Malibu Music

by Rosemary Hammond

  'And did you have any problem along those lines?' he asked.

  She shook her head. 'Not so far. I was a little concerned once.' She told him about the tipsy middle-aged man and his anniversary request. 'But when I discovered his wife was right there, I knew there wouldn't be any problem. Besides, Dino would have come to my rescue if I'd really needed help.'

  He frowned, his cup halfway to his mouth. 'Who's Dino?'

  'The accordionist. Also the bouncer. A dark gypsy type.'

  He was silent as he slowly lifted the mug and drank his coffee. 'Bianca,' he said finally, his tone light, 'I really do want to come and see you play.'

  Her face clouded. 'Please don't, Gerry.' She made a helpless gesture with her hands. 'I guess I'm being silly, but I feel so—so exposed in that awful costume. When Tom called this morning and said he was coming to the restaurant tonight, I almost wouldn't let him come, either.'

  'What do you mean, "almost"?' he asked evenly.

  Bianca looked up at the hint of menace in his voice. She shrugged. 'Well, you know, it's only Tom. I wasn't too crazy about the idea, but…' She broke off and stared.

  He had risen to his feet and was leaning over the table, his palms braced flat against it, his dark eyes blazing. She had never seen him look really angry before, and she decided instantly that she didn't like it. The latent menace she had always sensed in him seemed suddenly to have erupted to the surface.

  'I see,' he said in that same even tone. 'Tom can see you. Dino can see you. Every middle-aged lecher in Southern California can see you. But I can't see you. Is that it?'

  'Gerry, I…' she stumbled.

  For a long moment their eyes remained locked together. His hostility emanated towards her in waves as he glared down at her. Her throat and mouth were dry, and she nervously ran her tongue over her lips.

  'Hell!' he muttered and straightened up. 'I thought we were friends, Bianca.' He forced out a smile. 'Who was it who coached you yesterday and taught you how to be a proper gypsy?' He shook his head and sighed. 'Oh, come on. Don't look so stricken. I won't eat you. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, but, damn it, you can be stubborn when you want to.'

  She was so relieved to see him smiling again that she slumped back in her chair limply. 'Please try to understand, Gerry,' she said at last. 'I do appreciate your help. I couldn't have managed without it. It's just that I feel so—so exposed in that awful costume and all that silly make-up. It's not me.'

  'Okay, okay. Forget it. Get up.' She hesitated, unsure of what he wanted. 'Come on. I can spare an hour or two this morning for some coaching. After that, I've got to hit the book and you're on your own.'

  Slowly she rose to her feet. 'I feel guilty taking up so much of your time, Gerry,' she said. 'You've got your own work to do.'

  He reached out and grabbed her arm. 'I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to.' He flung an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the piano in the living room. He sat down on the bench and played a few chords, then looked up at her. 'Friends?' he asked softly. She nodded. 'Friends.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  Bianca's second night of playing at Rumania House did indeed go much more smoothly than the first. Although she still fell exhausted into a chair in the kitchen at her supper break, at least she knew now what was expected of her. She had even applied her own make-up that evening when she arrived, sticking at the unfamiliar task with awkward fingers until she got Barbara's smiling approval.

  Her playing was more assured tonight, too. She and Gerry had practised some new music, and as she strolled among the tables with her violin, she found herself genuinely enjoying her job. The haunting gypsy airs were not her usual style, but there was a poignant beauty to them that evoked in Bianca the warm response of a true musician to any good music. She especially liked to play the tune, When A Gypsy Makes His Violin Cry, and since that was exactly the effect she aimed at, she decided to make it her theme song.

  The patrons were well-behaved and responded warmly to her playing. She received several tips when she played special requests, all duly tucked into the bodice of her costume. She found she quite enjoyed the intimacy of the cozy dining areas. It was a new experience for her, accustomed as she was to the separation from her audience of the concert stage.

  She had forgotten all about Tom's intention to eat at the restaurant tonight until she resumed playing after her supper break. She had just finished playing a wickedly difficult Sarasate piece for a family group celebrating a birthday and was smiling and nodding at the appreciative applause when she felt a hand on her arm. She turned swiftly around, prepared to ease herself out of a sticky situation, and saw Tom smiling at her. He was seated at the table right behind her with another man across from him.

  Her eyes lit up. 'Tom. You did come.'

  He was shaking his head slowly from side to side. 'I'm so glad to see it really is you, Bianca. I hardly recognised you and had visions of getting slapped by a strange woman for getting fresh.'

  She laughed. 'Oh, we don't do that here. We have subtler ways of handling grabbers.' She tilted her bow at the burly Dino, who was eyeing her carefully from across the room.

  'Yes, I see,' Tom said. 'It seems you're well protected. Can you sit down a minute?'

  'I guess so. I haven't taken either of my short breaks yet. If it's against the rules to mingle with the paying customers, I'm sure Madame Tedescu will let me know.'

  She slid on to the leather padded banquette beside him and glanced briefly at the man sitting across from him. He was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen, with shaggy, but well-cut thick blond hair, even white teeth smiling in a heavily tanned face and dazzling blue eyes.

  She smiled hesitantly at him, then turned to Tom, waiting to see if he intended to introduce them. There was a strange look of intensity on her friend's face. He was simply staring at her, a baffled look in his eyes.

  'Tom?' she said softly.

  He jumped and reddened. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'I just can't get over your appearance.'

  'Is it that bad?'

  He shook his head. 'Not bad at all. Just so different. I'm not used to seeing you as a femme fatale.' He looked at his companion. 'Bianca, this is Bruce Holloway. Bruce, Bianca Jameson, my star pupil.'

  'How do you do,' Bianca murmured.

  The man flashed a brilliant smile at her and returned her greeting. 'A pleasure,' he said in a low throaty voice. 'I enjoyed your playing very much.'

  Bianca thanked him and turned back to Tom. 'Well, what do you think, teacher? Will I pass as a gypsy violinist? I'm thinking of making it my career.'

  Tom was still giving her the oddest look. He glanced at Bruce Holloway, his mouth twitching as though he was trying hard not to laugh. A look passed between the two men. Tom turned back to Bianca with a wide grin. Something funny was going on, she thought. It was as though they were enjoying some huge private joke at her expense. Flustered, she toyed nervously with the violin bow in her lap.

  Apparently reading her thoughts, Tom reached out to cover her hand with his. 'You did great, Bianca. You really made your fiddle sing. I think you have a great future as a gypsy.'

  Bianca smiled. 'I'm not sure I could stand the pace, but it is fun, and the pay is marvellous. I even get tips.'

  At that moment two teenage girls approached their table. One of them cleared her throat nervously and gave Bruce Holloway an adoring glance. 'Mr Holloway,' she said shyly, 'could we please have your autograph?'

  'Certainly,' he said in an easy, practised drawl, and reached for the pieces of paper the girls were holding out to him.

  Immediately, two older women and a young boy appeared behind the girls, staring at Bruce and clutching odd scraps of paper in their hands. Bianca stared at the tableau before her, and while Bruce was occupied with signing and chatting easily to his admirers, she turned to Tom with a puzzled frown.

  'What's going on?' she whispered.

  'You mean you really don't know?' he asked in a stunned tone. She shook her head. T
om leaned towards her and spoke into her ear in a low voice. 'Bruce Holloway just happens to be the hottest thing in movies since Robert Redford.'

  Bianca's eyes widened. 'You mean he's a movie star?' Tom nodded, and Bianca put her hand to her forehead in a gesture of dismay. 'Oh, Tom,' she breathed, 'how awful! He must think I'm a terrible klutz not to recognise him. I don't know anything about the movies.' She wasn't even that sure who Robert Redford was, for that matter, although she had a dim recollection that he was very famous.

  'I think he found it refreshing.' He motioned with his head. 'Take a look.'

  Bianca glanced across the table to see the forced smile on Bruce Holloway's handsome face, the glazed look in the blue eyes, the firm set of his mouth. He was smiling, but his eyes were grim, as though he was forcing himself to be pleasant under great stress.

  When the last autograph-seeker had left, the blond man turned to Bianca and Tom. He looked so drained, Bianca thought, his face ashen under the tan, the eyes dead and empty of the spark she had seen before.

  He shrugged and lit a cigarette with shaky fingers. 'Sorry about that,' he muttered, exhaling a stream of smoke in a heavy sigh. 'I can't seem to escape it.'

  'Why do you do it?' Bianca asked softly. 'You could have said no, turned them away.'

  He shrugged again and inhaled deeply. 'It's my bread and butter.' He gave her a rueful smile. 'I've become public property. They pay to see my films. I can at least put my name on a piece of paper for them.'

  Bianca shivered a little. 'It sounds awful,' she said in a tone of genuine pity.

  Tom threw his head back and laughed. 'Don't waste your sympathy on Bruce,' he said at last. 'I knew him back when he was a struggling young actor. Ask him to tell you about his mansion in Beverly Hills, his beach house in Acapulco, his Rolls Royce, his yacht, and all those adoring women.'

  Bianca glanced warily at Bruce. He was smiling now, more relaxed. 'Well, yes,' he admitted. 'There is that, too.'

  Madame Tedescu appeared just then at their table, her piercing black button eyes fastened on Bianca. 'Good evening, Tom,' she said sweetly. 'Mr Holloway.'

  Bianca got hurriedly to her feet. 'Well, my break is over,' she said to Tom. 'I'd better get back to work.' She turned to Bruce Holloway. 'It was nice to meet you, Mr Holloway,' she said politely.

  He rose to his feet and took her hand. 'The pleasure was all mine, Bianca.' He gave the hand a warm squeeze, then released it and looked directly into her eyes. 'I'm sure we'll meet again.'

  What in the world did he mean by that remark? Bianca wondered as she moved slowly back among the tables and propped her violin under her chin. As she strolled around, playing mechanically, she thought about the meeting. A famous movie star! And she didn't even recognise him! A devastatingly attractive man, she thought, but something about him bothered her. He reminded her of an unpleasant association, even a threatening one.

  It wasn't until she was drifting off to sleep that night in her own bed, exhausted again from her evening's labours, that she made the connection. He reminded her of the way Gerry had acted when she first knew him, she realised hazily, on the verge of unconsciousness. The studied poses, the arrogance, the practised movements, all the little things she had noticed in her neighbour that had bothered her about him at first and kept her on guard against him for so long.

  Her last thought as she slipped into oblivion was that Gerry wasn't like that any more, at least not with her.

  In the days that followed, Bianca fell easily into a comfortable routine. The days passed pleasantly, and by the time she had been on the job for two weeks, she felt like a pro. The gypsy costume still bothered her, but the heavy make-up and elaborate fake chignon did constitute a disguise, and when she performed now, it was easy to forget who she was. She still, however, steadfastly refused to allow Gerry to come to the restaurant to watch her play. She didn't know why. It wouldn't have bothered her if anyone else she knew saw her there, but she didn't want him.

  It had become a habit by now for them to spend a large part of the day with each other. It had started with their daily practice sessions and soon extended to long walks along the beach, a swim in the surf, a leisurely chat out on the sunny verandah, and then even to sharing their dinners on Bianca's two nights off a week.

  She had asked him one day to let her read his book, and when he finally did, after some hesitation, she was deeply impressed by his use of language and the scope of his knowledge and experience of life.

  The hero of the novel was a young actor with high ideals who had become corrupted by the movies' system of exploitation and eventually committed suicide. Gerry's terse portrayal of the whole Hollywood scene was vivid and dramatic, even devastating in its sharp condemnation. As she read it, she thought about his comments early in their acquaintance about the free-and-easy lifestyle he had lived and his desire to wean himself away from it.

  Occasionally, when they were swimming, or sitting quietly listening to music, or seated across from each other at the kitchen table, Bianca would surprise a peculiar look in his dark eyes, a strange, appraising stare, although their relationship was growing closer each day, there had been no repetition of those early 'attacks' she had complained of, yet he was, indeed, a very affectionate man. He liked her, she knew, and she was drawn to him more all the time, even came to depend on seeing him every day. It was commonplace now for him to take her hand or slip an arm around her shoulder as they walked together along the beach, and whenever he left her, it was with a little hug and a quick peck on the cheek.

  Although there were times she found herself wanting more, when she found it hard to resist the desire to reach out her hand and touch him, she was content with the way things were. She still sensed danger in him, in those brooding looks that appeared from time to time on his handsome face, the way he moved, like a jungle cat ready to spring, and the occasional lingering touch of his hand on her arm.

  She would laugh at herself then and relax once again. They were good friends, but that's all either of them wanted. His early attempts at seduction were made more from habit than desire, she was sure, and he obviously no longer saw her as potential prey.

  She had forgotten all about her meeting with Bruce Holloway until she and Gerry were sitting out on the verandah enjoying a cold drink one warm Sunday after another practice session, and the telephone rang.

  She got up from the chaise and stepped inside to the living room to answer it, excusing herself to Gerry, who was sprawled in a canvas-backed chair improving his tan.

  'Hello.'

  'Bianca?' came a strange throaty masculine voice. 'This is Bruce Holloway.'

  She drew in her breath sharply. 'Oh.' She was so startled she didn't know what to say to him.

  He chuckled deep in his throat. 'Such response overwhelms me.'

  'I'm sorry—ah—Bruce. I'm just… I mean She collected herself and went on more firmly. 'I'm just surprised to hear from you, that's all.'

  'I said we'd meet again. I understand you have Sunday night off. If you have no other plans, I'd like to take you out to dinner tonight.'

  Bianca was speechless. He wanted to take her out to dinner. How did he know she had Sunday night off? Tom knew. He must have told him. What should she do? He was a movie star, for heaven's sake. What did he want from her? She was very flattered, but did she want to go out with him? She thought of the line of autograph-seekers and the devastating, practised charm of the man.

  'Bianca?' came his voice. 'Are you there?'

  'Yes, Bruce. Yes, I'm still here.' Her mind raced. 'Uh, Bruce, I don't think that's such a good idea. I mean, I'm not what you think I am.' She rushed on. 'I'm really a very ordinary person. That costume, the make-up. That's not me at all. I'm just a musician, not a showgirl.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about,' came the deep warm voice. 'But we can discuss it tonight over dinner.'

  For a moment she was tempted. Then she remembered. 'I can't tonight,' she said. 'I have other plans.' She had promised to ma
ke a pizza for Gerry. 'Maybe some other time,' she added weakly.

  'I'll be out of town for the next few months on location,' he replied smoothly. 'Break your date and come with me tonight.'

  'No, I can't do that,' she said firmly. 'I've already promised.'

  There was a pause. 'All right, Bianca. Have it your way. But I'll be calling you again.'

  After she hung up she stood staring down at the telephone for a long time. What would a man like Bruce Holloway possibly want with her? A man who could probably have his pick of any woman in the world. There was probably a line a mile long panting to get into his bed. Of course, he'd only seen her in her costume and make-up. He had no idea of who she really was, what she was really like.

  A shadow suddenly blocked out the sun coming in through the glass door, and she lifted her head to see Gerry standing there, his arms stretched wide and braced against the door frames on either side of him. He was wearing the dark bathing trunks with a short terry-cloth shirt, unzipped down the front for sunbathing, and there was an enquiring look on his face.

  'What was all that about?' he asked. 'You seem upset.'

  She gazed at him. 'The funniest thing,' she said slowly. 'A few weeks ago at the restaurant Tom introduced me to this man.' She laughed dryly. 'It was so embarrassing. He turned out to be a movie star and I didn't even recognise him.' She gestured helplessly at the telephone. 'He just called to ask me out to dinner tonight.'

  Gerry remained quite still, standing there, his long lithe body poised and taut, an inscrutable look on his dark face. 'What's his name?' he said at last.

  'Bruce Holloway.'

  He began to walk slowly towards her, a strange gleam in the hooded dark eyes. 'And you didn't recognise him,' he stated flatly.

  She shook her head. 'Afraid not.' She grinned up at him. 'The last movie I saw was True Grit, ten years ago when I was twelve years old.' She shrugged. 'Then they began getting so raunchy, I just quit going. Besides, I was busy with other things. The people I know don't go to movies.'