Dreams Are Not Enough (20 page)

“What do / have to do to convince you that what I feel for you is not the common, garden variety of hots.” Bleakness showed around his eyes.

She hated him, feared him—and felt sorry for him. What was the matter with her? Why couldn’t she dam up this inanely misplaced pity?

“Maxim,” she said, sighing, “I don’t mean to be cruel, but the answer is no. Absolutely no. And I do need my sleep. It’s another long day tomorrow.”

He pushed to his feet, coming toward her.

She bolted from the cottage.

Leaping the front steps in one stride, she sprinted up the thickly shadowed path. Her knees pumped, her breath burst forth loudly. Her mind was cleared of extraneous thoughts and fixed on one goal. The Three Rock Inn. Maxim wouldn’t try anything in the lobby under the eyes of hotel guests sipping their after-dinner drinks. Those lights glimmering through tree branches represented safety.

Abruptly she pitched forward.

Stars, she thought dazedly. No. These aren’t exactly stars, more fireworks.

Then full consciousness returned.

Maxim! She peered back. The path was empty, but she jumped up. She felt no pain. Her left leg simply refused to support her weight. Once again she fell, this time like a slowly released marionette.

“Hey, Alyssia.” The man who spoke was a few feet ahead of her.

The pain had begun, blossoming in her ankle, radiating upward, bringing involuntary tears to her eyes, and she didn’t recognize Hap’s voice.

Then he squatted next to her.

“What’s wrong?” He sounded faraway.

“I must’ve tripped over a root,” she whispered.

“My ankle’s sprained.”

“Which one?”

“The left.”

As his warm hands touched her skin, she let out a whimper.

“It’s broken,” he said gently.

“You need a doctor.”

She avoided the medical profession. The rare occasions when May Sue or juanita had handed a doctor a small but painfully earned sum, the treatment had been given disdainfully—and was often harmful.

“An Ace bandage’ll do,” she said, struggling to sit up.

“The bone’s broken, Alyssia. There’s a twenty-four-hour clinic in Mendocino. I’ll get Barry.”

“He’s not in the cottage, he’s” -She stopped.

“He’s at the bar. In no condition to drive.”

From the way Hap ducked his head she could tell he knew about his girl and her husband.

“I’ll run you into town,” he said.

“Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

Using his bicep as a crutch, she hopped once, biting back her groan.

When he swung her into his arms, she didn’t protest. His solid warmth eased the world of pain.

The frosted glass door of the Mendocino Medical Building was opened by a very young man with red hair and freckles so vivid that he could have been cast as Huck Finn.

“I’m Doctor Shawkey,” he said.

“Miss del Mar! Is that you? You look like you’re in trouble.”

“It’s her ankle,” Hap replied.

“But the first thing she needs is a painkiller.”

After Dr. Shawkey threw away the disposable hypodermic, he said, “Now while you relax a bit, I’ll go wake the nurse to take X-rays. She’s sleeping in back. No raised eyebrows, please. She’s my mom.”

The shot of Demerol took over quickly, and the pain seemed remote by the time Nurse Shawkey, a plump little woman with a crest of hair retouched in the same carroty red as her son’s, came down the corridor. Helping Alyssia onto the X-ray table, she reported in a confidential tone that she had been dying to meet her—an actual movie star.

A few minutes later Dr. Shawkey announced, “A bad fracture.”

After he had finished wrapping the wet, plaster-coated bandages to form a cast high above Alyssia’s knee, he adjusted aluminum crutches to her height.

“Stay off your feet entirely for a week. Miss del Mar.

And take it very easy for the next month. “

“Stay off my feet! How can I do that? We’re shooting!”

“I give medical advice, not cinematic,” he said with a boyish grin.

As Hap lifted her into the high pickup—it was the same one PD had hot-wired the previous morning—she said with Demerol-induced euphoria, “No problem to work this out. A few changes in the script to explain my cast, that’s all.”

Hap was standing by the open door, his eyes on a level with hers.

“Now’s not the time to talk about it. You need to sleep.”

“You know that scene where Cassie falls? She could break her ankle.

Hey, that’s terrific. If she’s pinned down, the ending’d have way more zing. She couldn’t even consider making a run for it—she’d be utterly helpless for the rape. “

The keys dangled from Hap’s hand.

“To explain a broken ankle, you’d have to shoot extra scenes. That means you’d be standing.”

“What other choice is there?”

“We could,” he said, “scrap the whole project.”

The drug had closed off whole sectors of her brain—Maxim’s hot and heavy pursuit, Barry’s infidelity, her broken ankle. She felt only the pleasure of being with Hap, of talking without that wall of politeness between them.

“We’ll do close-ups,” she said.

He rounded the pickup to the driver’s seat.

“Close-ups won’t be possible all the time. You’ll need to stand, and the doctor said to stay off your feet.”

“Hap, all of us have put too much into Wandering On. We can’t scrap it.”

“You’re in no shape to decide anything tonight. Take a couple of days and then see how you feel.” He started the engine.

He drove swiftly but smoothly, winding out of the dark, silent town and along Highway One. Beyond the shadowy trees, occasional black slabs of ocean showed.

Hap broke the night silence.

“Why did you run?” From the low timbre of his voice, she understood that he was not inquiring how she had come to fracture her ankle.

Far away, her heart skipped a beat, yet she said without hesitation, “Your father arranged a job with Saint-Simon.”

“I figured Dad had a hand in it. But what about saying goodbye to?”

me:’ “I didn’t know how to explain.”

“Oh? Or was that part of the deal? If you contacted me he wouldn’t help you?”

Was Demerol related to sodium pentothal? She didn’t even consider lying.

“He told me how Collis Brady lost his hand because of Elaine Pope.”

The pickup swerved slightly.

“Collis Brady? His suicide’s a famous Hollywood warning. But … I had no idea Dad set up the accident.”

“He didn’t. Art Garrison did. Hap, I was dumb enough then to believe you or Barry might be hurt.”

“Dad’s a master at getting people to do what he wants.” Hap negotiated a hairpin turn, then said ruminatively, “The funny thing is, when I was a kid I thought of him as right up there with God. My dad could make miracles, too. On my tenth birthday I got out of bed and saw a circus tent pitched on the lawn. The whole school showed up for the party. Gene Kelly was one of the clowns, Mr. Lancaster did a trapeze act, there were elephants, hot dogs, peanuts, the works.”

“It sounds like a dream,” she said.

“As Maxim and I grew up, Dad changed. No, that’s not true. He didn’t change, the way he treated us changed. To remain leader of the pack you need to subdue all male rivals, even your own sons. He still loves us, but he puts us down constantly.”

“Maxim said almost the same thing.”

Hap stared ahead as the narrow highway twisted to reveal Three Rock Inn. Did he believe her Maxim’s adoring lover? Hap was highly intuitive, but if he hadn’t guessed about her and his father, how could he imagine the labyrinth of her relationship to Maxim?

Pulling into a parking slot, he said, “You won’t be able to walk down to the cottages with those crutches.”

“I was thinking I’d move to the main building.”

She waited in the lobby, her cast propped on an ottoman, as he made the arrangements with the bearded young night clerk.

Returning with a key, he said, “I’ll go down and get your things.”

“No!” she said sharply.

“I mean, I’ll be fine for tonight.”

She swung on the crutches down the corridor, Hap pacing himself to her lurching slowness.

At her room, he said awkwardly, “Alyssia, I can’t tell you how rotten I feel. All these years I assumed Dad held out the bait and you took it.”

“Exactly the conclusion you were meant to reach.”

“Sure, but I wasn’t a hero-worshiping ten-year-old.”

“Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, Hap.”

He smiled, unlocking the door for her.

“Can you manage alone?”

“Didn’t I just do the hall marathon?”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I’ll see you tomorrow at the location.”

“That’s a decision you’re meant to sleep on.”

“It’s only a broken ankle, nothing fatal,” she said.

“I’ll be ready for shooting at eight.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, don’t / have something at stake here, too?”

“Thank you,” he repeated.

She watched him go down the corridor. After all these years with actors who had studied how to walk, he seemed possessed of fine, unconscious strength. Reaching the lobby, he turned. Seeing her still there, he raised a hand.

She blew him a kiss. A gesture she immediately regretted. As far as Hap was concerned, what had been between them lay dead in the unrecapturable past.

Alyssia put in a bad night. The Demerol wore off, and Dr. Shawkey’s Empirin Codeine barely dulled the pain. She brooded incessantly about the gross coyness of that blown kiss. When she finally dozed off, her body tried to curl into its accustomed ball and she awoke. By five thirty she was in the bathroom, attempting to get into a position to wash a streak of dirt from her ankle.

The bedroom door opened.

“It’s me,” Juanita called softly.

“In the bathroom,” Alyssia replied.

“How did you know I was up here?”

“Hap came to the motel with a spare key a few minutes ago.” Taking off her coat, Juanita surveyed her sister.

“You sure smashed yourself up but good.”

“My ankle’s broken, that’s all. The cast up to here makes it look worse than it is.”

“I’ll sponge that for you. Come lie down.” Juanita supported her to the bed.

“Thanks, Nita. Did Hap drive you?”

“Who else? He’s heading on up to the Golden Pagoda to get you a bite.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“He seemed to think it was.” Juanita returned with a towel and wrung out washcloth.

“What happened?”

“I tripped over a big root.”

“So Hap said.” Behind the thick lenses, Juanita’s fine, dark eyes glowed with compassion.

“This is me, Alice. You’ve never been a klutz.

Who was you running from? That Maxim? Or did Barry have a hand in it?

“

“Oh, Nita. He’s having a Hing with Whitney.”

The broad face showed no surprise.

“So you knew?” Alyssia said.

“All anybody in the movie bunch does is gossip. If you listen to ‘em, there’s an affair a minute.” Juanita paused.

“And what about you and Hap?”

“Nita, you can see for yourself. It’s ancient history for him.”

“I’d of said that yesterday, but he’s sure running around over this broken foot.”

“He’s very caring. Besides, he knows shooting’ll be difficult for me.

He wants to make it a bit easier. “

Juanita gave her another look.

“Well, whatever, he’s a nice man. I guess you’d call him the white sheep of the Cordiner family.”

They were shooting on a cliff a few miles south of the inn. A brisk wind swept in from the Pacific, and as Alyssia and Juanita drove up, two electricians struggled to hold onto the ballooning banner spray painted in red: it’s only a saying, alyssia. you aren’t really MEANT TO

BREAK A LEG.

BUT GOOD LUCK ANYWAY.

The Crew Crowded around, kidding and following the big-bellied gaffer who insisted on carrying her to the trailer.

On the Formica counter stood a professional arrangement of red roses and white stocks. Juanita handed Alyssia the tiny envelope. The card inside had a single word: Sorry. The distinctive backhand was Maxim’s.

How had he managed to rouse up a florist in this tiny town—and before seven? His father all over again, Alyssia thought, shivering.

She’re shot a short scene that came late in the story. When she hitched herself into the trailer Barry was rattling away at the typewriter.

Jumping up, he embraced her.

“Jesus, this is awful, hon.” His voice shook with sincerity. Then his tone shifted upward.

“If I’d only known, I’d’ve driven you to the doctor. But last night I tied one on—Beth and PD leaving cut me to ribbons. Maxim had to put me to bed on his couch.”

The lie was accompanied by a rapid fluttering of his eyelashes against her cheek. For the umpteenth time she experienced the emotions that tied her to him. Loyalty, protectiveness, a form of comradeship, ancient gratitude. And pity. Pulling away, she patted his shoulder.

“He did? Well, you better go easy on the vino for a while.” Unlike her husband, she had been tutored to lie convincingly.

The next few days they attempted to adhere to the schedule as well as re shoot scenes to accommodate Cassie’s broken ankle, and Alyssia understood the wisdom of the medical advice to stay off her feet. When she stood, the cast dug into her thigh. The weather had done a complete turnabout, the temperature rising to the high eighties by noon. In the heat, her bruised flesh swelled against the plaster.

Recalling the Demerol-induced sense of well-being, she would find herself glancing at the assistant cameraman—he had a local dealer.

But always she had shied away from drugs.

Can I talk to you alone tonight?

Diner had slipped the folded note in her palm and she had waited until she got back to the trailer before unfolding it. She stared at the dark slash underlining alone. Later, on the set just before a tight two shot, she murmured, “Make it around eight. I’ll be alone.” (She no longer joined the group in the restaurant, but ate in her room. )

Diner ducked inside, pressing the lock.

“What’s going on, Dill?” Alyssia asked.

“Is this a Hitchcock thriller?”

He didn’t smile.