Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  But today the machine was blinking, beckoning, and Jessica pressed the button. She listened sullenly to Teddy’s effeminate baby talk telling her they had been paid for Bellerive. She smiled. Well, at least she could keep the bank at bay for another month or two. The message went on to say that he might have a commercial lined up for her, if Richard Cassel didn’t come through. She wrinkled her nose.

  Jessica’s thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. She was suspicious, not expecting anyone, and solicitors were uncommon in the hilly neighborhood.

  "Yes? Who is it?"

  "A courier, miss. I’ve a package for you." A man’s voice, colored with a decidedly British slant, called to her from behind the locked door. Peeking through the viewer, she saw he indeed carried a large envelope, and opened the door.

  Jessica was taken by the man’s striking features. He was not particularly tall, his brown hair nearly gone on top but long on the sides and back, tied into a neat ponytail. Clear blue eyes that smacked of sincerity and interest peered at her from over small, oval glasses, and he handed her a perfect red rose bud and the envelope. Speechless at first, she finally found her voice.

  "Is there a card or letter?"

  "‘magine so, ma’am, in the envelope. He’s not much on writing these days, but I’m sure he’s wrote something, as I’m supposed to wait for a reply."

  "Oh, then…come in, please." Although uneasy at admitting a stranger, she was somehow trusting of this Englishman and asked him to sit down while she opened the package.

  She was surprised to see it was a script, the words Lost Season printed across the cover. Immediately her heart began to pound. There was a note paper-clipped to the inside on stationary printed with Pierce Productions at the top.

  Please tell Peter you’ll join me for dinner

  Friday night.--Dane.

  Jessica was speechless. She looked at the man called Peter, who was politely looking around the room while waiting. The script seemed to grow hot in her hands, and she read the note again. She cleared her throat, and Peter looked up.

  "You’re a friend of Dane’s?" she asked, her voice sounding squeaky to her ears. She cleared her throat again.

  "I’m what you might call his man Friday, right arm, unofficial business manager, you name it; I pick up his laundry as well."

  "Well, please tell him, Dane, I mean, that I would be happy to join him."

  "Great! He’ll be pleased about that, I’m sure. Be ready at seven then."

  "Thank you, uh, Peter?"

  "Sorry, Peter Welles, and you’re Jessica, I hope?" He held out his hand, and when she offered hers he squeezed it warmly. She was touched by this funny little Brit, and watched with interest as he drove away in an older, metallic gold 911 Porsche.

  Of course, she stayed up all night reading the script, bonding immediately with the female lead, a rebellious businesswoman in 1800’s Boston named Maria. Early in the story she is renamed "Mariah" by the hero, which, he tells her, means "like the wind."

  Exhausted by her imaginary adventure, Jessica fell asleep with the script on her chest and dreamed of being shipwrecked with a mysterious, green-eyed pirate.

  Two

  Lost Season

  Friday afternoon was like another dream to Jessica as she prepared for her big date. Even a call from her bank did not dampen her spirits. Since she had finished the script two nights before, she had fantasized that Dane would offer her the role of Bettina, the distraught sister of the missing Maria. She knew it was far-fetched, since the admission of her meager experience had probably killed any faith Dane might have had in her abilities. Nonetheless, she was going out with him and nothing else mattered.

  She had chosen a simple black dress and shawl, and had twisted her hair into a French braid. She stared into the mirror, critically appraising her appearance, her thoughts alternating between the script and Dane Pierce himself.

  It’s just business, she warned herself. Maybe he’ll offer me a job. Everyone knew that Dane Pierce was happily married, with three children to boot. What was it he’d said about having just bought his wife…a car? No, a Jeep or something.

  Still…the green eyes flirted with her memory. She was nearly breathless with anticipation.

  ~ * ~

  Seven o’clock arrived simultaneously with Peter’s knock on her door, and she was surprised that she was being "sent for." Peter complimented her appearance and helped her into the same Porsche she had seen him in earlier that week.

  "Is this your car?" she inquired, taking in the details of the interior.

  "Oh no, miss, this belongs to Dane. He sends his regrets that he can’t pick you up himself, but he’s under such time constraints these days. Hopefully, he’ll be ready by the time we return."

  He drove courteously and in twenty minutes or so they passed through the gated entry of a private driveway. The house was large and modern, set on a hilltop with, Jessica imagined, never-ending views from every room. The circle drive put them in front of double-wide front doors, through which a foyer was revealed the size of Jessica’s entire living room. Polished marble floors spread from huge white columns, accented with indirect lighting at the ceiling, which had to be twenty feet high. The living room beyond the entry was a large yet inviting circle, with off-white leather, casual furniture, soft light and a number of plants.

  It was here she waited for Dane, who soon appeared looking quite dapper in a black suit and white shirt, casually unbuttoned at the neck with no tie. She marveled at the change from his past "pirate" attire, but the roguish good looks were still most apparent; the lowered, appraising green eyes checking out her dress, her legs…

  "Hi." His voice was soft, and he reached for her hand. His eyes never left hers as he pressed his lips to the back of her hand with a most deliberate kiss. The lips were warm and Jessica smiled at her own thoughts. Of course they’re warm; this man is very much alive.

  "Nice place," she commented.

  "I’d show you around, but I’m not really fond of it. I want to move to the beach, but I haven’t had time to even think about it. I’m not used to this stuff," he said, perusing the high ceilings and articles of affluence around him. "I’m just a simple guy. When the kids come down here, they say, ‘ooh, Daddy, are we rich?’ I try to tell them it’s just stuff. They don’t get it." Dane shook his head comically.

  They walked back to the driveway where a sleek, black Mercedes Benz had replaced the Porsche.

  A simple guy, thought Jessica, driving a ninety thousand dollar car. "Where are they living? Your family, that is?"

  "Sausolito, up by San Francisco. My wife’s folks live there. Since I’m gone so much, she likes to have, you know, some help. They show up every couple of weeks and disrupt the disruption of my life."

  In the car, he talked about the editing of Bellerive and the continual set-backs and frustrations. It seemed no time before they were ushered into the private dining room of an elegant downtown restaurant. The waiters called him by name and Jessica felt as if she was moving through a dream, or perhaps this was her role, maybe this was a movie.

  They were immediately served an excellent wine, and Dane turned to Jessica. "Well. I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you here tonight." A lazy grin was moving onto his lips. She felt her gaze fighting to rest on both his eyes and mouth at once, and she had to force herself to straighten up and listen to his words. "Did you read it?"

  She nearly asked ‘Read what?’ when she remembered the incredible script.

  "Of course I did," she replied, sipping the wine and leaning back in the booth. In doing so, her back made contact with his arm resting there, and she quickly sat forward at the touch. Her shy gesture was not lost on him, and his face reflected a mild amusement.

  "And?" he continued.

  "And…it’s tremendous. It’s different, not your usual desert island story. I couldn’t put it down."

  "Good! I’m glad you liked it. Truthfully, are the characters believable to you?"

>   "Well, as your average movie-goer not well versed in 19th century Boston, I’d say you have some room for creativity. I found the characters to be the way they should be, bigger-than-life, but credible."

  He seemed satisfied, possibly impressed, with her estimation, and delivered his next words pointedly.

  "Tell me, as you were reading, did you envision…did you find faces you knew playing the roles?"

  "You mean did I cast the film for you?"

  "With every script I read, I always see what the character should or could look like. Of course, using ‘unknowns’ like I do, that can be difficult," he teased.

  "Don’t worry, the part of Roger was written for you, Dane," she answered with a smile.

  "And the part of Mariah, for whom was that written?"

  Jessica’s face grew warm. Again, the struggle with the eyes and lips…Why does he affect me this way? Clearing her throat, she tried to respond intelligently.

  "Gosh…That could be a tough call. She runs from confident and coy to terrified and small, then on to strong…she’s seductive, yet sensitive…" Momentarily distracted, Jessica tried to form a picture of the main character in her mind.

  "What would you say if I said you were my Mariah?

  Someone had surely pressed ‘pause’. Jessica froze in mid-breath and her eyes fixed openly on his. Nothing seemed to work, her mouth wouldn’t move, her eyes wouldn’t blink. Dane reached over and touched her chin with his fingers, gently shaking her head.

  "Jessica? Hello?"

  She quickly came around and swallowed.

  "You’re either joking or crazy, Dane."

  "I’m dead serious. I want you for the part."

  "No."

  "What?"

  "I said no. No, I can’t do it. Uh-uh."

  Dane laughed out loud, then stopped laughing and took her right hand in his, delicately playing with her diamond ring and speaking softly.

  "I’ve thought a great deal about the decision. I’ve already set an appointment with Ted Langley."

  Jessica’s eyes widened. He’d done his homework.

  "This is important to me, Jess."

  "Of course it is, and that’s why you should choose someone…someone with experience, someone like Julia Rothchild, or Maryann Larkin…God, Dane, a million girls would give their eye teeth, would pay you to be in one of your films."

  The gentle finger playing stopped. He squeezed her hand insistently. "I want you."

  Hot and cold. Eyes and lips. She shook her head gently to clear it.

  "I think you’re out of your mind. But I’d be out of mine not to respond to your outrageous offer. I’ll test for the part, but only if you test others as well."

  "A screen test? It’s not necessary." Abandoning her hand, he picked up his wine and drank it down.

  "Please?" she asked meekly, giving him her most appealing look. "I couldn’t in good conscience begin such an important project without first reading for the part."

  Dane was thoughtful, his expression reflecting amusement mixed with mild irritation. "Okay. Monday morning, I’ll have Peter take you down for a reading."

  "Great! What scene should I study?"

  "Any one you want."

  "You’ll test other actresses, too?"

  "If that’s what it takes."

  ~ * ~

  After dinner, he drove her home and she thanked him on the porch for the evening. Awkwardly, she invited him in and was relieved when he declined, blaming an early morning meeting with film editors and a thousand minor details that would last an eternity. Inside, she screamed into her pillow, and once more fell asleep with Lost Season spread open on the bed beside her.

  ~ * ~

  The screen test was easier than she thought it would be. She knew the scene like she had already lived the role, and Peter applauded her performance afterward. She was disappointed that Dane had not attended, but realized it was probably for the best.

  She tried to put aside her anticipation in the week that followed, busying herself with plans to find less expensive housing and trying to invent ways to further cut her expenses. Roxie had been on vacation for the past two weeks, and Jessica felt isolated and alone. She warmed a mug of milk in her small microwave oven and took it to her room. It was 11:00 p.m. and sleep was evading her for the seventh night in a row. The house was cold; heat was expensive. She pulled on a pair of sweats to sleep in before turning on the TV to some late movie show.

  The milk made her drowsy but she sat bolt upright at the sound of someone tapping on her front door. Perhaps it’s Roxie, she thought, tiptoeing to the door and peeking out. In the darkness, she could just make out Dane’s tall figure on the porch, and she immediately opened the door.

  "I just realized, it’s really late, isn’t it?" he asked.

  "I guess that’s a relative question." She laughed nervously. "Welcome to my little hole in the wall."

  He glanced around the small living room, then back to her.

  "Please--sit down. Can I get you a drink or something?"

  "That would be nice. I didn’t wake you, did I?"

  "No, not at all." She poured him a glass of wine and they sat down.

  "I wanted to get by here earlier today, but Jesus! You wouldn’t believe the stuff I’m into, trying to wrap up this picture. It’s incredible."

  "I have a phone…" she said, smiling.

  "I hate phones." He smiled back. "Besides, this can’t be done on the phone." They sat looking at each other for several seconds. His stare warmed her, and she boldly surveyed his appearance, deciding that he had already been drinking before appearing at her door. He was in jeans and T-shirt, a leather bomber jacket and his hair was disheveled. She liked the look.

  "Well," she began.

  "Well," he echoed, standing up and walking to the middle of the room before turning to face her.

  He’s directing his own moves, she thought with a smile. So dramatic.

  "You…got the part. And," he continued before she could protest, "you got it without me. We tested ten ladies, and I turned the whole project over to my most trusted casting director. It was a blind audition. You still got it."

  His words sank in quickly and she was on her feet, rushing him with a bear hug and kissing his check. Then suddenly, the "eyes and lips" became "eyes, lips and body", and as Dane embraced her she felt heat; feverish heat in every place they touched. She pulled away, fleetingly embarrassed and yet so excited, she danced around the room like a child before collapsing on the couch. He grinned at her.

  "See why I couldn’t do that over the phone?"

  Jessica dumped out the unfinished milk and poured herself a glass of wine as she refilled Dane’s. They discussed Lost Season, which was to begin pre-production in just weeks. Most of it would be filmed on location, he told her, sharing her excitement and enthusiasm.

  "Ever been to the Caribbean?" he ventured.

  "Never. Sounds exciting."

  "It will be. You can count on it." Dane’s smile held a touch of mischief.

  A small clock on a shelf in the dining area chimed midnight. The wine was gone and the rush Jessica had experienced had left her senses lulled into a contented, delicious warmth that would soon culminate in sleep. Dane, however, seemed reluctant to go and instead, grew more agitated as time passed. It was obvious to Jessica that something was wrong.

  "You’re stressed about something, aren’t you?"

  He stared at her for several moments, his eyes belying some inner torment.

  From his pocket, Dane threw down a packet of rolled up, blue-jacketed legal documents. Picking them up, her vision slightly blurred by the wine and the dim light, she saw the words "Petitioner", "Respondent" and "Dissolution". It did not take long to realize that these were instruments of a divorce, Dane’s divorce, and Jessica uttered a soft groan. "Oh, God--Dane--I’m sorry."

  His back to her, he stood staring out at the midnight sky.

  "She can’t do it. She can’t take my kids away," he muttered. He turned
back to Jessica. He spoke to her as if she knew, as if she was his confidant. "She’s mad, she’s hurt, I understand that. I’m not there. It’s hard to raise three kids without a dad. I understand that. I’m an asshole. I understand that. But she is not taking my kids away from me!" He was yelling now, and Jessica was reminded of the day they’d met, and Dane’s fiery disposition. Her first instinct was to go to him, to comfort him, to quiet him down. But instead, she sensed his need to vent and sat back, listening while he cursed and ranted and raved on about his wife.

  "And the worst part, Jess, the worst part is, the bitch is pregnant." He went to her refrigerator seeking more to drink and helped himself to a beer. His voice had taken on a quieter, more lethal tone, and Jessica marveled at his character. "She’s accusing me of being a bad influence, and she’s sleeping with her God-damned tennis instructor."

  "Are you sure? I mean, are you sure it’s not y--"

  "Damned right I’m sure…sure as hell it isn’t mine. I took care of that when Zoe was born." He sat down finally, his anger spent and the alcohol taking hold. "I have a 9 a.m. flight to San Francisco. Our attorneys are…talking."

  Silently, Jessica went to him and tugged off his jacket. She left the room and returned with a pillow and a blanket which she placed on the couch next to him, then took the beer from his hand and put it on the coffee table. She knelt in front of him and softly told him to lie down, which he did, and she covered him with the blanket. As she started to rise, he grasped her arm and pulled her back.

  "I’m drunk, but not too drunk to say thank you for your kindness."

  Jessica’s mind was tangled by her own exhausted emotions. She threaded her arms around his neck and gently lay her head down on his chest, closing her eyes, relishing the feel of his arms slowly encircling her back as he squeezed her tightly to him. The sound of his heart beating was a comforting, rhythmic drum inside her head. Soon, his breathing told her he was asleep and she reluctantly pulled away, retreating to her own bed.