Superstar (19 page)

He sighed.
"Why don't you just tell me what you have in mind, and I'll tell
you if I can organise it."

"Okay. Birdie
will sell the photos to the press if you don't give him your
soundtrack, right?"

"Yes."

"So, you phone
him up and tell him to go suck eggs. You tell him you don't care if
he goes to the press, and in fact, you'll send a reporter around
for the pictures."

Simon
chuckled. "Sounds dangerous."

"That's where
you need a friendly press person. They get the photos and give them
to us."

He snorted.
"You're nuts. No press person, even if they were my kissing cousin,
will pass up a chance to print that kind of scandal. They'll make
millions out of a story like that."

"Then we'll
offer them more."

"Mark stands
to lose millions if this is printed. What's the point in paying
millions to hush it up?"

Carrin
grimaced. Her plan did not seem so feasible when he put it like
that. "At least there won't be a scandal. He can make another film
to recoup his losses."

"He'll never
go for it. He'd rather throw that little cow to the wolves and take
the consequences. Why should he pay to clean up her mess?"

"Okay. What
about if we use someone to pose as a reporter? Someone we can
trust."

Simon grunted.
"And who might that be? If we tell this to anyone, even someone we
think we can trust, they may leak it to the press for money. I'd
say Mark or I could put on a disguise, but that would involve make
up people. It's useless, Carrin."

"I'll go."

There was a
crash on the line, as if Simon had dropped something. "Damn!" He
spluttered for a moment. "No, that's ridiculous. It's too
dangerous."

"Why? Birdie
doesn't know me, and I'm trustworthy."

"Yes, but...
no, it's crazy, and Mark would have a fit."

"Why?"

Simon groaned.
"Because he... no, listen, just forget it, Carrin."

"We won't tell
Mark."

"Aaah, god!
You're a stubborn little... thing, aren't you?"

Carrin smiled.
"Come on, Simon, he's your friend, and he needs your help."

"Look, there
are other problems. Birdie wants to sell the stuff. He'll want a
cheque before he hands over the photos."

"So we give
him a rubber one."

"A what? Oh,
no, it won't work. It's got to be a company cheque, from a
magazine." Simon sounded harassed.

Carrin thought
about that, listening to Simon's rather heavy breathing on the
phone. "Okay, so we need a cheque from a magazine. Any ideas?"

"Um." Simon
clearly wasn't prepared for the ball to be tossed back into his
court. "Like what?"

"Well, isn't
there some magazine just itching to do a story on you?"

"Why? Oh! I
see. But then the cheque will be made out to me."

"So we'll
change it."

Simon coughed,
as if shocked. "But... the bank won't accept it."

"They don't
have to, that's the whole point. By then we'll have the
photos."

"But... that
means I'll be doing the interview for free."

Carrin sighed
in exasperation. "So what? Look, you can phone them and tell them
you lost the cheque, okay? They'll send you another."

"But we don't
know how much Birdie will want for the photos. It's bound to be
more than a tame interview with me is worth."

Carrin wanted
to strangle the reluctant actor. "We'll change it. Don't you want
to help Mark?"

"Of course I
do, but if Birdie gets suspicious, you'll be in danger."

"What's he
going to do?"

Simon
harrumphed. "Well, he might try to get the truth out of you."

"I won't
talk."

"Carrin, I
don't think you realise who we're dealing with. This guy is a drug
dealer; a big time crook on the side. He can do all sorts of nasty
stuff."

She hesitated.
"So long as the cheque's convincing, we're safe, right?"

"Well, yes. If
he suspects that the cheque's been tampered with, he could get
nasty."

"Then when the
magazine interviews you, ask them to leave the payee's name blank.
Tell them you're going to donate it to charity."

Simon sounded
relieved. "Yes, that's a good idea." He paused. "What if Birdie
wants cash?"

"Oh for god's
sake, Simon!" Carrin said, fed up. "Then it's no deal, and we'll
have to think of something else. No one deals in cash. Why would he
demand it?"

"Okay, okay,
but once I phone him and tell him to take a running jump, the shit
hits the fan. If he doesn't go for your deal, he'll peddle it
elsewhere."

"So we make
him an offer he can't refuse. We don't have to pay it."

"Right, right,
okay." He sounded hesitant. "What if he gets nasty when the cheque
bounces?"

"He won't know
who I really am. Who's he going to go after? The magazine?"

Simon sighed.
"You don't know him. If we do this, just don't ever get
famous."

"I'll wear a
disguise, okay?"

"Okay. I'll
get my secretary to phone whichever magazine is currently
interested and arrange an interview... Of course, Mark could get a
better one..."

"No, Mark
mustn't know."

"You're right,
he'd kill me."

Carrin sighed
with relief. "Okay, arrange the interview, and I want to be
there."

"Why?"

"Just in
case."

"Okay, I'll
let you know. Goodnight."

Carrin
hung up and rubbed her aching ear. If everything went smoothly, the
threat to Mark's career would soon be over. Satisfied with her
plan, she sat down to work on the screenplay. Switching the
dialogue wasn't too difficult, and cutting Janice's lines was easy.
Carrin rather enjoyed it, especially when she thought about the
trouble that the actress' stupidity had caused for Mark. When she
went to bed, she was tired, but she lay awake, tossing and turning
as she thought about all the things that could go wrong with her
plan.

When Carrin
woke the next morning, a glance at the clock told her that it was
already ten o'clock. As she groaned and sat up, the phone rang,
making her jump. She grabbed it before its piercing tones made her
ears ring.

"Hello?"

"Carrin? It's
Simon. Listen, it's all set for this afternoon, at three
o'clock."

"Wow, that was
quick." Carrin rubbed her eyes.

"Well, when I
grant an interview, they jump at it, like flies on a dung heap." He
sounded smug, obviously not realising how unflattering the
comparison was.

"Good. Okay.
Is it at your house?"

"Yeah. I'll
send a car."

Carrin
showered and dressed, then settled down at the desk to work on her
screenplay. She was deep in thought when the phone rang again,
making her leap in fright. She grabbed it.

"Miss York?"
She recognised the hotel's desk clerk.

"Yes?"

"There's a car
here for you."

"Okay, thank
you."

She hung up
and glanced at her watch, gasping at the lateness of the hour. Half
past two! Grabbing her jacket and bag, she hurried out to the
lift.

A deep maroon
limousine waited on the curb, a white uniformed chauffeur holding
the door. She slid into it, and the car whispered through the
afternoon traffic, arriving at Simon's enormous mansion at ten to
three. The house was pretentious, she thought. Huge white pillars
framed the over-large front door, and a motley collection of
statues dotted the rather plain, manicured gardens. It was grand,
and obviously worth a fortune, but it was not a house that she
could live in. A maid showed her onto the back patio, where Simon
relaxed with a cool drink and a magazine. He rose to meet her.

"Ah, bang on
time. They should be here at any moment."

Before Carrin
could reply, another maid appeared and said, "The magazine people
are here, Mr Grey."

Simon glanced
at his watch. "They're early. Make them wait in the lounge."

The maid left,
and Carrin glanced around at the well-trimmed hedges and rather
out-of-place palm trees. A large pool dominated the view, filled
with liloes, blow-up chairs and floating bric-a-brac. After the
maid had brought Carrin a soft drink, she sat with Simon at the
garden table. He made small talk until three o'clock, when the
magazine people were invited to join him. A young woman reporter
and a male photographer emerged from the house and shook hands with
Simon.

The reporter
blinked nervously and licked red-painted lips, clearly bowled over
by Simon's good looks. She was attractive, but overdone, Carrin
thought. Simon introduced Carrin as his assistant, and she was
immediately ignored. They settled down at the garden table, and the
reporter fired questions at Simon. The interview proceeded in a
chatty manner. Simon was certainly disarming when he turned on the
charm. When it was over, the photographer took pictures of Simon
against the backdrop of his house, then the garden. They vanished
into the house for some more shots, and the reporter turned to
Carrin.

"Well,
Miss..."

"Brown."

"Miss Brown.
Shall I give you the cheque?"

Carrin nodded.
"Yes. Please leave the payee's name blank. Mr Grey wishes to donate
it to a charity."

"Oh, how nice
of him."

The reporter
smiled and sat down at the table. Pulling out a company chequebook,
she filled in a blank, signed cheque. She tore it out and handed it
over with a flourish as Simon reappeared, followed by the
photographer. After the reporter and her companion had left, Simon
flopped into a chair and ordered a stiff drink from the maid.
Carrin examined the cheque, her heart sinking as she realised that
it was useless. The amount was written in bold ink as well as
numerals. She had forgotten about that.

Her
disappointment must have shown, for Simon asked, "What's
wrong?"

"This is no
good. We can't change the writing."

"Ah, Carrin!"
Simon clapped a hand to his forehead. "Didn't you think of
that?"

"I forgot."
She stared at the cheque. Ten thousand dollars. Useless, even as a
down payment.

"You mean I
did this for nothing?"

"Maybe not."
Her mind raced. "Do you have computers?"

"Sure."

"A laser
printer?"

"Two."

"A
scanner?"

Simon sighed.
"Yes, why?"

"We can scan
this into the computer, remove the writing and print a blank one
with just the signature."

"That's
forgery."

She shook her
head. "It'll never fool the bank, and it can't be traced back to
us."

Simon relaxed
and nodded. "Let's do it then."

As Carrin was
about to stand up, a maid appeared, followed by an all too familiar
figure. Her heart froze, and she stuffed the cheque into her
handbag.

The maid
announced, "Mr Lord, sir."

"Ah, Mark!"
Simon bounced up. "This is a surprise!"

"I can see
that." Mark's eyes raked Carrin.

"Er..." Simon
glanced at her. "Carrin's portable broke, so she came to use one of
my computers for the changes to the script."

Carrin
congratulated him on his quick thinking as Mark relaxed and turned
to her. "You could have used mine."

"Well, I
didn't want to disturb you. You need your rest."

"And Simon
doesn't?"

Simon laughed.
"I'm not working on a movie, buddy. All my time is free."

Carrin glanced
at her watch. It was after four. "I'd better get going, Simon.
Thanks for letting me use your machine."

Mark shot her
a sharp glance. "What's the rush? If you've finished your work,
stay and chat." He raised his brows. "What are you going to do, go
back to an empty hotel room?"

Carrin noticed
that Simon watched them with avid fascination, as one does the
peculiar mating ritual of some rare, bizarre animal, and wondered
at it. She settled back into her chair, defeated, and Simon ordered
drinks. He struck up a conversation, but Carrin noticed Mark's
occasional shrewd glances in her direction. So, Simon's quick
thinking had not fooled him after all.

They ate
a pleasant dinner of roast beef with fried greens in a rather
ornate dining room decorated in crimson and gold, then moved back
onto the cool patio for drinks. By then, the atmosphere had grown a
little strained. Simon laughed too much, glancing anxiously between
them, and Mark spent a great deal of time staring at her
unnervingly. When Simon was called away to the phone, he seemed
relieved to leave the tension behind, and Carrin's nerves
tightened.

Mark leant
forward. "What are you up to? I didn't think you fancied Simon
Grey. Is that what you're into? The blond, blue-eyed Adonis
type?"

"No!" She
frowned at his effrontery. "Simon told you."

He snorted.
"He's a lousy liar, even if he's a good actor, and you both look as
guilty as sin."

"We're not up
to anything. I came to use his computer."

"Rubbish."

Carrin's anger
flared. "Well, if you don't believe us, that's your problem. I can
visit whomever I like. I don't have to answer to you."

Mark looked a
little taken aback. "More secrets? I thought we were friends?"

"So did I,"
she retorted. "But that doesn't mean I have to tell you everything.
If I do fancy Simon Grey, it's none of your business."

"Well I think
it is. Friends are meant to help each other, and if you'd asked my
advice, I'd have told you to leave Simon alone. He's a playboy.
He'll only break your heart."

Carrin jumped
up. "Thanks for the tip. I'm going back to my hotel. Good
night."

She left Mark
staring after her and strode into the house, where Simon almost
bowled her over. He grabbed her arm as she staggered back.

"Whoa there!
What's the hurry?"