Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (102 page)

'I won't.' She shook her head. 'I just want to be left alone.'

He held his pipe and appeared to study it closely. 'Tell me,' he said slowly, 'did you discuss these plans with anyone else?'
He looked over at her. 'A columnist? Someone else in the
business? A friend even?'

She shook her head and stubbed out her cigarette in the
crystal ashtray. 'Only Inge knows, and if anyone can keep her
mouth shut, believe me, it's Inge.'

'Then do yourself and me a favour. Just one. That's all I
ask.'

She looked at him questioningly.

'Don't announce your retirement. Not formally or infor
mally. Don't say anything to anybody. Just go away and have
yourself a good time. For all practical purposes, I'll pretend
it's a leave of absence. In the meantime, treat yourself to a
nice vacation. God knows, you deserve one. Then, when you
decide to return—'

'I won't return,' she interrupted him.

He smiled tolerantly. 'Then,
if you
should decide to return,
all you need do is renegotiate a contract. You won't have
burned any bridges you may need.'

She looked at him.
'
O.T., can't you take what I'm telling
you at face value? If you're hoping I'll return, you're only
fooling yourself. I don't want to be Tamara the film star any
more. I want to be Tamara Boralevi, the woman.'

'You may feel strongly about that now, but what about six
months from now? You can't know how you'll feel down the
road.' He paused for emphasis. 'You've got nothing to lose
doing it my way, and everything if you do it yours.'

She let that sink in for a moment. 'Perhaps you're right,'
she admitted. 'I'll do it your way.'

'Good. Then that's settled, at least.' He smiled. 'At the risk of sounding terribly pompous, I usually do tend to be right.
You know, you're a young woman, Tamara, and young people
need excitement. More important, the actress in you needs a
creative outlet. Then again, I may be wrong and you may be
right. Who call tell?' He shrugged. 'Eventually time will prove
one of us right.'

'That it will, O.T.' She smiled. 'You know, I'm going to
miss you.'

'Not as much as I'll miss you. You were always my favourite,
you know.'

'Why, because I was your biggest moneymaker?' she asked
shrewdly.

'That's part of it, but mainly because there's a rare quality
about you . . .' Abruptly he changed the subject. 'How are
you fixed for money? Retirement, even leaves of absence'—
he smiled—'can be expensive.'

'I . . . I'll be all right. I've been liquidating my assets.'

'And that mother of Louie's? Is she giving you any more
trouble?'

She looked at him in surprise, wondering how he knew.
'No, that's all settled,' she said grimly.

He nodded. 'It's a shame she got what she did. From now
on, before you sign something, I hope you get some legal
advice first.' It seemed he had ears everywhere. 'Isn't there
anything I can do then?'

'As a matter of fact, there is. Your friend, the art
dealer . . .' She searched her memory and frowned. 'I've for
gotten his name.'

'Bernard Katzenbach.'

She nodded. 'I've been meaning to get hold of him.'

'He was in Chicago bidding at an auction for me. I believe
he's supposed to return late tonight or early tomorrow.'

'Tell him I'd appreciate it if he would call me. I want to sell
the paintings.'

'The Toulouse-Lautrec, Gauguin, and Renoir?'

She nodded. 'Those and the others. I really have no use for
them now, and the money will do me a lot more good.'

For a moment she thought she caught an acquisitive glim
mer in his eyes, and she held her breath, hoping for an offer.
Oscar Skolnik was one of the biggest art collectors in the
country and the superb paintings Louis had given her would
have made a fine addition to any collection.

He nodded finally. 'I'll see to it that Bernie calls you as soon
as I get hold of him.'

'Well, that's all for now. I'd better be getting back home
now. I've got to get up early tomorrow and start making defi
nite plans. There's a lot I still have to do.'

'When do you plan to leave?'

'As soon as the paintings and a few others things are sold.'

'So soon?'

She nodded. 'My mind is made up, so there's really no sense
in delaying any further.'

He nodded and walked her to the door. 'Let me know when
you leave, so I can come to say good-bye.'

She kissed his cheek and then, without another word, hur
ried out into the unseasonably warm night.

Chapter 21

A week later, Tamara was physically exhausted, mentally
depleted, but despite the unpleasantness of it all, she felt
rather pleased. It was almost over. The paintings were gone,
even though Katzenbach's price was a huge disappointment.
Inge had returned with the nine-thousand-dollar certified
cheque from the furrier and had gone right back out to the
jeweller's with a box tucked under her arm. Friendly Frank,
the used-car salesman, had gone to Tamahawk and picked up
the eight cars registered in her name. She had his certified
cheque in hand too. After she'd tallied the money she had in
the bank and the three weeks of pay she still had coming, and
then deducted what she owed the hotel for the bungalow,
she was gratified to discover that there would be a little over
$115,000 if Inge managed to sell the jewellery for a third of its
cost. And that was after the bank got paid off. All in all, it
wasn't much, considering her retirement from the movies and the sobering fact that she would have no income. Still, it wasn't
peanuts, not by a long shot. It would last, as long as she and
Inge husbanded it carefully, and it was more than enough for
a new start in life.

She tore up the paper on which she had done the figuring
and tossed the pieces into the wastebasket. Then she pushed
back her chair and rose from behind the little desk. For a
long moment she stood in the centre of the room and looked
around. It seemed empty and colourless and depressing now
that the paintings were gone. They had stamped the bungalow
as her own, made it feel like home. Now it was just another
hotel suite. The Matisse looked lonely and out of place by
itself; Katzenbach hadn't wanted it.

She crossed over to the bar setup on the trolley. She could
use a stiff drink. Perhaps a neat Scotch.

She picked up the bottle and was about to pour, when she put it back down. She had a better idea. She picked up the
phone and dialed room service.

After she ordered a bottle of 1928 Krug champagne chilled
until frosty, she began to feel a lot better. The haggling had
been exhausting, the money-grubbing distasteful. It reminded her all too much of the desperate months when they had been
forced to live at Paterson's Mortuary. Now, at least, it was all
finished. That was a reason to celebrate.

Besides, she and Inge deserved a premature farewell party,
even if they would celebrate it by themselves. What better
way to ring in the new, frugal chapter of their lives, she ration
alized, than with one last bottle of hideously expensive cham
pagne?

The next day, while Inge went to make the travel arrange
ments for the first leg of their journey, Tamara was already
busy packing. O.T. watched her in silence, puffing on his
ubiquitous pipe as he leaned in a corner, staying out of her way. 'Now that you've slept on it a week, you're sure I can't
dissuade you? Even for triple your current salary and unilat
eral approval over projects and script changes?'

She turned and stared at him. It was an unheard-of
proposition, one any star would have jumped at, but she shook
her head as she continued sorting through the closets. She was
trying to pare clothes down to the necessities, in this case four
suitcases and two steamer trunks full. She had originally opted
for the bare minimum, but then prudence had won out. She
didn't know what she would really need, and she would have to be careful with money from now on. Since there would be
little to spend frivolously on clothes, and she could always give
things away in the future, she thought it wisest to hang on to
as much as possible now. 'No, O.T.,' she said wearily. 'And
do me a favour? Stop trying to convince me to stay. I thought
we'd settled all this earlier.'

'One last stab,' he said. 'A quarter of a million dollars per
picture—will that change your mind?'

She drew a deep breath and met his eyes squarely. Turning
that kind of money down was probably the hardest thing she'd
done in her life. 'O.T., I thought I'd make myself perfectly
clear,' she said shakily, 'but at the risk of repeating myself, I'll
tell you once again. It's not a matter of money.' She tossed some dresses onto the bed. 'I've spent seven years in this
business and I've made eighteen films for you. I've let my face
be carved up and changed the way you wanted it. I dressed
like you wanted, on the set and off. I acted in the films you
wanted to make. I played roles on screen and off. I've lived a
third of my life in a damn goldfish bowl, afraid to even breathe
the wrong way. I was public property and belonged to every
one except myself. Now I think it's high time I became the
person I really am—if I can find her again.' She paused and
added gently, 'My mind is made up, O.T. If you care about
me at all, you'll respect that.' She continued packing in silence.

He didn't speak until a full minute had passed. 'All right,' he said finally. 'You win. Contrary to my better judgement,
I'll respect your decision. Just remember, if you ever do
change your mind and decide to continue your career, come
see me first. My door is always open to you though I can't
make any promises about how much you'll be worth then. The
public's a fickle master, friend one day and foe the next. You
know what they say: out of sight, out of mind. That is truer in
this business than in anything else.'