Chapter Nineteen
Laurie
had been wrong about Nicole and Wes. The first two films in the
series had kept them tantalisingly apart, and Laurie had grown
bored with their mutual yearning, half convinced that Brett had
kept Carmen and Valentine on separate Hollywood continents because
their on-screen chemistry would let them down. Now, at last, out
here in the blazing Mojave, they were being allowed their
long-awaited first kiss.
They were very good. Laurie stood on the sidelines with Bailey
and a handful of other actors and crew. The scene would be a
moonlit one once the tech guys had finished with it, and Brett had
rigged up a short rail for the camera rig to slide along and
capture the whole scene in one long shot. For the first time Laurie
saw real skill and beauty in what was being done here, and he
watched intently. Even Bailey for once had obeyed the call
to quiet on set.
Carmen Duprey—a desert warrior now, embracing her vampiric destiny
and ready to fight for her kind—waited serenely among the rocks.
Valentine Frost stepped out to meet her with tremendous presence
and grace. Looking at him, Laurie could almost forget that he'd
employed Libby Palermo's botox doc after all, and was safely zipped
up inside the best of professional shaper suits.
Carmen
remained tensely still until he was within three yards of her. Then
she held out a commanding hand. She looked him over with a bright
intensity that reached Laurie where he stood, lifting the hairs on
his arms in response, and then she broke cover.
Valentine caught her, plucking her almost out of the air. Yes,
it was nicely done. Laurie had been too harsh on this genre of
film: he could almost see, watching now, what brought the fans out
in their Greyhound droves to try and find a piece of it. Mentally
he added moonlight and the powerful string score that would
eventually accompany the scene. Valentine set her gently back on
her feet, stroked her hair from her face and leaned in. Their lips
met. Douglas Brett yelled cut—much too soon, Laurie thought,
because really the pair of them did have potential to rock out a
passionate clinch—and they sprang apart.
“Good. Great, guys. We’ll print that.”
Wesley
put his hands on his hips. “Fuck,” he said viciously. “It really is
like kissing a codfish. A dead one.”
Bailey
giggled. Laurie gave him a shove to shut him up, but he'd learned
better than to rush to the defence of injured womanhood on this
set. Nicole clearly had no need of him anyway. She wiped her
scarlet mouth on the back of her hand. Then she pulled a miniature
bottle of mouthwash out of a concealed pocket, swirled it one inch
from Wesley's nose, and took a deep swig. Neatly, elaborately,
making sure that everyone could see, she spat on the
ground.
Laurie
turned away. He sidestepped Bailey. He'd lifted the ban since his
arrival in the desert two days before, too lonely and miserable to
do without him, but just at the moment he couldn't bear the
monkeys' cage. The location setup was less elaborate by far than
the Hollywood base. Here at least he could walk twenty yards
through the cameras, gantries and booms and find an open
space.
Space
that went on forever. It always took Laurie aback. He stopped at
the top of a ridge and stared out across the blazing emptiness.
Violet hills were melting in the heat-haze miles away. Spread out
before him was a plain of golden rocks and dust, the only
vegetation clumps of saffron-coloured tumbleweed.
Sasha
would have loved it here. He'd choose a museum over a hike through
the hills any day, but he had a lively taste for open country too,
for new scenes and far horizons. The fact was that he just loved to
travel—provided he had Laurie at his side. Laurie had unlocked the
world for him, Sasha had said.
“Mr Fitzroy?”
Laurie
flinched. Tramping up the slope behind him were Douglas Brett and
Bailey. Laurie contemplated a run, but the trouble with infinite
space was the lack of cover. Of any place to hide. He turned and
stood resignedly, waiting.
“I've had an idea, Mr Fitzroy.” Brett came to a beaming halt,
mopping sweat off his brow. “Valentine Frost and Carmen have been
reunited at last.”
“Yes, I saw. It was very romantic.”
“And my idea is, if Carmen has repressed feelings for Devlin
Steele, this reunion would bring them out. Carmen's devoted to
Valentine in real life, of course, but in her dreams...” Brett
sketched out a dream-filled rectangular screen with his hands, and
Laurie's heart sank. “In her dreams, she's intimate with Devlin. I
want to film that scene next.”
“Me and Nicole?”
“That's right. Hurry along to makeup, Fitzroy. Wesley's going
into Bakersfield for the afternoon, and there's no need to tell him
about this for now.”
“What about Bailey here? Is Carmen dreaming about him
too?”
It had been a joke, a weary protest against yet another twist
in Blood Moon's
tortured plot, but Laurie could see Brett considering it, wondering
if he'd get away with a three-way in a PG-13 film. “No,” he said at
length. “Mr Price is part of my idea, though. When Valentine
discovers Carmen's dawning attraction to Devlin, he and Devlin
fight. Now, I notice you and Mr Price have become friends around
the set here. You're natural together. Let's use that—let's have
Calvin rush to Devlin's rescue. Let's have Valentine kill him.”
Brett nodded amiably. He glanced at the pocket where Bailey kept
his tequila flask. Today he hadn't bothered to conceal it and the
top was sticking out. “I think, given all the circumstances, that's
gonna be our best option. Don't you?”
Laurie
and Bailey watched him walk off. “Wow,” Bailey said. “You get to
boogie with the ice queen. Good luck.”
“Bailey, he... Did he just write you out? Fire you?”
“Sounds that way, doesn't it?”
“Well, go after him.” Laurie looked into Bailey's face, pale
beneath its tan and way too calm. Laurie had never given him back
his pills, ashamed of the six or seven that were now missing, but
he guessed Bailey had other supplies. “Or I will. He can't do
this.”
“You would, wouldn't you? Have a go at him for me?”
“Hell, yes. What about your contract?”
“I... might not’ve been as clean as I'd have liked to have been
when I signed that.”
“Oh, Bailey.”
Bailey
put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't his usual playful,
semi-seductive little pat, but a surprisingly firm grip—the touch
of a friend, and Laurie turned to him, surprised. “Never mind me
for a minute. You've looked sick of your life ever since we got out
here. Did you find my little gift?”
Laurie
hunched his shoulders in embarrassment. “If you mean that bottle of
downers you left on my couch...”
“Yeah. It was flaky of me to do that. You're an addictive type,
Fitz—just like me, which is why you rightly tried to push me away.
Now, what's eating you up—Doug Brett? That psycho bastard
Wes?”
Laurie
tried to formulate a way to tell Bailey that he wasn't an addictive
type. That he wasn't any type at all that Bailey could possibly
know about. Then misery swept over him, cold and raw. “No. I had a
fight with my boyfriend before I left home.”
“Oh. Right. Who won?”
“I did, I thought. Then I realised all I'd done was...” Laurie
paused. His throat was sore, unshed tears pressing at the backs of
his eyes. “All I'd done was make someone who's worth a hundred of
me give in. Because I bloody well bullied him into it.”
“You Brits are so cute when you say bloody. I can't imagine you bullying
anyone.”
“Well, I did. I—”
“Fitzroy! Price!”
They
both jumped. Down among the forest of cameras, Brett was standing
impatiently, one hand on his hip and the other clutching a
megaphone. “Both of you to makeup. Now!”
“Jeez,” Bailey said thoughtfully. “He gets weirder every
day.”
“I meant what I said. I'll talk to him, if...”
“No. Don't mind me. This has been coming for a while,
Fitz—maybe it's time for Calvin to die.” He gave Laurie a clap on
the shoulder, then pulled him into a brief, unexpected embrace.
“Come on. Get your face on and go screw Carmen. Then phone up that
boy of yours and tell him who really won.”
***
Nicole
Delgado was leaning outside her trailer when Laurie found her,
polishing one already immaculate nail. Laurie was dressed ready for
her dreams—naked from the waist up, his lower half sleek in
tight-fitting leather. In his experience, most women actors took as
professional a view on sex scenes as he did himself, but still he
tried to talk to them beforehand, to humanise what could become an
alien, unsettling situation. She looked up at his approach: gave
him a onceover, then a surprising grin. “A worse fate could befall
me, I suppose.”
“You've heard about Brett's plans for us, then?”
“Yeah. Wes is gonna throw a shit fit when he finds
out.”
“Why? It's only Carmen's fantasy, right?”
“For now. But Doug's got plans for you—you've got to know that
by now. Wes is too old and fat to play Valentine any
more.”
“Great. What will you do to me
when we're done—drown me in a bucket of
Drano?”
She gave
a dirty chuckle. “I might not want to. Listen—Wes Lombard is a pig,
just in case he ever tries to kid you otherwise. His father's in
the running for state senator, or Doug would have ditched him long
ago. All he cares about is himself and hanging on to this
part.”
Laurie
leaned on the wall beside her. In a different world he would have
offered her a cigarette, a companionable pre-coital peace offering,
though that was one vice—the only one, maybe—his addictive-type
personality didn't seem to crave. “Forgive me, but I haven’t
noticed you exactly reaching out to your fans and fellow actors
either.”
She
shrugged, not visibly offended. “God, there's Doug getting our
dream-bed ready. Who knew I fantasised doing it outdoors in scarlet
silk?”
“No accounting for tastes. You okay about it, then?”
“Sure. Hey, if I'm a frigid cow with Wes, it's because he's