Microsoft Word - Rogers, Rosemary - The Crowd Pleasers

by kps

  "What I can't understand is why you came here."

  "Sal was coming. Since-since we have been together I usually go where he goes.

  And then I heard that you were to be in this picture. So ..." She shrugged faintly. "Do you know that there were times when I thought-I actually wondered if you had known all along what was to happen to me? They let me think that, too. Even now I'm not sure. You were not very surprised when you saw me, and some of the things you said .. ."

  "I don't recall saying much of anything, Ria. And I don't know why we're bothering with this question-and-answer routine-except it was your idea. To explain, I think you said?

  Well, okay, if it makes you feel any better, I accept all your explanations. And I've only one more question to ask before it's Lights Out." His cigarette made a small arc in the semi-darkness before he stubbed it out viciously. "Did you ever get around to getting a divorce? Because I sure as hell didn't."

  "He is full of energy, that one!" Espinoza chuckled lazily. .

  "He fucks one woman for most of the afternoon, and now he'll probably stay up half the night with Anna-Maria-she's quite insatiable herself."

  "He's a clever son of a bitch!" Randall chewed on the end of his cigar. "Didn't give anything away, did he? And didn't ask her any too-obvious questions either. I wonder

  ..."

  Harris Phelps said with uncharacteristic violence. "The bastard smells of Reardon! I know they got to him somehow, and we'll find out ..."

  "Maybe after sex, he'll make a slip. It's the time, unfortunately, when men are weakest." Espinoza sounded urbane, but Harris glanced at him sharply. He shrugged. "After all, what does he know? And if he tries to contact anyone, we'll find out. So what is there to worry about? In any case, we all know that what we have on Reardon now can smoke him out of cover." Deliberately changing the subject, he added, "Any news from our friend Taki since he left?"

  They had been watching a videotape play-back, and it was very late. Pleydel had already retired to get some sleep before the shooting in the morning. Anne had declined to watch the day's rushes an-d had gone up to her room before the others had come up here.

  Mixing pills with alcohol wasn't good, she knew, but she didn't care, and she needed sleep and oblivion. So heavily did she sleep that she didn't quite wake up when someone slid into bed beside her.

  A little later she stirred and moaned. Why had she begun to dream? She didn't know if the dreams were pleasant or not. She was somewhere else, someone else-Glory.

  Was she Glory? There were hands on her body, a weight between her thighs. She gasped, and felt her nostrils sting and then just as suddenly she was floating somewhere, uncaring. Don't wake up, and then the dream will go away.

  "You are too dry-come, I'll help you." The voice was a different voice, one she knew and didn't want to remember. There was a soreness and then a numbness between her thighs as her body began to arch and convulse on its own while her mind stayed detached and free-floating, still hovering between sleep and dream.

  "Have you forgotten how to fuck? I watched you in action this afternoon, and now it's my turn. You'll fuck me now, you blonde-and-white bitch! Put your arms around me and beg for it. Beg, I tell you-you want to be fucked, don't you? You enjoy it, for all your cold pretense."

  "Please .. ." Was that her voice, sounding disembodied, or Glory's?

  "That's better. Spread your legs wide and beg me again. For this-and for this." A shaft of pain that drove her body upwards with a cry that almost woke her completely-was she awake or asleep? Why did her nostrils seem so numb while her brain and her body exploded with the longing for a release she had to have? Even the pain was pleasurable, because she had to ... she had to ... and against that longing she couldn't control, the words he was making her say didn't seem important at all.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  ANNE WOKE TO THE SOUND of the helicopter; she opened her eyes with an effort to find Harris looking down at her. Her mind felt fuzzy ... why was his look so strange, and why did she feel so-so-

  "I think I'm coming down with a cold." Her nose was running; she felt embarrassed as she reached for a tissue, only to find that her whole body ached abominably.

  He handed her the box, his face set and almost grim-looking. He looked as if he hadn't slept very well. "Cocaine has that aftereffect, especially if you-overindulge."

  She tried to sit up, and fell back against the pillows again with an exclamation of pain.

  "Cocaine? But I didn't-I've never tried it!" Why was he accusing her? She must be getting the flu, or she wouldn't hurt so whenever she tried to move.

  "Oh, for Christ's sake, Anne!" His control slipped for a moment before he regained it again. "There's no need to lie to me, although I must confess I don't understand last night. But I'm neither blind nor deaf."

  She blew her nose helplessly, staring at him. "But I don't understand! I honestly don't.

  What are you trying to say?"

  "I'm trying to keep things in perspective, Anne. And, I must admit, to hold on to my temper. When I told you you were free-don't you realize that there's a difference between freedom and licence? With some of the other women here-yes, I suppose I could understand. But you ... what has happened to you since Webb Carnahan got here? It was him yesterday afternoon-you explained that, didn't you?" For a moment a mirthless smile twisted his lips under his mustache. "But Karim last night-I thought you didn't even like him."

  "Karim?" It came out as a whisper-she felt sure she must still be dreaming. Oh God, it had to be a dream, no more than that!

  "Karim," Harris repeated heavily. "I suppose he left early this morning. I didn't sleep too well myself. I let you sleep- Yves is shooting around you for today. I told him that you were-unwell."

  Even her arms ached when she put her hands up to her head. And now the rest of the pains were becoming localized. Her legs-especially between her thighs. Her bed was all mussed up and damp-she could feel a stickiness under her, along with the smarting, the throbbing.

  "But I-I don't remember! I took a Valium, and then ... if Karim was here last night, then I didn't know it! But I couldn't have slept through ... oh God!" She felt sick, those half-dreams coming back into her mind.

  Harris said stiffly, "I've run your bath for you. I didn't want the maid coming up to find you like this."

  He was denying her a hearing, and her head had begun to hurt, too, along with the rest of her body. She cried at him wildly, "How can you be so sure it happened if I'm not? Or that it was Karim? If he did come in here while I was asleep, then it was .. ."

  "It wasn't rape, Anne. My God, I could even cope with that better! He's not the most tender lover in the world-I'm sorry, but when I walked in, you weren't covered, and I could not help seeing the bruises he left on you. But you seemed to be enjoying his lovemaking."

  "What?"

  He said with deliberate lack of expression, "I could not help hearing you. He kept laughing and urging you on, and you ... I'm sorry, Anne, if you don't want to remember this. You were crying out-you kept begging him to fuck you, to fuck you please. Do you think I wanted to hear that from you? Or that I enjoyed listening?"

  After Ria left his room, Webb had barely had two hours' sleep before they woke him up. Brightman, looking stiff and reproachful, had come in to dress and bandage his arm and pronounce that it was doing fine, healing well. And then getting to the set-another courtyard scene, since the sun continued to shine. It didn't help his temper to find out that everything had been switched around. He was to go through his first short scene with Claudia (who didn't seem in too good a mood herself) and a scene with Karim, playing the dapper Mexican general. So where the hell was Anne?

  "We are shooting around our big star this morning!" Claudia whispered to him maliciously. "They say she is not feeling well, but do you observe how Karim struts?

  Hah!"

  Karim's eyes were slightly bloodshot, but he did seem extraordinarily pleased with himself at that.

  Yves Ple
ydel's apologies were perfunctory as he confirmed at least part of Claudia's gossip. "I'm sorry-but we all know that these things can happen, yes? Tomorrow we will do what we were supposed to do today." He sighed expressively. "Today-well, we will all do the best we can, eh? The cantina scene. I am sure you can memorize your lines-there are not too many-while we are setting up." He looked at Webb, who merely grunted, his thoughts dark. "Miss Benedict will do her song, and we will have reaction. And the little scene between you and Claudia"-he gave a sly chuckle, ignoring Claudia's smoldering glare-"that will go well, I'm sure, for it is mostly action-not many words!"

  Webb let his thoughts wander, and they weren't pleasant. Anne was throwing a temperament fit-or was she? Karim continued to look pleased with himself, throwing apparently triumphant looks Webb's way.

  Why the fuck should he care if Claudia's insinuations were true? He had other things to think about. Ria, for instance. Brightman's notes, and what he ought to do about what they'd told him. And about what was really going on around here-behind the scenes-while he and the rest of the dupes were making a movie. Christ, he was in no mood to think this morning. Just do what had to be done and get it over with.

  The filming went off comparatively well, to begin with. Jean Benedict looked nervous and uncertain at first ("Christ! This costume-why didn't they let women wear pants in those days?") but she had Sarah Vesper to coach her with her lines, and once she began to sing, the nervousness disappeared and she gave a creditable performance for a beginner.

  Webb, his dark mood persisting, was suitably morose and monosyllabic during that particular scene, although Yves told him sharply that he obviously wasn't at his best today, and a few early nights might help-in fact, that would help everybody!

  "But some nights spent making love are worth everything-even an early morning,"

  Karim commented, and again his dark eyes rested maliciously on Webb's impassive face.

  They had a short run-through of his scene with Claudia, playing the tempestuous gypsy dancer who was his girl friend; the role suited Claudia's sultry beauty. But she threw a fit of temperament about camera angles, complaining that Yves was picking on her, and she knew why ... until the harried director threw up his hands in frustration.

  "Metdet Women! So-until she cools down-and she will, if she does not want to be replaced ... !" Claudia turned her back on him after muttering, "Good-so you realize that I am a woman, too!" PleydeI continued, ignoring her: "Perhaps we should continue with the scene in the cantina-it is set up already, and if you two gentlemen know your lines ... ?" The "gentlemen" were Webb and Karim, and Pleydel's suggestion, although he couldn't know it, came at the wrong time.

  This was one of the fight scenes-pointing up the rivalry between the two men in Glory's life. A barroom quarrel between the arrogant Mexican officer and the American renegade. The scene itself was almost stereotyped. First the insulting words being traded, with fisticuffs following.

  Karim made his first mistake when he asked Pleydel, grinning, "You did say realism?

  And no holding back? In Egypt we did not use doubles or stand-ins, but perhaps in this country .. ." He looked at Webb, shrugging with overdone politeness. "I'm sorry, but I must warn you that when I get in a fight, I tend to forget that I am acting. I have been trained to fight-perhaps you might care to use a double for this scene?"

  "Oh, that's okay. I guess I can take care of myself," Webb drawled, but his eyes had turned leopard-yellow.

  Karim shrugged. "Ah well ..." He turned back to Pleydel, still grinning. "I guess we are ready."

  It was back to the makeshift cantina, and the laborious business of adjusting the cameras and checking the lighting.

  "Do I have to do my thing all over again?" Jean Benedict inquired, and Yves shook his head impatiently. "No, no. We will intercut. When you watch the dailies, you will see how it is done. For the moment, all you need to do is stand up there the way you were when you were singing. Pretend you are singing, if it will help."

  "Everybody in their places." Tom, the assistant director, took over when it came to setting up a scene. Meg, the continuity girl, scurried around, checking on every little detail, showing everyone their positions, if they had forgotten. When she was through, she looked longingly at Webb Carnahan from behind the shelter of her clipboard. Maybe one day he'd actually notice her. He'd smiled at her this morning, but she had sensed that he did it absent-mindedly. Perhaps if she put blonde streaks in her hair, like her friend Toni had suggested ...

  "Okay, we're ready." Tom looked at Yves, who nodded. Meg kept watching Webb, although she knew.she was supposed to keep her eye on everything. She couldn't help it. How easily he seemed to shrug himself into the role he was playing, unlike some other actors she had watched. And from the back-stairs gossip, he obviously fitted the part he was playing. God, what wouldn't she givefor just one night with him!

  The "quarrel" was in progress-weighted sarcasm turning into open insults and from there to blows after the jeering young officer had slapped the American with his glove.

  As he had threatened, Karim didn't hold back, and there was a red streak down the side of the beard-stubbled face that turned slowly to face him.

  "Would you like to settle this matter between us here and now, or would you prefer to go outside?"

  "Nothin' wrong with now, is there?"

  And then it erupted. The fight. With the extras yelling encouragement that was real, once they understood that this was for real, just like the courtyard scene yesterday.

  "Christ, one or the other is going to get marked up good," Tom whispered to Pleydel, who only shook his head, a twisted smile pasted on his face.

  "It is good because it is real, mon chet, It is always very good when two men fight over a woman. We will let the cameras roll until it is over."

  Meg held the clipboard tight against her lips to stop from screaming. God-fantastic, she thought dazedly. The furniture was meant to splinter, and it did, with satisfying crashes, intermingled with the sound of breaking bottles and glasses. This was cinema verite-she must remember to write back to Marcella, and tell her all about it.

  Marcella loved watching the fights on TV; she would have adored this.

  The two antagonists were intent on each other. Karim had been smiling at first, but now his smile had disappeared. And the way they fought was a mixture of karate and kick-boxing and plain slugging. Until it was over-and it was over very suddenly. Meg couldn't quite remember exactly how it happened afterwards. They had been grappling with each other, up close at one moment, and the next Karim went crashing backward across a table to land on his back on the floor. He made an attempt to get up and fell back again, just like a KO'd boxer. Meg almost expected to hear a countdown. Instead Yves called, "Cut!"

  "You did say realism, didn't you?" Webb snarled. And then he turned from Pleydel to Claudia, who was staring at him, her eyes very bright. "What say we go get ourselves a real drink, bambinai"

  "It was another one-take scene-I really do not think they could have gone through that fight again-not our friend Karim, especially! The so-useful doctor had to put two stitches in his chin, you know, and he is not in a very good frame of mind. But cinematically, it was great. We can use most of the footage, with just a very few intercuts. So-what do you think?"

  Yves Pleydel sounded jubilant-but then, he was mainly concerned with the movie itself. Harris and Rufus Randall exchanged looks, and Sal Espinoza was his usual relaxed self.

  "One wonders why those two should hate each other so," he drawled, hooded eyes resting for just an instant on Harris.

  This time Phelps didn't rise to the bait. He was being very guarded ever since that little episode between Karim and Anne. But he did say slowly, "Maybe the rivalry between them might prove quite useful to us. I've been thinking .. .”

  Anne had been thinking, too. Her earlier feelings of shock and degradation and horror had given way to pure, cleansing anger, once she had got through soaking in the hot bath that Harris had so
thoughtfully run for her. Harris! She was mad at him, too, for accusing her, brushing aside her explanations as if they didn't exist. Most of all, she was filled with rage towards Karim.

  Parts of what she had believed were bad dreams came back to her while she lay in the sunken tub that was one of Danny Verrano's "improvements." Her grandparents'

  house wasn't the refuge it had been once, before the day she'd found her mother dead. She should never have come back here-Harris shouldn't have found it and bought it for a movie. The film was catching everybody up in make-believe, making it difficult to distinguish it from reality. She should just walk out-go back to being a model, which didn't call for too much acting. She had signed a contract, but Harris wouldn't hold her to it. He couldn't, if she really fought it. And he was disgusted with her, he thought she had really ...

  Even now she couldn't face the thought squarely. Karim. What had he said, besides the ugly, obscene things?

  "I watched you in action this afternoon, and now it's my turn." Strange how some of what she hadn't at first chosen to believe came back to her now that she deliberately tried to recall it.

  What had he meant by that? Had Webb ... she didn't understand why even now, after all she had learned about him, her mind shied away from that particular thought.

  After her bath Sarah Vesper came up to see her, to ask sympathetically if she was feeling better-the flu was miserable, wasn't it? And Sarah told her about the filming this morning -the fight between Webb and Karim that had turned into a real battle.

  Perhaps Sarah was trying to console her for the previous day, with its own share of realism. "Things like that sometimes happen-one gets caught up in the feeling of a part -acting, real acting, is like that. You become a character you're playing, both on screen and off."

  Anne forced herself to ask, "And how's Karim?"

  "Oh, resting, I understand. Very angry. I think it's more his pride that's been hurt than anything else! It was exciting to watch, though. You ought to see the rushes, if you feel up to it." And then, commiserating, "Shall I ask Hal to come up and see you? The poor man's been kept busier than he anticipated, I'm afraid, but I'm surprised that Harris hasn't told him you don't feel good."