“She’s always finding something to be pissed off about,” he grumbled.
“She’s far from a diva.” A cloud seemed to hang over his head. “Are you all right?”
“I haven’t heard from Annalise.”
“Pardon?” These were not words she’d expected to hear from one of Australia’s most enthusiastic Casanovas.
“She said she’d get in contact with me once things cooled down, but I haven’t heard from her.”
Claire studied James. Maybe she’d got it all wrong. Maybe everyone had got it wrong, and James and Annalise were the real deal.
Claire debated her next move. If she told James she’d refused to deliver a letter from Annalise, he’d lose all trust in Claire. And that wouldn’t help with her second job of ensuring he didn’t get himself into trouble with the locals. Yet if this thing between Annalise and James was the real deal, who was she to stand in the way of love?
Robert Dennis.
“Maybe she’s letting her father cool down.” She hoped this would buy some time. “I’m sure she’ll contact you eventually.”
James rubbed his forehead. “I hate this.”
“What?”
“I hate this feeling of missing someone.” He looked up and laughed. “I guess this is love, eh?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“You’ve never been in love?” He looked at her, his expression puzzled.
“Nope.” She didn’t like this topic; it was way too close to home.
“Never?”
“Maybe?”
“If you aren’t sure then it hasn’t happened, because when you are in love, it is the most soul-destroying thing on earth.”
Claire looked at James. Who was this person? What had happened to James Lloyd, International Playboy 1990–1994? “If it’s soul-destroying, then I’m not sure that’s the kind of love you want.”
James sighed. “God, she’s sexy.”
Ah. There was the James of old. “Annalise is beautiful, there’s no doubting that. How’s about we concentrate on getting this miniseries done and we can worry about our love lives, or lack thereof, afterward?”
Claire hated putting Cupid on hold, and as much as she wanted to tell James about Annalise’s letter, she couldn’t risk him getting back in contact with her. At least not while they were shooting. One bad move and Robert Dennis could find a way to make the production topple like a house of cards. She had no doubt that was well within his capabilities.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” James’s pout morphed into a broad smile. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.”
“That’s rather philosophical of you.”
“I’m reading The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck. It’s inspiring. He talks about love requiring courage, and that it can be risky. That’s true about me and Annalise.”
Claire tried to act nonchalant, though she couldn’t quite believe that she and James were having this conversation. “I had no idea you liked those types of books.”
“I’ve only just started.” He leaned against the bar. “Annalise introduced me to them.”
“Really?” Her voice came out high and she forced it down an octave. “It sounds like Annalise was a good influence on you.”
“She was. Is. Will be.”
Guilt welled up in her. This was an impossible situation, but who was she to dictate whether two consenting adults could be together? Sure, she was supposed to keep an eye on James, but where was the line? Ugh. This was all too hard. She needed to sleep on it and talk to Nigel. Maybe he’d change his mind. Although she doubted it.
“Right, well, I better get sorted around here,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
James waved and walked out of the foyer while Claire got to work helping the rest of the crew pack up and get everything ready for the morning. The crew left eventually and she started on her last task of the day: disposing of the leftover food and paper plates. The muscles in her legs and arms hurt, her back ached, and weariness had taken over. These long days were wearing her down, and the only thing that got her through was the vision of sandy beaches and clear blue waters. Although, the heat of northern Queensland made her sweat so much that she wondered whether Antarctica would be a better choice for a vacation.
“I thought I would find you here.”
Claire dropped the plates onto the table, and remnants of half-eaten sandwiches scattered everywhere. “Jesus!”
“Sorry.” Luke helped pile the plates.
“It’s okay, really,” Claire said. “What brings you here?”
“Food.”
“Pardon?” She dumped the plates in a nearby bin.
“I have a delivery for you.” He pointed at the picnic basket resting against the bar.
“A Hattie special?” She couldn’t hide her enthusiasm.
“Yep.” Luke grabbed the picnic basket and set it on the table. He pulled out a couple of containers and opened the lids. A beautiful green salad of cherry tomatoes, spring onion, almonds, with the delightful aroma of lemon filled the air. Her stomach rumbled when she spied the homemade lamingtons and quiche.
“Your aunt is amazing.”
Luke pulled out a couple of plates and some cutlery. He dished out the salad and quiche and sat on the chair opposite. “I hope you don’t mind me joining you?”
“Not at all! It’s nice to have company.” Although she’d prefer if the company didn’t turn on and off like a leaky tap.
They ate in silence, and Claire began to wonder why Luke had bothered staying.
“Hattie was wondering when you have a day off.” He didn’t look up from his food.
“We have a slightly earlier finish tomorrow.”
“Would you like to come over for dinner?”
“That would be lovely,” she said slowly, not quite sure if the invitation was solely from Hattie. It disconcerted her that she hoped Luke also wanted her company.
He put down his knife and fork and looked directly at her. “What do you like to do for fun?”
“Fun?” Claire rested her utensils on the now-empty plate. “It may come as no surprise.”
“Darts?”
She laughed. “No.”
“Kickboxing?”
“No.”
“Oh! I know!” He waved his arms in the air. “Skydiving!”
“Ha! No!” She liked this lighthearted side of Luke Jackson. “I love watching old Hollywood movies.”
“Really?” He feigned surprise.
“Who would’ve thought, eh?”
“You know we have some Hollywood classics in storage here,” he said.
“You don’t say!”
Luke stood and offered his hand. Loving this chivalrous gesture, she put hers in his. It felt odd, but very satisfying, that their hands melded together so perfectly.
They went into the cinema and headed toward a door that led to a smaller hallway. She glanced back at the other door that remained off-limits. What was in that room?
Luke turned on the light and she squinted from the brightness.
“Sorry about that.”
“No worries.”
Luke opened a door and climbed a ladder. He motioned for her to do the same. A little uneasy with the steepness, she held on to the rails and made her way to the top.
“Wow.” She looked down on the cinema, which seemed much smaller from this height. “This is the projection room?”
“Yep.” Luke was on his knees looking through a pile of large round silver reel containers. He focused on the job and Claire walked around the small booth, careful not to touch anything.
“This is amazing. Time has preserved everything beautifully,” she said. “How come you have so many reels? Aren’t they expensive? I thought cinemas only hired a movie for a short while, then it went to the ne
xt cinema.”
“I see you’ve done your research.” Luke’s voice sounded muffled as he hunted around for whatever he was looking for. “My great-great-grandfather—Hattie’s father—bought a heap at auction before he passed away. He got them for a steal.”
“I’m impressed.”
Luke jerked back, then hit his head on the shelf. “Damn it!”
“Are you okay?” She bent down, and he edged away.
“I’m fine, fine.” He rubbed his head, then returned to searching. Eventually, he pulled out several reels that looked just like all the others. “Aha!”
Luke pulled the cover off the projector and set about threading the film through the machine and checking everything was in place. Claire studied his every move. For someone who didn’t like movies, he certainly knew his way around the projection room.
“Sorted.” He stood back and looked at his handiwork. “Right, so you need to get back downstairs and I’ll get this started.”
“What are we watching?” She couldn’t help herself.
“You like the classics, right?”
She nodded.
“I’m taking a wild guess, but I’m going to put on one that you’re bound to like—I hope.”
“Am I that easy to read?” She laughed.
“I am flying blind, but every so often I’ll take a risk.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a calculated risk,” she said.
“I’m not so sure about that.” He turned on the projector and shooed her out the door. “I’ll be down in a tick.”
Claire tentatively went down the ladder, through the narrow hallway and back into the cinema. The screen flickered to life and the speakers crackled. It felt odd to be in the cinema without the buzz of the film set, to be actually watching a movie—like a cinema was designed for.
The second the movie started, she laughed. “No way!”
“Yes way.” Luke sat beside her.
“How did you know Some Like It Hot is one of my all-time favorites?”
Luke looked ahead, like he wasn’t sure how to answer. Or he was too embarrassed.
How sweet.
“Seriously, this is in my top five favorite movies of all time.” She settled into the comfy seat. “All we need is popcorn.”
“Back in a mo.” Luke disappeared into Hattie’s kitchen. He returned not long after with a bag of chips. “Will these do?”
“Sure will!”
Luke opened the chips and offered her some. She reached in and grabbed a couple, surprised by how quickly she’d switched from work mode to chill-out mode. Usually on set she lived and breathed work, often falling into a heap at the end of the project. Sitting in an old cinema, watching one of her favorite movies, with a handsome and fascinating man beside her, certainly rated high on excellent ways to end a long day.
The movie started, and Claire instantly felt her muscles relaxing. The pain in her back subsided. And the brewing headache faded. On the screen, Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon were escaping the mafia after witnessing a murder, and to remain alive they had to transform themselves into women and join an all-girl orchestra.
When she burst out laughing at Tony and Jack trying to walk in heels at the train station, Luke joined in. The vast expanse of the cinema now cocooned them, like they were in a bubble that blocked the world outside. It wouldn’t last, she knew that, but it was nice to be in the moment and not have to worry about scheduling, constantly checking the time and moving props and people around.
“Back in a second.” Luke disappeared into the projection room for a few minutes then returned. “Had to change the reel.”
“How do you know when?”
“It’s a talent.” He grinned.
Marilyn Monroe appeared on the screen sashaying down the train platform, then later playing the ukulele for the all-girl orchestra.
When she introduced herself as Sugar Kane, Luke snorted. “Really?”
“Ha! I never thought of that. Sugar Kane and we’re in sugarcane country.”
“Kind of weird, but funny.”
“It is a bit,” she said. “Marilyn was on her downward spiral when this movie was made. She was constantly late and messed up lines. One line took forty-seven takes before she got it right.”
“She had quite the tragic life.”
“Indeed,” Claire said.
They returned their attention to the film, and Claire reveled in the fact that Luke seemed to be enjoying himself—nothing like a pair of men dressed up as women to lighten the mood.
They watched in companionable silence punctuated every so often with laughter and Luke ducking off to change the reels. Toward the end of the movie, Jack Lemmon jumped into a speedboat with the billionaire who says he wants to marry him, thinking he’s a her. When Jack finally admits he’s a man, the billionaire shrugs, adding that no one is perfect.
Luke’s laughter was music to her ears. Any tension between them had lifted.
“Can you imagine what audiences would have thought when they saw this in 1959?” she asked.
“It’s a wonder the Hays Code let it be released,” said Luke.
Claire looked at him, perplexed. “You know about that?”
Luke shrugged. “I may not have watched many movies in my lifetime, but I do know a bit about their history.” He shifted to face her. “I’d like to know more about this one, though.”
“You would?”
Luke laughed. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“But you said you don’t like movies.”
“I don’t like the movie industry. There is a slight difference.”
“Our production hasn’t changed your mind?”
“Too early to tell,” he muttered. “Tell me more about Some Like It Hot.”
Claire couldn’t contain her nerdy excitement. “The Hays Code was still in existence—it ended in 1969—but this movie was a big middle finger to the censors. The filmmakers didn’t bother getting approval from the censorship board, which was rather gutsy, given this was in the conservative era of Eisenhower. And—” She paused to see if she’d lost Luke, but he appeared entranced. “The Catholic church wasn’t impressed with this movie, especially since it’s packed full of sexual language and innuendo.”
“I’m surprised it didn’t end up on the cutting-room floor.”
“Yeah, it’s a wonder. Most of the public loved it, and so did the Academy, because it was nominated for six Academy Awards, and it won an Oscar for costume design.”
“I can see why. Lemmon and Curtis managed to pull it off somehow.”
“They certainly did. This movie has been voted by many experts as the greatest comedy of all time.” She paused, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m a bit of a movie nerd.”
“I don’t mind. I like to hear what you have to say.”
“Okay.” She took a breath, pleased Luke hadn’t fallen asleep yet. “This movie really tested society, because it challenged morality and made people wonder whether the Hays Code was necessary. Some Like It Hot, in its own way, examines misogyny and female objectification, and does it so well. Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon get an understanding of what women go through on a daily basis, having to deal with sexual advances and being judged on their looks, even when they aren’t the prettiest girls in the room.”
“Yeah, Jack and Tony aren’t exactly the belles of the ball.”
“Definitely not!” She smiled. “Especially when you put them next to a bombshell like Marilyn Monroe.” Claire sighed. “They don’t make them like they used to. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Certainly is.”
Claire looked over to find Luke’s eyes on her. The movie music finished and the reel in the projector room flick-flicked as it spun.
Luke gently touched her hair, his hand slowly caressing her face.
She held
her breath.
Luke moved toward her, his lips dangerously close to hers.
She closed her eyes, dipping under a wave of lust, and when their lips met, any doubts she’d had about Luke Jackson disappeared into the ether.
Chapter Fifteen
1952 – Hollywood
Lena sat in the back of the limousine as they drove down her old street. She missed the little apartment she’d once shared with Yvonne, but after her monumental and rapid success, she’d been encouraged by the studio to buy her own house to “fit in with the public’s expectations of a starlet.” Waking up every morning, she still couldn’t believe she owned a piece of Beverly Hills—and a beautiful one at that.
She sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Pierre Montreaux placed his hand on her knee and she gently moved it away.
“Nothing.” Lena returned to staring out the window. She should have been excited, but nerves had taken over the moment she’d donned the ochre gown Yvonne had chosen for her. Opening nights were always fraught with angst.
The limousine turned the corner and they entered a street lined with people waving and cheering. Spotlights angled skyward moved across the darkness and flashes from the photographers’ cameras went off like fireworks.
The car rolled to a stop in front of the movie theater and Pierre said to the driver, “Go around the block one more time.”
“Why?” Lena asked as the limousine pulled away from the curb and continued down the road.
“We need to give them a grand entrance, oui?”
“Being late is bad manners.”
“No one minds waiting for the leading man and leading lady.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “Just because you have a fake French accent doesn’t mean you can be arrogant. I see through you, even if no one else does.”
“Ah, my little rose, just because you have a fake accent doesn’t mean you can play the innocent card. I see through you.”
Lena gripped the edge of the seat so hard her fingers ached. “My accent is one hundred percent genuine.”
“Genuinely fake. You’re no New Yorker. But who cares. The public believe what they want, and if they want to believe I’m French, then I’m all for it. My exoticness adds extra zeroes on to my paycheck.” His smirk annoyed the heck out of her. “Not bad for a small-town kid from outside Calgary.”
The Cinema of Lost Dreams Page 14