Superstar

by Southwell, T C

  Carrin pulled a face. "Yuck."

  "We got the photos," Simon blurted, almost tripping over a coffee table.

  Mark's eyes narrowed. "Why would Birdie give you the photos?"

  "He din't," Carrin mumbled. There was more to it, but she could not remember the details.

  "He did! They're..." Simon glanced around. "They must be in the car."

  "Nice try."

  "Yeah, ewas," Carrin agreed, giggling.

  "Put her down!"

  Simon negotiated the piano with a soft jangle and reversed towards the bookshelves. Carrin yawned, and the maid came in with the tray of coffee, stopping in confusion.

  "Your coffee, sir?"

  Simon glanced at her. "Put it on the table."

  The maid obeyed and left, probably used to the eccentricities of film stars.

  Mark stopped following Simon and folded his arms. "All right, I'm listening, put her down."

  Simon lowered Carrin into a chair, watching his friend warily. "Okay, we went to Birdie's to get the photos."

  Carrin frowned. "Did we?"

  "Shush. We got a cheque from Centrefold Magazine and copied it, so that we could pay Birdie, you see."

  Mark shook his head. "No, I don't."

  "Carrin posed as a reporter, to buy the photos. I told Birdie he couldn't have my soundtrack."

  Mark shook his head, his eyes flat. "Sounds like a story to me."

  "Me too," Carrin muttered.

  Simon shot her a despairing look. "You're not helping. Listen, I'll prove it. I'll get the photos from the car."

  Mark shrugged, and Simon hurried out. As soon as he was gone, Mark squatted before Carrin's chair.

  "Are you all right?"

  She smiled. "Never felt better."

  "I'll bet."

  Mark poured some coffee and tried to give it to her, but her hand did not work properly. She smiled at his earnest attempts to get her fingers to hold the cup. He gave up and held it to her lips instead, but she turned her head away. He was close enough now, and she stroked his cheek.

  "Mark."

  "Yes?"

  Carrin gazed at his fine features, her heart overflowing with sweet longing, and her eyes filled with tears that spilt down her cheeks. Mark cursed and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her face.

  "It's just the high and lows. Whatever he gave you is causing this."

  "Mark?"

  "Yes."

  "I love you."

  He froze, staring at her, then looked away. "Sure, right now you love everyone, don't you? You love Simon too, huh?"

  "Yes." She nodded, tears running down her face.

  Mark wiped them away. "Damn him."

  "Mark?"

  "Hmm."

  "Do you love me too?"

  He gave her a slight, crooked smile. "Of course I do."

  Carrin sobbed, her eyes misting as she floated on a cloud of happiness. She tried to hug him, then everything floated away. She woke to find him patting her face. He looked relieved when she opened her eyes.

  "What did he give you?"

  "Who?"

  "Birdie."

  "Mango juice."

  Mark considered. "Probably a hallucinogenic. Here, drink this." He pressed a cup to her lips and she sipped, then grimaced, turning away.

  "Yuck."

  "You must drink some, it'll make you feel better."

  "No."

  He sighed and put the cup back on the table. "How much did he give you?"

  "A sip. Two."

  Mark cursed. "Damn, it must have been strong."

  The door opened, and Simon strode in, clutching the envelope triumphantly. Mark jumped up and closed the gap between them in two swift strides. Simon threw up his hands and tried to back away.

  "No! Mark!"

  Mark punched him, sending him staggering back into the door. Simon clutched his face, holding his other hand up.

  "Wait! We got the photos!"

  "You put Carrin in danger, you jerk!"

  "It was her idea!"

  Mark raised a fist, and Simon cringed. Mark smashed his fist into the door beside Simon's head with a terrific bang. "I don't care whose idea it was. It was the most hare-brained, ill-advised scheme ever dreamt up!"

  "I know, I didn't like it, but she insisted!"

  Mark turned away, wringing his hand. "And you went along with it. Look at her. She's as high as a kite, and she only had two sips of that concoction. Do you know what would have happened if she'd had more?"

  Simon nodded, his eyes darting. "I'd have taken care of her."

  "That's what worries me."

  Simon grimaced, still clutching his face. "Ow! That hurts!"

  "Good."

  "I think you've given me a black eye."

  "I hope so." Mark nursed his hand.

  "You might have loosened a tooth, too." Simon rubbed his jaw.

  "You have teeth in your eyes?"

  Simon picked up the envelope, pulling out some photos. "Look."

  Mark glanced at the pictures and smacked them from Simon's hand. "Do you think I care about that now?"

  "She's fine. She'll be back to normal in a few hours."

  Mark ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I appreciate what you did for me, I really do." Simon looked relieved, but Mark continued, "but you're still a bloody idiot!"

  Simon nodded. "Don't you want to hear how we did it?"

  "No." Mark looked at Carrin, who watched them numbly. "She won't drink the coffee. She's too far gone. She'll have to sleep it off."

  "I'm fine." Carrin volunteered, annoyed at being spoken about as if she was not there. The happy haze still clouded her mind, and everything seemed vague. The weepiness had abated, but she was not feeling gay either, just detached.

  Simon smiled at her. "Would you like to lie down?"

  "No."

  Mark shook his head. "She doesn't know what she wants right now. Haven't you ever been on a trip?"

  "Sure, but -"

  "It's better if she sleeps. This will seem like a nightmare in the morning, embarrassing, too."

  "I'll put her in a guest room," Simon offered.

  "No. I'm taking her home with me."

  Carrin lurched to her feet. "I can tekcare off meself."

  As she took a step, she hit her shin on the coffee table that she had forgotten was there. Both men leapt, but Mark was faster, and caught her as she fell. Carrin clung to him and started to cry again as she tried to rub her smarting shin, unable to find it. Mark lifted her in his arms and headed for the door.

  Simon picked up the photos. "What shall I do with these?"

  "Burn them."

  Carrin snuggled up to Mark, stroking the soft hair on his nape. She had a vague feeling that she should not be doing that, and shouldn't even be in his arms, but she did not care. It was wonderful to be so close to him, a sweet delight that warmed her heart. Her tears dried, and she listened to his heartbeat, wishing this moment would never end. The cool air outside hit her, and the world spun away, taking Mark with it.

  Chapter Ten

  Carrin woke with a terrible taste in her mouth. Staring at the white ceiling, she wondered where she was. She became aware that she was still dressed, and lay on a pale pink-and-white duvet. The room looked familiar, and she realised that she was back at Mark's house. A twinge of alarm went through her, then some memories trickled back, and she groaned. Her stomach bubbled sourly as she levered herself upright, clutching her aching head. She ran a tongue over her furry teeth and stumbled to the bathroom, where she was promptly sick. A look in the mirror made her jump in fright.

  Black rings surrounded her eyes, and streaks of mascara ran down her cheeks. She scrubbed her teeth with the brand new toothbrush provided, then stepped into a hot shower. Glad to be rid of the sticky make up, she dressed and lay down on the bed again, dreading the prospect of facing Mark. Snippets of memory made her cringe inwardly, and she wished she could escape back to the hotel rather than face him.

  T
he door was pushed open, and the shy maid, Rita, put her head around it. Seeing Carrin awake, she smiled.

  "Good afternoon, Miss York. Care for breakfast?"

  "No," Carrin groaned. "Just an Aspirin."

  The maid grinned and vanished, returning a few minutes later with the painkiller. Carrin swallowed it with a grimace.

  "Is Mark here?"

  "Yes, Miss York."

  "Why isn't he at work?"

  "I believe he took the day off."

  So that he could be here to gloat, Carrin thought, annoyed. She handed back the empty glass and rose a little unsteadily. Rita led the way downstairs, where Carrin headed for the lounge.

  "Mr Lord is on the patio," the maid informed her.

  "Bully for him."

  "Coffee?"

  "Yes, please."

  "I'll tell him you're up." Rita vanished down the hall, and Carrin sank into a comfortable chair. A moment later Mark came in, smiling.

  "How are you feeling?" he inquired.

  She glared at him. "Terrible."

  His smile broadened, becoming dangerously close to a grin before he got it under control. Carrin turned to gaze out at the garden.

  After a moment, he said, "That was a very stupid thing you did." She glared at him again, and he added, "But I am grateful. You saved me a great deal, either money or embarrassment."

  "I'm glad you appreciate it."

  "I was going to have Janice kicked off the film, then tell Simon to go ahead and let Birdie sell his filth. That would have meant recasting and a lot of re-shooting, but it would have been better than paying Birdie or damaging my career."

  "Oh, so all I did was save Janice's job?"

  Mark shook his head. "Firing her would have caused delays and expenses, and put us over budget. Her reputation would have been ruined of course, but that's her fault. I wasn't about to let myself be dragged down with her. You saved us a lot."

  "Huh. I thought I was saving your career and the film."

  "You should have told me about your plans."

  "You wouldn't have gone along with them," she pointed out.

  "Probably not. Tell me what you did. Simon's version was garbled last night."

  "He was afraid you were going to rip out his liver and make him eat it."

  Mark smiled. "So you do remember."

  She shrugged, embarrassed. "Some of it. Did you have to hit him?"

  "He deserved it, for taking you to Birdie's like that. You were lucky to get out of there in one piece. Had you had a little more of the drug, you'd never have made it back to the car, and then I shudder to think what might have happened to you."

  "Simon was waiting for me in the car. He'd have come for me."

  Mark shook his head. "That would have blown your disguise, and anyway, Simon's a coward. Birdie's goons would have taken care of him. He's too worried about his face, haven't you noticed?"

  She nodded. The thought of being paralytic in Birdie's den of iniquity sickened her. Mark waited for her explanation, and she outlined their plan and how they had carried it out.

  At the end, he commented, "So the cheque you gave him will bounce."

  "The bank will laugh at him, or arrest him for passing a forgery."

  Mark shook his head. "That's not good."

  "Why? He doesn't know who I am. He'll blame the magazine, and they'll tell him to go suck eggs."

  "That would be the case, if not for this."

  Mark picked up a newspaper and handed it to her, open. Carrin's eyes widened as she read the article with growing horror. There were four photographs, each with a caption beneath it. The first one was of her arriving at Simon's, and underneath it read, 'Miss Carrin York visits Simon Grey again.' The next picture was of her leaving in her disguise, with a brief explanation beneath. 'Miss York leaves in disguise, with Simon Grey.' The third photograph showed Simon carrying her into his house, her wig and glasses gone. 'The couple return, Miss York a little the worse for wear, it seems,' the caption read. Carrin shuddered. The final photo was of Mark carrying her to his car. 'Mark Lord rescues his screenwriter.'

  Beneath the photos, a headline asked, 'Mark Lord to the rescue?' She read on. 'Things were going bump in the night at Simon Grey's house last night. His latest lady, Miss Carrin York, appeared to be in disguise when they left his Beverly Hills mansion for an unknown destination. They returned two hours later, and Miss York was quite obviously under the weather, lacking her wig and glasses. Our photographers waited for the drama to unfold, and shortly after that, Mark Lord, who had arrived just before Simon Grey and his partner returned, emerged from the mansion with the apparently unconscious screenwriter in his arms. We can only suppose that he came to rescue her from the clutches of notorious playboy, whose string of conquests is filled with all the best names in Hollywood. Is there romance in the air for Mark Lord, reclusive superstar? Or is he just making sure his screenwriter gets to work today?'

  Carrin threw the paper down, unable to read any more. "My god, they're everywhere."

  "After the last photos of you and Simon, you should have been more careful. Once the press sniff out a story, they generally hang around for the next instalment."

  "Will it do any harm to the film... or you?"

  He shook his head. "It's not really bad press, just harmless scandal. The problem is, when Birdie sees it, he'll know who you are."

  "Oh, no," Carrin groaned. "Maybe he won't see it. He doesn't strike me as the sort to read newspapers."

  "Someone will show it to him, especially when the cheque is rejected and he tries to find out who you are."

  "What are we going to do?"

  Rita brought the coffee, and Mark poured it. "For now, nothing. When Birdie finds you, we'll sort him out."

  "How?"

  "I have some ideas, don't worry."

  Carrin stared into her cup. "I've really made a mess of things, haven't I?"

  "It was a good plan, only the paparazzi spoilt it. Otherwise, it would have worked."

  She sipped her coffee. "I hope Janice doesn't go back to Birdie's."

  "She won't. I told her that she was losing her part because of those photos, and she was rather upset. Now I'll tell her that if it happens again she's out. She won't jeopardise her career."

  "That's what you had the fight about, in the dressing room."

  He nodded. "Yeah. I was furious with her for causing so much trouble."

  "I bet she'll be glad to hear that we've saved her."

  Mark shrugged, looking preoccupied. "I suppose I should go around to Simon's and see how he is. He's probably feeling very sorry for himself this morning. Want to come?"

  "Sure. I bet he's got a lovely shiner."

  "He'd better hide it from the press, or they'll think up an even better story to explain it," Mark said.

  Mark called for his limousine to be brought around, and a grinning John held open the door. Mark scowled at him.

  "You've been reading the papers, haven't you?"

  "Yes, Mr Lord." John's grin broadened.

  "Well wipe that silly grin off your face. One day they'll catch you with your pants down."

  John seemed unperturbed, and was grinning when he climbed into the driver's seat. "How are you feeling, Miss York?"

  Mark pressed the button that sealed John and his chuckles off from them. The journey was a short one, and John was still smiling when he opened the door for them at Simon's house.

  As he climbed out, Mark muttered, "I really must get a more respectful chauffeur." John chuckled afresh.

  The poker-faced maid showed them through the house. "Mr Grey is in the pool."

  "Good," Mark commented, "maybe today I'll drown him."

  The girl shot him an amused glance as they emerged onto the patio and she announced them. With a splash, Simon's head appeared over the rim of the pool. A large blue bruise closed one eye, and a moment later, Janice joined him. Mark groaned.

  Simon hauled himself out, looking sheepish. "Hi Mark."

  "My god
, you sound like Carrin did last night."

  Janice made a far more dignified exit from the pool via the steps, clad in an almost non-existent tanga. She glared at Mark and slipped her arm possessively through Simon's, who looked embarrassed.

  Mark shook his head. "The press are going to have a field day with this."

  Carrin looked at him. "You think they're still there?"

  "Of course they are."

  Simon wiped his face with a towel. "What are you two on about?"

  Mark slammed the newspaper down on the patio table. "That."

  Simon picked it up and read it, looking unhappy. Janice peered over his shoulder, her expression becoming smug.

  "So, Miss York, you're getting a reputation." She smirked.

  Carrin restrained herself with an effort, sitting down. "Nothing like yours, Miss Sharner."

  Janice shrugged. "I'm a star, of course I have a reputation."

  "You almost became a big fat nothing, Janice," Mark pointed out.

  Janice sat down. "Simon saved me." She sent him an adoring look, and Simon had the grace to squirm.

  "Did he now?" Mark raised a brow at Simon.

  "Yes, well, Birdie won't be selling those photos to the press now, will he? I burnt them this morning, Janice helped."

  Simon's duplicity nettled and amused Carrin, and she frowned at him.

  Mark shook his head at Janice. "He didn't do it alone."

  "Well, of course I'm grateful to Miss York, too."

  "Now we just have to figure out what to do when Birdie comes looking for you two."

  Simon stopped towelling his hair and stared at his friend. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, when that cheque bounces, he'll know who the lady reporter was who duped him, and he'll know that you were in on it."

  Simon stared at the newspaper as realisation dawned. "Oh no."

  "Oh, yes." Mark smiled.

  Simon sat down. "What are we going to do?"

  Mark shrugged, accepting a drink from the tray that the maid offered. "I could drown you. That would solve the problem."

  Simon glanced at Carrin. "Carrin was the one who made the deal. It was her idea."

  "Birdie will think Carrin was just a pawn. He'll think you arranged it."

  Simon looked reproachful. "You can't let me take all the blame. I did it to help you."

  "Oh?" Mark's brows rose. "I thought you did it for Janice."