Harold nodded. "Yes, but he needs to look like a tough guy, and without it Mark's maybe just a little too handsome, too smooth."
Carrin snorted. "No, I think he looks just right. I wrote the part for him, and I've never seen him with a moustache."
"Don't like them," Mark muttered.
"I think it suits him," Janice chipped in.
"There was nothing in the description about a moustache," Carrin pointed out.
"No, but we do feel that it gives him a more dangerous air."
Carrin frowned. "He doesn't need a more dangerous air. The audience is supposed to love him, not hate him. In the end he's a hero."
"Heroes can have moustaches," Janice stated.
"Not Jason Talbot," Carrin argued.
"Just because you don't like moustaches -"
"Ladies, please," Harold interrupted.
Mark appeared to have fallen asleep, and evidently declined to get involved in the argument. Harold turned to Carrin.
"Look, Carrin, in this instance I can't go along with you. The art director, the director of photography and myself all agree that he needs the moustache. I'm afraid I can't change it now."
Carrin seethed, "You brought me here to advise you. What good is it if you don't take it?"
"That's the thing about advice. Taking it's optional."
Janice sneered, "You don't have the clout, Miss York, you're just the writer."
"I'll speak to Warren," Carrin said.
"Warren can't help you, he's a producer," Harold stated.
"He must have some say."
"Not when it comes to things like this."
Janice blew smoke at Carrin. "Admit defeat, Miss York. The moustache stays."
Carrin glared at her and Harold. "There must be someone I can speak to. This is important. You're ruining the look of the character."
"That's just your opinion," Janice jeered.
Harold sighed. "I'm sorry, we'd have to have a meeting and discuss it, and we just don't have the time. Mark's supposed to be doing the scene within an hour."
Jerry spoke from his corner. "There's time lapse in the movie, maybe he could shave it off."
"No!" Carrin turned to him. "Jason Talbot doesn't have a moustache!"
Harold shook his head. "It's been decided. You can't change it now."
"I was never consulted on this -"
"We don't have to consult you at all; we bought the script."
Mark opened his eyes and sat up. Freeing a hand from the white cloth, he pulled off the moustache, wincing. "I'll settle this for you, Harold. The moustache goes."
"Mark..." Harold looked stunned.
"I have the right to object to any tampering with my person. It says so in my contract."
"Yes, but this is hardly -"
"I don't want to wear a bit of hair glued to my lip, and if you push the matter I'll prove that I'm allergic to the glue. You want to get into a fight with me, too?"
"No." Harold slumped in defeat. "If you object, so be it." He shot Carrin a mournful look. "I didn't realise you had such a powerful ally. Please don't make any more drastic changes."
Carrin smiled. "I'll try not to."
The director left, and Jerry rolled his chair forward again. Janice stared at Mark in disbelief. With a little snort, she stubbed out her cigarette and flounced off after Harold. Jerry touched up the damage to Mark's upper lip, and Carrin gazed at the actor, whose championing of her cause warmed her heart. She lacked the influence to win the argument, but he had settled the matter in just three sentences. She wondered if anyone ever argued with Mark Lord.
"Thank you," she said.
He opened an eye to look at her. "You're welcome."
"Why did you take my side?"
He smiled, and Jerry clicked his tongue. "You seemed a bit outnumbered."
She nodded, a rosy glow spreading through her.
"Also, I don't like moustaches, either."
The rosy glow faded just a little, but she kept smiling.
"And all the shouting was giving me a headache," he added.
The rosy glow vanished, and her disappointment must have shown, for he smiled again, making Jerry grunt in annoyance.
"Just kidding."
The rosy glow did not return, but she felt a bit better. Mark glanced at the harassed Jerry. "You finished?"
Jerry sat back. "Sure, go ahead."
Mark sat up, pulling off the white cover. Carrin thought that if he had looked handsome before, he looked devastating now. He glanced at his watch and headed for the door.
"Harold will start to pull his hair out in about two minutes, so we'd better go. It's not a good idea to piss off directors too much. There will be trouble enough already."
Carrin strode beside him. "Will it really cause so much trouble?"
Mark's lips twitched. "Well, writers are supposed to give advice and bow out gracefully when slapped on the wrist. You didn't. Actors are supposed to do as they're told, end of story. I used an obsolete clause in my contract that's supposed to protect me from being tattooed or having to have my nose pierced at the whim of the director. An artificial moustache is a bit petty."
"But you do have the power to make your own changes, surely?"
"Look, I can definitely object to being thrown down a flight of stairs or out of a window and insist that they get a stunt man to do it. But having a moustache glued to my lip isn't exactly going to freak out my insurance company."
"But surely... you're the star."
He chuckled. "All that means is I get top billing and the best pay. Stars who are too fussy or cause problems get less work."
"But they need you... they need your name. The movie might flop without it."
Mark sighed. "Sure, but there are a lot of stars around. I could name a few that have fallen by the wayside because they got a bad name for picking fights with directors. Even Janice, with her bloated ego, may pout a lot and sulk, but she doesn't argue with Harold. Right now she's pushing up her points by sympathising with him."
"I'm sorry... if I've caused trouble for you."
He shook his head. "You haven't, don't worry. Harold's a nice guy, he won't bear a grudge. But like he said, don't make too many fearsome objections like that. Even I have to draw the line somewhere."
"Okay, I won't. That was important to me."
"I noticed. Still, I happen to agree with you."
Carrin's heart swelled. Mark Lord was on her side. Even against the luscious Janice.
They emerged into the warehouse set, and almost bumped into a young man coming out. He stepped back.
"Sorry, Mr Lord. I was just coming to call you."
"I'm here. You're Janice's assistant, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
Harold sat in his folding chair, talking to another grey-haired man. They glanced at Mark as the actor strode onto the set, and Carrin got the impression that they were not happy. She stood in the shadows as Mark took up his position, facing the two actors who played the mafia messengers. The light from above threw deep shadows onto his face, and Harold asked him to move a little to his right. He obliged, and Harold gestured to the man with the clapper. Once again, Carrin listened to the now familiar instructions.
"Scene seventeen, take one. All quiet. Roll camera... Action!"
Mark took two steps closer to the waiting men. They shifted as he stopped and regarded them with a level gaze. Carrin was amazed at the change in him. Mark Lord, actor, was gone, and Jason Talbot stood there, hit man, mercenary, killer for hire. One of the men stepped forward and pulled an envelope from his jacket.
"Marinetti sent us. He's got a job for you."
Mark drawled, "You told me on the phone."
"It's a big one, fifty gees."
"A don?" Mark asked.
"No, one of your kind. She's been ordered to hit Marinetti. He wants her out of the way first."
"A woman?" Mark tilted his head so that his face was better lit. Harold nodded, looking pleased.
&n
bsp; "Yeah." The second messenger placed himself strategically next to Mark, and one of the cameras moved silently into another position. A sound boom followed the actor.
"She's a professional, like you. The boss wants her offed, and fast. No fancy stuff, just get rid of her."
Mark shook his head. "I don't kill women."
"She's an assassin."
"I don't care if she's the queen of fucking Sheba. No deal." Mark started to turn away, and the messenger beside him pulled out a gun. Mark froze.
"Marinetti will be pissed."
"If you point that thing at me, I'll be pissed," Mark said.
The first messenger held out the envelope. "There's twenty-five thousand in here, Talbot."
Mark glared at him. "You got a hearing problem, buster?"
The hint of threat in his stance was totally convincing, as if the scene was reality. Carrin was amazed to see her story come to life, just as she had imagined it. The first messenger gestured to the second, who put away his gun. Mark relaxed. The first messenger said, "Marinetti thought you might not like it -"
"He was right," Mark interrupted.
"A hundred thousand, and if you don't do it, the boss puts a hit on you."
Mark smiled that slight, dangerous, famous smile. "I'd like to see him try."
"He won't try... ah, shit!" The actor swung away, and everyone relaxed.
Harold shouted, "Cut!"
Bells rang, and the cameramen stood back, removing their headphones. Carrin glanced at her script. The actor was supposed to say, "He won't just try, he'll do it." He had fluffed the line, and the scene would have to be shot again. Mark walked over to Carrin.
"Someone always gets it wrong," he sighed.
"Do you?"
"Oh, sure, often enough. Funny, I thought we might actually get through that scene without a problem. It would have been nice to do it in one take, but that's rare. Even if someone doesn't fluff their lines, there's usually something that the director isn't happy with." He raised a hand to rub his face, then cursed and lowered it. "Damned make up. I'm glad I'm not a woman, wearing this stuff all the time."
She laughed. "I don't bother much with it."
"I noticed. But then, you don't really need it."
Carrin stared at him, her heart skipping a beat. Why was he paying her a compliment? Was it just to be nice to the plain little writer? A vision of Helen's battered face intruded, and her pleasure faded. Beware, she warned herself, he really was dangerous. Places were called, and Mark walked back to begin the scene again. As Carrin watched, Janice approached and leant against the prop beside her.
"So, Miss York, you think you're a hit with the big man, huh?"
"Just because he agreed with me -"
"I'm not talking about that. He seems to have designs on you, if you ask me, and that's a recipe for disaster, you know."
Carrin scowled at her. "I know, I've been warned."
"Oh good. Then why don't you stay away?"
"I have to be here."
Janice puffed her cigarette. "Then quit hanging around like an overripe fruit waiting to be picked. He's way out of your league. You're ridiculous, you know that? He'll chew you up and spit you out."
Carrin scowled at her.
Janice smiled. "He knows that you're infatuated with him, do you think he's blind? He's already told me, he thinks it's real funny."
A lance of cold pain stabbed Carrin's heart, and she looked at Mark, who was involved in the scene again. Janice followed her gaze, her smile growing into a grin.
"Yeah, he's real cute, isn't he? He's real good at charming the pants off people too." She giggled at her own wit. "Take some friendly advice; remember that he's an actor, a really good actor, Miss York. One of the best."
I know! Carrin wanted to yell. I wish I could hate him like he deserves, but I can't! Instead she turned away to hide her expression and left the set. On the way out, she bumped into Warren, who exclaimed in surprise as she brushed past him. Outside, she walked to the street and caught a taxi back to the hotel. In the safety of her room, she pulled out her drawings and stared at them. If only...
If only what? She jeered her stupidity. If only he was a knight in shining armour? A prince charming waiting at the altar? Instead he was a beautiful, flawed man, cold and hollow inside that handsome facade. He seemed so genuine and good, but he was a very good actor, wasn't he? How was she going to get through months of filming when she was in turmoil after just one morning? Her determination flared. She was not going to be another of Mark Lord's conquests. She would do whatever it took to stay out of his poisonous clutches, even if it meant lying. If he found her infatuation so amusing, it would serve him right to find that he was wrong, after all.
The next day, Carrin went to the studio fortified by her resolution. When Mark greeted her, she was polite in an offhand way that made him look a little confused. Damned actor, she thought angrily. She had spent most of the night lying awake, wrestling with her problem. Helen's bruised face was burnt into her memory, as was Mark's conversation with Simon Grey that she had overheard, and she was tired and irritable. She resented his look of innocent uncertainty, sure that he was mocking her behind it. Well, he would not have the last laugh.
All that day, she watched from the side lines as Mark moved from wardrobe to make up to the set. Janice hung around, looking very much like the overripe fruit that she had accused Carrin of being. Several times, she noticed Mark looking at her curiously, and pointedly turned away. She left while Jerry was removing Mark's make up, avoiding any contact with him. For the next two days she successfully eluded him, and his glances at her became angry. On the third day, as she was making her escape towards the side door where her limousine waited, a dark shadow stepped into her path, making her jump.
"What the hell's going on, Carrin?" Mark stepped into the light. He was still in make-up, and from his dangerous demeanour, he appeared to be still in character too. She retreated a step.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why are you avoiding me? Why the cold shoulder?"
"I've just been staying out of the way, that's all. Everyone has his or her job to do. I don't want to get underfoot."
He seemed to relax a little. "Well you don't have to do such a good job of it." He paused. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"
"No." The word leapt out before she could temper it, and he looked surprised. Inwardly she smiled. It was doubtful that the great Mark Lord ever got rejected so bluntly.
"May I ask why not?" he murmured, sending shivers up her spine at his soft, dangerous tone.
"I have a boyfriend at home, and I don't think it appropriate to go out with other men." She congratulated herself for her quick thinking.
Mark's face became expressionless, but a muscle jumped in his jaw.
She hurried on, embroidering, "The paparazzi follow you around. What would he think if he saw me in a photo with you in some magazine? He'd never believe that we were just friends, would he?"
Mark's face was inscrutable. In the dim light, he looked so handsome that she longed to change her story, laugh it off as a joke and tell him that she would love to go out with him. If only she could. Instead she said, "He's looking after my house while I'm away."
"Your new house? The one you bought with the money for the screenplay, no doubt?"
"Yes."
"When did you meet him? After you got the cheque?"
She saw the trap and sidestepped it. "No, I've known him for years, but we only realised how we felt recently."
"I see. Well, that's quite understandable." He inclined his head. "Good night."
Carrin watched him stride away into the studio, feeling lost and forlorn, as if she had just destroyed something precious. It was not like that though, she reflected. She had avoided a lot of pain. Maybe it would have been worth it, her heart cried, just for a week, a month of happiness. The pain that followed would be too great, however. Shaking off her doubts, she went out to the waiting limousine.
That night she lay awake for a long time, filled with regret for the loss of the dream that would never come true, the dream man whom she would never truly know. How easily a dream could be shattered. It was as fragile as glass, as elusive as the wind.
Mark made the next few weeks of filming easy for her. He avoided her like the plague, was coldly polite when they did meet, and spent a lot of time in Janice's company. Harold looked bewildered when they met in cold formality, and when he asked her about it, Carrin shrugged and told him that they were only acquaintances, nothing more. He looked sceptical, but did not press the issue.
One afternoon, as Carrin was going through the screenplay, she noticed that there was an extra scene. She flipped through it again. Thirty-two scenes, when there should have been thirty-one. Frowning, she studied each scene. Scene twenty eight was unfamiliar, and she read it with growing horror. It was a sex scene. It described Jason Talbot and Sheena Marshall, the woman assassin, in a graphically explicit sexual encounter. The young assistant next to her on the set jumped as she slammed the weighty screenplay down. Furious, she picked up the document again and looked around for Harold. He was talking to Mark and Janice, and the three had their heads together in deep conversation. Carrin did not care. She marched up to them, the script open on the offending page.
"Excuse me." She spoke loudly behind Harold, controlling her voice with an effort.
Harold turned, adjusting his horn-rimmed glasses. "Ah, Carrin, we were just discussing -"
"Scene twenty-eight?"
"Er, no, we were -"
"Who put in the extra scene?"
"Oh." Harold flipped through his script, and Mark watched, poker-faced as usual. Janice looked smug, so she obviously knew what scene twenty-eight was. Harold found the page and glanced at her guiltily.
"Ah, yes. We had that written by another screenwriter. You had neglected to include a love scene."
"Love scene! This is positively pornographic, it's sleazy!"
Harold cleared his throat. "Well, no it's not. The public want love scenes, you know."
Carrin waved the script at him. "That's not a love scene. This story doesn't need soft porn to sell it."
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