Donna laughed, too. “No, I mean, who was your first random partner?”
Clara hesitated for half a second. “My stepfather.”
She watched Donna as she said that, wondering what her reaction would be. She didn’t feel a wave of judgment from her. Donna simply thought about what she had said, not offering any emotion in connection with it. Her estimation of her manager rose higher.
“He doesn’t sound all that random, if he was your stepfather,” Donna said at last.
“You’ve never met him. Trust me. Darren was as random as they come. You’ll have to take my word for it.”
They sat in silence, listening to the ocean as it crashed onto the shore in the darkness. Clara never knew why she had been so open with Donna that night. She was never so open with her again, though they worked together for years after that. Clara wondered if the moon had been full, or if the ocean had lulled her into a sense of complacency.
When she met Donna for breakfast the next morning, the sense of intimacy between them had slipped away with the outgoing tide. They talked shop, outlining their strategy for dealing with the myriad producers of Queen of Egypt.
Clara never knew if Donna started having random flings. She never asked.
20
Studio City, 2016
It was Clara’s first day on the set of Queen of Egypt. She looked around the trailer, even delved into the refrigerator. The little bottles of Evian that Donna had insisted on were lined up like sentinels. Clara closed the refrigerator and sat on the overstuffed sofa with a sigh. The trailer wasn’t home, but it wasn’t bad. It was definitely a step up from any trailer she’d been assigned before on a movie set.
A young woman burst into the trailer without knocking. “Hi, Miss Daniels. Oh!”
The girl stood frozen in place, a look of horror on her face. Clara glanced around, expecting to see a lizard on the floor or something. There was nothing there.
Clara smiled at the girl. “What wrong?”
“Oh, Miss Daniels, I’m so sorry. I should have knocked. I—”
Clara laughed. The girl jumped at the sound as if Clara had shot at her.
“Calm down. What’s the problem?”
“I just came into your trailer without knocking.” The girl was so pale that Clara was starting to worry about her.
“I think we can let it pass this once. Who are you?”
“Oh.” The girl straightened her back, a little color coming into her face. “I’m your assistant, Lila.”
Clara smiled and stood up, extending her hand. “Hi, Lila. I’m Clara. Nice to meet you.”
The girl’s smile was like a sunrise across her face. “You’re so nice! I thought…” She blushed.
Clara laughed. “You heard I was a bitch, right?”
The girl turned even redder.
Clara swallowed her laughter. “Well, I am. To the producers. But not to the hired help. Come in and have a soda.”
The girl looked confused but came out of the doorway where she’d been lingering. She sat gingerly on the chair Clara offered her, as if it were packed with explosives and set to go off under her. She fidgeted while Clara opened a can of soda and handed it to her.
The girl looked at her, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Miss Daniels…”
“You need ice with this? I’ll bet there’s baccarat crystal in here somewhere.” Clara started opening cabinets.
The girl leaped to her feet. “Miss Daniels! You’re not supposed to wait on me. I’m supposed to—”
“I know, I know. Assist me. And believe me, you will. But it’s your first day. Kick back a minute and have a drink.” Clara sat on the plush sofa, her own soda in hand.
The girl sat primly on the edge of her overstuffed chair. She looked uncomfortable. Clara leaned back and sighed. She wondered when the makeup people would come and fetch her.
“Miss Daniels?”
“Yes, Lila?”
“Maybe we should talk about, um, you know, what you expect from me.”
“Well, right now I expect you to drink that soda.”
The girl dutifully took a sip, then tried again. “About my job, Miss Daniels. Is there anything you would like me to do? Bring you a certain newspaper, get you novels…”
“Bring me cocaine?”
The girl’s eyes went wide.
“I’m kidding. I don’t do hard drugs.”
Clara finished her soda and checked her watch. She was due in makeup in about ten minutes.
“Your job is to answer my phone and to keep everyone but the producers and the director off my back. You run interference for me, and I bring you sodas. Deal?”
Lila sat looking at her in silence for a long moment. She blinked. Then she started to laugh.
Clara smiled. “We’ll get along just fine.”
Clara was dressed for her first scene. She stood on the set, looking at the pseudo-Egyptian trappings. She wondered if they were going to add a live cat to the set in their effort to achieve authenticity. She knew then that her mind was wandering, and she forced herself to focus.
She watched the grips set up the lighting and felt a butterfly swoop into her stomach. She almost laughed. She never got nervous. It wasn’t as if she were a real actor or something.
She looked across the set and saw Pat Mulligan standing there, as large as life and twice as gorgeous. The butterfly in her stomach did an aerial dive. Clara wondered for the first time in her life if she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
She turned to face him fully and saw him smiling at her. The butterfly disappeared. Of course, she knew what she was doing.
Clara strode over to him and extended her hand. “Mr. Mulligan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His smile warmed, and he took her hand in his, holding it without shaking it.
“The pleasure is mine, Miss Daniels. And please, call me Pat.”
His deep accented voice ran up her spine like warm fingers, and she shivered. Clara took a deep breath in an effort to keep her lust under control. It almost worked.
“Well, you’ll have to call me Clara, then.”
He smiled, still holding her hand. “Of course.”
Later that night, Clara watched the last of the twelve producers leave her trailer. Donna stood by the door, her hand on the lock, waiting to see if another knock came. One didn’t. Donna threw the bolt, and Clara leaned back on her sofa, sighing.
Clara was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, her face clean of makeup. She had sent Lila home when the fifth producer had knocked. Donna stood against the door, though it was already locked, smoking a cigarette. Clara groaned.
“Do you think those asshats really liked my work, or were they just bullshitting?”
Clara hadn’t opened up to look into their minds. She didn’t feel like swimming in cesspools this late in the evening.
Donna shot her a look, taking another drag off her cigarette. “Do you care?”
Clara laughed for the first time since she’d come off the set. “Hell, no.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Donna poured Clara a drink from the bar and handed it to her without a word.
“I ache all over,” Clara said.
“Being a star is a lot of work.”
Clara laughed. “Shit, I wish somebody had told me that.”
Donna smiled and lit another cigarette.
21
New York, 2016
Clara sat in the plush leather chair at the head of the table. Movie reviewers from all over the country sat around her, fiddling with their pens and their cell phone recording apps. They were there for the studio-sponsored press junket to discuss Queen of Egypt. Donna stood at Clara’s elbow, as protective as a mother hawk, ready to swoop down and whisk her away at the first sign of trouble. Clara smiled. She didn’t expect any trouble.
One of the studio’s gophers brought her a fresh soda. Clara accepted it with a nod and poured it over ice. She waited for one of the members of the press to s
peak.
“So, Miss Daniels, how long have you been an actress?”
Clara smiled, sipping her soda to buy a moment of time. She repressed the urge to tell the truth, that she couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag. She had to remember that she wasn’t really talking to the people around this table, but to the public who would read their words.
Clara kept her voice low and thoughtful, looking off into space for a moment as if pondering the question.
“Well, I suppose I’ve always wanted to act, ever since I was a little girl. My first real job was as Rose in Standing in the Stream.”
“I saw that,” one woman gushed, pushing her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose. “You were brilliant.”
Clara almost asked the woman if they were talking about the same film but looked into the woman’s mind. In spite of her profession, she was a true fan and had seen every movie Clara had ever made, even Flaming Arrows. Clara softened. It was a valuable lesson to learn, that some press were actually public in disguise.
She smiled at the woman, focusing her charm on her as if she were the only other person in the room.
“Thank you. I was pretty green on that film, but the director was good, so it all worked out.”
Clara let the lie slip from her tongue easily before raising her glass to her lips again. The woman wrote the quote with dogged determination, as if the Pope himself had spoken Holy Writ, and Clara began to feel the first thrill of power.
Another reviewer spoke up, a man who wrote for Toronto Today. He smiled at Clara as if he were Don Juan.
“How did you enjoy working with Pat Mulligan, Miss Daniels?”
Clara turned her focus on him and grew serious. “It was an honor.”
Another woman spoke, jumping in before the man could ask a follow-up question.
“Were you at all intimidated by Mr. Mulligan?”
“No.” The truth slipped from Clara’s tongue before she took a moment to think. She breathed deeply and smiled a charming smile. “Mr. Mulligan was the soul of graciousness. He was always a gentleman, and it was a pleasure to work with him.”
“Miss Daniels.” The reviewer from the Minneapolis Herald raised one hand. “How did you feel playing the Pharaoh Cleopatra?”
Clara smiled. “Now that was intimidating.”
There was soft laughter around the table, and Clara could feel Donna begin to relax a little. Donna leaned over and lit a cigarette, never taking her eyes off the press. One of the lackeys running the press junket came in and gestured at her watch. Donna nodded to her, taking a drag off her cigarette. There was time for only one more question.
“What’s your next project, Miss Daniels?”
“Nothing is set in stone. But let’s say that I hope to take a trip to the Amazon River Delta before I see you all again.”
There was a blockbuster in the works about a team of zoologists who were chasing a giant snake down the Amazon river. The female lead hadn’t been cast yet. Clara decided to make a bid for it publicly, to back up Willoughby’s maneuvering to get her the role.
“I’m afraid that’s all the time Miss Daniels has, folks,” Donna said. “Thank you very much. I believe Pat Mulligan is up next. For those of you who haven’t met him, you’re in for a treat.” She took Clara’s elbow and ushered her out without missing a step.
Clara laughed under her breath. “Damn, Donna. I didn’t know you could be so decisive. How manly.”
Her manager shot her a look, running her manicured hand through her dark hair.
“I didn’t want them to keep you any longer. We need to make our flight.”
Clara opened her mouth to make another lame joke but held off when she saw Pat Mulligan coming down the hallway. He was a huge man in person, even more physically alluring than he was on screen. He smiled at her and stopped. His entourage formed around him, trying to draw him into the press room. He didn’t say a word but gave them a look that sent them all back a few steps. As if by magic, a space cleared around them. He was throwing off the studio’s time schedule. But he was Pat Mulligan. The studio would wait.
“Hello, Clara.”
She felt a shiver run up her spine, as it always did whenever he spoke her name. She smiled at him, admiring the glint of his hazel eyes. He was a fine specimen of a man. She wondered, and not for the first time, if he had the gift.
“Hello, Pat.”
Donna looked away, taking a step down the hall and drawing her cell phone out of her bag. She turned her back discreetly to them, and Clara smiled. Donna thought they were sleeping together.
Clara looked at him and almost sighed. Didn’t she wish.
“How was it?” he asked, his brogue lightly flavoring the question.
Clara smiled at him, shrugging one shoulder. “It seemed to go well. I’ve never done one of these before.”
He smiled, pitching his voice low. “I’m sure you did well.”
“Good luck yourself.”
He laughed, as she knew he would, as he started to move down the hallway and away from her.
“I’ve never needed luck.” He winked at her, and her smile broadened.
Someday she might actually ask him whether or not he could see into people’s souls. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if he could.
Clara sighed as the door shut behind him.
“You’ve got it bad, huh?” Donna asked as they started walking to the car waiting for them outside.
“Lust?” Clara said. “Yes.”
“Oh,” Donna murmured, “I thought…”
Clara laughed, the dreaminess gone from her eyes. “You thought I was in love with him?”
Donna shifted uncomfortably, and Clara laughed harder. She caught her breath as they walked out into the rain. It seemed that New York was always gray when Clara was there.
“Oh, Donna, you’ve got a lot to learn about me.”
22
Los Angeles, 2019
“That’s a wrap. Cut and print.”
Clara smiled as the crew around her broke into applause. The space thriller Blast Away was in the can. Someone shouted a little. One grip pulled out a bottle of champagne and started filling glasses.
“Don’t get that on the cables for God’s sake,” the head electrician griped.
Clara laughed when she heard that. Chuck came over and put one arm around her shoulders, carefully, as if she were made of very thin glass.
“Thank you, Clara.” His voice was soft, and she had trouble hearing him over the noise of the crew as they started to strike their equipment.
“For what, Chuck?”
He smiled at the use of his nickname. “Nobody else calls me that, you know.”
“After this picture hits the box office, they’ll all be calling you Mr. Gratelli, and nothing else.”
Charles smiled his shy smile, his blond bangs falling into his eyes. “I really do want to thank you.”
“Chuck, you’re the one who does all the work. I just stand here and look good.”
He frowned a little. “That’s not true. And that’s not what I mean.” He looked directly into her eyes, and she found that she couldn’t look away. “Thank you for this chance. They would never have hired me for this film if you hadn’t forced them to.”
Clara almost laughed. She started to shrug his arm off her shoulders and dismiss him with a quick kiss on the cheek but stopped mid-motion, caught by the light in his clear blue eyes. He seemed so young to her, almost innocent. Clara took a chance, opened her mind and read his thoughts. She quickly discovered that he was neither as young nor as innocent as she had assumed.
She decided to pay him the compliment of respecting him. “You’re welcome, Charles. It was my pleasure.”
“I know everybody thinks you’re a hard woman—”
Clara laughed. “A hard-ass, you mean.”
“Well… yes. But I have found you a delight to work with.”
She didn’t speak for a long moment. Clara was touched by the compliment, and she hadn
’t been moved by praise in years.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you, Charles. You make me look good, you know. People watching our last two films will actually think I have talent.”
He looked into her eyes. “You do, Clara. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
She listened to his thoughts. He was telling her the truth as he saw it.
“Thank you.”
“And keep calling me Chuck.” His smile was a slow light across his face. “I like it.”
Clara kissed his cheek. “I will.” She pulled away from him. “Don’t forget about me once the studios start courting you. I may need you to hire me again sometime.”
She made the comment as a feeble joke to break the tension, but Charles was serious.
“You can count on it, Clara.”
“Well, I’ve got to catch my flight.”
“Sure. I’ll see you when you get back.”
He raised a hand, and she waved back, moving out of the circle of cameras and equipment. A lot of it was already down and being stowed away. Clara made her way to her dressing room at the far side of the studio building, where she found Fred waiting for her outside the door. She smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back.
“That was a touching scene.”
“What?” Clara blinked at the hostility in his tone.
She thought she would laugh at him and shrug him off but surprised herself by not dismissing him. Instead of walking past him into her dressing room, she faced him and waited. Her assistant passed them and slipped inside discreetly.
Fred stared at her. “So, is he your next victim?”
“I don’t have victims, Fred.”
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard pain in his voice.
“You know what I’m saying. Are you taking him to bed?”
“Who?”
“You know damn well who.”
Clara looked into his eyes. She hadn’t been spoken to in that tone in over six years. She waited for anger to rise and grab her by the throat until she unleashed it on the man standing in front of her. To her surprise, no anger came. She simply stood looking at the pain in his eyes. She couldn’t read his thoughts, but his face was an open book.
The Slow Rise of Clara Daniels Page 13