Superstar (10 page)

The limousine
ferried her to and from the hotel every day, and the studio paid
the bills, including tickets to movie shows and amusement parks on
the weekends. Warren took her out to dinner twice, and she enjoyed
his company. Carrin refused to show any interest in Mark's
whereabouts, although the question burnt within her. She refrained
from asking any other questions about him either, although Warren
did tell her a little about him during the course of dinner
conversation.

Even with the
hectic schedule and busy days, Carrin couldn't shake her yearning
to see Mark again. It was ridiculous, she mused. He would only be
the same distant acquaintance that he had been before. Why did she
want to go through that again? Her heart longed for his presence,
however, and his memory haunted her. In the film lot environment,
she kept seeing him around every corner and glimpsing him,
ghost-like, in mirrors. The stunt man who played his part looked a
lot like him from a distance, and several times her heart leapt
when she saw him.

By the end of
the week, they had shot most of the scenes with Janice and other
actors that could be shot in the studio. The studio stunt work was
finished, and only a couple of scenes that required neither of the
stars remained. Carrin left for the weekend feeling fulfilled, yet
empty. She still did not know when Mark would arrive.

Chapter
Five

On Monday, the
limousine dropped Carrin off outside the studio's side entrance as
usual. Although nothing remarkable appeared to be happening, there
was a buzz in the air, a subtle tension that told her that
something was afoot. When she spotted two lesser-known actors who
played supporting roles, her excitement grew. They were in scenes
with Mark. She almost bumped into a grip hurrying past with
lighting booms, and apologised as she got out of his way. She
wondered where Harold and Warren were. The two supporting actors
vanished through a door marked 'no entry', and she followed
them.

Emerging
into a warehouse set, she recognised it as Mark's first scene,
where he met the two mafia messengers who hired him to kill the
woman. It could also be another partial, she reminded herself.
There were shots in which the supporting men appeared without Mark,
while they waited for the hit man to appear. It did not mean that
Mark was here.

Nevertheless,
excitement made her heart pound, and she stopped to gaze around at
the set, striving to remain calm. Shafts of light shone in through
dusty windows near the roof, and some pigeons had been released to
flutter amongst the rafters. Artfully arranged boxes and dusty junk
littered the floor, and a big black limousine was parked near a
shaft of bright light. This was where the actors would stand. The
harsh overhead lighting was designed to give them a sinister
look.

"Hello,
Carrin."

Heart
hammering, she turned. Mark Lord stood there, looking just as she
remembered him. His dark hair and eyes made his skin look paler,
and the odd lighting accentuated his lean face. His black shirt,
leather jacket and slim-fitting black jeans made him look taller.
He was already dressed for the part, she realised, amazed by how
well the clothes suited him. He really looked like the hit man,
quietly dangerous and coldly efficient. Her eyes locked with his,
and she was unable to look away. He glanced around at the set.
Realising that she was staring, she lowered her eyes.

"Hello,
Mark."

"Nice set. Is
this how you imagined it?"

Carrin looked
around again. A pigeon fluttered and cooed in the rafters. "I
didn't think of the pigeons, but it's a nice touch."

He nodded.
"Set designers are good at coming up with these little details.
They don't have so much to think about."

Carrin was
unable to think of anything intelligent to say, and Mark
sighed.

"Have you been
well?"

"Yes, fine.
And you?"

"Good enough.
I hope they paid you a decent amount for the script."

Carrin almost
laughed. "Yes, they did."

"Good."

The pigeons
cooed overhead. Mark shifted, the sound of his movement loud in the
huge empty set. Carrin wondered where everyone else was, and
searched her mind for something to say, afraid that he would grow
bored and leave.

"Did you just
arrive today?" she asked, then kicked herself mentally. Of course
he had, what did she think, that he'd been hiding behind the props
all this time?

"Yes," he
replied. "I was at my ranch. I flew in this morning."

Carrin risked
a glance at his face, and found him regarding her broodingly, his
eyes intense. How she wished that she could see what was going on
behind those piercing eyes, but his expression was mysterious, as
usual. Before she could think of anything else to say, a door at
the back of the set burst open and people boiled out, led by Janice
Sharner. She spotted Mark with a glad cry.

"Mark! Here
you are! I've been looking all over for you. I was told you had
arrived, but you were hiding as usual."

The actress
glided up to Mark, smiling. Carrin had never seen her look so
pleasant. Her usual sulky expression had vanished, and she hugged
Mark, kissing him on the lips. He returned the greeting, and Carrin
wondered if Janice was his latest lady. The flood of people that
followed in Janice's wake spread out across the set. Warren came
over to shake Mark's hand.

"Glad to see
you, Mark. We're almost ready for you. I see you've already been to
wardrobe, perhaps you should go to make up now."

Mark nodded
and turned away. Janice clung to his arm, gazing up at him. Carrin
was surprised to find that Janice's powerful charisma paled in Mark
Lord's presence. His dark charm filled the gloomy set, and she was
sure that everyone knew that he was here without even seeing him.
She stood uncertainly as Warren hurried away on some errand,
leaving her alone on the bustling set. The two supporting actors
had taken up their positions, and the director called
instructions.

"Carrin."

She turned in
surprise at the sound of Mark's voice.

"Perhaps you
should supervise."

She nodded,
glancing at Janice, who glared. Mark looked at the actress, and
instantly Janice's expression changed to one of smiling
friendliness.

"Janice, you
must have met Carrin York?" he enquired.

"Oh yes, one
of the set designers."

Carrin
bristled. "No, I'm the writer."

Janice smiled
sweetly. "Yes of course."

Mark
waited for Carrin to join him, and they went through the set door
into a backstage area filled with old props and scurrying people.
Mark led the way to room lined with mirrors and seats. Make up
equipment covered the tables, some of it thrust into corners, the
rest placed in orderly rows. Two people sat swathed in white
sheets, make-up artists bent over them.

At
Mark's entrance, they paused to look up and smile as he walked
past. He went to a chair set aside from the rest, and a young,
longhaired man approached. He gestured to the chair, and Mark
disengaged himself from Janice to sit in it. The make-up artist
draped a white cloth around him, covering him from the neck down to
protect the costume. Janice settled in a chair nearby, and Carrin
stood and fiddled with her copy of the screenplay. The young
technician set out make up on a trolley beside Mark's
chair.

"A pleasure to
be working with you, Mr Lord. I'm Jerry Beal."

Mark smiled.
"Pleased to meet you, Jerry."

"This
shouldn't take long. You don't need much make up for this
scene."

"Good."

Jerry
sat in a chair beside his subject and mixed a flesh-coloured paste
to match Mark's skin. Janice lit a cigarette and regaled Mark with
the latest gossip while the make-up man applied the flesh tone
paste to Mark's face. This was, Carrin guessed, to ensure there was
no shine on it under the harsh lighting. Jerry brushed a little
eyeliner around Mark's eyes and combed his hair into place. When
the make-up artist produced a thin artificial moustache and glued
it to Mark's upper lip, Carrin straightened from where she leant
against a table.

"Excuse me,"
she interrupted Janice's seemingly inexhaustible flow of small
talk. "My description says nothing about a moustache."

Jerry glanced
up at her. "Director's orders."

"Jason Talbot
does not have a moustache."

Jerry looked
confused. "Who's Jason Talbot?"

"The character
he's playing."

"Oh, I see.
May I ask who you are, Miss...?"

"York. Carrin
York, and I'm the writer."

"Oh, well,
you'll have to take it up with Mr Morten."

Janice puffed
a cloud of smoke. "I think it suits him."

"Well I
don't." Carrin shot her a frown, and Mark watched her.

Jerry shook
his head. "I'm afraid I have my instructions, Miss York. You'll
have to clear it with the director if you want change
anything."

Carrin nodded.
"I'll go and find him."

Mark raised a
hand. "No, I'll send my assistant. Where is my assistant,
Jerry?"

The
make-up man glanced around. "Ah, that would be Gregory. Tara, would
you find Gregory please?"

One of
the other make-up artists left, and Carrin wondered at the waste of
time. "Why don't you just send her to fetch Mr Morten."

Jerry
shrugged. "It's better this way."

Janice
stubbed out her cigarette. "Because Harold wouldn't take any notice
of Tara, she's just a make-up girl."

"But surely
-"

"That's the
way things work around here," Janice interrupted.

Carrin thought
it was rather silly, and fumed as they waited.

Janice studied
Mark's new moustache. "I think you look good with a moustache,
darling, perhaps you should grow one."

Mark smiled.
"Never really liked them, myself."

"Me either,"
Carrin agreed.

Janice lit a
fresh cigarette as a thin, nervous-looking young man who pushed
gold-rimmed spectacles up his nose appeared, and the gum-chewing
Tara accompanied him.

"I'm sorry, Mr
Lord, I didn't know where you were," he said.

"Where else
would he be?" Janice snapped.

Gregory
paled, but Mark waved it aside. "Never mind. Go fetch Mr Morten, we
have a problem with make-up."

Carrin glanced
at him. A problem? Was he subtly criticising her? Gregory hurried
out, and Jerry sat back, looking miffed. Mark sighed and stared at
the ceiling as Janice prattled again. Soon Harold appeared, looking
annoyed.

"What's the
problem, Mark?"

Mark gestured
at Carrin. "Carrin doesn't like the moustache."

"Ah." Harold
turned to her. "It adds to his air of villainy, don't you
think?"

"No. Besides,
he's not truly a villain; he's a guy who got into the wrong
profession. At heart he's not a bad man."

Harold nodded.
"Yes, but he needs to look like a tough guy, and without it Mark's
maybe just a little too handsome, too smooth."

Carrin
snorted. "No, I think he looks just right. I wrote the part for
him, and I've never seen him with a moustache."

"Don't like
them," Mark muttered.

"I think it
suits him," Janice chipped in.

"There was
nothing in the description about a moustache," Carrin pointed
out.

"No, but we do
feel that it gives him a more dangerous air."

Carrin
frowned. "He doesn't need a more dangerous air. The audience is
supposed to love him, not hate him. In the end he's a hero."

"Heroes can
have moustaches," Janice stated.

"Not Jason
Talbot," Carrin argued.

"Just because
you don't like moustaches -"

"Ladies,
please," Harold interrupted.

Mark appeared
to have fallen asleep, and evidently declined to get involved in
the argument. Harold turned to Carrin.

"Look, Carrin,
in this instance I can't go along with you. The art director, the
director of photography and myself all agree that he needs the
moustache. I'm afraid I can't change it now."

Carrin
seethed, "You brought me here to advise you. What good is it if you
don't take it?"

"That's the
thing about advice. Taking it's optional."

Janice
sneered, "You don't have the clout, Miss York, you're just the
writer."

"I'll speak to
Warren," Carrin said.

"Warren can't
help you, he's a producer," Harold stated.

"He must have
some say."

"Not when it
comes to things like this."

Janice blew
smoke at Carrin. "Admit defeat, Miss York. The moustache
stays."

Carrin glared
at her and Harold. "There must be someone I can speak to. This is
important. You're ruining the look of the character."

"That's just
your opinion," Janice jeered.

Harold sighed.
"I'm sorry, we'd have to have a meeting and discuss it, and we just
don't have the time. Mark's supposed to be doing the scene within
an hour."

Jerry spoke
from his corner. "There's time lapse in the movie, maybe he could
shave it off."

"No!" Carrin
turned to him. "Jason Talbot doesn't have a moustache!"

Harold shook
his head. "It's been decided. You can't change it now."

"I was never
consulted on this -"

"We don't have
to consult you at all; we bought the script."

Mark opened
his eyes and sat up. Freeing a hand from the white cloth, he pulled
off the moustache, wincing. "I'll settle this for you, Harold. The
moustache goes."

"Mark..."
Harold looked stunned.

"I have the
right to object to any tampering with my person. It says so in my
contract."