He's So Shy

by Linda Cajio

  Eventually, inevitably, the glowing black eye of her video camera trained itself on him. Behind it Pen’s voice said, “How do you get into the part you’re playing?”

  “I don’t talk to people with video cameras,” he snapped in exasperation as Ezekiel Freemont vanished only minutes before an important scene.

  Pen immediately lowered the camera. “I’m sorry, Richard.”

  “It’s okay. I just need privacy.”

  She smiled slightly. “Of course.”

  As she walked away he realized he’d offended her and wished for the easiness of the other night. That sort of relaxation never came naturally to him, but took weeks and months to achieve with people. He cursed himself and moved two steps after her to apologize, but was brought up short by Libby’s voice.

  “Okay, Indians and settlers, this is the signing of the peace treaty. I know it’s hard to shoot out of sequence, but for lots of reasons we’ve got to get the denouement in the can now. Indians, it’s the end of your way of life, the opening of the Western frontier to the white man, so remember you are to look defeated. Richard, you’re an onlooker; you’ve come back after several years’ absence. Charlotte, your great love, is not here, but her husband, James, is. I want this to be that final moment of pain for you personally. You’ve brought about the downfall of your own way of life as a ‘Long Hunter.’ It’s gone now. We’ll do close-ups on you.…”

  Richard cursed again, knowing he was nowhere near emotionally ready to play this scene. But he took his position, focusing on his character’s interior. Libby called for “action” and he looked on the scene before him, watching James Robertson, the fort’s cofounder, make a final peace with the tribes. Dammit, he thought, why couldn’t he have found the right words for Pen just now—

  “Cut!”

  “I know, I know,” Richard called out in disgust. “I’m not in the right emotional state.”

  Libby shared a grin with the continuity director standing beside her. “Actually, Jim here has the ear plugs for his Walkman sticking out of his loincloth. Research didn’t say that the Chickasaws had them in the eighteenth century.”

  Everyone roared with laughter over the star being caught out.

  Richard knew a moment of embarrassment, then he noticed Pen smiling at him, and he smiled briefly back at her before turning his attention to his work. He’d been granted a reprieve, and he intended to take advantage of it, pulling up all the nuances that Ezekiel would feel. As the cameras rolled once more, he kept his gaze focused on the principals of the treaty while his mind was filled with the woman he could never have and would leave behind with another man.

  “Cut! Perfect!”

  Richard came out of his fog to find Libby grinning at him. “It looks great. Let’s get set for the retake. Just a few notes for you …” Libby launched into directions to the cast.

  They ran through the scene again, and again Libby was satisfied with it. During the next setup, Richard knew he had to do something and strode right over to Pen.

  “Here, miss,” he said, forcing an Ezekiel grin. “I believe you asked a question earlier about my character. I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say my character has a blemish or two, but Ezekiel Freemont’s word is his bond.”

  The video camera was up, the red light lit.

  His grin widened. “Can’t say I ever saw a pair of specs like that, although I heard tell Master Franklin’s are a wonder, as are most of his inventions.”

  Pen laughed. “So I’ve heard. How do you play someone from two hundred years in the past?”

  “Very carefully.” He leaned on his rifle.

  “What would you shoot with your rifle?”

  “Mostly bad men and good buffalo. Seems a shame, doesn’t it, to have to shoot the good ones, too, just to eat? You would have thought the Good Lord would have been more efficient about the process.”

  “Buffalo? Have you been out west?”

  “You can’t get much farther west than this!” He grinned. “Buffalo’s plentiful here in the Transylvania Territory, although I have heard it’s called Tennessee.”

  “But buffalo … oh, you mean at this time.”

  “Yep. One beast can keep a family warm and full for an entire winter.”

  Pen’s questions went on, and he answered them in the spirit of his character. Finally she put the camera away and said, “You were wonderful, Richard. The children will love it.”

  He smiled at her, grateful she seemed to have forgiven him. But he still had something to say. “I’m sorry about earlier. I was unfair.”

  She shook her head. “No. I was being an annoyance. And after I promised not to … am I keeping you from anything? Your preparation time? Rest time? Whatever you do with your off-time because I don’t know what actors do with their extra time?”

  “Mostly be bored,” he said. “And no, you’re not keeping me from anything. Actually, you kept me in the ‘mode.’ I told you before that I find it’s better if I really throw myself into a role. Weeks ahead of rehearsals I start to get right into his skin and live him. Most people think I’m a nut.” He shrugged. “But that’s what works for me.”

  “Can you repeat that exactly?” Pen asked, bringing the camera back up to her eye.

  He laughed. “You’re as bad as Libby.”

  “No, no, not that.” But the camera stayed trained on him.

  “There is a family resemblance, trust me.” He snorted in amusement and talked about his method of preparing for a role. “I’ve noticed you’re filming everything all the time. Do you have a storyboard?”

  Pen lifted her head and looked directly at him. “A what?”

  “A storyboard. It’s like a game plan. You decide overall what your story is, how to tell it logically, what you want to film for each scene, and who you need in the scenes. Why do you wear your hair back in that ponytail?”

  She blinked, then touched her hair. “It’s hot today.”

  He nodded, not saying more. Instead, he found his gaze focusing on her dress again. Her long legs were bare of stockings, yet just as smooth as any silk lingerie would make them. Very few American women wore dresses anymore in casual situations—or even formal ones. He was glad Pen was one of them. Very glad. He knew exactly what Ezekiel would say to her, so he said it.

  “You look like the icing on a cake. Makes a man want to eat you up.”

  She blushed to the roots of her hair, and he chuckled, knowing she’d taken his words as risqué. He was finding he didn’t mind that at all.

  “I hate to break up this twosome,” Libby said. Pen’s blush became even rosier. “But the film’s publicist is having a fit about you giving Pen an interview.”

  Richard glanced over at the man, who was glaring at them. “Why?”

  “He says it’s not fair that you won’t give an interview to any of the entertainment shows and media people during the filming, but you give one to my cousin. He’s moaning about your contract and that he has some say about who interviews you. He points out that Pen could even sell her tape with you to ‘Entertainment Tonight’ or something—”

  “I wouldn’t!” Pen gasped.

  “Insulting women’s honor is a poor sport for a man,” Richard commented. He hefted his rifle upright, then unstoppered his powder horn and poured some of the black grains down the bore of the long steel barrel. He leisurely pulled out a musket ball from his pouch, tore off a piece of cloth from the rag he carried and wrapped it around the ball, then used a slender ramrod to push it down the bore until it could be pushed no farther. He set the rifle against his shoulder, peering down the sights. They were set straight at the publicist, who suddenly paled and froze in place.

  “A fine rifle this,” Richard told the women, keeping his eye on his target. “You can kill a varmint from two hundred yards and put the ball right in his nerdy pen pouch. I hope you are getting this on tape, Pen.”

  “From the moment you whipped out your thingie and started pouring your stuff down the hole.”

>   The rifle went wide as Richard burst into laughter at her accidental double entrendre. Luckily for the publicist, the weapon didn’t have a lit wick. Then he started laughing again as he wondered what Pen would have made of that fact.

  “If Richard ever whipped out his ‘thingie,’ Pen, the ratings people would be down on us like flies on honey,” Libby said, also laughing. “Not to mention his fans.”

  “I’d blush, but I don’t think there’s any more room left on my face,” Pen said, looking heavenward for help. “I forgot what that damn thing—powder horn—was called for a moment, okay?”

  “I wish I could see your students’ faces when they see this part of the tape,” Richard said. “If I had trouble with Ezekiel before, every time I have to load this rifle, I’ll be a goner.”

  Libby made a face. “Lord help me on all those outtakes. What do you want me to tell the publicist?”

  Richard smiled coldly. “He’s welcome to fuss with the producer over the terms of my contract, and if they’re that unhappy that I’ve broken any clauses, they’re welcome to replace me.”

  “Oh, boy,” Pen said.

  Libby just smiled. “He’ll stroke on the spot.”

  “So call an ambulance. And call me when you’re ready to shoot the next scene.” Richard grabbed Pen by the arm and stalked away.

  “Uh … Richard?” Pen began.

  “Yes? What?” He kept them moving away from the set and toward the woods.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be so mad at the publicist. It wasn’t fair to him that I was making a—”

  “I’m not here to worry about a publicist,” Richard snapped. “I make sure I do my job in front of the cameras so the crew can do theirs. Those people would have media all over a set if they could.” He glanced over at her. “And you’re not doing anything wrong, okay?”

  “Okay.” She grinned. “Since I’m not doing anything wrong, why are we running away?”

  “We’re not running away. I want some privacy.”

  “Might as well be in for a lion as for a lamb. Since you’re going for some privacy and taking me along, how about an interview for my kids? And a real rifle demonstration?”

  He laughed. “You are as bad as Libby.”

  Pen smiled as Richard, in full regalia, explained for the camera how to follow tracks and stalk a deer or a rabbit by the wood signs they left. He’d already done a second demo of loading the rifle, with no contemplated human target this time, and given a thorough description of his clothing and his arm tattoos, which turned out to be a temporary ink he got off with nail polish remover.

  He was wonderful, and she was already half in love with him.

  The thought pulled her abruptly upright.

  “What?” Richard asked, staring up at her from his crouched position.

  “Nothing.” The word was little more than a croak. She cleared her giveaway throat and fit the viewing piece back against her eye. When the “on” button showed red, Richard again began his explanation on how to part bushes without disturbing any occupants.

  Silly, she thought, watching him in miniaturized black and white. She was just a little star-struck, not really half in love with him. She was a mature woman, and she wasn’t a person to go gaga over a man. She wasn’t gaga now. And she was smart enough to know that Richard had hundreds of beautiful women to choose from. Even if he had any interest in her, it was out of loneliness, nothing more. In the end he would want someone far prettier, more sophisticated, and more savvy on his arm at Hollywood premieres. He might look good in a loincloth, but fairy tales had little to do with real life. She had to keep her head screwed on straight and focused on very real life.

  And if nothing else would do the trick, she ought to remember that kiss.

  It had been swift … and awkward, a mashing of lips rather than a meshing. Granted, he had taken her by surprise, but it was more like the kiss of a young teenager. She would have thought his kiss would have caused all kinds of sparks to fly.

  “If you’re off in never-never land, you’re in the wrong movie.”

  Pen blinked and straightened, letting the camera drop to her side. Richard was smiling in amusement at her. She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

  He stepped toward her. “Stop apologizing so much.”

  “Sorry—” She chuckled. “I was born apologizing, I think.”

  “Well, stop now. It was the best advice I ever got.”

  He was so close to her, yet he didn’t touch her. Frissons of awareness skittered along Pen’s nerve endings. The air seemed to disappear from her lungs. Why, she wondered, had she ever thought she’d had no reaction to him? She was having a biggie this time. An eight on the Richter scale.

  His lips settled on hers in an easy kiss, their mouths fitting together as if made for each other. Her eyelids fluttered closed. He kissed her so softly, with so little movement, that she wondered if he was unsure of his reception. She was aware of the video camera hitting the ground with a dull, safe thud as she stepped closer, pressing her body to his. Even as their lips parted by mutual unspoken consent, his breath, deep and quickening, brushed her ear. Then he kissed her again. His tongue swirled with hers, so much more gentle than the first time he’d kissed her. He had his passion in check. This, she thought dimly, was more like it.…

  Suddenly he grabbed her against him, bending her back in Rudolph Valentino style.

  “Richard,” she gasped out. “My back!”

  He straightened immediately, letting go of her. “I’m sorry, Pen …”

  She chuckled. “Now who’s apologizing?”

  He didn’t laugh, and she immediately sensed his embarrassment. His sudden reaction hadn’t been from not caring for her feelings, otherwise why would he be embarrassed? He was shy, she knew that. But was he shyer and less experienced around women than she’d imagined? The notion was intriguing. She realized a more pressing need, however. He’d close her out again if she didn’t bring him back right now.

  “I didn’t say stop,” she said in a low voice, coming forward. She knotted her hands in the front of his linen shirt and leaned up and kissed him. The surprise on his face was so endearing that she had to grin. Maybe he just needed a little help, so she said, “Could we do that again? Only slower this time. I’ve never been kissed by a movie star before, and I want to savor the moment.”

  “Uh …” he began, clearly trying to find the words for a reason. She didn’t want reason. She only wanted a kiss to remember, and pulled him down to her.

  This kiss was everything she wanted, soft and filled with longing. Their mouths definitely fit together, and their tongues swirled and dueled and darted, the passion rising and spilling over in mutual satisfaction. The kiss turned hot, like molten lava on a reckless course down a mountainside. Her internal Richter scale went right off the chart, and what had before been one-sided now became a matching hunger. His scent permeated her senses. His skin was warm, almost burning to the touch. Her breasts were pressed against the solid wall of his chest, her hips to his. She could feel his legs braced slightly apart to take her weight, his hard thigh between her legs. His desire was obvious, and to her feminine satisfaction, completely for her. She plunged her fingers into his long hair, the strands coarser than her own, yet still surprisingly silky in their texture. She had never given a man with long hair a thought before, and now she’d never look at them the same again.

  Her head was spinning when his mouth finally eased away from hers. He seemed to be holding her upright; her legs had turned to jelly.

  She forced herself to open her eyes. His cheekbones were stained with color, and his breath whistled harshly in and out of his lungs. But the expression on his face revealed smug satisfaction at her reaction to the kiss.

  “That was some interview,” she murmured.

  He chuckled. “Do you get it all on tape?”

  “What tape?”

  “That’s what I thought. Can I kiss you again?”

  “Oh, boy,” she muttered, and pulled h
is mouth down to hers.

  When the call came for filming to resume, Pen had to admit it had been very pleasurable to have Richard all to herself—but for too short a time. Very pleasurable. The man could kiss the wings off an angel when he put his mind to it.

  She reminded herself that great kisses do not a relationship make. And any relationship with Richard was really, in the end, futile. Actors and ordinary people did not mix. But she’d been thoroughly kissed by one of Hollywood’s stars. That was more than enough for anyone’s fantasy.

  The scene called for Richard to be captured and tortured while on a scouting expedition, a far cry from the earlier one of the peace treaty. The filming was set up closer to the edge of the clearing, along a line of trees. Pen realized that no one viewing the final product would even know the two different scenes were being filmed in virtually the same spot. She noticed the publicist glaring at her with killer looks, but she kept herself well out of his way.

  After Makeup finally stopped fussing over Richard, Libby explained again what she wanted from the actors. Everything went quiet. The film began to roll, and Richard began to step, with great care, beyond the tree line.

  To Pen’s horror, he was suddenly grabbed from behind, a tomahawk slicing down wickedly in front of his face, just before he flipped the Indian over his shoulder. He fought off several more and was slammed back brutally against a tree trunk, his arms bent behind him. He cursed, bucked, and fought to no avail; beads of sweat from pain ran down from his temples. The Indians whooped in victory. One of them took out a razor-sharp knife. He smiled at Richard, who stared stoically back. He ran the blade along Richard’s arm. A thin line of blood appeared.

  Pen gasped, then clamped her hands over her mouth.

  Another cut appeared, and another, and another, on and on.…

  “Cut!” Libby shouted finally. “Okay, let’s get the blood up here, people.”

  Pen blinked out of her daze. Richard was released, laughing ruefully with his “captors” as he rubbed his upper arms. Makeup went to work on him to expertly transform him into a mass of bleeding cuts now. Get the blood up here, indeed! He already looked like the poster boy for a Band-Aid campaign. It took Pen a few moments to figure how the trick had been accomplished: Makeup had glued patches along his arms that, when cut open, simulated bleeding.