“So, tell us you love Pierre. That he’s the man you’ve dreamed about your entire life. That you don’t mind that his ego is bigger than the state of Texas, and that you don’t have a problem with the way he flirts with every single woman on the planet.” Yvonne put her hands on her hips. “Tell us we’re wrong.”
Lena pursed her lips. “It’s complicated.”
“I don’t see what’s so complicated about it. You either love him or you don’t.”
“Yvonne…”
“Look, I may seem harsh to you, but I don’t like standing by and watching one of my dearest friends get sucked into this crazy ruse. I’ve seen it before. You can’t tell me that Stuart Cooper hasn’t coerced you and Pierre into being the perfect couple on- and off-screen. The general public may buy it, but I don’t.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Lena. “Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall managed an on- and off-screen love affair. And what about Laurence Olivier and Vivien Leigh?”
“Olivier and Leigh were married to other people when they fell for each other,” Yvonne said.
She did have a point, unfortunately. Lena straightened her spine. “They fell in love on-screen and that flowed into real life. They were a powerful couple on film and off. Audiences loved that. True love is true love.”
“Hmm.” Vanessa got out the comb and tucked a few stray hairs into Lena’s updo. As each minute ticked by, Lena’s mood got worse. It was hard enough being expected to look glamorous and act and sing her best on three hours’ sleep, so a lecture from two friends she valued made everything feel worse. She despised keeping the truth from them, but Stuart had put it in her contract that she could not breathe a word.
“There,” said Vanessa. “More beautiful than Betty Grable.”
“What about Jeanne Harris?” Lena let out a laugh, hoping to ease the tension in the room.
“Goes without saying. Come on.” Yvonne straightened the seams on Lena’s stockings. “We may have dropped the topic for now, but we’re not letting you off the hook. We will get to the bottom of it.”
“There’s nothing to get to the bottom of.”
Yvonne walked her toward the door. “We’ll see.”
* * * *
After warming up her vocal cords in the privacy of her dressing room, Lena walked onto the set to a round of applause. She moved toward the gigantic maple in the hanging garden and smiled awkwardly as actors and crew surrounded and congratulated her.
“Look at this!” Anna May Clifford, one of the chorus girls, shoved a newspaper in front of Lena’s face. “They loved your new movie! Here.” She ran her finger ran across the print. “It says, ‘Once again, Pierre Montreaux and Lena Lee have delivered Oscar-worthy performances that will entrance and delight audiences across America. Mr. Montreux’s near-perfect performance will have female moviegoers’ hearts a-flutter, while Miss Lee’s magnificent depiction of a woman who finally gets her man is enchanting and heartwarming. Her angelic voice soothes the ears and her beauty is a delight for the eyes.’ Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yes.” Lena forced a smile. Every movie was the same—Pierre the cad and Lena falling for him to make her life “complete.” No one would listen to her pleas to tackle something with more substance. She said to Anna May, “Thank you for sharing the article with me.”
“Enough chatting. Time for work! Places!” yelled Henry. He walked toward Lena and winked. “A good review’s not a bad way to start the day.”
“Not bad at all,” she said, a lump in her throat. Shouldn’t she be ecstatic?
“Where did you go last night?” Pierre’s breath on the back of her neck made her shudder. She spun around to find him towering over her, his eyes steely.
“Where do you think?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm at bay.
“You left without saying goodbye. How did you get home?”
“If you’re asking why I didn’t leave in the limousine with you, it’s because I was tired of seeing you openly make eyes at Sally Enfield. Really, Pierre, you need to watch yourself.”
“Jealous, are we?”
“Of course not,” she spat out. “I’m just saying that you need to watch what you do in public. It hurts us.”
Pierre’s gaze rested on the group of chorus girls in the corner. Even from this distance, Lena could see they were shivering in their tiny sequined outfits.
Lena took her place under the maple tree. The set designers had done a magnificent job. The leaves were so bright and green they looked like they’d been picked off a real tree, and the papier-mâché branches and trunk appeared authentic. Maybe they were.
“Ready, Miss Lee?” Henry asked.
“Yes, yes. Of course!” She lifted her chin, switching into business mode. Pierre stood to the side, waiting for his cue. Like the seasoned professional she was, Lena launched into her monologue, lamenting about how broken she was and how she could never fall in love again. What was to become of her? A woman on the shelf, craving affection from a man.
Her heart and head protested with every word that tumbled from her mouth. She felt like the world’s biggest hypocrite, and a kernel of loathing grew in her belly.
“Cut!” yelled Henry. “I need more emotion, Lena—sadness, despair. Take it from the start.”
Lena cleared her throat and smoothed down her dress. Every take cost money, and she had always prided herself on getting it right the first time, or, at worst, the second. Forcing herself to concentrate, she waited for Henry’s signal then started again, trying to force her voice and facial expressions to match the mood.
“Cut!” Henry ran his hand through his hair. “Again!”
Once more, Lena tried, but her heart screamed even louder.
“Cut!” Henry strode over and said in a harsh whisper, “What’s the problem?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice shook.
“I understand you’re tired; we all are. Just get this right, then we can shoot the next two scenes and go home at a reasonable hour.” Henry marched back to his position.
Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Lena willed her head to rule over her heart. This is just a movie. The fate of the world does not rest on my shoulders. This time, Lena gave it her all, and the words flowed freely. The music started, and she broke into song, her dance moves smooth, her voice pitch perfect. By the time Pierre entered the scene, Lena had embraced her role, finally in control of her feelings.
He reached for her hand and their skin met.
Her voice caught in her throat.
Her step faltered.
“Cut!” Henry waved his arms about. “Lena!”
“I’m sorry!” She sounded as exasperated as she felt. “I really am!”
“Take a break. Pierre, let’s get your scene done, then we’ll go back to you and Lena once she’s refreshed.”
She went to her dressing room with guilt trailing her. She’d never messed up so badly before— why now?
She slumped in the chair in front of the mirror, leaned her elbows on the table and held her head in her hands. Her whole body ached. Her brain felt numb.
A woman’s voice came from behind the door. “Miss Lee?”
“Yes?” She jumped upright, widened her eyes and blinked. One of her fake eyelashes fell onto the table and she scooped it up.
“Mr. Newman has asked me to tell you to be on set in ten minutes.” The voice was quiet and gentle.
Getting up, Lena walked over and opened the door. Anna May stood in the hallway, her tiny frame covered in goosebumps.
“Come in.” Lena motioned for Anna May to enter, then passed her dressing gown to the chorus girl. Anna May shook her head. “Please, take it. Your lips are blue,” Lena said.
“I’m fine, really.” Anna May grimaced and her body shuddered.
“You’re freezing under that thin material.”
Anna May finally accepted the dressing gown and wrapped it around her.
“How long have I been away?” asked Lena.
“Almost an hour.”
“What?” The last thing she remembered was closing her eyes and burying her head in her hands—no wonder her wrists ached.
“Mr. Newman said he hopes you feel refreshed now.” Anna May handed the dressing gown back and moved toward the door.
“Anna May,” Lena said. “How are you doing?”
The young chorus girl turned to face her. “Fine, Miss Lee.”
“How many hours do you and the other girls spend on set, or rehearsing the big musical numbers?”
“It depends. On average, though, I’d say around sixteen hours a day.”
“How many days a week?”
“Six. Sometimes seven.” Anna May frowned. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I was wondering if things had changed since I was in your position.”
“I think it’s always been this way. Sometimes we rush from one set to another, filming two different movies.”
Lena turned to fix her eyelash in the mirror. Via the reflection, she looked at Anna May. “How about the men in the chorus?”
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of hours do they put in?”
“About the same, although there’s usually more work for women.”
“And they normally wear long pants and shirts, jackets and such, right?”
“Yes.” Wariness spread across Anna May’s face. “It’s all right, though. It’s nice weather here in Los Angeles, so we don’t get cold very often. I just feel the cold when I’m tired.”
“No wonder you’re tired, with the hours you work.” Lena finished fixing her eyelash and turned around, resting her buttocks on the table. “Do they still pay peanuts?”
Anna May glanced down the corridor then concentrated on her strappy dance shoes.
“I imagine it’s still less than the men,” said Lena.
Anna May shifted from foot to foot. She finally looked up. “It’s just the way it is.”
Lena had so much more to say, but she refrained from dragging Anna May into it. The poor girl had enough to deal with.
“It’s been like that for a long time,” Lena said. “Please tell Mr. Newman I’ll be there in just a moment.”
“Of course.” Anna May took a step, then halted. “Miss Lee?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for asking how I am. No one seems to know I exist around here. I’m just a girl who dances and sings in the background.”
Lena gave a gentle smile. “You are so much more than that, Anna May. If you have dreams, pursue them, and don’t let anyone deter you.”
Anna May curtsied. “Thank you, Miss Lee.”
“Anna May.” Lena got up and rested a hand on the chorus girl’s bony shoulder. “One day things will change, and you and every other woman in this industry will get the recognition you deserve. It’s only a matter of time.”
Chapter Seventeen
1994 – Starlight Creek, Queensland
The morning after Some Like It Hot, Claire felt rattled. She’d tossed and turned all night, images of Luke running through her mind. Nothing was as it seemed with Luke Jackson, and she found herself enjoying—craving—his company.
Claire jumped out of her single bed and opened the curtains. A few blocks away were the rolling sugarcane fields, framed by the hazy blue mountains in the background. She loved the way the sun rose peeking over the horizon, casting a glow across the valley that was accompanied with a chorus of singing birds—a peaceful moment before the busy day commenced.
There was something magical about Starlight Creek, and she wished she had more time to take it all in. Production was in full swing and she barely had time to breathe—although she had managed a moment to make out with Luke Jackson.
A sigh escaped her lips.
Given the dramas that had resulted from James and Annalise getting together, Claire was now consumed with guilt—and fear—over what had transpired with Luke. What if he got upset with her—for what, she wasn’t sure—and talked Hattie into canceling the contract?
This thinking was ridiculous.
Last night, Luke’s affection for her had shone through. They’d managed to stop before things went too far, but her body wanted to give in to his sensual touch, his breathtaking kisses. It had been a beautiful, romantic evening.
But this was dangerous ground she’d tiptoed onto, and it risked making her a hypocrite.
Claire readied herself for the day. By the time she arrived at the makeshift production office behind the cinema, Nigel was ensconced behind a wall of paperwork.
Claire knocked on the door. “Morning.”
Nigel looked up and smiled. “Good morning.” His face fell. “Everything okay?”
“There’s something you need to know.”
He motioned for her to come in and sit down, and she went through the conversations she’d had with Annalise and James. Nigel listened while scratching his head with his pencil.
“So, you see,” Claire concluded, “we’re playing with people’s lives here.”
“Celebrity comes with drawbacks.”
“I get that, sure, but James seems to have changed, and I believe he really is in love with Annalise. We all know the media loves to make up all kinds of things about celebrities, especially if they have a rebellious reputation, but what happens when fact and fantasy are mixed up? I’m not saying that James is an angel—his long list of exes is proof of that—but what if his image as a playboy has been blown out of proportion? What would Robert Dennis think if James had a reputation for being the bookish type that stayed at home and played chess?”
“The outcome would have been vastly different,” said Nigel.
“Exactly.”
“Look, we can sit here all day and debate the gossip in the glossy mags, but the fact of the matter is I have to finish this series, and I cannot afford for anyone to get distracted. James can figure out his love life afterward.”
“All right,” she said. Nigel did have a point. It wasn’t like they’d be filming for a year. The production would wrap up shortly and James and Annalise could figure out whether they were an item or if it was a fling.
Ugh.
None of this was her business. Aside from doing her job, Claire’s biggest concern was making sure things didn’t get weird between her and Luke. She just needed to keep her distance and finish the job she’d been hired to do. Although last night was very… Stop it!
“I’m off to get coffee. Want some?” she asked.
“There’s some over there.” Nigel pointed to the urn of boiling water and the jar of Nescafe sitting beside it.
“I’m from Melbourne,” she said, which, in her mind, summed it all up. Having grown up in Carlton, she’d been surrounded by Italian friends who had educated her on the finer points of good coffee. And in Starlight Creek, there was only one place that came close to a decent brew.
She set off down the street to Scarlet’s café, the air still cool before the heat of the day. When Claire arrived, she found the café closed.
Maybe Scarlet’s alarm hadn’t gone off? “Damn.”
“Nice language,” said a voice she recognized.
Claire spun to find James in a sweaty T-shirt and shorts.
“Have you been running?” She didn’t mean to sound so surprised.
“Yes,” he said, like it was his usual thing. He looked around, arms outstretched like Maria from The Sound of Music. “Isn’t this amazing? If I’d known how beautiful this place was at this hour, I’d be up this time every day.”
“I thought you were normally arriving home at this hour,” she quipped, then realized she’d bought into the rumors in the glossy mags as well.
Shame on her.
“I am a new me.” He jutted out his chin.
“I can see. I’m pleased for you.”
“This being fit thing is working. Check this out.” He lifted his shirt and she caught an eyeful of a very taut six pack.
“Impressive,” she said, not exactly comfortable with James showing her his body at 5:30 a.m.
“It keeps my mind off things.”
“Oh?” The second she said it, she regretted it.
“I really miss Annalise.”
Claire pulled her lips tight.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m going to get killed for this, but it’s not anyone’s business to tell you or Annalise what to do.”
James rested against the telephone pole. The yellowy-orange of the rising sun shone behind him, highlighting his lanky physique, strong jawline and perfectly wavy hair that had women, and some men, gaga.
“What are you saying?” he asked.
“I’m saying that Annalise asked me to give you a letter, and I told her I couldn’t. Robert Dennis saw me talking to her and he threatened to make sure the production fails.”
“Bloody hell.” James looked at the ground and shook his head. “He’d make an excellent father-in-law.”
“Ha!” Claire stopped laughing when she caught his solemn expression. “Are you thinking about marrying her?”
“Why not?”
“But you’ve only just met, and your lives are so different and…I could go on for a while.”
“I’m tired, Claire. I’m tired of this industry putting labels on people and expecting us to behave certain ways. I made my name being the playboy, but I’m done with it. I want a quiet life now.”
“You’re going to give up acting?”
He shook his head. “No way! But I’m going to lay low when I’m not doing the publicity rounds. I want to live in Ashton. With Annalise.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t manage anything else.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
“Actually, I don’t. I get it.” She’d enjoyed this trip to rural Queensland more than she’d expected, and it wasn’t just because of one Mr. Luke Jackson. The incredible scenery of the sugarcane fields, the forests and the mountains and the possibility of a quieter life in Starlight Creek had struck a chord. It would be hard to leave. “Listen, James, I understand you wanting to be with Annalise and I really hope it works out for you—”
The Cinema of Lost Dreams Page 16
