Dazzle - The Complete Unabridged Trilogy

by Judith Gould

  'You. You simply refuse to listen to me.'

  'I'm listening, I'm listening.' He placed a friendly hand on each of her shoulders. 'Shoot. Let me have it, barrels blazing.' He smiled good-naturedly.

  In spite of herself, Tamara found herself returning his smile. She couldn't stay angry with him for long, especially not when he smiled so ingenuously. She let herself be led back to her chair, and sat down.

  'Now, why don't we start over again, shall we?'

  She nodded, crossed one leg over the other, and reached for a cigarette. He picked up a table lighter and leaned forward to light it for her. She nodded her thanks and blew out a thin streamer of smoke. 'I know I'm sounding like an ungrateful child,' she said. 'You were nice to me after Louie died, and I appreciate the three weeks off you gave me so I could pull myself together again. I know how expensive it must have been to hold off filming my scenes, and I'll be forever grateful to you.'

  He shrugged his shoulders. 'Go on.'

  'Well, since then I've completed Fast Company and made Contrary Pleasures. I don't think I have to point out to you that there are only three weeks remaining on my contract. We both know that that's not enough time in which to make a movie.'

  'True enough.' He nodded encouragingly.

  'Then please hear me out,' she said quietly. 'I'm not playing any games with you. Nor am I trying to renegotiate a better contract or a higher salary. I have only one living relative left, my father, and I want to spend time with him in Palestine. He and I have a lifetime of catching up to do. And I want to travel, see something of the world.'

  'What it sounds like is you want a vacation.'

  She shook her head. 'I don't want a vacation, I want out,' she said stubbornly. 'I've fulfilled my seven-year contract. Now I want to spend some years like ordinary people spend theirs.'

  'Tamara, Tamara.' His smile was at once chiding and sad. 'Don't you realize that you are far too talented to ever be ordinary? You're a fine actress and a spectacularly beautiful woman. No matter where you go or what you do, you'll always stand out from the crowd. You're blessed—or cursed. Take your choice. With special God-given talent. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.'

  'Be that as it may, I have to give it a try, O.T. I don't want to grow old with a crystal chandelier and a closet full of fur coats. I don't want to become an embittered old woman harping back on what I might have missed out on in life.'

  'You're obviously still hurting badly from what happened to Louie,' he said gently. 'Could it be you've become fed up with Hollywood because you somehow blame the city, or the industry, for his death?'

  'No. At first I thought that's what it was too, but it isn't. Call me jaded, call me what you will, but I'm just plain tired of playing movie star. I can't do it anymore.'

  'You'll miss it,' he warned. 'Everyone who has once been a star misses it. Look at all the silent stars who couldn't make it because of their voices. They hate not being part of the industry anymore. They'd give anything—hell, both their legs—to be back where they once were.'

  'I won't.' She shook her head. 'I just want to be left alone.'

  He held his pipe and appeared to study it closely. 'Tell me,' he said slowly, 'did you discuss these plans with anyone else?' He looked over at her. 'A columnist? Someone else in the business? A friend even?'

  She shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray. 'Only Inge knows, and if anyone can keep her mouth shut, believe me, it's Inge.'

  'Then do yourself and me a favour. Just one. That's all I ask.'

  She looked at him questioningly.

  'Don't announce your retirement. Not formally or informally. Don't say anything to anybody. Just go away and have yourself a good time. For all practical purposes, I'll pretend it's a leave of absence. In the meantime, treat yourself to a nice vacation. God knows, you deserve one. Then, when you decide to return—'

  'I won't return,' she interrupted him.

  He smiled tolerantly. 'Then, if you should decide to return, all you need do is renegotiate a contract. You won't have burned any bridges you may need.'

  She looked at him. 'O.T., can't you take what I'm telling you at face value? If you're hoping I'll return, you're only fooling yourself. I don't want to be Tamara the film star anymore. I want to be Tamara Boralevi, the woman.'

  'You may feel strongly about that now, but what about six months from now? You can't know how you'll feel down the road.' He paused for emphasis. 'You've got nothing to lose doing it my way, and everything if you do it yours.'

  She let that sink in for a moment. 'Perhaps you're right,' she admitted. 'I'll do it your way.'

  'Good. Then that's settled, at least.' He smiled. 'At the risk of sounding terribly pompous, I usually do tend to be right. You know, you're a young woman, Tamara, and young people need excitement. More important, the actress in you needs a creative outlet. Then again, I may be wrong and you may be right. Who call tell?' He shrugged. 'Eventually time will prove one of us right.'

  'That it will, O.T.' She smiled. 'You know, I'm going to miss you.'

  'Not as much as I'll miss you. You were always my favourite, you know.'

  'Why, because I was your biggest moneymaker?' she asked shrewdly.

  'That's part of it, but mainly because there's a rare quality about you . . .' Abruptly he changed the subject. 'How are you fixed for money? Retirement, even leaves of absence'— he smiled—'can be expensive.'

  'I . . . I'll be all right. I've been liquidating my assets.'

  'And that mother of Louie's? Is she giving you any more trouble?'

  She looked at him in surprise, wondering how he knew. 'No, that's all settled,' she said grimly.

  He nodded. 'It's a shame she got what she did. From now on, before you sign something, I hope you get some legal advice first.' It seemed he had ears everywhere. 'Isn't there anything I can do then?'

  'As a matter of fact, there is. Your friend, the art dealer . . .' She searched her memory and frowned. 'I've forgotten his name.'

  'Bernard Katzenbach.'

  She nodded. 'I've been meaning to get hold of him.'

  'He was in Chicago bidding at an auction for me. I believe he's supposed to return late tonight or early tomorrow.'

  'Tell him I'd appreciate it if he would call me. I want to sell the paintings.'

  'The Toulouse-Lautrec, Gauguin, and Renoir?'

  She nodded. 'Those and the others. I really have no use for them now, and the money will do me a lot more good.'

  For a moment she thought she caught an acquisitive glimmer in his eyes, and she held her breath, hoping for an offer. Oscar Skolnik was one of the biggest art collectors in the country and the superb paintings Louis had given her would have made a fine addition to any collection.

  He nodded finally. 'I'll see to it that Bernie calls you as soon as I get hold of him.'

  'Well, that's all for now. I'd better be getting back home now. I've got to get up early tomorrow and start making definite plans. There's a lot I still have to do.'

  'When do you plan to leave?'

  'As soon as the paintings and a few others things are sold.'

  'So soon?'

  She nodded. 'My mind is made up, so there's really no sense in delaying any further.'

  He nodded and walked her to the door. 'Let me know when you leave, so I can come to say good-bye.'

  She kissed his cheek and then, without another word, hurried out into the unseasonably warm night.

  Chapter 21

  A week later, Tamara was physically exhausted, mentally depleted, but despite the unpleasantness of it all, she felt rather pleased. It was almost over. The paintings were gone, even though Katzenbach's price was a huge disappointment. Inge had returned with the nine-thousand-dollar certified cheque from the furrier and had gone right back out to the jeweller's with a box tucked under her arm. Friendly Frank, the used-car salesman, had gone to Tamahawk and picked up the eight cars registered in her name. She had his certified cheque in hand too.
After she'd tallied the money she had in the bank and the three weeks of pay she still had coming, and then deducted what she owed the hotel for the bungalow, she was gratified to discover that there would be a little over $115,000 if Inge managed to sell the jewellery for a third of its cost. And that was after the bank got paid off. All in all, it wasn't much, considering her retirement from the movies and the sobering fact that she would have no income. Still, it wasn't peanuts, not by a long shot. It would last, as long as she and Inge husbanded it carefully, and it was more than enough for a new start in life.

  She tore up the paper on which she had done the figuring and tossed the pieces into the wastebasket. Then she pushed back her chair and rose from behind the little desk. For a long moment she stood in the centre of the room and looked around. It seemed empty and colourless and depressing now that the paintings were gone. They had stamped the bungalow as her own, made it feel like home. Now it was just another hotel suite. The Matisse looked lonely and out of place by itself; Katzenbach hadn't wanted it.

  She crossed over to the bar setup on the trolley. She could use a stiff drink. Perhaps a neat Scotch.

  She picked up the bottle and was about to pour, when she put it back down. She had a better idea. She picked up the phone and dialed room service.

  After she ordered a bottle of 1928 Krug champagne chilled until frosty, she began to feel a lot better. The haggling had been exhausting, the money-grubbing distasteful. It reminded her all too much of the desperate months when they had been forced to live at Paterson's Mortuary. Now, at least, it was all finished. That was a reason to celebrate.

  Besides, she and Inge deserved a premature farewell party, even if they would celebrate it by themselves. What better way to ring in the new, frugal chapter of their lives, she rationalized, than with one last bottle of hideously expensive champagne?

  The next day, while Inge went to make the travel arrangements for the first leg of their journey, Tamara was already busy packing. O.T. watched her in silence, puffing on his ubiquitous pipe as he leaned in a corner, staying out of her way. 'Now that you've slept on it a week, you're sure I can't dissuade you? Even for triple your current salary and unilateral approval over projects and script changes?'

  She turned and stared at him. It was an unheard-of proposition, one any star would have jumped at, but she shook her head as she continued sorting through the closets. She was trying to pare clothes down to the necessities, in this case four suitcases and two steamer trunks full. She had originally opted for the bare minimum, but then prudence had won out. She didn't know what she would really need, and she would have to be careful with money from now on. Since there would be little to spend frivolously on clothes, and she could always give things away in the future, she thought it wisest to hang on to as much as possible now. 'No, O.T.,' she said wearily. 'And do me a favour? Stop trying to convince me to stay. I thought we'd settled all this earlier.'

  'One last stab,' he said. 'A quarter of a million dollars per picture—will that change your mind?'

  She drew a deep breath and met his eyes squarely. Turning that kind of money down was probably the hardest thing she'd done in her life. 'O.T., I thought I'd make myself perfectly clear,' she said shakily, 'but at the risk of repeating myself, I'll tell you once again. It's not a matter of money.' She tossed some dresses onto the bed. 'I've spent seven years in this business and I've made eighteen films for you. I've let my face be carved up and changed the way you wanted it. I dressed like you wanted, on the set and off. I acted in the films you wanted to make. I played roles on screen and off. I've lived a third of my life in a damn goldfish bowl, afraid to even breathe the wrong way. I was public property and belonged to everyone except myself. Now I think it's high time I became the person I really am—if I can find her again.' She paused and added gently, 'My mind is made up, O.T. If you care about me at all, you'll respect that.' She continued packing in silence.

  He didn't speak until a full minute had passed. 'All right,' he said finally. 'You win. Contrary to my better judgement, I'll respect your decision. Just remember, if you ever do change your mind and decide to continue your career, come see me first. My door is always open to you though I can't make any promises about how much you'll be worth then. The public's a fickle master, friend one day and foe the next. You know what they say: out of sight, out of mind. That is truer in this business than in anything else.'

  'I know.' She smiled. 'Thanks, O.T. It's nice of you to keep your door open despite the fact that I won't be coming back.' She went over to the bedside cabinet and picked up the small Matisse still life by the frame and held it at arm's length.

  'Nobody controls colour quite like Matisse,' O.T. said admiringly, peering at it over her shoulder. 'It's a beautiful painting.'

  'Yes, it is, isn't it?'

  'You sold the others?'

  She turned to him and nodded. 'This one isn't worth what the others were. In a way, I'm glad—this way I won't be tempted to sell it. I think I'll keep it always. It'll be something I can hand down to my children.' She gave a low, sad laugh. 'If I ever have any.'

  He nodded. 'It would have been a shame if you didn't have one painting left. You had the beginnings of a fine collection.'

  She laid the painting down and padded it carefully with a blanket, then put it in one of the empty suitcases and tucked some clothes around it. 'Just look at this. One entire suitcase reserved for this picture. Silly, isn't it?'

  'On the contrary. I think it's wise. It's more than a painting. It's a treasure.'

  She nodded and smiled at a distant memory. 'It was Louie's first anniversary present to me.' Her eyes took on a faraway look. 'It seems like a lifetime ago now, doesn't it?'

  'The night we danced?'

  'And you made that blatant pass at me.'

  'All I can remember is the pain after you kneed me in the groin.'

  She laughed. 'You had it coming. But no one guessed. You sailed through the rest of that evening with a grin, if I remember correctly.'

  'A grimace.'

  'It never would have worked out between us,' she said gently. 'You know that.'

  He smiled sadly. 'It's a shame it didn't. You were all woman. Still are.'

  'Only I was a one-man woman.' She sat on the edge of the bed and was silent for a moment. 'You know,' she said slowly, her features furrowing into a frown, 'life has never been the same for me since Louis died. Would you believe I haven't slept with a man since then?' She looked up at him.

  He could only stare at her. 'You don't mean to tell me that you've been celibate all this time?'

  'I have,' she said quietly. 'Not that I couldn't have had my pick of men. It's open season on widows in this town. It's just that . . .' She paused and looked down at her hands, 'I just never had the desire.'

  'I wish I had known.'

  She smiled wryly. 'It was just as well that you didn't. I needed time to get myself functioning again.'

  'And are you?'

  She shook her head. 'Sometimes I think my body can no longer function in that way.'

  'You have to force it, then. You can't go through the rest of your life like a nun. You're a passionate woman, and celibacy doesn't suit you. It will only embitter you. I think it's time that we broke that cycle.'

  She shook her head. 'I can't, O.T. Our going to bed together would be the worst mistake we could make. I just need to give myself more time, that's all.'

  'You've given yourself a year and a half already—a year and a half that should have been part of the best time of your life. That's far too long to live life as an incomplete woman.'

  'You don't understand. It's love I need, not making love.'

  'Sometimes the act itself can be as important as love. You have to free yourself of the shackles that link you to the past, and there's only one way of doing that.'

  She laughed. 'I've got to hand it to you. That must be the wildest excuse I've ever heard for trying to take somebody to bed.'

  He didn't laugh. 'I'm serious,
' he said gently. 'Only by making love can you be free again. Don't you understand that?'

  She looked at him speechlessly. Inside her she could feel something long-lost beginning to stir, like delicate hummingbird wings vibrating deep within her. Long-forgotten desires flickered distantly, began to uncoil slowly. Her eyes never left his, and the expression on her face was one of confusion.

  He drew closer and his arms came up, wrapping themselves around her. Then his face met hers and he kissed her, his tongue deep and probing as it swirled around hers. She didn't respond, but stood there statue-still, arms at her sides, unable to move. Like a figure carved of ice.

  'No!' she whispered huskily. Suddenly she pushed him back and turned away. 'I can't. I just can't.'

  'You can,' he said softly, taking her chin in his hand and turning her around to face him. 'You must. Don't you see that? Only this way can you go on truly living.' She nodded hesitantly, and his fingers reached out for her blouse and he slowly began to unbutton it.

  At his touch, her breath came in frightened, throaty little rasps, but this time she didn't try to move away. Nor did she push him away. She stood there, her body tense and trembling, and when at last she stood naked, he undressed without once taking his eyes off her. Her breasts rose and fell, and her skin felt cold.

  His voice was low but there was no mistaking the command in it. 'Look at me.'

  She stared at him, and it was as though something was gripping her throat. His organ, free from the restraint of his trousers, was an angry serpent straining to lift its head. It looked very long, very thick, and very heavy. She had an impulse to flee, but her feet felt rooted to the floor.

  Very gently, as if she were an extremely fragile blown glass figurine, he lifted her and laid her down on the bed. As though in shame, she turned her head sideways on the pillow and shut her eyes.

  'No. Don't look away. You must watch. You must be aware of everything we are doing.'