“Can I help?” she asked.
“I want to see that James Lloyd.”
Claire took a moment before replying. Who was this guy? “James is currently filming.”
“When will he be done?”
“It’s hard to tell,” she said, her senses on high alert.
“When?” he spat out.
“If you would like me to pass on a message, I’d be more than happy to do so.” Like hell. This guy gave off some very angry vibes.
“I need to see him—in person.”
“What’s it about? Maybe I can help.” She did her best to sound calm, but his aggressive attitude was not encouraging.
“Tell him to keep his goddamn dick away from my girlfriend.”
“Pardon?”
“He fucked my girlfriend, and now she wants to run away with him.” Rage and hurt was in every word.
“Who is your girlfriend?” she asked, but she already knew what the answer would be.
“Annalise Dennis.”
Bingo.
“You know her?”
“Yes,” she said. “Sorry, what’s your name?”
“Brody.”
“Brody…?”
“Brody Hall,” he said, like he was speaking to a three-year-old.
“Brody,” she said gently, “I do know Annalise and she’s a lovely person.”
“She’s a whore.”
Claire steeled herself, aware this situation could get out of control very quickly. “It’s obvious you and Annalise have a lot to work through, and I’d suggest you concentrate on that rather than worrying about James.”
“He had sex with her!” he yelled loud enough that two older ladies faltered as they walked past.
Brody closed in on Claire. She stood her ground. “I really think you need to discuss this with Annalise,” she said.
“She won’t talk to me, and I want the full story. And her father isn’t helping.”
“Robert?”
“You know him?”
“Yes.” Claire looked him in the eyes but also managed to assess her nearest escape route if this guy got physical. “What do you mean Robert isn’t helping?”
“I’ve been away, working in the mines, and I come back to a town that is talking about my girlfriend having sex with some arsehole who wears makeup.”
“It’s makeup for the screen.” What on earth was she saying? “Brody, I’m really sorry, but you need to talk to Annalise about this.”
“For fuck’s sake!” He punched the pole so hard the veranda shook.
The news agent, Colin, raced out. “What’s going on?”
“It’s okay,” she said, her body on full alert. “Brody and I are done talking.”
“This is not the last of it,” Brody growled. He got in his ute and sped off, leaving clouds of dust in his wake.
Claire gripped the pole, her chest tight.
“Are you really all right?” asked Colin.
“I will be.” She took a deep breath and laughed. “Man, he was angry, huh?”
“Did he say it has to do with one of your actors?”
“It’s nothing.” She needed to warn Nigel about this.
“Like I said before, no good has come with you lot here.” Colin shoved his finger under her nose and she took a step back. What was with all the testosterone today?
Claire straightened her spine. “This is an issue between Brody and his girlfriend.”
“His girlfriend who had relations with your actor. Something has to be done about this. Too many people coming here upsetting our peace and quiet—noisy cars polluting our air, taking our parking spaces, we can’t get into the pub for a beer because it’s too crowded. Enough is enough.” Colin marched into his shop and slammed the door. He turned the open sign to closed.
“He’s right,” said a woman with a young baby in a pram.
“Pardon?” Jeez, not another naysayer.
She rocked the pram and said loudly, “Too many strangers in our town. We don’t want unsavory elements influencing our children.”
“We’ve been here for a while without incident, I think we’ve proven ourselves respectful and decent.” What did the Starlight Creek residents think the production team were—a rock band hell-bent on trashing the town?
“We’ll be glad to see the back of all of you.” The woman pushed the pram away with haste, mumbling as she went.
What was going on? The residents of Starlight Creek had been happy to have the production in town, to give a much-needed injection into the economy, and now, a handful of townsfolk were turning on them. Why?
Oh no. Had Robert Dennis got his claws in? This is not the end of it. And I will do my damned best to make sure this production fails. Those had been his exact words. Had he sent Brody in to do his dirty work? A jilted boyfriend was the perfect way to create a stir on set and turn the town against the production.
“Bloody hell,” Claire muttered as she headed back to the cinema. Some fires needed putting out.
* * * *
Claire sat on the swing on Luke’s veranda. It had been a long day fraught with the usual challenges on set, and also the added stress of Brody Hall showing up. The ordeal had left her unsettled, and there was only one place that brought her peace.
The screen door creaked open and Luke came out with a gin and tonic adorned with a slice of lime.
She happily took the glass, sipped from it and basked in the slight burn of alcohol. The tension faded, just a little. When he held her hand, her shoulders relaxed and her problems somehow felt like they could be solved.
“I wouldn’t worry about Colin,” said Luke. “He’s all hot air with nothing better to do than whine. Although…”
“Although?”
“Although his brother is the mayor. They’re close, and if Colin got in his ear…” Luke shook his head. “Don’t worry. You guys are nearly finished, right?”
“Yes.” Aside from outside influences, production had been going along very nicely. And it worried her.
Luke sipped his gin and tonic, his gaze concentrating on the fields before them. The sun had started its descent, and a light, warm breeze danced through the air.
“About our last conversation,” he said.
She looked at him, waiting for him to continue, though he seemed to have stalled.
“What did you want to say?” she finally asked.
He put his drink on the small table in front of them. “I’ve been thinking, and my head tells me this is ridiculous, but my heart is telling me something else.”
“About?” She could hardly speak.
“About you.”
“Me?” she rasped.
“Why are you surprised? Or…are you not interested?”
“In you?” She instantly regretted the shocked tone. “Of course I’m interested, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. But it’s early, Luke, and with your commitments here and my work taking me everywhere—”
“I’m not asking you to move here, I just want us to keep in contact.”
“As friends?”
“I would say we are more than that.” His low voice stirred her body in the same way his touch did.
Luke stood and moved over to the edge of the veranda, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Claire closed her eyes, wishing she could give him what he wanted. Given their conversation about the French backpacker, he had put a lot on the line to even suggest they keep in contact.
She got up, went to Luke and rested her hand on his lower back and her head on his shoulder. Quietly, she said, “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you.”
“I get it.” He stepped away. “I should have known better.”
“Known better than to tell me what you want?” she asked. “Don’t ever be afraid to tell me what you’re thinking, what
you’re feeling.”
Luke gripped the railing. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re leaving. You’ll get busy. We’ll drift apart, despite our best intentions.” Luke turned to face her. “It’s life. What’s that saying? Reason, season, lifetime?”
“Luke.” Claire reached for his hand, but he didn’t wrap his fingers around hers. “We barely know each other, but I want to learn all I can about you. I want to know your favorite color, your favorite band when you were a teenager, what you think about at three in the morning…. I want to know everything about Luke Jackson, and I can’t do that if you don’t give us a chance.”
“You want this?”
“Of course I do!” She heard the words fall out of her mouth, surprised by their enthusiasm, petrified by their implication. How could she balance a long-distance romance while building her career? Yet here she was, envisioning a future with Luke against seemingly impossible odds. “What’s changed?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yesterday you told me that it’s impossible to have everything we want in life. You said it with conviction. Yet your tune is very different today.”
“Things happen,” he mumbled, his eyes not meeting hers.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m tired.” His shoulders dropped. “I’m tired of trying to be someone I’m not. And despite my best efforts to resist, you inspire me, Claire Montgomery.”
“I do?”
“Of course! You’re working your way toward achieving your dreams and I’m here, stuffing about, not doing anything concrete, not making a solid commitment. I love my father, and I do love this farm, but there is so much more to my life. I don’t know how, but I’m going to make my dreams a reality.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic!” She threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick kiss. “I’m so excited for you!”
His smile was lopsided. “I’ve got a long way to go and a lot to figure out, but I’ll get there. And I wouldn’t be doing it without you.”
“I’ve done nothing.”
“Are you serious?” He laughed. “You are the most inspirational person I’ve ever met, and I love you for it.”
Claire’s arms fell to her sides. “You…” She couldn’t say it.
“Oh god,” Luke said. “I don’t mean love love, I mean… Shit. I don’t know what I mean.”
Claire snaked her hand around the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I mean, either.”
Their lips met and the worries of the day—and future—faded into the inky sky.
Chapter Twenty-three
1952 – Hollywood
Stuart Cooper slammed his fists on the wooden desk and shouted, “What the hell has happened with Montreaux?”
Lena grabbed her purse and stood. “I think it’s best I leave.”
“Better you stay. This concerns you,” said Stuart.
Lena sat on the edge of the chair. Her chest felt hollow, like someone had just torn out her heart. How could Pierre do this?
Stuart put his head in his hands. “Jesus Christ. Surely your source is wrong.”
“I wish they were,” said Nerida.
“Goddamn it!” He waved his fist. “How the hell did the tabloids know before us? I thought he and his agent had this deal signed!”
“I believe his agent had been stalling.”
“We offered him more money! Extra benefits! What more does he want?”
“Top billing. Looks like he’s got it from Moonlight Studios,” Nerida said matter-of-factly.
“Why didn’t we give that to him?” Stuart’s face was so red Lena worried he would have a heart attack.
“Because Jeanne ensured Reeves Garrity was our number one studio actor when she renewed her contract last year.”
“Goddamn diva,” he mumbled. “Why didn’t Montreaux come to me before signing with them? Isn’t there a clause stating he’s with us in perpetuity?”
“Not quite. We—”
“Damn lawyers. The ungrateful bastard will regret doing this.” Stuart’s fist pounded the desk so hard his coffee cup bounced off the saucer. “This is the last thing we need! I’ll call the lawyers. You figure out what we do about the gaping hole left by Jeanne.”
“I’ll give Ernie from casting a call. Get him in here,” said Nerida.
“No, we’re fixing this right now. You’re the one who’s going to be handling this publicity nightmare anyway. The last thing we need is for our studio to be the center of another scandal. First Jeanne, now Montreaux.” He snapped a pencil. “This studio will be the death of me.”
Nerida rubbed the back of her head. “Everyone is tied up on other projects, except…” She looked at Lena then Stuart. “Lena has some free time.”
“No, I don’t. I’m filming with Pierre in…oh.”
Stuart lit a cigarette and sucked on it. “You could be Jeanne.”
“Excuse me?” The last person she’d ever want to be compared to—or be—was Jeanne Harris.
Stuart tapped his cigarette against the ashtray. “I have no idea how long it will take Jeanne to dry out—if she ever does—and I can’t have Reeves Garrity kicking around the studio twiddling his thumbs. Same goes for you, Lena. It makes perfect sense for you two to do this film. We’ve just started, so we could cut Jeanne and use you.”
“We don’t know if they have any on-screen chemistry,” said Nerida.
“They’ll find it,” Stuart puffed. “They’re both attractive and can actually act.” He laughed and slapped the desk. “Why haven’t we paired them before? They’ll be perfect!”
“Because Lena works with Pierre and Jeanne works with Reeves. We’ve not separated them for a reason—audiences want the same couples in different roles. Although…maybe a change is good. We certainly can’t go on the way we have, especially given the circumstances.”
Lena shuffled on the chair. “I’m not so sure this is a good—”
“She’s perfect,” said Stuart, not taking his eyes off her. “When she did an on-the-spot audition for me she played the siren—just what we need for this role.”
“But I’ve always played wholesome parts. That’s what my fans expect, and they love me for it. Plus, Pierre and I play the quintessential couple with strong morals.”
“So much for Montreaux and morals,” spat out Stuart. “You’re taking her place. For the next little while you’ll be heartbroken in public, burying yourself in tubs of ice cream or whatever it is women do when they’ve been jilted, but behind the scenes we’ll be getting you ready for your new role. You’ll need to do your best acting and convince the public you are devastated.” Stuart rested against his chair.
“I am devastated. And I’m also furious.” With the amount of time they’d spent together every week, surely Pierre could have dropped a hint. Oh. He absolutely had. Well, changes are afoot. How could she not have picked that up? She’d been so wrapped up in her own concerns she’d missed Pierre’s clues.
“Lena? Will you do it?”
“Do what?” She hated the way her voice had gone up an octave, but the rising panic was hard to quell.
“Will you play the role of the heartbroken lover?”
“About Pierre?” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “No.”
“What?” Stuart’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped.
Nerida gave a quick shake of her head.
“I’m done with misleading the public about an affair that never happened. I won’t ever admit to it being a charade; don’t worry, I’ll protect the studio. And I am sad that Pierre’s left—I actually enjoyed working with him, even though he drove me crazy at times. His betrayal upsets and angers me beyond words. However, I refuse to play the role of the heartbroken, jilted girlfriend whose life has fallen apart because she doesn’t have a man. I’m going to show women everywhere that be
ing single is not the end of the world. It is a chance to hold your head high and move on with things that make you happy, to continue with your own dreams.”
Stuart put his elbow on the desk and rested his forehead in the palm of his hand. He muttered, “If it’s not one thing, it’s another.”
“I wouldn’t do this unless I felt strongly about it,” she said, terrified she’d just leaped over the very fine line between being offered a new contract or not.
“Why?” Stuart threw his arms wide. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“Why?” she asked, incredulous. “This isn’t about you, Mr. Cooper. It’s about so many things, including the Hays Code, which has done its darndest to stamp out people’s freedom to decide what they want to watch. It has stifled creativity and, to a certain degree, shaped the public’s expectations about how actors should behave. The stories we tell in movies and the way actors’ lives are presented in public can inspire—not just entertain—so why can’t I show young women that heartache is not a tragedy?”
Stuart stared at the ceiling, as if begging for patience—or a lightning bolt to strike him dead. “This is not an opportunity for you to get on your soapbox.”
Nerida covered her mouth and coughed. “She has a point.”
“Not you, too,” said Stuart.
“Think about it. Jeanne Harris has been the studio’s leading woman for quite some time. She’s had public brawls, been arrested, fallen in gutters, flirted openly with married men…you name it. Now she’s in rehab, and even though we’re trying to keep it under wraps it won’t be long before it leaks. I hate to say it, but my female friends gave up on Jeanne Harris a while ago. The only reason they go to her movies is to watch Reeves Garrity. The role meant for Jeanne in Monterey Nights is a sassy one, and it’s totally out of character for Lena, but she’s just suffered a public breakup and is no longer part of one of Hollywood’s up-and-coming couples. So…”
“So reinventing herself is a good thing?” asked Stuart.
“Of course it is!” said Nerida. “She will be doing the exact opposite of what people expect. Everyone loves surprises.”
The Cinema of Lost Dreams Page 23
