"Then we'll offer them more."
"Mark stands to lose millions if this is printed. What's the point in paying millions to hush it up?"
Carrin grimaced. Her plan did not seem so feasible when he put it like that. "At least there won't be a scandal. He can make another film to recoup his losses."
"He'll never go for it. He'd rather throw that little cow to the wolves and take the consequences. Why should he pay to clean up her mess?"
"Okay. What about if we use someone to pose as a reporter? Someone we can trust."
Simon grunted. "And who might that be? If we tell this to anyone, even someone we think we can trust, they may leak it to the press for money. I'd say Mark or I could put on a disguise, but that would involve make up people. It's useless, Carrin."
"I'll go."
There was a crash on the line, as if Simon had dropped something. "Damn!" He spluttered for a moment. "No, that's ridiculous. It's too dangerous."
"Why? Birdie doesn't know me, and I'm trustworthy."
"Yes, but... no, it's crazy, and Mark would have a fit."
"Why?"
Simon groaned. "Because he... no, listen, just forget it, Carrin."
"We won't tell Mark."
"Aaah, god! You're a stubborn little... thing, aren't you?"
Carrin smiled. "Come on, Simon, he's your friend, and he needs your help."
"Look, there are other problems. Birdie wants to sell the stuff. He'll want a cheque before he hands over the photos."
"So we give him a rubber one."
"A what? Oh, no, it won't work. It's got to be a company cheque, from a magazine." Simon sounded harassed.
Carrin thought about that, listening to Simon's rather heavy breathing on the phone. "Okay, so we need a cheque from a magazine. Any ideas?"
"Um." Simon clearly wasn't prepared for the ball to be tossed back into his court. "Like what?"
"Well, isn't there some magazine just itching to do a story on you?"
"Why? Oh! I see. But then the cheque will be made out to me."
"So we'll change it."
Simon coughed, as if shocked. "But... the bank won't accept it."
"They don't have to, that's the whole point. By then we'll have the photos."
"But... that means I'll be doing the interview for free."
Carrin sighed in exasperation. "So what? Look, you can phone them and tell them you lost the cheque, okay? They'll send you another."
"But we don't know how much Birdie will want for the photos. It's bound to be more than a tame interview with me is worth."
Carrin wanted to strangle the reluctant actor. "We'll change it. Don't you want to help Mark?"
"Of course I do, but if Birdie gets suspicious, you'll be in danger."
"What's he going to do?"
Simon harrumphed. "Well, he might try to get the truth out of you."
"I won't talk."
"Carrin, I don't think you realise who we're dealing with. This guy is a drug dealer; a big time crook on the side. He can do all sorts of nasty stuff."
She hesitated. "So long as the cheque's convincing, we're safe, right?"
"Well, yes. If he suspects that the cheque's been tampered with, he could get nasty."
"Then when the magazine interviews you, ask them to leave the payee's name blank. Tell them you're going to donate it to charity."
Simon sounded relieved. "Yes, that's a good idea." He paused. "What if Birdie wants cash?"
"Oh for god's sake, Simon!" Carrin said, fed up. "Then it's no deal, and we'll have to think of something else. No one deals in cash. Why would he demand it?"
"Okay, okay, but once I phone him and tell him to take a running jump, the shit hits the fan. If he doesn't go for your deal, he'll peddle it elsewhere."
"So we make him an offer he can't refuse. We don't have to pay it."
"Right, right, okay." He sounded hesitant. "What if he gets nasty when the cheque bounces?"
"He won't know who I really am. Who's he going to go after? The magazine?"
Simon sighed. "You don't know him. If we do this, just don't ever get famous."
"I'll wear a disguise, okay?"
"Okay. I'll get my secretary to phone whichever magazine is currently interested and arrange an interview... Of course, Mark could get a better one..."
"No, Mark mustn't know."
"You're right, he'd kill me."
Carrin sighed with relief. "Okay, arrange the interview, and I want to be there."
"Why?"
"Just in case."
"Okay, I'll let you know. Goodnight."
Carrin hung up and rubbed her aching ear. If everything went smoothly, the threat to Mark's career would soon be over. Satisfied with her plan, she sat down to work on the screenplay. Switching the dialogue wasn't too difficult, and cutting Janice's lines was easy. Carrin rather enjoyed it, especially when she thought about the trouble that the actress' stupidity had caused for Mark. When she went to bed, she was tired, but she lay awake, tossing and turning as she thought about all the things that could go wrong with her plan.
When Carrin woke the next morning, a glance at the clock told her that it was already ten o'clock. As she groaned and sat up, the phone rang, making her jump. She grabbed it before its piercing tones made her ears ring.
"Hello?"
"Carrin? It's Simon. Listen, it's all set for this afternoon, at three o'clock."
"Wow, that was quick." Carrin rubbed her eyes.
"Well, when I grant an interview, they jump at it, like flies on a dung heap." He sounded smug, obviously not realising how unflattering the comparison was.
"Good. Okay. Is it at your house?"
"Yeah. I'll send a car."
Carrin showered and dressed, then settled down at the desk to work on her screenplay. She was deep in thought when the phone rang again, making her leap in fright. She grabbed it.
"Miss York?" She recognised the hotel's desk clerk.
"Yes?"
"There's a car here for you."
"Okay, thank you."
She hung up and glanced at her watch, gasping at the lateness of the hour. Half past two! Grabbing her jacket and bag, she hurried out to the lift.
A deep maroon limousine waited on the curb, a white uniformed chauffeur holding the door. She slid into it, and the car whispered through the afternoon traffic, arriving at Simon's enormous mansion at ten to three. The house was pretentious, she thought. Huge white pillars framed the over-large front door, and a motley collection of statues dotted the rather plain, manicured gardens. It was grand, and obviously worth a fortune, but it was not a house that she could live in. A maid showed her onto the back patio, where Simon relaxed with a cool drink and a magazine. He rose to meet her.
"Ah, bang on time. They should be here at any moment."
Before Carrin could reply, another maid appeared and said, "The magazine people are here, Mr Grey."
Simon glanced at his watch. "They're early. Make them wait in the lounge."
The maid left, and Carrin glanced around at the well-trimmed hedges and rather out-of-place palm trees. A large pool dominated the view, filled with liloes, blow-up chairs and floating bric-a-brac. After the maid had brought Carrin a soft drink, she sat with Simon at the garden table. He made small talk until three o'clock, when the magazine people were invited to join him. A young woman reporter and a male photographer emerged from the house and shook hands with Simon.
The reporter blinked nervously and licked red-painted lips, clearly bowled over by Simon's good looks. She was attractive, but overdone, Carrin thought. Simon introduced Carrin as his assistant, and she was immediately ignored. They settled down at the garden table, and the reporter fired questions at Simon. The interview proceeded in a chatty manner. Simon was certainly disarming when he turned on the charm. When it was over, the photographer took pictures of Simon against the backdrop of his house, then the garden. They vanished into the house for some more shots, and the reporter turned to Carrin.
"Well, Miss..."
"Brown."
"Miss Brown. Shall I give you the cheque?"
Carrin nodded. "Yes. Please leave the payee's name blank. Mr Grey wishes to donate it to a charity."
"Oh, how nice of him."
The reporter smiled and sat down at the table. Pulling out a company chequebook, she filled in a blank, signed cheque. She tore it out and handed it over with a flourish as Simon reappeared, followed by the photographer. After the reporter and her companion had left, Simon flopped into a chair and ordered a stiff drink from the maid. Carrin examined the cheque, her heart sinking as she realised that it was useless. The amount was written in bold ink as well as numerals. She had forgotten about that.
Her disappointment must have shown, for Simon asked, "What's wrong?"
"This is no good. We can't change the writing."
"Ah, Carrin!" Simon clapped a hand to his forehead. "Didn't you think of that?"
"I forgot." She stared at the cheque. Ten thousand dollars. Useless, even as a down payment.
"You mean I did this for nothing?"
"Maybe not." Her mind raced. "Do you have computers?"
"Sure."
"A laser printer?"
"Two."
"A scanner?"
Simon sighed. "Yes, why?"
"We can scan this into the computer, remove the writing and print a blank one with just the signature."
"That's forgery."
She shook her head. "It'll never fool the bank, and it can't be traced back to us."
Simon relaxed and nodded. "Let's do it then."
As Carrin was about to stand up, a maid appeared, followed by an all too familiar figure. Her heart froze, and she stuffed the cheque into her handbag.
The maid announced, "Mr Lord, sir."
"Ah, Mark!" Simon bounced up. "This is a surprise!"
"I can see that." Mark's eyes raked Carrin.
"Er..." Simon glanced at her. "Carrin's portable broke, so she came to use one of my computers for the changes to the script."
Carrin congratulated him on his quick thinking as Mark relaxed and turned to her. "You could have used mine."
"Well, I didn't want to disturb you. You need your rest."
"And Simon doesn't?"
Simon laughed. "I'm not working on a movie, buddy. All my time is free."
Carrin glanced at her watch. It was after four. "I'd better get going, Simon. Thanks for letting me use your machine."
Mark shot her a sharp glance. "What's the rush? If you've finished your work, stay and chat." He raised his brows. "What are you going to do, go back to an empty hotel room?"
Carrin noticed that Simon watched them with avid fascination, as one does the peculiar mating ritual of some rare, bizarre animal, and wondered at it. She settled back into her chair, defeated, and Simon ordered drinks. He struck up a conversation, but Carrin noticed Mark's occasional shrewd glances in her direction. So, Simon's quick thinking had not fooled him after all.
They ate a pleasant dinner of roast beef with fried greens in a rather ornate dining room decorated in crimson and gold, then moved back onto the cool patio for drinks. By then, the atmosphere had grown a little strained. Simon laughed too much, glancing anxiously between them, and Mark spent a great deal of time staring at her unnervingly. When Simon was called away to the phone, he seemed relieved to leave the tension behind, and Carrin's nerves tightened.
Mark leant forward. "What are you up to? I didn't think you fancied Simon Grey. Is that what you're into? The blond, blue-eyed Adonis type?"
"No!" She frowned at his effrontery. "Simon told you."
He snorted. "He's a lousy liar, even if he's a good actor, and you both look as guilty as sin."
"We're not up to anything. I came to use his computer."
"Rubbish."
Carrin's anger flared. "Well, if you don't believe us, that's your problem. I can visit whomever I like. I don't have to answer to you."
Mark looked a little taken aback. "More secrets? I thought we were friends?"
"So did I," she retorted. "But that doesn't mean I have to tell you everything. If I do fancy Simon Grey, it's none of your business."
"Well I think it is. Friends are meant to help each other, and if you'd asked my advice, I'd have told you to leave Simon alone. He's a playboy. He'll only break your heart."
Carrin jumped up. "Thanks for the tip. I'm going back to my hotel. Good night."
She left Mark staring after her and strode into the house, where Simon almost bowled her over. He grabbed her arm as she staggered back.
"Whoa there! What's the hurry?"
"I'm going home. I've had enough of his snide remarks for one evening."
Simon's brows shot up. "Mark? What's the matter with him?"
"He didn't believe you. He thinks there's something going on between us."
Simon's mouth fell open. "He what? Oh, god! We've got to tell him the truth!"
"No way! He'll stop us!"
"If we don't, he'll kill me!"
She looked up at Simon's looming bulk. "You're a bit big to be such a sissy, Simon."
He shook his head. "You don't understand. Compared to him, I'm an overgrown puppy. I'm not a fighter!"
"You really think he's going to try and murder you? Come on, Simon. Even if we were going out, what's it got to do with him? He and I are just friends."
Simon shook his head again, more vigorously. "That's not..." He clasped his brow. "Oh, shit!"
"What?"
"I can't tell you. You've got to tell him." He gripped her shoulders.
"Let go of me. We can't tell him. Let go!" She tried to push him away.
"Let her go," a soft, familiar voice said from the shadows.
Simon released her as if she had become white-hot and sprang back. Mark emerged from the gloom, his face expressionless.
"You don't have to tell me. I have eyes." He frowned at Simon. "I just have one thing to say. If you hurt her, I'll come after you, and you'll regret it."
Carrin gaped at him, stunned.
Simon backed away a step. "It's not what you think, I swear."
Mark raised his chin, his stare challenging. "What is it, then?"
"It's -"
Carrin punched him in the ribs, hard enough to make him grunt. She glared at Mark. "Think what you like. It's none of your business."
Simon shot her a reproachful look. "I'm going to bed. You two sort it out."
The actor turned and marched up the winding staircase, leaving Carrin distinctly in the lurch, and she cursed him. Some ally he had turned out to be. Mark gazed at her, his eyes flat.
"I'm going home," she announced, and headed for the door.
Mark gripped her arm and swung her to face him. "What are you up to? Simon Grey is about the worst person you could choose to get involved with."
His touch made her shiver, and the truth hovered on her tongue, but she swallowed it and said, "Stop interfering in my life. You have secrets too."
"This is no secret."
"It's not what you think, either. Quit jumping to conclusions."
"I'm not stupid."
She jerked her arm from his grip. "Leave me alone. I'm going home." She headed for the door again.
"How will you get there?"
Carrin stopped and glanced up the stairs. Simon had gone to bed without ordering the car to drive her back to the hotel. She contemplated going after him and asking him to, but the idea of invading his bedroom did not appeal to her.
"Want a lift?" Mark asked.
She bridled. "I'll call a cab."
"You have no intention of leaving, do you?"
Carrin scowled and marched over to the phone on the hall table, looking around for a phone book.
"It won't get past security," Mark pointed out.
She headed for the stairs, but Mark got there first and blocked her way. "I'll take you. Prove me wrong."
She stared at his perfect features. How could he think that sh
e would rather have Simon than him, if he was an option?
"All right."
In the car, the silence hung like a gloomy shroud. Carrin caught John's worried glances in the mirror, and was glad when they glided up to her hotel. John held the door for her, and she glanced at Mark, glimpsing a strange look in his eyes before he averted them.
"Thanks for the lift."
Mark nodded, and she climbed out, glad of the fresh air. The desk clerk watched her pass, and she wondered what he made of all her comings and goings. She was always in a limousine, sometimes the studio's white one, sometimes Mark's grey one, and now Simon's maroon one too. It got worse. She left in a maroon one and came back in a grey one. She smiled on the way up in the lift. His mind must be boggling.
In her room, she sat on the couch and stared at the wall. Mark's suspicions had hurt. His reaction was confusing, and now their friendship was in jeopardy. The sooner this little caper was over, and she could tell him the truth, the better.
The following morning was Sunday, and she phoned Simon, who sent his car for her again. When she arrived at his house, his accusing stare rebuked her, and she tried to ignore it.
"Where's the computer?"
"In the study. You know, you might have ruined my friendship with Mark," he told her as she followed him down the hall to a book-lined room furnished with antiques and a famous photographer's black-and-white photos. "He's my oldest friend," he added. "He helped me get started."
She switched on the machine and took the cheque out of her bag. "When this is over, and we tell him the truth, he'll be grateful, and all will be forgiven."
"I hope you're right."
Carrin started up a graphics package and scanned in the cheque. Simon peered over her shoulder while she removed the written amounts and sent the blank image to the printer. It emerged a perfect replica, and she grinned at Simon. He eyed the cheque.
"What about the number on the back?"
Carrin flipped over the original cheque. It had a computer number on the back. "No problem."
She scanned in the number and passed the counterfeit cheque through the printer again. This time it was perfect, and Simon nodded.
"Make the call," Carrin said. "Let's get this over with."
Looking nervous, Simon picked up the phone and dialled. He took a deep breath as he waited for it to be answered.
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