Nancy was the one person to whom Isabelle felt she could tell anything without fear of it ever being repeated or judged. Nor was Nancy intimidated by or jealous of Isabelle’s good looks. She had been a successful model before she became a photographer, and she understood the problems of being known to the world as a beautiful face. But perhaps the thing that had most cemented their friendship was the fact that Nancy accepted Jenny with complete equanimity; her younger brother had been born with Down’s syndrome and had always been a beloved part of their family.
Nancy and Isabelle had gone shopping together this morning while Irma stayed with Jenny. Now they were enjoying a friendly cup of coffee and a long talk while they kept an eye on Jenny and the dog wheeling around in the concrete driveway and parking area.
“No,” Isabelle admitted, adding, “thank heavens. But every week I’ve had more scenes with him. It’s been three weeks since that seduction scene, and next week I have at least one scene with him every day.”
Nancy shrugged. “You knew you would have to work with the guy.”
“You don’t understand. When he came to the show, Curtis and Jessica had virtually no relationship. But the writers keep building it up.”
“Why?”
Isabelle shrugged. “The other day Judy Weinburg told me that she loved getting to write a scene for Jessica with a man who wasn’t one of her former husbands or a past or present lover or someone who was trying to get into bed with her.”
Nancy hooted. “That makes sense. Jessica is the Slut of the World.”
Isabelle made a face. “Anyway, I don’t think that’s it, or at least, not all of it. It’s worse. I have the awful feeling they’re going to try to cook something up between Curtis and Jessica.”
Nancy raised her eyebrows. “Aha. The plot thickens. Why do you think that?”
“Because Danny Archer absolutely loved the seduction scene. He says it’s one everyone will be wishing they’d videotaped. Secondly, the actor that played Mark took a month’s leave of absence. He left a week ago. So, for the next three weeks, they have nothing much to do with Jessica. Thirdly, Lena, whom they had pegged to be Curtis’s love interest, isn’t creating much of a spark with him. Fan mail, so I hear, has been very tepid.”
“Well, if the fans don’t love him, then maybe they’ll get rid of him altogether.”
“Fat chance. He gets lots of fan mail. Everyone from grandmothers down to giggly adolescent girls thinks he’s a major hunk. They keep writing in to say don’t pair him with that drip Celeste. That’s Lena’s character.”
“So they’re going to try to pair him with you?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked. Half the women on the show would love to be a couple with him, but most of them are either the wrong age or they’re already hooked up with someone.”
“So is Jessica.”
Isabelle rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter if Jessica is hooked up with someone. Anyway, the seduction scene aired last Monday. There’s a three-week lag between shooting and showing it. Friday, Marie showed me the pile of mail they’ve already gotten about it.”
“Did they like it or hate it?”
“Both. Some of them were incensed, and others thought it was great. And I quote, ‘It showed the wild, sexy side of that gorgeous Dr. Townsend.’ Either way, it’s viewer response, and that’s what the producers care about. That’s what brings in ad money. Whether they loved it or hated it, the viewers will be watching to see what happens.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh.’ Tuesday, Karen—the head writer—was closeted with Danny and Carol half the day. Wednesday and Thursday, she and two or three of the writers were in her office all day. Something is obviously up. The rumor is that they’re changing one of the story lines. I mean, majorly changing. And Carol’s secretary says she canceled all the reservations for the location shooting in New Orleans in two weeks.”
“Really? What are they going to do, then?”
Isabelle shrugged. “At the moment, no one knows. Maybe they’ve called it off altogether. Maybe they’re doing it somewhere else. Maybe they just decided it was going to rain too much in New Orleans—or maybe they’ve scrapped the story and are going to do something entirely different.”
“I bet everybody’s buzzing about that.”
“Oh!” Isabelle rolled her eyes. “Sets are always such rumor mills, anyway. Now stories are circulating all over the place. Who knows what’s true and what’s just speculation.”
Nancy studied her coffee for a moment. “What will you do if it is true? If they’re going to link you and him in a long story line?”
“I don’t know! I don’t think I can stand it! But how can I leave, either? Just drop a steady job and endanger Jenny’s security, not to mention my career? It isn’t even as if I could do it easily. They could sue me for not finishing my contract.”
“Well, it sounded as if Traynor gave in quickly enough when you made it plain you didn’t want anything happening between you. Maybe he won’t push it, even if you are doing steamy scenes on stage.”
“Maybe....” Isabelle got up and walked restlessly to the window. She stood for a moment, looking out at her daughter. The problem, Isabelle knew, wasn’t so much that she was afraid that Michael would bother her because of their steamy scenes. The problem was that she wasn’t sure whether she could hold out against her own desires. She was afraid that if they kissed again on-screen, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
But that was something she could not admit to anyone, even her best friend. She turned back to Nancy, forcing a smile. “You’re probably right. I’m worrying for nothing. Who knows—they may not even decide to throw Curtis and Jessica together. It’s all rumors and speculations, anyway. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Sure.” Nancy readily complied, moving on to the subject of her next showing at a gallery.
* * *
However, the next week, Isabelle’s fears were confirmed. Carol Nieman sent for her. Carol was the assistant producer for “Tomorrows,” and she did most of the actual management of the show. Danny Archer, the producer, also produced another soap, and he oversaw both operations. The way it usually worked out was that Danny took the credit when something went very well and dumped the blame on Carol whenever anything went wrong.
When Isabelle stepped into her office, Carol looked up at her, smiling, and said, “How does a trip to Cancún sound to you?”
Isabelle gazed back, uncomprehending. “What? A trip to Cancú An? I don’t understand.”
“We’ve decided to scrap the location shoot in New Orleans. I guess you’ve heard about that.”
Isabelle nodded, and Carol shook her head and sighed. “It’s almost impossible to keep anything secret on this set.”
Isabelle refrained from pointing out that a change in secretaries might help stop the flow of rumors. After all, she had no desire to end the actors’ pipeline. She merely tried to look agreeably sympathetic.
“Sit down. Sit down,” Carol said, waving toward one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Well, at least you haven’t heard it all, obviously. We’ve decided instead of New Orleans, to go on location to Cancún for a week. Different story line. And you’re going to be one of the actors going on location.” She smiled beneficently, as one bestowing a great favor.
“Really?” Isabelle tried to look appropriately appreciative, but her heart sank. “Who else?”
“Not many people. Just a couple of day players and you and Michael Traynor.”
“Oh.” Isabelle’s voice came out hoarse. She cleared her throat and forced a creaky smile onto her face. It was even worse than she had feared. Obviously they were linking her story line with Michael’s. But worse than that, she was going to have to spend a week in Cancún with Michael!
Five
Isabelle glanced over at Lyle, who was busily flipping back and forth between his copy of the script and the shooting schedule, making notes. She then turned her head back to the window, gaz
ing at the blue sea beneath them. The plane was obviously dropping lower and lower. It wouldn’t be long before they’d set down in Cancún.
She sighed and turned back to the seat in front of her. Everyone except herself, of course, was delighted with the new story line. Even Lyle, normally the gloomiest of men, was patently enthused. He had spent almost the entire flight working on the various scenes they were to film, as engrossed as if they were his first scenes as a director. What time he hadn’t been working, he had been talking to Isabelle about the new story line.
Isabelle could understand everyone’s enthusiasm. If it hadn’t been Michael Traynor involved, she would have been interested, too. They were taking a new direction from the one that both Isabelle’s character and the show had been following the past two or three years. “Tomorrows” had always been primarily a character show, its story lines built slowly on the complications of the characters’ entanglements with each other. Most of the villainy done had been either financial finaglings or romantic schemes. Jessica, naturally, had been involved in both. The new story line infused new blood in the form of physical action and a nastier, more personal villainy, as well as a different sort of story for Jessica.
The past two weeks of scripts had had Jessica and Curtis becoming more and more worried about Mark Townsend, from whom they had heard no word. Finally they had learned that his medical mission in Central America had been attacked by guerrillas. No one knew anything about the survivors, and Curtis had decided to fly down to the fictitious country of San Pedro to investigate Mark’s disappearance for himself. Jessica had insisted on coming, too, despite Curtis’s objections.
The location shooting would be of the two of them traveling to the mission and searching for Mark. Cancún and its environs would substitute for San Pedro. When they returned to L.A., they would do the interior shots and add them for the month-long story that would dominate the May sweeps. By that time, Jim Ehrlich, the actor who played Mark, would have returned, and they would add scenes of his captivity by, and ultimate escape from, the new villain whom they were bringing onto the show.
There would be a great deal more action scenes, not only with Mark fighting off his captors and escaping—though pursued back to the U.S. by the villain—but also of Curtis and Jessica eluding guerrilla fighters and the army, as well as henchmen of the new, as yet only hinted-at, villain. At first, Curtis and Jessica would engage in their customary bickering, and there would be some funny scenes about Jessica’s exasperating concern with her luggage and her attire. Then, during a harrowing ride in a Jeep, they were to have a wreck and Curtis would strike his head hard on the windshield.
Jessica would then have to take charge of their escape from their pursuers. Normally, Isabelle, too, would have been excited about this story, which presented new challenges for her. For one thing, Jessica would have an opportunity to use her considerable skills for a good purpose. It would also lift her out of her usual shallow concerns over her looks, dress and money. That would give Isabelle an opportunity to explore new facets of her character.
But Isabelle could not enjoy the creative opportunities the story offered because of the romantic relationship that it created between Jessica and Curtis Townsend. When Curtis would come to from his injury, not only would he be in pain, he would also be suffering from amnesia. He would not know who he was, who Jessica was, where they were or what they were doing there. Jessica, of course, would have a dazzling opportunity to take advantage of his lack of memory. Curtis would assume, since they were together, that they are friends, perhaps even lovers, and Jessica wickedly would go along with this assumption. One of the location shots would be a love scene by a lagoon in the jungle. It was a titillating scene, much longer than Jessica’s previous attempt at seduction, and involving a good deal of simulated kissing and caressing.
The problem for Isabelle, of course, was how little of the scene would need to be simulated. Thinking about it now, she gritted her teeth. She could not afford to let herself get carried away this time. She had to remain cool, calm and professional, unaffected by any base desires.
Now below her she could see land, the dense growth of the Yucatán Peninsula. The plane was dropping ever lower, obviously coming in for a landing. Isabelle’s ears popped, and she thought about Jenny, as she usually did when she was taking off or landing in an airplane. In general, she was not afraid of flying, but she had read somewhere that the majority of airplane accidents happened right after takeoff or right before landing, and over the years she had come to dread those moments a little and to think of her daughter.
She thought of Jenny’s little face, the dark slash of eyebrows and the vivid blue color of her eyes, so similar to her father’s. She remembered Jenny’s grave expression and the way she had hugged her when Isabelle left for the airport this morning. Irma Pena would take good care of her for a week and be very patient with Jenny’s repeated questions of where her mother was and what she was doing and when she would be back. And, of course, Isabelle would phone her every night.
Isabelle closed her eyes. There was the bump that signified that they were on the ground, and she was able to relax. She glanced over at Lyle, a trifle embarrassed that he might have seen her moment of apprehension. To her relief, Lyle was busily packing up his things in his briefcase. Her eyes slid across the aisle, and she found herself gazing into Michael’s face. He was watching her, and she realized with annoyance that he had probably witnessed her nervous reaction.
Michael smiled, but there was no mockery in his face, only a faint warmth, even sympathy. He winked, and Isabelle’s heart gave a lurch. Though long-forgotten, that wink was instantly familiar, and the warmth it spread through her body was only partly a reaction to unexpected kindness. Isabelle looked away quickly.
When the plane taxied up to the terminal and stopped, Isabelle waited for Lyle to get his briefcase and bag together, then exited behind him. Michael stood waiting politely for them to pass in front of him before he stepped out into the aisle, so that Isabelle wound up sandwiched between him and Lyle. She was very conscious of Michael’s long, lean body behind her, especially when the crowd of disembarking passengers swelled frontward, pushing him intimately close to her back. She was relieved when the door opened and the people in front of her started off the plane, so that she could move away from the warm pressure of Michael’s body.
They moved into the small, modern airport and waited through a short line for Customs, then walked out into the bright Mexican sunshine. A limousine waited to take Isabelle, Lyle and Michael to their hotel. The crew, with their expensive cameras, film and other gear, would take a longer time to get through Customs and would be following later, along with the day players, in two vans.
The heat was immediate and pervasive, the sunlight dazzling. Isabelle slid into the dark, air-conditioned limousine gratefully. Michael and Lyle came in after her, Lyle sitting on the far end of the wide, plush seat where Isabelle was. Michael, after a quick glance at the empty expanse of seat between Isabelle and Lyle, took one of the fold-down side seats. Isabelle noticed he had more or less done the same thing on the airplane this morning, insisting that Lyle take the seat beside Isabelle while he took the seat across the aisle by himself. She wondered if he was being sensitive to her feelings or if he wanted to be close to her as little as she wanted to be close to him. She suspected that it was the former, and she was grateful to him for his gesture. But at the same time, it left an odd, empty feeling in her.
Impatiently, she thrust the thought away from her. She was only feeling the sense of loss she experienced anytime she was away from her daughter for more than a day. It had nothing to do with Michael Traynor. Isabelle turned and gazed out the window at the landscape, thickly grown with scrubby brush and trees. There were no people or buildings in sight, only a road sign or a billboard now and then. Lyle was talking about the schedule tomorrow, but she paid little attention to him. Cassie, his assistant, would bring a photocopy of the schedule tonight, and until then
Lyle might change it, so there was little point in learning it yet.
They drove across a bridge, and a few moments later they were suddenly back in civilization. Hotels, sprawling or tall and narrow, were clustered along the right side of the road, and every once in a while, Isabelle caught a glimpse of the ocean surf pounding upon the shore. She decided she’d take a walk along the beach this evening. Perhaps here she would not be recognized, especially if she wore a beach hat and sunglasses.
Their hotel was a typical resort hotel, with cool tiled-and-marbled floors and, between the building and the beach, a meandering pool built to look like a tropical stream, except for the swim-up bar thrusting out into the middle of it. Her room, also tiled, was pleasant, colorfully decorated and there was a long balcony off it that looked out over the ocean. Two chairs and a small table sat on the balcony, and potted plants had been set in the two front corners. A large pottery vase decorated one of the inside corners.
Isabelle went out onto the balcony and stood at the railing, drawing in a long breath of satisfaction. She loved the smell and sight of the ocean. In the past, she had considered moving to a house on the beach, but she had worried about Jenny wandering away from the house and into the ocean. Jenny could swim in a pool and enjoyed theirs very much, but the ocean was something else again. When they went to the beach, Isabelle was careful to be with her the whole time. It would be too easy for Jenny to get caught in an undertow and panic.
Isabelle leaned against the railing, watching a boat towing a parasail. The sail was hot pink, a bright splash of color against the clear blue sky, and the rider dangled beneath it, looking much too small and vulnerable.
There was the sound of a patio door sliding open, and Isabelle turned her head toward the neighboring balcony. A waist-high metal railing separated the two balconies, and Isabelle could see the occupant of the other room clearly as he stepped out onto his balcony. It was Michael. Isabelle’s mouth tightened in irritation.
Once in a Blue Moon Page 6
