by Freda, Paula
“Bernie, hold on a minute,” he said, retracing his steps, and approaching the girl. “Hey, would you like my autograph?” He’d noticed a pencil and pad on the desk and retrieved it. “What’s your name?” he asked, preparing to write the standard line. Laura’s heart was beating faster than it ever had. She barely managed a soft, “Yes, thank you.”
“Your name?” he asked again.
“Laura Sharon Dellisogni,” she whispered. Her face felt as though it were on fire.
“To Laura Sharonof the dreams,” Stephen translated verbally as he wrote.
He’d taken Italian in high school and college.
He found himself gazing at her again, at her eyes, and their expression, warm and gentle, not at all grasping and fanatical or cloying, or love struck and dazed. “To Laura Sharonof the dreams,” he repeated as he wrote, “with fond gratitude, Stephen De Bourne.”
Bernie had come to stand beside him. He didn’t like what Stephen was writing. You never knew what these love-starved females would do with someone’s signature or that kind of salutation. He elbowed Stephen and cautioned him with a wary look.
“Don’t worry, she doesn't seem that kind,” Stephen said, tearing off the sheet and handing it to Laura.
“Thank you.” Laura said, accepting the autograph. “I’ll treasure this forever.” She smiled and watched him climb the steps until he was lost to her view in the corridor leading to the hotel rooms.
It was past midnight before Bernie fell asleep and began snoring. Stephen made a face, burrowing deeper under the covers. He was bone-tired from early wake-ups, long shoots and physically demanding acting scenes. He was long overdue for a vacation, someplace where his stardom didn’t precede him. With people like the girl he’d met earlier, gentle people, with beautiful eyes. Yes, that was it. She had beautiful, wide, expressive dark brown eyes. Help her to find a good man to love and admire her, dear Lord, he prayed silently. He was deeply religious, a fact his agent in New York did his best to hide for fear of damaging his client’s macho image. Stephen never could understand how the media worked. He closed his eyes and thought of Laura.
The spaceship, a triangular dart, streaked through a dark universe studded with pinpoints of starlight. Inside the cockpit Stephen worked the controls keeping the ship on course toward the Atano system. Sixty gold credits jingled in the right side pocket of his waist-length jacket, part of his long, sleek, hip-hugging attire that ended in black leather boots. He was a free-lance pilot who worked for no one but himself. Because of this, several planetary governments considered him an outlaw, as his ship and services were often hired by an opponent. But he screened his prospective customers. He didn’t mind transporting harmless goods, or someone fleeing from the slavers, such as his present passenger. The woman sat a few feet behind him, under a porthole, gazing out at the stars with eyes that were as dark as the universe outside with a childlike intensity sparkling behind them. Her skin was the color of warm taupe; her cheeks tinted a soft coral. She was draped in a garment that fell in silver folds about her slim figure. Because she was sitting, the garment’s hem showed only the tips of her black silk slippers. She was fleeing from slavers who, with the aid of their superior technology, had enslaved her world. Friends and allies waited on a distant planet to welcome her. He’d heard of a movement growing, small factions melding, an army forming, to free her world and others from the slavers’ yoke. He wished her well. He had no love for slavers.
He had to admit he felt attracted to her, had even made a pass at her, only to be flatly refused and told to mind his piloting. A reward waited at their destination if he held to his bargain and left her in peace. Easier said than done. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was a dolphinite, a species long ago evolved from the sea of her home world. Dolphinites were gentle, yet stubborn creatures.
Felena felt his gaze and turned. A brash young man, she thought, attractive to look at, yet dangerous to be near. The balance of the gold credits awaiting him might not be enough incentive for him to deliver her safely and unharmed to her friends. They had picked him to help her because, among the free-lancers who roamed the known galaxies, he was known to be trustworthy and fair in his dealings. Felena’s species were highly perceptive. She could discern as well as feel his attraction to her. It was discomfiting, yet oddly not repulsive. She turned. Before she could tell him to mind his ship, he drawled, “Tell me about yourself, your world, and your friends. If there’s more gold credits available, I might be tempted to lend a hand.”
Felena held back a disparaging retort and paused to reflect. Yes, the movement certainly could use his services and the knowledge he’d gained during his travels. Added gold credits might entice him temporarily. His reputation for fairness would do the rest. Felena stood up and went to sit in the co-pilot’s seat beside him. She tried to decipher the thoughts behind the mildly amused expression in his eyes, blue and placid, with a hint of laughter, like the seas on her home world, on a calm, sunny day.
The alarm clock buzzed and Laura woke with a start. “Stephen,” she called and realized with a foolish grin that she had been dreaming. “Oh, I’ve got to stop this,” she chided herself.
By noon the exterior of the Only Hotel in Town was swarming with reporters. Frank had locked all the doors and windows. He was even afraid to go the bathroom for fear that one of the reporters would find a way in to interview Stephen. It was relief when his two guests came down and told him they were leaving, preferably by the back door. A private car, chartered by the studio itself, was to pick them up. A Cessna awaited them a few miles from town. Frank hesitantly asked if they would pose for a photograph with him. Bernie didn’t think they had time, but Stephen said it would be fine, if Frank had a camera ready. Frank nodded. He’d gone out yesterday and purchased one with a timer and tripod.
Two pictures taken in case the first didn’t turn out, the two guests waited by the back door for their lift. “I didn’t see the maid about,” Stephen said to Bernie. “I hope she didn’t lose her job. She seemed a nice girl.”
Bernie shrugged. The girl was the last thing on his mind. He had a motion picture to edit and distribute.
“Call me when the car comes,” Stephen said, heading back towards the lobby.
“So, Frank, where’s the maid?”
“M-maid?”
“Last night, remember?”
“Oh, yea. Sheshe doesn’t work today. It’s her day off.”
Stephen felt disappointed. “Do you have her address? I’d like to send her a couple of tickets to my film’s opening.”
“Really,” Frank asked, eyebrows arching in surprise. The gears of his mind started turning. How would this bit of information further his hotel’s present notoriety? “Sure, I’ve got the address.” He looked up the address of Laura’s father in the phone book and wrote it on a piece of hotel stationery. “Here you go. You know you’re her favorite actor,” he blurted, guessing.
“Thanks.” Stephen took the offered sheet and tucked it into the inside pocket of his denim jacket. “When you see her, would you say goodbye for us?” Frank assured him he would.
All the way back to New York Stephen thought of the girl. She wasn’t much to look at, except for her eyes. He couldn’t get their expression out of his mind. What was it about that gaze, or the girl? Funny, he thought, he should have forgotten her face by now, one face among thousands of fans that for the time being considered him their favorite actor. He recognized that was part of it, the fact she hadn’t looked besotted or bemused. And the tears, shed without a sound. And the dream last night, Felena’s gaze. If her eyes were superimposed on the maid’s, there was a definite resemblance. Stephen groaned nervously. Of course there was a resemblance, he thought. It was just a dream. His subconscious had used the maid’s eyes in the same way a computer uses a memory loaded into its banks. Still, two months later when his movie was scheduled to open at a deluxe theater in New York, Stephen sent two tickets, along with plane fare, to a M
s. Laura Sharon Dellisogni, reserved under the name, Laura Sharon of the Dreams.
Stephen climbed out of the limousine. Camera lights flashed and the hushed crowd on either side of the cordoned walk began to chatter excitedly. Stephen turned to assist his co-star gracefully exit the limo. She was beautiful, slender, with long, curly black hair and large, expressive dark eyes. Her gold silk sheath glowed under the brightly-lit marquee. She bent lower than necessary as she climbed out of the limo and accepted his help. Her white fur shawl fell about her arms exposing the plunging V of her neckline. Stephen could almost hear the men’s heartbeats quickening. More camera lights flashed, and young girls squealed as Stephen and his co-star started toward the entrance to the theater. A thousand faces blurred under the intense lighting and flashing cameras. Stephen squinted trying to single out just one.
The theater was a landmark. Luckily, and since the owners were fond of the old ways, the movie house retained its original looks—ornate balconies, chandeliers, curtained screen, tagged red plush seats, and carpeted aisles. Stephen, his co-star Sandra, and Bernie and his wife, a middle-aged, small refined lady, unashamed of the grey at her temples, were led by a tongue-tied usher into the center balcony on the left side of the theater. Each time Stephen met Bernie’s wife, he grasped better the meaning of the term “opposites attract,” even if he didn’t agree with it.
The balcony sat eight in two rows of four. Bernie and his wife sat behind him. Stephen gazed at the two empty seats next to his co-star, reserved for Laura and the companion of her choice. He frowned, wondering if his letter containing the tickets and plane fare had never reached her. Of course, she might not have wished to come. But then wouldn’t she have returned the money and the tickets. Had he misjudged her? The door to the balcony opened and the same usher escorted in a young woman and a younger man. Stephen’s frown eased into a smile. “Laura.” He stood up. Bernie also. “Over here,” Stephen said, pointing to the two empty seats beside Sandra. Bernie extended his hand. “Glad you could make it. Is this your young man?” Laura accepted the handshake. “No, he’s my brother, Mark.” They exchanged handshakes.
Her gaze met Stephen’s. So beautiful, he thought, like morning dew. Her fingers were cool and she was trembling. She must be nervous, awed to be in the company of an acclaimed movie star. Stephen saw her wet her lips and take her seat quickly. He spoke casually to her brother. The young man was excited and gregarious. The lights dimmed as color streamed from the projection room. The curtains slid open and the screen came alive.
As the story unfolded, Laura often caught Stephen stealing a glance at her past Sandra, and he smiled at her. She drew her attention back to the screen. He couldn’t know how confused she felt, how she told herself over and over that he was just being kind to a fan. Soon he would thank her for attending his movie, leave in his limo for whatever planned festivity, and she would return to her hometown. In a few months he’d hardly remember ever meeting her. She would never fool herself into believing he found her interesting. As the tabloids were always quoting, “He had loved one mystery woman and he would love no other.” Little girl, be content. The memory of this day will stay with you for the rest of your life. You can build a thousand dreams around it. Expect nothing more. This day itself is a miracle. Laura turned to look to Stephen. Thank you, her soul whispered.
The movie was well received. The audience sat on the edge of their seats through most of it and cheered when the hero proved his worth, saved the girl, and defeated the villain. As the curtains closed, the chandeliers sparkled with light. Stephen looked past Sandra at Laura. She was already rising, prompting her brother to do the same. “Thank you for a wonderful experience,” she said. “Mr. De Bourne, I will never forget it.” She wore a saffron yellow dress with a short jacket of the same color. He’d only now become aware of it. It was as though her eyes and her face had eclipsed everything else about her.
“Join us for dinner,” Stephen blurted out like a schoolboy. “We’re staying at the Waldorf. Bernie’s arranged a party and several actors and directors will be joining us. I’m sure you’d enjoy meeting them.”
Astonished, Laura stammered, “W-well, it’s” She paused a moment, bewildered, lost for words. She glanced at her brother.
“Sure, why not,” he remarked excitedly.
But Laura was the elder. “No, really, we couldn’t. “We’re booked for an early flight back home, and” Oh, but she wanted to stay in Stephen’s company. Yet the end would be the same, only a memory. “We didn’t bring any party clothes, plus we’d be uncomfortable, kinda lost,” she said.
Mark stared at her, wondering what she was talking about.
Bernie waited to hear from Stephen.
“We really must leave,” Laura said. “I have to pack. We’ve been touring the city for three days, and Mark and I have to get back to work.” “I understand,” Stephen said. Her reasons were logical. He forced himself to sound matter-of-fact. “The offer was genuine, and I’m sorry. Please let me wish you a safe trip home.”
They shook hands. Laura warned her heart to no avail to beat normally when their fingers touched.
Later, riding in the taxi back to their hotel, Mark asked her, “You could at least have let me go with De Bourne.”
Mark was an adult and Laura had no special hold on him. He could have spoken up, but the Dellisognis had always been considerate of each other’s feelings. “Thanks for letting it go at that, she said. I really was uncomfortable. I just want to go home.”
“That’s the trouble with you. You’re comfortable with your fantasies, and you’re scared as hell of reality.”
Laura didn’t argue. What her brother said was true. She had her dreams, and she was content.
The party at the Waldorf continued on into the dawn. When Stephen left early, no one was surprised. He retired to his room and bed. The sheets, clean and crisp, felt cool against his skin. He was tired and unhappy. He wanted to see Laura again. But apparently she didn’t wish to see him.
It was 1945 and the war had finally ended. Manhattan Bay’s dark green waters shimmered with moonlight. Old people, couples, and the homeless lingered in Battery Park, some on benches, others strolling. Stephen headed toward the fenced-in shoreline. A sailor and his girl strolled hand-in-hand past him, unaware of anyone but themselves. An Army soldier himself, Stephen had just returned from the front. He was one of the fortunate ones who had made it back alive. He hadn’t changed to civilian clothes as yet. His mother and father were expecting him, but he wanted to see Sylvia first. To ask her to marry him and bring her home with him to meet his parents.
He’d met Sylvia at a USO dance three years before while on leave. A shy, gentle creature, even her clothes, a pink square-necked sundress and plain black platform pumps, bespoke her simple beauty. She had come to the USO with a girlfriend. Her eyes were dark brown like her hair, and large and soulful. He would never forget her and their first dance. Despite her daintiness, she was not a small girl, and not what one might call glamorous. Plain was a better description, but not to him. She was light on her feet and fit into his arms comfortably, like the teddy bear he’d owned when he was a child.
From that first meeting onward he saw her often, on each leave. They became good friends. He never tried anything disrespectful with her. But on their last meeting, he’d stolen a kiss, and a promise that she would be there upon his return. This morning as soon as he arrived back in the City, he called her at her parents’ home. Her mother told him she was at the USO. The USO center was located across from Battery Park. At the USO they told him she had gone out for a walk in the park. At the park Stephen spotted her. She was alone, wearing a light tan coat and a scarf around her hair, its tails billowing in the cool breeze. Her hands were resting on the fence. She was looking out at the sea.
“Laura. . . .”
The girl turned at the sound of his voice. She glanced askance at him. “My name is Sylvia,” she said. But he knew that, she thought. “Stephen?” “Laura
?”
Stephen woke with a jolt and a headache.
The headache persisted despite the Tylenols and breakfast. A breath of fresh air might help. Stephen left the hotel, intent on a walk. The streets were jammed with people. He hailed a cab and told the driver to take him to Battery Park. Inside the crowded park he found himself unintentionally looking for a girl in a light tan coat and a scarf with tails blowing in the wind. There was someone standing by the rail that fit that description. Stephen hurried over. “Sylvia,” he called, about to touch her shoulder. The girl turned. “Sorry?” she asked, obviously wondering who he was and what he wanted.
“Excuse me,” Stephen said. “I thought you were someone else.” He walked away.
Back in his uptown apartment, Stephen threw himself into reading the scripts his agent had sent him. With his latest movie success, studios were eager to hire him. Most of the scripts were action movies and science fiction; some were romantic comedies. There was even an offer from an independent film studio for him to play the lead in a remake of Baroness Orczy’s The Scarlet Pimpernel. He spent the longest time perusing the latter script, and called his agent to tell him he was interested. The weeks dragged. When the time came to draw up the contract with the independent studio, Stephen startled both his agent and the company by demanding the film be shot near a small town in New Mexico, Laura’s town. Because of his present stardom, the studio accepted his demand.
Several months had passed since Laura’s visit to New York City and her attendance at De Bourne’s movie premier. She had catalogued and filed the event under “The Most Beautiful Memories of My Life.” Daily life at the Dellisognis had settled back to normal. And, as was their routine after supper, the family sat in front of the television and watched the six o’clock news.
The local anchorwoman reported on Stephen De Bourne’s latest movie, based on Baroness Orczy’s novel, The Scarlet Pimpernel. The film was being shot in New Mexico. The cameras showed a green meadow, and a set built to mimic a French town during the French Revolution’s reign of terror, complete with guillotine. “For those who are unfamiliar with the plot of De Bourne’s latest film,” the anchorwoman explained, “the scarlet pimpernel, a humble English wayside flower, is also the name chosen to hide the identity of a most unusual man, Sir Percy Blakeney, Baronet, played by De Bourne. Under the most unexpected disguises, he rescues several doomed nobility from the guillotine. Many innocent men, women, and children are among the culprits whom he feels do not deserve to die. He courts and marries a beautiful French actress, Marguerite St. Just, played by Penny Windstrom. All of England and France wonder what she sees in his foppish manners; perhaps his money—he is the richest man in England. To those who do not know his true character, he presents himself as a dandy, whose main concern next to breathing is the fashionable cut of his coat, cravat, and lacy cuffs. Marguerite, though innocent, is believed to have sent a family to the guillotine. And so she also is kept in the dark about her husband’s identity. She is confounded. Where is the man she married, who wooed her so ardently and claimed to love her more than life itself? Did his riches blind her? Can he be the same man she married, this bored, affected, extravagantly dressed foppish gentleman? It’s a love story set against an unforgettable and violent time in French history.”
