One Night With You (12 page)

They stood there in the misting rain, Michael in a heavy pea coat and a Greek fisherman's hat shielding him from the elements, Jake in his work shirt and worn denim jeans, a script rolled tightly in one hand, and Audrey looking as lovely as a dew-kissed flower with her marcelled hair flattened to her head by the dampness.

"She plays me almost better than I did," remarked Dorothea, sniffling into her handkerchief.

"Hadn't you better do something about that cold? Like get in out of this rain?" asked Desi in a whisper. Jake was a fanatic about disruptions on the set. He had already jumped on her once for making unnecessary noise during a scene. He had jumped on everybody at least once. And once was enough. She had no desire to draw his wrath down on her head again.

"Nonsense, it's just a sniffle and it isn't
raining
, dear girl, it's only a light mist," Dorothea argued.

"Well, let me get you a cup of hot tea, at least." She handed Dorothea the umbrella. "I'll see if I can find some aspirin, too. You look a little flushed."

"Nonsense," Dorothea said again, stifling another sneeze, but Desi had already moved away. She was back in less than five minutes.

"Here, take these—" she handed Dorothea the aspirin—and don't argue with me. Jake will have a fit if you get sick on him."

"I never get sick," Dorothea protested, but she took the aspirin and then wrapped her hands gratefully around the mug of steaming tea.

No rubies today, Desi noticed, glancing at the gnarled old hands wrapped around the mug. But then, rubies didn't really go with the wool slacks, chic though they were, and heavy coat that Dorothea was wearing today. Not to mention the red-and-white striped muffler around her neck and the jaunty red stocking cap pulled low over her ears.

That wind was freezing, Desi realized, hunching herself farther into her own heavy purple down coat. It was a wonder that Audrey hadn't already turned blue with the cold. That little fur-collared cloth coat she had on couldn't offer much protection against the bone-chilling cold of a San Francisco winter. And Jake's clothes weren't much better. No jacket, no hat. Somebody should do something about that.

"Cut," she heard him holler.

Audrey almost visibly dropped her character and began to shiver. Jake wrapped her in a big blanket, his hands rubbing briskly up and down her arms, heedless of the fact that he, too, was standing bareheaded in the rain.

And it
was
rain, Desi thought, even though Dorothea stubbornly referred to it as a light mist.

"That was great, Audrey. Great," Jake praised her. "You were perfect. You, too, Michael. Both of you were great." He propelled her toward the small trailer that served as her dressing room. "Go inside. Get into some dry clothes. Have a cup of coffee while we get the next scene set up." He kissed the top of her head and pulled the door of the trailer closed as she went in.

"Weston," he barked then, "get over here. Please."

Desi sighed, handing the umbrella to Dorothea again in order to answer Jake's summons.

"Audrey's going to need a complete redo before the next scene," he told her as she approached, his voice sounding strained.

Desi looked up to tell him that she knew that, and then stopped. His eyes were showing the strain, too, and he looked tired. She wanted to reach up and massage his temples until the tenseness went away.

He ran his free hand through his hair and looked away from the concern in her eyes.

Almost, she thought, as if he was afraid to look directly at her for too long.

There had been no repeat of the explosive anger he had shown her at the cast party. In fact, she could almost have believed that she had imagined that angry scene between them. Because, for the past two months, he had been treating her as if he had no memory of it—or of the weekend they had spent together.

Except, she said to herself... except for the way he looked at her when he thought she wouldn't notice. The first time it had happened she had thought, for a second, that he was looking behind her at someone else. Surely he couldn't be looking at her like that, with a sort of puzzled, almost wistful look in his dark eyes. She had actually turned around, that first time, glancing behind her to see who he was looking at so...so longingly. But there was no one. When she turned back to him again, the look was gone and Jake was deep in discussion with his assistant director.

She thought, then, that she had imagined it, that she was seeing it because it was what she
wanted
to see. But it happened again several times.

But
this
time she knew it was directed at her. What she didn't know was why.
Why
was Jake looking at her like that? Why did his dark expressive eyes rake over her so covetously and what did it mean?

"Pay attention, Weston." Jake's voice brought her abruptly back to the here and now.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice distracted. "What did you say?"

"Audrey needs her makeup redone. Give her fifteen minutes to get warmed up and then go on in. And try not to upset her this time, will you?" He turned away abruptly, dismissing her, to discuss camera angles for the next scene with his key grip.

He hadn't even given her a chance to defend herself against Audrey's latest complaint, whatever it was.

"And just what did you do to upset our star this time?" Dorothea said, grinning impishly, as Desi flopped down into a canvas chair beside her.

"Beats me." Desi shrugged. "Probably not enough eye makeup again."

She glanced at her watch. She'd give Audrey
exactly
fifteen minutes to warm up, she decided, sipping at her cooling tea as she leaned back in the chair, and then she'd go on inside the trailer and try to redo the star's makeup without upsetting her too much in the process. Not that it would do any good. Everything she did seemed to upset Audrey. There was too much setting lotion in her marcelled waves. There wasn't enough kohl outlining her Betty Boop eyes. And on and on until Desi wanted to crack her over her lovely brunet head with the curling iron.

But she didn't. Having worked with so many actors and actresses, Desi knew that most of Audrey's complaints stemmed from insecurity—about her talent, about the fleeting nature of her beauty, about any of a hundred other things that the fragile actor's ego was heir to. So she restrained herself, smiling sweetly, refusing to be baited or lose her temper.

A cat fight with his leading lady would be all Jake would need to accuse her of unprofessionalism, to point out that she was too young... too inexperienced... too something to do her job right. Not that he had actually mentioned her qualifications again, not after that first time. Because, she told herself, any fool—even Jake—could plainly see that she was good at her job.

"Damn it, Weston," she heard him roar, "Why isn't Audrey ready for the next scene?"

Desi looked up from her mug of tea to find Jake bearing down on her, an impatient frown on his handsome face. Funny, she thought in that brief instant, that she should notice how handsome he was when he was obviously getting ready to berate her. But then, she always noticed how handsome he was. She sighed wearily and rose, setting the mug down on the pavement beside her folding canvas chair.

"Well?" He scowled impatiently, towering over her. His dark eyes pinned her to the spot where she stood.

"Really, Jake," Dorothea began, but Desi shook her head warningly, silencing her protest.

"You said to give her fifteen minutes to warm up, Mr. Lancing," she said evenly, emphasizing the Mr. in the faint hope of pointing out his lack of courtesy when addressing her. She glanced at her watch. "It's only been ten."

"Don't be smart, Weston," he snapped. "I'm ready for her now. Move."

She stood there for a brief second, staring up at him with defiance blazing out of her narrowed eyes. It was almost too much. She was cold and wet, just like everyone else, and he had pushed her just about as far as she was willing to go.

"I said move," he repeated softly. "Now." The gleam in his eyes was almost anticipatory. He was just waiting for her to explode, she realized suddenly. Almost as if he relished the prospect.

Deliberately she unclenched her fists. Her eyes dropped. "Yes, sir," she said, falsely meek, and turned toward Audrey's trailer.

His big hand reached out and grasped her upper arm. "Where do you think you're going, Weston?"

Desi looked up blankly, not immediately responding to his question. What was he talking about? He knew where she was going... he'd told her to go. She opened her mouth to tell him so, in no uncertain terms, and then closed it again. He looked so haggard, with lines of strain clearly etched around his tired eyes, that she couldn't bring herself to add any more to the burden he already carried.

He doesn't mean to harass me
, she told herself. He didn't mean it personally. He'd been under a lot of strain. A great deal of concentration and tension was required to make this movie. And, besides, he'd been a bear to everyone on the set.
It's not just you. So don't take it personally.

Inside, though, she was seething with conflicting emotions. Indignation, hurt, compassion... and that terrible traitorous excitement that flickered along her veins at his nearness. She didn't
want
to tremble like this when he came near her, but she couldn't seem to help it. No more than she could help how she still felt about him. She didn't want that feeling, but there was nothing she could do about it.

"Where are you going?" he repeated. His voice was harsh and soft, angry and seductive, as if he didn't know what kind of response he wanted to provoke from her.

Her eyes lifted slowly to his face. Far from docile, they blazed up at him, confusion and hurt and anger in their blue depths, and something else. Passion, maybe. Or need. But her voice was still cool.

"To Audrey's trailer," she said evenly. She glanced down at his hand on her arm and back up to his face again. "Like you told me to. Remember?" Her voice was sweet and dutifully submissive, but her eyes still stared challengingly up into his as she added, "Sir."

His expression changed, the hostility fading suddenly from his eyes, and he smiled at her. That bone-melting, soul-shattering smile. "I've changed my mind. You can do my makeup first. It'll be faster that way," he said softly. "I'll meet you in my trailer in a minute." He nudged her gently in the direction of his trailer without, however, releasing his grip on her arm.

Desi couldn't move. Because he hadn't let go of her arm, she told herself later, even though he wasn't holding it so tightly now and she could have easily twisted away. But he
was
still staring down into her upraised face, holding her captive with the mere power of his gaze. That look was in his eyes again; questions, confusion, desire. She couldn't find the will to pull herself away from that so easily.

She felt herself melting helplessly at the touch of his hard fingers on her arm and the caress of his seductive voice and the suddenly hungry look in his smoldering eyes as they raked her face. It was as if he couldn't look away. Almost as if he was searching for something, she thought. But what? And why?

The defiant light faded from her own eyes, leaving only a soft sensual glow and her lips, firmed in anger, softened, too, and parted as if in breathless anticipation of his kiss.

They stood that way for several endless seconds, staring into each other's eyes, Jake seemingly as mesmerized as she was. Neither aware, for the moment, of anyone or anything else. And then Dorothea sneezed, breaking the fragile spell that held them immobile.

Jake tore his gaze away from hers, but his hand still held her upper arm, lightly now so that his touch was almost a caress, keeping her by him.

"What are you doing out in this rain?" he questioned Dorothea. "You should be in one of the trailers where it's warm."

"She's got a cold and I—" Desi started to say.

"I haven't got a cold," Dorothea protested weakly, sneezing again.

"I'd like to know what you call it then." Jake's voice was fond and indulgent. He let go of Desi, reaching out his hand to touch Dorothea's cheek and then her forehead. "You have a fever, too." He turned to Desi, motioning her to feel Dorothea's head for herself.

Desi's long fingers rested for an instant against the older woman's flushed face. It felt hot and dry, despite the misty air.

"I knew you were coming down with something," she said accusingly. "I told you to—"

"Get her inside one of the trailers right now," Jake interrupted. He glanced at his watch and then at the sky. "We'll shoot this next scene and then call it a day." An annoyed frown crossed his face. "It's almost raining too hard right now to get anything done." He strode away from the two women as he spoke, his tall, commanding figure somehow managing to hurry without looking the least bit rushed.

"I want you in my trailer in five minutes, Weston," he called over his shoulder.

Back to normal, Desi thought, a wry smile twisting her lips as she herded a protesting Dorothea into the nearest trailer.

"I thought for a minute there that you two were going to kiss and make up," Dorothea commented as Desi turned to leave the trailer.

Desi looked up sharply and Dorothea looked back at her, a false expression of innocent inquiry on her sweet lined face.

"What gave you an idea like that?" Desi asked carefully, her voice as expressionless and casual as she could make it. She thought she had succeeded in dispelling any notion that Dorothea might have had about her and Jake knowing each other but, apparently, she was wrong.

"He was eating you with those big brown eyes of his," Dorothea said almost enviously. "And you, dear girl, weren't protesting at all. Not at all. In fact, you were returning the favor. Not that I blame you, mind." Dorothea chuckled. "You'd be a fool not to—"

"You're letting your imagination run away with you again," Desi said firmly, but she avoided Dorothea's gaze.

"Humph!" Dorothea snorted derisively. "I don't know why you two think it's necessary to hide your feelings—especially when any fool on this set can see how it is between you." She shrugged. "But if you think you have to, well..." Her voice trailed off.