The Cinema at Starlight Creek

by Alli Sinclair

  ‘Of course.’ Claire stood and helped Hattie up. She walked with her to the door where they were met by Don, who took Hattie by the elbow and led her to her room off the long hallway.

  Claire stood at the front door, unsure what to do. There was no point going into town as that would only chip away at her sensibilities when she got cold-shouldered by all and sundry. Waiting in the car in this heat would be a death sentence. Maybe a walk around the property. That way she could stretch her legs and get some fresh air.

  She headed towards the cane fields, a little wary about what creepy crawlies were lurking. Trying to shake off her city-girl paranoia, Claire found herself meandering along the narrow paths between the sugarcane that rose high above. There was something comforting in being surrounded by the cane, like it was protecting her, giving her a moment to break away from the world. She’d only ever experienced that on beaches, when the waves rolled onto the shore, the vast expanse of blue ocean and sky representing the possibilities of her future. Yet here, cocooned among the sugarcane with the sun dancing across her skin, Claire felt the same sense of calm. Control.

  Oh.

  That was it. Ever since taking on this job with Nigel’s mini-series, Claire’s world had spun out of control. With the happenings in Ashton then Starlight Creek—things she could never have foreseen—her sense of control had been ripped away and, in its place, uncertainty had taken over, leaving her reeling. She’d always prided herself on dealing with anything thrown at her, but with so much in such a short time her confidence had wavered. So, Scarlet was right.

  Claire followed a path that wound through the fields. The mountains in the distance kept her company, as did the birds that fluttered in and out of the sugarcane. It was easy to lose herself here, and the longer she stayed, the calmer she felt.

  Arriving at the river, she sat under a tree and took off her shoes. When was the last time she’d sat quietly and let her mind rest? Since leaving school her life had been a whirlwind of jumping from one job to another, constantly putting out feelers and making new contacts, thinking months ahead so she’d have new work lined up. And in the spare time that she did have, she was researching and coming up with ideas for documentaries that ended up being nixed by the powers that be. All she needed was one idea that people couldn’t resist. Though that seemed as likely as her enrolling in the NASA space program.

  Claire leaned against the tree, enjoying the shade cast by the thick leaves. She closed her eyes, breathed in the fresh air and concentrated on every muscle relaxing.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  Her body jerked and Claire opened her eyes. She rubbed her hand on her mouth, getting rid of the tell-tale dribble. How long had she been asleep?

  ‘Yes,’ she croaked. Her body ached and her brain was fuzzy.

  ‘What did you want?’ Although Luke’s tone was even, the underlying annoyance was obvious. So much for Hattie saying Luke didn’t hate Claire.

  ‘I was hoping you might come to the cinema with me,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You’ve done enough damage,’ he said.

  ‘They said it was an electrical fault.’

  ‘I’m talking about trust.’

  ‘Luke, I regret everything that has happened and wish things could be different. The last thing I wanted was damage to the cinema and I would never, ever have wanted Hattie to become ill because of it.’

  ‘The doctors said it could have happened at any time.’ He sounded a little less terse.

  ‘I still can’t help but feel responsible.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘Everything’s a mess.’

  Luke’s expression softened but he didn’t move towards her.

  ‘I’m really sorry about everything.’ She stood and brushed down her jeans.

  ‘Is that why you wanted to see me? To apologise?’

  ‘Yes.’ She now worried her idea was too lofty. ‘I was also hoping you might be able to help me with something.’

  Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet. ‘I think you’ve done enough.’

  ‘I want to make it up to Hattie. To you.’ She reached for his hand, but both remained firmly in his pockets. Claire stepped back. ‘I get this is going to take time, but will you at least give it a go?’

  Luke looked away, like the reeds beside the river were more interesting than her. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘How many times do I have to apologise? How many times do I have to remind you it was an electrical fault?’

  ‘The electrical fault happened because the cinema hadn’t been used in so long and the wires couldn’t cope with the strain.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s all impossible.’

  ‘Nothing’s impossible if you fully believe in it.’ She tilted her head to the side. ‘How’s the plans for the retreat coming along?’

  ‘It’s not going to happen.’

  ‘You’re chicken.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You’re chicken about your art retreat actually coming true.’ Wow. That came out of the blue.

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Oh yes you are, because if it happens then you’ll have to admit that it absolutely is possible to have it all. And I think that scares you. You’re afraid of being happy.’

  ‘I’m more than happy, thank you very much!’ Luke’s indignant tone echoed down the valley.

  ‘Really? Because it doesn’t appear that way. I get that you don’t want to let your dad down and I absolutely understand why you try to keep the art far from him. That’s kind and considerate and I admire you for that. But when will you get to do what you want? When will you finally realise your dreams?’

  Luke stared into the distance, his jaw set hard. He breathed in heavily through his nostrils then turned to face her, his gaze steely. ‘All you talk about are dreams yet you’re doing nothing to see your own to fruition. You blame it on people not getting on board, or not having the right subject, or the timing being wrong. When will you stop blaming everyone else and just make it happen?’

  ‘I have tried!’

  ‘You’re looking in the wrong places,’ he said.

  ‘I look everywhere! I read books, newspapers, talk to people from all backgrounds and experiences … I’m constantly searching for the right subject that will get my documentary career off the ground.’

  ‘You don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘What?’ She threw her arms wide. ‘What don’t I get?’

  ‘You’re not looking here.’ He pointed at his heart.

  ‘What has that got to do with anything?’ Man, he was frustrating.

  ‘You are thinking with your head. Once you find a topic that connects with your heart, it will show when you’re pitching it to production companies or whatever it is that you do.’

  Annoyance roiled through her because he was right. Ugh.

  ‘Or,’ he continued, appearing quite pleased with himself, ‘you do it yourself.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Don’t you have contacts who would work on this with you?’

  ‘It costs money. A lot of money. And yes, I have contacts but it would be like pushing a ball of manure up the hill with a stick. Filming a documentary is just a small part. There’s wages and distribution and other production costs and—’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it’s way more complicated than you think.’

  ‘Then un-complicate it,’ he said.

  ‘If I could I would.’ Her tone sounded just as cranky as Luke’s had a short time ago.

  ‘To quote the words of one Miss Montgomery, “Nothing’s impossible if you fully believe in it”.’

  ‘Yeah, well maybe Miss Montgomery is full of shit.’ She kicked a stone that skittered into the river. ‘I didn’t want to see you just so we could argue.’

  ‘You wanted help?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, grateful they’d steered away from the subject that set off unwanted fireworks
between them. ‘I know the insurance is looking after the inside of the theatre. And I know I can’t possibly make it up to Hattie, but I at least want to try.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’d like to renovate the outside of the cinema. Give it a facelift. The facade itself isn’t in bad shape, it’s just faded and needs some plastering here and there.’

  ‘Who’s going to pay for this?’

  ‘I’ll supply the materials and I’ll do the labour.’

  ‘You can’t do it all by yourself.’

  ‘I could, though it would take forever. I do have another idea, but I need your help.’

  CHAPTER 30

  1952 – Hollywood

  Lena picked up her purse, keen to leave the dressing room after a long day of filming. Her solo number had gone off without a hitch and she hadn’t been distracted by Reeves as she hadn’t seen him all day. He was definitely around the studio, but was busy being fitted and going over his solos. Tomorrow, though, would be a different story and Lena had no idea how she would deal with it. She liked to think she could be cool, calm and collected but it would be a challenge as her desire for Reeves constantly raged within.

  She walked across the lot to her car, surprised by the warmth of the evening. Normally it was cooler at this time of year, but the balmy temperature made her want to go home and take a nice, relaxing dip in the pool. A martini would make the perfect accompaniment.

  Lena started the car and steered towards the gate that opened on Barney’s command. Turning up the music, Lena sang and let the wind rush through the open windows, her hair whipping about. She took the long way home, revelling in being just another person driving home from work. This act of normalcy always helped ground her. There was no way she’d ever let herself become one of those demanding actresses. It wasn’t in her nature, yet some people managed to play the role of diva with ease.

  Jeanne.

  Lena had managed to subtly get updates from Reeves, even though no one had seen her for weeks. According to Reeves’s agent, Jeanne was improving but there was still a long road ahead before her full recovery—if ever.

  Guilt threatened to muscle in on Lena every time she thought about stepping into the role originally meant for Jeanne, but what could she do? It wasn’t like Lena had caused Jeanne’s downfall—she’d been working towards that for years. All Lena was doing was helping out the studio in their hour of need. Though, if she were entirely honest, that wasn’t what troubled her the most. The flirtation and attraction to Reeves was what really concerned Lena because if Jeanne ever found out, it could be her undoing.

  Now keen to get home, Lena turned off the main road and wended her way up the hill towards her house. This business with Reeves had to stop. As much as she wanted to be with him, it could damage Jeanne beyond measure and Lena was not willing to be party to someone’s meltdown. Though … why should she be responsible for Jeanne’s problems? After all, they started well before Jeanne and Lena had met. Regardless, Lena’s conscience entertained the guilt.

  ‘Fool,’ she chastised herself.

  Lena arrived at the gates of her house and waited for them to open. She put her foot on the accelerator then slammed on the brakes when a dark figure stepped out of the shadows.

  She would recognise that incredibly attractive physique anywhere.

  ‘And you say I drive like a race car driver,’ Reeves said as he approached her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘That’s a nice greeting.’ He grinned.

  ‘Last night was a one-off, we can’t—’

  ‘I’m not here for that, wonderful as it was. We should talk about it, though.’

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

  ‘I think there is.’ He cocked his head in the direction of her house. ‘Do you mind if we discuss this somewhere less public?’

  She motioned for him to get in the car. His nearness drove her crazy and she despised not feeling in control of her emotions. Or her body. It was almost impossible to concentrate on the narrow driveway. How on earth could she complete this film with her sanity intact?

  Lena pulled up at the front door. She got out and climbed the steps, her shaking hands gripping the keys. It took a couple of goes to get her key in the lock, especially as she could feel Reeves directly behind her. It would be so easy to turn around and kiss him with fervour, though it would defeat the whole point of this talk, wouldn’t it? Although … what if Reeves had different ideas? Enough! The only way to find out what Reeves had in mind was for them to lay it all on the table. Although right now talking was the last thing she wanted …

  The door clicked open and she put her purse on the stand and removed her hat and gloves. Reeves took off his hat and placed it on the hook beside hers and, for a fleeting moment, she wondered what it would be like if they did this every night.

  No!

  ‘Drink?’ she asked as they walked to her living room.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Sit, please.’ Her formality seemed odd, though she had no idea how to act around Reeves right now. They were in uncharted territory, but they had to figure out the map quickly because time was not on their side. Lena set about preparing martinis, adding the ingredients by eye and shaking them with expert hands.

  ‘You’ve done this a few times before,’ said Reeves.

  ‘You calling me an alcoholic?’ she joked then stopped shaking the vessel. ‘Sorry, that was not entirely appropriate.’

  ‘It’s okay. We’re allowed to make jokes and I know you didn’t direct that at Jeanne. You’re not that kind of person.’

  Lena returned to making the cocktails and quickly finished. She handed one to Reeves who took a sip. ‘This is the best martini I’ve had in a long time. Where did you learn to make these?’

  ‘I worked as a waitress in a cocktail bar and the barman showed me how to make a few different ones.’ Lena sat on the chair opposite Reeves. She sipped her drink, resisting the urge to down it in one gulp. For years she’d separated martinis from Charlie, although now it hit her with full force. Had she deliberately wiped that from her mind?

  She placed her drink on the coffee table.

  ‘Lena.’ Reeves also put down his drink. ‘I don’t want what happened between us to be a one-time thing.’

  ‘It should be, though.’ She hated saying it. ‘We’re professionals and our personal lives should be separate. Besides, how would it look to the public? Jeanne is in rehab, for goodness sake!’

  ‘Like I’ve mentioned, Jeanne and I stopped being an item a very long time ago.’

  ‘Yet the public believes you still are. We can’t do this, Reeves. If word ever got out about our tryst it could kill our careers. The public are not that forgiving. Nor is HUAC.’

  ‘Why do you care so much about what people think? What about you?’ He leaned forward, his eyes earnest. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I …’ Her mouth felt dry and she eyed off the martini.

  ‘Try to imagine the rest of the world doesn’t exist—no producers, no directors, no Jeanne, no Pierre, no journalists scrounging for fodder for their magazines and newspapers, no public eagerly devouring gossip. What do you want?’

  She studied her hands in her lap, forcing herself to hold back the tears.

  ‘What does your heart tell you, Lena?’ Reeves’s question was quiet and sincere.

  She took a long, deep breath. ‘I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that.’

  ‘Say whatever you want, I’m not going to judge.’

  She closed her eyes, hoping the tears and tumultuous emotions would stay at bay. ‘I’ve worked so very hard to get where I am. I’ve sacrificed a lot. I miss my family desperately. I miss where I grew up. I’ve lost friends but also gained new ones. I love what I do, though I hate being in the public spotlight because everything I do or say is judged harshly and often misconstrued. However, I love that I can live in a place like I do. I love that I’m now in a position that I can also help struggling actresses.
I greatly appreciate the luxuries this work has afforded me. But …’ She paused, scared to admit it but needing to. ‘In a world where people are flocking to be in my company all the time, I’m lonely.’

  Reeves reached across the table and gently took her hand. ‘You don’t need to be.’

  She pulled away. ‘We have enough going on with the movie. We really shouldn’t confuse things.’

  ‘It’s already too late for that.’ His eyes were earnest. ‘I’m lonely, too. We don’t need to be sailing different waters.’

  ‘Reeves.’ She willed the courage to surface. ‘It’s not just us. There’s so much you don’t know about me and …’ How to say this? ‘And I don’t know if I’m ready to share just yet.’

  ‘Did you murder someone?’ He laughed.

  ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘Okay!’ He held up his hand. ‘I was only joking.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Lena said quietly, kicking herself for her over-the-top reaction. She averted her gaze. It was now or never. ‘I’m Australian.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m Australian.’ She said it louder, letting the Australian accent she’d hidden for years roll off her tongue. It felt good. Like a part of her had been freed.

  ‘Why have you kept this a secret?’

  Lena’s mouth hung open. ‘You’re not angry I’ve not told you before?’

  ‘Why would I be angry? You clearly started this charade years ago—way before we met. I’m glad you’re telling me now, though.’

  ‘Errol Flynn,’ she blurted out.

  ‘Errol Flynn?’

  ‘Yes, Errol Flynn, he of the swashbuckling movies,’ Lena said.

  ‘I know who he is, but what does he have to do with you?’

  ‘I can’t entirely blame Errol Flynn—he put Australia on the map in Hollywood. I know lots of people love him because of his bad-boy ways but there is a huge double standard when it comes to men’s behaviour and women’s. It’s hard enough making it in this industry without being thrown into the “oh, she’s an Australian therefore she has loose morals and drinks too much” bucket.’

  ‘People really say that?’