Even the air smelled different. A gentle breeze wafted from the canal, carrying with it a watery, pungent smell, hinting of deep mysteries and soulful dalliances.
Jillian sighed. Venice was meant for lovers.
Blake’s voice interrupted her musings. “Troy, stand out of camera range. Okay, girls, time for the fountain shoot.”
His midnight blue shirt emphasized his dark hair and deep blue eyes. The outline of his strong, muscular thighs in the coal black jeans turned Jillian’s mouth to sawdust. This man was meant to be loved, and Venice was the right place to do it.
Unfortunately, Blake’s no-nonsense voice said it all. She was only an object to be decorated and placed at his disposal. Though it was her own fault she’d landed in this mess, she still felt ridiculous standing in the fuzzy, black mule slippers and plunging leopard-skin nightie and matching thong. The gathering mob of show watchers and tourists gawked and got an eyeful. From now on she must remember not to volunteer for anything.
“Yeek.”
An agonized shriek, followed by a rustle of wings, startled Jillian. When she spied the reason for the commotion, she stifled a smile.
In her eagerness to get to the fountain and pose in her almost transparent, pink baby-doll nightie with the matching fur-trimmed neck, Ms. 44D had rousted an ensconced flock of pigeons. One pigeon, taking exception, had issued a strong protest right on top of Ms. 44D’s beehive.
“Oh, my God, pigeon poop. Get it off of me,” she screamed.
Larry, the hairdresser rushed forward to inspect the damage, then shook his head. “This will take time to repair,” he pronounced.
“Can’t you just wipe it off?” Blake said.
Larry stepped back in shock. “I will not be associated with such defacement.”
“You’re on my payroll. Fix it and fast.”
Maxine thrust her already overblown chest out further. “That proves it. You don’t want me to look good,” she whined.
Had Nadia confided in her? Though every day Jillian had expected calamity to strike, so far all had remained silent on the malcontent’s front. She suspected that like a volcano, lava was gathering beneath the surface ready to explode and spill out.
Blake shot Ms. 44D a quelling look. “Don’t say that too loud, unless you want your fraternizing with Troy to come out as well.”
Jillian bit back a smile as Ms. 44D snuck a guilty look at the billionaire, then clamped her Botoxed mouth shut. It was uncanny how Blake knew everything that went on.
Larry reached for his squirt bottle, poured water on a cloth, then carefully swiped Ms. 44D’s beehive. The offending blotch spread further on the platinum. Shaking his head, he poured water on another section of the towel, repeated the process, and fluffed at her hair here and there. After more ministrations, he finally reached into his kit, withdrew a large hand mirror and held it up for Ms. 44D’s inspection. “There, my lovely. You look as good as new,” he murmured.
He was right. Every lock stood exactly where it should be. The man knew his job.
Ms. 44D turned her head up, down and sideways, then nodded. “Larry, you’re a genius,” she said in worship.
“Okay, turn on Venus,” Blake said to the groundskeeper.
Everyone in the vicinity “Oohed,” as the glorious new fountain at the center of the square made its debut. Plaster cherubs and gargoyles vied for attention, as multicolored lights cast rainbow hues over sparkling droplets. Its crowning glory, a replica of Venus De Milo, gazed serenely at her audience.
Jillian knew a large part of the show’s budget had been doled out for the fountain’s debut. Both parties intended to profit. The Venetians would gain publicity, while Blake would get a prime setting. Still, it seemed almost a sacrilege to utilize this almost sacred spot for shallow purposes.
“Okay, girls, for the intro, stand in front of the fountain. Laugh, grab the mules off your feet and throw them into the air as high as you can. Okay, here we go, on the count of three: one, two, three...”
Jillian pulled off her left slipper and jumped as directed. It collided with the others in space, ricocheted and sped downward, landing square on top of her head. She started to pitch over, but sturdy hands caught her in the nick of time.
“Are you all right?” Blake asked.
“I think so,” she said, trying to catch her breath.
She felt disoriented and unable to move. The world spun. The sensations had nothing to do with the bump on her head.
“Time out again,” Blake said, as he pulled Jillian to an upright position.
He held her by the waist and looked into her eyes. “Sure you’re okay? You’re not seeing double or anything?”
“Don’t be silly. I’m fine,” she said, drowning in the blue azure depths, feeling dizzier by the minute.
“You don’t look so good. Are you sure?”
She nodded numbly and he released her. The vertigo subsided, replaced by an empty, lost feeling. Her nerve endings screamed for his touch. Her insides shook like an addict’s deprived of a drug.
Larry rushed forward. “I must inspect your hair, my dear,” he said.
Blake rolled his eyes as Larry attended to the ministration of Jillian’s errant tendrils.
When he handed her the mirror, she took a quick glance and turned away. “Thanks, Larry.”
All she wanted to do was get the shoot over with and forget the feel of Blake’s arms around her.
Blake motioned to the grips. “Bring in the bed.
In no time, they assembled and placed in front of the fountain a king-sized, brass, four-poster bed, topped with a crimson, satin coverlet, and three velvet throw pillows.
“No more mishaps. Up and at ’em. Once more with feeling. This time on the bed. Jump high and throw those slippers,” Blake said.
They performed the scene without mishap.
Blake gestured to Troy. “Okay, Troy, off with your pajama top and onto the bed. Close your eyes. Give us a little smile and dream sweet dreams. Jillian, uh, Veronica, lean over and touch his hair. Maxine and Trudi lean on his shoulders.”
The sight of Troy, clad only in the bottom half of his lounging pajamas, did nothing to stir Jillian’s libido. It was a different story for the other two contestants, who stared longingly at his well-defined pectorals.
Out of nowhere the theme song, Girl of My Dreams floated through the air.
Blake motioned to the photographer, ordering him to take still shots. That over, he said, “Troy, stay put. Don’t lose that smile. Okay, girls, leave your slippers off. I want you in the fountain.”
“But my hair,” Ms. 44D whined.
“Get in,” Blake ordered.
Trudi, the redheaded contestant in the satin chartreuse nightie, stuck a lacquered toe in, cringed, and almost backed out. “Ooh, it’s cold,” she said.
“Step it up, girls, before the sun sets,” Blake said.
Jillian quickly joined her, followed by Ms. 44D. The three stood, shivering, under the fountain’s spray. Apparently, the budget for the fountain did not allow for a heating system. Either that or it wasn’t working.
“Veronica, you start. Splash Maxine.”
The man was diabolical. Jillian would like nothing better than to push Blake into the fountain along with them. Instead, she scooped up a spray of water and threw it in Ms. 44D’s direction. It hit the area of Ms. 44D’s most generous qualities and outlined them, making them look more gigantic.
“Come on, everybody, play and splash around. Show some emotion. Laugh, frown, pretend to be ferocious, anything, just move.”
As she followed Blake’s instructions, Jillian thanked her lucky stars her leopard skin nightie, though revealing enough with its plunging neckline and daring glimpses of bellybutton and thong, was not as transparent as Maxine’s.
“You can do better than that.” Blake goaded them on, never satisfied with their efforts.
Jillian spent what seemed like an eternity in the fountain cavorting, playacting, getting drenched from head
to toe, before she heard the magic words pronounced from Blake’s lips, “Okay, done.”
The sun was already setting as she stepped out of the fountain. The wardrobe mistress passed a huge beach towel for Maxine to slip into. Larry did the same for Trudi. Jillian glanced around, with her teeth chattering. Where was her towel?
With a sigh, Blake reached behind him on the chair.
“There you go.” He pressed his fingertips on her shoulders as he draped the towel around her.
He seemed to have forgotten to let go. Her shivering intensified. She gazed dumbly into his deep blue eyes. What she saw in them made her almost melt into a puddle. His fingers pressed into her shoulders. She’d end up with bruises, but they didn’t matter. She was getting warm, in fact too warm.
He jerked his hands away. “Okay, that’s a wrap.”
“Thank goodness we’re through with that. I can’t stand the cold,” Trudi said.
Blake smiled. “You girls did fine. For your reward, the showers in the trailer are equipped with hot water. Everyone inside, then report back to me.”
Jillian took her time, luxuriating in the warmth of the spray. With toweling and changing done, she followed the makeup ritual she’d learned.
When she stepped from the trailer, the other two girls were still inside.
Troy, dressed in a honey-colored silk shirt and grey gabardine slacks, occupied the only chair in sight. He turned to Jillian, flashed an appreciative smile and beckoned to her.
“There’s room on my lap.”
“No, thanks,” she said, holding her standing position.
He shook his head. “Won’t give an inch, will you? Well, suit yourself.”
Ignoring Troy, Jillian scanned the area for Blake. She spied him, with his broad shoulders were turned away. He was unaware of her presence, making it possible for her to feast her eyes on him at will. In her imagination, her fingertips felt the sensation of his tapered waist, firm buttocks and lean legs as he held her close.
Trudi, who was stepping down the trailer stairs, said, “You’ve got the right idea, girl. Our producer has a bod to die for. Too bad he’s such a perfectionist.”
Before Jillian could reply, Ms. 44D had also joined them.
Blake turned and came up to them. “Listen up. We’ve got a few hours to kill for sightseeing, but don’t go too far. For your own safety, stay in the public areas. I want everyone in the Francesca’s main dining room at seven p.m. sharp for dinner and publicity shots.”
“I wish we had more time to shop,” Ms. 44D moaned.
Blake flashed her a stern look. “You’re lucky to have any free time. You’re here to work.”
She looked ready to stick out her tongue, but stopped, probably wondering if that would disqualify her from the contest.
Troy, not one to resist an opening, said, “Hey, babe, let’s put that to use.”
She wagged her finger at him. “Not now, naughty boy. After my shopping.”
Jillian almost groaned aloud. The two were made for each other. Maxine had to win the billionaire or something was definitely wrong with the universe.
“Before you go, each of you grab one of the cell phones off the card table. If you get lost, punch in the number ‘1’ and hold it down. I’ll come and get you,” Blake said.
“I’m not that dumb. I can get around fine,” Trudi muttered.
“What about you? Do you need a guide?” Troy asked, turning to Jillian.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll manage,” Jillian said.
She didn’t need Troy hanging over her, spoiling whatever pleasure she might glean from the trip.
“I could use some help from a big, handsome man,” Ms. 44D said in her grating, little girl voice.
“At your service, my little fox,” Troy said.
Jillian almost gagged. She didn’t know whose chest puffed out more, Troy Langley’s or Maxine Moinahan’s. It was probably a draw.
She reached for a cell phone from the table and slipped it into her purse. Blake was a good producer. He thought of everything, even his contestants’ safety.
Well, of course, it wouldn’t do to have his show’s participants disappear at this point, not when everything was falling into place. If he weren’t already, after the end of the series, he’d be a billionaire like Troy. Not that it mattered to her. She’d probably have a better chance with Blake if he were one of the grips.
As Maxine walked arm in arm with Troy, Jillian heard her whine, “How can I possibly pick out anything halfway decent in such a short time?”
“I’ll help you,” came Troy’s reply.
“And I’ll help you later.”
Not too obvious. Jillian turned her amused gaze from the dotty couple. She had sights to see and intended to do so. Okay, where to start?
A few feet away, a lively, brown-haired boy with chocolate colored eyes passed out leaflets. A few lira bought her a handy tourist guide. On it was a detailed map, with brief descriptions of famous sights.
Catching her interest was the magnificent edifice of St. Mark’s Basilica. According to the brochure, it was the last resting place of St. Mark the Evangelist. She headed in that direction. A teenager with a tank top displaying her navel ring was quickly turned away at the door. Jillian’s calf-length, long-sleeved dress gained her ready admittance.
Inside, once her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, she was able to appreciate the ancient basilica’s Gothic pillars and marble floors. The edifice held a bygone splendor missing in modern churches. In the back of the altar, at the famous Pala d’Oro, her breath caught at the sight of the screen made up of three thousand precious stones glinting in harmony with gold enameled icons. She’d love to examine it closer, but then she’d miss out on the other sights.
Outside, Jillian joined a tour group forming to visit the Palazzo Ducale, a past bastion of Venetian civilization. The guide brought them upstairs, where Jillian viewed an opulent display of Renaissance paintings, gold leaf molding and other trappings of wealth.
“In this magnificent apartment, the head of Venice’s government, called the doge, lived in splendor, while down below him, the prisoners were housed in an entirely different environment. Follow me.” The guide took them down to the dark dungeons, where captives had been shackled to the walls in chains. Jillian grimaced, picturing the poor creatures being tortured. It was not a happy thought. Such unspeakable atrocities had occurred long ago and couldn’t be undone now. Still, the fact they had taken place here made her uneasy. How many captives had actually deserved their fate? Shuddering, she slipped from the group.
Outside, the luminous loggias of the piazza lifted her spirits. She blocked out the previous gruesome pictures from her mind and decided to follow Ms. 44D’s lead and look for souvenirs.
In front of the palace, at Tokatzian Lace, Jillian discovered two intricately patterned Venetian doilies for herself and Denise. They’d easily fit in her suitcase.
At the venerable Gioielleria Missiaglia, touted as the oldest jewelry shop in Venice, the breathtakingly gorgeous display pieces were well out of Jillian’s price range. The brochure stated that well-known Venetian families, as well as international jet-setters, comprised the shop’s chief clientele. Jillian was not surprised to see Barbara Branton’s name listed as one of the shop’s frequent customers. Here was another reminder of Blake. Wherever she went she couldn’t escape him. What the actress or a certain member of her family did was no concern of Jillian’s. Their lives were far removed from hers. She had to remember that.
Still, the pain cut swift and sharp. With each reminder, the dagger sank deeper. Her heart fought a losing battle. She couldn’t have Blake. She had to accept that, no matter how much she wished it were otherwise.
Lost in thought, Jillian walked briskly, not paying attention to where she was headed. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she watched a gondola pull away with a young couple inside. From the shelter of the young man’s arms, the girl gazed at her lover in undisguised admiration. Venice could
be so romantic with the right person. Jillian blinked back a film of tears as the couple disappeared into the horizon.
Consulting the guide book, she crossed a bridge and walked down the street adjoining the canal, which was called a riva. She turned again then meandered further away from the canal and down another street. The guidebook called it a calle, since it didn’t run along the canal. Interesting.
Thoughts of Romeo and Juliet came to mind as she admired the intricate wrought iron balconies and porticoes.
Her explorations drew her further into the labyrinth of streets. She was traveling into another time and place, far removed from everyday life.
When she reached a dead end, it was a sign to turn around. She’d have just enough time to make it back for the publicity shots.
Jillian turned in the direction from which she’d come and proceeded, then stopped in puzzlement. Everything looked the same, yet she’d reached another dead end. Not only that, why was the canal in the way?
“I don’t believe this. I can’t be lost.” Jillian turned, then rushed in the other direction. Wasn’t that where she’d come from?
Darn, another dead end. Where was the bridge she’d crossed earlier? Something so big couldn’t disappear, could it? Picking up her pace, she headed the other way. The winding street looked familiar, yet led her no nearer her goal. Wandering further, she became more mired.
Running almost at a trot, she couldn’t catch her breath. Unless she got out of here fast, she’d be late for the shoot and dinner.
The buildings became dilapidated. A man suggested something in Italian which, from the expression on his face, had to be lewd. She didn’t like this at all. Jillian hurried on. It was getting dark. She saw other strange men muttering what had to be obscenities and rushed past them. She didn’t want to be here. She had to get back, if she only knew how.
It was time to accept the inevitable. She hated to do this, but had no choice. Ducking into a doorway, she grabbed the cell phone and punched “1.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BLAKE STRETCHED and turned to the editor. “With tonight’s clip, we’ll be set,” he said.
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