Dazzle - The Complete Unabridged Trilogy

by Judith Gould

  NAME

  BORALEVI

  DATE

  1/24/30

  WRD.NO. 1

  PIC. NO.

  B-112

  MKP. NO.

  3

  HDR.NO. 2

  At last, to her immense relief, the long introductory shot with her hideously vapid smile faded, and a wooden clapper lettered The Flappers snapped shut like a zebra-striped jaw. In the dark, Tamara's hand crept up to her face. She gnawed mutely at a crescent thumbnail, her eyes remaining steadily focused on the screen.

  Then the dazzling miracle of Hollywood unexpectedly and shiningly occurred. It was the Creation of Eve, Columbus' first glimpse of the New World, the initial golden glint of the mother lode to a jaded prospector's weary eye. Like the proverbial ugly duckling metamorphosing into a stunning swan, so too Tamara had been transformed from that ungainly girl into a sleekly graceful young woman. The combined talents of Louis Ziolko, Pearl Dern, and the rest of the test crew had created a person who had not previously existed, except possibly in the uncharted reaches of a god-like imagination.

  Dazed, Tamara found herself flung by this exotic wizardry into another world, a new dimension. It was as if the screen test of the past and the screening room of the present were no more. She herself seemed to have disappeared as an entity.

  Her eyes were wide with disbelief. No, it simply could not be. Magic and miracles were phenomena which happened, if at all, to others and not to her. But it had happened, and on the grandest scale imaginable. The film proved it. The woman on-screen did not appear to be acting, but actually living the role, thanks to Ziolko's shrewd and manipulative direction and editing. This radiant Tamara did not move gawkily like the real one, but gloriously. Sensually. And she looked dazzling. She enchanted and glittered, swept aside everything but her own beauty, personality, and sexuality.

  Several fleeting scenes melted swiftly one into the other. Dumbfounded and numb with sudden pleasure, she watched her giant double moving with inborn effortlessness and grace. She heard her voice—low, husky, and purring. Or at least she thought it was her voice; it sounded strange and foreign to her ears, not at all like her voice sounded when she heard herself talk. She had had no idea that her voice could sound so alluringly husky, so smokily sexy.

  And then came the final scene Ziolko had made her perform over and over until his exacting standards of perfection had been met. How simple and fluid, how perfectly right the scene seemed now, with her and Miles Gabriel doing a frenzied, sexually charged Charleston. Miles was exceedingly smooth and handsome in white tie and swallowtails, his gleaming black hair combed back, his pencil-line moustache adding a lusty animalism to his sensuous lips, and she ... no, that simply cannot be me! she thought in rapt astonishment.

  She was shaking now, her heart working overtime and hammering against her rib cage as she finally saw that that wondrous, exquisitely costumed creature was indeed she. Slightly overweight, with a nose that definitely did not photograph straight in the close-ups—nor were her eyes perfectly matched, those same critical eyes told her. But none of it mattered. What did matter was the electricity sparking on the screen, the fact that she had somehow conquered that expanse of silver canvas, had drawn the focus of attention and through some magic forced it to remain on her, never letting go.

  Enraptured, she stared at her new glossy self, dizzy with entrancement.

  Suddenly she gave a start. Just as she was getting caught up in the miracle on-screen, the film finished rushing through the rattling projector and giant white dots flashed and flickered on a pale grey background.

  The joy that had buoyed her spirits higher and higher suddenly evaporated. It was over. She felt sad, depleted. She wished it could have gone on forever.

  'Lights, Sammy,' Skolnik called out into the darkness. Then he leaned toward Tamara, lowering his voice confidentially. 'Well, what do you think?'

  The overhead lights clicked on and she blinked rapidly, her gaze still on the now-blank screen.

  'Cat got your tongue?' Skolnik smiled smoothly. 'You didn't like what you saw?'

  She hesitated, trying to find an appropriate answer. It was futile. Now that the test was already a blur in the past, she no longer felt quite so sure of her rapturous opinions. After all, what did she know? Who was she to judge? 'I ... I don't know,' she said uncertainly, turning to face him, her fingernails clawing into her thighs. 'Wh-what do you think?'

  'I think the test speaks for itself. You do have a certain quality,' he admitted carefully, 'and even your acting, though it could stand some improvement, is not half-bad. As things stand right this minute, I've little doubt that you'd be successful in quite a variety of pictures.'

  She waited, barely daring to believe her ears. There was a stupendous rushing inside her head now, as if someone was holding a giant seashell to her ear.

  'I could, of course, sign you up for supporting roles immediately,' he said. 'However, that'd be like uncorking a fine wine prematurely, and I've never been a man to squander fine things. I can afford to wait until the time is right. You see, I'm not looking for just another actress. We have plenty of those to choose from.'

  'Then what are you looking for?' she managed to ask softly, holding his gaze.

  He stared at her. 'The most elusive, highly prized commodity in this town.'

  She frowned slightly.

  'A star, Tamara, that's what I'm looking for,' he explained frankly. 'Not just a great actress or another beautiful face, but a full-fledged, runaway, box-office star. We have Miles Gabriel, but he's our only major male star. We need others like him. What's more important, we don't even have one actress on a par with Gabriel.' He paused. 'I'm looking for a woman to become that star.'

  'And you think I . . .'

  He half-smiled. 'I don't think, I know. The only problem is, how far are you willing to go to reach that exalted status?'

  She didn't speak, since she had no idea what he meant.

  'There are, of course, your weight, your nose, your eyes, your teeth. All cinematic obstacles to consider.'

  She gave a low, husky laugh. 'I'm afraid I was born this way. Unfortunately, I can't climb back inside the womb and come out differently.'

  He gave her a peculiar look. 'Can't you?' His voice was hushed.

  'Of course not. You know there's nothing I can do except lose some weight.'

  'That isn't entirely true. Your teeth are a simple matter,' he said easily. 'They can be capped right here in L.A.'

  'But what about my nose?' She stared at him broodingly. 'My eyes?'

  He continued smiling slightly, though she noticed his cheekbones had gained angular tautness, and she was alarmingly aware that he was no longer concealing the predatory expression of a tiger smelling blood. She realized then and there that this was a man who always got what he wanted. Beneath his handsome tanned skin was a skeleton of steel. A tingling chill of fear rippled up and down her back.

  'There is a doctor in Italy,' he told her, 'a pioneer really. He is making remarkable progress in a relatively new field called reconstructive surgery.'

  'I've never even heard of it.'

  'I'm not surprised. Neither have most doctors.'

  'And this doctor . . . he can change my nose and eyes?' she asked in disbelief.

  He nodded.

  She turned away from him, staring blankly at the screen.

  'Would you consider it?'

  Her voice took on a harried shrillness. 'I don't even know what I'd be letting myself in for!' Tensely she bit down on her lip and then faced him again, her eyes slashing shards of brilliant green ice. 'I take it it's called reconstructive surgery because there is surgery involved.'

  He nodded expressionlessly.

  She clenched her index finger and bit down on it. She was totally deflated, and frightened as well. Surgery. The very word filled her with dread. She had never heard of anyone healthy agreeing to undergo an operation. And just to improve your looks . . .

  'I have your contracts draw
n up,' Skolnik said negligently. He paused. 'How does one thousand dollars a week for seven years sound? Guaranteed. You start getting paid as soon as you sign.'

  She was speechless. One thousand dollars a week! That was unheard-of. She sat bolt upright, her mind reeling in shock as she swiftly calculated astronomical figures. Why, that came to . . .

  A fortune.

  She cringed at a stomach spasm.

  That was more than enough to secure her future forever. But at what a price.

  Surgery.

  He was waiting patiently. Only the occasional sound of creaking leather as he shifted in his chair reminded her that he was there.

  After a while she found her voice. It was shaky and subdued. 'I take it that these terms are all contingent upon whether or not I agree to the surgery?'

  Skolnik nodded. 'That they are.'

  'But how do you know the surgery will be successful?'

  'Dr. Zatopek comes highly recommended.' His face was solemn. 'I am living proof.'

  'You!' She frowned deeply. 'I don't understand.'

  'It's simple. I've personally tested all the new aircraft developed by Skolnik Aviation, and I've had more than my fair share of crashes. One in particular nearly did me in. You should have seen me before Dr. Zatopek patched me up. I looked monstrous enough to send little children running.' He chuckled slightly. 'As a rule, Dr. Zatopek restricts himself to accident victims, but with you he'll make an exception. You wouldn't believe the techniques he's developed. And, seeing as how you're almost perfect as is . . . well, I'll wager anything you'll be the most beautiful woman this town has ever seen.' A broad smile cracked his usually unsmiling lips.

  'You've already talked to the doctor?'

  He nodded. 'He's agreed to take you on. It's all been arranged. I just received word yesterday.'

  Suddenly everything fell neatly into place. She was annoyed. 'So that's why I had to wait so long before you showed me the screen test,' she accused bitterly. 'Until you'd heard from him.'

  'Guilty.' He looked at her with new respect.

  'All right.' She took a deep breath and grasped the arms of her chair with trembling, splayed fingers. 'But I want $400,000 over the next eighty-four months. Guaranteed—whether the surgery is successful or not.' She slid a sideways glance at him.

  He looked at her expressionlessly and took his time relighting his pipe. 'You drive a hard bargain, little lady,' he said as he lit up. 'What makes you think you're worth $400,000?' His face was wreathed in blue smoke.

  She smiled slightly. 'The same thing that makes you think I'm worth $364,000.'

  'Without the surgery, you know you're not worth a fraction of that. Why get greedy?'

  'I'm not greedy,' she retorted. 'I want to be covered just in case . . .'

  'The surgery fails,' he finished for her.

  She nodded. 'That, or I'm left with worse complications than I started out with. If that happens, any career I might want will be finished before I start.'

  'Fair enough.' It was his turn to nod. 'Agreed.' He signalled to Carol Anderegg. 'Carol, you and Claude rustle up a temporary wardrobe for Tamara, will you? Including a white mink coat. If this little lady's going to be a star, she'd better get used to looking the part. I want her to go first class all the way.'

  He turned back to Tamara, who had slumped limply in her chair. She looked emotionally drained. 'Come to the studio at eight tomorrow morning to sign the contract,' he told her. 'At nine you'll report to wardrobe for measurements and whatever they'll have scrounged up for you. At eleven a car will take you to your first appointment at the dentist's. As soon as your teeth are fixed, I'll see to it that you and Louis are flown to Italy. It'll probably be a couple of weeks.'

  'Flown! A couple of weeks!' Tamara gasped. 'But—'

  Skolnik made a casual gesture. 'Don't forget, I have an entire fleet of airplanes at my disposal. Why waste time on trains and ships when you don't have to? Time is money, after all. My money.'

  She shook her head blearily. She was completely overwhelmed now. After waiting this long for a break, she suddenly found herself swept up in a whirlwind. Tomorrow!' she murmured weakly. 'It's going to start tomorrow?'

  He shrugged again. 'Why shouldn't it? You'll be on my payroll as of eight o'clock in the morning, so we might as well get cracking.' He sat back and grinned, contentedly puffing on his pipe.

  'In that case, I'd better be going,' she said, rising to her feet. 'It seems I'll need all the beauty sleep I can get.'

  'You go do that. I'll see you tomorrow. Louie will drive you home.'

  She nodded numbly, said good night to the others, and followed Ziolko unsteadily out of the room. Her knees trembled. She felt anything but elated. A sudden depression had permeated her every limb.

  She tightened her lips. Her dreams of success had been nothing like this. She didn't know why she felt so unhappy. Except that maybe she had made a deal with the devil.

  Chapter 9

  It was dusk a little over a month and a half later when the stabbing yellow headlights of the Fiat Balilla crested the spruce-studded hill high in the Italian Alps. Snow crunched under the clattering snow chains as the chauffeur expertly negotiated the car up to the lamplit entrance of the four-storey chalet, where it rolled to a smooth stop. Immediately he jumped out and held the rear door open.

  Max Factor, makeup genius and cosmetologist extraordinaire, and Oscar Skolnik exited together. The March chill and the clear, thin mountain air sharpened Skolnik's senses. Even in the dusk, his vision seemed crystal clear as he inhaled the heady fragrance of fresh air. If air could have healing properties, then this was it, he thought. Abruptly he pulled his lips back across his teeth in a grin. His eyes were lively, dancing with unsuppressed excitement. In fact he looked far better rested than the well-rested Max Factor. On a lesser mortal the strain of the trip would have been all too evident, but Oscar Skolnik was a master at conserving his energies.

  At the sound of the car pulling up, Louis Ziolko had hurried down the chalet's terraced stone steps, half his face in deep shadow. He was well bundled against the alpine cold in a thick fur coat and scarf. He had been restlessly prowling the foyer for this moment. 'Have a good trip?' he greeted quietly, his breath a plume of vapour. 'Your room and a hot bath are waiting.' His cheeks were taut, and he seemed oddly subdued, as though he had been under an enormous strain.

  Skolnik strode purposefully up the steps past him. 'How's she faring?' he asked without preamble, never breaking his swift stride, and thereby causing Ziolko to turn around in surprise and hurry back up the steps after him. 'The last time I spoke to her on the telephone, she sounded crotchety and annoyed.'

  'You can't really blame Tamara,' Ziolko retorted with barely controlled anger. "The surgery she underwent was painful, and apparently the bandages cause a lot of itching. They've been on for over a week and a half.'

  Skolnik stopped on the top step and turned around. 'But they're still on?'

  Ziolko nodded and sighed. 'She still looks like a mummy, if that's what you want to know,' he grumbled. 'Dr. Zatopek was anxious for them to come off two days ago, but he held off until you could be here.'

  'Good.' Skolnik nodded with satisfaction. 'I take it he's ready, then? I'll go straight up to her room. Have him meet me there at once.'

  Ziolko hesitated. 'It's Dr. Zatopek's dinner hour, the only time of day he insists on not being disturbed. I think it wise if we wait half an hour or so.'

  Skolnik regarded Ziolko stolidly. 'I travelled two whole days and nights and seven thousand miles to see this. If I could do that, then the good doctor can interrupt his dinner.'

  'Very well.' Ziolko compressed his lips and nodded. He glanced down at the car. The chauffeur was unloading the luggage from the trunk, and a familiar figure he couldn't quite place was climbing the steps toward him.

  'You've met Max Factor, of course,' Skolnik said offhandedly. 'He's been sworn to secrecy. We can trust him to take our little secret to the grave.'

  Curio
usly, Ziolko looked at the makeup creator. 'Good to see you again, Max,' he said equably, hiding his anger and shaking the man's hand. But inside, Ziolko seethed. Tamara had specifically asked for Pearl, a known quantity in her life, whom she trusted. Instead, she had got one of the world's foremost cosmeticians . . . but a stranger. Max Factor or no, she would be greatly disappointed.

  Skolnik had caught Ziolko's brief flash of subdued anger. 'I asked Max to come along so that he could personally do Tamara's makeup before she sees herself in a mirror. I want her to look her absolute best. I know this hasn't been easy on her.'

  Not easy! Ziolko wanted to shout with a new flare of anger. If that was me under all those bandages, I'd sure as hell have ripped them off by now and found myself a mirror. And broken it and attacked Skolnik with the shards.

  For he remembered only too well the warning Dr. Zatopek had given him, but which both he and the doctor had carefully kept from Tamara: the operation might well be successful; then again, it might not. Facial surgery was in its infancy. Worse yet, she could even be disfigured for life.

  With a heavy step, Ziolko followed Skolnik into the warm foyer, praying as he had for the last month that the series of operations had been successful.

  Soon now, too soon, he would know if his prayers had been answered.

  Which would she be? Beauty? Or the Beast?

  Tamara's eyes.

  They were all that was visible of her face. Snowy white bandages made the rest of her head a smooth, featureless mask. Her nostrils were mere slits. Her mouth, a gash of darkened, wet bandages.

  She did not even look remotely human—unless one looked closely into her eyes.

  They were human and wide and filled with fear. The fear was much more evident now than before because of the lights, a brilliant, blinding cluster of five-hundred-watt operating-room bulbs.