melted. She thought of how he had treated the cactus wound and the flesh of her thigh burned with the memory of his touch. She had gone around in a daze, wondering if he would call, if she would ever see him again.
And now, here he was, inches away, drenching her senses again with his closeness, drowning her emotions in his gaze. With an effort, she shook off her hypnotic state. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“The answer print,” he said. “I wondered if you’d like to come over to my place tonight to see it.”
“Forgive me, but what’s an answer print?”
“The first combined sound-and-picture print sent over to us from the lab for approval. You know, an approval print, a first-trial print.”
“Oh, yes. The desert film. Of course I’d like to see it!”
“Great.” He grinned enthusiastically. “I’ll pick you up at your dorm about seven. Okay?”
Happily, she hugged her armful of books. “Yes...okay.”
“How’s the leg?”
Her face warmed at the memory of him bending over her bared legs to treat the cactus wound. “It’s much better,” she stammered. “I guess you did the right thing, insisting on getting the thorns out.”
He smiled, his hazel eyes gazing directly into hers, sapping the strength from her knees. He reached out and touched her cheek gently, sending a shiver through her body. “See you tonight, then. We’ll stop off for hamburgers on the way.”
CHAPTER THREE
That night Natalie had found herself immersed in a crowd at Kirk’s rambling old house. Besides the student production company that had worked on the assignment with him, there were more than a dozen other students from the university’s cinema department, eager to see Kirk’s newest film. Natalie’s especially close friends, Bill, Sally, Linda and Ginny, were there. It was obvious to Natalie that, as Bill had said, Kirk was a legend on the campus. Word spread rapidly when he was making a film; everyone wanted to see his latest work. His student films had an originality and flair that set them entirely apart.
They gathered in Kirk’s makeshift projection room, sitting in groups on the floor. Kirk operated the projector. From the moment the screen lit up, the audience was hypnotized. Natalie found her attention riveted on the screen. Her emotions were dazzled by the visual effects Kirk had created. It was a moving, impressionistic experience, achieved with startling camera angles, montages, slow and fast motion. In one segment, stop-frame photography produced a moving display of clouds
roiling across the desert sky. When the scene merged into the one in which she was walking across the sand in the flowing evening gown suddenly caught in the man-made sand storm, she understood the effect of surprise and contrast Kirk had in mind. Now that day of madness on the desert made total sense. She felt respect for Kirk as a director who had known all along exactly what he was doing.
There was a moment of total silence when the film ended, followed by a burst of applause and excited conversation. For the next several hours, Kirk was in the center of an inspired group. Natalie felt isolated and somewhat out of place in this bunch of emerging moviemakers. She wandered around sipping a drink, wishing she could have Kirk to herself.
All the rooms on the ground floor of the old house had been converted into work areas. They were cluttered with books, papers, lighting and camera equipment. On one shelf, Natalie noticed a group of pictures of a strikingly beautiful young woman. In some of the pictures, the girl was with Kirk. One snapshot was a view of the two of them on a motorcycle. Several of the photographs were signed, “With love, Jacqueline.”
Natalie felt a peculiar twinge. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Kirk would be involved with someone. Now she was suddenly confronted with that situation and her emotions dipped in a cold lurch. Her feelings for Kirk were so new, so fragile, that she could not yet fully understand them herself. She wasn’t prepared for the wrenching shock she experienced at the sight of another woman in Kirk’s life, a woman who must be important to him or he wouldn’t have this shrine of pictures. Where was she? There was no one in the crowd here tonight answering her description. Was she a girl back in his home town?
Her chaotic thoughts were interrupted as she was joined by Bill Dentmen. “What did you think of Kirk’s film? It’s really something else, isn’t it?” he said enthusiastically. “Now maybe you’ll believe me. The guy’s a genius. You watch, Natalie. He’s going to hit the movie industry like a bombshell.”
“Yes,” she nodded, trying to organize her thoughts. “You’re a good friend of Kirk’s, aren’t you, Bill?”
The Movie Page 4
