Starstruck

by Anne McAllister

  “Tell me about your movie roles,” she probed. “There are rumors that you’ll be doing another Steve Scott film.” This, of course, was from Frances, who had seen the last one five times.

  “Not if I can help it,” Joe replied, his features creasing into a scowl.

  “You don’t like adventure films?”

  He shrugged. “They’re not bad. It’s just that no one ever sees beyond them. I did ten pictures before Steve Scott came along. I’ve played everything from a Chicago mobster to a down-and-out athlete to a defrocked priest. I like the variety. Now I’m just ‘Steve Scott’ and everyone expects me to shoot first and talk later, to wrestle the tiger and woo the girl.”

  Or wrestle the girl, Liv thought. That was certainly the impression he gave. At first glance, anyway. She was grateful for the stoplight impeding their progress. It gave her a chance to study him. He was raking his hand through his hair irritably and muttering, “There's more to me than that.”

  Was there, she wondered. Scant moments ago he had tried to give her an interview that amounted to an encapsulated brush-off. Now he was saying things about his career that she didn’t ever remember reading about him before. She could well imagine that being known as Steve Scott would have its drawbacks as well as its compensations, but she hadn’t expected a man like Joe Harrington to appreciate that. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she ought to take another look. A careful one. “Are you planning other roles, then? New films that will demand more of you?” she asked as the light turned green and they started up again.

  He sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve had plenty of offers. Nothing really touches me though. There are other things I’d like to try.” He stopped abruptly, staring down at his fingers, laced between his knees.

  “Such as?”

  He lifted his eyes to stare out at the lakefront as they passed. “More directing projects,” he said finally. “This peace thing. Some writing. I want to get out from in front of the camera now. But I haven’t decided exactly how yet.”

  The auditorium where he was to speak loomed just ahead of them. Damn, just when things were getting interesting. “How about if we continue the interview after your speech?” she suggested.

  He cocked his head and grinned at her. “Is that a proposition?”

  “No, it’s not!” Darn him! The moment she felt the tiniest bit comfortable with him, he said something that sent all her defenses to the fore. “It’s common sense, that’s all. If we continue now, you’ll be late. Not,” she added irritably, “that it would be a big loss, I don’t suppose.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What do actors know about peace, anyway?” Liv asked. “I probably know as much as you do.”

  “Maybe,” he acknowledged, which surprised her. She had been prepared for a giant display of male ego, but Joe just said, “More people would be willing to listen to me though, I bet,” and grinned mockingly at her.

  “Only because of your beautiful body,” Liv retorted. She drove into the parking lot as close as she could to the entrance of the building and said, “You get out here. I’ll find a place to park.”

  Shrugging, Joe opened the door and swung out, stopping after he did so to turn and fix her with a hard stare. “You don’t like me much, do you?” he asked.

  “No,” Liv said, “I don’t.” But she didn’t feel quite the same conviction about her dislike that she had five hours before. After meeting him she couldn’t say whether she disliked him or not. He made her feel uncomfortable and incredibly aware, and she knew very well that she didn’t like that. She also knew that she didn’t want to like him. One unfaithful male was enough in anyone’s life. From Tom James to someone like Joe Harrington was only stepping from a badly designed economy version to the top-of-the-line model of the same man

  Still, she reflected guiltily, she didn’t have to come right out and say she didn’t like him, did she? She opened her mouth to apologize, but Joe had already shut the door and was stalking off, head high, the wind catching his coattail and blowing it back away from his lean frame. She saw the rigid set to his shoulders and bit her lip. Probably she’d made him furious, she thought with a surprising twinge of regret. She would hardly blame him if he were totally fed up with her continual barrage of set-downs and got himself a taxi or a willing-to-please female to take him back to the Sheraton. She couldn’t have blamed him if he said to hell with her and the interview all together.

  By the time Liv got inside the auditorium where Joe was speaking, there wasn’t a seat left. Hordes of women and a surprisingly large number of men, old and young alike, were crowded shoulder to shoulder, jostling and talking, waiting to hear what Joe Harrington had to say. Or to see what he looked like in person, Liv thought, remembering Margie and her talk about grafting apple trees.

  She fumbled through her purse for her notebook and pen, hoping that she would catch a few good quotes which, along with the thumbnail sketch of his life which he had rattled off earlier, would add up to a plausible story if she never saw him again.

  Suddenly there was a collective sigh and wild applause, and the local director of the organization sponsoring Joe’s appearance stepped forward and introduced “America’s favorite man.” Liv thought she saw Joe wince at the introduction. But it happened so fast that she could have been wrong. What was more obvious to her, though apparently not to the enthusiastic crowd, was how very weary he was. She could see the fatigue even from where she was sitting scrunched against the back wall. She felt a twinge of compassion for him and hoped he would make it through the speech. It wouldn’t do for him to fall asleep at the podium, she thought, her pen poised as he began to speak.

  Exhausted or not, from somewhere deep within, Joe managed to dredge up enough energy to give a thoughtful, obviously well-researched yet sincerely impassioned speech. Liv was amazed. The pen hung useless from her fingers. The lightweight, shallow-minded playboy she’d been expecting to hear never materialized at all. She was captivated by his words, especially those at the end when he leaned over the podium and thrust his hair back off his forehead, saying bluntly, “You don’t have to have kids to want the world to be safe for the next generation. I don’t have any kids, but that’s no reason for me not to get involved. Until tonight I’d never met a little boy named Theo and a little girl called Jennifer, but the world is a richer place for their being in it. And it will be a richer place for their children being in it too—if we keep the world intact long enough for them to be born to enjoy it!”

  The crowd roared approval. Those who had come to see his body and his handsome face stayed to hear what he had to say. Liv could tell from the expressions on their faces, intense, rapt expressions that touched her almost as much as his words. She stayed, too, grinning, shaking, as though she had given the speech herself. It was a side of Joe Harrington that she’d never imagined, the side that the gossip columnists never seemed to write about—maybe didn’t even know—but it made Frances seem not so crazy after all.

  Liv was pressed up against the door by the stream of people rushing past, ready to mob the refreshment area where Joe would be. Stuffing her notes back into her purse, Liv stepped into the flow and was swept along into a long, spacious reception area now crowded beyond all recognition with hordes of people.

  She saw Joe at the far end of the room, mobbed by autograph seekers and out-of-town reporters, and wondered whether she should wait or vanish without a trace. He might not want to see her at all. Undecided, she hovered just inside the door, glancing from Joe to the nearest exit and back again. He seemed to be searching the crowd for someone, his gaze swiveling over the sea of faces until, at last, it settled on her. Then, with a word to the man at his side, he began to elbow his way through the crowd in her direction, the green eyes never leaving hers.

  “Ready?” he asked when he reached her, and slipped an arm around her, drawing her against the hard warmth of his chest.

  “Um, yes,” Liv stammered. “But don’t you have to—I mean, a
ll these people are —”

  “Let’s go,” Joe said, and he plunged through the milling crowd, towing Liv after him, smiling and shaking hands all the way, saying, “Thanks. Thanks for coming,” and finally he wrenched open the door that let them out of the noise, glare and cigarette smoke and into the blessed dimness and fresh air of the parking lot. The lake shimmered under the street lights in the distance, and Joe heaved a long sigh.

  “Whew,” Liv said, shaking her head in amazement. “Is it always like that?”

  “Often enough. Tim gets me out of it, usually. But he flew back to L.A. tonight.”

  “That’s the advance man who set up our interview?” she asked cautiously. They were walking through rows and rows of cars now and he still had his arm around her, so he couldn’t still be mad. Perversely she knew she should be wishing he were, instead of holding her against his hip as they walked so that their strides coordinated, their rhythms meshed. She could feel the weariness in his body and wanted to soothe it. A foolish desire, she reminded herself.

  “Yeah, that was Tim,” he answered her, and sighed. “About that interview—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. “I have enough. And I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t give it to me, anyhow. I was unconscionably rude to you earlier.”

  Joe laughed. “No, just honest.” He gave her a tired grin, which she returned.

  “Well, not actually,” she said, surprised at her own daring. “I find that you improve on acquaintance. I think I rather do like you after all.”

  “Despite my rather inept pass at you when we first met?”

  “Despite that,” Liv agreed, unlocking the door to the bus. The wind lifted her hair and she felt a cooling breeze on her neck. Thank goodness, she thought, feeling entirely too hot otherwise.

  “Tell me, how did I redeem myself?”

  She considered this. “Well,” she began slowly, “once you got over the shock, you didn’t turn and run when you found out I had five kids. And you ate your peas and hung up the towel straight in the bathroom. Also, you’re trying to keep the world safe and peaceful for my children. Quite a lot, actually,” she told him, smiling and feeling ridiculously happy all of a sudden that he hadn’t left her to go back to his hotel room alone.

  Joe grinned. “Good for me,” he said softly. “Can I add something to the list?”

  “What’s that?” She looked up into the shadows of his face, just scant inches from her own, and felt her breath shorten. Another of the twenty-six kisses, she wondered.

  “Can I drive home?”

  Liv’s eyes widened. “Drive home?” she repeated stupidly.

  “It helps me to relax,” he explained. “And the rest would probably do you good, too.”

  Stunned by the turn of events, Liv could do nothing but agree. Drive home? “I guess,” she said and immediately wished she didn’t sound so ungracious. Then added, “But it’s a very temperamental car. It’s only used to—”

  “I’ll use my unbeatable charm,” Joe assured her, smiling. “Please?” There was a husky note in his voice that forbade her to deny him anything and she thought, no wonder he's so successful with women, but she handed him her keys and he helped her in and shut her door.

  “Don’t blame me if it stalls,” Liv said when he’d come around and got in beside her.

  It didn’t. Apparently the Harrington charm worked as well on VWs as on women, Once convinced that he was really going to drive, Liv felt herself almost unconsciously relax. In fact she rather enjoyed letting him take over. For one thing she had a chance to watch him unobserved. The tiger qualities she had noticed earlier hadn’t completely disappeared, but they didn’t seem so threatening now. The harsh lines of his face had gentled, whether from relief or exhaustion she didn’t know. But as he drove he seemed less of the tense, prowling jungle cat of early evening and more the domesticated variety, ready to curl up on the hearth rug and go to sleep.

  Also, driving her bus made him infinitely more approachable somehow. As though in spite of the vast discrepancy in their worlds of experience, here at least they had something in common.

  “You missed the turn-off to your hotel,” she said suddenly, noting that they had left the Sheraton far behind.

  “I know.”

  “But—”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “But—”

  “Relax,” Joe commanded, flashing her a smile that suddenly, despite her better judgment, made her do just that. It was a long time since someone had taken over her life, even for a moment. For a change—not as a habit—it felt rather nice. She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.

  “Here we are.” Joe pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, turning to look at her again with that knowing glint in his eye. “Safe and sound.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled back at him, feeling somewhat giddy and silly, as though she’d had too much wine, when in fact she hadn’t even touched a drop of the watered-down fruit punch at the reception after his speech.

  “Now you say, ‘Won’t you come in for some coffee,’ ” Joe prompted.

  Liv wet her lips and saw him lean closer. “Won’t you—” Her voice trailed off, breathless.

  “Thank you. Don’t mind if I do.” He seemed to jerk himself back and opened the door, going around the bus and helping her out, like a “proper date” her mother would have said. She giggled to herself.

  The living room was quiet. Even Noel had gone to bed. His math book lay open on the couch, and a pile of unfolded laundry had made it as far as the overstuffed chair. Liv groaned inwardly, wondering what Joe would make of her “homey” atmosphere. But she needn’t have given it a thought, she realized, for he crossed the room to the couch, shoved the math book aside and sank down.

  “Are you sure you want coffee?” she asked. He had collapsed completely after pulling off his coat, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Now he sat, head flung back, eyes closed, totally spent.

  “Mmm? How about tea? Less caffeine,” Joe mumbled without opening his eyes. “Suit you?”

  “Sure. I’ll put the kettle on.” It will give me a chance to collect my wits, she thought, warring with the feelings of warmth and protectiveness that he was evoking in her. She didn’t need that. Why did he have to be so… so… so likeable? Liv slipped out of her high heeled shoes and padded into the kitchen in her stockings, relishing the cool feel of the linoleum beneath her feet. It was the one counterpoint to the sultry May evening, and she wriggled her toes gratefully while she puttered about, putting on the kettle, getting the tea out of the cupboard and setting cups and saucers on a tray. She wondered if Joe took milk or sugar and was about to go back into the living room and ask when she decided not to. Being around him was entirely too heady an experience. She could do with a few minutes more space. So she went to check on the kids while the water got hot. Jennifer had fallen asleep in Theo’s bed, and Liv hoisted her daughter into her arms, burying her face in Jennifer’s blond hair. Touch, she thought, I’m starved for touch. But as she lay Jennifer in her own bed, Liv admitted that it wasn’t entirely that. She wanted, perversely, to feel Joe’s touch again, his lips on hers, his arm around her, pressing her close. Stop it, she thought and, hearing the kettle whistle, she hurried back to the kitchen.

  “Milk or sugar?” she called now, and getting no answer, she shrugged and put both on the tray and carried it back into the living room. The playboy of the western world was fast asleep on the sofa.

  “Joe?” She put his cup on the end table beside him, but he didn’t stir. She stood looking at him, a whole school of feelings swimming like fish in her head. Silently then, she moved the laundry onto the floor and sank into the heavy armchair opposite and sipped her tea as she watched him. It was strangely companionable and relaxing, just sitting there with Joe Harrington asleep across the room. Liv smiled, wondering what Frances would think. Surely she wouldn’t suspect the gentleness and vulnerability that Liv could see
now in him. It wasn’t a side he showed to his adoring public. But if millions of women swooned over him wide-awake, she mused with a tiny smile, just think how many would be drooling if they could see him now.

  She didn’t know how long she sat watching him, but finally she caught herself yawning too. She supposed she ought to call a taxi and bundle him into it and send him back to his hotel.

  Oh yes, sure, Liv thought. And how would her reputation look then? “Local reporter sends Romeo home in midnight taxi ride.’? She could see the headlines now. Well, Marv probably would have mercy, but there were other less scrupulous newspapers around. And it didn’t bear thinking about, anyway. Joe didn’t look as though he was going to move for the rest of the night. It might be wisest just to let sleeping tigers lie.

  She sighed and got up, going to her room for a lightweight blanket, which she dropped on the coffee table. She bent over and unlaced his shoes, slipping them off his feet and easing the tie off his neck.

  There were advantages to being five times a mother, she thought wryly, not the least of which was being able to undress children for bed without waking them. But Joe Harrington was not a child, she warned herself. What he would think if he woke now to find her in the process of unbuttoning his shirt did not bear thinking about.

  Joe groaned and slid sideways onto the sofa and she eased his shirt off, dropping it beside the blanket. There, that was as far as she dared go. Leaving him in his undershirt, dress pants and socks, she draped the blanket over him, and he rolled toward the back of the sofa, clutching the blanket.