Superstar

by Southwell, T C

  "How dare you go through my things?"

  Helen sneered, "So, you have designs on Mark, don't you? How pathetic. Do you really think he'd give you a second glance?"

  "Just because I like to draw him doesn't mean any more than that."

  She laughed. "Nice try, but obviously you're infatuated with him." She tossed the drawings on the bed. "Take some advice, and forget about him. He'll only break your heart. If Jenna Morden can't land him, do you really think that you can?"

  Carrin bristled. "I'm not trying to land him."

  "Sure you're not." Helen sauntered to the door, where she turned for a parting shot. "He might take you to bed for a change of pace, but after that he'll drop you like a hot potato."

  Carrin stared at the doorway for a long time after Helen left. The worst part was that she was probably right. Carrin picked up her sketches and leafed through them, studying his proud narrow nose and strong jaw. His piercing eyes had a hint of contempt in their depths. She almost wished that she had not come, for as long as he had only lived in her dreams, he had done exactly what she wanted. He had been an ideal partner; a dream lover whose undying love for her made her hard life so much easier to deal with.

  Now she had seen the distant politeness that he accorded her and the beautiful women who vied for his attention. Would she ever be able to revive him in her dreams, or would harsh reality intrude every time she strived to escape into her imaginary world? She shoved the drawings into her suitcase. A glance at the clock told her that it was almost four o'clock, and she went down to the side patio to meet Mark. At the doors, she stopped. Simon Grey's voice came from the patio, raised in anger.

  "Damn it, you're just toying with her. How can you be so cruel?"

  Mark's reply was soft. "Don't worry, she can take care of herself."

  "How do you know that? Why don't you just tell her that you're not interested?"

  Mark sounded bored. "I will, but for the moment I have a use for her."

  "You're a cold-hearted bastard. If you won't tell her, I will."

  "Go ahead; she won't believe you. You've got enough women chasing after you to know what it's like. They're only after money and fame. I don't know why she doesn't switch to you, if you're keen on her."

  Carrin pressed back against the wall, waves of horror making her heart pound and her mouth dry. Mark’s callous remarks showed his true nature, and shattered her image of him as a kind, sensitive man. The revelation made her want to be sick. She went back to her room, where she flung herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Mark’s harsh words, spoken in the same sneering tone that he had used in his films when he played the villain, had destroyed her dream.

  A knock at the door made her sit up and call out to the person to enter. A young, shy-looking maid stood there, awkward in her stiff uniform. She bobbed and fiddled with her apron.

  "Mr Lord wants to know when you'll be joining him for tea, Miss York."

  "I won't." The words were out before she could think about them, driven by her resentment. "I - I'm not feeling well."

  The maid bobbed again. "I'll tell him."

  As the maid left, Carrin glared at the inoffensive door. Yes, tell him he's a cold-hearted bastard while you're at it, she wanted to add. Tell him that all his good looks don't make up for his nasty personality, and I wouldn't touch him with a barge pole. Going onto the balcony, she gazed out at the acres of garden. Cool pathways wound between spreading trees, and bright flowers bordered them. Tiny artificial springs fed rockeries of creeping plants.

  The warm pool's deep blue mocked her with its cool appearance, much like Mark Lord's handsome exterior hid a cold, cruel mind. She looked down as Mark emerged from the patio, evidently having received her message. He wandered to the edge of the pool and stared into the water. What was he thinking? Was he relieved not to have to spend time in her boring company? She scowled, wishing that she had a water bomb to drop on his head. He had said that he was using her, but for what? To get her screenplay? To make the lovely Jenna jealous? Surely Helen would be a better choice for that? Jenna would hardly consider a plain young writer a threat. Mark left the pool and wandered away into the garden.

  Chapter Three

  That night, dinner was an awkward affair. She dined alone with the superstar at a table in an alcove off the main dining room. Carrin concentrated on enjoying the delicious food, and made no attempt to converse with Mark. He studied her, which made it impossible for her to look at him. Eventually, he broke the silence.

  "You seem to be feeling better."

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Too much wine last night?"

  "Something like that."

  "I read your screenplay this afternoon."

  Carrin looked up at him. "Did you like it?"

  Mark looked down at his half-eaten roast beef and potatoes drowned in creamy sauce, as if unable to meet her gaze. That probably meant that he hated it, she thought, her heart sinking. She took the opportunity to study his face from yet another angle, longing to draw it.

  "It needs some work. Your characters are a little vague. Some of your conversations are inane and unnecessary, but otherwise, yes, I do."

  Relief washed through her. "I'll work on it." Her eagerness to get somewhere with the screenplay banished her resentment momentarily.

  Mark raised his eyes, toying with his food. "I have several computers you can use. I trust you brought backups with you?"

  "Of course."

  He sat back, and the maid removed his plate. "You're very quiet this evening."

  She shrugged. "I'm a quiet person."

  "Tell me about yourself."

  Carrin stared at him, hoping that her anger did not show in her eyes. The candles on the table bathed his face in a warm golden glow; softening its lines and making him look younger.

  "There's nothing much to tell. I was born in Africa, went to school, almost got married at eighteen but he ran off with another woman. I worked in various jobs, then started writing three years ago. I've had four books rejected, and this is my first screenplay."

  He folded his hands, and she noticed how long and slender they were. The hands of an artist, or surgeon. "What about your family?"

  She shrugged. "I have a brother and mother, my father's dead. We stay on a small farm with my sister-in-law."

  Mark gazed at her, probably waiting for her to go on. If he was expecting her to ask him questions about himself, he was disappointed. Although she burnt with curiosity, she refused to give him the satisfaction. He unfolded his hands, and his lips curved in a slight smile.

  "There's someone I'd like you to meet, before you work on the screenplay. She's a writer, and I think she can give you some good tips."

  Carrin looked doubtful. Another girlfriend?

  Mark sat back as the maid served dessert. “If you like, I'll take you to meet her tomorrow. I have a meeting, so I'll drop you off and collect you later, okay?"

  She shrugged again. "Okay."

  "Good." He tucked into the strawberries and cream, and the meal was completed in silence. Afterwards, she claimed to be tired and left him to sip a brandy alone. She gained the impression that he was disappointed, but dismissed it as imagination. In her room, she pulled out the sketches and gazed at them. If only he was as nice inside as he was on the outside.

  Why was it that beautiful people were sometimes cursed with such horrible personalities? Why couldn't her dream be real? In it, he was sensitive, loving and tender, but in reality he was not a nice person at all. Picking up her pencil, she drew another picture, trying to catch the essence of his character. She made his crooked eyebrows more prominent and his dark eyes glared, his mouth twisted in a sneer. Yet no matter how she twisted his features, he still wasn't ugly.

  Giving up, she put the drawings away, then turned at a splash outside. Walking onto the balcony, she looked down at the warm pool. Mark Lord swam in it, using an energetic crawl that ploughed a foaming wake from one end to the other. He seemed intent on exhaust
ing himself, swimming as if demons were after him, and she hoped that they would catch him. After a few minutes he climbed out, clad only in a brief pair of swimming trunks. Muscles rippled on his tanned, well-built torso as he towelled his hair. Carrin noticed a woman walking towards him from the patio doors. He greeted Jenna, who walked into his arms. Carrin left to shower and go to bed. Jenna was welcome to him.

  The following morning, after eating breakfast in her room, Carrin came down to find the limousine parked at the front doors. Mark sat in it, talking on a mobile phone. John held the door for her, and she climbed in beside Mark. The glass barrier between them and the driver was in place, and she settled uncomfortably beside Mark as he ended his call. He glanced at her and folded the phone.

  "Sleep well?"

  "Yes, thank you. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting."

  He gave her that slight, famous smile. "Not at all. I had to make some calls anyway."

  Carrin stared out of the window as the car glided down the driveway, wondering where Jenna was. Was she still in Mark's bed, while a resentful Helen served her breakfast, or had she left last night after they had made love? He did not even look tired, but disgustingly healthy, with no sign of a late night at all. His voice dragged her from her reverie.

  "You seem unhappy, Carrin. Anything wrong?"

  She turned to look at him, wishing he did not look so handsome in the car's dim interior. "No, just... a little homesick, I guess."

  He stared at her in surprise. "Yes, I suppose you would be missing your family. Perhaps we should go out and do something; that would take your mind off it."

  "I have to work on the screenplay."

  "There's plenty of time for that. Perhaps you'd like to come to my ranch? We could go horse riding."

  Carrin wondered why he was trying so hard to be nice. Maybe he sensed her hostility, and wanted to win her over for whatever use he had for her. Well, it would not work.

  "Thanks, but I want to get the screenplay finished and go home."

  "I see." He looked confused. "Of course, you must have a boyfriend over there, who you're missing."

  "No. I miss my horses, and my dog."

  Mark's face became unreadable, and she smiled inwardly. Let him think that a few animals were more important than him; that would put him in his place. He stared out of the window as the car whispered along, then cursed. Carrin followed his gaze. They approached a set of steel gates much like his, and a crowd of photographers clustered around them. At the sight of the car they gave glad cries, and the swarm descended on the limousine. Flashes went off like strobe lights as the car pulled up at the gates, and Mark frowned as the pushing crowd clustered close. The paparazzi banged on the windows and shouted questions through the glass.

  "Mr Lord, when will your next movie be out?"

  "What are you working on currently?"

  "Are you and Jenna planning on tying the knot?"

  "Is it true you're in financial difficulties?"

  The gates swung open and the car purred through, leaving the disappointed reporters milling. Mark glared at the back of John's head and pushed a button on the console, which made the partition slide down.

  "How the hell did they know I was coming here?"

  "I don't know sir." John glanced at his boss in the rear-view mirror. Mark shifted irritably and tugged at the lapels of his immaculate black suit. Surrounded by so much opulence, and his debonair presence, Carrin felt plain and out of place in her faded summer dress. His aftershave tickled her nose with a cool masculine scent that mixed well with the leather smell of the car's upholstery.

  They pulled up in front of a single storey, ivy-covered house, whose garden was not as well tended as Mark's. Hedges straggled, and creepers invaded areas where they should not be. Molehills dotted the lawn amongst the fallen leaves. It was still pretty, and more natural, Carrin thought. As Mark stepped out of the car, a barrage of cameras clicked and flashed from the gate. The paparazzi were now armed with telephoto lenses, she noticed, which they pushed through the bars. Mark ignored them as he helped her out, his touch cool and impersonal, though it sent shivers through her. She turned her back on the media as the cameras clicked in a frenzy. Mark walked up to the front door as it was flung open and a grey-haired, motherly woman flew out. She flung her arms around Mark's neck and kissed him on both cheeks. He bore it with a slight smile, kissing her back.

  "My darling boy," the woman gushed, "it's so good to see you. It's been so long!"

  "I know, Ollie. I've been busy."

  "And you must be Carrin." The woman approached Carrin, hand outstretched. Carrin shook it, and the woman beamed. "It's so nice to meet you."

  Mark said, "Carrin, this is Olivia Reed, a good friend, and writer."

  "Oh, I'm retired now, dear." Olivia waved a hand. "Let's go inside before those ghouls at the gate get too many blurred photos."

  Mark scowled in the direction of the still-clicking cameras. "How on earth did they know I was coming to see you, Ollie?"

  "I don't know, unless they've stooped to tapping phones."

  They followed her into a cosy interior furnished in chintz and polished antiques, walking through it to a back patio beside a pool and a rockery. When they were seated at a garden table, a maid appeared with a tea tray. The tea set looked like Dresden, and a collection of creamy cakes filled two plates. Olivia poured the tea and made sure that everyone had a cup and a cake before settling back.

  "So, Carrin, you're a writer."

  "Trying to be."

  Olivia smiled. "If you don't try you'll never succeed my dear, and if Mark likes your work, you must be good." Carrin glanced doubtfully at Mark, and Olivia chuckled. "Don't worry; he's not just being kind. He's very serious about his work. He'll always tell you the truth."

  Carrin nodded. "Oh, I'm sure he's not trying to be kind." As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Mark's brows rose, and Olivia glanced at her sharply.

  "I mean... as you said, he's a serious actor," Carrin hurried on as a tense silence followed her ill-considered remark. "And why should he be kind? He hardly knows me. It's not as if I'm a friend, is it?"

  Mark shifted, staring at Carrin as if she was some rare and indescribably ugly bug he had just found swimming in his bathtub. Olivia looked uncomfortable and gulped her tea. Carrin reached for a sticky cake and got her thumb stuck in it. Mark cleared his throat, finished his tea and rose to his feet.

  "Ollie, I must go. I'm late for a meeting with my accountant."

  "Of course, darling." Olivia gazed up at him with adoring eyes as he bent to kiss her. He nodded at Carrin. "I'll send John for you."

  After he had gone, the silence stretched until Olivia replaced her cup with a clatter. "May I ask what brought on that display of bad manners, young lady?"

  "It's the truth. We only met two days ago."

  "He sent you a ticket to come here. You're staying in his house, enjoying his hospitality, to say nothing of his much sought after company. Don't you know how lucky you are? He's trying to get your script made into a movie. He's allowing your name to be linked to his in order to help your career. My god, girl, he's doing everything he can to help you. How dare you be so nasty to him?"

  Carrin's eyes burnt with mortification, and her nose itched as it always did when she was embarrassed. Put like that, it did seem terrible. "I only said the same thing as you did."

  "Not quite. What has he done to you to make you dislike him?"

  "Nothing. I - I just don't think he's as nice a person as you think he is."

  Olivia looked aghast. "What? Mark Lord is the kindest, gentlest, most generous, unselfish man I have ever met. He's not like most movie stars who love themselves to bits and look down on everyone else. Don't you realise how lucky you are to have met him?"

  Carrin sucked the cream from her thumb miserably.

  Olivia sighed. "I think I know what the problem is. You've developed an enormous crush on him, and he's not interested. Hell hath no fury and all that, hey?"r />
  Carrin schooled her features, determined not to let Olivia see how she felt. No one must know, ever! Especially a close friend of Mark's, who would tell him.

  "No, you're wrong. I've seen the way he treats people, that's all, and he seems cruel."

  "Cruel! Mark? Never." Olivia looked thoughtful. "To whom?"

  Carrin wanted to shout, 'To me! He's using me, but I don't know what for!' Instead she shrugged. "I've heard things about him, that's all."

  "Ah, from Helen, no doubt." Olivia leant closer. "I don't know why he puts up with her, you know. She's been trying to get her hooks into him for a long time, but he won't fall for her charms, and that's driving her nuts. Don't let her poison your mind; she's bitter."

  Carrin sniffed. "I suppose he'll marry Jenna one day."

  "Ha!" Olivia gave a bark of laughter. "Never. That tramp doesn't stand a chance with him. If I was twenty years younger, I'd be after him myself, dear. Unlike most movie stars who hop in and out of marriage, he's waiting for the right girl, and that's rare. He won't marry for anything but love, you know. Jenna’s just window-dressing. Something to keep the press happy; a date when he needs to go to a function, that's all."

  Carrin looked amazed. "You mean he doesn't love her?"

  "Let me tell you something about Mark Lord, Carrin. He was an orphan, abandoned as an infant. When he left the orphanage at eighteen, all he wanted was to be rich and famous. He felt that he was worthless, you see. Unloved. Even his mother didn't want him. That's hard to live with. He put himself through acting school by working as a labourer. He struggled for years to get a good part, and eventually he did. Do you know how many millions he gives to charity? He supports at least five orphanages and dozens of soup kitchens. He employs hundreds to staff his homes. Why, he's a walking benefactor to all who need him, including you."

  Carrin fiddled with her teacup. "I think he needs a good screenplay."