Shame filled him at the thought. I gave her money, helped her get back on her feet. But in his heart, he knew those acts had been to assuage a guilty conscience. The truth was—he had deserted her when she needed him most.
Now she wasn’t part of the plan, his great scheme to be the biggest and the best. He wanted to be mentioned in the same breath as Steven Spielberg, Rob Marshall, Robert Zemeckis, George Lucas, and Martin Scorcese. Hustle and Dance was a great opportunity, although he wasn’t the only producer on the film. He planned to hog as much of the credit for the movie as he could. After all, I’m doing more work than anyone else.
Learning everything there was to know about musicals was a top priority. While Spielberg and Lucas had their niche, Gunther had decided to make his mark in big, successful musicals—a challenging specialty as the market for that type of film was much smaller than for sci fi and action films. He’d studied everything Rob Marshall had done on Chicago. Now, it would be Gunther’s turn.
After his own intelligence and ability, his next greatest asset would be the right woman by his side. Although Dorrie had a small piece of his heart—perhaps the only piece left—Elsa was the woman to play the part of Mrs. Gunther Quill. While she wasn’t as good in bed as Dorrie, Gunther figured his outside activities would supplement any sexual frustration in his relationship with Elsa. She’ll be fine as long as I have a few adventures on the side to spice things up. I’ll stay with her, even if only for a few years, until I reach the top.
He planned to find a younger woman when he had it made. Then he’d have children to pass his wealth and legacy to, and to provide the love he lacked in his life. Only children love you unconditionally. Elsa and he had already made a pact to have no offspring so they could focus on their careers. Little did she know, that pact had a time limit. Even at fifty, he could still have children, and he intended to, hopefully before then.
His mind turned back to Dorrie as he got into his red Ferrari and started the motor. The soft purr made him smile. This car is the most prestigious in Hollywood. Another Gunther Quill step toward top-ten producer image. He had proposed to her simply to see her reaction.
He was surprised she hadn’t turned him down with more hostility. He never expected her to accept, but now he was worried. What if she changes her mind? The plan will be ruined. Still, to be with her is wonderful. Can’t afford to think that way if I’m going to be number one.
A sadness he didn’t see coming crept into his heart. He shrugged his shoulders. The price of fame and success? Guess so. Love can come later, if at all. Struggling a bit to push thoughts of Dorrie out of his mind, he put the car in gear and headed toward The Satin Club, the exclusive, private club where he lunched with powerful men almost every day. While he drove, his mind drifted back to Dorrie. What I wouldn’t give for just one more night with her.
Chapter Ten
Working night and day at the studio meant that two weeks flew by in a flash. Dorrie never saw the light of day as she was squirreled away indoors from sunrise to way after dark. Rehearsals, workouts to keep everyone limber between shots, meetings with the director and even Gunther—who was all business—kept her hopping. She barely had time to eat or sleep, let alone think about the three men who would be calling her, if all went well.
Weary long before the day was finished, Dorrie took a break, hoping herbal tea would renew her energy and spirit. Too keyed up to sit still, she walked from the craft table to the ladies room and back again. The whistle of the kettle caught her attention. She poured a cup and sank down in a comfortable chair. After one sip, she was interrupted by the ding from her cell phone. Dreading an irate message from Gunther or another change in the schedule from the assistant director, she reluctantly cast her weary eyes on the screen, only to be pleasantly surprised.
She’d received a text from Rick.
You’re working? On my way to the Hamptons. Call me tonight, I’ll be up late.
Love,
Rick
Love, Rick? She smiled. He’s the first to respond. Does that mean he’s anxious to connect? Love? Her energy increased, and she attacked the exercises with renewed vigor. When her ankle began to ache, she sat on the sidelines and supervised the dancers.
A lightness filled her heart. The growing fear that none of the men would call was now alleviated. Even if she didn’t hear from Archer or Johnny, at least Rick called. That must mean he wanted some sort of relationship with her. She couldn’t keep a grin off her face and raced home after rehearsal to call him.
“Hey, Dorrie.”
“Hi, Rick. I’m calling like you asked.” Exhausted, nervous energy raced through her body. She paced in her small apartment, too jumpy and excited to sit still.
“Right. This is the two-week mark.”
She waited, but the silence grew longer, so she jumped in. “Have you thought about what we discussed?”
“I have.”
“And?” she prompted.
“Oh, you’re waiting for me. I get it. It’d be great having you back in New York, and yes, I’d love to see you more often.”
Dorrie’s smile melted off her face. What does that mean? “What do you mean, more often?”
“As many days during the week as you want to see me.”
“But the weekends?” She bit her lip.
“I’m still in a house in the Hamptons and a ski house in Vermont.”
“So, for about six months a year, you’d be away on weekends?”
“That’s about right.”
“No room for me there?”
“Shares have belonged to the same people for seven, eight years. I don’t see anyone giving them up.”
“But you wouldn’t take me?” She bit her lip.
“There isn’t room.”
“We couldn’t share your bed?”
“It’s a twin. I’m six two, Dorrie. Besides, I share a room with Gordon.”
About to speak, she hesitated and clamped her teeth down on her forefinger. She walked the length of the apartment twice.
“Dorrie? You still there?”
“I’m here.” Weariness took over, and she ran out of steam, plopping down into an overstuffed chair.
“Well? Was that what you were looking for?”
“Not exactly. That’s what we had five years ago.” She began to massage her ankle.
“We didn’t see each other more than once a week back then. I’m hoping to take up most of your weekdays when you come back. That’s different.”
“It is.” A calm settled over her as she understood what he was offering. “Would you be dating anyone in the houses on weekends?”
This time it was his turn to be silent. “I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about that. Maybe, but maybe not.”
“Oh.”
“This is really hard, Dorrie. A lot of ‘what ifs.’ I don’t have the answers. Why don’t you come back, and we’ll work it out, deal with the reality instead of a hypothetical?”
“Are you sure you want me to?” She rested her foot on the coffee table.
“Oh, baby, do I. You’re so hot. I’m falling for you, and I never thought I would.”
“Really? Never?”
“Well…I mean. Uh…I didn’t see myself falling in love for another couple of years.”
“I changed your plans?” She knew she was painting him into a corner but kept it up.
“Yeah, you did. You’re special.”
Tears came to her eyes. I want someone to think I’m special, special enough to give up dates with other women.
“That’s sweet, Rick.” Her voice trembled.
“You think about it. I’ve got to go, it’s late here, and we start early in the summer. Love you, babe.” And he was gone in a flash, before she could say anything.
“Yeah. Things start early. Your ‘other’ life.”
Dorrie put down her phone and crawled into bed. She stared at the ceiling. Is what he can give enough? Should I give up the chance to do a series on a ‘maybe’ from R
ick? We get along so great. I don’t know. Why is this so hard? She tossed, coming up with various scenarios of life with Rick in New York.
Unable to get comfortable, she punched her pillow, tried lying on her side, but still sleep wouldn’t come. All the while, her mind raced from idea to idea. She tried to weigh their sexual chemistry against Rick’s lack of total commitment. Each time the equation didn’t balance.
She looked up at the moon, shining in her window. The vision was so romantic. “Don’t mock me, Mr. Moon.” Can’t get lost in the romance of it all. “I mean it. I want to be special. I have to be the Saturday night date. Or I’m gone.” A bit of resolve entered her heart as exhaustion took over. She rolled over and was asleep within seconds.
* * * *
Dorrie awoke feeling sluggish. One peek at the clock told her she was late. Shit, it’s five thirty! She bounded out of bed and threw on her clothes. Her pulse went out of control when her old car wouldn’t start right away. Gotta replace this tin bucket. When? There wasn’t time to shop for a car, and she still hadn’t been paid everything yet, so she’d have to wait.
When she scurried through the studio door, Gunther shot her an angry look while pointing to his watch. She shrugged.
“Dancers! Front and center. Warm ups,” she hollered as she grabbed a bagel and coffee from the catering buffet. She took a seat and barked instructions as she put them through their paces. Gunter wandered over.
“So, are we going to shoot this scene today?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Plan to. But that’s up to the director and that damn camera!” His face clouded.
“Ah, the problems of a producer.” She shook her head slowly.
“Save your sympathy,” he said, coldly.
“Just a joke.”
“I’m not in a joking mood today. Are the dancers ready?”
“Yep.”
“Good. One thing off my list. Amy!” He yelled, looking around for his assistant. “Where the hell is that girl? Never around when I need her. Amy!”
“Easy, Gunther. She’s the fifth assistant you’ve had this year.”
“And each one is worse than the one before. Amy! Dammit, where are you?”
“You’re lucky none of them has come in with a shotgun and blown you away.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the worst boss I’ve ever seen.”
A mousy girl with stringy brown hair appeared as if by magic. “Amy! Thank God. Where the hell have you been?”
“The ladies room?”
“Stop drinking so much water. I need you. No more bathroom breaks. Where’s that list I gave you this morning?”
Amy pulled out a pad from her bag and grabbed a pen. “Here.”
“Good. Cross off ‘dance scene.’ Now let’s check out that camera…” Gunther strode away mumbling to Amy, who scurried after him. Dorrie couldn’t stifle a chuckle. Some things never change.
She stood up and did some stretches and bends before joining the others as they rehearsed the routine. At break time, she checked her cell and found a text from Archer.
Don’t know best time to call. So sent text.
Please call whenever you can.
Love,
Archer
The assistant director strode over. “You’re next.”
Dorrie put her phone away and called the dancers over. She led them to the set, and as they took their places, she turned her thoughts to his message. Love, Archer? Does he mean that, or is he being polite—as only Arch can be. No time now.
Hoping a few quick breaths would quell the rapid beating of her heart, she forced Archer Canfield out of her thoughts and focused on the scene. Once everyone was in place, she heard muttering and turned to see Gunther in a huddle with a cameraman, who was pulling at his beard.
“God damn fucking camera!” He bellowed and strode off the set. Gunther turned toward her. “Take ten,” he said, before following the angry technician.
“Break!” Dorrie said in a loud voice and the troupe scattered, grabbing water bottles and sinking down cross-legged on the floor in small groups.
Gunther returned, his arm around the shoulders of the cameraman. He was speaking softly to the man, walking slowly. The man was nodding, his hands jammed in his jeans’ pockets. “They’re sending a new camera,” Gunther called to Dorrie. She shot him a questioning look. “Won’t be here for at least two hours.”
The dancers groaned, as did Dorrie. She moved to a private place and picked up her phone. Time to call Archer. She held her breath and dialed.
“Dorrie, darling!”
“Hi, Arch.” She moved farther away from the gathering of performers nearby.
“How are you, my sweet?”
“Good. You?”
“Tip top. Is it two weeks yet?”
“Don’t give me that crap, Archer Canfield. You’re the most organized man I know.” She smiled.
“Just pulling your leg, my dear. You’re right, of course. Two weeks to the day.”
“So what did you decide?”
She heard him clear his throat. “Life isn’t as simple as you might think.”
“Oh?” She chewed her lip. Don’t think I’m going to like this.
“I haven’t been completely honest about…my life.”
I knew there was something about him I didn’t know. Do I want to know? Guess I’m going to find out anyway. “Go ahead.”
“This isn’t easy.”
She lowered herself into a folding chair and took a deep breath. “I’m ready. Shoot.”
“Before I met you, there was Alice.”
“Alice?”
“Long before I met you. Alice and I…we…well, we got married.”
“Married?” She shot up.
“Calm down, darling.”
“Don’t you ‘darling’ me!” Heat rose in her face, her heart rate spiraled.
“Please, Dorrie. Let me finish.”
She sank back down and tried to calm her heart rate. “Continue.”
“Alice and I were married for three years before she had a terrible car wreck.”
Dorrie was quiet, listening.
“She received a brain injury and hasn’t been herself since. As time went on, her condition deteriorated…to the point where I had to place her in a…facility.”
“Facility?”
“Think you call them nursing homes, here?”
“Oh. Got it.”
“She can no longer say much, but she recognizes me.”
“That’s where you disappear to on Sundays?” Dorrie’s heart softened.
“That’s my day with Alice. She looks forward to seeing me.”
“It must be hard for you.”
“Alice was the love of my life. We were very close.” She heard a catch in his voice.
“Oh, Arch…I’m so sorry for you.” Tears stung her eyes.
“I’ve been told by her doctors that her deterioration continues. Lawyers have advised me to divorce her for financial reasons. I cannot bring myself to do that.”
There was silence between them.
“I don’t know how much more time she has,” he almost whispered. “But I need to keep my Sundays for her until…that day comes. I know she’d do the same for me.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. Oh my God! Archer.
“I know I shouldn’t have taken you to dinner or kissed you or anything. I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been dreaming about you since our last shoot. I hope you’re not mad.”
“I’m not,” she said in a whisper.
“About your returning to New York. I’d be head over heels about it, but cannot offer you marriage. Not now. However, we could live together. Or…or I could set up an apartment for you, but I’ve a feeling that’s not what you’re looking for.”
Dorrie covered her face with her hand, pushing her thumb in to stop the flow of tears. “Oh, Arch. You’re right, I couldn’t do that. I want…what you can’t offer.”
“I’
m so sorry, my darling. Another time, another place…perhaps…”
“Perhaps.”
“I do love you, you know. Always have.”
“I know.” Her chin quivered.
“I’d take good care of you. Really.”
“Please. Don’t. It’s so tempting.” A sob caught in her throat.
“Would you try it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“No harm in asking. You’ve no idea how sad this makes me. It was hard for me when you went to L.A. the first time. I was depressed for weeks after you left. This is worse.”
“Ours is the relationship that almost was, Arch.” Dorrie pulled a tissue from her pocket.
“Damn. Life stinks.”
“Yep.” A heaviness settled in her chest.
“So this is goodbye?”
“I guess so.” She looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.
“Maybe not forever.”
“Please. That’s too gruesome even to consider.”
“Of course. You’re right. Good luck, my darling. I hope you find happiness.”
“I wish you the same.”
Dorrie closed her phone and stared into space. Archer’s news was not what she expected at all. The shock of his situation made her angry and sad at the same time. Her feelings for him tumbled through her heart like they were in a clothes dryer, round and round and round, but never solidified. Would I want to live with him? He loves me. I could do worse. But he’s married. That’s so not okay. Do I still have feelings for him? Probably.
So lost in thought was she that she didn’t hear Gunther call to her. Finally, he hollered and she jumped.
“For God’s sake, Dorrie! What’s wrong with you? You look like you just lost your best friend. Chop chop. The new camera arrived. We’ll be ready to shoot in fifteen minutes.”
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