Superstar (13 page)

"What did you
have in mind?"

He grinned,
growing more confident. "Whatever you like. Dinner, a movie,
dancing, you name it."

She
considered. "Dancing sounds nice."

"Great. I know
a good club, you'll love it. They -" He broke off and looked past
her, suddenly wary. Carrin turned to find Mark approaching, heading
for the side door that led out of the studio, where his limousine
waited. She caught a glimpse of anger in his eyes, then it was
gone, and he smiled as he moved past them.

"Goodnight,
Carrin, Tony."

Tony made a
nervous gesture. "Goodnight, Mr Lord."

Carrin smiled.
"'Night."

Tony watched
him leave, turning back to Carrin when Mark had closed the studio
door behind him. "Phew!" He fanned himself. "That guy makes me
nervous, don't you find?"

"No. Why
should he?"

Tony grinned.
"I don't know, he's just so... intense. Imagine being a big star
like him. Hell!"

Carrin
remembered that Tony was given to inane comments and forced a
smile. "So, what time will we go?"

"Huh?"

"To the
club."

"Oh!
Right, um, how about eight-ish?"

Carrin nodded.
"Okay. You'll pick me up at my hotel?"

"Yeah. See you
then."

Carrin went
back to the hotel, where she had an early supper, dressed in smart
but casual jeans and a T-shirt and waited for Tony to arrive.

Tony
picked her up in a Ford Mustang and drove to a nightclub. Carrin
found it too dark; the music's pounding beat prevented any
conversation, and the service was non-existent. Tony appeared to
enjoy himself, and constantly dragged her onto the dance floor. She
enjoyed dancing to the energetic music, and Tony was a good dancer,
if a little over-enthusiastic. Several men asked her to dance when
she did get a chance to sit and sip her drink, but Tony chased them
off.

By midnight
Carrin was ready to leave. She had worked since eight that morning
and would have to do the same tomorrow. When she asked Tony he
nodded, assuring her that they would go soon, but made no effort to
do so, and five minutes later he ordered another round of drinks.
As the evening wore on, he became drunk, and ignored her pleas to
take her back to her hotel. He was enjoying himself, he stated, and
he was not ready to leave yet. Her eyes grew heavy with weariness,
and her enjoyment of the entertainment waned. The loud music gave
her a headache, and the drinks that she had consumed left a sour
taste in her mouth. For almost half an hour, she stayed in the
toilet to escape him, perched on the vanity counter. When she felt
ridiculous, she returned to the table. Tony danced with another
girl, but as soon as the song finished he came over to her.

"Hey, I
thought you'd got stuck in the loo."

Carrin glared
at him. "I'm tired, I want to go."

"Naw! Don't be
such a spoilsport! The night's still young!"

"It's not.
It's almost two in the morning, and we've both got to work tomorrow
- today."

"Aw, c'mon,
let's dance, that'll wake you up."

"No." She
jerked away when he grabbed her hand. "I'm too tired to dance."

He snorted.
"Okay, suit yourself. There's plenty of chicks here."

Tony reeled
away in search of another partner, and she glared after him. Carrin
toyed with the idea of leaving alone and catching a taxi, but at
this time of the morning, cabs would be scarce. She did not think
that it was a good idea to be out on the streets alone at such a
late hour, either. Tony went from table to table, propositioning
girls. Some danced with him, but by then his antics on the dance
floor were clumsy and embarrassing. Soon no one would accept his
invitations, and male companions pushed him away when he became too
forward. Tony returned to their table and flung himself into his
chair, slugging back the last of his drink. He stared at her
owlishly.

"Well, looks
like I'm stuck with you. Hope you've had a rest."

Carrin shook
her head. "It's time we left."

"Rubbish! I'm
just starting to enjoy myself."

Carrin decided
that she would have to call a taxi. As she rose, Tony grabbed her
hand.

"Where're you
goin'?"

"To the loo,"
she yelled over the music.

"Oh,
okay."

Tony released
her, and she headed for the bar. The middle-aged man behind it
explained that the public phone was out of order, and Carrin
cursed. The bartender looked sympathetic.

"I'd say use
the manager's phone, but he's gone home and locked the office. The
nearest other phone is almost two blocks away."

Carrin shook
her head and returned to the table, where Tony clapped to the
music. He undoubtedly had a cell phone, but she could hardly ask to
borrow it to call a cab. She really needed to get a cell phone that
worked in America. As she reached him, he jumped up.

"C'mon, let's
dance."

"No! I want to
go back to the hotel, Tony."

"You're no
fun. One more dance, then we'll go."

Desperate, she
agreed, her feet aching. One dance turned into two, and Tony would
not let her leave the floor. Carrin was thoroughly fed up by then,
and a little scared. She hardly knew Tony, and did not know what to
expect. A slow dance started, and he pulled her close, his hands
wandering. She fended him off, then wrenched free and marched away,
leaving him to follow. A glance at her watch told her that it was
close to three in the morning, and she had to be at the studio at
eight. Tony staggered up, almost falling over a chair. Now he was
far too drunk to drive anyway. How was she going to get back to the
hotel?

While she was
wondering what to do, another man approached and asked her to
dance. He looked far more sober than Tony, so perhaps he would give
her a lift. She smiled and nodded, but Tony jumped up, overturning
his chair. He pushed the newcomer and sent him staggering into a
nearby table covered with empty bottles. Glass smashed, and the
stranger rolled to his feet, his face twisted with fury. Tony
grabbed her as the stranger attacked, pulling her into the melee.
The stranger pushed her aside, intent on Tony, and she fell over
the overturned chair. The bartender entered the fray armed with a
baseball bat, but the two men were too embroiled to notice. Carrin
struggled to get to her feet, finding her legs tangled with the
chair. A man crashed to the floor beside her, and she yelped in
alarm.

Someone
pulled her to her feet. She swung a fist, thinking it was Tony
trying to use her as a shield again. A hand caught her fist, and
she stared into Mark Lord's angry eyes. As she stood frozen in
stunned disbelief, his eyes focussed on something behind her. He
pushed her aside, and she followed his gaze. The bartender had
succeeded in quelling the stranger, who lay groaning on the floor,
but Tony climbed to his feet and charged Mark. The superstar's hand
on Tony's throat brought him up short, and held him away long
enough for him to register who his target was. He goggled, blood
running down his chin from a split lip. Mark did not have to say
anything, or raise a fist. Tony stepped back, his mouth open, and
Mark followed, locking eyes with the young actor. He was a fraction
shorter than Tony, but never had Carrin seen anyone look so
dangerous. He filled the room with his dark presence, dwarfing the
taller man. Mark raised a finger and prodded Tony in the
chest.

"Don't bother
coming to the studio tomorrow, you no longer work there."

Tony
spluttered, "You - you can't do that!"

"I can." Mark
gave him a push that made him stagger back. He tripped over the
fallen chair and sprawled amongst the debris, staring up at Mark
with a mixture of awe and fear. Mark paused to glare at him, then
turned and gripped Carrin's arm, pushing her towards the door. The
bartender watched him pass open-mouthed. The few remaining patrons
muttered, and an overdone blonde by the door stepped into Mark's
path.

"Hey, aren't
you -"

"No, I just
look like him," he snapped.

Mark brushed
past her, his grip on Carrin's arm painful. Outside, the cool air
hit her like a slap in the face. Mark's sleek grey limousine purred
on the curb, and he yanked open the door, starting to push her
inside. She resisted, turning to him.

"Am I fired
too?"

"Not
here."

Several
curious people emerged from the club, and she realised that he was
right. She climbed into the car, Mark sliding in beside her. The
car pulled away and glided down the road. Risking a glance at Mark,
she found him staring ahead, his mouth a hard line. The drinks that
she had consumed, plus resentment at his timely rescue that seemed
all too convenient, made her bold, and she folded her arms.

"Well?"

"Well what?"
He stared ahead.

"Am I fired
too?"

"Did you start
the fight?"

The question
confused her, and she frowned. "No."

"Then why
should you be fired?"

His logic
angered her still more. "How the hell did you know where I
was?"

"I phoned
Tony's agent. He knew Tony's favourite spots, they generally
do."

"Why?"

Mark turned to
look at her, and she almost cringed. His dark eyes burnt into hers.
"I was worried about you. Tony's a drinker, he has a bad
reputation. When the hotel told me you hadn't come back yet, I
decided to come looking for you."

His tone
implied that she was a nuisance and monumentally stupid to go out
with Tony in the first place. She glared at him, aware that she
should thank him, yet resenting him for being right and making her
feel like such an idiot. He continued to study her as if she was
some bizarre new life form.

"Why didn't
you call a taxi?"

"The phone was
out of order."

He nodded, and
some of the anger left his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Maybe a few
bruises, nothing serious."

"You were
lucky. You could have been hurt, you know."

His concern
drained the resentment from her, and a surge of gratitude replaced
it. "You came in time."

Mark leant
back against the leather and closed his eyes. He looked tired; his
hair was rumpled and his skin pale. A slight smile tugged at the
corner of his mouth.

"My timing's
always been good. I might fluff my lines sometimes, but my timing's
good."

"Thank
you."

He sighed.
"That's okay, just don't make a habit of it."

"I think I
learnt my lesson."

He turned his
head to look at her as she yawned, her eyes watering with fatigue.
"Don't come in tomorrow morning, we're only shooting the street
scene again. Get some sleep."

His kindness
made her heart ache with shame and sorrow. How could he be so kind?
He had no right to act so perfect, when he was really such a
bastard. How she wished he was as wonderful as he appeared. She
blurted the question that was burning in her mind.

"Why were you
worried about me?"

He looked up
at the car roof as he considered her query. "Well, I guess I feel
responsible for you. I brought you here. If not for me, you'd be
safe at home in Africa. I suppose you're kind of under my
protection, if you like."

Carrin nodded,
filled with a mixture of pleasure and disappointment. It was nice
to be under the protection of a superstar like Mark Lord, yet how
she wished that he had said that he cared. Helen's battered face
intruded, sending her mind into a whirl of confusion. Why did she
want a man like that to care about her? Did she think that if he
did, she would be safe from his violence?

Perhaps.
Surely he would not harm someone he loved? Yet, a more logical
voice said, he would never love a nobody like her. Perhaps Janice
or some supermodel would be lucky enough to unlock his emotions.
Even if the one he loved was safe from his aggression, however,
they would still have to deal with his violence towards other
women. She sighed, and the limousine slid to a halt in front of her
hotel. John came to open the door on her side, and she turned to
look at Mark as the interior light came on.

"Thanks
again."

He smiled that
slight, seductive smile and waved a negligent hand. "Forget it.
What are friends for?"

Climbing out
of the car, she came face to face with John. The chauffeur smiled
and winked at her. As the doorman held open the door, she turned to
watch the limousine pull away. If only she was going with him, back
to his house and his bed, to spend the night in his arms. An
impossible dream, one that would never come true, because she would
not let it. Mark Lord did not care about her, and never would.

When she
went into the studio the next afternoon, Tony was absent. His part
was a small one, and it appeared that it had given to another. At
first glance, Mark looked fine, but the make-up disguised his
tiredness and his constant yawns gave him away. Twice the scene had
to be re-shot because Mark failed to control a yawn in the middle
of it. Harold stared suspiciously at Carrin when she came in, and
she sent him a look of innocent confusion. Mark struggled through
the afternoon, and Carrin pitied him. Eventually Harold wrapped up
early and sent him home.

Two days
later, Harold informed her that they were shooting scene
twenty-eight the following week, and she should make other plans.
For the rest of the day, she wondered what she would do for that
week. Sitting around in the hotel did not appeal, and she had
visited all the amusement parks and seen most of the movies
showing. In the afternoon, Mark had a break from his scene and came
over to where she sat.

"Harold told
you about next week?" he asked.

"Yes."

He settled
into an empty chair beside her. "If you like, you could spend the
week at my ranch. You could go riding, and there's a pool, a tennis
court and so on."