by Francis Ray
“Which means you’ll have to go through the entire phone book.” Sabra sank down on the camel-back sofa covered in a luxurious ecru and robin blue silk stripe. “This could take months.”
“Not quite that long,” Joy said, the optimism that had been one of the reasons Sabra hired her three years ago clearly coming through in her voice. “If I had more computer skills to feed the data in and let the computer figure this out, it would help.”
“I hired you to keep me on track, not be a sleuth.” Impatiently, Sabra shoved her hand through her hair. “I don’t trust anyone else with this information except you.”
“I’ll keep looking,” Joy promised. “I sent you an e-mail with all the phone calls and messages. Dave wants you to call. He said to tell you to turn on your cell.”
Sabra reached for her large black Chanel tote on the sofa beside her and dumped the contents. Moving an assortment of articles, she finally located the cell phone and turned it on. “It’s on, so he’ll be happy.”
“He said the movie studio bosses want to lock things down. They’re becoming restless,” Joy told her.
Sabra stood and paced. “Both he and the studio will have to wait. I won’t be pushed into anything.” As if on cue, her cell rang. Sabra made a face when she saw the call was from her agent. “Perhaps I should have left it off. Dave is calling me now. Keep searching, Joy, and call me as soon as you have anything.”
“I will. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” Sabra cut the portable phone off, replaced it, then answered her cell. “Hello, Dave.”
“Keep your cell on. Why have the thing if I can’t reach you?”
“You’re talking to me now,” she said reasonably.
“Smarty. Good thing I like you.”
“Same goes,” she parried. She and Dave Hopper had been together since the first week she hit New York. They’d met at the Italian restaurant where she’d been a waitress and he’d been a regular customer.
After one of the waiters said Dave was an agent, she’d made it a point to introduce herself. He was ten years older and had been in the business for five years. He didn’t have any big-name clients, but that was all right with her. He appeared honest and, most important, hadn’t tried to hit on her.
By the time he left, she’d had an agent. He’d seen her through commercials, modeling jobs, bit parts. Through it all, both of their goals had been Broadway. He believed in her almost as much as she and her father did.
“Paramount upped the price by fifty grand, but they want to start production in six weeks.”
Once she would have jumped at the chance to do a movie for the top studio in the country, but that was before she lost her father and realized how fragile life was, how the wrong mistake could have far-reaching consequences. Was she ready to put her current career in jeopardy for the possibility of another?
“Dave—”
“Don’t say no. Just think about it,” he said quickly, cutting her off. “Sure they’re pressuring you, but they can’t keep the director on hold or the male lead waiting for you. As it is, it’s costing them a bundle. If you can’t make a decision, they’ll have to move on.”
She massaged her suddenly throbbing temple. “Filming in Toronto will take six months minimum. There’ll be publicity I’ll have to do when they release the movie. If I’m doing a play, I might not be able to break away. Broadway producers are going to be aware of this as much as I am, and might be reluctant to hire me,” she said, voicing her concern. “It took me a long time to get where I am. I’m not sure I want to toss it aside to be a movie actress.”
“Movie star.”
Sabra almost smiled. Dave didn’t think small. “That remains to be seen.”
“Do the movie, and you’ll see,” he cajoled. “You’ll look damn good on the red carpet.”
She had to laugh. “On my way to accept my Oscar, no doubt. Of course, I would have already accepted the Screen Actors Guild and the Golden Globe awards.”
“You can do it, Sabra.”
“And give up my privacy, deal with the paparazzi and starstruck fans.” She stared out the window. Isabella apparently sensed her distress and came to sit by her feet. There was one fear she couldn’t tell her agent about.
What would happen if her father’s duplicity got out? Nothing tabloids loved more than digging up past indiscretions of a famous person or their relatives, then plastering them on the front page. It would destroy her mother. It was enough that Sabra carried the guilt.
“You know as well as I do that some of that is generated by their publicists,” Dave told her. “Joy knows better.”
“I hired Joy and have control over what she does. I have none over the studio. We’ve both seen the contract. Once I do the picture, publicity is at their discretion.” Sabra’s hand clenched. “I won’t have another incident like last year.”
“Henderson was just looking for publicity with that lie about you two spending the weekend at the Ritz, but it backfired on him when you proved you were at a very public benefit in Atlanta instead of with him.”
“But how many people still believe his lie that he’d mixed up the date that we were supposedly holed up at the Ritz?” An edge entered her voice. “All because I refused to date him.”
“Well, it backfired. His parts are getting smaller and smaller, while your star is rising.”
“A shooting star eventually falls,” she said quietly.
There was a long silence. “Thinking about your daddy?”
“Yes.” She missed him, wished they’d had more time, wished he hadn’t felt he had to break the law because of her. “I’ll think about things.”
“I guess that is the best I’ll get,” Dave said, disappointment clear in his voice. “Give me the number where you’re staying. At least, if your cell phone is off, I can reach you there.”
Sabra picked up the card Ruth or Sierra had thoughtfully left with the address and phone number and gave him the information. “Good-bye, Dave, and thanks.”
“I only want what’s best for you.”
She believed him. She’d also believed her father when he said the same thing. The only problem was what they felt was the best for her might not be in the long run. “I know, Dave. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Sabra shut off the phone, then tossed it in the direction of the rest of the paraphernalia on the sofa and went to the bedroom. Like the rest of the condo, it was in shades of blue and beige. This time, sumptuous sky blue with bronze highlights, which dominated the spacious room.
The focal point was the king-sized bed draped with a luxurious woven jacquard damask duvet finished with onion ball tassels. The accent pillows had elaborate beading, tassels, and faux pearls. The sheeting in ivory was Egyptian cotton and embellished with blue and bronze embroidery. She should have slept like a baby.
The perturbing reason popped into her mind and before she could stop it she saw herself and Pierce entwined on the bed, their bodies straining to get closer, taking, giving.
Sabra made a strangled sound and turned away. In an instant Isabella was there, teeth bared, her eyes searching for the danger that had alarmed her mistress.
“It’s all right, Isabella.” Sabra knelt to hug the dog, briefly laying her head on the animal’s shoulder. “The only danger is in my head.” Or was it her body? Not wanting to search too deep for the answer, she pushed to her feet and continued to the desk to pick up her laptop.
She’d planned to work there, but now her forbidden thoughts wouldn’t let her. In the living area, she took a seat in the corner of the sofa and turned on the computer.
Anything for Love came on the screen. The story of a woman trapped by obligation to a man she didn’t love, who didn’t love her. Would she be tempted by the chance meeting of an old love or remain in a name-only marriage? Was she selfish to want to be happy, knowing her children would suffer emotionally?
Sabra rubbed her temple. She knew what choice she would have made. The same choice her fathe
r had made when he’d committed a crime to keep his family safe and happy. But was it the best one? She couldn’t fault him for his decision, but she had to wonder if she would have succeeded if her father hadn’t always been there to supplement her financially. She hadn’t had to worry about losing a job or getting rent or grocery money. Her father always seemed to know when she was running short of funds. She didn’t even have to ask.
She’d never know. Juliette, her main character, was another story.
Sabra began typing. Sometimes in life there were no easy answers. She was learning that more and more each day.
THE DOORBELL BROUGHT HER HEAD UP. FEELING the stiffness in her neck and shoulders, Sabra stretched and glanced at her watch. Eleven thirty. Ruth was punctual. But Sabra had gotten a lot done. The story was coming together.
Sabra saved the information, turned off the computer. Standing, she went to answer the door. The welcoming smile wavered, then firmed. “Hello, Pierce.”
“Hello, Sabra,” he greeted her. “Mama is tied up at the college in a meeting and asked me to pick you up,” he said by way of explanation as he stepped into the room.
Sabra closed the door, then went to pick up the scattered items on the sofa to put back into her tote. “I can’t imagine what kind of job you have that you can just take off at the drop of a hat.”
Pierce scratched Isabella behind the ears. “The kind that you and Sierra need.”
Sabra glanced up, then dropped her sunshade case into her large tote and reached for her lipstick. “You’re a hairstylist?”
“Hardly. Certified investment consultant.”
Sabra’s heart lurched. Her fingers tightened on the cylindrical jeweled tube in her hand. With Pierce’s help, they might be able to cut down on the amount of research Joy had to do. But the thought of using him to get information didn’t set well with Sabra. It was bad enough that she had an ulterior motive for accepting Ruth’s invitation.
“Are you all right?”
Sabra glanced up and stared straight into a pair of mesmerizing black eyes that saw too much. If he had any idea what she was up to, there would be hell to pay. The Graysons were very protective and a close-knit family. “Just thinking.” Casually she continued putting the spilled contents back into her purse. “I must admit I don’t always understand the jargon.”
“Some agents try to confuse you on purpose.”
Sabra came to her feet and shoved the interwoven gold chain and leather strap over her shoulder. “How long have you worked for your company?”
He opened the front door. Isabella trotted into the hallway. “Nine years.”
“You must have a very understanding boss.”
“I try to be.”
“What?”
“I own the business.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t be over thirty.”
The easy smile disappeared. “You sound like some of the prospective clients I’ve met with. Just because I don’t have gray hair doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“No, of course not,” she quickly assured him. “Believe me, I know how it feels when your qualifications are questioned. In the beginning, I had to fight for every part. Sometimes they wouldn’t even let me read.”
Pierce pushed the button on the elevator. “They saw the face, the color of your skin, and didn’t look further.”
“Exactly.”
“You showed them differently. Now you have your pick of roles.” The elevator opened, and they stepped into the chrome and glass enclosure. “Your hard work and determination paid off. It was worth the sacrifices and all the doors slammed in your face.”
“Yes,” she answered because it was what he expected. But since finding her father’s papers she had begun to wonder. Perhaps the price had been too high for both of them.
CHAPTER FOUR
PIERCE HAD PLANNED TO DROP SABRA OFF AT THE college auditorium, pick up a sandwich, then return to his office for a working lunch. Instead he found himself several seats back from the stage, watching her for the past thirty minutes. She was easy to watch.
It wasn’t just her stunning beauty; it was the sensual way she moved on those long, sexy legs, the glorious body. She was a woman who would capture attention wherever she went.
He now understood Sierra’s questioning if Sabra’s unique ability to connect with the audience would translate to the movie screen. Pierce was no expert, but he didn’t think Sabra had anything to worry about. She had a face a camera would love. She’d own the wide screen just as she did the theater audience.
He wished them luck on the production of Silken Lies, but they’d have a tough sell in making the audience believe that the young man playing Max was cold and calculated enough to woo and win Helen, Sabra’s character, with the sole intention of using her to avenge his family. The student looked as if he was ready to bow down and worship at Sabra’s feet. She acted as if she didn’t notice as she read lines with Helen’s “best friend,” Debra, who kept looking at her feet instead of Sabra. Pierce was sure talking to her feet wasn’t in the script, any more than the young woman’s almost constant sneezing.
“Cut,” Sabra said. “Are you all right?” she asked the young woman.
“Debra” nodded and kept her gaze trained on her tennis shoes. “Yes, thank you.”
“Ginny, what’s the matter?” Ruth came out of the wings offstage. “You’ve been sneezing for the past fifteen minutes.”
Her head finally lifted. Tears crested in the brunette’s dark eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Sabra began, reaching out to comfort the young woman, who sneezed and stepped back. “Do you have allergies?”
“Yes,” the young woman confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I took my medicine. It’ll kick in in a minute. Please let me stay.”
“No one is sending you away, Ginny,” Ruth said. “What are you allergic to?”
Ginny’s gaze flickered to Isabella sitting just offstage to their right. “Dogs.”
“But you knew Sabra was bringing her dog with her. I made that clear,” Ruth said with the patience she was known for.
Ginny’s dark eyes filled again. She sniffed, sneezed. “But I had already gotten the part by then. I thought if I took enough medicine there wouldn’t be a problem.”
“How much medicine have you taken?” Pierce asked, having gotten out of his seat when Ginny confessed her allergy.
Ginny bit her lip and didn’t answer.
“Twice as much as she’s supposed to,” answered a slim woman wearing a gray St. John’s College sweatshirt not far away. “We’re roommates.”
“I’m sorry, Gin—,” Ruth began.
“Please, Ms. Grayson, let me stay,” she pleaded, cutting her off. “I can take more medicine. Maybe a shot.”
“You want the part that badly?” Sabra asked slowly.
Ginny pressed her hands to the middle of her chest. “To work with you is one chance in a lifetime. One day I want to be on Broadway.” She sneezed, then swayed.
Pierce bounded onto the stage and took her arm to steady her. “I think her meds are kicking in.”
“Crystal, help her back to the dorm,” Ruth said. “We’ll break for lunch and return at four for rehearsals this afternoon.”
Ginny blinked back tears. “Please don’t give my part to someone else.”
“We’ll discuss it later.” Ruth patted the young woman gently on the shoulder. “Just get some rest. I won’t do anything until I speak with you again.”
Looking shattered, Ginny allowed Crystal to lead her from the stage in the opposite direction of Isabella. At the bottom of the steps, Ginny looked back one last time, then continued with Crystal out a side door.
“All right. I expect everyone to be on time and back at four,” Ruth said.
Talking quietly among themselves, the students filed out of the auditorium.
“You aren’t going to replace her, are you?” Sabra asked when the last student had left.
<
br /> “I might not have a choice,” Ruth said slowly. “She can be replaced; you can’t.”
“I think I have a solution,” Pierce said. “Isabella can stay with me at my office.”
“No,” Sabra said quickly.
“May I ask why?”
A reasonable question and one she might have expected from Pierce, who liked answers. She couldn’t very well tell him that he bothered her on a very elemental—all right, sexual—level, and being around him was asking for trouble. There had to be another way of finding the answers she needed. “Isabella likes space.”
“I haven’t noticed that,” he said calmly, his dark gaze never leaving hers. “She usually stays in one area.”
“You’ve only been around her for a day,” Sabra reminded him.
“You have a better solution?” Pierce asked.
“I’ll think of one,” she said tightly. That bulldog tenacity of his was another reason she didn’t want to be around him. Unanswered questions bothered Pierce. He wanted everything laid out for his analytical mind to chew on. One slip and he’d start looking for answers that she couldn’t allow him to find.
“I advise you to think fast. You have less than four hours. Mama. Sabra.” He strolled off, and Sabra wanted to throw something at him.
“Sabra, I know it’s your decision to make, but Pierce might be right.”
Sabra hated to admit it as well, but she wasn’t going to give in that easily. “Let’s think about it over lunch.”
THREE HOURS LATER SABRA STOOD WITH ISABELLA outside Pierce’s corner office on the second floor of their condo building. As with everything in the building, there was a sense of understated elegance in the quiet hallway painted ecru, the plush beige carpet beneath her feet, the richly textured oil paintings on the wall.
He’d done well for himself. She’d expected as much. A man that intelligent, shrewd, and perceptive wouldn’t let anyone keep him from reaching the top. She had to admire his accomplishment, but she’d give anything not to be standing outside his door.