“See you,” he said.
“Yeah. See you.” Her tone was so determinedly casual she could have been saying good-bye to the exterminator.
He was shaking his head. “No, no, sweetheart. When I say I’ll see you, I mean it.”
“Of course you will,” she said jauntily. “If you’re going to let Brian play soccer on your team, we’re bound to run into each other.”
“You talk way too much,” he said, his mouth covering hers again. This time there was nothing sweet and tender about the kiss. This time the sensation was far more primal, filled with wicked heat and dangerous passion.
This time, when Michael walked away, Molly knew he’d be back. She believed in that much, at least.
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HOT SECRET
CHAPTER
ONE
Anyone who considered filmmaking glamorous had never been on a movie set at the end of a twelve-hour day. And at ten P.M. on a Saturday night, tempers tended to be frayed beyond repair. Veronica Weston’s dressing room trailer, half a block long and complete with kitchen, practically reverberated with the echoes of an argument that had begun at dawn and gotten noisier and nastier with each passing hour. If anyone knew the gist of the star’s complaint, it wasn’t being shared with Molly DeWitt, who’d been assigned by the Miami/Dade Film Commission to keep everyone happy. Judging from the shouts, she wasn’t doing a wonderful job.
Hot, tired, and drained from the nonstop tension, Molly sat at the Cardozas’ porch-front café in Miami Beach’s rejuvenated Art Deco district and sipped her tenth iced tea since dinnertime. If she hadn’t been working, she would have ordered something a lot more lethal. The thought of a piña colada or a strawberry daiquiri held an almost irresistible appeal.
The door of Veronica’s trailer crashed open and the star emerged in a dramatic swirl of hot-pink chiffon that was more suited to a boudoir than to a public place. She caught sight of Molly and made a beeline for her table. She flounced into a chair amid a cloud of pink. It was indicative of the neighborhood, a haven for trendy yuppies and high-fashion European models, that no one paid the slightest attention.
“That man,” she said in reference to the film’s director, Gregory Kinsey, “has the talent of a toad. I will not listen to another word he says.”
Since Veronica was making her comeback film after years of alcoholic decline, Molly thought it prudent to suggest a spirit of improved cooperation. “I’m sure he has your best interests at heart,” she suggested.
“Ha!” Veronica gestured to a passing waiter and ordered a double vodka on the rocks. She didn’t seem worried about either slipping off the wagon or falling down drunk in her final shot of the night.
“After all, it is his reputation on the line as well,” Molly ventured, feeling infinitely braver since her first observation hadn’t drawn fire. She didn’t dare suggest that Gregory Kinsey, whose last two pictures had been Academy Award nominees, hadn’t needed to take a risk on a woman who’d dragged her own last two films into over-budget box office debacles. Besides, she felt a certain amount of sympathy for the fifty-something actress, whose once gorgeous face and career had been ravaged by alcohol. She admired the spunk it had taken to ignore all of the vicious tabloid gossip and return to the screen in a less than flattering role, a role Kinsey reportedly had fought to offer her. The fact that the two had been at loggerheads since the first day of production was no secret, and Molly wondered why the up-and-coming Gregory had bothered trying to salvage the woman’s down-sliding career.
Veronica gulped down the drink and ordered another. “You know, dear, you’re really wasting your time in this town,” she said, giving Molly a critical once-over. “You ought to move to LA. That’s where the industry is. Half the producers in that town would kill to have someone who could keep things organized the way you do. Does that boss of yours, Vince what’s-his-name, appreciate you?”
The concept of Vince displaying gratitude was enough to make Molly smile. “No, but I happen to love Miami,” she said. “And I’m not the issue, you are. What will it take to make you happy? Is there something I can do to make this shoot easier on you?”
Veronica seemed startled that anyone honestly cared what she wanted now that her stardom had crashed. “Maybe you could go talk to Gregory,” she said, slowly warming to the idea. “He’d listen to you. He’s surrounded by all those sycophants. I haven’t seen so much bowing and scraping since I met the queen. Did I ever tell you that story, dear? Well, never mind, now’s not the time. You go speak to Gregory and then we’ll talk about all that ancient history.”
Molly was flattered by Veronica’s faith in her persuasiveness, but she seriously doubted that the director was the least bit interested in her amateur opinions. From what she’d observed this past week on the set, Gregory Kinsey had a pretty good idea of exactly what he wanted in every shot. Barely into his thirties and riding an artistic high, he wasn’t the type of director to encourage input. “What exactly is the problem between you two?” she asked.
“This god-awful script is the problem. Have you read it? Does it make a bit of sense to you? No,” she answered before Molly could comment. “Of course not. No woman my age is going to chase around after some worthless twerp like Rod Lukens. What kind of name is that anyway? He sounds like some cowboy drifter.”
Since the entire plot of Endless Tomorrows was created around just such a chase, Molly couldn’t help inquiring, “Why did you take the role, if you hate it so much?”
Veronica directed one of her famous disbelieving glances at Molly. The subtle lift of one delicate brow spoke volumes on-screen and off. “Offers have not exactly been rolling in the last few years. Everybody wants young. Everybody wants sexy. They seem to forget there’s an audience out there that’s my age, that women my age can be sexy. I decided I owed it to my gender to prove that.”
“And you needed the work.”
Veronica laughed, a bawdy, raucous sound that carried on the ocean breeze. “Hell, yes, I needed the work. Do you have any idea how much a stay at that detox clinic costs?”
“Then I’m surprised you’re so anxious to repeat it,” Molly said with a pointed look at the second double vodka sitting in front of the actress.
Veronica didn’t seem to take offense. “Don’t worry about me, honey. I’m just getting my second wind. When Gregory calls for action, I’ll be in front of the camera, hitting my mark and delivering my lines, no matter how absurd they are. The bottom line is I’m a professional and Gregory knows it. He’s counting on it, in fact. He’ll let me rant and rave all I want as long as I show up.”
“So the tantrum’s just for show?”
“Essentially,” Veronica admitted with a shrug. “Maybe he’ll make a few little changes to pacify me, but he knows I can’t afford to walk away from this project, no matter what I say.”
“Then why bother? Doesn’t all this tension upset you? How can you possibly be creative in the midst of all this angst? I can’t finish a grocery list if I’m under a lot of stress.”
Veronica threw back her head, setting a shoulder-length wave of chestnut hair into sensuous motion. “Tension, honey? You call this tension? This is just a warm-up. You wait until we get to the love scene and I refuse to get into bed with that sleazy character until he washes that gunk out of his greasy hair.”
Molly had to admit that Duke Lane’s insistence on wearing a slicked-back hair style for the role of Miami Beach gigolo Rod Lukens was enough to make her own stomach churn. It might, however, be difficult to get him to step out of character in mid-production and wash his hair. “How do you plan on winning that one?” she asked.
“I’ve been thinking about a sexy shower scene which includes a bottle of shampoo. What do you think?” There was an impish gleam in Veronica’s vivid green eyes as she contemplated the prospect.
Molly grinned back at her. “A stroke of genius.”
“Yeah. N
ow if I could just figure out how to get him to try the mouthwash, too,” she said wearily. She finished her drink and glanced at her watch. “What the hell is slowing things down now? God, I hate night shoots. They drag on forever. If the cameras don’t roll soon, I’m going to have bags under my eyes the size of airline carryons. Honey, could you go check for me? If we’re not starting soon, I’m going back inside to rest.”
“No problem,” Molly said. “I’ll be right back. Any idea where Gregory is?”
“Probably in the production trailer trying to figure out how he got himself mixed up in this dud.”
Molly cut through the Saturday night crowd milling along Ocean Drive past the string of hotels that had been painted the colors of dawn on the Atlantic—palest pink, mauve, turquoise, and sun-bleached white. Front porches that had once seen no more action than the squeaking of a rocking chair now served as swank outdoor cafés. Swimming pools had become the focal point of trendy sidewalk bars. On Thirteenth Street, which had been blocked off to accommodate the production, she passed Veronica’s trailer and went on to the slightly smaller RV parked in front. A plastic sign declaring GK PRODUCTIONS, ENDLESS TOMORROWS was plastered on the side.
Molly tapped on the trailer door and opened it. A handful of exhausted-looking, jeans-clad men were collapsed into the chairs around a rectangular table along one side of the long, narrow room. One of them was playing solitaire while the others sipped sodas and watched in apparent boredom.
“Anybody in here seen Gregory?” she asked, stepping inside long enough to savor the Arctic temperature.
“He’s with Veronica.”
“No. She’s been outside at one of the cafés with me for the past twenty minutes.”
The legs of one tilted-back chair hit the floor with a thud. “Shit, man, not again,” assistant director Hank Murdock muttered as he lumbered to his feet. “Come on, guys. Let’s go find him.”
“Find him?” Molly repeated. “You think he’s taken off or something?”
“The street is crawling with broads and bars and bedrooms. Greg’s not known for overlooking any of those opportunities, especially when they come in combination,” Hank said in weary resignation.
“Does that mean you’re going to have to shut down production for the night? Should I tell Veronica she can go back to her hotel?”
“Not yet. Tell her to hang loose. We may get this last shot in yet. Jerry, you check Veronica’s trailer just to be sure he’s not still in there. That’s the last place any of us saw him. Maybe he stuck around to recuperate once Veronica got her claws out of him.”
“Don’t panic, man,” Jerry said. “It could be he’s with Daniel setting up the next shot.”
“I’ll check, but I’m not holding my breath.”
Molly walked with Jerry as far as the star’s trailer. “You all don’t like Veronica much, do you?” she said to the young production assistant. He was only twenty-three, but this was his third film with Gregory Kinsey.
“She’s making Greg crazy. That’s not good for him, and it’s not good for the film. Other than that, I don’t much think about her one way or the other.” For his age he managed an incredible air of bored cynicism.
“Why do you suppose she gets to him? Surely he’s worked with other difficult actresses.”
“Beats me. I’d have told her to take a hike the first day, but Greg wouldn’t budge. He wanted her on this picture no matter what. Fought the studio and everyone else till he got his way.” Jerry rapped on the trailer door and waited. When no one answered, he peered inside. “Oh, hell,” he muttered, the color draining out of his face. He leaned against the side of the trailer and drew in a couple of deep breaths before shouting at the top of his lungs, “Hank, guys, get the hell over here.”
“What is it?” Molly said, trying to peer past him. Jerry blocked her way. He wasn’t quite big enough, though, to keep her from spotting one dungaree-clad leg and a trickle of blood running along beside it. She recognized Gregory Kinsey’s well-worn cowboy boot. She swallowed hard and forced her eyes away. “Shouldn’t you get inside and do something?”
“Sweetheart, there’s not much you can do for a guy who’s got a hole the size of a quarter straight through his head.”
Table of Contents
eForeword
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Hot Property Page 22
