Thrill

  “Did you see him this morning?”

  “He dropped by my trailer, an’ I directed him to the other hairdresser.” She rolled her eyes. “I must be gettin’ soft in the head—the man’s a freakin’ stud!”

  “Really?” Lara said. Actors didn’t do anything for her. They were too self-involved and needy, always concerned about themselves first.

  “Kyle’s gonna shit a brick when he sees him,” Roxy said with a manic giggle. “Shit a freakin’ brick!”

  “He’s supposed to be attractive,” Lara explained, sitting down. “Why would my character let him pick her up if he wasn’t?”

  “There’s attractive, then there’s major babe,” Roxy said knowingly, licking her glossy lips. “This one’s m.b. I’m tellin’ you, Kyle ain’t gonna like it.”

  Half an hour later, Lara strolled over to the set, where Miles greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “Gorgeous as ever, my darling.”

  She looked around. Kyle was nowhere in sight.

  “Our other star is on his way,” Miles said, reading her thoughts. “He’s having a slight hair problem today. As soon as he arrives, we’ll rehearse.”

  “Where’s the actor playing Jeff?”

  “Under that swarm of women over there.”

  Lara glanced across the set. “Everyone’s talking about him. Who is he?”

  “Didn’t think he’d cause this much of a commotion,” Miles said, snapping his fingers at Jane. “Bring Joey over. Miss Ivory would like to meet him.”

  • •

  When Jane tapped him on the shoulder and told him the director wanted to see him, Joey was on his feet in a flash.

  Lara watched as he approached. For a second she felt a jolt of pure sexual hunger—the kind of feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Roxy was right; this was one good-looking guy.

  Cassie, hovering somewhere behind her chair, muttered an awed, “Oh, my! Time to go on a diet!”

  Lara remained cool, checking him out as he drew nearer.

  Joey took one look at Lara Ivory and was overcome by her startling beauty. She was exquisite—from her honey-blond hair, falling softly around her smooth shoulders, to her beautiful face and incredible body. He was immediately aroused, something that never happened to him unless he wanted it to.

  Miles stepped between them. “Joey, say hello to Lara Ivory. I’m sure you’ve seen her in many movies.”

  Lara stood up and extended her hand. Joey took it in his. An electric shock went right through him as he stared into her direct green eyes. “It . . . it’s a privilege to be workin’ with you today,” he managed.

  She smiled, a soft, generous smile capable of driving a man totally crazy. “Thank you,” she said.

  “While we’re waiting for Kyle to put in an appearance,” Miles said, oblivious to the sexual tension suddenly steaming up the set, “let’s run your dialogue.”

  “Good idea,” Lara agreed.

  Joey continued to stare, unable to take his eyes off her. She was mesmerizing.

  In the scene he was sitting at the bar, while she and Kyle were at a table exchanging insults, which culminated in Kyle’s abrupt exit.

  Joey began to read from his script—even though he’d learned his dialogue and was word perfect.

  “I’ve been watching you,” he said, in character as Jeff. A pause. “Was that your husband who walked out?”

  “He’s not my husband,” Lara replied, suitably flippant.

  “Then . . . I guess you’re free to dance with me.”

  A coquettish tilt of her head. “Why would I do that?”

  “ ’Cause I think it’s what you want to do.”

  At that point in the script she was supposed to get up and head for the dance floor with him. It was a short scene, but their chemistry together was undeniable.

  They read the scene through twice, and were about to do it a third time, when Kyle appeared, striding onto the set like the movie star he was.

  Miles said, “Kyle, meet Joey Lorenzo—he’s playing Jeff.”

  Kyle nodded curtly, barely acknowledging him. “Let’s go,” he said to Miles, cracking his knuckles. “I’m ready to rock ’n’ roll.”

  “Fine with me,” Miles said. “We’ll start with you and Lara at the table. Joey, for the master you’ll be at the bar.”

  They all moved in front of the camera, Lara and Kyle in the foreground, Joey at the bar.

  “Okay, everyone,” the first A.D. shouted, “we’re going for a rehearsal. Let’s have some quiet.”

  Kyle and Lara rehearsed their scene several times before Miles was satisfied. Then the makeup and hair people ran in, powdering and primping the two stars. Finally they were ready to shoot.

  Kyle was not one-take Charlie. They went through nine takes before Miles was satisfied and yelled a terse, “Cut! Okay, print it!”

  Joey had nothing to do except sit at the bar watching them. He was hot and pissed off, with a hard-on against Kyle Carson, who’d treated him like he was a lowly extra. Big movie star asshole. Who exactly did he think he was?

  Lara Ivory had his attention full time. Ms. Ivory, he decided, was too fucking beautiful for her own good.

  At the lunch break, Trinee commandeered him. “Let’s go,” she said cheerfully. “I’m accompanying you to the lunch truck, protectin’ you from the women.”

  “What’re you talkin’ about?” he asked, like he hadn’t noticed that every female on the set was trying to get close to him.

  “I’m with you, man,” Trinee announced, appointing herself best friend. “We engaged people gotta stick together.”

  He grinned and kept watching Lara as Miles took her arm and they left the set together.

  Was she sleeping with the director? he wondered.

  No, she had too much class for that.

  “Where’s Barbara Westerberg?” he asked Trinee, thinking it was about time he put his charm to good use. “Haven’t seen her around.”

  “She doesn’t get to the set until the afternoon,” Trinee said. “Stays about an hour, then leaves. That’s what producers do, unless they’re the line producer. Then they’re on your ass the whole time.”

  “How long you been in this business?”

  “Two years,” Trinee answered proudly. “I’m learning. One of these days I’m gonna be a producer.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Why not? It’s about time. How many Hispanic female producers you see around? Anyway—my fiancé says I can.” She giggled. “I’ll be a producer, and he’ll be world heavyweight champion. What you think?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “We’d better put an old T-shirt on you,” she said. “Just in case you ruin your clothes over lunch.”

  He followed her to the wardrobe trailer, where Eric was stretched out on the floor, engaging in vigorous push-ups. “Oh!” Eric exclaimed. “It’s the engaged couple!”

  “Veree funny,” Trinee said, stepping over him.

  “Is there a gym around here?” Joey asked. He needed to work out, keep himself in prime physical shape.

  “Yes, and it’s Kyle’s,” Eric said. “Mr. Carson has his own personal gym trailer. I’m sure he’ll let you use it. Not!”

  “He seems like a nice enough guy,” Joey said carefully.

  “Just you wait,” Eric said, pursing his lips. “Mr. Americana is a snake in the ass.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “How many lines do you have?” Eric asked, getting up off the floor.

  “Not that many.”

  “You’ll end up with one line and a knockout punch,” Eric said knowingly. “That’s if you’re lucky.”

  Joey’s stomach knotted up. It was shit being nobody. He should be the star. He should have everything Kyle Carson had.

  “Hey,” he said easily. “Doesn’t bother me.”

  Trinee tossed him an old denim shirt. He took off his jacket and shirt and put it on.

  She hung his movie clothes on a hanger. “You coming for
lunch, Eric?” she asked.

  “Wouldn’t miss the maddening crowds,” Eric said, reaching for a pink sweater to throw on over his Hawaiian shorts.

  • •

  They watched the dailies in Barbara Westerberg’s trailer. Lara studied her performance, noting every move. The streaks in her hair worked perfectly. She made a mental note to congratulate Roxy.

  Kyle had genuine screen magic, and they were definitely a hot couple, which pleased her. This would be an easy shoot, and the result was sure to equal excellent box office. She needed a light, frothy comedy to counterbalance the more serious roles she’d been playing lately.

  “I’m happy,” Miles said, as Barbara clicked off the VCR. “Everyone else satisfied?”

  “No criticism,” Barbara said. “Nice hair, Lara.”

  “How about me?” Kyle said, glaring a little.

  “Kyle, you know you’re the best-looking man on the screen today,” Barbara said, feeding his ferocious ego. “You put Kevin Costner and Michael Douglas to shame.”

  “Michael Douglas!” Kyle exploded. “He’s fifteen years older than me.”

  “And looks it,” Barbara assured him.

  “I’m off to grab a quick bite of lunch,” Lara said, anxious to get out of Kyle’s way.

  “I’ll come with you,” Miles said, taking her arm.

  They left the trailer together. “I know you think Kyle’s an asshole,” Miles said. “But you have to admit the two of you are pretty damn hot together.”

  “Ah . . . movie magic,” Lara said, laughing softly. “Fools ’em every time.”

  “You’ve always had movie magic,” Miles said admiringly. “Even in our first film together. You were so young and innocent and—”

  “And playing a hooker,” she interrupted matter-of-factly. “Every healthy American male’s fantasy. The sweet little whore who stops turning tricks for the right man.”

  “It worked for you, babe,” Miles said with a quick laugh. “Made you a star. Did the same for Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”

  “There’s nothing like a good hooker role to jump-start a career,” Lara said dryly.

  “That or a spread in Playboy,” Miles added. “Which, of course, you never did.”

  “No, Miles. Taking off my clothes for a bunch of horny guys to jerk off over is not my idea of a good time.”

  Cassie appeared as they approached the catering truck. “Can I get you anything, Lara?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied, noticing Joey Lorenzo sitting at a table, surrounded by women.

  Miles said, “I’ll have a bite in my trailer. Work calls.”

  Lara turned back to Cassie. “Same for me. Something light, maybe a salad.”

  “It’s done.”

  She took another look at Joey and his female entourage. He glanced up. Their eyes met for a few seconds. She smiled—that cool little smile she used to such good advantage. Then she turned and walked to her trailer.

  He was an engaged man. A flirtation was out of the question.

  CHAPTER

  11

  JOEY CAUGHT HER LOOKING AT him a few times, but that was about as near as he got to the delectable Ms. Ivory. He kept his distance, well aware she must be so used to men going ape shit over her that the only way he had a chance was to make her realize he was different.

  He sat at the bar playing background all day, waiting for them to reach his scene—which they never did on account of the fact that Kyle Carson was the slowest actor on two legs and seemed incapable of getting anything right.

  Trinee kept him company between shots, giving him a running commentary on everyone involved with the film. She’d warmed up considerably since he’d told her that he too was engaged.

  “Tell me about Lara Ivory,” he asked casually. “What’s she really like?”

  “Oh, everyone loves Lara,” Trinee replied. “She’s very popular. No big-star trips with that lady.” She shot him a quick glance. “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

  Joey nodded. “Who’s she sleeping with?”

  “How would I know?”

  “C’mon, Trinee, if she’s in bed with someone it must be all over the set.”

  “Word is she doesn’t do it with just anyone.”

  “How come?”

  “She’s particular.” Trinee yawned, bored with talking about Lara. “So,” she said, “your fiancée gonna visit us?”

  “She might,” Joey answered vaguely. “How about yours?”

  “Marek’s coming for the weekend,” Trinee said with a huge grin. “An’, man, this girl can’t wait!”

  • •

  That night Lara had a long phone conversation with Nikki. They spoke about Richard and his satisfaction with her performance and the way the editing was going on French Summer. Then they discussed The Dreamer, and Lara began telling Kyle Carson tales.

  Nikki started to laugh—she couldn’t get enough. “He sounds like the definitive Mister Big Star,” she said. “A true pain in the ass.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Lara responded. “And slow. The crew are calling him ten-take Kyle!” They both giggled. “How’s Summer doing?”

  “I can’t control her,” Nikki said. “All she cares about is parties, parties and more parties!”

  “It’s her age,” Lara assured her. “She fails to see you as a mother figure. After all, you’re only seventeen years older than her; she’s probably a little jealous.”

  “Nonsense,” Nikki said firmly. “Why would Summer be jealous of me? She’s gorgeous.”

  “So are you—plus you have personality, a great career and a well-known and respected husband.”

  “No,” Nikki said. “It’s not the jealousy thing. Girls Summer’s age think everyone’s a raving idiot, and that they’re the smartest person on the planet. I know I was like that, weren’t you?”

  “I don’t remember,” Lara said quickly.

  Nikki knew Lara didn’t like talking about her childhood; it obviously hadn’t been very happy. All she knew was that Lara’s parents had been killed in a car crash when she was very young, and that she’d been raised by various relatives. Once she had asked Richard what he knew about her.

  “Lara doesn’t get into her past,” he said. “Leave it alone.” So she had.

  “Anyway,” Lara continued. “Don’t worry about Summer; she’ll come around.”

  “I sure hope so,” Nikki said glumly. “I’m beginning to feel like nag of the year.”

  “I’ll read the script as soon as it gets here,” Lara promised.

  “Then call me at once. Can’t wait to get your reaction.”

  Lara put the phone down and wandered out onto the back deck, staring out into the darkness. She wanted to walk along the beach, but not by herself. The dark was too scary.

  Sometimes everything was too scary . . . especially when the memories came back to haunt her. The nightmare memories . . .

  • •

  “Scaredy cat!” Andy, her older brother, yelled in her face. “Skinny little scaredy cat!”

  “I’m not! I’m not!” Lara Ann responded.

  “Yes you are,” said Andy. He was eight and very handsome. When they weren’t fighting, Lara Ann worshiped him.

  “Mommy, Mommy—can I have another piece of chicken?” Lara Ann asked.

  “What, honey?” Ellen, her mother, seemed distracted as she moved around the kitchen.

  “More chicken, Mommy. It’s sooo yummy.”

  “Sorry, honey, I have to save some for your daddy.”

  “Why must we wait for him?” demanded Andy. “He’s always late.”

  “ ’Cause Mama says we have to,” Lara Ann said primly.

  “You shut up,” Andy said, sticking out his tongue behind his mother’s back.

  “No, you shut up,” Lara Ann retorted, red in the face. “Mama’s always right—aren’t you, Mama?”

  “Hush, both of you,” Ellen said, brushing back a loose strand of hair. She was an exquisitely pretty woman, with wide-set hazel ey
es and natural blond hair that fell in soft waves below her shoulders.

  Lara Ann gazed up at her mother and sighed wistfully. “I wanna be just like you one day, Mommy. You’re sooo pretty.”

  “Thank you, darling,” Ellen said, removing a carton of chocolate ice cream from the freezer. “You’re pretty too.”

  “No she’s not,” taunted Andy. “She’s a stupid, dumb girl.”

  “Can I be a famous artist when I grow up, Mama?” Lara Ann asked, ignoring him. She’d been thinking about school and all the fun she’d had in painting class. “Can I?”

  “You can be whatever you want, my sweet,” Ellen answered, gently touching her daughter’s cheek.

  “I know what you can be,” sneered Andy. “You can be the ugliest girl on the block.”

  “I’ve told you once, Andy,” Ellen said crossly, “and I’m not telling you again. Do not be mean to your little sister.”

  “I’m not mean,” Lara Ann said proudly. “I’m nice.”

  “You’re mean, too,” Andy retorted. “Mean! Mean! Mean!”

  “No. I’m. Not.”

  “Yes. You. Are.”

  “Will you two behave yourselves,” Ellen exclaimed. “I’m not in the mood today.”

  “Can I watch Charlie’s Angels, please, Mama?” Lara Ann asked.

  “No, I wanna see Dukes of Hazzard,” Andy interrupted.

  “It’s Lara Ann’s turn to choose,” Ellen said. “Tonight you’ll both watch Charlie’s Angels.”

  “Piss!” Andy said.

  Ellen frowned. “What did you say?”

  “Piss! Piss! Piss!”

  “When your father gets home he’ll wash your mouth out with soap, young man.”

  “Don’ care.”

  “You will when he hears what you’ve been saying.”

  “Mama,” Lara Ann asked, her pretty little face completely innocent. “What’s a cocksucker?”

  “What? What did you say?” Andy began to snigger. “Where did you hear a word like that?” Ellen asked, her cheeks flushing red.

  “Daddy said it one day about Mr. Dunn.”

  “Your daddy does not use language like that.”

  “He does! He does! I heard him.”

  “No, he doesn’t. And don’t ever say that word again. It’s a very bad word.”