I tell myself that her words can’t cut me. I won’t let them. Still, I pull my hat back from the table for fear she might grab at the pins. It would not be the first time she left me bleeding. “I’ve brought you some crossword puzzles. I know you like them. You can do one every day and when you’re done, I’ll send you more.”
Normally, working at the puzzles steadies her. Today she throws them on the floor. “One day, you’ll be sitting here alone, just like me, Clara. Just like me. Except that at least I have a husband, worthless as he is. When your nerves are shot and they lock you up, who will care?”
Unable to bear it even one more moment, I leap up from my chair and flee for the door, murmuring, “Hopefully, I’ll drink myself to death long before that happens.”
At home, from the safe height of my fancy penthouse apartment with its gilded furniture and velvet drapes, I find my stash in the sideboard and pour myself a shot of hooch. Downing it too quickly, I cough at the burn. Then I wipe my lips and hurriedly hide the evidence of my distress only moments before the doorman brings me the red roses and the note attached.
The man who sent them is waiting downstairs.
“Can’t you shoo him away, Charlie?”
“He’s not the sort to be given the bum’s rush, madam,” the doorman replies.
No, I don’t suppose he is. Leo Vanderberg has come at the worst time, but I find that I want to see him. Maybe the reckless aviator is just the tonic I need. “Alright, send him up. Wait fifteen minutes, then have the car brought around, won’t you?”
The penthouse, the doorman, and the driver are all perks of being a kept woman. I can afford them without Teddy Morgan’s generosity, of course. But like I said before, I never turn down a gift. The days when I was clawing for crumbs in a cold one-bedroom apartment are over, but I haven’t forgotten them and I’m never going back.
When I hear the aviator’s footsteps in the hall, my pulse quickens. I can see his lean body in my mind’s eye, and those dark looks, hot and heavy. I still remember what he whispered in my ear, and it makes me a little shaky to think of it. I don’t have to guess what he wants.
When he comes in, I don’t turn around right away. “Why, Mr. Vanderberg, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon, much less bearing gifts,” I say, arranging the roses so the blooms are on fine display. I have to admit, their perfume lifts my spirits. “Are you falling in love with me?”
“Of course not. That would ruin the whole arrangement.”
I want to turn around and look him in the eye, but I don’t. “What arrangement would that be?”
“The one where I’m planning to debauch you and you’re planning to let me.”
My lips part in amusement. “I’m afraid I was thoroughly debauched long ago.”
“I’d like to test that—” He catches his breath when I finally turn around. He has both hands in his pockets, a languid slope to his shoulders, a snappy hat shadowing his face, but he can’t hide his surprise.
And his wide-eyed astonishment makes me laugh. “What’s the matter, Ace? Haven’t you ever seen a girl without powder on her nose before?”
“I—I just … I just need a second to get used to it, is all.”
“Is my skirt too long, my hat too wide, or don’t you recognize me without my war paint?”
“You look younger …”
“Like a farm-fresh, freckled milkmaid? Like a sweet daisy ready to be plucked from a field?”
He shrugs. “Something like that.”
“Well, don’t let the baby face fool you. I only go out like this when I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”
“You’re Clara Cartwright. Why the devil wouldn’t you want anyone to recognize you?”
There is nothing I can do but lie. “Because, I’m going to a matinee at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. I can’t go there looking like myself. My handprints are in the concrete forecourt right next to Charlie Chaplin’s. I’d spend the whole afternoon signing autographs.”
He smirks. “Must be hard to be you.”
“Positively a trial.”
He’s still smirking—and I see it’s his natural expression, as if he has the utmost contempt for the whole world. “If you’re going to the matinee, Clara, let me take you. My treat.”
My voice is low and husky with regret. “I’m not interested, Mr. Vanderberg.”
“Yes you are. And like I said before, you can call me Leo.”
“I haven’t decided if I want to be on a first-name basis. At the party I got the impression you weren’t just another wet blanket … you seemed reckless. A little bit dangerous. But flowers and a movie? Rather conventional, wouldn’t you say?”
“The courtship’s for your benefit, doll, not mine.” Then he leans in and everything turns deadly serious. “See, it’s like this. When you’re in bed with me, squirming in embarrassment for all the filthy things you’ve let me do to you, it should comfort you to remember that I did court you as a lady … even though I intend to treat you as anything but.”
There’s something about him that’s so potent, so alluring, that I can hardly stand up straight. It’s not that he’s such a brash pursuer; I’ve been pursued by brash men before. It’s that I think he means it. He means every word he says and that sends the blood rushing past my ears. “You don’t need to try so hard, Mr. Vanderberg. I assure you, it’s more difficult to make me embarrassed by anything I do in a bed than to get me into one.”
He leans close enough to kiss me. “Now that sounds like a challenge … so, what do you say? Are you gonna see a picture with me or not?”
I tilt my head, look him in the eye and smile. “Not.”
This doesn’t dissuade him. “Oh, good. I was hoping you’d make things difficult.”
“I wish I could say that I was playing hard to get, but the fact is, I’m spoken for.”
“I don’t see a handcuff on your finger,” he says.
“I’m not the marrying kind.”
“That makes two of us. See? We’re a matched pair. Last night, you said I wasn’t likely to make you a better deal than the one you’ve got with Teddy Morgan but—”
“Oh boy, did you prove me wrong,” I say with a saucy tilt of my hips.
That admission earns me a big toothy grin. “How’d you like it?”
In spite of myself, I grin back, remembering the pleasurable fantasy. “It was swell.”
“That gift didn’t come with any strings but the next one will.”
“The next one?”
“I’ve got something that I think belongs to you, but if you want it back, it’ll cost you.”
“Now I’m intrigued …”
His shoulders tense as if he’s bracing for something. “It’s a stag film. You know the kind.”
He’s bluffing. He has to be. I call upon all my acting talent and hide behind a facade. “And what makes you think it belongs to me?”
“Well, I could give it back to the fella I got it from, but it seems like the kind of film that should only fall into the hands of the girl who starred in it.”
My chest rises and falls and I think I should say something, but I can’t think of a good line. I can’t think of much of anything except the fact that he might not be bluffing. If he really does have the film that could sink my career, what am I going to do about it? “I’ve made a lot of films, Mr. Vanderberg. I can’t remember them all.”
“Oh, you’d remember this one, I think. Two flappers walk up to the bartender in a Parisian nightclub—”
“And you have the film?” I ask flatly, all business.
“I do. And I’ll give it to you tonight if you want it.”
“In exchange for?”
“A private screening,” he says. “You arrange the showing and I’ll bring the reel at eight sharp. Watch the movie with me and you can keep it.”
I can’t decide if I’m offended or fascinated by his nerve. “So, you intend to blackmail me.”
He makes an indignant sound. “Blackmail r
equires a threat. I’m not threatening you with anything.”
“The threat is implied.”
He puts a hand over his heart as if wounded. “Do you always attribute such sinister motives to people?”
“Nearly always. This way I’m seldom disappointed.”
My hard-boiled attitude only seems to charm him, and he plucks one of the roses from the vase and taps it against my cheek. “Call it blackmail, then. Or call it smart business. Either way, it’s a one-time offer. Take it or leave it.”
The decision is already made, but a girl has to keep up appearances. “You just want to watch the movie with me. That’s your price?”
“That’s right.”
I eye him dubiously, taking the rose, careful to avoid the thorns. “You’re sure you don’t want more than that?”
“Oh, I want plenty more. I’m just not willing to bargain for the rest.”
CHAPTER
Three
I don’t like it when a man thinks he’s got something over me. I seduce men; I don’t get seduced. So I decide upon the siren red dress just short of my knees. Then I wear a matching feathered headband and paint my lips a poisonous shade of scarlet.
It’s armor, the only defense I’ve ever had. And I need a defense against Leo Vanderberg. He’s dark and dangerous—perhaps he’s even a predator. It was ungentlemanly to let me know that he had the stag film; to insist that I watch it with him bespeaks a certain depravity that I ought to find quite off-putting. So why don’t I?
My mother always said I’d run headlong into the devil’s arms if he opened them to me.
I fear I’m about to prove it.
Promptly at eight, Leo Vanderberg shows up at the darkened studio with the reel. When he sees me in my skimpy red dress, he stares at me so hard I think I can see the veins in his forehead pulsing. “You look like a goddamned movie star …”
I merely curl my lips around the end of my cigarette holder in the way I know drives men wild. It’s a battle of nerves, I think. If I make his mouth run dry with desire for me, maybe he won’t realize that I’m trembling. “I don’t mind the looks of you, either.”
He clears his throat. “Nice little studio. Is it yours?”
“Not yet. I just rent the space when I’m working on a project.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “What kind of project?”
I want to tell him about my own films. I want to let him know I’m not just the little chippy he thinks I am, but something stops me. I’m vulnerable enough. No need to give him anything more than he’s already got. “Are we here for small talk, Ace?”
He shows me a glint of teeth, undressing me with his eyes. “No, I don’t suppose we are.”
Then, mercifully, he glances away and I turn to see my rival for his attention—one made of lights and lenses. He whistles in appreciation of the machinery. “A motorized projector …” He caresses it with one hand, as if he wants to take it all apart and put it back together again. “That had to set you back a few clams.”
“You didn’t think I was going to hire a projectionist tonight, did you?”
“Why not? Would it embarrass you to watch this film with two men?” He circles closer as if scenting blood. “Do you think it’s going to embarrass you to watch it with me?”
I don’t answer, fighting off a blush.
My bashfulness makes him laugh. “I thought you said you didn’t embarrass easy. You’ve appeared half-naked on a big screen for audiences for years now. You know men fantasize about you and I think you like it. But this is going to be different, isn’t it?”
I tilt my head so that I can look him in the eye. “I’ve learned that in the end, all movies—and all men—are just the same.”
It’s a bald lie. If he were to press me, I’d crack. My stomach knots at the thought of seeing myself naked on screen, having sex with a man whose name I can’t even remember. In other movies I’m a star, but in this one … the only thing worse than watching myself will be letting this man take pleasure from my shame. So why do I suddenly want it? Why do I crave it? Maybe I’m mesmerized, like one of those little mice at the circus who stare too long into the eyes of a snake they’re being fed to. All Leo has to do is kiss me and I won’t be able to keep up the pretense of bravado for even one more moment.
Instead, he gives my hand a squeeze. “You can have the film, Clara. You don’t have to watch it with me. You can have it.”
Hiding my relief, I ask, “Are you going soft on me, Ace?”
“I can be a hard man when I have to be,” he says, gripping my fingers tighter, just short of the point of pain. “But I lured you here for pleasure tonight. Now here we are, so you can set the film on fire if you want.”
“Why would I?”
“Because I’m starting to think that maybe you didn’t star in this film voluntarily. Maybe someone made you do it.”
What a laugh. “Nobody makes me do anything.”
“I made you come here tonight, didn’t I? It simply never occurred to me that coercing you into watching this movie might actually upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” I protest, because whatever is happening in me goes much deeper than upset. “But I’d like to know how this film came to be in your possession.”
“You’re not going to like the answer.”
I lift my chin. “Try me.”
“Teddy Morgan asked me to track it down for him.”
“Why would he do that? Are you moonlighting as a detective now?”
“It’s the kind of film that is bound to show up on an Air Force base in a private showing at the officer’s club,” Leo says. “Besides, I’m a man of various talents.”
“What did Teddy Morgan want with a stag film?” I ask, my nerves on edge.
“He didn’t say. I suspect he wants an insurance policy to keep anyone from taking you away from him.”
At this, I shake my head. “You’re wrong. If he asked you to find this film it’s because he … collects interesting things. He might have even wanted to get his hands on it so he could protect me.”
“If that’s true, then he won’t mind that I gave it to you.”
I can’t argue with his logic. “Maybe not, but he won’t like it when I tell him that we watched it together.”
He lifts a brow and the knot in my belly starts to melt away into something hot and molten. I want this strange, mysterious man with a fierce lust I haven’t felt in years. Maybe not ever. A lust that defies all good common sense. I peek at him from beneath long lazy lashes. “I’ve never seen it before …”
He’s all in shadow, but I hear him breathe deeper. “Would you like to?”
My whole body screams its eagerness, from the tingling tips of my fingers to the upturned curve of my hips. “Why not? Unless you’re bluffing and there’s nothing on this reel at all …”
“I never bluff.”
He’s got me now, with or without the film. I’m going to let him have his way with me and he knows it.
“Turn it on,” he says.
My fingers tremble as I adjust the machine. Then, when the film flickers over the title to a grainy black-and-white scene of a bartender in a white jacket, Leo Vanderberg settles into a seat and pats the one next to him.
The bemused set of his sensual lips draws me in. He straightens the crease of his pants, then pulls a silver flask from his jacket, uncaps it, and holds it out to me. “Here. You look like you need a little Dutch courage.”
I take the flask and drink in deep, wondering if it’s his mouth I taste on the rim. My cheeks burn as I watch myself on-screen flirting with another flapper who orders two cocktails, then presses her pretty lips on mine.
I’d almost forgotten the girl.
I watch, fascinated, as the actress’s hand drops between my legs. Then I’m too embarrassed.
“Don’t turn away,” Leo says. “It’s just getting started. Besides, this is one of the best parts.”
“I did it on a lark you know,” I say, wondering how many
times he’s seen the film and if it excited him. I want to know if it excites him now. “I was only eighteen. I was sleeping with the actor playing the bartender. When he suggested we make a movie of it, it sounded exciting.”
“Whose idea was it to involve the other girl?”
“His,” I reply, deciding I need to be drunk. I gulp down the rest of the contents of the flask, then hand it back to him, waiting for my head to swim.
When he takes it, our fingers touch and another arc of electricity passes between us. “I like how you writhe against her hand as she strips you. It looks as though you’re moaning at her touch.”
“I’m an actress.”
This makes him laugh. “So you’re saying you didn’t like it; you were just putting on a show.”
“I didn’t say that. Girls are soft and pretty but don’t thrill me like men do. If I was excited kissing her, it’s only because it was so forbidden.”
“So you have a taste for the taboo. I just wonder if there’s more to it than that.”
“Maybe,” I admit, finding myself more and more aroused by his interest, by his casual acceptance of the lurid sex act depicted on-screen—one that would earn me the scorn of the society I’m accustomed to keeping, if not get me arrested in some places. He gives off the air of a man who can’t be shocked by anything, and that makes me feel safe enough to tell him the truth. “I liked being naked for the camera. Being naked when everyone else was still dressed. She wanted me; he wanted me. I like to be wanted, so I let them have me. It made me feel like a glorious object of pleasure …”
“That makes sense. You’re a performer. You like to make people laugh and cry … why wouldn’t you want to excite them?”
He puts into words what I’ve never been able to and now I do feel drunk. “I think I was born to do it …”
Leo nods. “But I’ve seen you seduce a hundred men on camera, you’re all vamp, taking charge. Not here. Look at the way your eyes drop so shyly when the bartender comes around the bar to pick you up. You wilt like a virgin in his arms.”
I laugh. “I assure you, I wasn’t one.”
It Stings So Sweet Page 9
