Microsoft Word - Rogers, Rosemary - The Crowd Pleasers

by kps

  "Oh, that's all right," Anne said quickly. "There's nothing much one can do about the flu except get lots of rest, is there? And I feel better already."

  She didn't-but no one needed to know that but herself. Dressing, she ignored the tray that had been sent up for her. Everyone would be dressing for dinner, and there was no better time to pay Karim a visit in his guest chalet.

  There was a mixture of rage and passion and malignance in his usually handsome features as he whirled about to face her.

  Anne stood just inside the door, with her back to it, taking in the surface cuts and bruises on his face-the stripe of white bandage on his chin. She tried not to let emotion show on her face as she said quietly, "Hello, Karim."

  He didn't want her pity-he had thought they were making a movie, which was why he had been unprepared. But there would be another time, a time for revenge... The things that poured out of him in his rage were both ugly and puzzling. Anne would have liked to avoid this confrontation, but she had been pushed to the point when she was tired of cowering away like a-a-what had Webb called her before? A frightened rabbit. ..

  So she endured Karim's sneering at her. "What is this? You were sleeping very deeply, it's true, but you wanted it! Everything I did to you and for you-you are no virgin, as I very well know! I had your cooperation. Would you like to repeat what you experienced last night? I am surprised, I must admit, that you are here, and not with the victor-the temporary victor!"

  He came to her, brushing his hands over her breasts; and she felt like a whore as she shrugged away with a brittle laugh. "You move too fast, Karim. And I don't like the idea of being-taken, while I was asleep. Why did you do that?" He was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face.

  "Why? Because you were playing the usual silly games. You would not give yourself to me, and yet you would to Harris Phelps-and Webb Carnahan!" He said the last name like a curse.

  "But I'm very fond of Harris!" she said reasonably, while she silently prayed he wouldn't try to touch her again. "Don't you have anything to drink in here?" Anything to distract him for a while. "And as for Webb-I've never tried to hide the fact that we were lovers once."

  "Once? Only once?" His voice was a snarl. "You lie! You lie! You were so cold to me, and all the while you would let him do whatever he wanted to with you-yes, and enjoy it, too! When you stabbed him-that, too, was a form of love, of passion, wasn't it? You put a knife in him one moment, and the next you are lying with him, wrapping your arms and legs about him."

  "You sound as if you were right there, watching!"

  "I might as well have been!" He gave a sneering spurt of laughter that jarred her nerves. "Do you mean to tell me that you are not in on the secrets? The convenient, clever little machine that watches everything-just like Big Brother? I am sure Harris has shown it to you. And should you wish to go over our little scene last night, I am positive there was a videotape to register it. Perhaps we should let Carnahan see that, eh? Do you think it would make him jealous, or only turn him on?"

  Anne felt frozen from the toes up. She could only look back at Karim, trying to take in the enormity of what he was telling her. What was he telling her?

  She heard her voice emerge from her throat, sounding lightly flirtatious-but not knowing how she managed it. "Well, I just wanted to look in on you. But you don't seem in a very good mood, and since I don't remember anything about last night, I think I'd like to watch a replay before I decide whether I Should repeat the experience. Harris was very angry with me, you know!"

  She didn't remember how she got away horn him. She had the vague impression that he had regretted his impulsive, malicious speech already-perhaps the mention of Harris's name had done it.

  In any case, he had made no attempt to touch her again during the short time they talked. And his words couldn't hurt her-or could they? It all depended on whether he had been telling the truth or not. She would face one thing at a time.

  Self-disgust, revulsion, the feeling of being used-the time she had had to herself seemed to have drained her for the moment of all feeling except anger. And the anger was good because it was cleansing.

  Good-be angry-stay angry. She left Karim to his ugly mood and his thoughts of vengeance, and she could feel her mind moving coldly and quite rationally above the level of her anger.

  Everyone would be at dinner right now. If there was anything to find, now was the time to find it, and she wasn't even thinking of afterwards as her feet, in flat-heeled sandals, took her back to the main house and up the narrow servants' stair-case to the tower.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  THEY WERE UNUSUALLY QUIET at dinner, with only Dr. Brightman and Yves Pleydel carrying on an animated conversation about the psychology of actors, and those in films in particular.

  Sarah Vesper and Jean Benedict smiled at each other often, but said little. Harris Phelps and Rufus Randall conversed in undertones, while Sal Espinoza stroked a sulky Claudia's hand under the table.

  "So where is Webb?" Claudia asked abruptly. "And your girl friend, this Anna-Maria?"

  Espinoza shrugged. "They planned to have dinner in Carmel -it's a quaint little town, you know, quite European in a way. She hadn't been there before, and I think he has friends who live close by. It's a pleasant drive on a clear night like this." He smiled at her lazily, toasting her with his glass of wine. "Don't you think it's too nice a night to be wasted on thinking what other people are doing?"

  Snatches of the conversation between Brightman and Pleydel drifted to them. "Now, what happened today-and the day before, too-I have observed the same thing before. It's interesting, yes? Everyone is thrown together in this gigantic make-believe, playing parts-and suddenly all that is hidden inside themselves is out in the open. The jealousy and the hate, the rivalry and the anger ..."

  "Yes, I must admit it is quite fascinating to observe. It happens, I think, because the barriers are down. As you said, they are consciously playing roles, and that releases everything that the veneer of what we call civilization would normally keep in check.

  When called upon to act out certain emotions and make them appear real, it becomes all right to let go ..."

  "Et voila! We have realite-with the real feelings laid bare, and an excuse as well. Am I right?"

  The servants had already cleared the table-only the bottles of wine and the glasses remained. And before Brightman could answer, there was almost a concerted movement as chairs were pushed back-everyone making their polite excuses.

  Randall was going up to his room to write an editorial, and Harris Phelps said he thought he'd look in on Anne.

  Jean Benedict announced that she was going to take a walk outside, to watch the ocean and sing. "I think I'll come with you-it's such a nice night!" Sarah said in her soft voice. "Hal, do you want to come, too?"

  "I suppose I had better go upstairs and watch some of the scenes we have done,"

  Pleydel said. He shook Dr. Brightman's hand. "I would like to continue our conversation later. Ah, I could relate such incidents to you!"

  Espinoza whispered to Claudia, "Will you wait for me? I have to speak to Harris for a little while, but afterwards I would like to visit you-for an after-dinner drink, perhaps?"

  He noticed cynically that there was no hesitation in her manner now as she looked up at him and smiled. Well, so much for that-he had done his part so far. Harris, in more of a hurry than usual, had already left the room, and it was barely nine o'clock. Dinner was over at least an hour earlier than was customary. For a fleeting moment he allowed himself to wonder how Anna-Maria was doing with Carnahan.

  They had had several drinks apiece at one of the oddly named bars in Carmel that was frequented mostly by locals. Then they decided to have dinner at a restaurant in Monterey that boasted excellent food and a VIP room where celebrities and near-celebrities could dine in private without being bothered by autograph hunters.

  The drive up the coast in Webb's new Ferrari had been wild and exhilarating
. And the wildness in her appreciated the wildness she had discovered in him. This game they were playing, this contest of wills, was turning out to be an excitement in itself. He had accepted without comment, the fact that they might still be married, and she felt confident enough to believe that after the drinks and after dinner-and more drinks-they would make love somewhere. And eventually, he would begin to trust her again, and talk to her. ..

  It was a good thing that she had been watching the monitor screen when he came back to his room after the filming that morning, had seen him get dressed and drop his car keys into his pocket. She'd telephoned Harris and gone down to the garage; she was already there, talking to Harris's chauffeur, when Webb had arrived.

  "Hi, Ria." His voice had been uncompromisingly offhand at first.

  "Webb? How strange-are you going into town by any chance? I have never been to Carmel, or Monterey either, and I was just trying to borrow one of the cars.. ."

  He seemed to accept her story, and took her with him. And it had been an easy, pleasant evening with no more serious discussion, no questions. Until, to her annoyance, he'd called his friend Dave Black, asking him to join them for dinner. And this man Black had turned up with the woman who had written the book Greed for Glory-Robbie someone. Webb, casual as always, introduced everyone by first names.

  But although she didn't show it, Ria was furious. Why? Why had he asked these people who were strangers to her along to share what should have been an intimate dinner for two? And the Robbie woman was jealous of her being with Webb-not hiding it too well. A typical, forward American woman. While she swore at him in her mind, Ria kept her smile and her manner light. She excused herself to go to the ladies' room, and noticed that the other woman stayed. Well, at least she would have him to herself on the ride back to the island.

  It didn't help her mood to find, when she got back to the table, that Webb wasn't there any longer. Where the hell was he? While the other woman sat glowering at her, playing with the catch of her too-elaborate purse, Ria was forced to endure Dave Black's curious questions; followed, when she evaded them with shrugs and short answers, by a lot of pointless information she didn't care to hear about the history of the Monterey peninsula.

  And when Webb came back-it must have been at least fifteen minutes later-he typically didn't offer any explanation.

  Just slipped into his seat and ordered more cognac and coffee.

  "Why did you stay away so long? What were you doing?" She asked him more sharply than she had intended, after they had started back. "I was bored, bored almost to tears with those stupid people!"

  His sideways look warned her to silence as he drawled, "We're not that married any longer, Ria. You going to ask Espinoza what he was doing to console himself this evening?"

  She subsided into sullen silence while she thought about her next move; and Webb, letting the Ferrari go once he had taken the exit back onto Highway I , let himself think about the telephone call he'd made to Vito.

  He'd picked Vito over old buddy Peter, and they'd both been slightly guarded, not knowing if the telephone was tapped. Vito had answered the phone himself, which was unusual, his voice sounding faint as they went through the preliminaries.

  "How's Lucy? And the boys?"

  "I had a postcard. They're still on vacation. And you?"

  "They keep me busy. I'm having dinner in Monterey right now, with Dave Black and Robbie Savage. And Ria. Anna-Maria. Remember her?"

  "I think so." Vito's voice had been careful. "Has it been interesting? The newspapers have had a few stories. How is the filming going?"

  Lapsing into rapid Italian, Webb told him as much as he'd learned, which wasn't much-except for Brightman's notes. And there, not quite knowing why he did, he held back a little. Ace in the hole? Security? Let Reardon sweat this one out for a while.

  Anne was going back in time, remembering quite a bit. Figures outlined against the sunlight-angry voices. There had been a tape made, but Brightman didn't keep it in his room. He might have handed it over to Harris Phelps.

  "Also, my room is bugged. They probably know I know, and wonder why I looked.

  The microphone is behind the speaker grille-camera hidden behind a wall light fixture. Takes in the bed, mostly. I don't know if they've got all the other rooms set up the same way, or if they just picked on me." He heard Vito swear softly and added grimly, "You got any messages for me? Because I don't know when I'll have a chance to call in again. They try to keep us busy."

  There had been only one message. From a man who gave his last name as Wolfe.

  Peter's macabre sense of humor, if you could call it that.

  Webb heard Ria's gasp of fear, and the car swerved-barely avoiding the cliff's edge that would have taken them hurtling down to the ocean like a wrinkled skin far below, missing by a hair's breadth the startled deer that bounded across the road. Damn!

  He'd better keep his mind on his driving. He slowed down slightly, almost grudgingly, noticing as he did that the dashboard clock showed it was after one.

  "Webb, Why do you drive like a madman?" A strand of Ria's hair blew against his face, faintly perfumed. Ria-his dream phantom. Succubus turned skeleton in the closet. He'd taken her with him today because he'd had no other choice. But it had been Anne that Peter's message concerned.

  Why had she been so persistent, so determined to find out? Like the young wife walking into Bluebeard's locked chamber and being trapped inside, Anne found herself caught-and now she was sorry. There were some things she would have been better off not knowing-or seeing.

  Why try to retrace her footsteps, or wish that she had turned back and gone to her own room after she'd left Karim? Why waste time on "should-haves"?

  She had knocked softly on the door to the screening room, not expecting anyone to be there, turning the knob almost at the same time. If there had been a bat-wing brush of presentiment across her mind in that instant, it was too late to go back. They had finished dinner much earlier than usual; faces showing various degrees of surprise (and anger, too?) were turned to her, and beyond them she saw the open closet door and what it revealed.

  Sheer force of will carried her inside the room, made her voice sound confused and puzzled.

  "Oh-but I'm sorry! I didn't want to miss watching the rushes-oh, is that what Karim was talking about this evening?

  How fascinating. Harris, you should have told me." Her words carried her further into the room and the blurred mold of faces resolved itself into separate, recognizable entities.

  It was Sal Espinoza, and not Harris, who laughed, lightening the tension.

  "So! I am afraid you have caught us men at our little amusement. We are all voyeurs, I am afraid, and this Danny Verrano was inventive, no?"

  "He was inventive-yes." It was a relief to let her righteous anger creep into her voice.

  "I think you are all disgusting. Is this the only way you can get your kicks?"

  Rufus Randall looked at her through a swirl of cigar smoke that obscured his cold blue eyes before he said dryly, "I wouldn't say that. It's merely a form of entertainment, like those films you watched with us the other night. Why don't you join us again? I'm sure you can keep a secret better than our Egyptian friend can."

  What had she let herself in for? And yet, she was curious. Anne looked directly at Harris, who wore a curiously taut smile as he belatedly came forward to take her arm.

  "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Danny's little! toy before, Anne. I wasn't certain how you would react. But since you're here-would you like to see how this little gadget works?"

  She wasn't shocked-after a while her feeling of stunned disbelief wore off, to be replaced by a mixture of emotions Anne couldn't name to herself. Anger-disgust-a feeling of queasiness to know that everything that had happened between her and Webb had been watched. And did Webb know, too? Had he deliberately led her on so that she'd give a better performance? Had he seen what had happened last night, when Karim came to her room?

  And yet
, in spite of everything, she discovered that there was a certain sick fascination about watching other people who didn't know they were being observed.

  Sarah and Jean ... no, it wasn't possible! Claudia, with different men-one of them Webb. Webb and Anna-Maria ...

  Harris, standing by her side with his shoulder brushing hers, said softly, "They've gone into town tonight. They should be back soon. Perhaps there'll be another entertaining scene between them."

  "They're well matched, don't you think?" Espinoza murmured on her other side. He gave a soft laugh. "No, I'm not jealous-far from it. Jealousy is for fools, and children.

  Anna-Maria does not belong to me, nor I to her. We merely-enjoy each other's company. Don't you believe in the freedom of the individual?"

  Why did she suddenly feel trapped-caught up in a scene and circumstance she didn't quite understand? Her own fault for being so impetuous ...

  Anne forced herself to shrug lightly under the weight of Harris's arm about her shoulders.

  "Of course. But isn't this-what you have been doing-an invasion of the privacy of individuals?"

  Speaking, for the first time, Yves Pleydel said, "But, petite, we are not your FBI! This equipment was already here, and has proved an amusing divertissement-a way to pass the time. These people are all actors, after all, and they would do the same thing for the cameras they are aware of. Besides, as a director, I find it brings me a better understanding of character, and natural reactions. Come, confess you are as intrigued as the rest of us!"

  There was a slightly mocking tinge to his voice, as if he were subtly accusing her of being a hypocrite. And maybe she was, Anne thought miserably. Because she couldn't stop watching. There was no sound-there had been earlier, when she first walked in, she was almost certain of that-but now there was only the movement of lips, and bodies ... Randall cleared his throat, she could hear the sound of her own breathing, sounding far too fast, the slight creaking of Harris's chair as he leaned closer to her.