by Celia Scott
'He has a point, Dexter baby,' agreed a short fat man who turned out to be the actor's manager. 'Maybe we could find a child for you to kiss, too.'
Unamused, Dexter growled, 'Over my dead body! A dog's bad enough,' before retracing his steps so Flint could take pictures.
Polly pricked up her ears. So Dexter Grant disliked children as well as animals! Her illusions suffered another blow, and like a flashback at a movie she had a mental picture of Flint playing with Mabel's grandson. She was pretty sure, if the shoe was on the other foot, Flint wouldn't object to kissing a baby.
The public now started to crowd around and demand autographs, and Flint had soon used up his first roll of film. Duvet behaved magnificently, posing when requested, and not forcing herself on her temporary master, who ignored her unless a fan or the camera was observing him.
Lunch was handled in two shifts. The first was for the crew. A mountain of hamburgers were grilled on the park's barbeques, and soft drinks were handed out. Dexter wandered among his admirers, a hamburger in his elegant hand, Duvet salivating at his heels.
Photographs were taken while he mingled with the crowd. After a half an hour of this activity, he disappeared into his private tent, motioning Polly and Flint to follow him.
'That's enough of the peasants for a while,' he said, lying down on the lounger and dropping his hamburger to the ground, where it was snapped up by Duvet. 'Open up the champagne, Wai, and pour me a rum and orange. And get chairs for Mr Flint and Miss Polly. We'll have our lunch in here.'
'Thanks, Wai, but I'll settle for a hamburger outside,' said Flint; he looked irritated. 'You'd be amazed what good pictures the peasants make. I don't need you, Polly,' he went on, when Polly turned to go with him. 'Stay here and enjoy yourself. After all, that's why you took this job, isn't it?
The colour swept over her face. That was what she had done. As she had grown to know Flint, that first, unworthy motive had changed. But it was too late to explain that to him now.
When Flint had gone, Dexter said, 'You mustn't let old Flint get to you, he's always been kinda touchy about the "good life".'
'How do you mean, touchy?' She accepted the glass of champagne Wai handed her. She remembered Flint teasing her about drinking a lot of champagne once she was launched on a life of glamour. It was funny how being bad friends with Flint seemed to affect the taste of wine.
'Oh, he has these dumb ideas! He gave up a really good career in fashion to photograph a bunch of nobodies and write about them, you know.' He finished his rum and handed the glass to Wai for a refill. 'Said working in fashion bored him… stuff like that. Dumb! He was making a lot of bread as a fashion photographer… and when you're making good money who cares if you're bored or not? He's a nice guy, Flint, but a little screwy!' He smiled indulgently, waiting for her to share the joke.
'I don't agree with you, Dexter.' She tried to keep her voice firm, but it trembled slightly. 'I think Flint's brave—not "screwy". And very talented.' She warmed to Her theme. 'The fact that he isn't taken in by what you call the "good life" is a virtue. He's too smart to be deceived by sham.' Not like me, she thought, surprised to feel the prick of tears in her eyes.
'Well, well, well!' Dexter looked at her thoughtfully. 'You sure are the loyal employee, sweetie!'
She gave a little gulping laugh. 'Yes. And talking of employees—I'd better go out there and see if I can help him. He doesn't pay me to sit around with famous film stars guzzling champagne, you know.' She made for the entrance, waiting for Dexter to object to being left to eat lunch by himself. But he merely regarded her speculatively.
Outside, while looking for Flint, she bumped into one of the assistant directors of the film, a plump young man she had met on the set, and to whom she had taken an instant dislike. Judging from the aura of whisky that hung around him, he had been visiting the bar in the marquee, and he did his best to persuade her to have a drink with him, trying to bar her way when she refused and generally behaving like a pest. However, she managed to push him aside—which wasn't difficult given his condition—and headed for the beach. She walked past the children's pool to the untended beachfront, where the water was deeper. Slipping off her shoes, she wriggled her toes in the sand, which was as dry as popcorn, and stared out over the lake. She remembered that other great lake, Lake Huron, and how Flint had floated beside the life-raft, and made her feel protected—safe. A feeling she didn't have with Dexter in his shiny, spotlit life. And it wasn't just that Flint made her feel looked-after—he made her feel she could look after herself, too. He gave her confidence, made her secure. And it was then, sitting gazing at the dancing water, that she suddenly understood that for weeks now she had been looking on the face of love, and had never recognised it. She had been too dazzled by the glare of the glamorous life she thought she craved.
She loved Flint. It was as simple as that—and he loved Sable. Not quite so simple after all! And while she might have learnt to assert herself and go after the things she wanted, going after other women's men was forbidden, no matter how much she might want them. Who knows, she thought glumly, when this job with Dexter is finished I'll probably never see him again, and then I shall recover from this unexpected love. But in her heart she knew that she would never recover from it. She would learn to smother it, like a banked fire, but it would never by extinguished.
She heard shouts and laughter, and the film people came down to the beach for an impromptu game of baseball, Flint and Dexter with them. Grabbing a baseball bat, Dexter struck a pose for the camera, flashing his famous smile at Polly, who stood silently watching this display.
She was scarcely aware of him, and all through the long afternoon, while she helped Flint, and lugged the tripod and the camera-bag, and obeyed Flint's curt commands, she was lost in wonder at her discovery.
Now, when she looked at him, his baseball cap pushed back on his crest of untidy hair, his shirt open to reveal his broad chest, she wondered how on earth she could have been so blind! Her body had known. When she responded so passionately to his lovemaking, her response had been fuelled by love, not lust as she had supposed. She should have listened to her pounding blood and realised that she had found her own true love.
And what was the good of that? When her own true love was virtually living with somebody else! She heard a mocking echo of Flint begging Sable to stay on at Crabtree Farm. 'I need you here more than ever,' he had said. And Sable had laughed and agreed, and with a catch in his voice he had fervently blessed her. He wasn't really aware of the plump little person who had so conveniently arrived to type his manuscript. Oh, he had kissed her, but then what a great way to spend the time when you're marooned on an island! And he hadn't let it go any further because he was a decent man who didn't make a game of seducing naive girls. And he had helped her improve her appearance because he was kind and generous.
Before the sun went down, some of the party changed and went swimming in the glassy lake. There had been plans to go surf-sailing, a sport Dexter enjoyed, but the water was too calm, so they had to be content with the baseball, and an improvised game of water-polo, at which Dexter, resplendent in his silver trunks, excelled.
Flint had changed into navy trunks. He had nice lean thighs, hard and athletic. 'I'm going to wade out and take pictures,' he said, throwing his towel on to the sand. Duvet, who had been following at his heels, sat on it. 'Did you bring your bathing suit?'
Polly ventured a weak joke. 'Yes, but I don't have police protection!' But he merely frowned and said, 'Well, hurry up and get into it, or the game will be over.'
When she came back to the shore wearing her new bronze suit, Flint was already waist deep in the water taking random shots of the romping teams. As she waded out to join him, Dexter stopped leaping around—always with his best profile to the camera—and let out a wolf-whistle.
'Woweee! Get a load of that!' He started charging towards them, causing Flint, who was in the process of taking a picture, to curse as he lost focus. 'You look great, ki
ddo!' Dexter enthused, and, putting his hands on her naked sides, he attempted to dance her around in a circle. With a shriek she lost her balance and the two of them were submerged for a moment, then they surfaced, spluttering and creating a minor whirlpool.
Flint held his camera high over his head. 'Do you mind?' he said coldly. 'You'll get water all over the lens if you're not careful.' He gave Polly a baleful look. 'I'll be finished in a few minutes, then you can horse around all you want.'
'Sorry.' She pushed her dripping hair out of her eyes. She wished Dexter would stop goggling at her like that, it embarrassed her and visibly annoyed Flint.
'Get back with the others, will you, Dexter?' he said. 'This series of pictures is supposed to show you interacting with the crew, not with my assistant.
But Dexter did not immediately release his hold on Polly's midriff. 'Okay, okay, don't lose your cool!' he drawled. Then, after giving her another hug, he leaned over her, so that she could smell the rum on his breath, and said softly, 'Tonight's the night, baby. You and me.'
Face flaming, Polly watched him return to his companions. Flint's expression was inscrutable. He squeezed off a few more frames and then waded back to the shore. She followed him.
'I'm calling it quits now!' he said. 'Make a note of the film used and leave my stuff in Dexter's tent. Then you're through for the day.' He could have been addressing a total stranger.
'Very well. Are you going back now… or what?' She felt as if she was standing on another planet rather than a foot away from his sun-gold body.
'Right now I'm going to have a swim,' he said, 'a long one. Stay, Duvet!' he ordered, and his dog sat obediently on the towel. Without a backward glance at Polly, he ran down the short sandy incline and into the waiting lake.
She watched him as he swam away from her, away from the noisy group still frolicking in the shallows. A lone figure swimming steadily along the path of light created by the setting sun, as if his destination was that crimson disc sinking in the west. Oh, Flint, I love you, she thought, I love you so much. Please let's be friends again. But even as she wished for that she knew now that friendship with Flint could only give her pain. She needed more from him than that.
Dexter came out of the water. 'You should have joined us,' he said, 'not waited for me all on your lonesome,' and she smiled wryly, since waiting for Dexter had been the last thing in her mind.
'I'm going to stay here for a bit,' she said, sitting on a grey log. 'To watch the sun go down. I'll join you presently.'
He looked mildly aggrieved. 'What's to watch?' he demanded. 'It goes down the same way every time.' But she just smiled, and with a shrug he and his friends went through the stand of aspen trees back to the marquee.
The log, worn smooth with time and weather, still held heat from the sun. The air was warm, and soon Polly's swimsuit was dry. Her hair fell softly on her shoulders, brushing her sun-warmed skin like brown silk.
Apart from one or two laggard picnickers, she was the only one left on the beach.
Flint had turned around now and was swimming back. The wake from his vigorous crawl was the only motion on the mirror-like surface of the lake. Before long she could hear the splash, splash, as he kicked at the water. The last picnicker had left when he waded out, dripping, his hair, for once, a sleek red helmet. Duvet gave a bark of welcome and ran up to meet him.
She stood up as he approached her. 'Was the water wonderful?' she asked. 'I should have gone in too, only I'm lazy.'
'Didn't you understand?' His eyes were as hard as pebbles. 'You're through for the day. You can join your— your friends now.'
The top of her head just reached his chest, which glistened with water-drops. She longed to lean against him, feel his firm flesh against her cheek. 'They're your friends, too,' she said.
'Dexter's my friend… and, right now, three's a crowd,' he replied.
'Rubbish! Besides, it's a party,' she pleaded.
'I'm not in a party mood.' Turning away from her he picked up his towel and started to dry himself. It was a dismissive gesture, and with a heavy heart she left him.
Before she reached the tent, where she had left her clothes, an unpleasant incident occurred. The young assistant director, now much the worse for drink, staggered out of the bushes, nearly falling on top of her.
'Watch it!' exclaimed Polly, stepping back to avoid contact. But the man had other ideas.
'You sexy li'l thing,' he slurred, lurching towards her. 'Gimme a kiss.' He grabbed her by one shoulder, muttering something about the shape of her breasts.
Infuriated rather than scared, Polly jabbed her elbow as hard as she could into the soft swell of his belly. He gave a gasp and stepped backwards, clutching his pot. 'Li'l bitch!' His red eyes glared like an angry wart-hog. 'You li'l bitch!' Then he gave a cry of surprise as Flint, who had come up behind them, lifted him bodily by the collar of his shirt and pitched him back into the bushes where he lay, gasping with amazement.
'Get lost, creep!' Flint told him through gritted teeth, 'and if I catch you bothering her again I'll break you arm!' Duvet gave a couple of menacing barks for good measure before Flint called her sharply to heel.
'Thanks,' said Polly with a shaky smile, 'you're a regular knight in shining swim trunks!'
'You seem capable of taking care of yourself,' he said, and she saw that he was still trembling with anger. 'That's good. If you're going to play with the crocodiles it's as well to develop a few teeth.' He looked so forbidding that she didn't try to thank him again, and they walked silently back to the marquee where the party was in full swing.
Dexter was holding court at the bar. When he saw Flint and Polly he came to them, holding the inevitable glass in his hand. 'C'mon and have a drink,' he invited, with the bonhomie of one who had had a couple already. He reached out to draw Polly closer, but she evaded him.
'I want to change, I'll be back in a minute,' she promised.
'Well, I wanna' have a word with Flint in private,' he said. 'But don't be too long, sweetie, I've missed you.' He smiled at her fondly as she escaped to the other tent.
Pulling her dress over her head, she resolved to tell him tonight that she could never feel anything more than friendship for him. She wasn't looking forward to the interview, but it had to be done. It was only fair to Dexter, and she knew she couldn't bear to have him touch her and kiss her, not when she loved Flint so much. And she also knew that Dexter wasn't going to be content with just kissing much longer. His remark about tonight being 'the night' still rang ominously in her ears.
Using the mirror that had been propped up on a trestle, she hastily pinned up her hair, which had dried in a mass of curls since her dunking. Her skin glowed from a day in the open air, and even though the sprinkling of freckles on her retroussé nose were more noticeable now, she thought she didn't look too bad.
There was no sign of Flint when she returned to the marquee. Dexter was standing at the bar. He gestured to her to join him, and when she did he put a possessive arm round her waist. 'What d'you wanna' drink, sweetie?' he asked. 'Anything you fancy—you jus' name it.' He smiled at her expansively, his grey eyes slightly out of focus.
'What I'd really like is something to eat,' she told him, and when he started to protest she explained, 'I didn't get any lunch today.'
Wai had returned to the city, but a henchman was dispatched to find food, and while she waited she sipped some white wine which she drowned in soda water, for she intended to keep a clear head for her talk with Dexter. Although she was beginning to wonder if he was going to be in any state to take in what she had to tell him. However, he didn't seem to be much the worse for his excesses, for apart from the occasional blurred speech, and a vagueness in his eyes, he seemed in control—so far! She just hoped the party wouldn't go on too long. Although it didn't show any signs of finishing yet. The tent was packed, and smoky, and noisy.
When she could make herself heard over the din she asked where Flint was. 'Gone home, sweetie,' Dexter replied. 'Just
as well, too, he sure was crabby!' Crabby or not, she knew she would rather be with him than with any member of this glittering crowd! The party surged around her. The rich and famous, drinking, and laughing, and shouting witticisms at the tops of their voices. Sipping her wine, Polly observed them. Some wore outlandish costumes. One well-known actor had a live cockatoo perched on his shoulder. It regally accepted peanuts from time to time, and added an occasional squawk to the general cacophany.
She began to notice that the eyes of most of the guests were never still. While they laughed and joked they were always looking about them, as if they were afraid of missing the one person they really wanted to impress. The one person who might further their careers. It was like being surrounded by a dozen cabaret acts. Everybody was performing. All at once she felt very sorry for them. How sad to be compelled to always put on a show. To have to glitter and sparkle, and never be able to relax and simply be yourself. What an empty, lonely life.
That was what Flint had tried to tell her. He had recognised the shallowness behind the hype and had turned his back on it, because he was far too genuine for such a vapid world. And he had been right! All it took to be accepted here was a good haircut and a couple of fashionable outfits. And all that required was money! Well, she had learnt something. She had learnt that this world wasn't for her either—the price was too high.
When her sandwich arrived, Dexter suggested she take it to his tent. 'I've got some champagne on ice there,' he told her, 'an' we can be alone. I haven't seen you alone all day, sweetie.'
She agreed, for this seemed like a good opportunity to tell him that apart from the business of the photo-story she wouldn't be seeing him again.
He seated her in the garden lounger, and after pouring a flute of champagne for her and a rum and orange for himself, came and sat on the end of the chair. 'I've given Wai instructions to leave us a cold buffet and then take the night off, sweetie,' he told her, 'so you don't really need that crummy sandwich, do you?' He took the paper plate out of her nerveless hand and smiled at her with fuddled prurience. 'The night is our, honeychild!'