The Cinema of Lost Dreams

by Alli Sinclair

  “Well, I guess that’s never stopped anyone before.” How many times had she witnessed actors making messes of their roles yet managing to hold on to their jobs because of what they looked like, or who they knew? Then again, the studios had a plethora of behind-the-scenes people working magic to ensure the stars shone bright and the movies were a success so they could recoup the money already invested in the actors’ careers. Nothing was ever as it seemed.

  “People deserve to hear your beautiful voice, and”—His slow smile made her hold her breath—“see your gorgeous red hair, and those alluring green eyes.”

  Lena burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  A small snort escaped her. “If you’re going to survive in this industry, you need to have better come-on lines.”

  “It wasn’t a come-on line.” He sounded disappointed.

  “You’re serious? Really?” Lena controlled her laughter, feeling bad for this Reeves Garrity, who seemed greener than the fields of her hometown. “I’m sorry for laughing. This industry is full of people saying what they can to get ahead. Call me cynical, but I’ve been around long enough not to trust anyone, especially if they’re saying something nice about me.”

  “That’s rather sad.”

  Lena crossed her legs at the ankles. “It’s just the way it is. Although…it shouldn’t be, should it?”

  “No, it shouldn’t. I hope you believe me when I tell you that I find you intriguing and I’d like—”

  “Reeves!” Jeanne breezed over, the skirt of her yellow dress billowing behind her. She reached for his hands and ignored Lena. “I have someone you should meet.”

  “Let me finish talking with Miss Lee first.”

  “It’s fine, you should go and mingle,” Lena said, surprised at her disappointment.

  Reeves took her hand and gently placed his lips on her skin. A shiver ran up her arm and down her spine. “Miss Lee, it has been a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.”

  Reeves held out his arm and Jeanne rested her hand on his. As they walked into the house, Jeanne glanced back at Lena and smirked.

  Under her breath, Lena said, “Good luck, Reeves Garrity, because you’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Five

  1994 – Starlight Creek, Queensland

  Claire sat in the front seat of the ute, head against the steering wheel. Sugarcane lined the narrow road, and in some strange way it cocooned her from the rest of the world, which Claire needed to hide from right now. When she’d started the drive back to Ashton, the ill-fated discussion with Hattie and Luke had been on a loop in her head, and it had caused a medium-sized headache to morph into something close to a migraine. She dreaded having the tough conversation with Nigel. Fear clawed at her chest, making it hard to catch her breath.

  Claire wiped the thin film of perspiration from her forehead. How on earth could she deliver news that would surely destroy her career? She tried to figure out what Tony would do. He certainly wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d harangue Hattie into signing on the dotted line, even if it meant he had to camp out in front of the cinema to get the signature. Claire had no doubt Tony was biding his time in Ashton, waiting for her to make a misstep. Every other person who worked for locations had morals, but somehow Tony could leave his at the door—and get away with it. She was especially disgusted with his latest effort on an action film. She was certain he’d bribed someone to film the car chase in that beautiful park that had originally been off-limits. If the producers had been aware of his underhanded ways then…

  “If only I could work like that,” she mumbled, then tilted back her head and stared at the roof of the cabin. “Not going to happen.”

  A yellow Holden whizzed past, its panels battered and rusted. The sandy-haired man sat behind the steering wheel, his eyes on the road ahead.

  “Bingo!” She started the vehicle again. Feeling like Nancy Drew, Claire kept far enough behind so Luke Jackson wouldn’t see her. Being accused of buttering up Hattie had hurt Claire, but she had to give Luke and his great-aunt the benefit of the doubt. After all, her motives looked less than stellar after she’d received a no from Luke and a short time later was showering in Hattie’s bathroom and wearing Luke’s clothes. He’d made it very clear that she should leave town and stop bothering them. Following him would make her look like a stalker. But what other options did she have? Going back to see Hattie bordered on harassment, and that’s the last thing she wanted to do to that very sweet lady. All Claire needed was to get Luke on board. If she did that, she had a feeling Hattie would agree to the deal. Besides, facing a cranky great-nephew was way better than telling her boss she’d failed on the most important job she’d ever been given.

  Luke turned right down a gravel road, the red brake lights on his car casting a hazy glow through the dust. She panicked, afraid he’d caught her, so she pressed hard on the pedal and drove on, pulling over a few hundred feet further up the road.

  Her phone rang and she steeled herself before answering, “Claire speaking.”

  “Any luck?” asked Phil.

  Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank god.”

  “Thank god you’ve sorted it?”

  “Thank god you’re not Nigel calling.”

  “Yeah, well, somehow I’ve become his secretary. What’s the scoop?” The phone crackled, then cut out. It rang again. Claire stared at it. She could just pretend she was out of range…but ignoring Phil’s call would only delay the inevitable, so she answered once more.

  “Jeez, Montgomery. Your head is going to be on the chopping block.”

  “I’m aware of this. What does Nigel expect?”

  “He’ll send Tony, or he might go there himself if you don’t—”

  “No, no way. Nigel or Tony barging into town and making demands is not going to cut it.”

  “You need to get a yes.”

  “I know, all right?” she said harshly, then softened her tone. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling the stress right now.”

  “You need to work through it. And find a miracle while you’re at it. The good news is we’re already filming outside of Ashton, like we’d planned.”

  “Robert isn’t going to renege on pulling his contract?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone so angry.”

  “Do you blame him?” she asked.

  “Of course not.” Phil’s voice faded and Claire struggled to hear. “I feel for him, actually. Unfortunately, this complication is only going to get worse with legalities.”

  “Maybe if I talked to him again—”

  “He made it very clear he would not speak to you. Ever.”

  “He blames me for what happened? What did he expect?”

  “He expected someone to make sure James kept his pants zipped around his teenage daughter. And it doesn’t help that she’s threatening to run away with him.”

  “Run away with James? Oh, that poor girl. I hope someone’s talking some sense into her.”

  “Leila’s talking with Annalise, don’t worry.”

  “Thank god.” Leila, the on-set hair stylist and Phil’s wife, was a great listener and could make most people see reason. Claire had lost count of the number of times she’d holed herself up in Leila and Phil’s apartment for guidance in her personal and professional life. “Would it do any good for Leila to talk to Robert?”

  “She tried, but even she couldn’t sweet-talk him.”

  “Crap.” Claire didn’t conceal her groan of frustration. “Why couldn’t James have kept it in his pants?”

  “He was a liability from the start. Listen.” Phil sounded like he was talking under water. “Tony’s doing a really good job here with logistics, and he’s just waiting to pounce. If you don’t get those cinema owners on board…”

  “Okay. The charm dial has been wound to overdrive. I’m p
ulling out all stops.” She hung up and started the engine.

  Checking for traffic, she did a U-turn and turned onto the gravel road where Luke had driven. Sugarcane fields lay on either side and she reveled in the beauty. Although she couldn’t put her finger on it, there was something very romantic about cane fields—if she blanked out the cane toads, snakes, foxes and who-knows-what living in the thick foliage. Maybe one day she’d do a documentary about the sugarcane industry. Though that had been done before. Just like every other idea she’d come up with in the past two years. Finding an original concept that could get a production company excited was as challenging as James Lloyd not having sex for a week.

  As she steered the vehicle up the road, she came across a small farmhouse surrounded by sugarcane. Its wraparound veranda, cream weatherboards and bright white window frames gave it a homely and welcoming feel—quite the opposite of the vibe she’d received from Luke. In front of the shed to the right of the house was Luke’s battered car, but he wasn’t in sight.

  Gathering courage, Claire parked on the side of the road at the beginning of the driveway and got out. Driving onto his property felt invasive, and the less she irritated him, the better.

  Hitching her bag onto her shoulder, Claire took a deep breath and traipsed up the driveway, gravel crunching under her feet. Despite the heat of the day, the setting sun had given the air a distinct chill. She grabbed her cardigan out of her bag as she studied the bright red front door. It was the perfect shade—not too bright, not too dark. The kind of red that invited one to knock on the door and know that the owner of the house would already have tea ready and fresh bread out of the oven.

  Her knuckles hovered a moment before she let out a long breath and knocked.

  Nothing.

  She tried again, this time with more force.

  Again, nothing.

  With déjà vu haunting her, Claire knocked one last time. Where could he be? She’d seen him drive toward the house. His vehicle was out front. She turned and took in the surroundings. Pot plants of various shapes and sizes hung from the eaves and sat in an orderly line at the edge of the veranda. Green, rolling hills faded into the distance, the late afternoon sun casting a warm orange and red glow. Not far from where she stood was a huge wooden shed painted the same red as the front door of the house. Wandering across the gravel, Claire reached the door of the shed and knocked, hoping her luck had taken an upward swing. No answer again, but she spied a light through a crack in the sliding door. Slowly opening the door, she called out, “Hello?”

  Silence once more.

  Sliding the door open further, she stepped in and looked around. Along one side of the wall lay neatly stacked sheets of metal and poles in varying lengths, and at the back of the shed hung a tidy assortment of tools. On the right were half a dozen machines, and in the middle of the room were at least a dozen sculptures in different states of completion. One in particular drew her attention. Hesitating for only a second, she went over and examined the artwork. It was almost six feet high and the metal had been bent and soldered to represent a vine twisting toward the sky. Unfurled leaves sprouted at intervals from the thick stem, and upon those were butterflies, a couple of birds and flowers in bloom. The metal wasn’t as shiny as the others in the workshop, but the piece was captivating. Before her was a moment frozen in time, and soon the birds and butterflies would take flight, the flowers would close for the evening and the light breeze would whisper to the vines and leaves.

  This artwork was very similar to what she’d seen in town.

  Oh…

  “So beautiful,” whispered Claire, unable to resist reaching out to touch the artwork. She expected it to be cold, but it felt warm, almost soft.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Claire froze. Shit. Grimacing, she turned and faced the last man on earth she needed to—or wanted to—upset. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have touched it—”

  “You shouldn’t be in here.” Luke pointed at the door and she quickly exited the shed. He pulled the door across, slammed it shut and clicked a large padlock into place.

  “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. I was looking for you, but I got distracted.” She studied his set jaw. “I apologize. I have no excuse. Though the sculptures are absolutely breathtaking. Are you the one who makes the artwork for sale at the shop in town?”

  He answered with a glare. What was wrong with her? Had she left her people skills in Melbourne?

  “How did you find me?” He folded his arms.

  Claire closed her eyes for a brief moment and wondered what she’d been thinking. Nothing she said would sound good and she suspected Luke Jackson had a most excellent bullshit detector.

  “I followed you.” Her eyes met his, then she quickly looked away.

  “Why?” She looked back, expecting his face to be creased in anger, but instead he appeared puzzled. He asked, “Why do you want this so badly? Do you get a bonus?”

  “I get nothing out of this, except the chance to keep my job.” He didn’t need to know that securing the cinema would lead her closer to her dreams. Why would he care? Especially after she’d just admitted to stalking him and had been caught in his personal space. “I’m really sorry about how this has all played out. I assure you, I’m not normally a pushy person. It’s just that there’s so much riding on this. But I don’t want to trouble you or your great-aunt in the process.”

  “It’s too late for that.” Luke folded his arms tighter against his chest.

  “I really hope it’s not. Maybe if we start again I can better explain why this is so important.” She waited for a reply. He didn’t say a word, and she took it as her cue to keep going. “The cinema your great-aunt owns is of huge historical significance. By allowing us to film the miniseries inside, Miss Fitzpatrick would play a big role in preserving the legacy of Amelia Elliott. Surely she understands the importance of that.”

  “My great-aunt is well and truly aware how important the cinema is to architectural and Art Deco history. The problem is, other people don’t understand the importance of her wishes for privacy.”

  “It wouldn’t be for long, and she’d be really well paid.”

  Luke looked to the heavens and let out a sigh. “Why can’t you understand that no matter what you say or do, the answer will always be no? If you don’t leave her alone, I’ll need to take things further.”

  Claire shoved her hands in her pockets. Never before had she met such resistance from a property owner. Normally they fell over themselves to get involved in a movie shoot, not just for the money, but for the thrill of seeing their property on-screen.

  “Please leave now, Miss Montgomery.” Luke pointed toward the road.

  “I’m sorry if my request has caused undue stress,” she said, all the while wishing she could find the magic words that would change his mind. Claire didn’t like that Luke spoke on behalf of his great-aunt when she seemed more than capable of speaking for herself, but something in Claire’s gut told her there was more here than met the eye.

  Reluctantly, she made her way down the driveway, opened the door to her vehicle and got in. Starting the engine, she drove down the hill, watching Luke Jackson in her side mirror. He stood in front of the shed, hands on hips. Claire wondered how long he’d stand guard.

  She turned her attention to the road ahead, taking the bends with care and trying to figure out what other disaster lay around the corner.

  * * * *

  Once again Claire found herself at the café in town, nursing a coffee and another piece of carrot cake. Discovering the café was still open, at this hour, had been a godsend. If only they sold alcohol.

  Laura, the girl who had been working earlier, was nowhere in sight, and instead an older version of her was behind the counter, keenly polishing cutlery and every conceivable surface. Claire sat in the far corner of the empty café, well
away from the large window that overlooked the street.

  Today had been such a mess, and she chided herself for the way she’d handled things. Over the course of her career she’d been thrown challenges from all directions, so why was this cinema such a struggle?

  Claire rested her head in her hands and groaned.

  “Is it that bad?”

  She looked up to find the woman standing next to the table. Her kind eyes made Claire tear up, and she fought to keep her voice calm.

  “There’s a lot worse going on in the world, I know,” Claire said. “Though currently, in my world, it’s bad, and it’s about to get a whole lot worse.” She hadn’t been able to shake the image of facing a furious Nigel.

  “Carrot cake isn’t helping?”

  “Nothing will, I’m afraid.”

  “What’s the problem?” The woman sat down opposite her, and the concern in her eyes made Claire want to spill everything—so she did.

  Claire let it all out while the woman remained silent, occasionally nodding. With every word that tumbled from Claire’s lips the angst lifted a fraction. By the time she was done, the heaviness suffocating her had eased and the thumping headache had abated.

  She let out a small laugh. “Oh man, I must have really needed to get that off my chest. Thank you.”

  “I am happy to help, although I’m not sure how useful I’ve been.” She wiped the table with the damp cloth, then set about neatly arranging the sugar packets in the small wooden box. “The thing is…”

  Claire waited for the woman to say something, but nothing came. Aware of her tumultuous relationship with patience, Claire forced herself to remain silent.

  “Oh!” The woman laughed then held out her hand. “I have such bad manners. I’m Scarlet.”

  “I’m Claire.” She happily shook Scarlet’s hand, which was small and warm, much like Hattie Fitzpatrick’s.

  “Well, Claire, I’m afraid to say I don’t like your chances.” Scarlet rubbed at a spot on the table. “An Amelia Elliott biographer came here a while ago. He arrived with a professional photographer and Hattie was happy to help him out. She granted him access to her cinema, to the architectural plans that Elliott had drawn up… Basically, he was given free rein. The problem is, he abused that trust, and he was thrown out.”