Again following a familiar path, his hands moved down her body, tracing a fiery path over every curve of her waist and hips, down to the hem of her dress, which he brushed up out of the way. His caresses sought the yielding flesh of her thighs. She gasped and dug her fingers into his luxurious hair. She had always loved the feel of its thick, unruly tangle. Her cheek was pressed to his now as he took command of her body.
There was a silence disturbed only by their breathing.
“You like that, don’t you?” he whispered.
“Ummm.”
“And that....”
“Kirk, don’t. You’re driving me out of my mind.”
“That’s the idea. Remember that time we were out in the desert in the dune buggies and the sun went down and we wrapped up in blankets and made love on the ground under the stars.”
Warm tears filled her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t keep bringing up the past, Kirk. That’s all over....” But her voice lacked conviction. She closed her eyes as the gentle swaying of the ship formed a rhythm with the universe. It carried her dangerously close to a sea of passion where the waves rocked back and forth and then leaped into a crashing burst of foaming breakers.
Oh, Kirk, what kind of hold do you have over me? she thought desperately. Is it possible that I do still love you in spite of everything?
Why else would she have accepted the role in this film, knowing Kirk was only using her to get the studio financing? Was it only because she felt sorry for him—felt some kind of obligation because of their marriage vows? Questions...questions...that she could not answer.
She was a first-class fool if she did still love him. Kirk gave her nothing in return except heartache and humiliation. Knowing that, how could she succumb so foolishly to his charms? Logic could not explain the way his touch could bring goose bumps to her flesh, the way her heart would suddenly pound when she caught sight of his broad shoulders, the way his golden tan eyes could reach to the very depths of her being.
Was it only physical attraction? The overwhelming chemistry that could draw a man and woman together was a mystery as old as the human race. It had driven men and women to desperate lengths, had toppled kingdoms, raised hopes to the stars and dashed them to the depths.
Now it threatened her with fresh disaster. Giving in to the desire Kirk had awakened in her would bless her with a few intense, insane moments of paradise, then crush her to fresh agony.
If she hoped to continue with this film production, she simply had to keep herself from falling into the old trap of Kirk’s charm. She had to maintain a professional, impersonal relationship with him.
Summoning a strength she didn’t know she had, she drew away from him. “No, Kirk,” she said firmly. “I am not going to let you make love to me. It won’t solve a thing between us. I’m having a hard enough time as it is dealing with this whole situation. I never wanted to do this film with you in the first place. Somehow I let everybody, including you, talk me into it. It’s making a nervous wreck out of me. Stirring up old feelings like this isn’t helping at all.”
His gaze burned into her, making her quiver to the depths of her being. She knew with a mingled feeling of despair and longing that if he persisted, he could still break down the last shred of her resistance.
His eyes burned with such intensity it made her head swim. She wondered if she were going to faint.
Then, after an unbearably tense moment that lasted an eternity, he settled back against the cushions of the deck lounge. He lit a cigarette and gazed moodily across the bay at the lights of Rio.
The respite gave Natalie a chance to assemble the wreckage of her emotions while she covered her legs and adjusted her clothing. She inhaled the night sea air, making an attempt to steady her nerves. She forced her vision to concentrate on the peaceful scene of the stars above, the smooth water flecked with spots of phosphorescence, the vision of the romantic city across the bay.
Kirk suddenly broke the silence. “Natalie, there’s something important I need to talk to you about. I mentioned it this morning—the Central American scenes I want to add to the film. You will help me convince Kasserman, won’t you? He likes you. You’re important to the studio. I know you can help me make him see that the extra expense will be well worth it.”
Natalie felt as if she had been doused with a pail of cold water. If there had been lingering traces of the golden romantic mood, they now vanished completely. She was blinded with fury. “You lousy rat!” she cried. “So that’s what this big romantic buildup is all about. The setting, the food, the wine, the sweet talk. Phony, phony, phony! You’ve had nothing on your mind all evening except to seduce me into helping you talk the studio into additional financing! Kirk Trammer, I despise you!”
“Now wait a minute!” he exclaimed heatedly. “I did not try to seduce you just to get your help. I resent your implying such a thing. What kind of a heel do you think I am?”
“At the moment, I’m not sure.”
“Do you really believe that I could stoop that low?”
She gazed at him with cool appraisal. “Frankly, I wouldn’t put it past you. Kirk, you’re absolutely ruthless when it comes to motion picture making. You have what amounts to an obsession to complete this film. You’d stop at nothing to do it!”
Their eyes locked in deadly combat. In that moment, they were total strangers.
He had resolved not to touch Natalie again until the film was completed, until he had proven himself both to the world and to her. That fine resolve had gone out the window tonight. Seeing her so desirable, while at the same time he was burning inside with the thought of Tom Sacks possessing her, had made him lose all control.
Kirk was fuming. Why had he brought her out here? More important, why had he tried to make love to her? It was a question that defied an answer. Ever since this morning when he caught sight of Natalie in Tom Sacks’s arms, kissing in the surf, he had been operating in an emotional whirlpool. He wanted to rearrange Tom Sacks’s matinee idol profile. Jealous? Yes, and what a fool he was to have that reaction!
“You know, you’re absolutely right,” he said with cold fury. “We should get a divorce!”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
During the filming of The Last Encounter in Rio, a small brick building on a side street had been rented to house the production company. It was an old building with high ceilings and tiled floors that had once housed government offices. Ceiling fans revolved in an effort to dissipate the summer heat. The offices were constantly bustling with activity, a medley of rattling typewriters, voices, jangling telephones and heels tapping on the tile. Shades had been drawn against the glare of the February summer sun.
One room had been converted into a small, makeshift auditorium where a projector flashed the dailies on a screen.
It was several days after the Mardi Gras Carnival had ended. With some of the principals, Natalie sat in the darkened room, watching the fragmented segments that had been shot during and after the Carnival. Even in these rough, uncut and unedited scraps of film she saw how well Kirk had captured the mood of the city during those colorful days of abandoned frenzy and how it had all been integrated into the mood of intrigue and menace in the story they were filming. He had an instinctive knowledge of how to block a scene and how to use camera angles to emphasize an effect.
One scene introduced the assassin who had been sent to Rio to dispatch Rebecca Abrahms. To stress the feeling of threat, the camera was at street level, to catch the wheels of a car skidding to a stop. Then the camera cut to the heavy boots of a man as he stepped out of the car, before it gradually panned upward, silhouetting the assassin against the sun, throwing his face into dark shadows and giving him the impact of overwhelming strength and power. It was powerful and effective cinematography.
The drama was played against the crowded frenzy of the Carnival weekend. Natalie felt her own emotions churning in tempo to the hysteria.
The baterias, the percussion bands, marched down the streets driving the cr
owds mad with their samba beats. The surdo, the huge bass drum of the samba bands, rocked the earth. Drumsticks bounced, tambourines rattled. Dancers in flashing costumes whirled and gyrated. The surging heartbeat of the samba was pounded out on an array of Latin rhythm instruments.
Natalie’s head pounded, her senses reeled as the scenes unfolded. Half the time she was Rebecca Abrahms, jostled and crushed by the surging crowds, caught in a life-threatening situation. Half the time she was Natalie Brooks, embroiled in her own personal turmoil that was tearing her apart.
Why couldn’t Kirk have stayed in Europe! Then she would have been spared this ongoing torment that matched the anguish of the woman she was playing on the screen.
She tried to concentrate on the action in the film.
Rio had been preparing for months for these few days of uninhibited revelry leading up to Ash Wednesday. Since May of the year before, the samba schools had chosen the theme they would carry out in the parades. By government decree, the theme of the costumes, floats and dances must portray some part of Brazilian history or culture.
By August musicians had composed new sambas that would fit the chosen theme. Artists and designers got busy creating the fantasias—the extravagant, glittering costumes and the enormous floats called alego-rios. By November, the samba dancers had settled down to hard, grinding rehearsals, preparing for the day they would parade through the streets of Rio.
During the week leading up to the Carnival, workmen had been constructing grandstands along the Avenida Presidente Vargas and Avenida Rio Braca, the main section of downtown Rio where the desfiles, the public parades, would pass.
There, Natalie saw herself being jostled by throngs of revelers in outlandish and grotesque costumes. Red-faced Satans leered at her. Skeletons leaped around. Men were dressed as women with grotesque painted lips and exaggerated bosoms. There were clowns, slave girls, Frankenstein monster masks, werewolves and bunny rabbits.
There was a “clack” as another blackboard marker with the scene and take numbers scribbled on it appeared on the screen.
Then, out of the crowd emerged a man, touching her arm. “Rebecca Abrahms? Come with me.”
A quick zooming close-up of her pale, stricken face, eyes wide with terror.
The heat of the day, over a hundred degrees, registered on the perspiring faces and the glaring sun on the pavement. It seemed to radiate from the screen. Samba dancers fainted, overcome by the heat. Camera crews had sweated. Rebecca, in the crush of the crowd, had felt her head swimming, had been gripped at times with the panic of claustrophobia. Her clothes, soaked with perspiration, had stuck to her body. Strands of her disheveled hair were glued to her forehead.
“Good,” Kirk had exclaimed. “That’s the kind of realism I want at this point”—and had chased away the makeup people who wanted to rush in between takes and make repairs to Natalie’s face.
She thought grimly that this was certainly going to be a radical departure from the sophisticated, urban roles she had been playing.
In addition to the street scenes, there were some night takes in the setting of abandoned merrymaking that took place at parties and nightclubs.
Finally, there was the effective chase scene that had been filmed at dawn on Wednesday, hours after the frenetic activity of the Carnival had died. An eerie hush had settled over the city. The empty streets were littered with the refuse of revelry: streamers, hats, empty bottles, paper, deserted grandstands, confetti, a wrecked float.
The party was over and everyone had gone home. The camera had panned over the deserted streets. There was an eerie silence. The only movement was a sea bird circling over the quiet beach. There was a close up of a reveler sprawled on the beach, clutching an empty wine bottle, snoring softly, his mouth open, a fly walking unnoticed across his lip.
Then there was a shot of a street. Suddenly, violent action burst upon the screen—an automobile that seemed to leap out of nowhere, directly at the camera. Natalie could imagine the sound effects that would be dubbed in, the whine of tortured motors, the screech of burning rubber as the two cars, one pursuing the other, streaked through the streets.
Various camera placements had been used to give the impact of rushing speed. A camera had been mounted behind a driver in one of the vehicles so a fragment of the chase was seen through the windshield of the pursuing car. In another shot, a camera had been mounted just behind the front wheel, so the screen gave the audience a view of the chase from a low angle dominated by the spinning wheel. Other angles were shot from a helicopter to give the broad overhead view of the two racing cars.
Kirk had had two of Hollywood’s best stunt-car drivers flown in to do the scene.
Later, back in sound stages prepared by Ginny Wells in Hollywood, there would be shots made of Natalie playing a frightened Rebecca Abrahms in a back seat of a car filmed against a rear projection screen which showed the pursuing car. That would be edited so skillfully into other segments of the chase scene that the audience would believe it was all shot in one take in the streets of Rio.
* * * * * * *
That afternoon, Natalie went to the airport to meet Ginny Wells, who was flying in from Hollywood.
In the taxi, on their way to the hotel, Ginny had to know how the filming was progressing. “What kind of insanity is Kirk involved in now? I’m up to my ears in those sets for the space scenes and I get this urgent telephone call, ‘Drop everything and take the earliest plane to Rio.’“
“Insanity is the right word for it,” Natalie agreed. “Kirk has decided to add some jungle scenes depicting Central American involvement in the story.”
“Jungle scenes?” Ginny gasped. “Where is he going to get a jungle?”
“Right here in Brazil. He’s leased a place somewhere. Don’t ask me how. All I know is that the only way in and out is by helicopter.”
“He’s going to fly camera crews in by helicopter?” Ginny asked, her face registering disbelief.
“Camera crews, jeeps and no telling how many extras. Do you like to work with dynamite?”
“Not particularly, though of course I can do it.”
“Well, you might as well get ready to set up some battle scenes. Machine guns, mortars, explosions, jeep chases through the brush....”
“Wait a minute. I’ve read this script a dozen times. How does he plan to fit all that into the story?”
“You recall that in the story Rebecca Abrahms has stumbled on the plot to destroy the American surveillance space station which keeps other countries from using nuclear warheads. Kirk wants to have her leave Rio and fly to Central America to follow this lead. I suppose it could be worked out to have a Central American military leader in cahoots with the dictator of a small Middle-Eastern country. They’re out to destroy the space station and then blackmail the rest of the world with their nuclear device.”
Ginny shook her head. “That’s going to take a major rewrite. Do Bill and Sally Dentmen know about this?”
“No. So far Kirk has only told me about it. He’s calling a meeting of production heads tonight to spring his brilliant idea. That’s why he wanted you here today, to give your expertise on the special effects that will be needed.”
“Wow. The stuff is going to hit the fan when the studio hears about this! Kirk is already behind shooting schedule. Not to mention the fact that the elaborate sets he wants for the space station scenes are going to cost a lot more than the first studio estimates. To throw in the kind of jungle warfare stuff you’re describing can add millions to the budget. They’ll never stand for it.”
“I know. I tried to tell Kirk that. But you know Kirk Trammer when he’s in the throes of creativity.” Natalie looked glumly out of the taxi window.
“How do the dailies look so far?”
“Very good,” Natalie admitted. “Personal feelings aside, I have to give Kirk credit for being a genius. He’s actually got Tom Sacks doing some acting for a change instead of just getting by on his profile and personality. And he’s givi
ng me a challenge to do something different. From a professional standpoint it’s exciting. Kirk has a sense of pace and timing that’s thrilling. He’s used camera devices like an artist with a paintbrush or a musician with inventive harmonies to create striking effects—well, you’ll have to see some of the rushes to judge for yourself.”
“Sounds as if you’re excited about the film.”
“If it were anyone but Kirk, that could be true.”
“You do look tired, though, Natalie.”
“I am tired. The shooting schedule has been murder. Kirk won’t let up a minute. He’s a slave driver. And this awful midsummer heat doesn’t help any. Can you believe right now they’re having a snow storm in New York!”
“I hope you’re not going to make yourself sick,” Ginny said in a worried tone.
“I have a hunch we’re all going to be basket cases by the time this is over.”
In the hotel room, as Ginny was unpacking, she asked casually, “Aside from Kirk’s being the usual tyrant on a set, how have you two been getting along?”
“It’s an emotional strain,” Natalie said, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs under her as she sat on Ginny’s bed. “I knew it would be.” She felt herself suddenly close to tears.
Ginny sat beside her, giving her hand a warm squeeze. “Any chance of you two patching things up?”
“Of course not! Our marriage is over, Ginny, you know that. I’m just suffering from emotional fallout.”
Natalie’s cousin sighed. “I feel guilty in a way. I was one of the bunch that twisted your arm into doing this film with Kirk. I guess I kinda hoped it might bring the two of you back together.”
Natalie laughed harshly. “Fat chance! Kirk doesn’t care anything about me, except to use me every way he can to get to do this film. The other night, he took me out to a friend’s yacht, wined and dined me and tried to seduce me only because he thought it would soften me up and get me on his side. Like a dope, I almost fell for it. Where Kirk is concerned, I’m the world’s biggest patsy, Ginny.”
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