Taking Chances

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Come here,’ he said, as she began to rub at her hair, and pulling her to him he started to do it for her. ‘You’re soaked right through,’ he told her. ‘Why don’t you go and take a shower, I’m sure Matty won’t mind.’

  Sandy looked up at him, then laughed at the face he pulled. ‘Do I look that bad?’ she challenged.

  He nodded, and turned her to the mirror.

  She groaned with embarrassment, for her hair was sticking out at angles, and her mascara, what little was left of it, was smudged over her cheeks in unsightly streaks. Her sweater and jeans were clinging to her like an oversized skin, but though she longed to strip them off, she wasn’t sure about undressing in front of him.

  She looked up, hoping he might give her some sign of what he wanted her to do, but he was already turning away and she could tell, from the way his head was bowed and his fingers were pressing his temples, that his thoughts were going in a very different direction from hers.

  ‘I think we should fly back to LA tomorrow,’ she said.

  He looked up, seeming surprised, then realizing what she’d said, he nodded. ‘You know,’ he said, sinking down into the plush, hand-embroidered cushions of one of the sofas, ‘I never thought it would get to me like this. I mean, I knew it would have an effect, it was bound to, but when I saw those guys messing about with those guns … It’s the way the Colombians do it. They play with weapons like that, and who gives a shit if anyone gets killed? And it’s not just men. You see kids carrying assault rifles or MGLs …’

  ‘MGLs?’ Sandy repeated.

  ‘Multiple grenade launchers. Grown men are teaching kids of twelve or thirteen to use them. Girls too. They dress themselves up in combat gear and attach themselves to guerilla groups who coach them on how to blow up military targets and tear apart rich men’s families by taking innocent folk hostage. More often than not they get killed themselves, because they don’t know how to use the guns properly, or just because they’ve outlived their usefulness. It’ll be kids like that who were paid to take Rachel. They wouldn’t have known who she was. They wouldn’t even have cared.’

  His eyes came up to Sandy’s but she knew he was barely seeing her.

  ‘You know what I keep asking myself?’ he said. ‘I keep asking myself what was going through her head when they took her? Did she know what was happening? Did she put up a struggle? Or try to bargain? Chances are they used scopolamine. Do you know what that is?’

  Sandy shook her head.

  ‘It’s a drug – locally they call it burundanga. Knocks a person out in seconds. I don’t know if they used it, or even if I hope they did, because it sure as hell fucks up the body after. It’s the stuff they use on tourists, what tourists that country ever sees now. They spike their drinks, wait for them to drop, then clear out their cash.’ He was quiet for a moment, apparently still lost in his thoughts. ‘You know, the crazy thing is, some of the kindest, most honest and generous people I’ve met in my life, I’ve met in Colombia. Rachel always used to say that too. She loved the people, the ordinary people who’re trying to hack a decent living somewhere inside that hellish mess they call a country. She especially loved the kids, the ones she met on the streets. The teenage prostitutes who’d never known a normal life. All they know is the abuse they’ve suffered at the hands of their parents, or boyfriends, or pushers. They’re kids with no childhood. No memories you’d ever want to visit. Yet the affection they give.’ He laughed, humourlessly. ‘Little faces peeping into yours, trying to make you laugh. Hands sneaking into yours, looking for warmth, ready for any amount of kindness. Rachel always used to take them candy – bubble gum or lollipops – and condoms. Some of them used to claim they got lucky on the condoms she gave them. I don’t know what they really meant by that, but it’s what they said. Maybe they got paid a few pesos more. Did I ever tell you, she had an exhibition once, of photographs she’d taken of kids who worked the Zone. The Zone is an area of Bogotá that could make Dante’s Inferno seem like a day at the beach. She took shots of them hooking, sniffing glue, cutting a deal, grinning their little faces off – they love to pose for a camera. Makes them feel special, but they’ll only do it for someone they trust. Rachel knew them all by name, she cared about them and they knew it. She had a kind of connection with them … When the photographs were ready she gave them all copies, and put their names under their pictures at the exhibition. No-one really went to see it; but they were great shots, some of her best work.’

  Once again his eyes returned to Sandy’s. Seconds ticked by, as they sat in the scented warmth of the trailer, and vaguely heard the rain and commotion outside.

  ‘I got an e-mail this morning,’ he said, ‘telling me that Galeano had seen that exhibition.’

  Sandy looked confused. ‘But isn’t it over now?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Oh yes. It finished four years ago, long before she died.’

  ‘So what does it mean?’ she said. ‘Why would he tell you that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Chambers answered. ‘Or maybe I don’t want to know.’

  Not sure what to say, Sandy waited for him to go on.

  ‘Just now,’ he said, ‘when I looked at the two actors, the ones playing the Zapata boys, who were messing about with those guns … Before that I was thinking, for everyone’s sake, that maybe we should change the script. We could just hold Molina accountable for what happened to Rachel and be done with it. If we gave Galeano that reassurance he might call off his threats. But the Zapata boys were there. They raped her, butchered her and for all I know they were the ones who put the gun to her head and killed her. So tell me, am I wrong to feel the way I do? Am I allowing my own need for revenge to put other people’s lives at risk?’

  Reaching out for his hand, Sandy held it between her own. ‘We’ve done everything we can to make this set secure,’ she said gently. ‘And no, you’re not wrong to feel the way you do. Anyone would, with any decency and morals.’

  ‘Is it moral to want to kill a man? Doesn’t that make me just as bad as those who killed her?’

  ‘No. It makes you human. And you’re doing the right thing, Tom. You’re using this movie to bring her killers to justice, rather than do it yourself.’

  ‘But what about Ellen?’ he said. ‘What if they harm her? How am I ever going to live with myself then?’

  Sandy’s eyes went down as his words grazed her heart. His concern wouldn’t only be for Ellen, but for the child that might be his. ‘We don’t know for sure if they’re targeting her,’ she said softly. ‘And Michael’s doing everything he can to protect her. You know that.’

  ‘But he’s still so mad at her.’

  ‘Maybe. But that doesn’t mean he wants anything to happen to her.’

  He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. ‘I guess not,’ he said.

  As she took in his angst she felt the unstoppable heat of envy stealing through her. Were it not for the baby then he might be remembering that she too could be in danger now, but she could see that that was a long way from his mind. And who could say, maybe she wasn’t in danger, maybe she just didn’t feature largely enough in his life for anyone outside to have noticed she was there. Not that she wanted the danger to fall on her, but if it did, maybe it would wake him up to the fact that he felt something more for her than he realized. But there were other ways of doing that, and if nothing else, he must surely crave the distraction that making love could offer.

  ‘Tom,’ she said softly.

  He looked far into her eyes and she felt herself sinking into the quiet charisma and power that was his. She wished now that she had taken off her clothes when she’d come in, that she could add her nakedness to the intimacy they were sharing, and use the vulnerability of it to show him how deeply she felt for his loneliness. Were he able to look upon her now she was sure he would understand how much he needed to be loved, and what strength he could draw from her willingness to give.

  ‘I’m going to say something now,’ she began, feeling
herself grow warm with unease, ‘something, well, that’s not really easy for me to say. It might not be what you want, but I want you to know that it doesn’t have to be anything special … It can just be between friends.’ She laughed shortly. ‘I mean, for me it will be special, but not so’s I can’t handle it, because I can …’

  She stopped as his fingers touched her lips, and taking her eyes up to his she looked at him fearfully.

  ‘I know what you’re trying to say,’ he told her gently, ‘and I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate it, or that I don’t find you attractive, because it’s not the case. You’re a beautiful woman, Sandy, in more ways than you know.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No, hear me out,’ he interrupted. ‘I care for you too much to use you the way you’re suggesting, and no matter that you say you can handle it, it’s not something I’m going to feel good about, when I know that it can’t go any further.’

  ‘How do you know that, unless you give it a chance?’ she protested.

  ‘I just know,’ he responded.

  She looked at him again and felt a rush of need engulf her. She wanted so desperately to make him understand that it was all right to love again, that it was the only thing that would heal him, but she just didn’t know which words to use.

  Then, as though he had read her mind, he said, ‘Sandy, I know this is going to be hard for you to hear, but I need to tell you for your own good, and for reasons that are as true as the offer you are making.’ Gently he touched her face again and smoothed the rosy softness of her cheeks. ‘There can’t ever be anything more than this between us,’ he said, ‘and not because of Rachel, or how I still feel about her, which is what I know you think. It’s because of you and me, and who we both are and what our lives are about.’ He stopped and looked sorrowfully, almost painfully, into her eyes. ‘I don’t love you, Sandy,’ he said, ‘and I’m not going to lie to you either. It would be the easiest thing in the world for me to take you to bed, to make love to you all night long and want even more in the morning. But it’s not what you deserve. You deserve someone who can be with you and love you the way every woman should be loved. And I just don’t have those feelings for you, Sandy. God knows, I wish I did, but I don’t.’

  As the burning heat of devastation enfolded her heart she hung her head and wished herself dead – or a mere few minutes back in time, before any of this had been said. She wanted to curl up in the shame of his rejection and have it smother her and choke her until she could no longer breathe the air that was a part of this pain. She’d done everything she could to make him want her, but in the end nothing had worked. She’d changed the way she looked, the way she dressed, even the way she thought, but still it wasn’t enough. So just what was it going to take to make him want her? For a fleeting moment one of the recent lessons she had learned flashed her the answer: let go, stop wanting, and everything will be yours.

  But that made no sense now, nor did it provide any comfort. All it did was make her want to hang on even tighter, so tight that she had to force herself to get up and leave before she fell to her knees and begged.

  Chapter 20

  THEY WERE NOW a full two weeks into the schedule, with a second unit operating on the streets of LA, picking up general driving and panorama shots with Richard Conway and three support cast, for the end of the movie. Every day new problems were arising and Ellen was so rushed off her feet, with viewings, meetings, interviews, phone calls and endless rounds of troubleshooting, that her bodyguard, Kris, was hard put to keep up with her. On the whole he managed, though he had several times to remind her that Michael had totally forbidden her to go anywhere – including the bathroom – without him. She did draw the line at that, however, but he was there the whole time in her office as she kept in contact with the main unit in Mexico, wanting a regular update on everything that was happening, and enjoying the gossip and slander as affairs began and egos bloomed. She should have been down there herself but Michael wouldn’t budge on that, and in truth, as strained as things still were between them, she wasn’t really that keen to be so far away from him.

  Also, as her pregnancy was now entering its seventh month, there was no longer any hiding it, nor was she quite as mobile as she’d have liked. Kris had turned into something of a godsend, as he dealt rather efficiently with the small clutches of photographers and reporters who were being paid handsome sums for shots of the expectant producer. Speculation was once again running rife over her marriage, but as she and Michael were now living in the same house, rumours of rifts, divorce, abortion, other partners and even, in one mind-boggling broadcast, hoax weddings, weren’t gaining much ground. In fact the entire circus of publicity was proving more ludicrous than harmful, and she probably wouldn’t have minded it at all were it not for the fact that it was prompting so many weirdos and whackos to try calling her up. On the whole Maggie managed to stall them, but somehow this one had got through, and as Ellen listened to the voice at the other end she could at last feel Tom’s and Michael’s fears for her safety starting to fall on fertile ground.

  The call had begun with her usual hurried hello as she flipped through the ‘documentary’ proposal that had just been faxed over from London. She wasn’t really paying much attention, so it was a moment or two before she realized no-one had responded. ‘Hello?’ she said again, jotting a note on the fax to get that particular point clarified. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello,’ came the reply. ‘I know you are busy, so I will come right to the point.’

  Ellen frowned. The accented voice sounded just like those that were coming in on the dailies. ‘That’s good,’ she said cheerfully, assuming she was speaking to one of the Latino actors. ‘I didn’t get your name though.’

  ‘I am someone who wishes only to be your friend,’ the voice told her calmly.

  Immediately alarm bells started in her head, and letting go of the fax she leaned forward to buzz through for Kris who was outside talking to Maggie.

  ‘I want you please to understand,’ the man went on, ‘that I have no grudge against you personally. But I have my instructions, which I shall be obliged to carry out.’

  Ellen’s throat was turning dry. ‘What instructions?’ she demanded, her finger still poised over the button, though not yet pressing. ‘What are you talking about? Who are you?’

  ‘I am to make you understand,’ he replied, ‘that the movie you are shooting is causing grave concern to certain people in my country. We have tried to explain this to Señor Chambers, but unfortunately he is not listening. So please, it is important that you stop this movie right now, today.’

  Ellen was silent. Dimly she could feel her head starting to throb, and looking at her hand on the intercom she wondered why she hadn’t yet pressed it.

  ‘Do you understand what I’m telling you?’ the voice said. ‘Please, you need to understand how serious your position is.’

  ‘Yes, I hear you,’ she answered, her eyes moving about the office, as though somewhere, hidden amongst the piles of scripts and shelves of tapes and books, she might find the person behind the voice.

  ‘You have the power to do what my people are asking,’ he said. ‘Please tell me you will do it.’

  ‘But I can’t,’ she said, almost in a whisper.

  There was a moment’s silence before he said, ‘Please be very clear about what I am saying. I wish you no harm. You are a very beautiful woman and I know that you have a baby soon to be born. Your husband will not want either of you to be hurt. I do not want either of you to be hurt. But the movie must be stopped. There are those who do not wish for it to be made and I will be forced to carry out my orders if you do not do as I tell you.’

  ‘What are your orders?’ she heard herself ask, her voice only just breaking through the tightness in her throat.

  ‘You know what happened to Rachel Carmedi,’ he answered.

  Terror sank into her heart.

  ‘Please,’ he said, ‘don’t let the same thing happen to
you. Speak to your husband. Tell him the only way to save you is to stop the movie and forget all about the names Señor Chambers has told you.’

  ‘But he can’t do it,’ she pleaded. ‘It’s not in his power.’

  ‘Please,’ the voice repeated, sounding so anxious it was as though he really did care.

  The line was suddenly cut. Ellen flinched, then replacing the receiver she sat staring at it with wide, disbelieving eyes. After a moment she tried to get to her feet, but her legs were shaking too badly, her whole body felt weak. The voice was going round and round in her head, so soft, so mild and entreating; a voice it would be easy to trust, had it not belonged to a man who had been ordered to kill her.

  Suddenly she snatched up the phone, needing to speak to Michael, but even before she began dialling she put it back down. She’d spoken the truth when she’d said there was nothing he could do, for the ultimate power wasn’t his, it was Ted Forgon’s – and the rest of the World Wide shareholders’. There would have to be a meeting, a vote, but with so many millions at stake, so many investors to consider, she knew already what Ted Forgon’s answer would be.

  ‘Out of the question!’ he told her. ‘Besides, they’re bluffing. And you’ve got yourself a bodyguard, so what are you worrying about? Tell you what though, we’ll get in touch with the police, tell them about the call, and from here on in you don’t go anywhere without you got yourself an escort. OK?’ He passed her a club soda with a wedge of lime. ‘Just ain’t any way I’m going to be pushed around by a bunch of Spics, specially not in my own town. So the next time this jerk calls, you put him on to me, do you hear? I’ll sort the sucker out.’

  It was no more and no less than Ellen had expected. But at least she’d passed the message on to the right quarter, which was what she’d been instructed to do. Surely they would understand now that there was nothing else she could do, for it would serve no purpose to tell Michael, when his hand would be as tied as hers, and when he had so much else to think of that she didn’t want him to have to worry about her any more than he already was.