The Movie

by Patti Beckman

  Bill nodded soberly. “It’s true that so far he hasn’t been able to get anyone to finance the project. But it would make a big difference if you agreed to play the lead. You’ve become such big box office that a studio would think twice before turning down a chance to produce the next Natalie Brooks film, even if Kirk Trammer is the director.”

  Natalie’s eyes widened. Suddenly she was furious. “So that’s why he’s persuaded you to try and talk me into doing the part in his film! He wants to use me to get a studio to take on his project. That lousy rat! It’s just the sort of thing Kirk Trammer would pull!”

  “Don’t be too hard on Kirk, Natalie,” her cousin, Ginny, interjected. “We’re all kind of guilty, I guess. Remember, back in school we made a pact to help each other. Whoever made it big in the industry would help the others so we could put our own production company together. Well, we’ve all done okay. We’ve all had our screen credits. But you’re the one who really hit the big time in a hurry. I know it’s selfish of us to try to twist your arm over this, but it would be a great opportunity for all of us.”

  Natalie glared at her cousin. “You’re not fair, putting me on the spot like that! If it were anybody except Kirk, you know I’d do anything to help you guys. I owe you. You were the first really close friends I ever had. And I’d love to have our own production company. It would be fantastic to do some of the things we’ve talked about, to have the creative freedom without a bunch of studio executives getting in the way. But I’d just be letting myself in for a fresh load of grief with Kirk.”

  “Couldn’t you just deal with him on a professional level? Keep your personal lives out of it?” Ginny asked.

  “Ha!” Natalie sneered. “You know what dealing with Kirk Trammer on a film set is like. Swimming around in a tank full of sharks is easier on the nerves. There is no such thing as staying impersonal with that man.”

  “Well, look, Natalie,” Bill said, “do this much for us. Take the story home. Look it over. Kirk is on the East Coast this week, checking on some possible financing. He’ll be back on Friday. We’re going to get together here again Friday night and kick this whole thing around some more. Give it some prayerful consideration in the meantime and come out on Friday. Maybe by then you’ll reconsider.”

  He had sentenced her to a number of sleepless nights. When she got home, she read Kirk’s story synopsis.

  The title was The Last Encounter. It was a love story played out against a background of international intrigue. The hero was Clay Winters, a dashing space-age scientist. The heroine was Rebecca Abrahms, an Israeli news correspondent. The other woman in the story was a beautiful, dark-eyed Russian KGB agent, Nichole Nikova.

  There were dramatic visual effects as the story opened with scenes in outer space. In the story the American space program is completing work on a giant space station. There would be shots of the space shuttles, astronauts working in space suits and dramatic views of the interior of the space station. Clay Winters is a civilian scientist employed by NASA. He meets Rebecca Abrahms on the space station. She is with a news media group that has arrived by space shuttle to write firsthand news stories about the space station.

  The station will play a decisive role in world peace: it contains a sensing device which can discover a nuclear rocket launch anywhere in the world and immediately destroy it with a laser beam. Thus it has ended the threat of nuclear war, and all the world powers have dismantled their nuclear warheads.

  Clay Winters, who played an important part in the design and construction of the space station, meets Rebecca Abrahms and falls in love with her. There is something mysterious about the woman. Rebecca’s parents were killed in a bombing raid. Her husband was captured by the Syrians and she doesn’t know if he’s dead or alive. She tries not to become involved with Clay Winters. After completing her news story on the space station, she flies to Rio de Janeiro on another assignment. Clay follows her there. There are love scenes between Clay and Rebecca shot during the colorful four-day Mardi Gras-type Carnival.

  At this point the beautiful Russian KGB agent, Nichole Nikova, enters the story. She encounters Clay and warns him that there is a plot to destroy the space station. A small Middle-Eastern country such as Iran has developed a nuclear weapon. If that country can eliminate the space station guardian device, it can then blackmail the major powers with the threat of sending the nuclear rocket to destroy major cities. Nichole believes Rebecca has knowledge of the plot. Rebecca again flees, this time to the Middle East, where the story builds to a climax in a setting of that strife-torn region.

  It was as Bill described, a potential blockbuster.

  From a professional standpoint, Natalie thought she would have no qualms about accepting the lead role. It could be the biggest movie of the year. But that did not alleviate her conflict. How could she agree to an arrangement that would put her in daily contact with Kirk? Every day would turn into a devastating, heart-wrenching experience.

  She tossed and turned. Sleep was out of the question. From a standpoint of self-interest, the solution was obvious: She should firmly refuse to have anything to do with the matter. But that’s where the conflict came in. She thought about her friends who saw this as the opportunity they had dreamed about, a chance to form their own movie company. And there was Kirk. What would become of him if every studio turned him down? Would he ever get another opportunity to direct a major film? Would it be the final blow to his career?

  Then she asked herself, why should it matter to her? Why should she get involved? She owed Kirk nothing. Why cause herself more grief over him?

  Did she have some feeling left for him, enough so that she couldn’t just stand by and see his dreams die? After all, she had shared her life with him for six years. No matter how angry she was with him, she couldn’t completely wipe that out. Being married somehow left the indelible imprint of the other person on one’s life forever.

  She dreaded to see Friday come around. Her emotions were in a turmoil. She didn’t want to go back to Malibu, but she couldn’t stay away. Again she dressed in beach clothes, a different sarong-and-swimsuit combination. She spent extra time with her hair and makeup. Knowing that she was going to meet Kirk face-to-face was causing her the worst case of stage fright she had ever experienced. Her emotions were a battleground of anticipation and dread. A half dozen times on the way out to Malibu, she stopped her car to turn around. But a force stronger than her will took over and steered the car back on its fateful journey. Her hands on the wheel were like ice. Her knuckles were white.

  She arrived at the Dentmens’ house early and had a drink with Sally and Bill, chatting nervously as the others arrived, first Linda Towers, then Ginny Wells. There appeared to be an unspoken agreement to steer clear of the subject of Kirk and the movie project.

  They were on the deck about sunset when she caught sight of a familiar figure striding up the beach toward them.

  All of her senses froze. Her breath was suspended. Her first response was that her eyes were playing a trick on her. Many times in the past two years she had seen a tall, broad-shouldered man at a distance and thought for certain it was Kirk, only to have him turn around to reveal a total stranger. But this person drew closer and his features became clearer and there could no longer be a mistake.

  Yes, it was Kirk.

  He came up on the deck, flashing a smile, greeting everyone by name. His attire was like always, casual and rumpled as if he considered clothing no more than an irritating necessity. He had made a concession to the beach setting by wearing canvas deck shoes instead of his usual run-down Western boots. His tan sport shirt hung loose and unbuttoned. A piece of cord took the place of a belt at the waist of his sailcloth beach slacks. He looked like a suntanned beachcomber.

  Natalie was overwhelmed by a jumble of impressions: his strong, tanned forearms, the impatient fingers brushing back the rebellious shock of dark hair, the blazing, golden hazel eyes that sent a jolt through her like a lightning bolt.

  I
t was an awkward moment for both of them. But Kirk managed to break the ice. “Hello, Natalie,” he said in an even voice.

  Natalie swallowed hard and nodded, unable to use her voice. She had instinctively risen to her feet, perhaps from a primitive instinct to flee. Her legs trembled, barely able to support her. Time had dimmed somewhat her remembrance of how she could be overwhelmed by his presence. Now the memory came back in a rush. The familiar scent of his cologne, the magnetism that radiated from him like a force field, the almost imperceptible heat of his body, reminded her with nerve-shattering clarity of the impact he had on her. She tried to drag her gaze from his but couldn’t. God, don’t let him touch me, she prayed. But he did. His hand reached out hesitantly and made contact with hers, sending agonizing shock waves through her body.

  Her flesh came alive with memories of his touch. Her breasts tingled, affected by the countless times his hands had cupped them and his lips had known their yielding curves and taut nipples.

  She reacted to the exquisite shock of his touch with a wave of longing that made her dizzy. She was furious with herself that she would respond like this.

  Hadn’t he hurt her enough? But reason didn’t matter. She did still want him in the same old way. Was she still in love with him? It was not a question she could answer. Perhaps he had killed that, but the primitive desire for him was as overwhelming and fresh as the first time they had made love. Oh, damn him! she thought helplessly. No other man could ever arouse her as he could.

  Drinks and hors d’oeuvres were served. There was an obviously strained attempt at bright conversation. Natalie sat huddled in her chair, a glass clutched in her cold hands.

  She found it impossible not to look at Kirk. As Bill had said, the sojourn in Europe had been good for him. He looked tanned and healthy. It was easy to see that his morale had been restored.

  He was slouched comfortably in a deck chair, looking totally relaxed. His unbuttoned shirt hung open, revealing the bared ridges of chest muscles. Natalie’s gaze was drawn hypnotically from his chest down to his navel and the whirl of hair just below and she was conscious of a fresh, thick clutch of desire. Furious with her own weakness, she gulped her drink, then had a temporary coughing spell as she became strangled.

  At one point in the conversation, he turned to her. “I saw a preview of Never Tomorrow. In spite of the fact that they handled most of the scenes all wrong, your acting saved the picture. Congratulations.”

  “I suppose you would have directed the picture differently?” she said coolly.

  “Certainly. I can’t understand the studio spending money on a production like that and hiring someone like Will Baxley to direct. He should be running a public relations office instead of directing a major film.”

  Natalie felt a sting of annoyance at Kirk’s cocksure attitude. At the same time, she had to admit he was right. Baxley was a miserable director. Only expert editing had saved the picture. She mentally compared Baxley’s style with Kirk’s. Will Baxley’s main concern was staying in the good graces of the studio heads, keeping within the budget and shooting-time schedule, and keeping the cast in a good mood. He often let them flounder through a scene with no real sense of purpose while he was leaning over backward not to ruffle anyone’s feelings. Kirk, on the other hand, was a dictator on the set. He kept everyone, from the stars to the gaffers, in a turmoil. He demanded the effect he was striving for, refusing to settle for one iota less than perfection.

  “Tell us about Europe, Kirk,” Sally Dentmen exclaimed in an effort to steer the conversation toward safer, less personal ground.

  Natalie was grateful that she could avoid further dialogue with Kirk. She drew back in the shadows, allowing the party to center around Kirk and the others. She put her drink down and quietly slipped away, strolling down to the beach along the water’s edge. A full moon cast its silver light over the sand and glistening waves. A soft breeze stirred her hair and played with her sarong as she walked. She was trying to grasp some composure from the peaceful scene around her.

  Suddenly a hand touched her arm. She gasped and spun around. Kirk’s figure, a tall silhouette in the moonlight, confronted her.

  “Sorry, Lucky. Didn’t mean to frighten you,” he murmured.

  Despite the shadows, she could feel his burning gaze rake her, from her wind-tossed hair down to her bare midriff. Instinctively, she reached down to clasp the sarong that had parted above the knees to reveal the curves of her legs.

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me that nickname,” she said irritably. “You know I don’t like it.”

  “I forgot. Fits you, though. Things are going real fine for you career-wise, the way I predicted. Everything you touch turns to gold.”

  “Why did you follow me?” she demanded.

  “You wanted to be alone?”

  “Wasn’t it obvious that’s why I left the party?”

  There was a strained silence as their gazes clashed. He sighed. “Natalie, I can understand how you feel, but we need to talk. Bill said they’ve discussed with you the matter of your playing the lead in the film we’re going to do.”

  “Yes.”

  “What have you decided?”

  “I haven’t made a decision. I don’t really think I should do it.”

  “Why not? It’s a fine part for you. Have you read the story synopsis?”

  “Yes. It’s a good story. I can see the possibilities. But I don’t like the idea of being used. You only want me for the part because you know that’s the only way you’re going to get a studio to take on your project.”

  He scowled darkly. “That’s not true. All of us agree the part is made for you. I don’t need your help to get studio backing.”

  “You’re whistling in the dark. My agent told me there isn’t a studio on the West Coast that will touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

  “Ira would say that. He never had any use for me. Still, if you like the story and the part, what difference does it make? The production could do a lot for your career as well as ours. It would benefit us all.” He grinned crookedly. “Maybe some of your luck would rub off.”

  Natalie fought hard to hold back her tears. “I think at this point what would benefit me most would be to end this farce of a marriage. It’s really our lawyers who need to talk, don’t you agree?”

  His face grew darker than the shadows. He frowned, impaling her with a fierce look. “I don’t remember saying anything about a divorce.”

  Natalie shook her head in disbelief. “You take off for Europe for two years. I don’t hear one word from you. Do you have the gall to think you can casually come back when the mood strikes you and find me waiting with open arms?”

  He looked out across the moving waves, a dark grimace crossing his face. “It was a turning point in my life, my career. Everything went sour for me. I had run into a stone wall. I was desperate. I wasn’t any good to you or myself anymore. I had to be by myself for a while, to sort matters out, to get my life back on track. If you love me, you should understand that.”

  “If somebody loves somebody, he doesn’t desert them,” she choked, no longer able to control her tears.

  “Natalie, take your share of the blame. You know our marriage was coming apart at the seams. You were all wrapped up in your career. You were gone all the time.”

  All the bitter memories of their separation brought an angry retort to her lips. She thought about his motion picture, The Two of Us, a tribute to his lost love, Jacqueline, and how it had hurt and humiliated her. And she remembered the ugly gossip about Kirk and the actress who had played the lead in his film. But she swallowed the words. She was not going to lower herself to a name-calling harangue.

  Kirk’s gaze suddenly swung back to her, immobilizing her with fierce intensity. There were times he could look at her so ferociously it frightened her. He said hoarsely, “It’s no easier for me to live with you than for you to live with me—you with that cool, iceberg reserve they taught you in finishing school. We’re two volatile,
creative people, Natalie. Putting us in the confines of marriage is like trying to contain a forest fire.”

  There was a moment of silence as tense as high wires strained to the breaking point. Suddenly he grasped her arms, pulled her close. Wide-eyed she stared up at his face, inches away, seeing his angrily knotting jaw, the fire raging in his eyes. Then his mouth came down on hers with a fierce, savage hunger. She was totally his captive. If she were an iceberg, the fire of his kiss was a torch cutting through the ice. She was like a helpless doll in his powerful arms. She felt every curve of her body pressed against his relentless masculine physique. Rational thought was blotted out. She dissolved into a universe of emotion and sensation. She heard her own gasp as his lips stirred the embers of repressed passions. His hands slid down her back, as if seeking to remember the curves. Her heart pounded. She tried to protest as she became aware of his fingers slipping under the waistband of her sarong in search of her quivering hips.

  “Don’t...,” she gasped.

  But he continued to explore relentlessly the curves, creases and hollows under her sarong, his palms moving over quivering bare flesh, seeking out remembered secrets. Her breath was rasping in her throat as he pulled her halter top down. The damp, salty air washed over her bared breasts. He nuzzled her bosom, then tasted the pink-tipped fruits of their lush globes.

  Natalie dug her fingers in his hair, gasping for breath, her body lurching against his. Her muscles had become liquid, drained of strength.

  His chuckle was low and triumphant in his throat. “You still love me, Natalie.”

  “I don’t,” she choked, beginning to cry. “You destroyed that, Kirk.” But she wondered if it was true.

  “Whether you love me or not, you still want me like before, as much as ever!”