Of Damsels & Dragons

  ~*~

  Amy adjusted her hold on the bulky script as she attempted to turn the page. She looked at her watch in between juggles and moaned. The bus was late. I’m going to miss the transfer, and then I’ll have to walk. Amy sighed with a slight shrug of her shoulders. Oh well. More time to read and study. She didn’t have that many lines to memorize, but one scene had her very nervous.

  There was a honk. Amy looked up. “Hi, Mark.”

  “So you’re what a public trans person looks like,” he said with a charming smile as he draped his arm across the back of the Corvette seat. “I always wondered.”

  Amy’s lips twitched. “Nothing glamorous, I hate to say. Just normal people who don’t like hassling with traffic.”

  “But that’s the best part.”

  Amy chuckled and motioned for the street. “Help yourself.”

  Mark’s lips lifted upward in a slight smirk. “So, can I offer you a ride?”

  “That’s all right.” She lifted up the script. “I’m using the time to study.”

  Mark laughed. “You are a brown-noser, aren’t you?”

  “No. I just like knowing my lines beforehand. A good habit, I say.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about good habits.” Mark checked the traffic in his rearview mirror. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride? Last chance.”

  “Positive. Thanks for asking, but I’ll take the bus.”

  “Suit yourself. See ya later.” He gave a wave moments before peeling away.

  Amy changed her focus back to the script. She stopped reading when a shadow fell over the words. “You’re blocking my light.”

  The shadow moved. “Miss Burke, what are you doing?”

  Amy blinked and looked up. She smiled. “Hello, Mr. Harrison.” He didn’t return the greeting, and the stern expression on his aristocratic face didn’t lessen. Amy let it slide without a feather ruffled. Instead, she gestured to the post that said ‘bus stop’. “I’m studying while waiting for my ride.” Amy motioned to the space on the bench beside her. “There’s plenty of room if you care to have a seat.”

  “No. Thank you.” He studied her. Amy didn’t look away. “Do you not have an auto?”

  “Oh sure I do,” she said as she closed the script. “I just don’t like fighting with traffic and getting yelled at and cursed at and flipped off.” Amy shook her head with a continual smile. “Too much stress in daily life as it is. I take the bus and use the time to read, or write letters to my family, or just enjoy the peace.”

  “I see.” Mr. Harrison looked away as he adjusted his beige, calf-hide trench coat over his arm. A moment later an attendant of the studios drove up in a cream-colored antique roadster.

  Amy whistled. “Lovely. I bet she drives wonderfully smooth.”

  “I seldom have the opportunity to drive her beyond 10 miles per hour, but she handles nicely enough.”

  Amy arched an eyebrow at the surprisingly civil conversation shared. She decided to continue as much as possible. “My dad had one similar, but I think his was American. Yours is English, right?”

  Mr. Harrison raised his gaze from his trench coat and moved it to hers. “Correct.”

  Amy nodded. “A lot of difference. American roadsters have their plusses, but those English ones…” Amy shook her head. “Pieces of art.”

  Mr. Harrison’s eyebrow twitched as he accepted the keys from the attendant. “Thank you.” He changed his attention back to Amy, regarding her as he seemed to debate with himself a possibility.

  Amy changed her gaze to her lap and opened her script again, not wanting him to feel obligated when she would have been happy either riding the bus or in his lovely roadster. “Have fun on your drive, Mr. Harrison. Hopefully traffic isn’t too bad.”

  He remained silent for a moment more before moving toward his roadster with a civil “Good day, Miss Burke.”

  Amy watched him out of the corner of her eye until he drove away. Then she lifted her head with a slight smile as she watched the car fade into the traffic. “Good day, Mr. Harrison.”

  .: Three :.

  Adventurous Irresponsibility

  “Amy--”

  “No.”

  Renee wilted into the seat cushion beside Amy on the couch. Amy read her script while making notations in the margins between occasional sips of coffee. She adjusted her feet under her, clothed as she was in her simple flannel loungers and ‘Illinois’ midriff T-shirt of white.

  “Come on. It’s a movie!”

  “That’s what you said last time. I don’t know what you classify as a movie, but sexual situations every five minutes surrounded by a plot that can barely be called that is not what I call a movie.”

  Renee crossed her arms with a deep breath. “You’ve been studying that script all morning, Aims. Don’t you want to get out and do something?”

  Amy set aside her coffee mug onto the felt-bottomed brass coaster on the antique coffee table. “Not until I know I have it down pat. Then, and only then, I might step out to catch the bus to the studio.”

  Renee sat up. “Can I go?”

  “No.”

  Renee sat back again. “You have all the fun,” she pouted.

  “I can’t help that. The rules of the studio prohibit any visitors,” Amy said absently as she turned the page of the script. “Apparently Mr. Harrison wants this movie to be top-secret.”

  “I know, I know. Geez. What a tight ass.”

  Amy frowned, raising her eyes long enough to look over at her roommate. “He is not a ‘tight ass’, Renee. He takes his job seriously, is all. Do you have any idea how stressful it is to be Executive Producer of a sci-fi/fantasy film?”

  Renee scoffed. “Yeah? Well how hard can it be to smile once in a while?”

  Amy arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been looking at those pictures on the gossip mags again, haven’t you?”

  Renee looked away, adjusting her crossed arms. “So what if I have?”

  Amy sighed, turning her focus back to her script. “I’m not even going to honor this conversation with a comeback. You know how I feel about those columns.”

  Renee sent Amy a sidelong glance. “Did you know he always has an affair with the heroine?”

  Amy’s throat tightened, and her eyes lost focus on the page. Then she blinked and purposefully made a note of something nonsensical in the margin.

  Renee adjusted her position on the couch, sitting tailor-style to face Amy. “His last girlfriend, Fiona?, was the heroine in his most recent Broadway performance ‘Legaia’... or something. Anyway, the only thing was, she actually married the guy she’d been engaged to during their whole fling.”

  Amy turned the page, even though she couldn’t remember anything that had happened in the scene. “Renee...” she warned.

  “And when he played the phantom in ‘Phantom of the Opera’? Guess who played opposite? Vanessa Heron. And guess who got intimately involved during its run? Mr. Harrison and Ms. Heron. Only then Mark Frasier came on the scene – fresh from Hollywood and labeled the ‘sexiest man on film’ – and broke them up. I guess action/adventure heroes are more attractive to stars than Broadway names.”

  “I’m not listening,” Amy said in a sing-song voice.

  “Fine. Don’t listen. Just remember that each and every movie or musical or drama he’s been in, he’s gotten involved with the heroine only to break it off once the rehearsals end, or the run peters out, or the lady gets too clingy.”

  Amy slapped the script closed, finally raising her eyes to meet her roommates’ gaze. “So what, Renee?”

  Renee gave a one-shoulder shrug. “So, Miss Prude and Morality, I wanted to give you a heads up. He likes his women, sure, but he likes them disposable.”

  Amy frowned with a flash of temper as she stood. “Don’t worry about me, Renee,” she snapped. “I’ve got both feet firmly planted on the ground.” She strode to her room and slammed the door closed.

  Renee arched an eyebrow. “Sure,” she called, “but I know you,
Aims. You go for these high-culture English types with their fancy accents and their manners and charm. He’ll have you in his sheets in less than a week.” Renee smirked when she heard a crash and a slam within Amy’s bedroom. “Just go with it. You only live once. Besides, it’ll give you something to talk about when you go home.”

  Amy stormed from her room dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, script in hand, purse over shoulder, scowl on face, and daggers in eyes as they glared at Renee. “I’m going out.”

  “Kind of figured you would. Chicken. Bock bock bacaw.”

  Amy slammed the front door shut. “Oooo,” she growled as she strode to the elevator. “Gossip columns! Not giving them a bit of privacy or a shadow of a doubt. Just spillage of sop and exaggeration of details we don’t need to know!”

  The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and Amy stalked inside to press the button with a little more force than necessary. The elevator closed and headed down from the fourth floor. Amy adjusted her hold on the script, glaring down at it while wishing it could be the face of the latest gossip columnist who’d bashed a man that worked hard and didn’t get any breaks because of it.

  “Ooo,” she growled again. “I’d like to ring your neck!” And she gave the script a vigorous shake. Her temper sparked hotter at the remembered comment-- “Between his sheets in a week?!” Amy scoffed.

  Amy pressed her lips together, all the while wishing she could have brought herself to slap Renee hard across the face. But Renee had been her friend for years, hence the reason they were both so open and honest with each other.

  The elevator dinged and opened its doors, ignoring her continued fumes and rants and raves as she strode forward. She grunted a returned greeting to the desk clerk/security guard and then gave a tight-lipped nod to the doorman as he offered her a genuine “Good afternoon, Miss Burke. Lovely day.”

  It was a lovely day, sun shining and pigeons flying while dropping their goods on unsuspecting statues and benches and the occasional car.

  Amy grabbed her temper before it had a chance to bolt away from her and took in a deep breath. She released it slowly as she acknowledged the lovely day, the smiling doorman, the pretty trees outside her apartment building’s front door, and the somewhat peaceful Sunday afternoon. She gathered another breath and then sent the doorman another attempt at a greeting. This time she smiled.

  “Yes, it is a lovely day, Oliver. Thank you for reminding me.”

  “Having a bad day, Miss Burke?” Oliver asked.

  Amy grimaced. “A little.”

  Oliver smiled. “Maybe you should stop by the park for a little R & R. Helps me every time. It’s a nice walk, too.”

  Amy looked down at her script. “I think that’s a good idea.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Is there a coffee shop on the way. I think I need a triple.”

  Oliver laughed. “Yes, there is. Red tent. Mobile cart. Tell Randy that Ollie sent you. He’ll give you a free coffee cake.”

  Amy smiled. “Thank you, Oliver. I appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing, Miss Burke. Enjoy your walk.”

  Amy set off at an easy pace, occasionally taking the time to look at the window dressings and displays in the shop windows on her way. She shook her head with another deep breath. I didn’t need to know that. She kicked at a pebble and adjusted her hold on the script. People had faults, Amy knew that, but she didn’t believe they should be everyone else’s business. Besides, now I’ll be suspicious and untrusting, not giving him the chance he needs to be who and what he is. I’ll question every little thing he does or says. Amy sighed again. Darn it, Renee. You and those gossip columns... and calling me a prude? Sheesh. That’s hitting below the belt. I can’t help it if I have certain ideas on things.

  Amy wrinkled her nose as she lifted her gaze-- she halted in shock. Sir Garret Harrison was purchasing coffee at the previously mentioned red-tented mobile cart. He paid for his coffee and then turned away, looking both ways before hurrying across the street to the park. Amy blinked and began absently gnawing her lip. She tucked a long stray lock of brunette hair behind her ear before hesitantly moving forward to the mobile cart for her promised triple mocha.

  She cleared her throat and dug her coin purse from her little wallet strapped across her. “May I have a triple vanilla mocha. No whipped cream. Whole milk.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thank you.” Amy paid for the coffee, left a tip, and then stepped slightly away to wait.

  Amy continued to gnaw her lip as she looked toward the park. She tapped her foot. I was headed that way anyway. Why should I not go just because I saw him head over that way, too? Amy shook her head and turned back to the mobile coffee-cart. He’ll be suspicious, thinking I’m stalking him or something. Amy wrinkled her nose. It isn’t my problem what he thinks. I’m trying to get some peace and quiet so that I can study my script and be ready for shooting my scenes.

  Amy gave a curt nod, accepted the coffee from the vender while remembering she was supposed to have told him ‘Ollie’ sent her, and then shrugged it off as she proceeded to the crosswalk to head to the park. She pushed aside all plans and plots and reasons and excuses to tell him in case their paths did cross, and resigned herself to simply enjoying the scenery and the peace and quiet—’he’ll have you in his sheets in less than a week’. Amy frowned and pressed her lips together just as the signal turned to ‘WALK’.

  “Oh for pete’s sake,” Amy murmured as she headed across. She wasn’t a wide-eyed, star-struck newbie to the star-studded scene.

  Amy adjusted her hand hold on her coffee and her script as she chose a trail into the deeper section of the park. Then, when her arms began complaining that she carried too much, she made her way to the side and set herself down very carefully on the grass. Renee, you did it on purpose. You knew I would dwell on it, thereby ruining my study time and giving you a bit of revenge for ignoring you. Amy pressed her lips together as she nestled her coffee in the lush grass beside her. She opened up the script. Renee did things like that all the time just because she knew she could. It was a mind game she liked to play. Push the right button and see the reactions fly. She’s sick, I tell you. Absolutely sick.

  Amy sighed with a slight shake of her head. “And I stepped into it with all the grace of an elephant,” she mumbled.

  “Miss Burke?”

  Amy looked up at the shocked tone of the question. She blinked, and then she remembered seeing Mr. Harrison come this way. He looked quite normal in his wrinkle-free Dockers and deep red Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, his long white hair neatly combed and occasionally tickled by the very slight breeze. Holding his coffee in one hand and a leather-bound volume of Shakespeare’s Hamlet made him look anything but a villain.

  Amy offered him a smile. “Hello, Mr. Harrison. Do you escape here too?” ‘He’ll have you in his sheets—’ Amy pushed the thought away, hiding it in the corner of her mind and stuffing a box over it.

  Mr. Harrison changed his gaze to the leather-bound book without a twinkle in his eye or a twitch to his lips. “‘Escape’ is a bit dramatic.”

  “Yes, well I can only call the horse by its name,” Amy responded, attempting to draw out his sense of humor. “I don’t blame you at all for trying to hide from everyone and everything. In fact, I’m doing a bit of hiding myself.” She lifted her coffee with a twitch of her lips. “My trusty triple mocha my only conspirator.”

  To that Mr. Harrison surrendered a slight smile. “Ah. Trustworthy friends, our coffee cups and sippy lids.”

  Amy’s smile broadened. The idea of Sir Garret Harrison saying ‘sippy lid’ nearly did her in with laughter. She took a careful sip of the steaming coffee as she watched him examine the leather-bound book. Amy couldn’t tell if he wanted to retreat or not. Up to that point, it seemed he stormed off if he needed to be somewhere. Maybe he’s waiting for the invitation?

  Amy lowered her gaze as she nestled her coffee cup back into the grass. “I have grass here, there, and everywhere if you’re still lo
oking for a place to enjoy your book.” She looked up to catch his gaze. “I promise I don’t mumble or talk while I study,” Amy told him with a small smile.

  “While the invitation is appreciated,” Mr. Harrison said carefully, “I’m afraid I received a call from the director a moment ago and must return to the set.”

  “Ohhh. You want to escape but take the cell phone in case of an emergency.” Amy gave a slight nod. “Right.”

  Mr. Harrison’s lips twitched again. “Yes, well...”

  “The duties of an exec are never over,” Amy finished for him, and then she wrinkled her nose at him. “Don’t you feel special?”

  Mr. Harrison actually chuckled. “Again. Thank you for the invitation.”

  Amy smiled up at him, freeing her coffee from the grass to give him a fellow coffee-lover salute. “You’re welcome, Mr. Harrison. Have a pleasant day. And I hope those ‘emergencies’ settle down to give you a free moment to enjoy Hamlet the way Shakespeare intended.”

  “Thank you, Miss Burke.”

  Amy smiled her response before lowering her gaze back to her script. When she didn’t hear the expected sounds of his Italian leather loafers on the cobble walk, she raised her eyes. Mr. Harrison continued to stand there, but this time he had gone to the chore of balancing his coffee and Hamlet in one hand while dialing a number on his cell phone with the other. Amy arched an eyebrow.

  “Harrison here. Regarding the item discussed, use your judgment...” Mr. Harrison’s expression darkened to annoyance. “If I am required to hold your hand through each and every decision regarding this movie, Max, then I shall find another gentleman to do the job... I recall quite clearly what I said the other day thank you, Max. Your question, however, is not within the realm of my attention. Handle it.”

  Mr. Harrison pushed the appropriate button to disconnect the phone and then tucked the itty-bitty thing into the pocket of his ‘trousers’.

  Amy, ever the teasing imp, began to softly applaud. “Congratulations, Mr. Harrison. You have taken the first step in controlling your own life. What do you plan to do next?”

  Mr. Harrison stepped forward and sat beside Amy, much to her surprise. “Stain my trousers,” he said in a tight voice.

  Amy leaned slightly back to regard his frowning face with wide-eyed amazement only partially real. “Well aren’t we going all the way in the realm of adventurous irresponsibility?”

  Mr. Harrison actually positioned himself tailor-style before nestling his coffee cup into the grass in front of him with a curt nod. Then he opened Hamlet to the ribbon-marked page. “Dash it all,” he remarked sharply, “I deserve a moment to breathe.”

  Amy chuckled and then said “Yes, you do” as she changed her gaze back to her script.