The Slow Rise of Clara Daniels

by Christy English

  “No. Chuck and I aren’t lovers.”

  Fred’s expression didn’t change, but she saw a little of the tension drain out of his shoulders.

  “So, when are you going to bed with him?”

  “I’m not.”

  Instead of being amused by his jealousy and mocking him with it, Clara felt flattered. And pleased.

  She stepped into her dressing room, and he followed her. Her dresser stepped forward and helped her out of her leather space suit. Clara reached for a soft silk robe, and Lila helped her into it.

  “Lila, could you bring Mr. Walker and me some champagne? I think they have some on the set.”

  “Sure, Miss Daniels.”

  Lila raised an appreciative eyebrow in Fred’s direction, but he didn’t even glance at her. She smiled as she left with the wardrobe woman, closing the door behind them.

  Clara stood looking at Fred. His eyes were a deeper blue because he was angry. She moved to him and kissed his jaw, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was the first time she had touched him since the night they’d slept together at her house, months before.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” He didn’t yield to her embrace.

  Clara trailed her lips over his throat, and she felt him give way just a little.

  “You seem angry.”

  She pressed herself against him, and felt his arms come around her. He held her but didn’t try to pull her any closer. There was a long silence. Clara could think of nothing glib to say. She could only think of the pain she’d seen in his face, and that she loved him.

  As she found herself looking into the blue of his eyes, she realized that she could go all her life without ever finding someone who loved her as he did. That truth was startling, but it was there, silent, waiting for her, as if it had been waiting only for her to turn her own mind off and see it.

  The silence stretched between them, until she spoke, for once without thought of past or future, speaking only for herself, because she wished to.

  “I love you, Fred,” she whispered.

  She had never spoken those words before in her life. Not to her mother. Not to her Aunt April. And now, she had said them to this man, and she couldn’t take them back. She felt lighter for having said them, because they were the truth. She wasn’t in the habit of telling the truth to anyone, ever.

  “What?” he asked.

  Clara saw the shock on his face. She fell back on her habitual gesture, shrugging one shoulder, as if to recapture her casual air, but it was gone, and she knew that with him, she would never be casual again.

  “I’ve known for a while. I thought I should tell you.”

  He kept his gaze focused on her face. “Is that the truth?”

  “Have you ever known me to lie to you?”

  He drew her close and wrapped his arms around her so tightly that she thought a rib might crack. His lips touched her hair.

  “Clara, say it again.”

  “I love you.”

  “I’m not going to let you take it back, so make sure you mean it.”

  Clara laughed, until she looked up and saw his eyes. In the depths of that blue, she lost her smile.

  “I love you, Fred. I am never going to take it back.”

  He kissed her, gently, his lips like feathery moths against her mouth. He held her for a long time, and neither of them spoke. He didn’t try to weaken the moment with sex. He didn’t move to draw her down onto the couch, and his hands didn’t roam over her body. He stood still, breathing in the scent of her hair.

  Tension buried at the back of Clara’s mind uncoiled and melted away as she stood in his arms. When she took her next breath, the air tasted different. It was the first free breath of air she remembered having drawn in her life. Certainly, the first free breath she’d taken since her mother died, maybe even before that, when Aunt April left. There was no fear in her heart at this moment, and no pain.

  “Let me take you somewhere,” he said.

  Clara didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think of her planned vacation to Fiji, or of the plane waiting for her on a runway at LAX. She spoke without thought for past or future. She spoke only for herself, and for the joy she felt in that moment.

  “All right.”

  23

  Northern California, 2019

  Clara stood under the greenest trees she’d ever seen. She had been born and bred in southern California, and though it was often lush where water was piped in, all the greenery was carefully tended.

  The redwoods she stood under now had been there for millennia and stretched so far into the sky that Clara could see no hint of blue. She stood in silence, simply looking at the trees. Some of the trunks were as wide as her car. Clara blinked, her neck aching as she tilted her head back. Fred touched her arm and she turned to look at him, reluctant to take her eyes from the trees.

  “I don’t know why I never came here before.” Her voice was soft, without any pretense of detachment.

  She wore no armor for the first time in her life, and she felt naked without it. It was a good feeling.

  “It never occurred to you to come here.”

  Fred’s smile warmed her as a fire would. She reached out and ran her fingertips over his lips.

  “No. It never occurred to me. I read about these trees once, I think, when I was waiting in a doctor’s office.”

  Fred quirked an eyebrow. “A doctor kept you waiting?”

  Clara laughed, feeling younger than she’d ever felt, even when she was a child.

  “I wasn’t famous at the time.”

  He took her hand and drew her toward the cabin. She fell into step beside him, still reluctant to come inside from the forest. Fred’s house sat five miles outside Crescent City, on the edge of Trinity National Forest. No other houses stood for miles, and he owned the fifteen acres that surrounded his house.

  “There’s absolutely no one out here, Fred.”

  Clara stood on the porch of his cabin, drinking in the silence that was broken only by the sound of birds and rustles in the underbrush.

  “That’s why I bought it. I like to be alone.”

  Clara turned her gaze to his. “Have you ever been to Palm Springs?”

  “Only for the weekend.” He waited, his eyes never leaving her face. He knew she had more to say.

  She swallowed hard and turned her gaze from him. “I was born there.”

  He said nothing.

  “I grew up there.” She waited a moment, and still he didn’t speak. “My mother died there when I was sixteen.”

  Fred stayed silent, but when she didn’t speak again, he asked, “Have you been back since?”

  Surprised, Clara turned to meet his gaze. His eyes held no pity, only his love for her. She knew he understood that she had never spoken of her mother to another living soul.

  “No, I’ve never been back.”

  Fred reached out with gentle fingers, and brushed her hair away from her eyes, the same way her Aunt April had touched her long ago.

  “Maybe we should go back together.”

  Clara listened to his voice as he said the word we, and she didn’t flinch.

  “Maybe we should.”

  Fred said nothing more. He simply reached out and took her hand.

  Clara watched as a cedar log fell into the center of the fire, releasing a shower of sparks. She sighed and felt Fred’s hand touch her hair.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  She looked at him, surprised at his question. She surprised herself more by answering him. “I was thinking that you are the first person I’ve trusted in ten years.”

  His fingers played with a strand of her golden hair. “It’s about time, then, wouldn’t you say?”

  Clara was startled into laughter. “It’s past time.”

  The fire snapped cheerfully, consuming another log.

  “I told you before that I don’t have any family,” she said.

  “You told me
that.”

  “It isn’t true.”

  She stopped speaking and the silence between them lengthened. She waited for him to ask her the questions she didn’t want to answer, almost holding her breath, wondering what she could bear to tell him. Fred asked nothing, though. He simply kept running his hand through her hair, looking into her eyes as if he expected her to continue speaking.

  Clara took a deep breath and spoke. The story of her life came out in a rush, like a river flooding once a dam has broken. She didn’t even try to stem the tide but spoke of her mother’s marriage and of her aunt’s desertion. She spoke of Darren’s lust and of her mother’s death. She spoke of seeing April in New York only four months before.

  Her story ended there, and she sat listening to the silence, waiting for him to speak. She thought he might tell her that she had no heart, that she should reconcile with her aunt and put the old woman out of her misery. She thought he might sympathize with her and tell her how sorry he was that her mother had died, how sorry he was that her mother had never been a true mother to her at all.

  Clara waited, but Fred did none of these things. He didn’t speak at all. He drew her against him and held her, with one hand on her back and the other stroking her hair. She leaned against him, her muscles tense, still waiting for him to speak, for him to pass judgment on her or to offer her comfort.

  As the silence stretched between them, she began to relax, until she leaned against him, boneless, letting him support her weight. The tension flowed out of her body in waves, and she closed her eyes. Just before she fell asleep, she felt his lips on her hair.

  “I love you, Clara.”

  His voice was soft, and if she hadn’t been inches away from his mouth, she wouldn’t have heard him.

  The redwoods rose in a canopy high above their heads. Clara could hear birds singing in the distance, and she raised her face to the sunlight that came through the leaves. Fred stood beside her, his hand on her waist. She smiled at him, and he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  “I can’t believe I’ve never been to this forest before.” Clara was surprised to hear how relaxed she sounded.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so at ease with herself or with someone else. It occurred to her that perhaps she never had.

  She looked down at the hiking boots Fred had made her buy in town before they’d driven to Trinity National Forest. The boots were brown and fit well with the heavy socks he’d insisted on. Clara laughed at herself. She never let anyone give her orders, and here Fred had given two orders in one day, and he had been obeyed.

  The orders had been for her own good. Clara was surprised by that. She was used to looking after her own interests. She had never met another person who put her first, with no thought of personal gain. She paid people to look out for her—her lawyer and Donna and Lila—but Fred did it naturally, without thought. Clara found it intimidating. It called for an equal measure of care from her. She had never actively cared for another person, except perhaps for her mother.

  She looked at him and watched the sunlight glint on his dark hair, bringing out the red highlights buried in it. His eyes were shaded from the sun by his glasses as he looked out across the gorge they stood beside. Clara had no way of seeing into his mind, and she was glad. She was forced to take his good will on faith. She was forced to judge him by his actions. So far, he had impressed her.

  He turned and caught her staring. She thought he might smile, but he didn’t. He stood looking at her, until he reached up and took his glasses off. They faced each other for a long moment, and then he reached up and drew her sunglasses away from her eyes.

  “I loved you the moment I saw you,” he said.

  Clara felt the urge to laugh, to shrug off the seriousness of the moment by refusing to believe him. She also felt the urge to flee down the trail they’d been following. Uneasiness slid into her stomach like a snake. She had never known how to deal with other people’s emotions, because she’d never learned to deal with her own.

  She decided that for Fred, she would try.

  She kept her voice even. “I was a bitch the night you met me, if I recall.”

  Fred smiled and brushed his fingertips over her cheek, laying his palm against her skin. His hand was warm where he touched her. She didn’t take her gaze from his face.

  “You’ve had your moments, I’ll say. But I saw through all that.”

  Clara smiled, reaching up to take his hand in hers. “You did?”

  “I did.” Fred’s smile disappeared. “I knew you were the bravest woman I had ever met and was ever likely to meet.”

  She almost snorted in derision but controlled herself. “I’m not brave, Fred.”

  “You are.” He said it simply. “I knew there was a lot more to you than what’s on the surface.”

  “And you knew all that from our one encounter in Stan Hendrickson’s bathroom.”

  Fred laughed. “Oh, no. I knew it before I sat next to you by his pool.”

  She looked into his eyes and felt a question on her tongue that she didn’t have the courage to ask. She wondered if he could look into souls the way she could, as her mother had, and her aunt. She was afraid to ask.

  “Well, I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”

  Fred kissed her palm, drawing her back onto the path that led deeper into the forest.

  “I love a challenge. And you were worth it.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing and kissed his cheek.

  Together, they walked forward into the trees. Clara no longer felt the need to hide her eyes, so she left her sunglasses in her pocket.

  24

  Malibu, 2017

  Clara smiled to herself as her guests milled around, circling each other warily. She watched them smile at each other and noticed that it often looked as if they were baring their fangs. She shrugged one shoulder. What did she expect, that her first Hollywood party would be different from any other?

  Lilies floated in the heated pool and laughter from her house reached her ears. She didn’t know many of the people that were there eating her food. Bob had made the guest list, and her assistant, Lila, said everyone was coming.

  Clara’s new movie, Queen of Egypt, was a hit. She knew that was the reason the rich and famous filled her house. They were there to take a look at the flavor of the month. Clara smiled. They didn’t realize she was there to stay.

  Bob Willoughby moved from his wife’s side in the den onto the terrace. Clara leaned back against the railing of her deck and waited for him. She watched as people eyed him with renewed respect. His bid for power at the studio was going well.

  Bob took her arm and kissed her cheek. “I’m in, kid.”

  “In what, Bob?”

  He laughed and Clara leaned closer. His gaze never moved from the crowd, and he kept his voice low, as if he expected someone to overhear him.

  “I’m head of Barnett Studios.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  He grinned at her and winked. “I took over this morning.”

  She laughed and people turned their heads to look at her. Most of them watched Willoughby, she noticed, though they pretended to smile at her.

  “You took over this morning, and you didn’t tell me until now?” Clara narrowed her eyes at him, and it was his turn to laugh.

  “I wanted to tell you on the terrace of your new house, during the first hour of your first party.” Bob leaned down and kissed her cheek. “You were right, kid.”

  “I’ll make you rich, too. Just wait and see.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be waiting long, if the numbers on Cleo hold up.” He moved off with a little wave. “I’m off to greet my public.”

  Clara laughed again. She was still laughing when she felt a hand touch her arm. Pete, her old lover, stood at her elbow, looking down at her through his horn-rimmed glasses. He had approached her from behind, so quietly she hadn’t heard him.

  She smiled at him and t
ook his hand. “Pete, I’m glad you came.”

  He looked at her and didn’t smile. When she opened her mind to find out why, she realized that she hadn’t seen him in six months. He hadn’t been able to get in touch with her while she was shooting, and after that he hadn’t tried. No one had believed him when he said he was a friend. As he stood watching her, he realized for the first time that those people had been right.

  Clara saw all this mirrored in his thoughts, and she was tempted to feel guilty, but there were costs to what she was doing. Her relationship with Pete was one casualty. There would be others. When she had remembered him, two weeks ago, she had made sure his name was added to the guest list. She knew now that the gesture wasn’t enough.

  “Clara. Congratulations.”

  Clara touched his arm, gently. “Thanks.”

  “I’m a fool. I shouldn’t have come.”

  He tried to make a casual gesture, waving one hand to encompass her famous guests and her house, but he succeeded only in taking his hand from hers.

  Clara didn’t smile or look away. “I wouldn’t call you a fool.”

  “This is why you wouldn’t marry me, isn’t it?” Pete stared at passing staff handing out wine on silver trays.

  She knew he meant her newfound fame and all that went with it.

  Clara blinked, uncomprehending. She had never realized that he was actually serious all the times he proposed to her. She’d always thought he was making a joke and had laughed it off. Now, as she looked past his surface thoughts for the first time in years, she found in him what she had never found in anyone else.

  She felt a stab of pain that took her breath away, because his love for her didn’t touch her. It didn’t make any difference.

  “No, Pete. This isn’t why.”

  “I love you, Clara,” he said, simply and with dignity.