by Alison Tyler
"Not much," Luke responded, hearing the arch tone in his voice. He did not particularly like the switch in Teri's manner. He had no interest in altering the status quo.
"I can't imagine doing those crazy stunts," Teri commented. "I don't care what she says, the risks are enormous. You read about horrible accidents all the time when they're doing stunts in films—"
"Can we get off the topic?" Luke interrupted. His thoughts had not been all that different from Teri's about the dangers of Cat's profession, but it was a subject that he found too disturbing to dwell on.
"Sorry. Just making conversation."
The film crew was more boisterous than the rest of the patrons in the restaurant. Teri determinedly ignored them, but Luke, whose back was to Cat, kept picking up the sound of her voice and her throaty laugh.
"Are you going back to your office this afternoon?" Luke asked, finishing his sandwich.
Teri cocked her head. "I really should. I've got a pile of medical reports sitting on my desk."
Luke nodded.
"I could be persuaded to let them go another day…"
"Well, I still have those journals to tackle. Getting sick put me way off my schedule."
"Sometimes I wonder if the two of us aren't too well organized." Actually, she hadn't wondered about it before today.
"If I didn't keep to a regimen I might never get anything done. Behind this facade of well-controlled order lurks the heart of an impulsive devil."
"You're full of surprises today, Dr. Eliot. And all this time I thought I knew you so well."
Luke swept the napkin off his lap, wiped his lips, and placed the cloth on the table. "Sometimes I even surprise myself." He got up from his chair, walked around to pull out Teri's seat, and glanced over at Cat.
She was talking to a young body-beautiful guy, but she must have felt Luke's eyes on her. She turned her head toward him. When Teri bent to retrieve her purse, Cat winked, a wide grin making her look all the more dazzling.
He took Teri's arm as he guided her around Cat's table. Okay, Luke, he thought, you've had your moment of fantasy. Wave good-bye and get back to reality.
He coughed just as he got to Cat.
She looked up over her shoulder. "Take care of that cold, Doc," she said in her low, husky voice.
Sophia Loren had never sounded that good. Or stirred fantasies as vivid.
He opened the door for Teri, stepped outside after her, and took three steps before coming to a sudden stop.
"Hold on one sec, Teri. I… I forgot something."
He didn't wait for her response, swerving back around and through the restaurant door again before Teri realized what was happening.
He strode over to Cat's table. Her blue eyes— pure sea-blue now and glittering with pleasure— met his.
"I was wondering where you were staying in town, in case I need some more of that medicine of yours." The others at the table grew silent, but he ignored them completely.
So did Cat. "I'm at the Ambassador."
He nodded, a slow smile appearing on his lips as he caught the warm sparkle in her eyes.
His smile lasted all the way to the front door. It faded when a large, good-looking older man walked past him and over to Cats table. It was the same guy who had been all over Cat on the set. Okay, so maybe he was exaggerating, he told himself. He stopped arguing the point when he saw the man bend over Cat and give her a very affectionate hug. What disturbed him the most was the tender look in Cat's eyes as she returned the embrace. Then she reached over and handed the man a paper bag of food. He kissed her again, waved to everyone else at the table, and headed back toward the door. Luke hurried through it first.
"Did you find what you'd forgotten?" Teri asked as Luke stepped back outside.
"No," he said gruffly. "I must have made a mistake."
"Pass the mustard, Cat."
Cat picked up the salt shaker and slid it across the table.
"Mustard, not salt. Wake up, Cat. Who's that guy, anyway?"
Ben Seaton, the stunt man sitting next to Cat, snickered. "That's no guy. He's Cat's knight in shining armor. Right, Cat?" He speared a French fry as he waited for her response.
She stirred her tea absently, a glimmer of a smile on her lips.
Joanie Weston, the special effects assistant who had asked Cat for the mustard, laughed. "Oh, so that's the guy who tried to save you from suicide yesterday. That had to be one of the funniest—"
"Stop it, both of you," Cat scolded lightly, casting her big blue eyes around the table in warning. "I don't think it was in the least bit fanny. It was—it was quite gallant, romantic, and…" Her eyes sparkled. "Okay, it was a little funny, too. But Luke Eliot happens to be a very renowned psychiatrist and he was acting on a—a professional instinct."
"That wasn't professional instinct I saw in those sexy eyes of his a minute ago." Joanie grinned. "And all this time I thought most psychiatrists looked like Sigmund Freud. Do you think your Dr. Eliot takes short-term patients?" she teased.
"He's not my doctor," Cat retorted, grabbing the plastic container of mustard. "Here, go drown your hot dog."
"You're beginning to make me jealous, Cat," Ben murmured with a seductive grin. "You're not falling for that guy, are you? He's definitely not your type. You get yourself tangled up with a shrink and in no time he'll have you so well analyzed that you'll never jump out another window again."
"That's ridiculous, Ben." Cat picked up her broccoli quiche and took a large bite.
"Which part? He's not for you, or he won't keep you from leaping?"
She shot him a wide grin. "Figure it out for yourself."
The rest of the group laughed, except for Ben. This was the fourth picture he had been on with Cat, and he had been trying unsuccessfully through all of them to get somewhere with her. So far he hadn't made it to first base, but he wasn't ready to give up hope. He focused his attention on his chicken sandwich, deciding that this Eliot wasn't a real threat. The thought of the doctor and Cat as a pair was not only improbable, it was downright funny. No, he told himself, Cat would never get involved with a straight-arrow, conservative dude like that. She had to be pulling everyone's leg.
Cat nibbled on her French fries, her mind in the same place as Ben's. Only she was not having the same thoughts. She was recalling Luke Eliot's warm, sexy eyes, the rich timbre of his voice, the way he smiled when she told him the name of her hotel. She was certain he would contact her, and the expectation of meeting him again gave her a shiver of anticipation.
There had been a hint of promise in their shared smile. Cat wasn't sure exactly what that promise was, but right now she didn't feel like figuring it out. She liked the rush of excitement she was experiencing, the funny tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach, the slightly dizzy feeling coursing through her.
Liz Fuller walked into the restaurant and joined the others at the large booth. She looked less like Cat now, with her dark hair swept up into a coiled knot, large sunglasses covering those baby-blue eyes, her stage makeup removed to reveal a much paler complexion. Her gestures and movements were different, too. They were more contained and controlled than the woman who risked life and limb for her. There was a quiet hush in the restaurant as people began to recognize the actress, then a bustle of activity and whispers. Several people came over for autographs, which Liz signed graciously.
Ben Seaton got up and offered the star his seat.
"Your throne, Miss Fuller," he teased playfully. "Don't get writer's cramp, now. You still have some scenes to shoot this afternoon." He grinned broadly, flexing a bicep. "See you later, gang. I have to get back and beat up Liz's lover—for the twenty-fifth time. If we do one more retake, I think I'll have to throw a few real punches—at Carl."
"Don't you dare." Liz laughed. "Carl is a gem of a director, and I want him to stay in one piece for the next week and a half and finish this little farce on schedule. I have other fish to fry when this piece of fluff is wrapped up." Her eyes gleamed with
mysterious pleasure.
Cat watched Liz as she sat down and ran a well-manicured finger along the menu. Then she looked over at Cat's half-eaten quiche.
"God, that's disgusting. How can you eat all of those revolting calories and stay so gorgeously thin?"
"It's amazing the number of calories you use up tumbling off bridges and out of windows."
"I think I'll keep my feet on the ground and order the fruit salad plate."
The waitress, waiting with bated breath in the wings, scurried over to Liz when the actress put down her menu. The young woman immediately asked the star for her autograph. Liz graciously signed the cardboard back of the sales slip book and then gave her order, flashing the waitress one of her best theatrical smiles.
Cat laughed. "I bet you get two cherries on top of your cottage cheese for that. I'll take crashing motorcycles and burning buildings to autograph seekers anytime."
"They only get to me on my bad days. Don't forget—they're the ones who buy the movie tickets. By the way, speaking of crashing motorcycles and burning buildings," Liz said, switching gears as she so often did, "my agent called before I came over here to tell me that he was completing negotiations for Peter Whitney's new film, Victims. I read the script last month and it's a knockout. It means leaving next Friday for a few weeks on location in Rome. Which unfortunately means a few weeks fighting off the temptations of pasta, vino, and beautiful Italian men. But its a very juicy part that I am dying to sink my pearly white teeth into, and Peter Whitney did help Carrie Morgan win that Oscar last year."
Liz closed her eyes for a moment, her long black lashes fluttering over her high cheekbones. "This is my year, Cat. I feel it in my blood." She opened her eyes and grinned. "The cry of the unrewarded."
"There's an Oscar up there with your name on it," Cat said, laughing. "I feel it in my blood."
Liz patted Cats hand affectionately. "I adore you even though you torment me with mouthwatering quiche. Want to come along to Roma? I'm sure Whitney would love to have you stunt for me if you have nothing else lined up yet. What do you say? Shall I put in the word?"
Cat looked over at Liz thoughtfully. "I don't know. I was thinking about a film Walt Logan is doing this summer, but I haven't gotten back to him yet. They're going to be shooting most of the stunts in and around Mexico City."
"Tacos when you could have fettuccine? Cat, how could you even consider Logan when Italy beckons?"
"Is Italy 'it' for location shots?"
"Where else would you like to go?"
Cat grinned, shrugging her shoulders. "I hear the Greek islands are nice this time of year. The thought of lolling around sandy Aegean beaches on my days off does have definite appeal over tacos and turista."
"Now that you mention it," Liz said, "I think Peter is going to do a few days' work in Greece. In fact, there were some notations in my script about Crete and a couple of other little islands. Actually, one of them was a place I visited a few years back when I was dating Tony Vargos and we took that fabulous cruise along the islands in that absolutely sumptuous yacht of his. Did I tell you he had to sell it last year? After that string of flops he had, the poor guy was forced to get rid of the boat, sublet his villa in Spain, and last time I saw him, he was driving around in a very used-looking Porsche instead of that silver Jag he loved so much."
"Which island?"
"Huh? Oh, right. How did I get off on the Vargos tangent?"
"Maybe you really liked the man," Cat offered.
Liz pursed her lips. "He was stunning—and quite charming. Nothing like the gossip mongers tout. But then, who is? If I believed everything that was written about me, I would have thrown a few punches of my own by now. Poor Tony. God, this is a crazy business. What are we doing in it, Cat?"
"Having fun, of course." She smiled broadly. "And filling up our bankbooks."
"True." Liz laughed. "Anyway, Skiathos is the name of the island where Tony and I…" She didn't bother finishing the sentence. Instead she lifted the tall glass of Perrier to her lips and took a long sip. She smiled across at Cat, whose expression had become suddenly mysterious. "Do you know the island?"
"I've heard of it," Cat said, stretching her long legs under the table. "I read something about it just recently." In Luke Eliot's apartment to be exact. One of the brochures she had picked up from his desk was all about the glories of the Sporades islands off the Greek mainland. Skiathos appeared in bright red lettering on the front cover.
"So, what do you say? Do you want to fight killer sharks in the aqua Mediterranean, fall off a couple of cliffs, and get into a few crashes for me? I know of at least one glorious triple-car smash-up in the script, and there's sure to be lots more fun and games on this one, knowing dear Peter's penchant for that kind of thing."
"Unfortunately, I have a couple of pals in the business who've stunted for him and barely lived to tell about it. Peter sometimes gets a little carried away with his notions of what kinds of stunts are humanly possible."
"Don't worry. Lenny told me Peter is going to try to get your father to supervise. Dodger is cautious enough to keep Peter Whitney in line. And he's particularly careful about his little girl."
"Too careful, sometimes." Cat sighed. "Dodgers getting more finicky with age." She popped the last piece of quiche into her mouth. "There should be some interesting fireworks between Dodger and dear old Peter if my dad takes this one on."
"Come along and watch them, then."
"I'll have to think about it," Cat mused, a fleeting fantasy of Luke stretched out on glistening white Aegean sand crossing her mind. Yes, she thought, it was definitely something to consider. Maybe after this evening, she would be ready to let Liz know her decision.
Luke tried to settle into his work. After spending a good twenty minutes sharpening pencils, organizing the books and papers on his desk into neat stacks, and changing the perfectly serviceable ribbon on his typewriter, he finally admitted to himself that his mind was not going to cooperate with the work he had set out to do. Scowling, he slammed a book shut and rubbed his eyes.
He reached for his phone and dialed his answering service for any messages. There was only one— from Max Hart, Luke's former supervisor and current friend and mentor. The message asked Luke to call back but indicated that there was no emergency.
It had been several years since Luke had felt a pressing need to talk with Max about any personal issues. When Luke had first gone into practice, Max had been very supportive, as well as remarkably sensitive and understanding to Luke's concerns about leaving his safe niche at San Francisco General, Max had helped Luke realize the importance of testing new ground and of taking worthwhile risks.
Luke stared at the phone for a few moments. What would Max say if he told him he had been contemplating getting mixed up with a wildly beautiful Hollywood stunt woman? What would he say about this absurd streak of jealousy that had suddenly materialized? How would he interpret the fantasies that kept bombarding him? Luke wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answers to those questions, but he began dialing Max's number, anyway.
The line was busy. Luke wandered into the kitchen. The Thermos that Cat had brought over yesterday afternoon was tipped upside down on the drainboard. He walked over and lifted it up. A few drops of water splashed onto his hand. There was still a faint aroma of chicory. He ran it under the tap again. The scent was still there, clinging, just as his thoughts about Cat clung to his mind. He studied the Thermos. I should return it to her, he thought. Maybe she has some other missions of mercy…
He redialed Max Harts number, getting a ring this time. The Thermos was still in his hand as Max said hello. Luke bent down and slid the container into the cupboard under the sink.
"Hello, Max."
"Luke. You didn't have to hurry to call back. I just wanted to let you know I saw that Mr. Miller you referred."
"Oh. That's good. He's—uhm—one of those people who have trouble coping with success."
"And women. He told me he always choo
ses the wrong ones."
"Sounds familiar."
"Yes. We both see that symptom enough," Max agreed. "So Luke, how are you? You sound like you have a cold."
"I've—I've been fighting something off for the past few days." Luke's eyes drifted to the cupboard door. "It's funny you should bring up Miller. I just saw this man—a patient," Luke emphasized, "who has become infatuated with this woman. She's kind of reckless, a little kooky maybe. Totally different type than—than this patient. He's quite perceptive about the problem. Realizes it's ridiculous to let himself get carried away. But he's constantly having to fight off these fantasies—very vivid ones. Can't get this woman off his mind, in fact."
"Ah, obsessive," Max mused.
"No. No, I wouldn't go that far," Luke balked. "I mean, this woman does sound very appealing. Very appealing." A few beads of perspiration broke out on Luke's brow.
"I see."
There was a pause. Max spoke first. "So, tell me, Luke. How did you deal with this situation?"
"Well, I tried to get him to realize it was probably a temporary feeling—a brief infatuation. You meet a strikingly stunning, tempestuous woman—a lovely, free spirit—and it's natural to feel an attraction, a desire. Why wouldn't you have fantasies, a longing to see her again?"
"I can't imagine any reason why not," Max said in his most analytic voice.
"Right. That's what I told him."
"Good."
Again, there was a brief silence.
"So, Luke, when do I get to meet this stunning, tempestuous spirit of yours?"
Luke laughed. "I'm becoming an old fool before my time, Max. Tell me, do you think I'm crazy?"
"My friend, all I can answer is that without a little bit of madness where would you and I be? I will admit something to you, Luke. I worry more about those people who are too sane than those with a little touch of craziness in their soul."
"Now I know how my patients feel when I fend off direct questions." Luke sighed. "But I get the point, Max. I just have to figure out what to do about it."