Star Attraction

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  Brad now looked straight into her eyes, and she unconsciously pushed her spectacles up to avoid meeting his penetrating gaze again. “I suppose there’s also the intellectual as well as sexual side to it. Two people who are so compatible that nothing can destroy the empathy between them. I’ve never had a relationship like that, but I’d like to think I'm still enough of a romantic optimist to hope it will happen to me one day.”

  Zaira said bitterly, “Sometimes you think it happens. Then you find out your perfect life is all a deception.”

  She stared into her near-empty glass, tinkling the ice around the bottom, feeling very disillusioned. Brad and she certainly seemed to be on the same wavelength, but he was only interested in money and himself, not her artistic integrity or any sort of relationship with her. He was using her to get what he wanted from someone else; and ironically he had asked the very person he was trying to manipulate for help.

  “How thoughtless,” Brad said, taking the glass from her nerveless fingers. “I’ll get you another—the same?”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” Zaira hesitated. “I don’t want another, though you’re very kind. I must go, I’ve plenty of things to do.” She stood up and hugged her jacket to her, suddenly feeling very cold.

  “Look, I’m really sorry to have kept you, but that isn’t really it, is it? I mean, it’s what I said before, when I’d made that crack about courage. You looked as though I’d punched you then, just like you do now.”

  "No, it's just getting late and—"

  His warm fingers reached up to cup her chin, and she was forced to look into his emerald eyes, which shimmered gently.

  “You’ve had enough courage to endure whatever private hell you’ve been through recently. I hope one day you’ll tell me about it. Whatever happened, Zaira, it was obviously not your fault. The guy must have been the biggest jerk alive to destroy what he had with an incredible woman like you."

  She laughed harshly. "Incredible? Yeah, right. You hardly even know me."

  "I know enough. For one thing, you’re the only woman who’s ever had the courage to tell me the truth, not fobbed me off with flattery. For that I’m really grateful,” Brad said softly. "It makes you pretty incredible in my book."

  Zaira raised her hand up to his for a moment, caught up in his awesome spell. Then she realized she was allowing herself to fall for the famous Brad Clarke charm, and she pulled at his hand and freed her head with a jerk.

  “I must go,” Zaira insisted.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, really, I live just around the corner, there's no need,” Zaira answered, as she broke free of his spell and ran towards the elevators.

  This time she made it without incident, and the doors closed on Brad’s fantastically handsome but inscrutable face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Zaira was not having a good day. After the excitement of the first day of term, and her late night at the party, the last thing she needed was an eight o’clock lecture and rehearsals until one, with lectures until five.

  She drowsily reached for the clock, and saw with shock that she was running late. Damn, she was sure she had set the alarm.

  Zaira dashed into the bathroom for a quick shower, and after putting up her hair and wriggling into her suit, she was out the door without even having stopped for coffee.

  She headed towards the main building, but this morning there was no sign of Brad Clarke. At least he wouldn’t be making her late again, she reflected with irritation. She had slept badly last night, and was convinced that it was all his fault. There was something very disturbing about his presence, and she still didn’t trust his motives concerning her novel, for all he had protested he wanted to create a thing of beauty, not a mindless piece of fluff.

  When Zaira finished lecturing at ten, she trotted across the street to the coffee shop to get several cups of cappuccino and one of their fabulous muffins before going to the theatre. She was dreading having to act, since she had originally only agreed to do the direction, and did not really enjoy being in the spotlight.

  As usual, Zaira was the first one to arrive at the theatre, so she turned on all the lights, and noticed that the costumes had arrived. She was delighted, and thought it might be a special treat to try them on and rehearse in them.

  There was a long and reasonably natural black wig and long embroidered gown for Ophelia, which had been ordered at the same time as all the others even though the theatre company still had no one for the part. Zaira thought it would be fun to put them on, so she went backstage to the ladies’ dressing room, and stripped off her suit. Soon she was practicing up and down on the stage, and some of the others came in and admired her.

  “Well, Zoe, I must say that you look stunning in that wig,” Peter Duffy complimented her.

  She tried to tamp down her irritation. It was basically his fault she was now having to stand in because the part was still uncast. She was convinced that his objections to every Ophelia they had auditioned were mainly based on his own lack of talent. He had been so pushy, there had been no way to not give him the part and still go ahead with the production.

  Judging from the way he was smirking at her, Peter was probably thinking right now that she wouldn’t be up to much. So she whipped out her text and studied her lines one last time until she was word-perfect so he couldn’t show her up.

  The others arrived soon after, and disappeared in order to try on their costumes, most of which were pronounced to be a great success.

  “Love the codpiece, Peter!” someone sniggered as soon as he came out to show off his fine new clothes.

  Zaira had the feeling it was going to be a rather long rehearsal.

  No sooner had they started, than it became apparent that Peter had barely practiced, even though the theatre festival was in two weeks. An even worse issue soon came too the fore. They all thought each one of them ought to be director.

  Zaira had got the post by default, because the last person had backed out and no one else had been willing to take the responsibility for all the decision-making. But now that a large share of the hard work was finished, they all wanted to take credit for any success they might attain at the festival.

  Zaira sighed and ordered them all to take their places. They did a run through of the first act. Well, it was more of a plod, really, than a run. It could only have been charitably described as appalling, with the most unconvincing ghost imaginable, and an even worse Hamlet.

  Zaira desperately tried to get Peter to follow instructions, but he refused to take any criticism. The ghost began to improve after a few runs through, but the Prince of Denmark got more and more reckless as he went on.

  “Who ever told that idiot he could act must have been crazy,” she suddenly heard a deep voice say in her ear.

  Looking up, she saw Brad looking down at her, and her breath was snatched away by the beauty of his smile. He was dressed in a black polo neck jumper and fawn coloured trousers, which emphasized his muscular build.

  “Can you tell me where Zoe Dominick is? I’m supposed to meet her at one, but I’m a bit early.”

  Zaira was astonished that Brad didn’t recognize her, but then remembered the long black wig and costume she was wearing, no glasses, and the fact that he knew her as Zaira, not Zoe.

  “I’m Zoe,” she said with an affected Southern drawl, intending just to tease him until he realized who she was, but he only frowned more deeply. She wondered why he looked as though he didn’t believe her, or as if he was in some way disturbed—perhaps he had recognized her after all?

  Then her attention shot back to the stage. Peter had begun to flail his arms around wildly, looking not so much like a Danish prince as a Dutch windmill.

  “I would love to talk to you in a short while, but for now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’d better try to fix this mess. Perhaps if I'm an absolutely unbearable leading lady, we can get someone who can really act,” Zaira said with a laugh.

  “Come now, let’s do
our scene again, Peter,” Zaira chirped sweetly.

  The rest of the company saw from the glint in her eye that she was really going to put him through the ringer. Sure enough, he missed every cue, muttered some lines, stumbled over others.

  Zaira went on ruthlessly, word perfect, playing the scene for all it was worth. She went on remorselessly, making him repeat the lines over and over again, until finally Peter’s patience snapped.

  “This isn’t fair, I haven’t had much of a chance to rehearse!” he whined.

  “As if any of us have!” Zaira shot back. “You should have thought of that before you decided to massage your male ego trying to play a part which is obviously beyond you.”

  “Now look, I know you’re the director, but there is no need to be like that! After all, it isn’t as if you’re a professional, at either acting or directing,” Peter said with a smirk.

  Zaira took a sharp breath, but was saved any further arguments by Brad Clarke, who came out of the shadows and onto the stage.

  Several of the company recognized him instantly, and their eyes nearly came out of their sockets. Zaira heard a few nervous whispers, and even a chuckle.

  Brad said softly, “She is as professional as they come in both fields. Any film or play is based on teamwork as well as individual performances. So for everyone’s sake, why don’t you either make the effort to do as you are told, and do it properly, or let someone else have a chance to play the part.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are, giving me orders like that," said the obtuse Peter, "but even if what you’re saying is true, there’s no one in this room fit to do it!”

  The entire company bristled, and of course Brad couldn’t resist rising to the challenge.

  “We’ll see about that! Zoe, get into place!”

  Zaira jumped to attention, and with a thrill of excitement realized that he was going to rehearse the part of Hamlet with her. She had been pretty embarrassed about his remarks concerning her professionalism. Now she was going to have to act with him, face to face. It was too embarrassing.

  But she knew this was her one chance of getting rid of Peter once and for all, so she accepted the inevitable, and began the scene again.

  The entire theatre was silently transfixed by the performance they witnessed. Brad’s awesome presence filled the stage. Even having to read from the book, he was far better than Peter could ever hope to me.

  Encouraged by his forceful rendition of the part, Zaira was better than ever.

  At the end of the scene, the whole company broke out into rapturous applause, and she could see Peter scowl as one or two of the men in the cast ventured to come up and pat Brad on the back.

  He tried one last tactic, which sent everyone into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Just who do you think you are, interfering?!”

  “Brad Clarke, who else? I’m sure you’ve seen every one of my films, whether you’re a fan or not.”

  Peter’s jaw dropped open, and he fled the stage.

  Zaira laughed so hard she could barely speak. “Well done. You got rid of him once and for all. Now all we have to worry about is his replacement. I suppose I can ask some of the lads to have a go next time.”

  “If the part is still open, I’ll do it,” Brad offered.

  She gasped. “Oh no, I mean, you were marvelous, but we couldn’t possibly expect you to…"

  "I'm offering."

  "But it would be so embarrassing. You directing this humble production—"

  "I'm not offering to direct. I'm offering to be your Hamlet." He gave a flourishing bow that would have been worthy of any Renaissance courtier.

  She was stunned. "Oh, no, we couldn't. I mean, I’m supposed to be the director, and with you here, I’d look like an idiot,” Zaira protested, trying to keep her distance from those incredible emerald eyes.

  “Not at all. It would be a golden opportunity for you to learn a few things, but I really do want to act. I' m not offering because I want to take over, I swear. I'm not finding fault. If I were, I would just come out and tell you. But I think you’ve been doing really well on your own. I really do want to act. I did it when I was younger, but then the directing took over, and well…" He shrugged.

  "Besides, the part of Hamlet is something I've always wanted to take a stab at. If Mel Gibson can do it, and even Big Arnie wanted to try, why not me? Besides, it would a be wonderful way to meet people here in New York, and spend my spare time.”

  “I'm sure a man like you has no spare time—"

  He put his hand on her shoulder. "the lady doth protest too much, methinks. I really do want to do it. That is, if you'll let me, Ms. Director.

  She looked up at him for a time, and at length she nodded. "All right, but you need to know we are having a festival in two weeks, so it's all hands to the pumps. If you really want this part, you need to be reliable."

  "I promise, you tell me when, I'll be there and give it my all." He put his hand on his heart.

  "All right, then, if you’re sure, then I have no objection. Anyone else want to try?” Zaira asked the company.

  They all shook their heads, stunned at the kind offer, and the immense talent they would have the privilege of working with.

  “Right then, I’ll see you all the day after tomorrow,” Zaira said, and they all went backstage to change out of their costumes.

  When the room had cleared, she said, "We’ll have to get you a costume, of course. The one Peter ordered would barely cover you,” Zaira joked.

  Then she blushed as she realized her remark might seem flirtatious. She disguised her embarrassment by fishing for her cell phone and ringing the costume company. He gave her his measurements, which set her heart aflutter all over again, and she relayed them to the woman taking her order. Perhaps it was the heavy wig, but Zaira had never been more flustered in her life.

  When she ended the call, she headed over to the small pair of tables they had set up as their work stations.

  "Do you want a coffee?"

  "Sure, thanks. Black."

  She poured two cups from the pot on the smaller of the two tables, and indicated he should sit in one of the chairs at the larger one. She felt his eyes on her the whole time she moved around the area.

  She pushed his cup across the table and sat herself.

  “Right, then, Mr. Clarke, I’ve got....” she glanced at her watch, “one hour, so let’s get down to it. My publisher Matt Wolf tells me you wish to buy my book’s rights, for a Hollywood film. Quite frankly, I can’t imagine it as a film given the kinds of actors who generate box office hits in this country. Even if there were some able to capture the characters fully, isn’t it a terribly radical departure from every film you have ever made before?”

  Brad smiled and nodded. He said enthusiastically, “But you see, that's the whole point. It’s a challenge, an opportunity to break out of the old mould. I agree about the acting, I was thinking of heading to Europe. Getting out of the same old groove, in order to do something really meaningful. It's a profound love story on a number of levels which I think really needs to be told. Above all, it’s your love story, for the period, the topic. I've never read a book which jumps off the page like this and makes me feel as though I'm right there, that I know the characters so well, their experiences are mine too.”

  Zaira grew more convinced of his sincerity with every word she heard, but was still fearful of the Hollywood machine. “Thank you for the compliments. But the trouble is that even if you love the book personally as much as you say you do, you're a director. People give you money to make pictures, and that gives them the right to tell you what to do. How do I know that rather than quarrel with them, you won’t sell me and the book down the river by changing it beyond all recognition?”

  “Because for one thing I'm going to put up my own money to back it, to show what faith I have in the project, and to make sure that your very justifiable concerns are addressed. I don't want anyone to interfere in this project, least of all my own studio.
I also plan to offer you a contract with an out clause. If you disapprove of what we are doing, you can say so.”

  “And who is we' supposed to be? What actors and actresses, no doubt completely unsuitable, are you going to get?” she asked sharply, testing him again.

  “No, no, you’ve got it wrong, Zoe, the 'we' is you and I. I want you to help me with the film, every step of the way, as consultant.”

  “Very generous, as is your financial offer and out clause. What about the adaptation of the book into the screenplay? How do I know you won’t completely ruin it?”

  “Because I'll consult you on that as well,” Brad reassured her.

  “Would there be a possibility of your allowing me to adapt it myself?

  “Not really, because I think I have found the perfect person to do it, and besides, you’ll be too busy.”

  Zaira sat up in her chair quickly. “What do you mean? Too busy? Why?”

  “Because I want you to play the part of the Dark Lady. And before you begin to argue, Zoe, let’s just say I knew from the moment I laid eyes on you that you would be perfect for the part.”

  “You can’t seriously think I’d be suitable for a Hollywood film!” Zaira declared in disbelief, as she put her hand up to her black wig, and groaned inwardly. She had forgetten all about it.

  She was tempted to tell him the truth there and then, but his next words silenced her.

  “Of course, for that type of semi-documentary, you’d be great. Fiery, passionate...”

  “And what makes you think I’m all those things?” she asked with a blush.

  “I only had to see the way you treated Peter to realize that. So what do you say, then? After we do Hamlet for the festival, we start the film?”

  “It’s all so sudden, Brad. As for the acting, I have a lot of other commitments besides this, you know,” Zaira pointed out.

  Brad took a small notebook out from his pocket, and wrote down several numbers. “For the rights, for the consultations, and for your acting, and your percentage of the box office takings," he said, pointing to the paper three times. “I’ll pay you the first now, in full, the second and third on a weekly basis, and the last when we go onto the big screen."