"Birdie? Simon Grey." He paused, listening. "Yes, that's why I called you... I wouldn't give you my soundtrack if you were the last musician on earth, so you can sell your unsavoury goodies to whoever you like. In fact, I know just the person. She works for a popular magazine. I'll phone her and give her your number." He paused again, and Carrin could hear the angry, tinny voice from where she stood. "Mark Lord can take care of himself," Simon answered. "He doesn't need me to... yes, I spoke to him. He said the same thing." Simon winced as the phone was slammed down in his ear.
"Well, that's that." He sighed. "Wait a few minutes, then it's your turn."
She nodded. When sufficient time had passed, she picked up the phone and pressed redial. It rang for a moment, then was picked up. A nasty, grating voice spoke.
"Birdie."
"Mr Bird. Samantha Jones here, Centrefold Magazine."
"Uh."
"I just got off the phone with Simon Grey. He tells me you have a story to sell."
The voice sounded even grumpier. "Doesn't waste any time, does he?"
"Er, no. He tells me it's about Janice Sharner."
"That's right. I got pictures that'll make your eyes water."
Carrin tried to sound excited. "I want an exclusive, Mr Bird."
"It'll cost you."
"Money's no problem. Whatever you want."
He grumped, "Mighty generous of you."
"I want it, Mr Bird. Name your price."
"I'll have to think about it, shop around a bit."
Carrin experienced a twinge of fear. "I'd rather you didn't, Mr Bird. I'll offer a million right now."
"A million, eh? I'll get back to you."
"No!" Carrin started to panic. "Please, Mr Bird, I want this story." Simon put a hand on her arm and shook his head.
"I can tell," the grating voice said. "I'll let you know."
"All right, I'll give you my number. I don't want one of the other reporters getting the story."
"Okay."
Carrin covered the receiver and whispered to Simon, "What number do I give him?"
Simon threw up his hands. "I don't know."
"Mrs Jones?" the sullen voice demanded. Carrin looked at Simon desperately, and he scribbled a number on a piece of paper.
"Mrs Jones?" the grouchy voice sounded impatient.
Carrin read out the number while Simon made frantic signals, which she tried to interpret.
"Okay, Mrs Jones, I'll let you know," Birdie said.
Carrin finally got Simon's message. "When can I expect your call, Mr Bird?"
"A couple of days."
The phone went dead, and she put it down with a shaking hand.
Simon gazed at her anxiously. "Well?"
"He's going to phone me in a couple of days. He wants to shop around first."
Simon groaned. "You should have offered him more."
Carrin looked at the phone number he had given her. "Whose is this?"
"No one's. I don't know. What number could I give? Phone him the day after tomorrow, before he calls back. Tell him you gave him the wrong number."
"What if he phones the magazine?"
Simon sighed. "Then we've lost it."
Carrin used Simon's small guillotine to cut out the false cheque, fighting a sense of impending doom. "How on earth did a man with such a terrible voice become a singer?"
"He isn't a singer. He does rap."
"Right." She put the cheque in her bag and handed the real one to Simon. "Well, all we can do now is wait."
"Yeah. Have you heard from Mark?"
"No, have you?"
He shook his head. "He's really pissed off."
"Well, let him be. It's his fault for jumping to conclusions and not believing us. Why's he so suspicious, anyway?"
Simon looked sheepish. "He knows me."
Carrin smiled and tapped him playfully on the chest. "Then it's all your fault."
"You shouldn't make light of it. He's a deep man."
Carrin shook her head, turning away to hide her expression. He was not only deep, she longed to tell him, he was a beautiful, deceitful brute. Simon had his car take her back to the hotel, where she sat in solitary gloom and stared at her drawings of Mark.
Chapter Nine
The next day, on the set, Mark treated her with icy politeness that froze her blood and made her act just as coldly towards him. Warren and Harold watched them worriedly as they went over the changes in the script.
Harold was pleased with the new script, and handed a copy to Janice with the sarcastic comment, "Even you can manage that."
The actress pouted and shot Carrin a killing look, but the obvious friction between her and Mark consoled the actress. She did manage the few lines, although Mark's consummate performance of his much larger dialogue far outshone her. By lunchtime, Harold was smiling, the scene wrapped. Janice flounced into her dressing room, and moments later, Mark followed her. Soon everyone became aware of raised voices coming from the room. They grew louder and louder, Mark's raised in anger, Janice's high and hysterical. When a mighty crash followed, Carrin hurried towards the door, Helen's battered face looming in her mind.
Harold grabbed her arm and swung her away. "Uh uh. I wouldn't, if I was you."
"He might hurt her," Carrin protested.
"Mark? You must be kidding. The only thing he's likely to hurt is her ego, and that can take it."
She winced at another crash of breaking glass.
Harold smiled. "That's Janice throwing things around. Mark's the one more likely to get hurt, but he's pretty good at ducking."
Just then, Janice emerged, banging the door behind her. She looked flushed and angry, but otherwise unharmed, to Carrin's relief. Mark sauntered out as Janice slammed the door on her way off the set. He wiped a trickle of blood off his brow, and Harold hurried over to him. Carrin started towards him too, but the icy lash of his eyes stopped her. Harold examined the scratch on the actor's forehead.
"She got you, huh?"
"With a paint pot." Mark looked at the blood on his fingers.
Harold clicked his tongue. "It's just a scratch. Once it's stopped bleeding they can cover it with make-up."
Mark nodded and sank into a chair. "I'm afraid she won't be back today."
Harold shrugged. "That's okay. We'll do the fight scene between you and Martello. The set's ready."
Mark went to wardrobe to change, and the crew moved the equipment to another set. This time it was the fire escape of a narrow back alley, where Jason Talbot would fight Martello, a mafia enforcer working for the same don who had sent the woman assassin after Jason's mafia client. The scene required Mark and his stunt double. There were close up shots of Mark fighting, then he would freeze, and his stunt double would step in to be thrown down the fire escape or through a window. The scene was complex, demanding perfect timing and placement. Carrin watched with her heart in her throat as Mark did some dangerous-looking fighting with the supporting actor who played Martello. She was glad when the day ended, and no one had been hurt.
Back in her hotel room, she went over the script again to take her mind off the impending meeting with Birdie. The phone's ring made her jump, and she cursed and picked it up. The desk clerk informed her that a Mrs Reed was there to see her.
For a moment Carrin could not think who Mrs Reed was, and then she remembered. "Olivia! Send her up, please."
A few minutes later, there was a tapping on the door, and she opened it to find Olivia, accompanied by a bellhop. The retired writer brushed past her, looking grim.
"Hello, Carrin." She flung herself into a chair.
"Olivia. It's nice to see you."
"What have you been doing?" Olivia's tone was almost accusing.
"Well, er, supervising the script, of course. I had to make some changes, because of Janice Sharner's bad acting -"
"That's not what I meant," Olivia interrupted. "Mark's upset with you. He tells me you've been seeing Simon. Is that true?"
"We
ll, yes, in a manner of speaking."
"Have you got rocks in your head? Why would you rather go out with a shmuck playboy like Simon than a real gentleman like Mark?"
Carrin bristled. "Well, that's my business, isn't it? And I'm not going out with Simon, anyway."
"What, are you just keeping his bed warm until the next bimbo comes along?"
Carrin scowled and sank into a chair as anger made her legs shake. "I'm not warming anyone's bed, and, as far as I know, Simon's still going out with Jenna."
Olivia snorted. "Oh come on, you're not that stupid. Simon gave Jenna the old heave-ho ages ago. He never keeps a bimbo for more than a few weeks."
"Why are you so angry? What difference does it make to you who I go out with?"
"None, except when it upsets Mark."
"Well, I don't know why he should be so upset. Anyway, it's nothing to do with him either. We're just friends."
Olivia groaned. "How can you be so blind? After all he's done for you. How can you not see that he cares for you?"
Carrin swallowed. "Well, okay, maybe he does, as a friend. Look, I'm not going out with Simon, so he has no reason to be concerned. He jumped to conclusions. What's between Simon and I is strictly business."
"Spending weekends with him -"
"I was using his computer."
Olivia gazed at her sadly. "What you're doing to Mark is cruel. I thought you were a nice girl. You refuse to go out with him, then run around with a playboy like Simon. Can't you see that a wonderful man is right under your nose?"
"He's not a wonderful man," Carrin retorted. "He's a cold-hearted, lying bastard."
"How can you say that?"
"Because I know him. Maybe he has you fooled -"
"You don't know him!" Olivia scowled. "He's a good man, and he doesn't have anyone fooled."
"Not me, no. Look, I know he pays your bills, so of course you think he's the best thing since toilet paper -"
"He does not pay my bills!" Olivia denied. "Who told you that lie?"
"Helen. She should know, shouldn't she?"
"Helen's a bitter woman. She'd say anything to hurt Mark since he threw her out, which he did to protect you, I might add. Mark helped me out years ago when I was in financial difficulties, that's all. He loaned me some money and promoted one of my books until the publishers took it. I paid him back. He's already done more for you, and this is how you repay him? By insulting him and hurting him by running around with his best friend?"
Carrin sighed, feeling like she was sinking into a quagmire of intrigue. "Did Mark send you here?"
"No, of course not. If he knew, he'd be furious." She paused. "He came to see me last night. I could tell he was upset about something. I haven't seen Mark so depressed before. I made him tell me what was wrong. Don't you know that he's crazy about you?"
Carrin gaped at her. "He... he told you that?"
Olivia waved a dismissive hand. "No, he'd never confide something like that to anyone, not even me. I'm not blind, though."
Carrin shook her head. Mark had made the same mistake about her and Simon. Olivia was mistaken, that was all.
"You're wrong."
"He took you to his ranch. He's never done that with a girl before."
"He sent me to his ranch for a rest. He wasn't even supposed to be there."
"But he came as soon as he could," Olivia pointed out.
"To supervise his cattle round up." Even as she said it, Carrin knew it was wrong.
Olivia snorted. "He doesn't need to supervise -"
"Okay, maybe not. But he isn't crazy about me."
"How can you say that? It's as plain as day."
"He's an actor; he can be anything he wants. I don't know why he's putting on this act for you, but I daresay I'll find out."
"Mark doesn't act anywhere except in front of the cameras. I don't know where you got all these crazy ideas from, but you're wrong."
Carrin shook her head. "I know what he's really like, as you must. I've seen what he's capable of. Even if he was crazy about me, I wouldn't go out with him." Brave words, she jeered herself.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about him beating up women."
Olivia recoiled as if she had been slapped in the face. "Mark? That's a lie! A whopper! Who told you that?"
"Helen showed me. I saw what he did to her. I saw the bruises on her face the day after he fired her. The other maid said there was a big scene, lots of shouting. Helen came back the next day to warn me, and to show me what he'd done to her."
"Helen!" Olivia spat the name. "My god, she's capable of anything!"
"It couldn't have been a lie, the bruises proved it."
"I don't know how she did it, but Mark would never hit a woman, ever. And by god, he's had reason to sometimes."
"You're trying to tell me Helen got someone else to beat her up, or did it herself? I can't believe that, she's too lovely to damage her own face."
Olivia shook her head. "It was a trick, believe me. Wait till Mark hears about this; he'll be livid."
"No, you mustn't tell him. He might hurt Helen again."
"He never laid a finger on Helen, for Pete's sake."
"What if you're wrong? What if you don't know him as well as you think you do? You could cause a lot of trouble. Simon's afraid of him, and Mark threatened him. I was there."
Olivia snorted. "Simon's an idiot. Maybe he has more to worry about, since he's a man, but Mark wouldn't harm him without a good reason, like if he hurt you. Don't you see? Mark's doing everything in his power to help and protect you. Doesn't that tell you something?"
"Yes." Carrin paused, and Olivia looked expectant. "That he has some sort of plan. Some use for me, but I don't know what."
"Oh, Carrin!" Olivia groaned. "How can you be so suspicious, so ungrateful? Why can't you see what's going on? It's all so clear."
"Oh, and you think a superstar like Mark Lord is going to be interested in a nobody from the back of beyond?" Carrin demanded, instantly regretting the words. "Like me," she finished miserably.
Pity blossomed in Olivia's eyes, and Carrin said, "Don't pity me, Olivia, I can handle it. I never expected to even be his friend, but believe me, I'd never do anything to jeopardise that. I'm not ungrateful; I'm trying to repay him in my own way. I know what I owe him, and even if he did beat up Helen, I'm still his friend. I'm sure the things that happened to him in his past, being abandoned and raised in an orphanage, all did damage. I don't blame him for being the way he is."
"But he's not the way you think he is -"
"So you say," Carrin interrupted, "but I saw Helen's face. I've heard the rumours about him. I can't trust him, and please don't tell him what I said. If you do, I'll go back to Africa for good, and I'll never see him again."
"That's foolish pride -"
Carrin jumped up and paced the carpet. "No it isn't. What if you're wrong and I'm right? What if his visit to you was an act? Maybe he wanted you to come here and persuade me that he's good and nice. He has something planned for me. Don't ask me how I know, I just do."
Olivia rose to her feet. "You're wrong, but I can see that nothing I can say will change your mind. You'll have to find out the hard way about Mark Lord. I just wish he wasn't going through so much pain because of you."
"Pain?" Carrin glared at her. "He knows nothing about pain, except how to inflict it." She swung away to hide her expression, and Olivia put a hand on her shoulder.
"All I can say is, don't be so quick to judge him, my dear. Don't listen to the poisoned tongues of bitter women. Hell hath no fury, remember? Keep an open mind. See for yourself the goodness in him. If you care about him at all, and I think you do, you'll give him a chance."
Carrin could not swallow the lump that blocked her throat, and shook her head. Olivia patted her shoulder again, then let herself out. Carrin flung herself into a chair and glared at the wall. Who was she supposed to believe? Olivia, who owed Mark a debt and would stand by him no matter
what he did? Or Helen and Jenna, rejected lovers, bitter and vengeful? It was an impossible choice, one that she refused to make. Perhaps Mark Lord would have to prove to her what he was, and not with words, for he was an actor - a very good one.
The following morning, she tried to phone Birdie before she went to the studio, and got his voice mail. She did not leave a message. On the set, Mark was coldly polite again. He completed his fight scene while Janice watched sulkily from the side lines. At lunchtime, Carrin slipped out to use a call box outside. The ugly, grating voice answered.
"Birdie."
"Mr Bird, it's Samantha Jones. I'm afraid I gave you the wrong number the other day, so I'm calling back about the story."
"Uh. Oh, yeah. Well, I've been offered one point two million by Class Acts, you gonna do better than that?"
"Certainly." Carrin controlled her excitement. "How about one point five?"
Birdie grunted. "How about two?"
She tried to sound reluctant. "Okay, Mr Bird, but that's it."
"Good. You come to my house tonight, with the money, and you can have the pictures."
"All right."
"Alone."
Carrin experienced a twinge of unease, but quelled it. "Fine."
The phone went dead. Carrin replaced the receiver and turned, almost having heart failure when she found Mark standing a few feet away. He held a glossy magazine.
"Lover boy not home?"
"I don't have a lover."
He shook his head. "You went to see him again on Sunday. Just can't stay away, huh?"
"Have you been spying on me?"
"No, I leave that to the paparazzi." He held out the magazine, and she took it. A photograph showed her stepping out of Simon's maroon limousine outside his house. The shot had obviously been taken with a telephoto lens, but she was clearly recognisable.
Beneath it, the short article read, 'Carrin York, up-and-coming screenwriter and author of Mark Lord's latest film, Deadly Games, not yet released, was seen outside Simon Grey's mansion on Sunday. Is she the latest dolly bird to visit Simon Grey's nest? One has to wonder how Mark Lord feels about his writer seeing Hollywood's most notorious playboy, and his best friend. Perhaps Simon Grey will star in her next screenplay? The bed-hopping in Hollywood appears to be on the increase, and this time Mark Lord seems to have lost out to Simon Grey.'
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