by Lee Hollis
The director didn’t bother to discuss the scene with the principals since they had done it so many times. He just dropped down in his director’s chair waiting for camera speed and lethargically called, “Action!”
Pam, determined to win an Emmy for her bold turn as a malevolent bad girl, stormed over to Poppy and grabbed her by the arm, snarling, “What’s taking so long with that coffee, sweet cakes? Are you harvesting the beans yourself, or what?”
Poppy shook her arm free. “I think we’d all be a lot happier if you tried a little decaf, sweet cakes.”
Butch and Smitty snickered at the joke, which infuriated Pam/Bloody Mary.
Pam glared at Poppy, grabbing her arm again and squeezing it tight. “Get cute with me, and you can get hurt, got it?”
There was a knocking sound outside the cabin.
Smitty, alarmed, jumped out of his chair. “What was that?”
“What?” Butch growled.
“That noise. Somebody’s out there!” Smitty cried.
“Relax, will ya? Nobody knows we’re here,” Butch sighed.
“I’m tellin’ ya, Butch, I heard something,” Smitty insisted.
“Fine, if you think there’s somebody out there, go check it out for yourself then,” Butch said, tossing him a gun, which Smitty fumbled on the catch.
“Careful,” Smitty whined. “I nearly shot my toe off.”
Butch ignored him.
Smitty huffily marched over to the door and swung it open. Standing there in all his Rambo glory was Jack, who struck with a punch in the face. Smitty doubled over and Jack kneed him in the groin. Smitty flopped down to the floor, writhing.
Butch, now alerted, struggled to stand up as Jack dove at him and they rolled around on the floor. Pam started for the gun Smitty had dropped and that was Poppy’s cue to hurl the scalding pot of hot coffee at Bloody Mary, drenching her. Pam covered her face with her hands, spasming and screaming, like a true Method actress. After a brief scuffle, Jack managed to finish off Butch so the only two left standing were Jack and Daphne.
“Oh, Jack!” Poppy exclaimed, like she had so many times before, and ran to Jack where he embraced her, holding her tightly against his bare chest, muscles glistening.
“It’s okay, Daph, I’m here . . .”
“And cut!” the director said listlessly. “Great. Moving on to coverage.”
Now they would repeat the scene multiple times for different angles and close-ups, at least another two or three hours of work.
Jack still held Poppy tightly against his chest.
“He said cut, Rod, you can let go now,” Poppy said.
“Do I have to?”
Poppy giggled, then wanted to kick herself. Really? Did she have to giggle like a high school cheerleader in the arms of the star quarterback? It was downright embarrassing.
“When are we finally going to go for that drink, Poppy, just the two of us?” Rod asked, grinning.
“Oh, please, you are such a tease,” Poppy scolded as she tried to extricate herself from his embrace, which caused him to just hold on tighter.
“Haven’t you made me wait long enough?” Rod asked, fake pouting. “Come on, don’t you find the scent of my manly sweat irresistible?”
Poppy scrunched up her nose, laughing.
He finally let go when the stunt coordinator approached him with a note on the choreographed fight scene with Butch.
Poppy tried not to stare at him.
Bloody Mary suddenly appeared at her right shoulder. “He’s dreamy, isn’t he?”
The question didn’t surprise Poppy. She was very well aware of the fact that millions of women found Rod Harper to be breathtakingly sexy, but she was not about to let on that she was one of them. “Who, Rod? I think of him like a brother.”
“You’re kidding,” Pam said, a disbelieving look on her face. “You two have never hit the sack?”
“No, absolutely not,” Poppy said.
“Well, I’ll be sure to let you know what you’re missing.”
“What do you mean?”
“He asked me out this morning. We’re getting together at his place later after we wrap. I’m so excited to see his house. I hear Humphrey Bogart used to own it before he married Lauren Bacall.”
Pam pranced off excitedly, leaving Poppy behind, standing on the set alone. She kept a firm smile on her face, but she was devastated, and after the director announced a fifteen-minute break while they reset the scene, she slinked back to her dressing room, hoping that until she was finally alone, she would not cry.
Chapter 18
Poppy was halfway back to her dressing room after wrapping for the day, eager to shed Daphne’s tightfitting costume specifically designed to accentuate her curvaceous figure, don some casual street clothes, and head home to unwind with a long luxurious bubble bath and a glass of Chardonnay, when she was intercepted by Rod. He managed to corner her in the hallway of the cavernous soundstage, and stood so close to her she could smell his pungent body odor from all the running and brawling he had done in the scene they had just shot. She couldn’t help but crinkle her nose slightly. Rod picked up on it immediately.
He lifted his arm and sniffed. “Yeah, I know, I’m a little rancid and need a shower.” Then with a lascivious smile, he added, “Care to join me?”
Usually she would just laugh off his suggestive comments, but today she was in no mood to do so. “Not today, Rod.”
She made a move to circle around him, but he quickly stepped to the right, blocking her path. “Come on, it’s been a long day, for both of us, why don’t we freshen up and meet for a drink to wind down?”
Poppy gave him a puzzled look. “Tonight?”
Rod nodded. “My treat. How about the Roosevelt, in the bar, one hour?”
“What about Pam?”
Rod took a step back, lips pursed, stumped. “Who?”
“Pam, the actress playing Bloody Mary. We’ve been working with her all week,” Poppy reminded him.
A light bulb seemed to go off in his head but it didn’t appear to be very bright. “Oh, her. What about her?”
“She told me you two had plans together later.”
Rod was genuinely perplexed. “She did?”
“Yes.”
Rod shrugged. “Well, she may have mentioned meeting up at some point earlier, but it was nothing definitive, and I would much rather spend time with you, to be honest.”
At this point, Poppy did not know what to think.
Pam had been so excited and eager to share her upcoming romantic rendezvous with Rod to everyone within earshot.
Had she been lying?
Rod barely seemed to even know who she was.
It was becoming clear that perhaps Pam had at least been exaggerating her chemistry with Rod, if not downright lying about it.
Still, Poppy had learned to be cautious when it came to her charismatic co-star, fearing his lothario-like tendencies would eventually come back to bite her.
“The thing is, Rod, I’m really tired tonight—”
He instantly put a finger to her lips. “Please, Poppy, we’ve both been promising to spend more time together outside of work, but we never seem to get around to it. Let’s just grab a drink and relax.” He could sense Poppy’s hesitation. “Come on, gorgeous, just one drink . . .”
His eyes twinkled.
She hated it when they did that.
Because she found herself weakening, like the hapless subject of a master hypnotist. If there was one thing about Rod Harper that a good deal of the female population in America knew was that he could be overpoweringly intoxicating.
Like 190 proof.
Poppy, lost in those beautiful eyes, could not help but finally succumb. “One drink?”
Rod nodded, delighted, and then playfully grabbed Poppy’s pinky finger with his own. “One drink, I swear, pinky promise.”
Poppy laughed, slapping his hand away.
“Should I pick you up at your place?” Rod asked.
<
br /> “No, I’ll meet you there,” Poppy said before pinching her nose with her thumb and forefinger. “Now, for everybody’s sake, please go take that shower.”
Rod sniffed himself again. “Is it that bad? You sure it’s just not my natural manly scent?” He raised his arm, which sent Poppy scurrying away, down the hall to her dressing room. She could hear Rod chuckle as he headed off in the opposite direction.
As Poppy passed one of the guest star dressing rooms, she overheard Pam talking on the phone to a friend about her plans with Rod Harper later that evening. Poppy debated whether or not she should tell Pam that Rod had no intention of meeting her later, that to be generous, they had somehow gotten their signals crossed, but she decided to stay out of it. If Pam was telling everyone she and Rod were involved romantically or otherwise, that was her business. And it was Rod’s job, not Poppy’s, to make that clear to Pam. Poppy continued on to her own dressing room to change and head home to get ready before meeting Rod.
* * *
Poppy glanced at her watch.
10:09 PM.
She had left the studio at eight o’clock and after a quick change at home, she had arrived at the iconic Roosevelt Hotel bar in Hollywood just a few minutes past nine. Rod had said he wanted to meet at the bar in one hour. That was now over an hour ago. She stared at the mostly melted ice in her glass wondering if she should order another drink and give him a little more time. Poppy’s mood had not yet soured. Anything could have delayed Rod. Perhaps the director had approached him as he was leaving with some script changes, or a few autograph hounds had descended upon him when he stopped to gas up his Corvette at the Mobil station in his neighborhood. She was optimistic by nature, but not naive, and right now Rod was testing that steady optimism.
She was sitting at the end of the bar, swirling around the tiny chunks of what was left of the ice with a green plastic stirrer, when the young, handsome bartender swung around to her side of the bar. “Another vodka soda?”
Poppy covered the top of her glass with her hand. “No, I’m good, thank you.”
The bartender gave her a rueful smile.
Please, God, no pity from the bartender.
He knew she was waiting for someone.
When a gentleman earlier had made a move to sit down on the stool next to her, she had politely informed him that she was meeting someone and was saving the seat for him. The man apologized and sat down a few stools away from her. The bartender had overheard and so now, almost an hour later, he was assuming she had been stood up.
And maybe she had been.
But Rod had been so insistent.
Perhaps he had been in a car accident.
As she thought about it, she wanted to kick herself.
Why did she always try to make excuses for him? She knew there had been no car accident. Rod was just being Rod. He would show up at some point, full of excuses. And she knew she would forgive him as she always did, and then go home and promise herself she would not fall for his charms ever again, even if it was just to keep peace and calm on the set of Jack Colt.
The bartender appeared again and set down a vodka soda with a wedge of lime in front of her.
Poppy sat up straight on her barstool, confused. “I’m sorry, I thought I said I didn’t want another.”
“You did,” the bartender said amiably.
“Well, I hope this isn’t a free cocktail because you feel sorry for me that my date is so far a no-show.”
The bartender shook his head. “It’s not from me. It’s from that gentleman over there.” He stepped aside and gestured toward a good-looking blond man, mid-thirties, in a tan corduroy sports coat, white shirt, and bright red tie. The man smiled and waved nervously over to Poppy. She picked up the drink, toasted him, and took a sip. The bartender scooted off to attend to several people who clustered around his serving station wanting to order something.
Poppy never knew what to do in these kinds of situations. The man continued smiling at her, perhaps psyching himself up to get up and walk over and introduce himself. She prayed he would not. She was not in the right frame of mind for idle chitchat. She simply wanted to grab her purse and get out of there and drive home, silently cursing Rod Harper the whole way.
The blond man swallowed the rest of his beer, slammed the mug down on top of the bar, and hopped off his stool.
Poppy hoped he was just going to the men’s room or leaving the bar altogether, but no such luck. He circled around and walked right up to her.
“I probably shouldn’t have stopped and just kept going,” he said sheepishly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I can tell by the sense of dread on your face that you do not have the slightest interest in talking to me.”
“That’s not true,” Poppy lied.
“Really? I’m pretty good at reading faces.”
“It’s not you . . .”
“Yeah, usually when a woman tells you that, you can be sure it most definitely is.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. . . .”
“Translation, please go away before I reach for my pepper spray,” the man joked.
Poppy smiled.
“Oh my God . . .” the man gasped.
“What?”
“That smile of yours . . . it’s breathtaking.”
Poppy found herself rolling her eyes.
“I know, my wife says I could fill a book with all my cornball clichés that fail to impress women.”
A wave of relief washed over Poppy.
He was married.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Poppy said, looking at him for the first time.
He was more handsome up close. Piercing green eyes. A cute pair of dimples. Perfect white teeth. And again, married. So no threat. Why not invite him to join her while she nursed the drink he had just bought for her. And so she did.
He seized the opportunity to slide onto the stool next to her and continue their conversation.
“Don,” he said extending a hand.
“Poppy, Poppy Harmon,” she said taking it.
Don proved to be a talker. The wife he referred to turned out to be his ex-wife so Poppy’s guard went up again. She also found it odd that he never provided a last name. But he was engaging and pleasant and definitely eye-catching enough that Poppy didn’t worry about it too much. He was a salesman from Phoenix, in town on business hocking some kind of medical device he described in detail, but unfortunately Poppy’s mind wandered through most of it. She sipped her drink, successfully enlisting her acting skills to pretend she was interested and he seemed to buy her performance.
Don had not been aware Poppy was an actress by trade, nor had he ever watched Jack Colt since he spent most of the time on the road for his job and not watching much television. A lot of men told her they had never heard of Jack Colt when, of course, they had and probably seen a number of episodes. They didn’t want her believing they were chasing after her just because she was famous and had some money to her name. But Poppy actually believed Don, he seemed genuine in his surprise that she was in a network TV show.
Still, there was something off about him and she could not pinpoint exactly what was bothering her.
He was exceedingly polite, respectful, and again, strikingly attractive. And so she did not immediately shut him down when he suggested they take their conversation up to his room and have another drink.
Poppy had no doubt that Don was on the hunt for more than just having a nightcap with her. And she was feeling so low, now two hours after she was supposed to meet Rod here, that she briefly considered accepting his invitation. But she knew she could not make a rash decision to basically have a sexual encounter with a complete stranger based on her faltering self-esteem in this particular moment. That would be a disaster.
And so she calmly downed the rest of her cocktail, put the empty glass down on the coaster in front of her, and smiled at Don. “Thank you, Don, but I think it’s time for me to go home.”
His eyes could not conceal his disappointment, but he was enough of a gentleman to accept the rejection gracefully. “Poppy, it has been a pleasure. . . .” He took her hand and kissed the top of it.
“Good night,” she said, smiling. She nodded to the bartender and was heading for the exit when she noticed a boozy, bleary-eyed, buxom woman at the opposite end of the bar. She had obviously been there for some time. She recognized her as an actress she had seen at a few casting offices around town when they were both auditioning for the same part, but Poppy could not remember her name.
Poppy acknowledged the woman with a brief smile, but the woman did not return it. She was too busy zeroing in on Don. Poppy glanced back to see Don returning the woman’s gaze, and as Poppy turned the corner, she saw Don get up and join the woman.
Don was clearly on the prowl, determined to get lucky. And if it was not going to be Poppy, he would find someone else.
She had clearly made the right choice.
However, at the time she had no clue that it was a choice that possibly saved her life.
Chapter 19
There was no call from Rod on Poppy’s answering machine when she got home, and no word from him when her alarm went off early the next morning. She hastily dressed and hurried out to her car in order to make her call time at the studio. When she arrived, parking in her usual space, she spotted Rod leaning against his Corvette, amiably chatting with guest star Pam, playfully twirling her long blond hair around with his finger. Pam giggled and cooed, hanging on his every word, and then, when he thought no one was looking, Rod leaned in and planted a brief kiss on her lips. Pam nearly lost her balance she was so woozy from his touch.
Poppy could feel her cheeks reddening. She felt foolish and embarrassed and ashamed of herself for once again giving in to Rod Harper’s charms and then getting burned. She promised herself it would never, ever happen again. As she marched past Rod and Pam toward the soundstage, eyes fixed straight ahead, she could hear Rod calling after her. She kept going, ignoring him, until he managed to run and catch up to her.
“Poppy, wait . . .” he shouted as he grabbed her arm to slow her down. “What’s the big hurry?”
