Notorious

by Iris Johansen

  Mallory waited patiently until the crane descended and then walked quickly across the tarmac toward him. “Mr. Handel, I wonder if I could have a word with you.”

  Handel turned to gaze at her and then smiled wolfishly. “Well, if it isn’t the beauteous Mallory Thane. We’ve been waiting a week for you.” His smile widened. “I don’t like to wait.”

  “I was ill.” She met his gaze directly. “I’m very sorry. I am prepared. I’ve been rehearsing for the past three weeks.”

  “Not under my direction,” he said softly. “I like four weeks of rehearsal before the cameras roll, and I’m not going to have it. This role’s damn important to the picture, and I won’t have it ruined by a playgirl who’d rather sleep with her boss than show up on the set.”

  The color flooded Mallory’s cheeks. “I was ill,” she repeated. “You’ll find I’m very reliable and know my job.”

  “We’ll see.” He turned toward the camera on the crane. “Your first scene is tomorrow morning. Report to makeup at five A.M. Go see Josh Abrams about your quarters.”

  “I already did. I’m settled in.”

  He turned back, his angelic face wreathed in malice. “I do hope you’ll be comfortable. Naturally, we would have given you something a little more palatial if we’d known when you’d deign to show up.”

  “I’m every bit as comfortable as you wanted me to be.” She grimaced ruefully. “I’ve had worse.”

  He looked disappointed. “You may change your mind by the end of the day. It gets hot as blazes about four.”

  “I won’t be in the trailer enough for it to matter. When I’m not needed on the set, I intend to watch you work.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re brilliant,” she said simply. “I think the work you did in Blackout was fantastic.”

  His gaze narrowed on her face. “Why should an actress be interested in a director’s work?”

  “Because I love movie-making. I think it’s the premiere art form of our century.” She shrugged. “Even if the public gradually learns to accept me again, the good roles for actresses are few and far between. If I can’t work in front of the camera, I’ll try to work behind it.”

  His face was impassive. “It won’t work.”

  “What?”

  “You’re trying to soften me up, but I’ve been conned by experts, hot stuff.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” she said. “But I know I can’t convince you with words.”

  “That’s perceptive,” he drawled. “You can’t convince me at all, Miss Thane. I know you’re billed as a vamp, but I’m not susceptible. Go back to Wyatt where your talents are appreciated.”

  “They’ll be appreciated here. It will just take hard work and time.”

  He smiled his evil, cherubic smile. “Honey, you don’t know what hard work is.” He motioned to the crane operator. “But it will be my honor and privilege to show you.” Before she could reply, the crane lifted him soaring into the sky.

  Mallory sighed as she watched Handel resume lining up the shots from his storyboard.

  “Do any good?”

  She turned to see Carey standing beside her. “Not much. It’s going to be a tough fight.”

  “How about dinner? You’re obviously going to need your strength, and I know the best restaurants in Marasef.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” She deliberately turned away from the crane bearing Handel and tried to dismiss him from her thoughts. “Give me a half hour to shower and change.” She thought of something. “Will you place a call for me to James in New York while I’m in the shower? I don’t want him to read me the riot act for not calling again.”

  “My pleasure.” Carey took her elbow. “It’s my job to smooth your path, and you’re certainly not letting me do it in any other way.”

  “You’re exhausted.” Carey’s worried gaze searched Mallory’s face. “You’ve been working on this damn scene for ten hours.”

  “Handel is a perfectionist.”

  “So I’ve noticed, but he’s not this hard on the other actors.” Carey said grimly. “For the past four days he’s run you ragged. You look worse now than when you first came to Kandrahan.”

  “I’m fine.” She leaned back against the wall of the café and closed her eyes. Lord, her feet hurt in these four-inch heels. She wished she could sit down, but she didn’t want to chance mussing the gown and giving Handel another excuse to rake her with his forked tongue. “Just a little tired.”

  “You’re losing weight again. I heard the wardrobe mistress grumbling about having to alter your gown.” His gaze went over Mallory’s slender figure in the black gown. Her bare arms and shoulders gleamed pale and fragile, though the transparent black nylon and the exquisite gold-beaded flowers half-veiling each breast gave her a graceful, exotic allure. “Sabin’s going to raise hell.”

  “Sabin’s not here.” Mallory opened her eyes and straightened away from the wall as she heard Peter Handel impatiently shouting her name. “They’re ready for me again.”

  “Mallory, let me talk to that little bastard.”

  “Not on your life.” Mallory pushed back her hair with a shaky hand. “He won’t keep on with this when he sees I’m not going to break. He’s too professional to waste production money.”

  She ignored Carey’s muttered curses as she wound her way around the tables in the café to the bandstand. She could have uttered a few curses herself, she thought grimly. Handel might be brilliant but he was positively diabolic when it came to devising ways to annoy and exhaust her. Dear heavens, she was tired. She was still having trouble sleeping at night without those blasted pills, and she no longer had the solace of those afternoon naps in Sabin’s arms.

  A jab of pain shot through her, and she quickly blocked the thought of those weeks at Kandrahan. She was having enough trouble coping with the problems here without looking wistfully over her shoulder.

  “Ah, Miss Thane.” Handel’s eyes widened with pretended surprise as they scanned her face. “You look a trifle wilted. Have we been working you too hard?”

  “No.” Mallory kept her voice steady.

  “Then are we ready to begin again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Handel smiled nastily. “Do see if you can keep from sounding like a breathy Marilyn Monroe while you’re singing the song, won’t you? In the forties singers relied on voice and melody.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

  For an instant Handel looked disconcerted before he turned away with a shrug. “I’m sure we’ll all appreciate it. This scene has been a headache from the first take.”

  He stopped her three times during the song “I’ll Be Seeing You” with scathing criticisms and twice during the dialogue afterward with Brett O’Neal, the male lead, who played a pilot with whom the singer was having an affair.

  “No fire,” Handel said bluntly. “Nothing, Miss Thane. The man has to have some reason to forget his sweetheart back home and have an affair with you. The way you’re playing her, Renee might just as well be a blank sheet of paper.”

  “I’ll do it over,” Mallory said.

  “The hell you will,” Sabin said from the corner of the room.

  Mallory’s eyes closed for an instant. Not now. Sabin couldn’t have shown up at a worse possible moment. Her lids flicked open, and she ignored both Sabin’s words and the man himself. Her gaze never left Handel’s face. “I’m sorry, I’ll do it again. I’ll try to do it right this time.”

  “No.” Sabin was striding across the set toward them. Dressed in a white tropical Giorgio Armani suit, he looked both formidable and blatantly out of place on the set. “Call it a day, Handel.”

  “And just who are—” Handel broke off as he gazed at Mallory’s face. “Ah, Global’s new owner? You’ll find my contract gives me protection from interference from executives, Wyatt.”

  “Go away, Sabin,” Mallory said between her teeth.

  “And let you collapse?” Sabin asked. “Carey
should have called me when he saw this—”

  “Carey had no business telling you of my problems.” She whirled to face him. “Get the hell off the set. I’ll do this scene until the director says it’s right. That’s my job.” Her eyes blazed at him. “And by heaven, I’ll do it.”

  Sabin gazed at her a moment, a montage of expressions flickering over his face. He whirled on his heel and stalked off the set toward the corner where Carey waited.

  Mallory turned back to face Handel. “Where do you want me to start?”

  A thoughtful frown furrowed Handel’s round face. “What?”

  “Do I start with the song again?”

  His arrested expression vanished, and Handel shook his head. “No.” He turned away. “We’ll call it a wrap.”

  “No, I want to finish. These shots are costing Global money.”

  The faintest smile curved Handel’s lips as he looked back at her. “Why be such a perfectionist, Miss Thane? I’ve decided the third take of the day was quite adequate.” He waved his hand at the crew. “Wrap.”

  The third take had been done at eleven this morning. It was now almost eight in the evening.

  Mallory watched in astonishment as Handel strolled away with matchless aplomb. If she hadn’t been so exhausted she would have been furious.

  No, she was too relieved and grateful to be angry. She was still on trial with the director, but she had an idea the biggest battle had just been fought and won.

  “May I speak now?”

  Mallory turned to see Sabin standing a few feet away.

  “Not if you’re going to yell at me. I’ve had my fill of coping with temperament today.”

  “So Carey’s been telling me.” Sabin’s expression was inscrutable as he stared at her. “I have no intention of yelling at you.”

  She gazed at him warily. “Or lecturing me?”

  “It’s useless. You’d only ignore me.” He took her elbow. “I’ll feed you instead. Come on, let’s go to your trailer and—”

  “I have to shower and change,” she said quickly. “Why don’t you go over to the commissary tent with Carey, and I’ll meet you there in an hour?”

  He stiffened. “You’re trying to get rid of me.”

  Hurt threaded the words, and Mallory felt a pang of remorse. “No, I just wanted to avoid …” She sighed resignedly. “Oh, what the devil, let’s go.” She turned and moved across the café set toward the door.

  Sabin’s face was expressionless as he gazed around the tiny trailer. “I’ve seen elevators larger than this.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “No air-conditioning.”

  “Now, that’s not an exaggeration.” Mallory could feel the perspiration already beading her throat though they had just entered the mobile home. “It’s hotter in here than it is outside. Why don’t you wait out there while I—”

  “I’ll stay here.” He spun her around and began to unfasten the black gown. “Get in the shower. I’ll make reservations at a restaurant on the bay where the food is good and the air-conditioning is ice-cold.”

  “It sounds like heaven.”

  “Just civilization.” His lips tightened. “Something you’ve clearly been doing without for the last few days. I suppose you won’t let me take you to a hotel for the night?”

  She shook her head as she moved toward the bathroom. “No favors.”

  “I didn’t think so. Why are you limping?”

  She lifted the hem of the gown to reveal the four-inch platform heels.

  “Christ, come here.” He didn’t wait for her to obey him but took two steps, picked her up in his arms, and plopped her down on the couch. “Were these hooker’s shoes Handel’s idea too?” He unfastened the ankle straps of the shoes, slipped them off her feet, and began to massage the toes and instep of her left foot.

  “No, wardrobe’s.” She closed her eyes and sighed blissfully. Even through the stocking his warm, strong fingers felt wonderfully soothing. “And they’re not hooker’s shoes. Women wore these platform sandals frequently in the forties, and all the clothes have to be authentic. The shoes are okay as long as I don’t wear them for long periods.”

  “Like twelve hours in a row.”

  “Carey has a very big mouth.”

  “Don’t go to sleep. You have to eat first.”

  “I’m not asleep. I’m just about to purr. Do you know that some people believe you can cure any pain in your body by manipulating certain muscles in your feet?”

  “No.” He started massaging her right foot. “And I don’t believe I’m in danger of becoming a disciple.”

  “I am.”

  “Then it’s time I stopped and shoved you into a cold shower.”

  “What a terrible thought.” She languidly opened her eyes to see him gazing down at her, his face only a short distance away from her own. For an instant she thought she saw something wistful, almost vulnerable, in his face before it became inscrutable again.

  He abruptly stood up and set her carefully on her feet. “Start with a warm shower to loosen up your muscles and then finish with a cold spray.” He turned and picked up the receiver of the phone on the table. “Don’t come out for fifteen minutes.”

  She didn’t tell him the hot water heater didn’t work.

  “What do you want to wear?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll decide later.”

  He looked over his shoulder, his glance raking her shadowed eyes and luminous pallor. “I’ll choose.” He smiled crookedly. “It shouldn’t be hard to find your closet in this hot box.”

  She hesitated. “You’re being very kind. I thought you’d be angry with me.”

  “Why? You were right. I’d have been mad as hell if you’d strolled into a board meeting and told me I was too tired to function and had to come home.”

  “Even if you were?”

  “‘It’s my job.’” He quoted her words. “You don’t quit until the work is done.”

  “Right.”

  “So I’ll just have to make sure the ‘work’ runs smoothly so that we don’t have another confrontation that causes you to verbally pin my ears back.”

  “It will go better on the set from now on.”

  “I think you’re right. Handel respects you now.” His lips curved in a slow, warm smile. “And so do I.”

  Her heart leapt, and joy swept through her, miraculously banishing the weariness. A brilliant smile lit her face as she hurried toward the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Don’t hurry.” He paused. “You did, you know.”

  She looked back at him inquiringly.

  “Pinned my ears back.” He smiled faintly. “You blazed up and let me have it with both barrels. Not a calm, pacifying thought to be seen on the horizon.”

  “You seem very pleased about it.”

  “Oh, I am. It’s not all I could hope for, but I think it bodes well for the future.” He began to dial the number on the phone. “A full fifteen minutes in that shower. You need the extra time to get the kinks out of all those muscles.”

  SEVEN

  DINNER PROVED TO be a wonderfully relaxing affair. The lobster was delicious, the air-conditioning all that Sabin had claimed, and Sabin, himself, completely companionable and undemanding.

  When they arrived back at the trailer, he unlocked the door and handed her the key. “I’d offer to share that bed of nails, but I doubt if either one of us would sleep. We’d be on top of each other, and you can be sure more than the springs would be poking at you.”

  She found herself giggling like a teenager. “I think you’re just too fond of your air-conditioned hotel room to give it up for my humble abode.”

  His smile faded. “After five days away from you? Not likely. I’m so hot I wouldn’t even notice the temperature.”

  She inhaled sharply as she met his gaze. She had a sudden vision of herself astride Sabin, her knees on the garden bench, his hands on her hips sealing her to him as he plunged wildly upward. “I’ve …
gotten used to the springs poking me. I’m very adaptable.”

  He took an impulsive step forward and then stopped. “No, I don’t want you adaptable.” His index finger touched her left cheek. “I want you horny as hell.” His finger moved down to test the rapid pounding of the pulse in the hollow of her throat. “And you’re too involved in this struggle with Handel to give me the response I want right now. Work out your problems.” He kissed her lightly on the nose. “I’ll be around.”

  With a puzzled frown, she watched him walk away. His entire attitude since she had turned on him in the café bewildered her. She knew he could be kind, but as patience was not his forte, she had expected him to accept her invitation.

  She made a face as she opened the door of the trailer. Carey had said she looked tired, and Handel had used the word wilted. Not descriptions to inspire passion in any man. Maybe Sabin hadn’t desired her as much as he had said and wanted an excuse not to spend the night with her.

  She just hoped Sabin would keep his word and be around when she was in better shape. Dedication to one’s work was all very well, but she felt very much alone as she climbed the steps and shut the door of the trailer.

  The next day on the set revealed that the worst was indeed over. Handel worked Mallory hard, and his manner was not warm, but she saw only fleeting glimpses of the biting sarcasm that had previously characterized his attitude.

  Two days later, a hot plate appeared mysteriously in the trailer.

  The next day when she returned from the set, a window unit air-conditioner had been installed.

  At the end of the week the dilapidated couch had been replaced by a new one that opened into a comfortable bed.

  Handel gave no indication he was responsible for any of the changes, and Mallory discreetly made no mention of their miraculous appearance in her small domain.

  “The lap of luxury,” Carey said. He sighed as he stretched his legs out before him and leaned his head on the cushioned back of the couch. “Though I believe I was getting used to those broken springs.”