The Movie

by Patti Beckman

  “Ready, people, this is a take,” called the assistant director. “Cameras—action.”

  One of the technicians stepped before the cameras and snapped his blackboard marker with the scene and take number scribbled on it.

  Natalie took a breath and shed the personality of Natalie Brooks. In an instant, a flickering of an eye, something inside her clicked and she was transformed into another human being—Rebecca Abrahms. It was more than playacting. She was Rebecca Abrahms. She knew the bitter sorrow of seeing parents killed in a bombing raid. She suffered the uncertain agony of a husband known only a short while before being captured and not certain now if he were dead or alive in a prison camp.

  She knew terror...the terror of being caught up in a life-threatening situation, but one from which she could not escape. It was sweeping her in a rushing torrent into a situation that could decide the fate of the world.

  Now she was in the small side street in Rio, tensely pretending to shop the wares of street vendors as she waited for the contact that could lead her to the heart of the dark, international plot.

  Suddenly she caught sight of a man moving toward her through the crowd. Her eyes widened with surprise and dismay. It was not the contact she was expecting. It was a familiar figure in a rumpled seersucker suit, looking very American in this Brazilian crowd. It was Clay Winters, the space scientist she had met on her trip to the American space station. There had been a dangerous attraction between them from the first instant. She had fought it, reminding herself of her husband, who might still be alive.

  What was Clay Winters doing here? What folly had caused the stubborn man to follow her? It was sheer insanity. There was no place in her life at this complicated moment for Clay Winters!

  She tried to lose herself in the crowd. But he caught up with her in a few quick strides.

  “Rebecca!”

  She spun around, stared up at him with stricken eyes. “Clay—what are you doing here?”

  “I followed you, of course. I couldn’t just let you walk out of my life.”

  “But you must! This is insanity.”

  She looked around like a trapped creature. What if she were seen talking to an American so closely tied to the space program? It would spoil everything. And it would put him in the kind of danger she was in.

  But his hands were gripping her arms. He looked down at her intently. “I found out you were coming to Rio. I caught the first plane. I had a devil of a time finding you. Now that I have, I’m not going to let you go.”

  Her tear-filled eyes pleaded with him. “You must, Clay. You have to forget about me. There are things about me you don’t understand.”

  “I understand I never felt this way about a woman before in my life. You feel it too. Don’t lie. I can see it in your eyes, Rebecca!”

  “Please....” Her conflict was becoming unbearable.

  Then—

  “Cut!” Kirk called wearily.

  Natalie felt an unpleasant shock. For a moment she was a sleepwalker coming out of a dream, a subject jerked rudely out of a hypnotic trance. She drew the back of her hands across her eyes, shaking off that other world, coming back to the world of Natalie Brooks.

  “Kirk, what is it now?” she demanded.

  Kirk, riding the chair of the boom, swung down to their level. He was glaring at Tom Sacks. Natalie could see he was making a superhuman effort to get his temper under control.

  “Tom,” he said with remarkable constraint, “I have to remind you again that in the role of Clay Winters, you are the intellectual type. A space scientist. This is something quite out of character for you—to go chasing thousands of miles after a woman you met briefly. You are confused, troubled, out of your environment, but in the grip of an obsession that has overridden your normal restraint and inhibitions. You are not Burt Reynolds wisecracking your way through a hot rod race. You are not Harrison Ford playing the dashing Indiana Jones. You are not Tom Selleck wowing the ladies with one glance. Do you think for this once you could submerge all that self-confident macho charm that seems to ooze out of you like sweat on a hot day and pull this off with a bit more finesse?”

  For a moment there was no reply. Sacks and Trammer dueled with their eyes. “I heard you were a horse’s south end on the set,” Sacks said slowly. “I took this part because Sam Kasserman twisted my arm. I’m beginning to regret it.”

  “Well, he twisted my arm, too. But like it or not, we’re in this together. I’m not trying to win any popularity contests on the set. I have only one goal—and that is to make one heck of a good motion picture. Now we can either keep shooting this scene over for the next five days, or we can get it right the next time and go home for the day. It’s up to you.”

  “By ‘right’ you mean the way you want it,” Sacks muttered.

  “Exactly,” Kirk nodded.

  There was another moment of tension, then Sacks shrugged and walked back to the position he took at the beginning of the scene.

  Kirk turned to Natalie. He was still frowning. “Natalie, there’s something wrong with the way you are playing Rebecca Abrahms.”

  Her eyes widened. For a moment she was speechless. Then she bristled. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, I think you’re having trouble shifting gears from the kind of roles you’ve been playing. The producers, writers and directors you’ve been working with have been playing up the Grace Kelly image because you look so much like her and have the same kind of poised, cool polish. That’s been fine for the sophisticated, suburban temptress roles you’ve had on TV and the films you’ve done. But Rebecca Abrahms is an entirely different woman. There’s an earthy element in this character. She grew up working in the soil with her family, coaxing plants out of the desert soil of Israel with her bare hands. She didn’t attend a sheltered finishing school the way you did. She has the physical constitution of farming people. She sweats in the sun and her hair gets scraggly, and still with all of that, she manages to look sexy and convey her femininity.”

  “I know all that,” Natalie said abruptly. “I read the script.”

  “Did you?”

  “What kind of a sarcastic crack is that?”

  “I didn’t mean it as sarcasm,” Kirk replied. “What I meant was when you were reading the script, did you really see Rebecca Abrahms the way I’m describing her?”

  “Kirk, you may have the reputation of some kind of boy genius hotshot director. But I’m a professional actress. While you were sulking over in Europe, I made a TV special and several movies, all of them successful. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I didn’t say you were an amateur. I respect your ability. You’re getting across the emotion of tension and fear just fine. It’s the core of the character you’re playing that I’m concerned about. I don’t think you’ve yet grasped fully the deeper facets of the character of Rebecca Abrahms. The critics are going to sense that and call your portrayal shallow. I want you to give some thought to what I’ve said.”

  With that, he abruptly turned away, leaving Natalie standing there, fuming with humiliation and rage.

  Kirk nodded to his assistant director.

  “Ready! Places everybody,” the A.D. bawled. “All right, camera one, camera two, camera three. Roll ’em. Action!”

  * * * * * * *

  “At least the weather is cooperating,” Kirk said gloomily.

  “What do you expect?” Toby Calkins muttered. “Rio de Janeiro in February. The middle of summer down here. There’s supposed to be a lot of sunshine.” He took out a handkerchief and mopped his round, florid features even though they were in the comparative comfort of an air-conditioned restaurant.

  It was the following evening. Kirk had announced a twenty-four hour break in the filming schedule as they prepared for the big Mardi Gras carnival scenes. He had assembled the principal members of the cast and some key production people for a dinner meeting. He had reserved the hotel dining room where a banquet-length table had been set up.

  They
had just come from the building rented by the production company where a screening room had been set up. For the last hour they had been viewing rushes of the scenes shot the day before.

  The reason for Kirk’s dark mood was obvious to Natalie. After a dozen takes they still had not done the street scene to his satisfaction.

  Kirk was seated at the head of the table. On his right was Toby Calkins, who was the director of photography. The other members of the cast were seated around the long table.

  Natalie viewed the scene from her place at the lower end of the table. She had deliberately chosen a seat as far away from Kirk as possible. She was still furious with him for humiliating her in front of the cast and camera crew yesterday. However, in spite of her anger, she couldn’t escape her awareness of how Kirk’s dynamic personality could utterly dominate a gathering, even one comprising the powerful egos assembled here today.

  Her gaze strayed from Kirk to the others. She glanced at Tom Sacks; then her gaze shifted from Sacks to the actress across the table from him. She felt a rush of hot blood to her cheeks. Looking at Marsha Sanders, Natalie was aware of mingled hurt and anger twisting inside her, cutting like the sharp edge of a knife.

  She had to admit that Marsha was perfect in the role of the female Soviet agent. With her dark hair and huge, dark eyes, she looked like a daughter of Russia. She was a perfect contrast to Natalie’s fair features.

  Natalie managed to keep her hurt and tears hidden. Her pride refused to let Kirk see her make a jealous scene over the matter of hiring Marsha for the film. It was just one more rift in the widening chasm between her and Kirk. She thought either Kirk was totally blind to her feelings or was so wrapped up in Marsha that he had to have her close during the shooting of this film.

  Looking at her now, Natalie could understand why Kirk had become involved with Marsha. Her resemblance to his dead sweetheart, Jacqueline Davis, was uncanny. It was as if the beautiful singer had returned from the grave and walked back into Kirk’s life. How could Natalie hope to compete with something like that?

  Kirk spent the dinner hour going over his plans for the Carnival scenes. “By the way, we’ve run into a bit of luck,” he said at one point. “I happened to meet a rich American who is vacationing down here on his yacht. He’s a big movie fan. Offered to rent us his luxury yacht for some filming at a ridiculously low price. Bill, can you write a yacht scene into the script? It would make a great setting, the yacht riding in the harbor with Rio in the background.”

  Bill Dentmen frowned. “How in the heck are we going to tie that into the story at this point, Kirk?”

  “That’s your problem, Bill. You’re the writer. I’m sure you can come up with something plausible.”

  There was a lively discussion about the added scenes. Finally, the meeting broke up.

  Natalie watched the others mingle and drift toward the exit. Marsha Sanders had moved to Kirk’s side. They became engrossed in a private conversation. Then Marsha linked her arm through Kirk’s with a possessive gesture. Still talking, they strolled through the lobby and walked out into the night together. Natalie stared at the two of them, boiling with fury. Marsha had deliberately made a point of letting the whole production company know that she had something special going with Kirk.

  Through a blur of angry tears, Natalie found the elevator button. In her room, she picked up a book and hurled it at a wall, wishing with all her heart that Kirk were the target.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kirk felt the heat of the day lingering oppressively in the night air. It matched the weight of responsibility that rested heavily on his shoulders.

  “You look worried and tense, Kirk,” Marsha commented.

  “That goes with the territory, starting a major film, as you well know, Marsha.”

  She squeezed his arm. “You need a minute to relax. How about a nightcap before turning in? I found a neat little cocktail lounge a couple of blocks from here. Besides, I have some things I want to talk with you about.”

  “What things?”

  She winked mysteriously. “Tell you over our drinks.”

  They found a secluded table in a quiet corner. The lights were dim, the Latin tempo of the small music combo soft and unobtrusive. The waiter brought tropical drinks in tall, frosted glasses. Kirk sipped his drink and gazed at his companion. Marsha was a remarkably beautiful woman. Her raven hair and enormous dark eyes contrasted with a flawless, creamy complexion that she protected from the sun. Any man would enjoy looking at her.

  Kirk enjoyed Marsha’s company. He felt relaxed with her. If any other member of the cast had brought him here, he would be on guard, braced for verbal fencing over some new demand or complaint. But Marsha was easy to get along with. She was a competent actress who did her job well and seldom made waves.

  Kirk broke several minutes of companionable silence. “Did you really have something mysterious to discuss with me or did you kidnap me under false pretenses?”

  She laughed softly. “No big mystery, Kirk. I guess I saw a chance to steal you for a half hour and grabbed it. I haven’t seen you since we finished filming The Two of Us.”

  “You’ve seen me every day since we started production on The Last Encounter.”

  “Oh, sure. On the set with dozens of people around. I mean like this.” She waved her hand at the quiet, secluded surroundings. “A few minutes by ourselves, just to talk.”

  “Yeah, things have been hectic,” Kirk admitted. “I don’t guess I’ve been by myself for five minutes since production got underway.”

  Marsha toyed with her glass. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you for getting me this part, Kirk. I know you asked for me.”

  “No thanks needed. You’re perfect for the part. It was just good casting.”

  “Come on,” she chided gently. “You know there are a dozen competent actresses around who could play Nichole Nikova.”

  “Maybe. I wanted you.”

  She raised her eyes, giving him a searching look. “Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes, why?” she persisted, her gaze unwavering.

  “Because I worked with you in The Two of Us. I thought you did a fantastic job in the part. I’m familiar with your style and I know you take direction well.”

  She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I wondered if it was because you thought you owed me.”

  “Owed you?”

  “Yes. The Two of Us turned out to be such a box office disaster. Maybe you thought it hurt my career.”

  “I did worry some about that, Marsha. It wasn’t fair to you. You know the public. Sometimes they associate an actor or actress with a film that bombs out. That was your first major role. It wasn’t the best thing that could have happened to your career. I would like to make that up to you if I can.”

  There was a moment of silence. She touched her tongue to her lips. “I—I was hoping maybe it might be more personal than that.”

  Kirk looked at her thoughtfully. “Care to explain that statement?”

  “Oh, Kirk, you know darn good and well what I mean,” she said chidingly. “I never have made a secret of how I feel about you.” She laughed self-consciously. “Remember those ridiculous tabloid stories that linked us in a torrid love affair during the filming of The Two of Us? I often wished they were true.”

  “Marsha—”

  But she interrupted. “Kirk, you don’t have to say anything. I know you’re still too much in love with Natalie to look at another woman. But I just had to let you know that I still feel the same about you. If . . well, if things between you and Natalie fall through, I’m waiting in the wings to grab you.” She blushed. “Sorry if that makes me sound like an aggressive female, but at this stage of the game, I can’t see any advantage in being coy.”

  Kirk smiled ruefully. “Right now, Marsha, I wouldn’t give a whole lot of odds for Natalie and me getting back together. She’s filed for divorce, you know.”

  “Yes, I heard that. But it doesn’t change a whole lot
, does it? I mean, you’re still in love with her....”

  It was half a statement, half a question.

  Kirk sighed. “That doesn’t help very much. Marsha, I really have dealt Natalie a lot of misery. I can’t blame her for wanting to get me out of her life.”

  “You mean, going off to Europe for two years?”

  “Well, that and some other things.”

  Kirk felt compelled to talk. Was it because he’d kept his feelings under tight wraps for so long? Was it because he’d always been a loner? He had few friends, none of them very close...none he could talk with about his true, inner feelings. Once he’d had a very close buddy with whom he could share his feelings, and that friend had been killed in Viet Nam. Then there had been Jacqueline, the vibrant, compelling girl who had shared his innermost dreams and thoughts, and she had died in the tragic accident. After that, he had kept a wall around his personal life.

  Now in this quiet setting, his defenses lowered by the drink, he surprised himself by verbalizing personal heartaches that he normally kept bottled up. “Natalie has accused me of marrying her when I was still in love with a girl in my past.”

  “I know,” Marsha said with a slow nod. “I played her part in The Two of Us.” Her lips moved in a wry smile. “It gave me a spooky feeling, like I was a ghost or something. I knew you were trying to bring her alive through me. They say I look a lot like her.”

  “You do. I guess it’s no secret in the trade or among people involved in that production that it was a chapter out of my past. I think I had to do that film, Marsha. It was a way of living it all over. In those scenes where you sang those wild rock numbers with the lights flashing and the band hard and driving behind you, and you tossing your head back, swinging your body to the music...yes, it was Jacqueline come alive again, for sure. But it wasn’t something I wanted to hold onto. It was a catharsis. In the film, I brought Jacqueline back to life and gave her the moment of success she dreamed about but didn’t live to see. I went through all of it again with her. When it was over and I saw the finished, edited job on the screen, I knew at last I had put the ghost of Jacqueline Davis to rest.”