The half-light of the garden lanterns revealed little of his expression. They stood close together. He loomed over her. Tension built. Was he about to kiss her? After the way he’d treated her earlier, did she want his kiss? Suddenly she felt stifled and she didn’t know why.
“I should go in. It’s been a long day,” she said. She started down the path toward the house, not looking to see his reaction.
Lucas caught up with her. “Sorry. I’ve become used to my solitude.”
“Don’t worry. Even LA’s most extreme commuters wouldn’t move this far out.”
He barked a laugh. Rusty. “You made me laugh again.” He stopped her with his hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
Their eyes met. His brown eyes looked even darker in the night. Mysterious wells of thought and emotion she was increasingly afraid to plumb. She fled.
***
Later, alone in her bedroom, Sara wondered what message Lucas had meant to convey with their garden walk. He hadn’t made a move on her, although for moment, it had seemed he might.
Lucas had haunted her dreams for six years. The year she fell in love with him, her dreams had been happy and yearning. After they parted, the dreams had turned darker. He would appear and she would attempt to walk toward him, but he’d keep getting farther away.
Then came Jennifer Barnes's death, and Sara’s dreams turned into nightmares. Sometimes the dead actress appeared in them, warning Sara away from her husband. The worst of the dreams brought Sara close to Lucas physically, but ended badly. They almost made love in her dreams, but he always left her unfulfilled. He vanished. She searched for him and couldn’t find him.
Tonight they were in the same house. Should she go to him and offer herself? Fulfill her yearning after all these years? Then what? She hardly knew this bitter shell of a man.
Six years ago, his enthusiasm for fine filmmaking had known no bounds. To be associated with such a genius was an honor, and falling in love with him had been an easy progression. He was so different now.
Chapter 5
In the morning, Sara found a breakfast room and the housekeeper, Leona, ready to make her whatever she wanted.
Sara asked, “Has Lucas already eaten?”
Leona nodded. “He always eats an early breakfast.”
“Is he in his study now?”
“No. He rides his horse every morning. Hours at a time,” Leona warned.
“Oh.” She tried to hide her unease. Of course Lucas would not make this job simple for her.
“Where am I working? Did he say?” She sat awkwardly at the breakfast table. It had a view of the garden, but her mind wasn’t on flowers right now.
“He said to tell you to enjoy the pool,” Leona replied, deadpan, as she poured the coffee.
Why had Lucas bolted? Was that his way of declaring that he’d make no concessions to Sara’s urgency? And George’s? According to George, Lucas had agreed to let her stay here and work on collecting the Desert Wind footage. So why had Lucas taken off? Or was Lucas acting out emotional turmoil over possibly reopening the abandoned project?
Hollywood men weren’t strong, silent types. Not even the actors who played strong, silent heroes. They all tended to emote rather than hide their feelings. They let the world know about their innermost thoughts when interviewers asked. Lucas had been like that in the past. Did he now prefer to keep his feelings to himself? Was that what turning into a hermit was all about?
After eating and allowing Leona to show her the modern amenities Lucas had added to the mid-century mansion, including the indoor pool, Sara returned to the guest bedroom to study the notes she’d made about Desert Wind’s production. George hadn’t given her much.
If only she had some film to edit. She’d brought her own compact editing system with her. Just a laptop computer with some additions, it was not meant to do the official editing work. She’d modified it to have more functionality, but it was a stopgap.
Lucas must have a studio setup of his own somewhere in the house. Did he keep his files on Desert Wind there? Did he ever enter that room? Or was he punishing himself by having the files immediately available on a computer desktop in his study? Stashing them away would be logical behavior, but a grieving man was not logical.
If Lucas still grieved. He’d acted bitter yesterday, but not last evening. He even mentioned his dead ex-wife’s name without strong emotion. Perhaps he was mostly healed. Did Lucas seriously intend to permanently give up his brilliant career? When she’d been his intern, he was at the pinnacle. His work was dazzling. No wonder she fell in love with him.
Where was Desert Wind? Not in a pile of metal film cans, although she’d seen some in film school. Today, files were typically kept on portable external hard drives, locked in vaults when not being worked on. Too many people wanted to leak movies online. There was no need of a vault here, since George and Leona both said Lucas seldom allowed visitors. So where could the files be?
George insisted Lucas had them, and George was never wrong. They must be here somewhere. She started searching the house methodically.
Room after room overflowed with books, magazines, and papers, most of them devoted to film topics. Nothing that looked like computer files. No computer, either. Had there been a computer in his study? She didn’t remember seeing one. As for his bedroom, no amount of steeling her resolve would get her to cross that threshold. Some doors were locked, but she didn’t dare ask Leona to open them without permission from Lucas.
Frustrated, and not wanting to chance being overheard by Leona, Sara went outside in the desert heat to call George.
“What do I do next?” she asked, after explaining where Lucas was.
“Wait him out. He’ll cooperate. He’s just putting up some final resistance.”
Was the heat she felt from the desert, or from George’s ability to pressure her long distance? Bringing up the subject of the unfinished film with Lucas over and over would not be easy.
In her bedroom, she set up her editing console on an antique cherry ladies’ desk before a large window overlooking the circular front driveway. The circle held a few plants only, some sort of cactus, and a large square of concrete. Lizards and other reptiles probably loved it. The garage was around to the side of the house but fed into the main driveway in front. If Lucas planned to avoid her again by driving somewhere, she’d see him.
Would Lucas ever get over his loss? Where was his urge to create more art? Was it possible for an accident of fate to destroy a man so completely that he was left with nothing? How could vapid, selfish, promiscuous Jennifer Barnes do that to a man who had twice her intelligence, education, and heart? Had her death eviscerated the artistic soul of the man who had loved her? Lucas must be saved from the malign influence, long after her death, of Jennifer Barnes.
If only Sara could make it happen. She’d give anything to help the man she had loved for so many years. Even if he could never love her.
***
To her secret relief, Lucas showed up for lunch. Leona had seated her in a roofed patio surrounded on three sides with heavy stones. Doors to outside had been folded back, but the patio was cool despite the desert heat. He strode in, his wet hair proof of a recent shower. He flung himself into the chair opposite hers.
“I hope you enjoyed your ride,” she said.
“Sorry if you expected to rehash my past again early this morning,” he said, sounding anything but sorry.
“You know what film schedules are like,” she replied. “I’m under pressure to complete this project quickly.”
He frowned. “No one cares if this film ever gets finished.”
“George does.”
Lucas didn’t respond. Leona brought out bountiful platters of cold meats and salads, and they served themselves. After she left, Lucas returned to the attack. “I won’t change my life for George’s whim.”
“Call it a deathbed wish, instead.”
He scowled. “That’s a low blow.”
“Ar
en’t you and George lifelong friends?”
“We met in grade school. Hit it off from the start.” Lucas almost had a smile in his eyes as he spoke.
She leaned toward him. “Why not do this one thing for your friend?”
“The past should remain the past,” he said. His expression was closed again.
How sad that he could not move beyond his personal pain. Or was it guilt that kept Lucas tethered to his desert exile? Regardless, Sara couldn’t let George’s bucket list wish go unfulfilled. She owed him. After a few seconds of quiet, she spoke again. “Isn’t friendship worth making an effort?”
“Do you mean my relationship with George or yours?”
“George has been a mentor to me. I owe him a lot.”
“Even to revisiting your first real love affair?”
She stiffened. “Let’s not go there.”
He stood, throwing his cloth napkin on the table. “You want to drill into the most painful period of my life. Dredge it all up again. Why should your tender feelings go unscathed?”
She stood also, facing him, head high. “I always wanted you to be happy. Can you stand there and tell me you are happy today?”
“I don’t expect happiness.” The gravel in his voice matched the ravaged expression in his eyes.
Her heart ached for him, but she had to keep pushing. “Then what difference does it make to you if we finish this film?”
“I’d rather forget the past,” Lucas said.
“George would rather not die this year.”
He winced. “Twist the knife.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She followed him to the edge of the courtyard. Here, the sun was blistering. “Don’t you see?” she said. “You can do something to help George, something none of the doctors can do.”
He rubbed the back of his head, his coal black curls glinting blue in the bold sunlight. “Maybe.”
“Please, think about it.”
“Not today.” He walked away into the dark corridor that led to his private side of the house.
“Wait,” she called after him.
He turned.
“Can’t I at least see the footage?”
“No,” he declared, his voice like thunder.
He left. She didn’t dare follow him. She’d pushed him far enough. Farther than she’d thought possible.
It was still early in the afternoon. She couldn’t bear to hang around the house hour after hour once again, waiting for another chance to urge Lucas to let go of his iron grip on Desert Wind. She told Leona her plans, then set out into the desert in her Jeep.
After George gave her the assignment, she had rushed to contact everyone she could from the aborted Desert Wind production. Not many had replied. Others simply would not talk. Loyalty to Lucas kept them silent. But she did get one piece of key information, the location of the fatal last shoot.
The final film scene Lucas Steel ever directed, the one that ended in the horrible catastrophe of Jennifer Barnes's death, was only twenty miles away. With a cell phone’s mapping, Sara could find it despite the ill-marked side roads. Her cell phone would be her lifeline in case of serious trouble.
Off the main road, then off a side road, the dirt track leading to the site was exactly where the map said it should be. Her Jeep handled the rough surface with ease. Several miles later, she arrived at a completely barren expanse that ended in a low ridge. The rocky area was surrounded on three sides by nothing. There were distant hills at the horizon. Otherwise, the desert seemed to go on forever in all directions. This was the location for the last scene of the movie.
Sara stopped the Jeep, checked out the immediate area for predators, and swung down to stand on the ground. She dusted her hands on her chinos. She was wearing a large-brimmed straw hat in addition to plenty of high-value sunscreen. Leona had insisted.
Sara walked slowly toward the outcropping. The story setup was simple. Jennifer Barnes played a tyrannical ranch owner who drove away everyone who loved her. Finally, the man who had hung on through her worst excesses gave up, and she was left alone in the vastness. The script called for her to at last comprehend what she had done. Instead of dialogue or narration, there was silence. The camera shot pulled back to show how alone this one woman was in the vast desert surrounding her.
George’s script described the method of achieving the ending as a crane shot, a sequence filmed from a camera located atop a crane. Angled correctly, the crane shot could suggest a 360-degree perspective. A crane shot was a way of underscoring how the character saw the world, but also how small the person was by comparison to the world.
According to the public records describing the accident that killed Jennifer Barnes, the actress was standing with her back to the small rocky rise, facing the flat desert as her lover rode away from her life forever. The plan was to film several reaction shots, and then several overhead shots showing her lover, played by handsome young David Connor, saying goodbye and getting on his horse. They would fight before he gave up on her and left.
There should be clean footage of the argument, with plenty of close-ups. There also should be good footage of David Connor’s facial expressions and of him riding into the desert vastness.
In the script, after rejecting her, he took off, leaving her surrounded by emptiness. An effective image for the end of a film. The farewell argument would have been shot the same day as the crane shot. Where was all of it?
David Connor had launched a civil suit against his rival, but it had been dropped after Lucas was exonerated from facing criminal charges. Lucas had retreated to his temporary desert home and stayed there, isolated and refusing to direct again. David Connor returned to acting, married a blonde who looked remarkably like Jennifer Barnes, and then quickly divorced her. Between increasing movie triumphs, he’d been entangled with several other blonde women, but Jennifer Barnes had messed up only part of David Connor’s life. He could still work, unlike Lucas.
She walked closer. Five years later, the land bore no scars from the filming. Sand had shifted to cover any tracks or tread marks from man or machine. The only visible remainder was a red X painted on the shady vertical of a rocky ledge nearby. According to the contemporary reports her assistant had gathered, the crane had been positioned on the ledge, which made it susceptible to the freak gust of wind that toppled it onto Jennifer Barnes.
Even Sara could see that the ledge was a potentially foolish place to put a large piece of machinery. Was that Lucas's call, or someone else’s? Did Lucas strain safety to get a bigger, bolder shot, or was the engineer in charge convinced he’d secured the crane sufficiently with ropes and chains? Whose responsibility was it to know about desert winds as a weather phenomenon?
She sighed. What did it matter now? The accident happened.
A small lizard crawled onto the ledge. Probably harmless, but she’d been warned there could be rattlesnakes and other poisonous reptiles nearby. She didn’t attempt to climb onto the ledge. She’d seen enough.
The scene was likely completed in two or three takes and from multiple angles. Only the final part would be the crane shot. First, several cameras would record the last argument. There might be a cut and then David Connor would mount his horse. Finally, all the cameras would be moved back, and Jennifer Barnes would stand alone—alone by as much as several hundred feet. The crane above her would take the last shot, showing David Connor on his horse, getting smaller and smaller as he rode away.
Or, the whole final scene could have been filmed in reverse. If so, there would be nothing recorded of the vital last argument. Even CGI or a body double wouldn’t be enough to cover for that lapse in continuity. The script would have to be rewritten with a different ending. Then the crane footage might not be needed.
Who knew what scenes had been filmed? Lucas. David Connor. The techs on the set, many of whom were too anonymous to track down. Anyone quoted in a public report of the tragedy might be found, but a location shoot this complex could have employ
ed a hundred people. She had her assistant working on researching any trace of those people, but she didn’t expect instant success. Lucas knew, because he’d directed the fatal scene.
She was back to where she started, needing Lucas's cooperation.
It was hot out here. Not a cloud in the sky, and the brilliant sun was harsh on her back. She retreated to her Jeep and turned the ignition key. The engine didn’t catch.
Uh-oh.
She tried again. Nothing. The starter? The battery? A solenoid? She only knew the names. She waited a few minutes, with the vague recollection that excessive efforts to start a vehicle could flood the motor with too much gas and make it less likely to start. For the first time this afternoon, she noticed she was perspiring.
She tried again, to no avail. Time to look under the hood and see if there was anything visible she could fix herself.
After struggling to get the hood up, she finally confronted a sea of machinery about which she knew almost nothing. There seemed to be coolant. She checked the oil. Yes, there was oil. She didn’t know what a solenoid looked like. If it was the solenoid, she’d have to wait until it cooled down when the sun set. That much she knew. Then the Jeep might start. Or not. Waiting to find out was not a good plan.
She slammed down the hood. Who to phone? Leona would know the smart thing to do. No use calling the auto club if a tow truck would arrive three hours from now. Meanwhile, she’d have to seek shelter under that ledge, where the lizards and snakes lived. The most sensible plan, but not fun.
Her phone had a signal. Leona answered immediately. When Sara explained her problem, the housekeeper promised she would send help within a half hour. “Stay in the shade. Too much of the desert sun can kill you.”
“I will.”
She trudged over to the ledge and carefully inspected the area. Then she inspected it again. She should sit, but she didn’t like the idea of being vulnerable to something that decided to come out of a hole. Or return to one as the desert cooled. She shivered despite the sun’s heat. There was a little shade from the ledge without crawling under it. If she didn’t have to wait too long, she could stand in that small patch of shade.
Second Chance Reunion Page 3