The Cinema of Lost Dreams

by Alli Sinclair

  “Maybe,” she said, knowing it could never happen. Aside from the ghosts of her past with Charlie, the studios had way too much influence on their lives, and any friendship between them would be fraught with gossip and innuendo—which certainly wouldn’t be without foundation.

  Reeves waved and got in his car. He took off down the road and Lena watched until the vehicle zipped around the corner, a wave of loneliness and longing washing over her.

  * * * *

  Lena stood on the steps of George’s apartment pressing the buzzer—again. She’d tried for a few minutes but didn’t have any luck. Giving up, she wrote a note and popped it in his mailbox, hoping his no-show was just the result of a hangover. She turned, went down the steps and got into the car. There was no point in going home to rattle around the mansion, it would just depress her. So where to now?

  The engine purred into action and she took off down the street, intent on enjoying the sunny afternoon. In an effort to take her mind off her conversation with Reeves, Lena navigated streets she’d never been down before, paying attention to the shops and houses, parks and schools. It occurred to her that in all her years in this large city, she’d never taken the time to be a sightseer. Then again, she’d never had a lot of time, even when she was starting out at the studio. The long hours were exhausting, and she’d certainly not had the means to buy a car.

  Lena turned left and found herself on a familiar street.

  Had her mind subconsciously directed her here? Was it that much of a habit?

  She drove toward Fortitude Studios, intent on driving past, but she found herself pulling over, getting out of the car and looking through the bushes in front of the iron bars. It was Sunday, but the studio still buzzed with set builders and other tradespeople trying to get everything ready for the next scenes to be shot.

  In the distance, she could see Stuart Cooper talking animatedly with another man in front of the main office. From where she stood she couldn’t recognize who it was, but she didn’t need to know. It was none of her business. Besides, it was her day off.

  Oh.

  Reeves was right. She lived and breathed this work so much that even on her first break in what felt like forever, she was standing at the gates of the studios looking in. What was wrong with her?

  Appalled, she turned to head for the car but stopped when she recognized a face she hadn’t seen for some time. “Nerida Curlewis!”

  A woman in her mid-fifties with immaculate hair and makeup and a two-pack-a-day voice beamed at her. “It has been some time, Miss Lee. Dare I ask why you were lurking in the bushes? Who are you spying on?”

  “No one!” She smoothed down her pantsuit.

  “Nice outfit. A little different than the first time we met.” Nerida rested a hand on her generous hips.

  “Very funny. Back then I thought I was fashionable—”

  “Since when is an oversize brown suit fashionable? Most casting directors would have thrown you out the door before you had a chance to audition. Lucky for you I stuck my nose in and convinced the studio to take you. I could see your potential, even back then.”

  “You know I’ve always appreciated you speaking up for me.”

  “And I’ve never regretted it. So, do you intend on hanging in the bushes all day, or would you like to get a cup of coffee? It’s been a long time since we’ve chatted.”

  Lena glanced at her car. She desperately wanted to get in and speed off, though at the same time she wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to sit and talk with one of Hollywood’s most powerful voices in publicity. Not only had Nerida reached the top of her game, she’d done it with style and integrity, ignoring the naysayers who fought to keep her down. Lena could learn a lot from this inspirational woman.

  “What about a diner? There’s one down the road,” Lena said.

  “I’ve got a heap of work to get through, so it would be easier if we have coffee in my office.”

  “Sure.”

  Lena left her car out front and rode into the studios with Nerida. They parked near the door of the main building, then took the elevator to Nerida’s office. The bookshelves and her desk overflowed with newspapers and magazines, and she had to clear a pile from a chair so Lena could sit.

  “Back in a moment.” She left and came back with two mugs of coffee a few minutes later.

  Lena gratefully took the coffee and sipped it. She placed the mug on the only spare corner of the desk. “How is everything? How are your great-nieces?”

  “Good. Great, in fact! There will be a third in September.”

  “Gosh!”

  “I know. Three under four. Mayhem for my nephew but joy for me!” Nerida studied her over the rim of her coffee cup. “So, how is it really going? Pierre can be a handful.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I was never sure that you and he would be a good match on-screen, but Stuart had his ideas.”

  “He is a visionary, that’s for sure.” Lena crossed her legs.

  “He is—to a degree. Although Cooper and the rest of the boys’ club need to fight harder against the censorship board.” She leaned against the high-backed chair. “If it were up to me, we’d have had this Hays Code knocked flat on its back by now.”

  “So you’re not planning on taking over the studio?” joked Lena.

  “I wish.” Nerida leaned forward and rested her hands on the desk. “I may have been around this block a few times, but I’ve never had on blinders. Women getting paid the same as men—not just in this industry—is a long-term battle. I’ve done what I can, but it’s time to pass the baton.”

  “You’re not retiring, are you?”

  Nerida let out a throaty laugh. “Not on your life! They’ll be carrying me out in a wooden box.”

  “Well, I hope that doesn’t happen for a very, very long time.”

  “I’m not getting any younger.” Nerida rested her gaze on Lena. “Nor are you. But you’ve proved them wrong. An actress’s age isn’t a handicap. I knew you had it in you.”

  “Thank you.” Age had been on her mind lately—was she leaving it too late to have children? Did she even want them?

  “Lena?”

  She looked up. “Sorry. I got caught up in a thought.”

  “About?”

  “Children.”

  Nerida’s mouth hung open. “Are you…”

  “No!”

  “Thank god, because if you and Pierre…”

  “What would happen if I was?” Lena asked, though she already knew the answer.

  “You could kiss your career goodbye. Imagine, an unmarried actress with child—the tabloids would have a field day. And, selfishly, it would be a nightmare for me to put out that particular fire.”

  “Yet there are actors who have broods of kids with women they barely know and no one bats an eyelid. No one says their career is over or sees them as less desirable.”

  “You’re telling me what I already know,” said Nerida. “No one should be made to choose between career and family.”

  “Agreed,” Lena said. “So, any new talent of note?”

  Nerida laughed and shook her head. “If you are asking if there is anyone who is going to threaten your rising star, then no, there is not. I’m still out there, getting as much publicity as I can for you, don’t worry.”

  Lena’s shoulders relaxed. “I guess I’m more insecure than I thought.”

  Nerida drank the last of her coffee and put the cup down. “I don’t see why. You and Pierre are an excellent team. From what I hear around the trades, you two are rivaling the studio’s biggest couple on- and off-screen.”

  “Jeanne and Reeves?”

  Nerida nodded.

  “I heard there was a—how shall we say this?—minor event on set a couple of days ago?”

  “Minor?” Nerida said. “It
was a major catastrophe! Shut down the entire set.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “It’s a disaster. In fact, that’s why I’m in on a Sunday—trying to sort this mess out before the reporters twist it around even further.”

  Lena shifted forward. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “Depends if you call going to rehab okay.” Nerida rested her arm on a pile of scripts.

  “Will she—”

  “How about them Cubs?”

  Lena smiled and nodded. “All right, I get it. Quit asking questions, Lena.”

  Nerida winked. “You always were astute.”

  “She begs for a day off,” a voice boomed behind her, “yet she’s here taking up our head publicist’s valuable time.”

  Lena swiveled to find Stuart Cooper filling most of the doorframe.

  “Miss Lee, how about we leave Nerida to it and you come to my office and keep me company, seeing you’re intent on never leaving this place?”

  “Stuart,” said Nerida, “I asked Lena in for a chat. It’s not all work and no play.”

  “In my studio it is. I don’t pay any of you to sit around and gabble. Miss Lee.” He swept his hand in the direction of his office.

  She grabbed her purse and got up. “Thank you for the coffee, Nerida.”

  “Anytime.” She picked up a pencil and notepad.

  Lena and Stuart Cooper crossed reception and went through the double office doors into Stuart’s corner of the building, which was more the size of a small apartment than an office.

  Stuart motioned for her to sit on the luxurious white leather chair and he took a seat behind his desk. “You perplex me, Miss Lee.”

  “Why?”

  “You complain you haven’t had a day off in ages, yet here you are.”

  “I know.” She studied the gold clasp on her white purse. “I didn’t plan on coming here but…” She shrugged.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, anyway. I believe your contract is up for renewal.”

  “Shouldn’t you be talking about this with my agent first?”

  “Middle-men. Pft!” He waved his hand and screwed up his face like he’d been overcome by a bad smell. “You’re the one working for my studio. I want to hear what you have to say.”

  She was so ill-prepared for this. Where to start?

  “Lena, it may be Sunday, but I don’t have all day.”

  Her hands grew clammy and the purse started to slip on her lap. Think, Lena. Think. What does your heart say? No, no. What does your head say? She took a deep breath. “I am very grateful for what Fortitude Studios has done for me and my career. I—”

  “This better not be a refusal to re-sign.”

  “Mr. Cooper, with all due respect, you asked me to discuss my contract with you and, I have to say, it is not as simple as signing a piece of paper.” She paused, waiting for him to say something, but instead he leaned on his elbows and formed a steeple with his fingers. “I love Fortitude Studios. I love this industry. I love that I finally caught a break and have had the chance to work with very talented people.”

  “Enough with the platitudes, Miss Lee.”

  “All right.” She took a deep breath, boldness taking hold. “The conditions for women in this industry are atrocious. The hours are long, the poor girls on the chorus lines are made to stand around for endless hours shivering in tiny little costumes when they’re not on set. They rarely eat because they are worried about putting on an extra pound or smudging their lipstick. And as for those of us who make it through the ranks, we sell our souls to the studio, to the audiences, to the magazines and newspapers who make money reporting about every single thing we do—or don’t do—and they don’t have a problem printing lies if it will sell more copies.”

  “You knew this the minute you signed up.”

  “In my head, yes, but it was only supposition. I signed on as an actress who needed money to have a roof over her head. But I’m older and wiser now—and I know my days are numbered. I’m getting close to my all washedup date, and there are not enough decent roles for women of a certain age.”

  Stuart threw his arms wide. “What do you want? You chose this profession. No one forced you into it.”

  “I want fairness, Mr. Cooper. I want women to be paid equally to men.” If only Nerida could hear this conversation.

  “That will never happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that is not the real world. It doesn’t matter if you or Jeanne Harris or Betty Grable have the qualities that pull audiences into movie theaters; men have always been paid more because it’s the women who pay to see them in the movies.”

  “But it’s the women’s husbands and boyfriends who come along to see people like me or Jeanne or Betty. And the women aspire to be like us—they follow our fashions, our hairstyles, the way we talk. We take them from their everyday lives and entertain them for a couple of precious hours. People like me and Jeanne are their voices, and if we don’t stand up for those who can’t be heard, then what is the point of being in this position?”

  “The point is that you make me money.”

  “With all due respect—”

  “Anyone who starts with that is not about to show any respect. Be careful what you say, Miss Lee.”

  “Mr. Cooper—”

  The door swung open and Nerida stood in the doorway, her face pale. “You are not going to like what I’ve just heard.”

  “What?” growled Stuart.

  “Pierre Montreaux just signed with Moonlight Studios.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  1994 – Starlight Creek, Queensland

  After dinner, Hattie and Don had retired for the evening, leaving Luke and Claire sitting outside on the swing. Luke’s nearness shot her temperature skyward. If she leaned in just a fraction more…no. She could not go down this road in the middle of an important production.

  “I really should get back. I have an early start tomorrow—again.”

  “Let me drive you.” Luke stood and held out his hand to help her up. He didn’t let go. “I wish you could stay in Starlight Creek longer.”

  “So do I.” For the first time ever, Claire had started to question whether the transient nature of her work was something she could sustain forever. But she had goals. Dreams. And none of these could be achieved without widening her network of industry contacts, and the only way to do that was to work for as many producers and directors as possible. One day, one of these contacts could be the backer she needed to get her project off the ground. Whatever that project ended up being.

  They walked down the steps to Luke’s car. He opened the passenger door and she got in, smiling her thanks. His chivalry reminded her of the Hollywood classic movies she’d watched over the years.

  Luke started the car and they drove toward Starlight Creek. The river sparkled under the moon, and the sugarcane remained eerily still. They drove in silence, Claire battling the urge to tell Luke about the conversation she’d had with Hattie. Though it was Luke’s business, and if he wanted to share that information with her, he would.

  They arrived at the hotel, now shrouded in darkness. She got out and Luke walked around to meet her, his body close to hers once more.

  Looking deep into her eyes, he said, “Something’s different. What is it?”

  “Nothing.” She bit her lip.

  “That nothing is a definite something. What’s changed?”

  “Noth—”

  Luke’s raised eyebrow stopped her lie.

  “Hattie told me about your mum and your little brother.” She cringed as she blurted it out, but she couldn’t lie.

  His shoulders slumped. “Hattie should leave well enough alone.”

  “It’s okay, really.”

  “No, it’s not, because now I’m the guy who lost his mu
m and brother when I was a kid. You’ll look at me with pity, you’ll want to talk about it, try to counsel me, and it will deteriorate whatever relationship we’ve been building.”

  “Wow,” she said. “I would have thought you’d have given me more credit than that.”

  “Experience has taught me otherwise.”

  “What happened?” she asked gently.

  “I don’t want my past to define who I am,” he said.

  “But it does—for all of us. Our past shapes who we are today, who we are tomorrow.”

  “It’s more to do with circumstance.”

  He had a slightly annoyed tone, but at least he was talking.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “I do what I do because of how I was brought up. I’m the youngest of four kids and I’m the only girl. My very practical family doesn’t understand my need to be creative, and they think me traveling so much for work is insane. But they can see I love what I do, and that I’m happy. They can also see that it’s the path that will eventually lead me to my dream work.”

  “Which is?”

  “I want to make documentaries. I want to film people who will inspire, make others think, and to tell a part of history that’s never been told before.”

  Luke frowned, his silence disconcerting.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to highlight that my family supports me and your dad doesn’t, I meant—”

  “It’s okay.” But his tone told her otherwise. “Look, we are who we are because of circumstance. If my mother hadn’t died, then chances are my brother would be working with Dad and I’d be pursuing my own dream.”

  “Sculpting full time?”

  “Not just that. I want so much more.” He leaned against the pole. “Farming is tough, and it’s getting tougher. My dad is more fragile than he looks, and my heart isn’t in the business. Believe me, I’ve tried, and will continue to do so, but it’s not who I am.”

  “Who are you, then?”

  “I’m someone who wants to use art to help and motivate people—much like your documentaries. I— Look, it doesn’t matter what I want, it’s never going to happen.”

  “Please, tell me.” She reached for his hand. Although he didn’t relax into her hold straight away, he eventually did.