“Yeah, well, they’re going to have to love someone else,” Dirk told him. “She walked out yesterday, saying that she decided to honor the commitment she’d broken to be in our movie.”
Lukkas looked at his director. “Monica had another commitment?” This was the first he was hearing about there being another movie, much less that the high-living actress had broken a contract to film his movie instead.
Dirk nodded. “She said that the first contract predates the one she has with us by fifteen days.”
“And what made her suddenly change her mind to switch back?” Lukkas asked.
Dirk raised his wide shoulders in an exaggerated shrug then let them fall almost dramatically. “With her, who knows? Somebody said something about Monica being angry that Angelica Fargo had more lines than she did.” The director sighed. “Bottom line is that we’re down the second lead.” He turned toward Yohanna. “Sure you don’t want to give it a whirl?” he asked, sounding almost half serious. “You look about the same size as Monica, so Wardrobe wouldn’t be unhappy.”
Though flattered, Yohanna’s thoughts were focused elsewhere. “Did you see it?” she asked.
Dirk looked at her uncertainly. He hadn’t a clue what she was asking. “See what?”
“The other contract,” Yohanna stressed. “Did you see the date on it?”
Lukkas realized what his assistant was getting at. “Well, did you?” he asked his director and old friend.
The expression on Dirk’s face was that of a man wondering if he had been duped. “Actually, no. I took her word for it. She said something about her lawyer holding on to it. The threat she was silently issuing was that she’d sue and hold up production on the picture if we didn’t let her out of this contract.”
“What are you thinking?” Lukkas asked Yohanna.
“That she might be bluffing. I could be wrong, but judging by her recent actions—yes, I watch those tabloid programs—that might be something she’d be prone to do, lie to get out of a contract she decided wasn’t to her advantage to honor for some reason. It should be an easy thing to check out.”
Lukkas turned his attention to his director. “You know anyone on the other set? Someone who might be able to confirm—or dispute—when the contracts for all the major players were signed?”
Montelle suddenly looked very pleased with himself—and impressed with Lukkas’s newest addition to his crew. “As a matter of fact, I know a few people.”
“Knew there was a reason I hired you,” Lukkas quipped. Then he looked at Yohanna. “Nice catch.”
“Possible catch,” she amended.
“Modest, too. Looks as though I got lucky. Remind me to throw some more business Mrs. Manetti’s way,” he told her. “And while you’re at it, give Joanne Campbell’s agent a call.”
“The actress?” she asked a little uncertainly. Joanne and Monica looked alike enough to be sisters. Why would he need one if he was keeping the other?
“No, the librarian,” he deadpanned. “Of course, the actress. The part’s a good fit for her.”
“But what about Monica?” Yohanna asked him. “Didn’t you just say—?”
He held his hand up to keep her from going on. “I want to give her a hard time to show her that it’s not good business to create her kind of turmoil on one of my sets. She made Montelle here sweat. Now it’s our turn to make her sweat. Sound good to you?” he asked the director.
The man’s grin said it all, but just in case, he confirmed, “Absolutely. Music to my ears, boss.”
His attention back to the director, Lukkas told the man, “If you need me, I’ll be in the trailer for a while—” He suddenly paused. “The trailers did arrive, right?”
“Yesterday,” Montelle confirmed. “Most of them anyway. The rest are on their way. Should be here by the end of the week. What’s a production without glitches?” the director asked.
“A production that doesn’t have me eating migraine tablets by the pound,” Lukkas responded.
Dirk snapped his fingers as if he’d had a life-altering idea.
“That’s how I’ll fund my retirement. I’ll buy stock in your migraine medication,” he said, almost succeeding in keeping a straight face.
“Coming?” Lukkas asked Yohanna after he began walking away.
There he went again. “Would you take offense if I had a bell collar make up for you?” she asked Lukkas, once again quickly striding after him to catch up.
“I don’t wear jewelry,” he responded, straight-faced.
“Don’t think of it as jewelry,” she told him. “Think of it as an early warning system. Kind of like with earthquakes.”
Lukkas rolled her explanation over in his mind. “I think I like that comparison, but I’m not sure. Get back to me on that,” he instructed.
“Right,” she mumbled under her breath.
* * *
“This is your trailer?” Yohanna asked, clearly wowed as she walked into it.
He tossed the briefcase he’d brought with him onto the nearest flat surface. “Yes. Why?”
She suppressed a low whistle. “My first apartment was smaller than this. I think my second one was, too.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said wryly. “This is my production headquarters when I’m away from the studio. I need the space to think. Small, tight places don’t let me think.”
“Whatever works,” she said agreeably, still taking it all in.
“You can put your things down over there,” Lukkas told her, pointing to what looked like a spacious alcove, complete with a compact acrylic desk and a landline.
The latter had her looking at him quizzically. She nodded at it, waiting for him to explain. Why a landline when the logical way to go would have been another cell phone?
“It’s my tribute to my past,” he told her. “I like blending old and new together. It does nobody any good to let old traditions die unnoticed and forgotten.”
“Okaaay,” she murmured, drawing out the word.
“And now,” he told her, “on that note, I’ve got several phone calls to make—and if I’m not mistaken, you do, too.”
“Right,” she agreed, putting down the laptop that she’d packed this morning. Flipping it open, she began initializing her access to the internet.
“Of course I’m right,” Lukkas quipped. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” His eyes narrowed just a touch as he looked at her. “That’s a joke, Hanna.”
Her mouth quirked a touch. “I knew that.” Her eyes sparkled with a whimsical glimmer that he found rather compelling.
Perhaps just a little too compelling, he silently warned.
Taking a breath to fortify himself, Lukkas said, “Hard to tell at times,” and then went off to the section of the custom-built trailer that doubled as a bedroom whenever he remained on a set overnight.
* * *
Yohanna found that working for Lukkas Spader on a movie set was a real learning experience. She discovered that while he was the producer on record, there were several positions that bore part of his title and were considered to be under his supervision.
There were assistant producers, coproducers and executive producers to name just a few, and none of them had the sort of responsibility and authority that Lukkas with his simpler title possessed.
She learned very quickly that he took his position quite seriously, relinquishing none of the myriad parts.
He had conceived of the idea for this movie, nurtured it along and then cowrote the script after having written the initial treatment. He’d been involved in the casting of the film, retaining his right of final veto if someone didn’t strike him as being right for the part.
According to what she learned from one of the camera crew, Lukkas always took casting approval very seriously, right down to
the extras who were to be used in several of the saloon scenes.
He also, the cameraman informed her, tended to use the same crew over and over again, shepherding them from one movie to another. They were, in effect, one large, mostly happy family.
“The man’s as loyal as anyone you’ll ever be lucky enough to know—pretty rare in this business, let me tell you,” the veteran cameraman had rhapsodized.
“How many movies have you made with him?” she asked, curious.
“Five, counting this one,” the man, Eddie, had answered as he continued setting up his equipment. “But there’re guys here who’ve been with The Spade from the beginning. He once said that if he liked the quality of someone’s work, he didn’t see a reason why he shouldn’t use that person again.”
“Wait, ‘The Spade’?” she questioned uncertainly. Were they still talking about Lukkas?
The man nodded. “That’s what the crew calls him. Because of his last name,” he added.
She had to admit that she wouldn’t have thought of that herself. But now that the cameraman had pointed it out to her, she couldn’t see how she could have missed that.
“He knows everyone’s name. I really don’t know how he keeps them all straight. Me, I’ve got five kids and sometimes I forget some of their names, or get who’s who mixed up,” he joked. “I never heard The Spade confuse anyone’s name with someone else’s. The guy’s incredible.”
There’d be no argument from her on that. But, admiration notwithstanding, she was starting to understand why the producer needed to have someone organizing things for him as he went along. It was apparent that he already had far too much going on in his head to accommodate anything extra.
In all honesty, she was beginning to wonder how the man didn’t just implode—or have a meltdown. There was just too much.
* * *
“So how’s it going?” Lukkas asked sometime later that day as he came up on her.
“I located Joanne Campbell. Her agent—Jim Myers—said she was in between projects at the moment and would love to have a chance to work with you. Seems you have quite a following,” she told him with a smile.
She had to confess that she felt a touch of pride about the matter as well, which she supposed anyone else would have thought somewhat premature. But in all honesty, she was beginning to feel as if she had always had this job. To his credit, Lukkas created that sort of atmosphere on his sets.
Lukkas was quick to wave away the comment she had repeated. “Her agent knows how to sugarcoat his words, that’s all. Helps during negotiations.”
“Myers wanted to know when you’d like to have Joanne audition for the part.”
“No need,” Lukkas told her. “She’s already got the part.” When Yohanna looked at him in surprise, he explained his reasoning. “She has the same build, the same coloring as the Elliott girl and—as a plus—she has a hell of a better attitude than Monica Elliott does.” Lukkas had few hard and fast rules on his set, but Monica Elliott had broken one of them. “I don’t like turmoil on my sets.”
“Turmoil,” Yohanna echoed. “I don’t see how that’s even possible, considering the size of the fan club you’ve got here.” She’d initially decided to keep that to herself, but when something was staring you in the face, there was a tendency to want to at least mention it.
Lukkas clearly looked as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Come again?”
“I talked to one of the crew members—a cameraman named Eddie Harrington,” she interjected. “From what I gathered, the whole crew thinks that you could walk on water if you really wanted to.”
Lukkas frowned at her and shook his head. “Don’t exaggerate, Hanna.”
“I don’t think I am,” she told him. “If anything, I’m probably understating it. I don’t know if you realize it, but you’ve got enough goodwill going for you here to mount a campaign for president of the United States if you wanted to.”
For a second it looked as if he was just going to laugh in her face, Yohanna thought. And then he just shook his head, dismissing the very notion.
“Being a producer’s rough enough, Hanna. Why in God’s name would I want to put myself through something like that? And after the hell you go through, you wind up occupying the loneliest seat in the country. No thanks. I’m happy just making movies, giving people a reason to detach from their lives for a couple of hours and just let themselves be entertained.”
“That cameraman I talked to also told me that you actually remember everyone’s name.”
“Is there a question in there somewhere?” he asked.
“Do you? Remember everyone’s name,” she clarified in case that had gotten lost in the shuffle.
Lukkas shrugged carelessly. “Seems like the right thing to do. Someone works for you, you should have the decency to know their name.”
“No argument here,” she told him. “But you are aware that that’s pretty unique, aren’t you?”
He shrugged again. “I really don’t have the time to run any self-serving surveys,” he told her. “I’ve got a movie to bring in on time and, if possible, underbudget.”
“Well, I’m here to help with that in any way I can,” she assured him a tad breathlessly.
Admittedly, she’d gotten a little caught up in the proceedings. Being around Lukkas seemed to do that. Not only that, but she found herself sneaking side glances at the man. Here, on the set, even when he wasn’t issuing orders he seemed somehow larger than life.
Great, all you need is to fall for the guy. That’ll end your career before it ever gets a chance to start, she chided herself. Whatever you think you’re feeling for this guy, you’re not, she silently emphasized, determined to get a firm grip on her overactive imagination.
“And you’re sure about using Joanne Campbell?” Yohanna asked, getting back to the actress they’d discussed.
“Why?” he asked, curious as to why she would question something like this. “You don’t think she’s right for the part?”
“I have no idea about the part,” Yohanna confessed. “I just want to be sure that you’re sure.”
He relaxed just the slightest touch. “Well, in that case, yes, I am.”
“And what would you like to do about Monica Elliott?” She prodded.
That was simple as far as he was concerned. “Let her twist a little in the wind, then send her a text message telling her I’ve changed my mind and she can go do her other movie. Maybe she’ll be nicer to the next director she works with on her next picture.”
“You really think she can change her behavior?” Yohanna asked him skeptically.
“Hey, why not?” He was a firm believer in second chances. “I’m in the business of making fantasies, remember?”
“I remember.” She brought up another topic that was, in her view, just as important. Possibly more so. “Have you eaten yet?”
Preoccupied, Lukkas was certain he’d heard his all-around assistant incorrectly.
“What?”
“Have you eaten?” she repeated. “I’ve noticed that you tend to get caught up in whatever you’re doing and then you just forget to eat. Not recommended,” she told him. “That catches up with you after a while—big-time.”
“Auditioning for the part of my mother?”
Yohanna couldn’t tell if he was amused or annoyed. She trod lightly.
“No. I just want to keep the job I have,” she told him.
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” he asked, looking surprised at his own oversight.
Yohanna narrowed her eyebrows slightly as she looked at the producer, waiting for an explanation.
“Tell me what?” she prompted when he didn’t immediately follow up on his previous question.
“That I’ve decided that you passed the test. You’re hired on a per
manent basis.”
“No three-month probation?” she asked, wanting to be perfectly clear where she stood.
“Consider it month number four,” Lukkas answered glibly.
He’d done it again. Left her stunned and falling behind, Yohanna thought. But this time, he also left her smiling to herself.
She figured she was making progress.
Chapter Seven
Hours later she was back on the plane, sitting next to Lukkas and waiting to make the sixty-minute trip to Bedford.
She’d just buckled up when she glanced out the window. The view, or lack thereof, suddenly sank in.
She could never live in a place like this.
“How do they stand it?” she asked Lukkas, staring out into the night.
Making one final notation in his notepad before tucking it back into his pocket, Lukkas slanted a look in her general direction, his attention split. “Stand what?” he asked.
“All that darkness.” The fact that there was a new moon didn’t help the scenario any. Yohanna suppressed a shiver that traveled along her spine. She’d never cared for the dark. As a child, she’d been afraid of it. “It’s like being inside the bottom of midnight.”
“Some people actually find the dark soothing,” Lukkas told her.
“Not me,” she responded with feeling. “The dark can hide things. I like being able to see what’s out there at all times.”
“At the moment, what’s out there is darkness,” he said wryly.
For a second she forgot that they were boss and assistant and just responded to him as if they were friends. Friends of long standing because she really was beginning to feel rather comfortable around Lukkas.
Blowing out a breath, she pretended that his teasing ruffled her feathers. “Very funny.”
She saw the corners around his eyes crinkling as he made a guess about her childhood. “I bet you were afraid of the dark when you were a kid.”
There was a time when she would have protested the observation despite the fact that it was right on the money. But that time was gone. She was more confident now in her own abilities, her own skills. She saw no reason to pretend that he had guessed wrong when he hadn’t.
Her Red-Carpet Romance Page 7
