by Janet Dailey
"You're a stunning Amazon." His low voice had a harsh edge to it. "Any normal, red-blooded American male — regardless of his age — would get ideas in his head if he spent a night alone in the same room with you. Don't tell me you aren't aware of that?"
The warmth of his breath fanned her face and hair like an intimate caress. Its potency was drugging. Fighting it, Pet abruptly turned her head to face him and make a retort. But in turning she discovered his head had been bent toward her, and in consequence her lips brushed the angle of his jaw. The resulting sensation was a shivery tingle that ran through her nerve ends, leaving them quivering for more. She twisted out of his arms as if she had been jolted by an electric prod.
"I'm quite aware of it. I didn't mean to imply that I wanted to share a room with one of —" That phrase "one of the boys" was becoming overused. "But I certainly don't think I have to be in an entirely different wing of the hotel from them."
The phone rang, and Pet nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. Dane, in a purely reflex action, took the one stride necessary to reach the phone on the stand beside her bed and picked up the receiver. He had barely said hello before Pet realized he was answering her phone.
"Give that to me! Who do you think you are, taking my phone calls?" she demanded, and grabbed the phone out of his hand. "Hello?"
"Pet?" it was a very startled and confused Lon Baxter on the other end of the line. "What's Dane Kingston doing in your room?"
Oh, God, she thought. "He's lecturing me on the moral behavior proper for a young woman. Isn't that a laugh?" She vented her irritation toward the whole situation. "What did you want, Lon?"
"I … I wondered if … you wanted to join me for breakfast?" He sounded unsure whether he should even ask.
"Sure," Pet agreed with total disregard for everything Dane Kingston had said. "What time do you want to meet? Is five too early? We have to be at the Garden State Arts Center at six."
"Yeah, five o'clock is all right," he agreed with still a trace of uncertainty.
"Good night, Lon," she prompted him to hang up.
"Yeah, good night, Petra," he said absently.
She sighed as she hung up the phone. All the questions Lon hadn't found the nerve to ask tonight would be dumped on her in the morning. She did have an explanation — a true one. Whether Lon would prefer a meatier explanation of his own was another question. Men were such gossips.
Turning, she saw Dane standing at the foot of the bed, watching her, his hands in the side pockets of his pants.
"Problems?" It was a one-word question with no apology for causing them.
"Nothing that I can't handle," Pet replied shortly.
His dark gaze slid to the phone, then back to her. "So you've decided not to take my advice."
"About socializing with the boys? No, I'm not taking it." With space between them she could think more clearly. She realized the way she had been manipulated, always in reaction to his statements and accusations, and she was irritated that she had allowed it to happen.
"You and I have differing viewpoints. In the bar tonight you thought I looked like a tramp sitting with all those men. For me there's safety in numbers. Before you came to my room I wouldn't have dreamed of accepting Lon's invitation to have breakfast with him alone. But I just did because I knew you would disapprove."
"That's a stupid reason." The corners of his mouth were indented with grimness.
"You bet it's a stupid reason!" Pet agreed. "I can't be friendly to just two or three of the guys. If I do, the rest will assume that I go for them, and that destroys the camaraderie I've struggled so hard to achieve. Why did you have to interfere? Nobody asked you to!"
"I don't need permission to interfere. This is my company, and my production. When I bring a crew on location I ultimately become responsible for a portion of the members' private lives — yours included, Miss Wallis," Dane snapped. "I doubted the wisdom of bringing your kind of temptation on location where the men are going to be away from their wives and girlfriends. The very first night I see you sitting in a bar, drinking with the whole lot of them. I have the feeling you're going to be a lot more trouble than you're worth!"
"Now maybe we've come to the heart of the matter." Her temper rose in direct proportion to his cold anger. "It's my job you want. What do you plan to do? Make my life on the set so miserable that I'll quit?"
"If you weren't good at your job, a highly skilled professional, you would have received your walking papers a long time ago," Dane informed her bluntly. "But if you —" he lifted a hand to point a finger at her and jab the air "— cause one ounce of dissension among the crew, if there's one quarrel among the men about you, I'll send you packing so fast you won't know what hit you."
"Then stay out of my personal life and there won't be!" she flared, and began stabbing the air with her finger. "You can dictate to me on the set, Dane Kingston, but don't you dare give me one order outside of work!"
"How many prolonged location shoots have you been on?" he challenged.
"I've been on quite a few two-day and three-day shoots." Which wasn't exactly a direct answer.
"How old are you?" he demanded next.
"Twenty-six." She would be in September, which was only two months away. The extra year implied more experience.
"I top that by eight years. And I've seen happily married men make complete fools of themselves when they've been separated from their wives for a week. Why do you think Miss Gale and her singers and dancers are staying in a different hotel?"
"I … presumed it was more luxurious than this one." Pet shrugged a shoulder uncertainly.
"It is. More importantly, it keeps my production crew separated from her cast so there won't be any socializing after hours. If it had been at all practical, you would have been staying in a different hotel, too. Unfortunately, it wasn't." His irritation with that was in his tight-lipped expression. "You just remember what I told you — any trouble and you're out!"
On that threatening note he turned on his heel and let his long, swinging strides carry him to the door. Pet's hands curled into fists.
"You just remember what I told you,"she called after him, trying to assert her own independence, but it was too late. Dane was pulling the door shut behind him as he stepped out into the hall.
Frustrated and dejected, Pet sank onto the squeaking mattress of her bed. She flopped backward to stare at the ceiling and rest the back of her hand on her forehead. This had not been her finest hour, she realized. Nor was the situation likely to improve unless she learned to control her temper around Dane Kingston. He was her boss, for heaven's sake! The big boss! You couldn't go any higher in the company than Dane Kingston. Why hadn't she remembered that and behaved accordingly — regardless of the provocation?
Unable to answer that, Pet pushed herself off the bed and walked to the door. She flipped the security lock and the night latch and slipped the chain into place. Perhaps a shower and a good night's rest would put the whole thing in perspective
THE NEXT MORNING Pet was deliberately late to meet Lon for breakfast. Wearing the same khaki blouse and slacks with their military creases, she had braided her flaxen hair into a single plait down the center of her back. Few women could get away with such a severe style, but Pet could, thanks to her strongly defined features and well-shaped head.
As she had hoped, two members of the crew had joined Lon at his table. She walked to the empty chair. "You saved a place for me. Thanks." The sentence was deliberately chosen to show Lon how casually she had accepted the invitation for breakfast.
"Good morning." She greeted them all as she sat down and felt the curiosity in each of their glances despite the normal chorus of replies. "Is there coffee in the pot?" Pet asked, and reached for the thermal container in the center of the table to pour herself a cup. "I need something to open my eyes this morning."
"Is there enough left for another cup?" Charlie Sutton inquired.
"About a half a cup," Pet answered after glancing inside the pot. Th
e waitress stopped at the table to take her order, Lon and the others having already eaten. "I'm running late, so I'd better settle for toast and orange juice."
"Would you refill the coffeepot?" Joe Wiles handed the empty thermal container to the waitress.
When the girl had left, Pet leaned back in her chair, blowing on the hot coffee to cool it. Over the rim of her cup her gaze swept her three table companions in an encompassing arc around the table. It was early in the morning, but their unnatural silence wasn't caused by sleepiness.
"Come on, guys." She sipped at the hot coffee. "Isn't someone going to ask me what Dane Kingston was doing in my room last night? Or are you going to sit there eaten up with curiosity?" she teased. She had it all thought out, her explanation carefully rehearsed.
"That's our Pet?" Joe Wiles shook his head and smiled wryly. "Straightforward and open."
"You said he lectured you?" Lon looked skeptical.
"Yes. He went off on the same old tangent," she declared with a mock grimace. "Only this time it wasn't about the way I dressed, but what I was doing. He didn't think it was ladylike to have a beer with you guys and he suggested I behave with a little more decorum befitting my sex. Can you imagine?" she laughed, and took another sip of coffee.
"From now on, we'll make sure you order sherry — a proper drink for a proper girl," Joe teased.
"Dane suggested that I shouldn't associate with you at all." Pet blinked her deliberately rounded green eyes. "It seems you boys are a bad influence on an innocent young thing like me." She made it all appear to be a huge joke that everyone could laugh about.
"We are a wicked lot." Charlie twirled the end of an imaginary mustache in mock villainy.
"What did you tell Kingston?" Lon's eyes were gleaming with amusement; finally he was accepting her explanation without trying to turn it into something it was not.
"What do you think? I told him to mind his own business!" she declared with a twinkling look.
Her remark drew the expected chuckles and comments that suggested approval and encouragement for her stand. But Pet was careful not to mention Dane's threat about causing trouble or dissension among the crew. For the time being the men were on her side, and she didn't want to put ideas into their heads that might change their attitude.
Claude Rawlins, the floor director, stopped at their table when the waitress brought Pet's toast and orange juice, and the conversation was immediately shifted to a discussion of the day's schedule.
"When we're finished shooting here at the performing-arts center, where do we go?" Pet asked. "As I understand it, the idea is to show Ruby performing in different settings — the concert stage, a casino theater, and so on."
"That's right," Claude nodded. "From here we'll move to Batsto Village for some outdoor locations, then on to Atlantic City to tape her opening night at the casino."
"We're really going to be plugging New Jersey, aren't we?" Lon remarked on a less than enthusiastic note.
"This is her home state. She was born and raised here in New Jersey," Claude reminded them. "These backdrops will all be fresh and new to a viewing audience that's seen Las Vegas casinos and Madison Square Garden or the Kennedy Center hundreds of times."
"I agree," Pet nodded. "I think it's a good idea."
"Spoken like a homegrown Jerseyite," Charlie teased. Which she was.
"Your New York nose is in the air again," she countered.
Joe didn't take part in their playful feud, choosing to stick to the original subject. "It's fitting to tape the special in New Jersey. After all, Ruby Gale has been tagged as the new, American-born Jersey Lily."
"Lillie Langtry was the original Jersey Lily, wasn't she?" Pet remembered. "But she was from England, I thought."
"She was," Claude admitted. "Now we have an American version — if you believe the publicity." He paused to glance at his wristwatch. "You'd better drink your coffee, boys. It's getting late."
Pet quickly downed her last bite of toast and joined the others in line at the cash register. Everyone took it for granted that she would pay for her own meal, including Pet. The situation with the crew seemed to be back to normal.
Eight of them crowded into Charlie's van to make the ride to Telegraph Hill Park where the Garden State Arts Center was located. The early-morning sun cast a golden hue on the saucer like white building with its supporting pillars. The summer-green setting of grass, trees and bright patches of flowers was serene and pleasing to the eye. Charlie drove around back where the semi trailer van filled with highly technical computers and control panels was parked. Several of the crew had already arrived, and others were driving in behind them.
Dane Kingston had just walked out the side door of the specially designed semi trailer rig and was coming down the set of metal steps shoved against the trailer door when Pet piled out of the van with the others. He noticed her immediately. His hard and narrowed look made her feel she was somehow responsible for their arriving late when in actual fact they were seven minutes early.
But there wasn't time to dwell on the injustice of his attitude. All the camera, lighting and sound equipment had to be set up and checked, which was an involved process. Everyone set to work at once. Pet, Lon, Charlie and Andy Turner entered the center to learn where the cameras would be positioned, and to what position each would be assigned.
In all there were four large studio cameras. One would be kept in reserve in the event of a technical failure of one of the others. Pet was assigned to camera two, covering center stage. Andy was manning camera one on her right and Charlie had camera three on her left. Lon was assigned to the hand-held camera, which allowed him the ability to move around with the lighter-weight camera and provide shots from in back of the stage, from the side, or below the footlights.
The first order of business was erecting the platforms to elevate the fixed studio cameras to a degree higher than stage level. Working as a team, they pitched in to help each other erect the scaffolding for the platforms one at a time. Pet worked right beside the men, not shirking any of the heavier work because she was female.
While they were busy with their work, other members of the production team were busy with theirs. It was a chaos of activity with two dozen people, sometimes more, hustling around, shouting orders amid general conversations. A web of cables was spun over the floor to relay power and feed into the main controls in the long trailer outside.
As soon as the platforms were finished they brought in the studio cameras, disassembled and packed in their metal traveling cases. It wasn't easy for Pet to handle the bulky and heavy pieces, but she had learned little tricks over the years that enabled her to compensate for the lack of muscles. It never occurred to her to ask for help. She would have refused it if it was offered.
"Wallis, what do you think you're doing?" a voice barked behind her.
The suddenness of the demand forced Pet to ease the camera onto the platform floor after she had finally levered it a couple of inches off it. Still kneeling, She turned to look behind her. Dane Kingston was on the floor, glaring at her with his hands on his hips.
He wasn't dressed much differently from any of the other crew, except that his jeans were brushed denim and his shirt was a long-sleeved madras print with the cuffs tolled up to reveal his sun-bronzed and hair-roughened forearms. The modified work clothes emphasized his rugged male appeal, a factor that didn't make Pet feel any more at ease.
His gaze ripped from her to stab Charlie. "Get up there and get that camera mounted, Sutton," he ordered with an impatient wave of his hand.
"I can manage it!" she protested forcefully when Charlie started to vault onto the platform.
"I'm not interested in finding out whether you can or not," Dane retorted, and started to turn away.
"This doesn't happen to be the first camera I've ever assembled. I'm fully capable of doing it alone. I don't need any help," she insisted.
Dane swung back to face her with blazing dark eyes. "You can play superwoman another t
ime. I'm not going to permit you to juggle an expensive piece of equipment like that camera. You'd probably drop it and break it; then I'd be without a spare. I can't afford this kind of idiotic display of sexual equality. You aren't strong enough to lift that camera, so let someone else do it. Do I make myself clear?"
Just in time she remembered to hold her temper, although it flashed in her green eyes. "Very clear, Mr. Kingston," she said, clenching her teeth.
"Good. Make sure I don't have to tell you again," he warned.
He waited at the base of the platform until Pet had moved stiffly out of Charlie's way so he could hoist the camera into place on the rotating head of its stand. As Pet went to help Charlie fasten it into place, Dane walked away. She glared after his set of broad shoulders.
"I've never considered myself superwoman," she muttered angrily. "And I've never asked for special treatment because I'm a woman. Damn him, anyway!"
Charlie's gaze flickered uncertainly over her. "You have to admit, Pet, the camera was a little heavier than you could handle."
"Et tu, Brute," she retorted, sarcastically, but Charlie didn't hear her as he turned to say something to Andy.
Chapter Three
BY MIDMORNING all three of the camera platforms were in place. One of the cameras was mounted and the crew was unpacking the second and getting it ready to assemble.
"Break time!" Claude shouted to make himself heard above the racket. "Coffee and sweet rolls down front!"
"Sweeter words were never said," Pet murmured, and hopped down from the middle platform. "Those two slices of toast I had for breakfast disappeared about an hour ago. I'm starved!"
"Just direct me to the coffee," Andy declared as he followed her down the aisle. "I must be eight cups behind my normal quota of caffeine for the morning, and I was on the verge of getting the shakes."
A long table had been set up near the fire exit along the wall to the right of the stage. A huge stainless-steel coffee urn was perched in the center of it with paper cups stacked on one side and boxes of Danish pastry on the other. Pet joined the others who had already lined up to help themselves.
