The Cinema of Lost Dreams

by Alli Sinclair

  “It will.”

  She admired his unwavering self-assurance. “Though I do agree with Nigel that perhaps it would be best—”

  “Nigel is in on this?”

  Damn it. She should have been more careful. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. We can’t risk Robert Dennis turning up and wrecking things.”

  “How would he do that?”

  “You didn’t see the fire in his eyes. He was ready to kill you with his bare hands—in front of witnesses.”

  “He was a bit upset, I guess.”

  Claire placed her hand on her hip.

  “Fine,” said James. “He was irate. I wouldn’t blame him. If I had a daughter, I wouldn’t want her with me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “You mean that?”

  “Of course.” Up until now, James had always been confident on- and off-screen, yet here he was, showing a more vulnerable side, and it had only surfaced since Ashton. “I like this new James, with the self-help books and willingness to get out and exercise. I also like this new James who seems to have discovered love.”

  “Yeah.” He dragged the toe of his tennis shoe in the dirt. “Love’s complicated.”

  “More than it needs to be, sometimes.” She looked at her watch. Oh shit. “Right, I need to get back to Nigel, and you need to be on set soon. See you there.”

  “Hey, Claire.”

  “Yep?”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For not judging me or having expectations about who I’m supposed to be. For just accepting who I am, warts and all.”

  “James, we all have different masks for different situations—work, home, with lovers, friends, alone. Everyone’s a chameleon, whether we admit it or not.”

  “You’re very perceptive.”

  “People are interesting creatures. Although I don’t know if you can ever fully know someone.”

  “I guess that’s why we’re in the business we are—we get to play lots of different characters to try to unravel the mystery of what makes humans do the things we do.”

  “That’s so true!” Wow. James really was full of surprises. She looked at her watch again. “I really need to go.”

  James stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. The emotional warmth of his hug touched her heart, and she relaxed into his embrace.

  Over his shoulder she saw a battered yellow car, with the bright blue eyes of Starlight Creek’s resident artist staring at her as he drove past.

  * * * *

  The day went quickly as Claire rushed from one part of the set to the other. James seemed more focused than usual, and she figured it was because he was determined to wrap up and get back to his beloved Annalise. Logically, those two didn’t work, but when it came to emotions, all rationality went out the window—for everyone except Claire. She’d yet to have a significant romantic relationship in her life. She’d always put it down to the nature of her job, with her traveling and working all over Australia and New Zealand. Or was there something else stopping her?

  The day’s shooting had finished, and Claire got to work preparing for the next day. As she did so, she kept an ear out for familiar footsteps that always came as soon as the rest of the crew had left.

  Silence.

  Well, they had finished early so maybe Luke was still on his way. Claire loved the baskets of Hattie’s goodies she’d been receiving, though she loved the company of the delivery man more.

  Claire checked the doors even though she knew they were locked. She’d developed her habit of triple-checking locks from an early age, having grown up in the crime-ridden inner city before it was trendy. The old grimy buildings of her childhood had been replaced by fashionable shops and chic cafés and pubs.

  Claire shook her head. She doubted leaving anything unlocked in Starlight Creek would be an issue, but it wasn’t worth the risk. You never knew who would wander through town and cause a problem.

  Like Robert Dennis.

  Pushing him out of her mind, she waited for Luke a little longer, then gave up and left the cinema, a tinge of disappointment surrounding her. Claire headed toward the pub where most of the cast and crew had gone to let off some steam. Through the open windows she could see Tony laughing with Camille and James, while Phil chattered intensely with a group from production. The pub staff were frantically busy behind the bar. Filming in small towns always brought money to the economy, and the townsfolk usually embraced the opportunity, which is why it had been a blow for Ashton when Robert Dennis had cancelled his contract. She wondered if the townsfolk would forgive him.

  Determined to get him out of her head, Claire opted to stretch her legs and investigate the outer reaches of Starlight Creek. Before she got to the edge of town, however, she passed the news agency. Colin, the owner, was locking up.

  “Good evening,” Claire said cheerily.

  He scowled and muttered as he shoved his keys in his trouser pocket.

  “Pardon?” asked Claire.

  The woman from the gift shop walked around the corner, her black curly hair perfectly in place. She clutched a large package against her chest and wore a bright smile. “Good evening, Claire! How is everything going with filming? It’s so lovely to have you all in Starlight Creek.”

  Colin stared at her. “What are you talking about, Marcela? This town has fallen into disarray since this mob got here.”

  “Ridiculous,” said Marcela. “This town has been falling apart for years. I don’t blame the kids leaving and going to the city to study and work. Nothing ever happens here.”

  “That’s because the kids have no respect for their parents. They don’t want to get their hands dirty and do hard yakka on the land. A bunch of ungrateful and entitled swine, moving away and working in air-conditioned offices, pushing paper around a desk.”

  “Well, who’d want to stay in a town where grumpy old men can’t be respectful to newcomers?”

  “It’s newcomers like these film people who plant ideas into kids’ heads. They bring promises of an easy life in the big smoke. What will happen to this town if the next generation moves away? We’ll be a ghost town, that’s what. Forgotten. We might as well give up now.”

  “You just said the young people of this town have no respect and don’t want to get their hands dirty.” Marcela rolled her eyes. “Get a grip, Colin. The problems in Starlight Creek started long ago. Maybe if the townsfolk worked together, rather than spending all their energy arguing about trivial matters, we might bring some happiness back to this place. Lord knows it’s been wallowing in the past for way too long. We need to make the town attractive—not just physically—to entice our young people back. Then we might have a future.”

  Claire had no idea whether she should interrupt or let the scene play out. Either way, this conversation unnerved her. It seemed Scarlet was right—Starlight Creek was a town divided.

  Colin pointed a finger at her. “The sooner you lot leave, the better. Don’t think we didn’t hear what happened in Ashton.”

  “Oh.” She needed to think—and quickly. “I assure you that was most unusual, and I am doing everything in my power to ensure everything runs smoothly in Starlight Creek.”

  “It better, because the last thing this town needs is more trouble.” He stormed off, small clouds of dust swirling behind him.

  Claire watched Colin disappear down a side street. This unprovoked confrontation had knocked the wind out of her.

  Marcela rested her hand on Claire’s arm. “Don’t worry about him. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Mars.”

  “Why?”

  “This town has been through so much. Farms are having a really tough time at the moment. They’re earning a lot less, yet doing the same amount of work. A lot of young people don’t wa
nt to continue the family tradition. They want to strike out on their own, which usually means moving away. Though it’s not just that. There are townsfolk who prefer to live in the past. They think new technology or farming techniques aren’t for them.” Marcela adjusted the package she was holding. “There’s been a push for green cane harvesting instead of traditional burning. Green cane harvesting helps with soil erosion, because the leaves and tops of the cane are left on the ground, which increases soil moisture and means they don’t have to use so many nasty herbicides. It also reduces pollution. But there are stick-in-the-muds who get defensive and protest change before they know the full story.”

  “I know a lot of people like that.”

  “There are way too many. The thing is, though, I can’t remember the last time the townsfolk got together. Hall dances died off years ago, and our lovely sense of community has disappeared. I have no idea how to get it back. Starlight Creek has bounced back so many times: from the losses during war, refusing to accept immigrants post-war…so many things, but whatever it was that pulled Starlight Creek through the hard times has vanished. And it breaks my heart.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Claire.

  “Now, now. Don’t you start feeling bad for us. Having your production here is a godsend. It’s nice to have some fresh faces around. And”—she winked—“my gift shop is booming.”

  “I’m so glad.” Claire smiled. “You have some beautiful items in there.”

  “Your lot have just about cleared me out. I’ve sold every one of my metal sculptures.”

  “Can’t you order more from Luke? He must be pleased with the result.”

  “He’s not making any more.”

  “Why not?”

  “Family commitments, I believe.” She looked at the ground and shook her head. “Such a shame. Such a wasted talent. Well.” Marcela looked up, her demeanor changing. “Best be off and see what prints I’ve got to work on. I do framing on the side, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know, and I’ll be sure to pay a visit to your shop before I go.”

  “Thank you, your support is much appreciated.” She gave a knowing look. “It is returned tenfold, as far as I am concerned. The naysayers of this town need to move with the times and realize that change can be good.”

  Marcela waved goodbye and Claire continued on her way, crossing the tracks that took the trains to the sugar mill. The mill spewed out smoke, leaving a distinct stench in the air. Not pleasant, that’s for sure. She doubted she’d have time to get used to it. Her time in Starlight Creek was nearly up, although a large part of her wished it wasn’t.

  Claire left the town behind, enjoying walking along the deserted road, sugarcane fields either side. She tried to quash her city-girl fears and not worry about rodents or reptiles attacking her. Her thoughts were irrational, but she’d been brought up in the inner city, not in the rural beauty of north Queensland.

  The smell of the sugar mill now far behind, Claire reveled in the fresh air and the symphony of cicadas. Off in the distance, the river sparkled under the moon, and Claire slowed her pace, hoping her mind would do the same.

  She loved this job and the opportunities it brought, but it wasn’t enough. Her goals were lofty, but they weren’t impossible. It was just a matter of figuring out how to get where she wanted to go—something easier said than done.

  Claire kicked a stone and it skittered across the bitumen and into a fence post. She looked up.

  At the top of the long driveway was a house with a red door. Beside it was a yellow car in front of a shed she knew all too well. What had her subconscious done?

  Lights were on in the front rooms of the house, and she could see a bright-white glow streaming from under the shed door.

  This was a bad idea. If Luke had wanted to see her tonight, he would have turned up with one of Hattie’s meals. She wouldn’t have cared if he turned up with a Vegemite sandwich. Delicious as Hattie’s food was, it wasn’t as delectable as Luke’s company. For whatever reason, though, Luke had chosen not to see her.

  Rolling her shoulders back, Claire marched up the driveway and knocked on the shed door.

  “I’ll be inside in a tick,” came a muffled voice over metal banging against metal.

  “It’s not Hattie,” she said.

  The banging stopped.

  “It’s me, Claire.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “I just wanted to say hi.” Oh no. Did she sound desperate? “Listen, I can come back another time.”

  “No.” The shed door slid open. The bright light silhouetted Luke’s body, the curve of his muscles showing through his light blue shirt. “It’s all right, you’re here now.”

  Surprised by the invitation, she followed Luke into his sanctuary. Last time she was here, he’d been quick to cover up his art and shut the door, yet now he was leading her between rows of half-finished work, sketches and colored stones and tiles scattered across work benches. Tempted to touch the shiny metal pieces, Clare shoved her hands in her pockets.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m good, thank you.” Luke picked up a piece of cloth and started polishing a beautiful piece with birds and butterflies. Inlaid in the butterfly wings were turquoise and lilac stones.

  “That is absolutely stunning.”

  “Thank you.” He continued polishing.

  “Luke.”

  Polish. Polish.

  “Luke!”

  He looked up. “Why are you yelling?”

  “I was trying to get your attention.”

  He put the cloth down and rested his arms on the bench. He focused on her so intensely she grew self-conscious. “I’m sorry.”

  “For?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t put my work down when you came in. This place is a little like white line fever.”

  “How so?”

  He nodded toward the door. “Whenever I step across the threshold, I’m in my own world and it’s all about design and art.”

  “It’s your happy place.”

  He nodded.

  “And you let me in? Last time I was here you practically shoved me out the door.”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” she said, “you had good reason. But why am I allowed in now?”

  “You don’t think you should be?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, yes, I should be here.” She really needed to work on her communication skills.

  “The first time we met, I thought you were pushy.”

  “I was,” she admitted.

  “Regardless, the person I know now is very different.”

  “I’m the same person as before. Your perception of me has changed, that’s all.”

  Luke stared at his hands lying flat on the bench. “I would like to get to know you better.”

  “And I’d like to do the same,” said Claire.

  “One thing, though.”

  Slowly, she said, “Yes?”

  “James Lloyd.”

  “What about him? Oh. Oh!” She laughed. “I was counseling him this morning.” She tilted her head to the side. “Are you jealous?”

  “No.” His voice was low.

  “You don’t need to be, he’s just—”

  “I don’t entertain jealousy, it’s a wasted emotion.”

  “Okay.” Wow. She hadn’t expected his reaction to be so…strong. “Well, even if you did entertain such a ‘wasted emotion’ there’s no reason to be jealous. We’re talking about James Lloyd here, the biggest…” She let the words fall away, remembering her conversation with James and his anxiety about labels. Casanova just didn’t sit right.

  “Biggest?”

  “Biggest-hearted actor I know.” It wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “I never would have guessed,” he said. “So, there’s no…?�
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  “Hanky-panky with James?” Her laugh turned into a snort. “God no! He’s just a good guy who needs a friend.”

  “And that friend is you,” he said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Cool.” Luke fiddled with a piece of wire. “I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

  “Everyone does, especially about James. It’s only natural that people feel the need to label people so they fit neatly into round holes. But most of us are square pegs, and don’t fit neatly anywhere.”

  Luke studied her for a moment. “I’m not sure how that analogy works, but it does.”

  “I’m glad you know what I mean.” Claire watched him dip a rag in liquid and start wiping down the butterflies. The metal grew shinier with each stroke. “Marcela said you weren’t supplying her with any more sculptures. What are you doing with these?”

  Luke put the rag down. “You were talking to Marcela about me?”

  “She said she’d sold out of all the metal sculptures, and she wasn’t getting any more in because you’re busy with ‘family commitments.’”

  “She’s right.”

  “Yet you’re working on something rather breathtaking,” she ventured.

  “I just do these for me now, okay?” By the tone of his voice, it was far from okay. “If I had my way, I would spend all my days doing this.” He rested his hand on a beautiful sculpture of a tropical fish.

  “Why don’t you?”

  He picked up the rag and started polishing the fish. “Life doesn’t work like that. I have responsibilities, and I can’t discard them to follow my dreams.”

  “Why not?”

  He stopped working and looked at her. “Imagine if everyone did that.”

  “The world would be a much happier place.”

  He kept rubbing the same spot. “I have a responsibility to my father to help out around here. He’s getting old, and he needs to know that I can take over when he retires.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”