“You don’t leave someone because you love them!”
“You do if your love is going to hurt them. What was I supposed to do? Stay with you in Virginia and say goodbye to my career? Take you with me to New York? Good heavens, Isabelle, you were only eighteen years old. I already felt like a heel for getting involved with you, letting the situation get so out of hand. I was the one who was older, experienced. I knew better than to go out with you, let alone sleep with you. But having done it, I had to figure out how best to...to limit the damage.”
“Limit the— You broke my heart!”
“You were eighteen. You’d never been in love before, never slept with a man. How could you really know whether you were in love with me or just infatuated?”
“You could have let me figure it out as we went along. That’s the way most people do it.”
“After I’d taken you away from college? Away from your family and friends, and brought you to a completely different world, a huge city where you knew nobody, where we’d be struggling to have enough to eat and a place to live? I was a poor actor who could barely earn enough to keep myself alive. How was I to support you? You don’t know what it was like, living the way I did, hand to mouth, day to day, crashing in a friend’s apartment when I had no place to live, eating one meal a day lots of times. That was no life for you. I could deal with it. I’d never had a lot of money. You’d grown up wealthy, the pampered only daughter of a country club family.”
“So you just made the assumption that I couldn’t take it? That I would fold?”
“I wasn’t going to inflict it on you!” he shot back. “Sure, if I’d been selfish enough, I would have asked you to go to New York with me. I’d have let you endure that kind of life so I could have you. But even if I was enough of a heel to let you fall in love with me, I wasn’t enough of one to put you in that kind of situation. To let you throw away your life so that I could make love to you for a few more months.”
“A few more months? There was a time limit on it?”
Michael grimaced. “Be reasonable. It wouldn’t have lasted. I had enough sense to know that. You would have, too, if you hadn’t been a starry-eyed eighteen-year-old romantic.”
“Obviously you weren’t.”
“You’re right. I wasn’t. I was five years older than that and I’d learned my lessons in a much harder school than you’d ever known. You were young and you were sheltered. You had no idea what awaited you. If you stayed there without me, I knew you’d go on to college like you had planned. You’d meet boys like yourself, a guy who could give you the kind of life you were used to. That’s who you should have married. Not some actor from the wrong side of the tracks who couldn’t offer you anything but poverty and uncertainty.”
Isabelle crossed her arms, regarding him coolly for a moment. “So you decided I was better off without you. Tell me something, Michael. Are you a liar or just unbelievably arrogant?”
He looked at her blankly.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might have some interest in the matter? That I might want to help decide what to do with my future? I wanted to be an actor, too, you know. Why wouldn’t I have thought that New York City was exactly where I wanted to be? Why do you assume that I was too weak to put up with a few hardships? It isn’t as if I had no idea what an actor’s life was like. I’d just spent several weeks with you and the other professional actors. I think I had a pretty good idea how you lived. And I knew that that was what I was facing when I got out of college and tried to find a job acting. I was ready to face it because I loved to act. Why wouldn’t I have been ready to face it for the man I loved?”
“Hearing about it isn’t the same as experiencing it.”
“No. But you could have at least given me the chance. You didn’t have to assume I was weak and shallow.”
“I didn’t think that of you.”
“No? What else could you have thought of me? A woman who’d rather marry some guy with a nice car and ‘prospects’ than the man she loved? A woman too snobby to live in a crummy apartment, too fragile to cook or clean or get a job to help out with the expenses? Oh, that sounds like an admirable sort of person.”
“That isn’t what I thought of you. I just wanted to protect you, to keep you from making a serious mistake with your life. I wanted you to have a chance to see more of life before you tied yourself down to one person. I wanted you to have all the things a girl your age should have. Hell, Isabelle, I was thinking of you! I gave you up because I loved you!”
“Then God preserve me from your kind of love,” Isabelle retorted bitterly. She turned and started away, then stopped and swung back around to say, “You didn’t even have the nerve to tell me to my face. You could at least have done that, instead of leaving me a note.”
“You weren’t there. You were at your parents’ house.”
“You could have called. You could have come to see me. You didn’t have to leave it in a note. But I can guess why you did. You were afraid to tell me face-to-face. You were a coward.”
Michael shook his head, regret and frustration mingling in his face. “I tried to call you later, and you wouldn’t talk to me.”
“Did you honestly think I would? After what you’d done?”
He sighed. “I never meant to hurt you. I figured before long, after you’d gone to college and met someone else, you’d realize what a favor I’d done you. That you’d say, ‘Thank heavens I didn’t run away with that starving actor when I was eighteen.’”
“You say you loved me,” Isabelle said coldly. “But you obviously didn’t even know me.”
* * *
Isabelle got through the rest of the day in an odd, numbed state; she felt almost as if she were sleepwalking, doing all the things she was supposed to, but without really feeling or thinking about any of it. She got in the open Jeep beside Michael, and they drove along the highway while the van drove in front, behind and beside it, taking shots. Then with the cameraman and the camera attached to the side of the car, they drove slowly over the same stretch of road while they took the close-up shots. Later the shots would be spliced together to be shown with music playing in the background.
When they were through, Isabelle rode back to the hotel in the van with the others, her eyes closed, pretending to sleep. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, and when she reached the hotel she ordered her supper from room service and spent the remainder of the evening in the room by herself. She sat for a long time on the balcony, watching dusk settle over the ocean, remaining even after it was dark. The lights of a cruise ship anchored offshore twinkled in the distance, and the faint sounds of music from one of the party boats traveling over to the Isla Mujeres drifted across the water to her.
She thought about what Michael had told her, about the pain and sorrow she had seen in his face. Had he really loved her ten years ago? Had it hurt him to leave her? And had he truly left her because he thought it would be the best thing for her?
At first she rejected that idea. How could anyone think that hurting someone he loved would be the best thing for her? But Isabelle was honest enough to go past the wall of remembered pain and despair. She knew that if doctors had told her that Jenny had to attend a special school somewhere away from Isabelle, if they had said that that was the best way for her to learn and grow, then she would have agreed to send Jenny. She would have made Jenny go, even though it would have broken her heart to be separated from her...and even though it would have made Jenny sad at the time.
It was easy enough to see how someone would suppose that an eighteen-year-old was too young to make life decisions like giving up college and following the man she loved. Looking back, she could understand that someone else might think an eighteen-year-old girl’s love was a passing, shallow fancy, that she really didn’t know what love was. Michael would have assumed that her pampered life had left her ill prepared for living the hand-to-mouth existence of a penniless actor in New York; he would think she would be miserable, and he wo
uld be ashamed that he could not give her more. He had always been uneasy about the differences in their past: his childhood in a big, indifferent city, shuttled from foster home to foster home after his parents had died, and hers spent as the sheltered, beloved only child of well-to-do parents. She had ached for him then, when he talked about it, but she had thought that her love would heal all his wounds, would wear down the chip on his shoulder. But his preconceptions had taken him away from her before she had the chance to convince him.
With a groan, Isabelle buried her face in her hands. Long-buried hurt rose up in her, almost physically painful. She wanted to cry, but could not. Her emotions were a jumble of pain and regret and frustration. What a stupid, tangled mess it had been! If she had only known how Michael had really felt, if he had only talked to her instead of leaving that damn note!
She could have reasoned with him, convinced him that he was wrong. Then they would have been together when she found out she was pregnant with Jenny. He would have been with her when Jenny was born and would have supported her through all that worry and suffering.
With a sigh, Isabelle’s hands fell away from her face and she leaned back in her chair. No, she realized, perhaps it would not have been better that way. If they had been together, if they had married and then Jenny had been born with all those problems, it would have made their lives very different. They wouldn’t have had the money for the tremendous hospital and doctor bills. Michael would have been humiliated at taking money from her parents; he would have had to give up his acting career and get a regular, paying job. That would have been a hellish decision for him. His career had been all-important to him. After all, whatever his feelings for her had been, when his career had beckoned, he had not hesitated; he had gone. That was usually the way it was with actors. Acting was not just a profession to most, it was something that took over their lives, that was the very center of their beings. Nor would it have meant the end of only his dream. Isabelle doubted that she would have gone to California to pursue her career, either. How could she have, if Michael had given up his career for her and the baby?
And wouldn’t the love they had shared have turned sour after a time? Wouldn’t bitterness and recriminations have crept in? It was easy to say that life would have been better if they’d stayed together, but there was nothing to prove that would have been true; it might even have become worse.
Isabelle’s thoughts left her feeling empty, as if an important part of her had been pulled out of herself. She supposed it had: she had lost the vision of her past that she always had before. It left her unsure of what she thought or felt.
She was still in a state of confusion the next morning when they began shooting. She felt awkward with Michael, and she avoided looking at him except when they were actually filming.
They shot the scenes of pursuit by the guerrilla fighters, using stunt doubles to film their crash into a ditch. After that, with Michael artistically decorated with a cut on his forehead and “blood” streaming down his face from the cut, they fled on foot. At a thatched-roof house, they found a bucket of water, and Jessica cleaned and bandaged Curtis’s “wound.” Curtis was confused and bewildered, and finally he asked her who she was. Gradually it dawned on Jessica that Curtis had lost his memory, at least temporarily.
Michael looked at her uncertainly and asked what they were to each other. Isabelle looked away, letting a crafty expression steal into her eyes, then turned back to him, smiling, and said, “Why, we’re friends, Curtis. Very good friends.”
There was the long, locked gaze so often used to end a scene in soaps, and then the scene was over.
“Great,” Lyle said, pleased. “That’s a wrap. Hey, kids, I’m happy to say that we are actually ahead of schedule. We have time to do the love scene this afternoon.”
Seven
Isabelle was tired, and she had no desire to do a love scene now. Why, she could barely manage to look at Michael without feeling all jumbled-up inside. But it was “golden time,” that wonderful late-afternoon time when the sun cast a special glow over everything, making it perfect for filming. She could hardly protest taking advantage of it, especially for a love scene.
They changed into their set of ragged, dirty clothes, and makeup artistically smudged their faces. First the cameras filmed the two of them coming upon the lovely lagoon and smiling with pure pleasure. Curtis jumped into the lagoon and urged Jessica in after him, finally reaching up and pulling her in. She spluttered and laughed, and they swam, teasing each other and laughing. Then they climbed out and stretched out on rocks beside the lagoon, letting the sun dry their clothing.
Next came the love scene. They rehearsed it first. Isabelle sat with her legs curled under her, on the edge of the flat rock, gazing down into the water. Michael, his shirt discarded, lay on his elbow on a flat rock a little behind and above her, watching her. Even though Isabelle’s back was to him, she could feel his gaze moving over her body, and she swallowed, casting a glance back toward him.
His eyes went to the tear in her blouse that revealed the creamy skin of her shoulder, then down to where her blouse was tied beneath her breasts, showing her slim waist. His features softened sensually, and his eyes were lit with an inner fire.
“Tell me,” he said huskily. “Before, when I can’t remember, were we...just friends?”
Isabelle wet her lips nervously, letting her mouth open a bit, and her chest rise and fall more rapidly. It wasn’t difficult to imitate the signs of passion; she was already growing warm just from his gaze. Damn it, why did the man have to have such an effect upon her!
What was harder was to put the hint of calculation in her eyes as she replied, “No...we were...more than friends.”
He moved swiftly across the brief space that separated them. “How much more?” he asked, leaning forward until their faces were almost touching. His eyes burned into hers.
Isabelle wrenched her gaze away from him, half turning away. She choked out, “Close—we were close friends.”
Michael knelt behind her and bent his head to kiss the patch of bare flesh exposed by the tear in her shirt. Isabelle’s eyes fluttered closed and she let out a long sigh of pleasure. Michael’s hands curled around her arms, holding her as his lips moved to her neck.
“This close?” he murmured huskily, kissing his way slowly up her throat.
“Yes,” Isabelle moaned, her head lolling back against his shoulder. “Oh, yes.”
“Jessica...” He pulled her around to face him, and his mouth came down on hers. Usually in rehearsals, kisses were not full kisses, but a mere indication of where and when they would kiss. This kiss, however, was full and deep, Michael’s lips sinking relentlessly into hers. His breath came out in a rush against her cheek, his fingers bit into her arms, his mouth moved hungrily on hers.
Finally they pulled apart. Isabelle’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with passion. All around them the set was utterly still. They might have been alone together there. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, then slowly Isabelle lay down on her back, holding her arms up to Michael. He followed her, his mouth coming down to seize hers.
“Perfect.” Lyle’s voice cut through the silence, startling Michael and Isabelle. They came back to reality with a thud. Michael sat up abruptly. Color tinged the high ridge of his cheekbones, and his mouth was soft and sensually full.
Isabelle, too, sat up, realizing with chagrin how lost she had been to the world around them. She glanced over toward Lyle and the crew, then turned away, hunching her shoulders protectively. Michael reached down a hand to help her up, but she shook her head and rose without his assistance.
Isabelle left the rock and sat down on a bench, her arms wrapped around herself, while the crew scurried to check and recheck the cameras and light readings. She felt like a fool. She wondered if all the crew had been aware of how involved she had been in those kisses. They must have been, she knew, and she wondered how she would ever be able to look any of them in the eye a
gain.
Then it was time for the shoot. Debbie and Callie retouched her hair and makeup, and Isabelle returned to her position, her stomach fluttering. Her lips could still feel the imprint of Michael’s kisses. She sat down on the rock and closed her eyes, drawing in a calming breath and exhaling it slowly.
They began the scene again, this time with the cameras rolling. The sexual tension was even higher now. Isabelle could not help but remember the way the scene had progressed before and anticipate the touch of Michael’s mouth again. When he moved over to her and gazed hotly into her eyes, the very air seemed to sizzle. He began to kiss her shoulder and neck, and fire seared down through Isabelle, melting her. She could hardly remember what she was supposed to do, but fortunately her part called for her to say nothing, only reveal her sensuous reaction to Michael’s kisses.
That was easy. With every brush of his lips against her skin, another shiver shook her, and by the time he kissed her, her entire body was taut and quivering. Michael’s mouth pressed into hers. His kiss was hotter, harder, deeper than before. His tongue came into her mouth, velvety, hungry, demanding. Isabelle responded, her tongue twining with his in a passionate dance. He groaned and clasped her even more tightly against him.
They forgot to pull apart and look at one another before Isabelle lay down, inviting him into her arms. Instead, they eased back onto the ground instinctively, arms still locked around one another.
“Cut! Okay, cut!” It took two calls for Lyle’s voice to register with them.
Michael’s mouth left hers reluctantly, and he sat up. Isabelle felt utterly boneless; she thought she might have to lie right there forever. She ran her tongue over her damp, kiss-softened lips, and Michael’s eyes darkened with passion. He cleared his throat and looked away, shoving his hands back into his hair.
Once in a Blue Moon Page 8
