Superstar (11 page)

"Yes, but this
is hardly -"

"I don't want
to wear a bit of hair glued to my lip, and if you push the matter
I'll prove that I'm allergic to the glue. You want to get into a
fight with me, too?"

"No." Harold
slumped in defeat. "If you object, so be it." He shot Carrin a
mournful look. "I didn't realise you had such a powerful ally.
Please don't make any more drastic changes."

Carrin smiled.
"I'll try not to."

The director
left, and Jerry rolled his chair forward again. Janice stared at
Mark in disbelief. With a little snort, she stubbed out her
cigarette and flounced off after Harold. Jerry touched up the
damage to Mark's upper lip, and Carrin gazed at the actor, whose
championing of her cause warmed her heart. She lacked the influence
to win the argument, but he had settled the matter in just three
sentences. She wondered if anyone ever argued with Mark Lord.

"Thank you,"
she said.

He opened an
eye to look at her. "You're welcome."

"Why did you
take my side?"

He smiled, and
Jerry clicked his tongue. "You seemed a bit outnumbered."

She nodded, a
rosy glow spreading through her.

"Also, I don't
like moustaches, either."

The rosy glow
faded just a little, but she kept smiling.

"And all the
shouting was giving me a headache," he added.

The rosy glow
vanished, and her disappointment must have shown, for he smiled
again, making Jerry grunt in annoyance.

"Just
kidding."

The rosy glow
did not return, but she felt a bit better. Mark glanced at the
harassed Jerry. "You finished?"

Jerry sat
back. "Sure, go ahead."

Mark sat up,
pulling off the white cover. Carrin thought that if he had looked
handsome before, he looked devastating now. He glanced at his watch
and headed for the door.

"Harold will
start to pull his hair out in about two minutes, so we'd better go.
It's not a good idea to piss off directors too much. There will be
trouble enough already."

Carrin strode
beside him. "Will it really cause so much trouble?"

Mark's lips
twitched. "Well, writers are supposed to give advice and bow out
gracefully when slapped on the wrist. You didn't. Actors are
supposed to do as they're told, end of story. I used an obsolete
clause in my contract that's supposed to protect me from being
tattooed or having to have my nose pierced at the whim of the
director. An artificial moustache is a bit petty."

"But you do
have the power to make your own changes, surely?"

"Look, I can
definitely object to being thrown down a flight of stairs or out of
a window and insist that they get a stunt man to do it. But having
a moustache glued to my lip isn't exactly going to freak out my
insurance company."

"But surely...
you're the star."

He chuckled.
"All that means is I get top billing and the best pay. Stars who
are too fussy or cause problems get less work."

"But they need
you... they need your name. The movie might flop without it."

Mark sighed.
"Sure, but there are a lot of stars around. I could name a few that
have fallen by the wayside because they got a bad name for picking
fights with directors. Even Janice, with her bloated ego, may pout
a lot and sulk, but she doesn't argue with Harold. Right now she's
pushing up her points by sympathising with him."

"I'm sorry...
if I've caused trouble for you."

He shook his
head. "You haven't, don't worry. Harold's a nice guy, he won't bear
a grudge. But like he said, don't make too many fearsome objections
like that. Even I have to draw the line somewhere."

"Okay, I
won't. That was important to me."

"I noticed.
Still, I happen to agree with you."

Carrin's heart
swelled. Mark Lord was on her side. Even against the luscious
Janice.

They emerged
into the warehouse set, and almost bumped into a young man coming
out. He stepped back.

"Sorry, Mr
Lord. I was just coming to call you."

"I'm here.
You're Janice's assistant, aren't you?"

"Yes,
sir."

Harold sat in
his folding chair, talking to another grey-haired man. They glanced
at Mark as the actor strode onto the set, and Carrin got the
impression that they were not happy. She stood in the shadows as
Mark took up his position, facing the two actors who played the
mafia messengers. The light from above threw deep shadows onto his
face, and Harold asked him to move a little to his right. He
obliged, and Harold gestured to the man with the clapper. Once
again, Carrin listened to the now familiar instructions.

"Scene
seventeen, take one. All quiet. Roll camera... Action!"

Mark
took two steps closer to the waiting men. They shifted as he
stopped and regarded them with a level gaze. Carrin was amazed at
the change in him. Mark Lord, actor, was gone, and Jason Talbot
stood there, hit man, mercenary, killer for hire. One of the men
stepped forward and pulled an envelope from his jacket.

"Marinetti
sent us. He's got a job for you."

Mark drawled,
"You told me on the phone."

"It's a big
one, fifty gees."

"A don?" Mark
asked.

"No, one of
your kind. She's been ordered to hit Marinetti. He wants her out of
the way first."

"A woman?"
Mark tilted his head so that his face was better lit. Harold
nodded, looking pleased.

"Yeah." The
second messenger placed himself strategically next to Mark, and one
of the cameras moved silently into another position. A sound boom
followed the actor.

"She's a
professional, like you. The boss wants her offed, and fast. No
fancy stuff, just get rid of her."

Mark shook his
head. "I don't kill women."

"She's an
assassin."

"I don't care
if she's the queen of fucking Sheba. No deal." Mark started to turn
away, and the messenger beside him pulled out a gun. Mark
froze.

"Marinetti
will be pissed."

"If you point
that thing at me, I'll be pissed," Mark said.

The first
messenger held out the envelope. "There's twenty-five thousand in
here, Talbot."

Mark glared at
him. "You got a hearing problem, buster?"

The hint of
threat in his stance was totally convincing, as if the scene was
reality. Carrin was amazed to see her story come to life, just as
she had imagined it. The first messenger gestured to the second,
who put away his gun. Mark relaxed. The first messenger said,
"Marinetti thought you might not like it -"

"He was
right," Mark interrupted.

"A hundred
thousand, and if you don't do it, the boss puts a hit on you."

Mark smiled
that slight, dangerous, famous smile. "I'd like to see him
try."

"He won't
try... ah, shit!" The actor swung away, and everyone relaxed.

Harold
shouted, "Cut!"

Bells rang,
and the cameramen stood back, removing their headphones. Carrin
glanced at her script. The actor was supposed to say, "He won't
just try, he'll do it." He had fluffed the line, and the scene
would have to be shot again. Mark walked over to Carrin.

"Someone
always gets it wrong," he sighed.

"Do you?"

"Oh, sure,
often enough. Funny, I thought we might actually get through that
scene without a problem. It would have been nice to do it in one
take, but that's rare. Even if someone doesn't fluff their lines,
there's usually something that the director isn't happy with." He
raised a hand to rub his face, then cursed and lowered it. "Damned
make up. I'm glad I'm not a woman, wearing this stuff all the
time."

She laughed.
"I don't bother much with it."

"I noticed.
But then, you don't really need it."

Carrin stared
at him, her heart skipping a beat. Why was he paying her a
compliment? Was it just to be nice to the plain little writer? A
vision of Helen's battered face intruded, and her pleasure faded.
Beware, she warned herself, he really was dangerous. Places were
called, and Mark walked back to begin the scene again. As Carrin
watched, Janice approached and leant against the prop beside
her.

"So, Miss
York, you think you're a hit with the big man, huh?"

"Just because
he agreed with me -"

"I'm not
talking about that. He seems to have designs on you, if you ask me,
and that's a recipe for disaster, you know."

Carrin scowled
at her. "I know, I've been warned."

"Oh good. Then
why don't you stay away?"

"I have to be
here."

Janice puffed
her cigarette. "Then quit hanging around like an overripe fruit
waiting to be picked. He's way out of your league. You're
ridiculous, you know that? He'll chew you up and spit you out."

Carrin scowled
at her.

Janice
smiled. "He knows that you're infatuated with him, do you think
he's blind? He's already told me, he thinks it's real
funny."

A lance of
cold pain stabbed Carrin's heart, and she looked at Mark, who was
involved in the scene again. Janice followed her gaze, her smile
growing into a grin.

"Yeah, he's
real cute, isn't he? He's real good at charming the pants off
people too." She giggled at her own wit. "Take some friendly
advice; remember that he's an actor, a really good actor, Miss
York. One of the best."

I know! Carrin
wanted to yell. I wish I could hate him like he deserves, but I
can't! Instead she turned away to hide her expression and left the
set. On the way out, she bumped into Warren, who exclaimed in
surprise as she brushed past him. Outside, she walked to the street
and caught a taxi back to the hotel. In the safety of her room, she
pulled out her drawings and stared at them. If only...

If only what?
She jeered her stupidity. If only he was a knight in shining
armour? A prince charming waiting at the altar? Instead he was a
beautiful, flawed man, cold and hollow inside that handsome facade.
He seemed so genuine and good, but he was a very good actor, wasn't
he? How was she going to get through months of filming when she was
in turmoil after just one morning? Her determination flared. She
was not going to be another of Mark Lord's conquests. She would do
whatever it took to stay out of his poisonous clutches, even if it
meant lying. If he found her infatuation so amusing, it would serve
him right to find that he was wrong, after all.

The next day, Carrin went to the studio fortified by her
resolution. When Mark greeted her, she was polite in an offhand way
that made him look a little confused.
Damned actor,
she thought angrily. She had
spent most of the night lying awake, wrestling with her problem.
Helen's bruised face was burnt into her memory, as was Mark's
conversation with Simon Grey that she had overheard, and she was
tired and irritable. She resented his look of innocent uncertainty,
sure that he was mocking her behind it. Well, he would not have the
last laugh.

All that
day, she watched from the side lines as Mark moved from wardrobe to
make up to the set. Janice hung around, looking very much like the
overripe fruit that she had accused Carrin of being. Several times,
she noticed Mark looking at her curiously, and pointedly turned
away. She left while Jerry was removing Mark's make up, avoiding
any contact with him. For the next two days she successfully eluded
him, and his glances at her became angry. On the third day, as she
was making her escape towards the side door where her limousine
waited, a dark shadow stepped into her path, making her
jump.

"What
the hell's going on, Carrin?" Mark stepped into the light. He was
still in make-up, and from his dangerous demeanour, he appeared to
be still in character too. She retreated a step.

"What do you
mean?"

"I mean why
are you avoiding me? Why the cold shoulder?"

"I've just
been staying out of the way, that's all. Everyone has his or her
job to do. I don't want to get underfoot."

He seemed to
relax a little. "Well you don't have to do such a good job of it."
He paused. "Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

"No." The word
leapt out before she could temper it, and he looked surprised.
Inwardly she smiled. It was doubtful that the great Mark Lord ever
got rejected so bluntly.

"May I ask why
not?" he murmured, sending shivers up her spine at his soft,
dangerous tone.

"I have a
boyfriend at home, and I don't think it appropriate to go out with
other men." She congratulated herself for her quick thinking.

Mark's face
became expressionless, but a muscle jumped in his jaw.

She hurried
on, embroidering, "The paparazzi follow you around. What would he
think if he saw me in a photo with you in some magazine? He'd never
believe that we were just friends, would he?"

Mark's face
was inscrutable. In the dim light, he looked so handsome that she
longed to change her story, laugh it off as a joke and tell him
that she would love to go out with him. If only she could. Instead
she said, "He's looking after my house while I'm away."

"Your new
house? The one you bought with the money for the screenplay, no
doubt?"

"Yes."

"When did you
meet him? After you got the cheque?"

She saw the
trap and sidestepped it. "No, I've known him for years, but we only
realised how we felt recently."

"I see. Well,
that's quite understandable." He inclined his head. "Good
night."

Carrin watched
him stride away into the studio, feeling lost and forlorn, as if
she had just destroyed something precious. It was not like that
though, she reflected. She had avoided a lot of pain. Maybe it
would have been worth it, her heart cried, just for a week, a month
of happiness. The pain that followed would be too great, however.
Shaking off her doubts, she went out to the waiting limousine.