No Silent Christmas

by Barbara Goodwin

  “Oh!” Maggie burst into tears.

  “What’s wrong, darling?” Violet asked.

  “That’s the first time he’s told me he loved me.” She cried harder. “I think I’m going to lose him, Mother.” Maggie put her face in her hands and sobbed.

  “Now, now,” Violet soothed. “We’ll work this out. You still have the movie to finish. That’ll give you time to think.”

  “I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave you now that I’ve just found you.” Tears ran down Maggie’s face and dripped onto her wringing hands.

  Violet hugged her daughter. “Give it time. You’ll make your decision and be able to stand by it.”

  “Mother, I hope you don’t mind, but I think I’ll go to bed now. I’ll make up the sofa for you before I do, though.” Maggie kissed her mother on the cheek and went to the linen closet. After making up the sofa for her mother she walked into her bedroom closing the door behind her.

  Maggie felt as if she had lead weights on her shoulders. She sank to the bed and cried. She loved Scott. She’d never loved anyone more. She wanted a life with him, but how could she choose between her mother and Scott? Maggie couldn’t see her mother uprooting herself to time travel to 2005. Her mother had never deviated from the plans her father had made for them. Not once.

  A groan slipped out of her when she realized she still hadn’t told him about her plan to have him ruin her reputation. Well, it had worked and now she regretted every minute of it. Well, not the time she’d had with Scott. She could never regret that.

  Why had she ever come up with that brainless idea? He might not love her anymore when he found out what she’d done. If he did still love her, how could he trust her, believe anything she said? Maggie lay down and stared at the ceiling. Square white tiles with black holes stared back. The emotions of the day swamped her and soon exhaustion claimed her.

  Before Maggie fell asleep she prayed, “Please, God, forgive me for being a fool. Please have Scott forgive me too. I promise I’ll never lie again.”

  * * * * *

  Scott hadn’t slept a wink the night before and came onto the set with a very bad attitude. He wanted this film finished so he could get on with his life. But Carey Chambers came in hungover and irritable. They had to do their two scenes over and over again. By midafternoon Scott was exhausted and pissed at Chambers.

  “Come on, Carey. Get the actions right,” Damon Westerly said. “Your character hates Alex. He’s on the verge of getting his father’s ranch back and now he might be getting your sister back too.” Scott watched Westerly jerk his hand down his face. A five o’clock shadow showed and Damon’s eyes were red. “Show your anger. Show your frustration. Act, for Christ’s sake!”

  Scott took his mark for the scene. He had been looking at Westerly and hadn’t seen the look of pure hatred come over Carey Chambers’ face. He glanced up when Chambers leaned too close to him. “What the—”

  The fist hit him in the face and knocked Scott into a couch, table and lamp. The table and lamp fell over with a crash. “You son-of-a-bitch!” Scott roared.

  “Camera, action,” Westerly said quietly to Randolf, the cameraman.

  “You come in here, take over MY movie, have all the girls swooning over you instead of me. I’m the star here,” Chambers roared. “My name is first on the screen. You’re a nobody! Get out.” Chambers pointed to the door of the building.

  Scott pushed himself up and let his fists fly. If there was anything he was good at it was boxing. He’d started as a child to get rid of the frustration he’d had each time he talked to his father and had continued all through high school and college. He’d been the college champ for a year and now his anger at Chambers, his unexpected time displacement, his worry about Maggie and if they’d have a life together all focused into a rage against the alcoholic actor.

  Scott pounded Chambers. A red haze had erupted in front of Scott’s eyes and he threw punch after punch, not caring if he hit Chambers in his pretty-boy face. The man was a sham, a womanizer and a drunk. Three members of the crew had to pull him off.

  “Cut,” Westerly said softly.

  “Why you low-down, sneaky bastard,” Chambers said to Scott through a split lip. His left eye had already swelled and a painful bruise marked his right cheek. “You’ll never work in this town again. I promise you that.” Carey held a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.

  Still breathing heavily, the red haze slowly dissipating from Scott’s eyes, he said, “That’s no threat to me, Chambers. If I remember my late-night movie facts correctly, this is the last movie you’ll ever make.”

  “What?” Chambers asked.

  Scott didn’t answer. He left the set and headed straight to his trailer.

  * * * * *

  The shower felt great. Scott let the water pour over his neck and back not worried about saving any of it. In this day there was no drought, no water saving devices, no low-flush toilets. He loved the feel of a torrent of water massaging his now stiff neck, shoulders and back.

  The soreness felt good. He could focus on that instead of his life with or without Maggie. He stretched his shoulders, rolled his head to loosen the kinks in his neck and finally turned off the shower. After drying off he wrapped the thin white towel around his middle and sank to the sofa with a glass of cold tap water. He’d had to break off a chunk of the ice from the icebox to put it in the glass, but the water in 1925 tasted a whole lot better than tap water in his time.

  His acting career was over, he was sure of it. Sid Goodman wouldn’t put up with anymore interference with his biggest money-making star. Oh, Scott remembered that Goodman wanted to get rid of Chambers, but he knew that too much money had been sunk into the picture and the studio had to finish it. Plus, they were almost done anyway. Scott had two or three more scenes with Chambers but knew he wouldn’t be doing them.

  They’d just have to finish the movie without him, he thought, and that was fine with him.

  The knock came sooner than he expected. He opened the door a crack and saw Selma Benning standing on the steps with a frown on her face.

  “I know,” Scott said. “Goodman wants to see me. I’ll be right there.” Selma had opened her mouth to speak but Scott closed the door before she could say a word. He heard a light laugh just as the door clicked shut.

  Scott donned the clothes he had worn when he’d appeared in 1925. The soft jeans, T-shirt and cable-knit sweater reminded him of home and where he belonged. He figured that if he was going to be fired he’d at least be able to walk out of the studio wearing the items that he’d shown up with. He stuffed his BlackBerry in his pants pocket and left the trailer without a backward look.

  When he entered Goodman’s office the previous judges were there. Matt Gant, Jonas Smith and Izzy Mayer stood behind Goodman. Maggie, Chambers and Westerly sat in chairs in front of the desk. Scott stopped in the doorway and surveyed the group. Gant, Smith and Mayer stared at him. Maggie looked as if she’d been crying, her eyes were red and swollen. He wanted to hug her, to tell her everything would be fine, but Chambers and Westerly glared at him and then at each other.

  Goodman coughed. “Well, we’re nearing the end of filming The Gunslinger’s Wife and all hell has broken loose.” Goodman pounded his beefy fists on his desk. “I have a full account of what happened, plus it’s on film. I’ll look at that later, but right now we have a problem.” Goodman stared at each person in the room. Scott saw Maggie shrink into the chair a little and moved to stand behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders to support her, but mostly because he craved the physical contact with her.

  His heart calmed a bit, then he massaged her shoulders for a minute. “Maggie didn’t have anything to do with this problem, Mr. Goodman,” Scott said. “Let her go and the rest of us can discuss the film.”

  “I’m not discussing anything with that—interloper in the room!” Chambers bellowed.

  “No one’s leaving this room until we’ve come to a solution,” snapped Goodman. He
stared at every man and woman and said, “We are finishing this movie with ALL of the principal actors. That means, Carey, that you will finish your scenes with Forrester.”

  “I will not!” shouted Chambers. “I refuse—”

  “You can’t refuse a thing, Carey,” Gant, the lawyer said. “You have a signed contract that says you’ll finish the film.” Gant patted the folder of papers he held in his lap.

  “Can the goddamned contract,” yelled Chambers. “He goes, or I go.” Chambers stood to leave the room.

  “Stop right where you are, Carey,” Goodman said in a deadly quiet voice. “This meeting isn’t over.”

  From the looks on everyone’s faces Scott knew they’d never heard that tone of voice from Sid Goodman before. He had a reputation for being a nice studio executive, if a tough one. He could see now where that had come from. No one moved in the room.

  “You’ve outlived your fame in this town, Chambers,” Goodman stated. “Everyone knows you’re a drunk and they will hear about the trouble on this set soon enough.”

  Chambers sucked in a harsh breath.

  “Your contract ends with this picture. You are legally bound to finish it as are Forrester, Cummings and Ingram. They will be in the scenes with you. You will show up on time and not hungover or drunk. If you even touch a bottle of liquor before this film’s finished, I’ll alert the police. You’ll be arrested and sued. And I’m letting you know right now, Jonas Smith, on my orders, will put out a full page ad in Variety Magazine about your behavior during this film. You’ll never work in Hollywood again if you don’t straighten up. You hear me?”

  No one spoke. All eyes were on Carey Chambers. His face had mottled to a dark red. As Scott watched, the red drained away and left a dull gray color. Chambers’ eyes bulged with the effort not to speak. His fists were bunched next to his sides and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

  Scott expected the explosion any second.

  But it didn’t come. Chambers pulled himself upright. He glared at every person in the room and said through clenched teeth, “I will finish this damned film. I’ll never work with any of you again. You’ll see. When it gets out how you’ve treated me, the biggest star around, no one, and I mean no one, will ever work with any of you again.”

  Nobody said a word as Chambers stormed out of the office. Only Scott knew that Chambers was wrong. He knew from Turner Classic Movies in 2005 that Carey Chambers had never worked another day in his life after The Gunslinger’s Wife.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the next afternoon Scott was ready to punch Chambers again. They had just finished filming the court scene where Scott’s character, Alex, tried to get the ranch back from Chambers’ character, William. It took thirty-five takes. Chambers kept stepping out of the camera shot or standing on a mark that didn’t exist so that Scott was out of the camera’s range. Or he’d move a prop to the wrong spot when no one was looking. When either character went to get it, sit on it, lean on it or point to it, the prop wouldn’t be there and the scene would have to be shot again.

  The thing that infuriated Scott was that Chambers ruined the takes on purpose. He hadn’t been drinking since the meeting the day before with Sid Goodman. Scott figured he was nasty and difficult because he desperately needed a drink.

  “That’s a wrap for the shoot, folks,” a weary Damon Westerly said. “Tomorrow we’ll shoot scenes fifty-four, sixty-three and forty. “Be ready. Know your script and in particular your actions.” Westerly rose from his director’s chair. “Chambers, I need to speak with you in private.”

  Scott saw the disgruntled look on Carey’s face and grinned. The actor glanced at Scott so he tipped an imaginary hat to Carey and left the studio with a small laugh. The man was a total idiot. Scott knew that Damon was going to ream him a new one for screwing with the set and wished he could be there to hear what was said.

  Be that as it may, he had a date with Maggie tonight. They were going out to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. It was small and new, but El Cholo had the reputation for the best green corn tamales in town. He promised himself he wouldn’t talk about living arrangements, marriage or centuries. Sid Goodman wanted them to be seen in public and Scott had no problem with that order. In fact, the more he could see of Hollywood in its Glamour Age, the more he could take back home with him to 2005.

  Scott wanted to go home. He didn’t fit in here. He didn’t like being a movie star. Oh, it was easy work compared to being a firefighter, but he wanted what he knew. His heart beat long and slow at the thought that Maggie might decide to stay here. And why shouldn’t she? This was her time. Her home. She had her mother now, too.

  Night fell and stars twinkled in the sky. A shooting star streaked across the darkness leaving a rainbow tail in its wake. The beautiful sight stirred a longing in Scott. He stared for a minute then made a wish, stupid as that seemed. “Dear God. Please show me the way to have Maggie Ingram as my wife for the rest of my life. Please show me what it’ll take to have Maggie decide she wants to live with me in my time. I don’t think I can live in her time and I don’t want to live without her. Amen.”

  Scott looked around to see if anyone had heard him but no one was there. He heaved a sigh and strode to his trailer to get ready for their date that evening.

  The suit fitted him perfectly, thanks to the people in wardrobe who’d tailored it as soon as he’d bought it. Scott had laughed when he’d spent the twelve dollars and fifty cents it cost to purchase the navy blue suit right after New Year’s Eve. He’d splurged on two one dollar and fifty cent shirts and one pair of two dollar and ninety-five cent shoes.

  He and Maggie had been out twice before since Sid Goodman’s pronouncement that he escort her around town, but this was the first time that they’d be out in public since his big revelation about his past and future.

  He drove to her apartment in a borrowed Rolls-Royce. God, he could get used to this car. Too bad in his day it’d be too expensive to pay for the gas for a guzzler like this. But with gas running a whopping eighteen and a half cents a gallon right now Scott could enjoy driving the behemoth to his heart’s content.

  Maggie opened the door to her apartment before he knocked. “Hello.”

  Scott sucked in a breath. “You are stunning.” He leaned forward to kiss her, but she glanced around him then pulled him into the apartment. “Good thing Mother’s out shopping.” Before the door closed fully behind them Scott placed one of his hands on each side of her face and leaned forward. He felt the pulse in the side of her neck race, saw her beautiful blue eyes widen and dipped his head when her mouth parted.

  Scott groaned. “My, God, Maggie. You turn me inside out.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her. An instant rush of desire coursed through him. He pulled her closer and plunged his tongue into her mouth. Maggie met him thrust for thrust. She bucked her hips against Scott and he pulled her closer.

  The kiss intensified. One hand trailed down her long, smooth neck, across the tops of her breasts and dipped into the cleavage shown to its best advantage by the sexy halter-style neckline. The other hand cradled her head so that the kiss would never end.

  Scott pulled back for a moment to catch his breath. He leaned his forehead next to Maggie’s while he trailed a finger around her earlobe. “God, that dress is liquid fire. You are your most beautiful and sexy in red.”

  Maggie laughed. “If you keep this up no one will see me in red.” She kissed the tip of his nose.

  “If I keep this up we will end up in bed together.”

  “I thought that was the idea,” Maggie purred.

  “Sweetheart, you whisper like that to me again and I’ll be on my knees begging you before you know it.” Scott bent down to his knees and stared up at Maggie. “Well, now that I’m here there’s something I’d like to say.”

  Maggie stiffened. She tried to pull her hand away from Scott but he tightened his grip. “Please. Let’s just go to dinner.”

  Scott saw the desperate look on Maggie’s face. He
stood up. This wasn’t going to be the time for a proposal after all. He mentally kicked himself. Hadn’t he promised he wouldn’t talk marriage just an hour earlier? “Okay, love. I’ll wait.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, kissed her temple and said, “Our reservation is waiting.” As he led her out of her apartment Scott swore to himself that before he left this century he’d give Maggie a proper, romantic proposal one of these days.

  * * * * *

  The room was dark and Spanish in style. Low ceilings, curved archways and cream walls with vines and flowers painted on them housed dark, wooden, square tables with white table cloths, silverware, and glasses filled with gold, white, brown and yellow liquids. The women wore every type of dress from the flapper style of the twenties to more formal, long dresses. Colors ranged from cream to black, green, magenta, royal blue and even pale yellow. The colors were muted from the cloud of cigarette smoke that hung just below the ceiling. Scott had forgotten that smoking was socially acceptable until they’d entered The Coconut Grove on New Year’s Eve. The smell of the unfiltered cigarettes burned his throat, but he knew there wasn’t anyplace he could go that wouldn’t have smoking in this day and age.

  Once they’d been seated the waiter put glasses of water on the table. They ordered the green corn tamales, chicken enchiladas, rice and beans. After the waiter finished delivering their plates he bowed and left with a, “Please enjoy your meal.”

  The corn crust on the tamales was sweet and delicious. The cheddar cheese and roasted chilies added a slight tartness and blended perfectly. He had just finished his last bite when Maggie looked up and said, “Oh no.”

  “What?”

  “Carey Chambers.”

  “Great.” Scott turned in his chair and saw the actor striding toward their table. The man had a glass in his hand but didn’t swerve or look drunk. “I’ll pay the check and we can leave.” Scott fished in his pocket for his money clip and pulled out a twenty dollar bill knowing that it would more than cover the meal and the tip. “Come on.” He placed his hand at the small of Maggie’s back and they turned to leave.