The Cinema of Lost Dreams

by Alli Sinclair

  “It’s not a matter of what I want to do; it’s a matter of doing what is right, what is expected.” Luke didn’t look up from his work. “Too many young people are leaving for the city. This town will fall in a heap if some of us don’t stay. Plus, I owe it to my dad.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t agree?” he asked.

  “It’s not exactly black and white, is it?” she said. “I believe in doing things we don’t want to do, so we can appreciate it when we get the chance to do the things we love. But there has to be a balance. If we’re miserable all the time, what’s the point?”

  “The point is that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  “That old line?” She laughed. “If you could do anything in the world right now, what would you do?”

  “Anything?”

  “Yep.” She rested her hand on the bench.

  “Anything at all?” He gave a lopsided smile.

  “Yep.” Good grief. This shed seemed to have its own little heat wave.

  Luke stepped forward and placed his hand on her lower back.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Leaning in, he whispered in her ear, “Would you like me to tell you what I’d like to do?”

  The shed door slid open and Claire jumped back like she was a fifteen-year-old caught behind the shelter shed.

  Luke laughed. “Hi, Dad. This is Claire Montgomery, from the TV production company.”

  The tall, gray-haired man walked over to Claire and shook hands. His skin was rough, but the handshake was gentle.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Claire.” If Luke’s father had caught them about to get familiar, he certainly didn’t let on.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson.”

  “Please, call me Don.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Don,” she said, a mixture of embarrassment and lust for Luke swirling inside her.

  “Are you staying for dinner?” he asked. “Hattie’s made roast.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t stay. I really should be getting back,” she said.

  “Stay,” said Luke. “Please.”

  “I hear you have a fan in my aunt,” said Don. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

  “I’d love to see her as well,” she said.

  “I guess that’s sorted!”

  Don cast a frown at the artwork as he exited.

  What now? The intimate moment had been interrupted and she had no idea how she and Luke could pick it up again. Had that chance gone forever?

  Luke reached for her hand and winked. “I promise to tell you later what I would like to do.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  1994 – Starlight Creek, Queensland

  Luke led Claire out the door and toward his house, her hand still firmly in his. For someone who never had a problem striking up a conversation, words had finally escaped her. What was it about Luke that made her want to be with him every spare second she had?

  It was all so pointless though. She’d be back in Melbourne again soon, looking for more work and jumping on a plane to who-knows-where for the next contract.

  The wire door creaked open and Hattie came out and hurried down the stairs. Her energy defied her years. “It’s so lovely to see you, Claire!”

  Luke dropped Claire’s hand and Hattie gave her a firm hug.

  “Thank you so much for the meals you’ve been sending me,” said Claire. “It’s so nice to have home-cooked food.”

  “It is my pleasure, lovely lass.” Hattie linked her arm with Claire’s and they climbed the steps. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I most definitely am.”

  They entered the house and walked down the long hallway. On both sides hung framed photos, black-and-white and sepia in color. As a location scout, Claire was used to noticing details in a glance, and as they traveled the length of the hall she took in images of multiple generations. One particular image, of a young woman with a 1970s hairstyle, crocheted cardigan and flared pants, caught her eye. Her head was tilted back and her mouth was open like the person behind the camera had told the funniest joke on earth.

  “She’s beautiful.” Claire stopped and stared at the photo.

  “Yes, she is,” Hattie said.

  There was something quite mesmerizing about this woman, and Claire wanted to know more. But Hattie’s wistful tone and the way she gently urged Claire forward told her asking questions would be a mistake.

  They reached the kitchen, where Don was already at the table, newspaper on his lap.

  “Mmm, it smells amazing,” said Claire. “Can I help?”

  “No, no, it’s all under control. Besides, I already have a helper.” She nodded toward Luke, who was setting an extra place at the table.

  “I really hope I’m not imposing.”

  “Not at all,” said Hattie, motioning for Claire to sit.

  On a large serving plate, Hattie piled peas, carrots, roast potatoes, pumpkin and a delicious-looking chicken. She poured gravy into a delicate bone china boat and Luke carried the plate over to the table, then sat opposite Claire. She averted her eyes, her heart still pounding from their near-kiss.

  “Please, help yourself,” said Hattie.

  Claire dished small servings of everything on her plate and Luke, Hattie and Don went with generous sizes. The atmosphere wasn’t formal, but she couldn’t quite relax. It had been so long since she’d sat down for a family dinner. With her brothers working long hours and her semiretired parents traveling so often, months would go by before any of them got together for a family meal. Now, sitting with Luke and his dad and great-aunt, Claire realized how much she missed gatherings like this.

  “Wine?” Don opened a bottle and filled Claire’s glass.

  She took a sip, enjoying the crispy, fruity flavors. “This is lovely.”

  “Great year,” said Don, tucking into his meal. “Thanks for the dinner, Aunt Hattie.”

  “It’s the least I can do for letting me stay. Now, Claire dear, how is it all going?”

  “It’s going wonderfully.” She wasn’t sure if Hattie meant the movie, or whether her cinema was being looked after. “You should come down and have a look some time. I’m sure they’d love to meet you, and I can show you what it’s like on set.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t want to get in the way. It’s better they get everything filmed, then I can move back. I do miss the place.”

  “I can imagine,” said Claire. “Although it’s rather gorgeous here. How long have you lived on the farm, Don?”

  “This farm’s been in the family for four generations. Five once Luke takes over.”

  She didn’t dare look at Luke.

  Don continued. “Farming is in the Jackson blood. It’s not easy, but it’s what we Jackson men do. We’ve weathered some tough times, but that’s the way it is.” He slapped Luke on the back. “And with my helper here, we can get through anything.”

  Luke’s smile was almost a grimace. Don seemed oblivious.

  “So, Claire.” Don cut a roast potato. “How long are you in town?”

  “Until the end of filming, which is fairly soon.”

  “What’s next?” he asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure, but something will pop up.”

  “This isn’t a permanent job?” asked Don.

  “Dad, she doesn’t need to be interrogated,” said Luke.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “It’s permanent in that I usually have back-to-back work. Each project is different, and I get used to moving around to where the jobs are.”

  “You don’t have a home?”

  “I do, in Melbourne, but I’m rarely there. My friend rents from me, and when I’m in town I sleep in the spare bedroom.” Luke was right, it did feel a little like an interrogation. Then again, she liked that
Don was interested enough to ask questions.

  “I couldn’t imagine a transient life like that,” said Don. “How do you expect to hold down a relationship? Have a family?”

  “Donald!” said Hattie. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

  “Sorry.” Don hung his head like he was in the principal’s office. “I’m a bit of a traditionalist.”

  “A bit?” laughed Luke. “You would have been at home in the fifties, when women were tied to the kitchen sink.”

  “Now that’s enough!” Hattie angled a finger at both men. “Claire did not come here to listen to you two carry on. Let’s finish dinner in peace, and if you boys behave there might be dessert.” She winked at Claire. “I may not have been a mother, but I know how to keep these two ratbags in line.”

  “It’s a next-to-impossible task, I’m figuring,” said Claire.

  Luke and Don sniggered like naughty schoolboys and Hattie gave a dramatic sigh.

  When everyone was finished, Claire offered to clear the plates.

  “No, no,” said Hattie. “The boys can do it. You and I can go outside and enjoy the fresh air.”

  Claire followed Hattie onto the veranda and sat next to her on the swing seat. The moon was high in the inky sky and the frogs sounded like they were right underneath them.

  “I’m so glad you came by,” said Hattie.

  “So am I.”

  “That woman in the photo back there.” Hattie cocked her head in the direction of the hallway. “That was Luke’s mother.”

  “What happened…?” Claire stopped. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “It’s all right, really.” Hattie patted Claire’s hand. “You’d think after eighteen years it would get easier.”

  “Eighteen years?”

  “Luke was only twelve when he lost her, the poor love. Most of the family had moved away from Starlight Creek by then, and it was only me and Don left to raise him.”

  “That’s why you two are so close.”

  Hattie nodded. “I never thought I’d be a mother, but losing Stephanie allowed me that chance.” She straightened her back. “I would have given all that up to have Stephanie with us, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Claire. “Is Luke an only child?”

  “No. Yes. Oh dear, it’s so complicated.”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “No, no, it’s good to get this out. Grief can’t hold our hearts prisoner forever. It doesn’t do anyone any good. Believe me, you don’t get to this age and not experience the pain of losing someone you love.” Hattie stared into the distance. “We have two choices—let the heartbreak suck us under the dark waves and drown us, or find a way to ride those waves and keep our heads above water, faces to the sun, our hearts remembering but not weighing us down.”

  “I can’t even imagine how difficult it would have been for all of you,” Claire said.

  “You’ve never lost anyone?”

  “No,” said Claire. “I’ve been blessed.”

  “You have indeed, my lass. I hope you don’t go through something so tragic for a long time.” Hattie clasped her hands on her lap.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking.” Claire was tentative. “But what did you mean by it’s complicated about Luke having a sibling?”

  Hattie turned her head toward the screen door. The sounds of Luke and his dad chattering and washing dishes echoed down the hall.

  Hattie whispered, “Stephanie had complications during childbirth. When Luke’s little brother was born, he was very sick. We lost Stephanie, then a few days later we lost Scott.”

  Hot tears welled in Claire’s eyes. She tried to swallow, but a huge lump had formed in her throat.

  “It was a terrible, terrible time. After Luke was born, Don and Stephanie had trouble conceiving. In fact, they’d given up hope. Then out of the blue, almost eleven years later, Stephanie fell pregnant. You can imagine the joy everyone felt.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “The pregnancy had gone perfectly, the baby seemed to be thriving in the womb but, as we now know, nature isn’t always predictable. So when she went into labor early, we were all surprised and totally unprepared.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Emergency medical treatment in Starlight Creek was a bit more rustic in the seventies. The doctor did what he could but…”

  “I am so sorry,” said Claire. “Though saying that just feels so inadequate.”

  “It was very hard to tell an excited twelve-year-old that he’d not only lost his little brother, but his mother as well.”

  Claire gulped back a sob. “I just don’t know what to say.”

  “No one does, not even now. And it breaks my heart to see Luke and his father butting heads.”

  “They fight a lot? It looks like they get on reasonably well.”

  “Yes and no.” Hattie looked around, like she expected someone to be hiding in the bushes. “Maybe I’m speaking out of turn, but I can see you and Luke have a thing for each other.”

  “We haven’t known each other for long and—”

  “Time has nothing to do with how we feel about someone. Sometimes you can meet a person and just know. You’re a good influence on him. He’s been a lot happier since you arrived.”

  “He practically yelled at me when we first met.”

  “He was just being protective of his old aunt.”

  The more she spoke to Hattie, the more the pieces of Luke’s puzzle fit together—she hadn’t realized it was so complicated.

  Hattie smoothed down her skirt. “The thing is, Luke inherited his mother’s artistic talents. His heart isn’t in farming.”

  “Ah, so because Luke is the only child, Don wants—needs—his son to follow in his footsteps. Otherwise the sugarcane farm that’s been in the family for generations will be no more,” said Claire.

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s a tough spot to be in.”

  “For Luke, yes, but Don can’t see the pressure he’s putting on his son. Luke loves his father, and wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”

  “So he works on the farm and makes art on the side, instead of pursuing it full time.”

  “The art drives a wedge between them. His mother was a clay sculptor,” Hattie whispered. “Seeing Luke’s artistic talents reminds Don of Stephanie. He’s never gotten over losing her.”

  Claire studied the mountains in the distance. No wonder Luke thought it impractical and self-indulgent to pursue one’s dreams.

  The door creaked open and Luke appeared with two mugs of tea. “A late evening refreshment for the ladies.”

  He passed Hattie a mug, then one to Claire.

  “Thank you,” she said, heartbroken with the knowledge of what Luke and his family had been through. How could she look at him now without showing her emotions? Claire had to process it all while Luke leaned innocently against the railing of the veranda.

  All she wanted was to hold him in her arms.

  Chapter Nineteen

  1952 – Hollywood

  On the empty sound stage, Lena collapsed on a folding chair in a dark corner. Now that everyone had left, the time to reflect gave her a sense of closure for the day and helped her prepare for the next one. Today’s shoot had finally come together. Lena hadn’t messed up her lines or tripped over air while dancing, and she’d managed not to break into a sweat whenever Pierre touched her. Anna May and all of the chorus girls had done beautiful work, and it was a joy to hear the voices come together and accompany Lena and Pierre on their duet.

  She kicked off the yellow heels and wished someone would come to her rescue and carry her back to the dressing room.

  Lena slapped her forehead. She was becoming the helpless heroines she depicted on-screen.

  “Do you always smack yourself in
the face?” Pierre sat on the chair next to her.

  “Do you always sit down uninvited?”

  “Touché.” He put his hands behind his head. “Looks like we’re getting closer to being Hollywood’s hottest couple.”

  Lena looked away. She needed quiet time, but apparently Pierre had other ideas.

  “Jeanne Harris and Reeves Garrity are the hottest couple,” said Lena. “Anyway, it’s not a competition.”

  “It is, according to the magazines and moviegoers. Why do you think Stuart Cooper keeps pushing our couple status?”

  “I wish he wouldn’t.” Lena slid her feet back into the shoes. “It’s all stupid.”

  “What?” Pierre looked incredulous.

  “I seriously don’t think us being a couple off-screen gets more people interested in us or our movies.”

  “My fans would say otherwise.”

  “How can all this be healthy, though? Men—and women—can be very successful without being tied to someone else.”

  Pierre let out a loud laugh and doubled over, clutching his side. “Oh, Lena. You do amuse me.”

  Tension gripped her shoulders and raced up her neck. “I am not here to amuse. I am voicing my concern that a woman is not considered successful in this industry unless she is attached to a man off-screen. Why are women seen as threats if they don’t have a husband? Or, worse, people think there’s something wrong with them, so no one will marry them.”

  Pierre snort-laughed then stopped. “You’re serious? Happily married couples on-screen, happily married couples off-screen; this is how they want it. Good little Americans living the dream. You don’t want to be responsible for tearing the fabric of our society, do you?”

  Lena didn’t answer.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I don’t see what you’re complaining about. You get paid plenty.”

  “Nowhere near as much as you,” she grumbled.

  Pierre shrugged and her annoyance grew. Turning to face him, she said, “I’d like to see how you’d feel if the shoe were on the other foot.”

  “Men will always earn more, and women will always be the sexy attractions.”

  “But why? Change can be good, you know.”