Microsoft Word - Rogers, Rosemary - The Crowd Pleasers

by kps

  There was a faint sound behind her and she whirled, the thin silk of her nightgown silhouetting her against the tall glass windows.

  "I'm sorry, Anne! I thought I heard a sound in here, but I didn't knock in case you were asleep. What's the matter, love? Did anything disturb you?"

  There was sharp concern in Harris's voice as he came towards her. He was already dressed-in a pair of casual slacks and a yellow shirt open at the neck. Catching her look, he glanced down at himself and raised his shoulders apologetically. "I'm an inveterate early riser, I'm afraid! And there's a lot that has to be done before the horde starts arriving. But you-what is it, Anne? I've been noticing the held-back look of you lately, and your tenseness. Can't you sleep?" Coming up to her, he stroked her cold arms, his eyes, fog-gray, studying her face intently.

  She managed a wavering smile and what she hoped was lightness in her voice. "I just woke up early, that's all. And I couldn't go back to sleep, so I decided to watch the dawn."

  "Yes, it's beautiful, isn't it? Pale and unawake yet. Sometimes I think of you that way, Anne. You should have been born a medieval lady-protected and waited upon and cherished."

  "Waiting in my tower room for my lord and master? No, thank you. I think I much prefer being a woman in this day and age!"

  "Are you really as independent as you sound?" Harris said it teasingly, but his fingers tightened for just an instant about her shoulders and then he gave a disapproving click of his tongue. "You're very tense, sweetheart. Hold still, let me massage the back of your neck for you." As his strong fingers massaged her neck and shoulders she could feel the tension flow away. After a while she let him lead her back to her bed and strip off her nightgown, tossing it to the floor.

  And this time she honestly tried to let go-to let Harris do whatever he wanted, willing herself to feel, to fly. As before, it didn't work.

  Later, brushing her hair and braiding it against the wind, Anne stared ruefully at her reflection. So she did have a problem. Ice maiden. And Harris had been very patient, very understanding; not saying anything except, with a short sigh, "You should really learn to relax, Anne. Especially when we start shooting. I don't like the idea of your falling into the tranquilizer habit, like too many actresses I know. Have you thought about using the meditation technique Hal Brightman has made so popular? He's a great guy to meet-very warm and friendly. I think you'll like him."

  She went downstairs in blue jeans, a blue and orange madras shirt, and a windbreaker. Breakfast smelled good in the dining room, but she decided to skip it today. The coffee and rolls Harris had ordered brought up to her room had revived her, and she wanted to explore-see how things were coming.

  There were men, carpenters and painters by the look of them, wandering everywhere carrying the paraphernalia of their trade. Some of the more garish and strikingly modern examples of Danny Verrano's taste had already disappeared; and the house, especially the older section of it, was beginning to look authentically period, even to the massive Spanish furniture and oil paintings of Spanish dons in black velvet and steel.

  "You don't mind, Anne? It'll just be this way while we're making the movie .. ."

  "Harris, I love it! Everything looks-just as it should be."

  She especially loved the huge central courtyard. Even when she was a child this had been one of her favorite places, where she had come to read in the sunshine or dream that she was back in the past-a Moorish princess in old Granada.

  This courtyard might have come straight out of the Alhambra.

  Very Moorish with its fountains and blue tiles, galleries looking down on three sides, and a high wall on the fourth. Even a miniature bathing pool. Anne saw how many of the courtyard scenes they needed could be shot right here. Harris had explained how the workmen could transform it with paint and plywood from grand to shabby overnight. There was even a massive wooden gate set into the wall already. Yes, Harris had been right from the beginning. The house was perfect, and so was its location.

  Anne looked out, hesitating when she saw all the activity that was going on.

  Scaffoldings had been built against the walls, and some men were slapping on paint, while in the center three more worked on nailing together a very authentic-looking whipping post.

  No use her going out there today. Turning back into the house, Anne wondered which scenes they'd shoot first. She'd learned enough about filmmaking from listening to Harris talk to know they wouldn't do anything in sequence. And that reminded her that she should be studying the script.

  "We'll stick as close as possible to the book, Anne. Just remember when you're reading that this is all visual. We'll be shooting very small segments at a time, so you won't have much to memorize. And there'll be cue cards, of course, if you need them.

  Don't worry about anything."

  But that was the least of her worries, although she couldn't say so to Harris. Perhaps talking to Dr. Brightman would help, after all. Another guru. And his book had been very intriguing- an easy way to relaxation and from there to meditation.

  She saw the thick guest book that Harris, meticulous as ever, had installed on the magnificent carved sideboard. The telephone beside it struck a jarring note. She had started to flip idly through the book when the phone began to ring. There were extensions all over the house, and all those servants as well. Should she? Silly to hesitate when she was standing right here! Another insistent ring and she picked it up automatically, almost saying, "Majco Oil," and that trigger reflex was what made her pause to hear a woman's voice, a slightly accented, contralto saying, 'Who is this?"

  Anne hated people who started off telephone conversations that way. And the woman sounded arrogant, as if she were talking to a servant. She had opened her mouth to retort, "Whom did you want to speak to?" when she heard the receiver being lifted from somewhere else in the house.

  Harris's voice, sounding slightly impatient. "Hello?" "Harris? This is Anna-Maria. Who was it who picked up the telephone just now?"

  Her cheeks burning, feeling absurdly guilty like a child caught eavesdropping, Anne replaced the phone before she could catch Harris's reply.

  Oh damn! That was stupid of her, too. She should have said something-explained.

  Too late now. Still feeling guilty, she walked quickly out of the room, threading her way through other rooms until she was safely outside, looking up at a sunlit sky, freckled with small fleecy clouds to the west.

  No doubt the fog would come back later in the evening. The weather here was always surprising, never the same. Like the ocean ... as she should remember.

  Funny how she could remember so many things from before. The happy things, the good things. But not much of after. But then, Dr. Haldane had explained that, and it was pointless going back.

  Harris's chauffeur, who looked more like a bodyguard, was lounging outside, smoking a cigarette. Perhaps she should ask him to bring one of the cars around and drive herself into Carmel, spend the day wandering around the shops, looking for the familiar ones.

  He stamped the cigarette out under his heel, looking at her through black in curious eyes.Maybe he was Harris's bodyguard-she should ask. She wondered if he wore a gun in a shoulder holster under his leather jacket, and realized that she didn't even know his name.

  Who was Anna-Maria? One of Harris's ex-girl friends?

  Angry at her own curiosity, Anne nodded at the man and started to walk briskly, as if she knew exactly where she was going.

  It was really none of her business. Harris had a lot of friends, most of whom she hadn't met.

  "If you're going down to the beach, Miss Mallory, you'd best be careful. Those cliffs fall away real sudden." She turned her head over her shoulder, inexplicably annoyed that this stranger should be warning her.

  "Thanks, I know that. I used to live here as a child."

  Almost true. Childhood summers. Happy times until the very last summer. And so much for asking for a car. Now she was committed to her walk. Digging her hands into the pockets of he
r windbreaker, Anne followed the faintly defined path that led to the beach, knowing that when she was out of sight of the house she would swerve off it to the north, following another path she remembered, with twisted oaks leaning their branches over it. Sherwood Forest to the child she'd been. Funny how the real thing, when she made a point of seeing it in England, hadn't seemed half so magical!

  And then she heard the helicopter, and stood there shading her eyes until she had located it-hearing its peculiar whirring sound grow louder as the clumsy-looking thing came closer and lower, to disappear at last behind the treetops.

  The first contingent of guests! Well, that would give her walk some direction. Feeling the wind whip color into her face, Anne took consciously long strides as she headed towards the small landing field.

  She was halfway there when the chauffeur caught up with her. He walked alongside and muttered a human "Well, here we go! That'll be the first lot, and they'll have a bunch of baggage with them that needs carting back to the house."

  She decided that he didn't look like a bodyguard at all, not really. Just a middle-aged Mexican or Italian with muscles under his jacket. No doubt from helping to carry Harris's guests' luggage.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  As IT TURNED OUT, Harris had golf carts to take the guests and their baggage back to the house. Anne rode in one beside Yves Pleydel, who laughed. "American efficiency! Everything made very convenient, eh?" He was looking tanned and fit, and had kissed her soundly when he first saw her. "And you-you are looking very beautiful, just as I remembered you, cherie" His quick eyes took her in, appraising her in that open way of his. "Although you could use some extra weight, you know.

  Has Harris not been feeding you? You must remember you are a movie actress now, and not a skinny model!"

  "Oh, but the sea air is doing wonders for my appetite!" Anne countered, smiling at him. Yves at least was familiar. The others he introduced her to were strangers-mostly camera crew, headed by a taciturn New Yorker called Davis who kept squinting suspiciously at the sky, as if he expected it to be obscured by fog in minutes.

  "Be extra charming to him and he will make sure you get all the best angles!" Yves whispered drolly. "I have seen some of his work, and he is very good. The best, in fact-like me!"

  Angles, cuts, costumes, editing. The conversation over dinner was mostly technical, leaving Anne the silent listener, wondering if she would ever learn enough. Harris, like an orchestra conducter, guided it smoothly.

  The helicopter had made two trips today. And by tomorrow, apparently, everyone else would be here.

  "So what do we do about extras?" Yves asked sourly, and Harris smiled patiently.

  "I've arranged for that, too. We fly them in from Los Angeles-and add a few locals with previous experience for the right diplomatic touch. But they'll be mostly union people, and that should keep everyone happy."

  "I'll stay happy if we shoot with the weather," Davis grumbled. "And we could use some dry runs." His glance slid over Anne, shifted away. And she told herself she mustn't blush. It was the first time in weeks she'd thought about some of those scenes she was supposed to do. Mostly with Webb-and when would he turn up?

  Keep your mind on the conversation and learn from it, she reprimanded herself.

  A name brought her back to sharp awareness.

  Harris was saying to Yves, "Espinoza is bringing Anna-Maria with him. She called me this morning." Was it really casual, the way his eyes moved to Anne's suddenly still face? "Sorry, love, I haven't had time to bring you up to date. Sal Espinoza-you must have heard of him? And Anna-Maria's his steady lady. I think you'll like her. She's beautiful, very charming-and the world's greatest masseuse. Ask Yves; he'll tell you she has a magical pair of hands."

  "Truly a gift," Yves said. "She's better than any professional one could go to.

  Espinoza won't let anyone else close to him before or after a race."

  "We'll have to get Anna-Maria to give you one of her special massages whenever you've had a really hard day, Anne. And I'd better warn you-Yves is a devilish hard taskmaster!"

  Pleydel rolled his eyes. "I've been called much worse than that, monami. But before you scare off our little one here, you should also tell her that I'm very patient as well."

  He grinned at Anne. "Don't wear that frightened look, there's really nothing to it." A note of cynicism edged his voice: "Most women, I've found, are born actresses!"

  Harris didn't come upstairs with her that night. He walked with her to the foot of the stairs, teasing her because she wouldn't use the elevator Danny Verrano had installed. "But I'm used to these stairs! I always did enjoy walking up to bed."

  Was he coming with her? No, he looked apologetic, explaining that Yves and he were going to sit up and go over the schedule for the next few weeks. He looked down at her with something like regret in his eyes-it was there and then it was gone.

  And the sleepless night before, the cigarette smoke, and the after-dinner liqueurs had all combined to make her feel very tired.

  Harris bent his head, his lips brushing hers in a light, affectionate kiss.

  "Anne, you're very beautiful. And I wish that I-" He broke off abruptly, caught her questioning look, and gave a wry smile. "Damn! This is hardly the time or the place for a serious conversation, is it? But in my clumsy way I've been wanting to tell you that you must never feel obligated to me in any way. Do you understand? I want you to be a free soul, to feel free at all times."

  Later, lying in bed, with her script on the night table beside her, Anne wondered at his almost solemnly serious speech. Underneath it all, Harris was really a very sensitive man. He couldn't fail to have noticed the lack in her. Was that why he had practically invited her to tryout other lovers? And was that the answer?

  So many people, all different, thrown into close proximity for several weeks. "Closed set." Did that mean that they were to be closed in as well? There were bound to be personality clashes, little feuds, shows of temperament. But perhaps, above all, that feeling of working together, being part of the exciting business of making a piece of make-believe come alive for millions of viewers. And she could recall the almost wistful feeling she'd had almost two years ago about the theater people, when she'd been the outsider looking in. It would be different this time.

  Anne lay there for a long time, looking into the darkness and listening to the distant sea-murmuring outside her windows.

  After a while she got up, went to the bathroom, and took a Valium. And when she came back to bed she switched on the small radio, letting the music play very softly.

  Harris hadn't come up to bed yet, but she didn't expect him to visit her tonight.

  Just before she fell asleep, she thought she heard the sound of the helicopter again.

  Coming in to land or going away? It really didn't matter; she'd find out in the morning

  ...

  She hadn't heard the sound of opening doors and voices downstairs, nor the elevator coming and going. Waking with the daylight that suddenly filled her room as the heavy drapes were abruptly drawn open, Anne felt the aroma of steaming coffee tantalize her nostrils. Turning over onto her back, her eyes still sleep-filled, blinking into focus, Anne made a smothered sound and instinctively pulled the covers up to her neck. Karim stood there holding a tray and smiling at her.

  "It is almost noon and everyone else is up enjoying this beautiful day. What did you do last night to make you so tired?" His smile widened, showing those white teeth.

  "And you look like a frightened virgin, all covered up against lustful eyes. I find that intriguing."

  Anger sent all the lingering drowsiness from her brain. "What are you doing in here, Karim?" "Offering myself as a substitute for that prune-faced woman who was bringing you this tray. Won't I do?"

  His teasing voice carried subtle undercurrents as he stood there, looking undeniably handsome in his close-fitting silk shirt and tailored slacks, a silk scarf knotted rakishly about his brown throat. And his coal-d
ark eyes rested on her with a burning look that was unmistakable.

  Anne felt her face begin to flame. "Thank you for your thoughtfulness. You may put the tray down and leave now." The laughing mockery left his face as it darkened.

  "You make a mistake when you talk to me as if I were a servant, ma belle! And I think, too, that you have a lot to learn about men. I am no emasculated American or Englishman who would tolerate insolence from a woman, and I think I am going to enjoy teaching you that!"

  "You're not in front of the cameras now, Karim, and I'm not in the mood for a dramatic scene. Will you please go away so I can get dressed?" Anne tried to keep her voice cool, but she was frightened, and her eyes were wary.

  He slammed the tray down on the dresser so hard the coffee spilled; and turned back to stand looking down at her. "What are you so afraid of that you try to cover it with words of contempt? Just as you try to cover your body from my eyes? I think you are the kind of female who incites men to rapc them because that is the only way they can enjoy sex-by being forced and mastered. And then, after that, you would fall willingly onto your knees whenever I clicked my fingers-sol-and take my cock in your mouth if I ordered it."

  The deliberate crudity of his words shocked and startled her, as he had meant them to do, and he laughed with harsh satisfaction.

  "What-have I made you afraid again? Of me, or of yourself and the secret desires that you try to hide under your cold airs? But then, you are far from being a trembling virgin, aren't you? And I know that there is much passion in you, for I have heard the sounds of delight that came from your throat while you were being fucked-your friend Carol played a tape for me one night." He laughed mockingly at the look on her face.