The Movie

by Patti Beckman

  Ginny, wearing a blue jumpsuit and a scarf around her head, looked disheveled and harassed. “Just what I need,” she exclaimed. “This thing is driving me nuts. You guys keep working on that park area until you get it right,” she told the crew hovered over the miniature set. “Those trees look like something from a Barbie Doll kit!”

  She paused before a mirror and muttered under her breath as she wiped a smudge from her freckled nose. Then she grabbed Natalie’s arm and led the way to the coffee shop.

  Seated in a booth with drinks before them, Ginger asked, “Well, how did it go?”

  Natalie shook her head. “It didn’t. Sam Kasserman turned it down.”

  Ginger’s lively countenance fell. “Oh, heck. We had big hopes—what’s wrong with Kasserman anyway? Can’t he see the fantastic possibilities of the story?”

  Natalie sighed. “He’s afraid to take the chance. Kirk’s reputation isn’t helping any. Sam thinks Kirk would run way over budget. It’s too big a gamble. I think part of it is that Sam knows David Clawson is after his scalp. A costly blunder could give Clawson the leverage he needs with the board of directors to get Sam fired.” Natalie paused, then added, “The only way he’d consider the project would be for me to take the lead role. He thinks my name would sell enough tickets to take out some of the risk.”

  Ginger toyed with her glass. “It would, you know. I wish you’d change your mind. It would be such a great part for you.”

  “It’s asking too much. I’m a nervous wreck already. Why should I get so upset because they turned Kirk down?”

  “Maybe because you still care what becomes of him,” Ginger suggested softly.

  Natalie sighed, blinking back tears. “It’s true. And that’s exactly why I don’t want to put myself in a position of working on a picture with him, where I’d be around him every day. I’d just be asking for more heartbreak. Ginger, I’ve never talked about this with anyone before, but you and I are as close as sisters. Everybody thinks the trouble between Kirk and me began when he went off to Europe. That was just the last straw. The trouble with us began a long time ago. It was a mistake for us ever to get married in the first place when Kirk was still in love with somebody else.”

  Ginger looked startled. “But—”

  “No, I didn’t have a flesh-and-blood rival, Ginger. I don’t believe Kirk ever got over his first love, Jacqueline Davis.”

  “The girl who was killed in the motorcycle accident?”

  “Yes. They were planning to get married, you know. Kirk tried to forget her, but he never did. I think he hoped marrying me would help him get over her. When that didn’t work, he tried to bring her back to life on the screen.”

  “His movie, The Two of Us?” Ginger asked in surprise.

  “Certainly. You remember the plot. The hero in love with a beautiful, sensitive girl who wanted to be a singer and at the end she dies. It was the real-life story of Jacqueline Davis. He even cast Marsha Sanders, an unknown actress, for the lead. She’s a dead ringer for Jacqueline!”

  “You could be building this up in your mind, Natalie. Writers and movie producers sometimes use material out of their lives for the stories they create.”

  “It’s more than that. Remember how Barbra Streisand said she created the father she longed to have when she wrote and directed Yentl? Kirk was reliving his past with Jacqueline while he was doing the film. Afterward, he had an affair with Marsha because she played the role so convincingly. To him she became Jacqueline.”

  Ginger exclaimed impatiently, “Surely you don’t believe that scandal sheet gossip about Kirk and Marsha Sanders! There wasn’t a word of truth in it.”

  “Are you positive?”

  “Well, I guess I couldn’t swear to it on the witness stand,” Ginger admitted uncomfortably. “I just don’t think it’s true.”

  “At this point, it doesn’t matter,” Natalie stated wistfully. “By now there’s too big a rift between Kirk and me to ever be patched up.”

  There was a pause in their conversation. Then Ginger said hopefully, “Continental Films isn’t the only studio in town. Maybe Kirk can get backing somewhere else.”

  “Maybe, but I’m afraid it’s going to be the same wherever he goes. Did somebody tell him I was showing the story treatment to Continental?”

  “Yes, Bill told him he and Sally were doing the story treatment and you would try to interest Continental Films.”

  “Then he’s pacing the floor, waiting to hear how it turned out.” Natalie chewed her bottom lip. In spite of their breakup, she still cared enough about Kirk to want to be kind. “I’d better break the news to him as gently as I can. Do you know where I can reach him?”

  “He’s staying at a house about a mile down the beach from the Dentmens. Do you remember Toby Calkins, the cinematographer we went to school with?”

  “Two-ton Toby?” Natalie smiled. “Sure, I remember him. Is he still fat?”

  “Fatter. Anyway, he’s done quite well since school. Right now he’s chief photographer on a location job out of state. He lent his Malibu beach house to Kirk while he’s away. I have the address. There’s no phone, though.”

  They talked for a while longer, then Ginger had to get back to work. Natalie gathered her courage and drove out to Malibu. Following Ginger’s directions, she found the beach house where Kirk was staying.

  She knocked on the door but there was no answer. She turned to leave, then saw Kirk coming across the beach. He had been swimming. She felt the quickening rhythm of her heart as her gaze was drawn to his lean, broad-shouldered figure clad only in swimming trunks. His days on the beach had given him a golden tan. His wet body glistened in the sunlight. Natalie saw the ripple of his muscles as he came toward her in long strides. He was breathing hard from the swim.

  Her wide-eyed gaze was pulled magnetically to the lithe outlines of his body. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him almost naked. He looked like a golden Greek god. A god of pagan desire, she thought as her breath caught in her throat. It was impossible to pull her gaze from the sight of his moving legs, his muscled torso, his swinging hips, his broad, strong shoulders. How many times she had nestled her cheek against those shoulders! How often those strong arms had encircled her! How many times that magnificent body had pressed down on hers, asking for surrender gladly given!

  Remembering all that now, she was clutched by the familiar surge of desire. She was enslaved by it.

  “Well, this is an unexpected but pleasant surprise,” he said, coming up to her. “Hello, Natalie.”

  Surely he must hear the hammering of her heart!

  “Hello.” She hoped the quiver in her voice had not been noticed.

  A towel was draped around his neck. He rubbed his wet, unruly hair. “Come on in and have a drink.”

  She followed, marveling at her lack of willpower. Around him, she fell under a spell that robbed her of the ability to marshal her thoughts.

  “Beer okay? That’s all I seem to have on hand at the moment.”

  “That’s fine.”

  He disappeared into the kitchen and returned shortly carrying two tall, frosted glasses filled with golden, foaming liquid.

  Natalie sat tensely in a wicker chair near a great picture window that afforded a magnificent view of the ocean. But she was oblivious to the scenic vista. Kirk, still wearing only his swimming trunks, had taken his place on a couch that faced her. His long legs were sprawled in a comfortable position. He looked loose and relaxed. Natalie’s traitorous thoughts remembered the strength in his arms and legs. She fought against remembering the intimate knowledge she had of him and failed. Flashbacks exploded in her mind like displays of fireworks: a montage of recollections; the texture of his skin; the faint stubble on his jaw rubbing her cheek; the pressure of his arms around her bare back; the straining of her body against his.

  Her face grew hot. With a feeling of desperation, she asked herself what insane impulse had brought her out here alone. But then she never did have good sense where K
irk Trammer was concerned.

  Now he was gazing at her with a bright, eager expression in his dark eyes. “Bill told me you were taking the story treatment to Continental this week. Have you heard from Sam Kasserman?”

  Natalie’s mouth felt dry. She took a sip of the drink to moisten her lips. “Yes.” She hesitated, then added, “That’s why I came out to talk to you.”

  Kirk put his drink down and leaned forward expectantly. The look on his face wrenched Natalie’s heart. There were moments when he could look almost boyish in his eagerness. This was one of those times. The full reality of this situation brought a sinking sensation to her stomach. It was frightening to consider how much Kirk had at stake here. His future hung in the balance. What would become of him now? Would he go back to Europe? Would he become defeated and fade into obscurity? No matter what people in the industry thought of Kirk—that he was temperamental, hard to deal with, impractical, extravagant—and no matter what grief her personal life with him had brought her, she knew that Kirk had a tremendous talent. Given the chance with this production, he could bring a whole new, original vision to the film industry. Now it was her bitter task to break the sad news.

  She drew a breath, gathered her courage and said, “Kirk, I’m sorry. Kasserman turned it down.”

  A series of emotions flashed across Kirk’s eyes—shock, pain, anger. He uncoiled his lanky, six-foot frame from the couch and paced the room, rubbing the back of his neck. He struck his left palm with his right fist. “That nearsighted jerk!” he exclaimed. “Can’t he see the possibilities in this production?”

  “It isn’t that. He thinks it’s a good story, Kirk. It’s you he’s afraid of.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Kirk said impatiently. “The Two of Us. Is that going to haunt me the rest of my life? Okay, it wasn’t big box office. It was still a work of art. It won awards at film festivals all over Europe.”

  Natalie made a helpless gesture. It wasn’t only the money the studio had lost on Kirk’s second film; it was his reckless disregard of budget limitations and his stubborn independence that put him on the blacklist with studio heads.

  “Well, to hell with Continental!” Kirk raged. “There are a dozen major studios in this city.”

  Natalie nodded. “Sure,” she said, but her voice was hollow.

  The anger suddenly dissolved from Kirk’s eyes. He collapsed onto the couch, withdrawing into one of his dark, brooding silences.

  Defeat was like a dark cloud settling over him. Natalie felt helpless and depressed. Finally she said, “Well, I have to be leaving.”

  With a visible effort, Kirk shook off his black mood. “Don’t go yet, Natalie. Would you stick around and let me take you out for dinner? We could drive down the coast to that little seafood place you used to like so much.”

  Warning signals went off in Natalie’s thoughts. But the look on Kirk’s face melted her caution. His morale had suffered a dreadful blow. He desperately needed someone to be with him tonight.

  “All right,” she agreed against her better judgment.

  “Give me a few minutes to take a shower and get dressed. There are some books and records over there, or the TV—”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  In a half hour he emerged from the bedroom, freshly showered and shaved, dressed in new, crisp slacks and sport shirt. He looked achingly handsome and masculine. The sight of him, so clean and bright and manly, smelling of a woody after-shave lotion, made her weak. Spending the evening with him was going to play havoc with her emotions. She was being an utter fool to do this.

  But it was too late to back out now. She handed him the keys to her car. Sitting beside him as they sped down the freeway, she settled into her bucket seat, her gaze straying to his strong, capable fingers gripping the wheel. He took command of the vehicle the way he dominated a movie set. It gave her a sense of security, a feeling that he could protect her from any dangers of the outside world. It would be easy to relax her guard, to be lulled into forgetting the real danger was in surrendering to this false island of safety close to him.

  The small seafood restaurant on the waterfront served excellent food and gave her a measure of privacy. They were seated in a secluded booth where their meal wouldn’t be interrupted by movie fans.

  “This reminds me of that place in the south of France,” Kirk said. “We were riding high then, remember? The Home Front was breaking box office records. I had more money than I thought there was in the world. You had signed a contract to do the TV series. We chartered the yacht and anchored in the yacht basin in a little seacoast port. We went ashore to the same café every night. A family operated it. They cooked all our favorite dishes, got out their best wine.”

  “Yes, and the father would come over to the table and tell us hair-raising stories about his adventures in the French Underground during World War II. I think they were slightly exaggerated.”

  “It doesn’t matter. They were still great stories. I think we got along with them so well because your finishing school French was so fluent. We’d get a little tipsy on all that good wine and afterward walk along the waterfront holding hands and then hurry to the cabin in our yacht and make love. Sometimes we’d lay out on the deck afterward in the moonlight, remember?”

  Natalie’s cheeks stung with sudden warmth. She heard the rhythm of her heartbeat in her ears quicken with the tender, sweet emotions his reminiscence had awakened. She averted her eyes, concentrating on her meal. She was suddenly furious with him for stirring up bittersweet memories and furious with herself for falling into the trap—a trap that had again ensnared her emotions, awakening a yearning that warmed her body and made her breasts ache.

  She strained to keep the conversation impersonal for the rest of the meal. When they drove back to the beach house where he was staying, she sat as far away from him as possible. Yet it was impossible to escape the awareness of his physical being in the confines of the small car. The heat of his body seemed to fill the close quarters, enveloping her.

  When they arrived at the beach, he parked the car on a bluff overlooking the house. There was a panoramic view from there of the expanse of beach and the ocean stretching to the horizon, all bathed in the moonlight’s silvery patina. The view took her breath away. Oh, no, she thought, everything’s conspiring against me tonight.

  “That’s the same moon that shone down on us in the south of France,” Kirk said softly. He turned toward her. With a feeling of panic, she saw the dark oval of his face.

  “Kirk, no,” she said unsteadily.

  She quickly opened her door and fled from the car. She stumbled down the bluff, her heels sinking in the soft sand, not stopping until she had reached the water’s edge. Standing there, she welcomed the sea breeze that fanned her hair and cooled her heated face.

  But then Kirk came up behind her, touching off a fresh wave of panic. He was carrying a half-full bottle of wine that he had brought with them from the restaurant. “How about coming up to the cabin for a nightcap?” he offered, holding up the bottle.

  “No thank you.”

  “Not even one for the road?”

  “No,” she said unsteadily.

  She took off her shoes and began walking along the rim of the surf, blindly aware that it was important to keep moving.

  Kirk stayed doggedly at her side. He caught her arm, forcing her to stop and face him. “Well,” he said, “since you won’t come up to the cabin, for a drink, how about a toast right here? No sense in letting a bottle of perfectly good wine go to waste.”

  He raised the bottle in a kind of salute as his eyes gazed relentlessly into hers, turning her knees to water. “To all the memories we made together.”

  He had a sip from the bottle, then took a clean handkerchief from his pocket, carefully wiped the rim and handed it to her.

  “I’ll drink to memories,” she said, weakening. “Since they were in the past. And that’s where it all has to stay. In the past.” She took a swallow of wine, handed the bottle back to Ki
rk and began walking again.

  She felt the licking of foamy surf around her ankles and welcomed the cooling effect on her overheated blood.

  Kirk had another swallow from the bottle and followed along beside her, humming softly. After a while, he observed, “You’re getting the hem of your dress wet.”

  “You’re crowding me into the water.”

  “Just walking beside you.”

  “Well, you’re walking too close.”

  He chuckled.

  “What are you laughing about?”

  “Just remembering that time we went skinny-dipping in the moonlight on that beach near Acapulco. Remember?”

  She remembered all too well. The vision of their wet slick bodies gleaming in the moonlight seared across her mind in a flash that made her pulse hammer.

  “Want to do it again?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “Dare you.”

  “No.”

  “Then have another drink. We might as well kill the bottle.”

  She took a swallow of the wine. Then Kirk drained the last golden liquid from the bottle and carefully placed it on the beach. “I’ll pick that up in the morning.”

  He turned to her.

  She backed away from him, deeper into the water that was now swirling around her knees.

  “Kirk, leave me alone,” she said unsteadily.

  “You don’t really mean that,” he said softly.

  “Yes I do!”

  “Hey, watch out!”

  She had taken another step back. Suddenly a breaker, stronger than expected, caught her behind the knees. She screamed as she went sprawling into the water, arms and legs flailing the air. Then with a splash she was totally engulfed.

  Strong arms encircled her, bringing her, spluttering, out of the water.

  They were both soaked to the skin, which didn’t appear to bother Kirk in the slightest. He was holding her lightly, grinning down at her. Her wet body was plastered against his strong, muscular chest.

  “Put me down!” she gasped.