by kps
"You sent her to tell me, didn't you? Why didn't you tell me yourself?"
"I told you that you were free, Anne. I would have sounded like a jealous lover, and I didn't think you would listen. But then, I didn't think you'd let him carry you off like that-with , not even a word to anyone. I sent Anna-Maria because I was afraid-for you, Anne."
Harris handed her the towel she had asked for and she wrapped it around herself as she stepped out of the tub.
Maybe it was the Valium she'd taken that made her sound so-unconcerned.
"Karim wasn't pretending for the cameras yesterday, you know. Do you know? Did you watch the rushes? Was it just another porno episode to be filed away and shown to a select group of friends, like the others I've seen myself? He-he hurt me. He put his fingers in me before he raped me. And then the others did, too. And nobody did a damn thing about it! They took pictures. Cinema verite. But I didn't enjoy it, Harris.
Not one bit! I think I was in a state of shock when I let Webb take me away. At least I knew what he wanted-I thought I knew what he wanted ..."
Her control slipped, and her voice cracked. When Harris put his arms about her, it was a kind of comfort.
"Oh, my God, Anne! I didn't know-I swear, nobody knew, not even Yves. But then, he gets so excited when he thinks he's getting something really good . . . Why didn't you say something? Cry out ... struggle... ?"
"I did! I tried to, I think. But they were too strong for me, and it was supposed to happen, wasn't it? Maybe they thought it was all acting, or maybe they thought I was actually enjoying it! Webb did .. ."
"And yet he took you away with him?"
"Yes. And I went. And we spent a night together, and then this morning Anna-Maria was there with Robbie Savage. She told me ... it's getting blurred in my mind, all the impossible, horrible things she told me. Tell me again-that's why you're here, isn't it?"
She didn't see Carol that night. Carol was too busy being entertained-and being entertaining. And James Markham had somehow gotten away from his lovely wife and his beautiful, perfect children to be here when she was. Well, maybe they really loved each other. At least Markham's wife was up front, everyone knew he had one.
While Webb kept the fact that he had a wife under wraps. And he'd let her go to an almost certain death. Torture-how could Anne or any other woman who hadn't had to experience it know what it was like? Only from books that one quickly shut and put away as being too painful to read. But Webb, knowing, had sent his wife into it.
"I didn't know myself, Anne. Not when I signed him up for Greed for Glory. It was only afterwards, after I'd talked to Sal and Anna-Maria, and Rufus-he has his sources of information, you know. We thought that by bringing Anna-Maria here and confronting him with her ... that he would become cautious, at least. But the stakes are high, Anne. The Mafia has its tentacles everywhere, and in this instance they're working right along with your father."
Her father. But why, why? They explained it to her solemnly and a trifle pedantically, as if she were still a child.
"Power-and politics. We're supporting a popular, almost too popular, man for president. Jim Markham has all the charm and the charisma of the Kennedys. And he's liberal-a known antihawk. They don't want him elected. He's been too open about his views, especially about secret organizations that are answerable to no one, not even the President of the United States. Jack Kennedy and Bobby Kennedy were outspoken, too."
"But why is he here? Isn't it-too dangerous?" Her voice sounded faint.
"Frankly"-this time it was Rufus Randall who spoke, his cigar sending up spirals of smoke-"he's here because of Carol. The man's human, at least. But no one knows.
Until he leaves, we can't afford to have anyone know."
"But why are you telling me all this? You know ..."-her voice faltered-"you know that I'm ... his daughter. For that matter, what am I doing here?"
"You're making a movie-and you're safe. Don't you believe in fate, Anne? I would never have allowed you to become involved in anything like this had I realized what might happen." Harris leaned forward and held her cold hands tightly. "But London was getting sticky, wasn't it? I wanted to get you away."
The whole thing was incredible, its implications almost too much for her too tired mind to grasp. But she believed that if she proved a threat, her father would have her put out of the way. And Webb-if he were given the order, how would he do it? With a kiss, like Othello? With his hands about her throat, choking off her breath even while he made love to her for the last time? Perhaps an "accident"-a fall off a cliff, a bullet fired by mistake. She had to be careful-very careful. Harris kept telling her that, even after the other two had left her room.
He went back briefly to his room and returned with a gun-a small, dainty-looking toy, althought he warned her solemnly that it was a lethal, deadly thing. He showed her how to use it, how to slip the safety catch off.
He put it for her in the drawer of the nightstand beside her bed before he left. It stayed there in her consciousness, even while she tried to get to sleep-like a poisonous spider, created for killing. But could she kill him, even to save herself?
Parmenter was skeptical. A handsome, suntanned man who looked the part of the successful tycoon, he let his skepticism and his disapproval show.
"Do you really think she'd use that on him? Judging from the evidence of those tapes you showed me, and the fact that she ran off with him to town .. ."
He didn't like having to work with men he considered amateurs,for all that they were rich and powerful and clever enough to have engineered this whole scheme, any more than he liked the fact that they knew that his cover of so many years was just that-a front.
"She tried to kill him once before-with a knife." Espinoza gave one of his grins.
"But that was different, wasn't it?" Parmenter said impatiently. "From what you tell me, this Dr. Brightman put her under hypnosis and gave her a trigger word-to help her become an actress. Unless"-one eyebrow went up interrogatively-"you mean to have her shoot him on the set. And I suppose you could have her think the gun was loaded with blanks. But something like that could cause this whole thing to blow up before we're ready-and you'd have the local sheriff and maybe even the goddamn feds crawling all over the place."
Parmenter didn't like publicity; it was an instinctive distaste.
"Harris thinks she needs protection-especially if he tries to snatch her, or to kill her himself." Rufus Randall's voice was devoid of expression, like his face. "There's always the self-preservation instinct to take into account, you know."
"His or hers? Now that she's told him everything she knows-" He broke off abruptly, still frowning. "And do you think it was wise to tell her as much as you did this evening? If he gets her off alone again .. ."
"I'm sure that Anne won't let that happen," Harris Phelps said irritably. He didn't care for Parmenter's officious attitude. "And we have him under surveillance, as you know:'
"She told him about the video monitors," the other man pointed out. "He's going to be very careful-I doubt that we'll get anything out of him. And we don't know what all those phone calls he made today from Black's house were about, do we?" His face hardened. "It wouldn't do to underestimate Mr. Reardon."
"No one's underestimating Reardon. Or Webb Carnahan either. But"-and this time Harris Phelps let some of his inner triumph show for a moment-HI think we've come up with a very neat solution to a couple of our-urn-problems." "The further information that you have brought us helped to clarify our thinking greatly," Espinoza interposed smoothly.
He sat back in his chair, eyes heavy-lidded, while Harris went on to explain exactly what he had in mind. And this time the CIA man listened without interruption. But while Harris was talking, Sal Espinoza was thinking-very fast, very carefully.
Fleetingly, he allowed himself to wonder if Parmenter had guessed that at this moment every detail of the lovemaking between Jimmy Markham and Carol was being recorded.
Chapter Forty
&n
bsp; INTlUGUE AND CIGARETI'E SMOKE had left his room hot and close. Declining to make an appearance at dinner, Webb Carnahan could hardly wait for Ria to leave.
He needed space and fresh air and time alone to think-and outside the air smelled clean and slightly damp. Cool, but not too cold. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and began to walk, feeling his muscles stretch with every long stride that took him away from the glow of orange lights and further into the moon-drenched night that yawned ahead between the cypress trees.
He began to smell the ocean as the dirt path snaked upward toward the cliffs, hear its incessant roaring more clearly over the other night sounds. The lopsided moon hung in the sky to his back; and ahead and above, the stars were like minuscule drops of mercury forming patterns against the backdrop of midnight sky.
He'd come out here to clear his mind of the clutter of emotion and blind instinct that had nothing to do with what his intellect told him he had to do; and he found himself not wanting to think at all. This was a night to go walking in the moonlight with a woman snuggled close against his side, with the only thought in both their minds the afterwards of a wood fire and cognac sipped slowly out of enormous snifters, the slow, long moments of making love that would follow. But he had had enough of Ria, and not enough ... Angrily, deliberately, he choked off that other half-formed thought with a muttered expletive. Think about Lucia instead-his first and only real loyalty.
Lucy, his kid sister, probably terrified and trying bravely not to show it because of the boys. And his telephone call to old buddy Peter, which had surprisingly ended with his being granted what amounted to a royal audience-a few minutes of stilted conversation with Reardon himself before Peter got back on the line.
"You're doing okay, old son! Old habits, and all that, huh? You haven't developed scruples during the past few years, have you? And don't worry, we'll be backing you up when you need it ..."
Some dark night he'd like to get Peter the Wolf alone in an alley. Assassin against assassin. Remember things he thought he'd forgotten.
His thoughts were as black and twisted as the trees crouching behind him as Webb continued to climb the rutted trail that brought him suddenly to the edge of the cliff that dropped off to the ocean below.
A breeze that smelled and tasted of salt spray blew up against his face as he stared down at silver-white lace borders sucking greedily at the stretch of sandy beach, flowing easily between craggy-edged black rocks. Distant lights blinked against a moving, swelling horizon. A fishing boat, out late, or a freighter on its way from San Francisco to Los Angeles.
But he hadn't climbed all the way up here to look at the view. Webb let his long legs jacknife under him as he settled himself on a rock, flatter than the rest. He lit a cigarette, turning his back to the wind as he cupped his hands over the tiny flare of the match. The flame was there-and out. Like whatever it was he'd felt about Ria.
The only warmth between them now that in their loins.
"Did I spoil your weekend for you?" Her voice had been innocent, but there was a quickly veiled hint of malice in her eyes. He had been watching Anne walk stiff-backed to the elevator, wondering why he'd asked her to come back to his room with him. Testing, perhaps-but himself or her? Easier to concentrate on Ria and the battle of wills and wits between them.
"Did you mean to? And since you brought it up, maybe you can tell me why. You didn't tell me you're working for Randall now."
"Oh, that ... I" She'd shrugged, trying to make it appear casual. "Well, I was getting bored, you know. And this woman Roberta Savage had been calling up, wanting to visit the set. It was really Sal's idea. He talked to Mr. Randall."
"Sure. Understanding guy, Senor Espinoza." He'd had her backed up against the side of the car, and his finger traced her jawline deliberately, feeling the tensing of her muscles. "And what did you tell Anne?"
"Nothing-why don't you ask her?"
"I'm asking you, Ria. If we're going to make our marriage work, maybe it's time we started leveling with each other, huh?"
He'd taken her by surprise, as he'd meant to. When he kissed her he saw the look of shock in her eyes replaced by one of calculation just before she closed them, letting her body lean wantonly into his. He thought he could almost read the thoughts that chased themselves about in her mind. Bring things to a head. Better sooner than later. He suspected that their thoughts ran on similar lines. Soon they would both gamble on how much or how little to tell the other to keep up the semblance of truthfulness and honesty.
Webb took one last drag on his cigarette and let it arc out into space. Somewhere to his left another cigarette glowed before it, too, went out. He saw a dark shape move towards him, moonlight glinting dully off a black leather jacket.
"Buena sera," Joseph Palumbo said pleasantly as he sauntered up. "It is a nice night, no?"
Sunday was one of the longest and most difficult days Anne had ever forced herself to endure. Sleep had not come easily the night before, in spite of the Valium. The setting moon shone into her room, and even after she had pulled the drapes together and had closed her eyes, she could almost imagine its cold silver light falling across her body. Dry ice-making her alternately cold and hot.
Don't think-don't think. If it hadn't been so late, she would have called Dr. Brightman.
She tried breathing deeply, concentrating on making every muscle in her body relax, but when sleep finally brought the blackness she looked for, it was after five in the morning.
Harris let her sleep late, but she couldn't very well sleep all day long, nor hide away in her room. Consciously escaping, she tried to hide ugly memories behind the fog-bank of tiredness in her mind.
The sun shone in the late afternoon and everyone was talking about the drought and how much California needed rain. People who had gone to town for the weekend were drifting back in-including Sarah and Jean.
Anne met James Markham briefly before he left with his taciturn, unsmiling friend, who was such a contrast to Markham's smiling charm.
"I'm looking forward to seeing this film. Harris tells me you're fantastic in the part .. ."
And Carol was staying on for two extra days, to relax. No escaping Carol, and her bright, curious eyes.
"Darling, I watched some of the rushes and couldn't believe it was you. We have to have a nice long talk soon-to catch up on everything!"
How much did Carol know? Carol and Webb exchanging tapes ... Karim glowering at her all through dinner ... Webb and Ria coming in late without any apology, sitting very close together. Everything Harris had told her seemed absurdly melodramatic, perhaps because she wanted to keep on thinking so.
People and bits of dialogue flickered through her consciousness like pieces of glass falling together to make a kaleidoscope pattern. But once, while everyone else had been talking, Webb had looked across the length of the table at her and their eyes had met, fusing together for what seemed an interminable time and could only have been a mere instant. Long enough for Anne to feel the blinding truth like a sunburst of light flashing across her mind.
It's the same for him . .. the same . ..
She sensed it and knew he sensed it, too, even across the distance that separated them and would always separate them. Like animals that stalked each other in the dark, each one seeking to destroy the other and yet fascinated by the scent of the other. He would kill her if he had to, and she would kill him if she had to save herself, but even that knowledge couldn't change what was there between them.
The moment was there and gone, leaving her with a sense of fatalism that stayed with her through the rest of the night and most of the next day.
The script was now a jumble of multicolored pages that seemed to grow thicker and bulkier by the day. Pleydel, backed up by the director of photography, kept changing times and setting-sometimes even the dialogue itself.
Anne was in costume already-too many layers of petticoats under her skirts. She and Sarah sat in an air-conditioned room, leafing through the pages while o
utside the window the workmen swarmed about, setting up the next scene. There was iced champagne-Dom Perignon, no less-in a silver bucket between them, and Carol, at loose ends since Markham had left, had drifted in and out.
She and Sarah knew each other-they had exchanged sweetened barbs already, while Anne had stayed neutral, sipping her champagne and wishing she could strip off her clothes and go swimming.
"You're not nervous, are you, darling? You've been doing just marvelously, everybody says so. You're going to be a superstar when this is finally in the can. Are you enjoying every minute?"
"It's too hot for all these layers of clothing. That's all I can think about right now."
Carol had laughed, running fingers through her magnificent mane of hair. "Do you ever think back to that time in Deepwood when you helped me out? All you had to wear then was my negligee, wasn't it? What a difference now."
Anne had managed to look directly into Carol's questioning, challenging eyes. "Yes-we're all very different now, aren't we?"
Carol was a basic bitch and she was getting to be one, too. After Carol had gone, Sarah gave a little sigh in her perfumed wake.
"You won't let her get you down, will you, dear?" She turned the air-conditioner up higher. "God! I thought it never got hot around here. I almost wish the fog hadn't been burned away. You're not nervous, are you? We don't have much to do this time, and Hal is really thrilled at the progress you're making in meditation."
They had had a late-morning session while Pleydel was supervising the shooting of some exterior scenes-mostly long-distance shots.
Anne had been relieved when Anna-Maria didn't appear, and annoyed when Karim, also up early, had tried to button-hole her on her wayback to the house.
"Why are you in such a hurry? You have been avoiding me, my little fair one. Is it because you are ashamed for having given yourself to me so freely?"
