Dreams Are Not Enough (43 page)

Irving, dear, Even though this is going in the pouch, you will probably see me first. Since Alyssia had passed out in front of the camera, Beth felt as if a skillful ophthalmologist had removed cataracts from both her eyes.

She no longer viewed Hap and Alyssia through the obscuring lens of the years that they had lived together: instead, she saw them as they were now, two professionals related by marriage who were making a film together.

“Beth, are you decent?” The familiar masculine voice rose over the aggressive counterpoint of rain.

“It’s me, Hap.”

Speak of the devil, she thought.

“Don’t stand on ceremony, Hap,” she called.

“You could drown out there.”

He took off his yellow slicker, and as he hung it on the hook, streaming water darkened the floor planks. Using the towel that she handed him, he wiped his face, then rubbed his hair. He did not speak.

Instead, he gazed at her with bloodshot eyes.

All at once she was positive that her cousin was the bearer of evil news. Who was it? Clarrie? Irving? Her father? Barry—had something awful happened to Barry?

“Hap …” she faltered.

“What is it?”

“At dinner you said something about leaving tomorrow morning.”

She relaxed and her voice returned to its normal serenity.

“Tomorrow morning at nine. Derek” —the White Hunter whom she had hired to keep up her pretence of being on a camera safari”—has chartered a plane to get us to Nairobi. From there I’m booked on a Lufthansa flight. Hap, you sweet idiot you, did you come out in all this rain just to say goodbye?”

Hap didn’t seem to hear her. Gazing down at his ankle-high boots, which were slathered with brown mud, he asked, “Have you noticed anything different about Alyssia the last couple of days?”

Beth’s warning antennae immediately shot up.

“Isn’t she incredible? If it had been me passing out, I’d have taken off a few days—but not my sisterin-law. She’s a real trouper.”

“Bethie, I’ve directed her too many times. I know her work. Since she fainted, the spark’s gone.”

Beth had a habit of remaining silent while she puzzled through new information. What hidden reason had propelled Hap through the downpour? It couldn’t be to discuss Alyssia’s performance with her.

Had her suspicions indeed been well grounded? Had there been a lovers’ quarrel? Did Hap expect her—of all people—to patch it up? But on the other hand, Hap had never been devious.

His red-streaked eyes were fixed on her.

“She seems in top form to me,” Beth said guardedly.

“She’s running on technique. I can’t put my finger on anything specific, except to know something’s missing.”

“Have you talked to her?”

“Bethie, how can I go to an actress with this line of questioning?

It’d be the kiss of death for any working relationship. ” He paused.

“If Barry were here, I’d talk it over with him.”

“She did rush off the set,” Beth said thoughtfully.

“I’ve spent hours trying to figure it. Maybe I’ve somehow offended her. Maybe the film’s too rugged physically. Maybe the sun’s too much for her. Or maybe it’s just her period.”

Beth looked down at her large emerald engagement ring, wishing he hadn’t brought up anything so intimate.

“Hap, you haven’t worked with her for years. Maybe you’ve just forgotten that she’s like all actors—she has her good days and her bad.”

“I thought of that, too,” he said.

“Beth, does this seem completely off the wall? I even figured the fainting might mean she’s pregnant.”

“She’d certainly have told me.” But as she spoke, Beth’s eyes narrowed reflectively. Hadn’t the chain-smoking wardrobe woman been talking about loosely laced corsets and altering hooks on costumes?

“I can’t work like this. Will you do me a big favor? Find out what’s bothering her.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll wait here.”

“You mean I should talk to her now?”

“You’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Hap, the rain” — “It’s almost stopped.”

The thrumming on the roof had indeed lessened.

“But the lights’re ready to go out” — “Isn’t she in the next tent?”

“Yes, but” -He was gazing at her with those bloodshot eyes. One of Our Own Gang pleading for help. Sighing, she reached for her umbrella and flashlight.

“Hi, Beth. What a surprise.” Alyssia splayed her book face down on the khaki blanket.

Minus makeup, her beautiful face shadowed by thick, glossy black hair, she looked haggard. No—more than haggard. Alyssia looked ill. Then she sat up straighter, smiling. The picture of health.

But Beth knew an actress’s bag of tricks. And she didn’t have time to spar around with words. Setting down her wet, still open umbrella, she asked, “Alyssia, maybe this is way off base, but are you pregnant?”

Alyssia’s thick, dark eyelashes fluttered, her pale lips quivered briefly. Then she recovered.

“A little,” she said with a tiny chuckle.

“Un peu.”

Beth’s fingertips curved involuntarily, as if to scratch or gouge.

Alyssia, having a child!

Alyssia doing what she, Beth, desired to do above all things—and feared most. Not having an envious nature, Beth didn’t recognize her sudden surge of hotly violent emotion as jealousy.

“Wonderful!” she said in a strangled tone.

“After all these years! I’m so happy for you and Barry. But whatever possessed you, doing The Baobab Tree?”

“I signed long before the baby was started, and by the time I found out, we were leaving in a couple of days. Beth, look—will you keep this under wraps?”

“Why? I don’t understand the whole thing.”

“It’s just easier if people don’t know. You’re the only one who does know.”

“You mean you haven’t told Barry?”

“Especially not Barry. I’ll tell him when he finishes Spy.”

“This is his baby, too.” Beth couldn’t repress her punitive note.

“Bethie, this book’s so important to him.” Alyssia’s voice broke with sincerity.

“You know he’s never respected his television work or even his screenplays for Wandering On and Transformations. Ever since I met him, his goal has been to be a novelist.”

“You can’t hide this.”

“His last letter said he’s almost done.”

After a brief pause, Beth said in that same vaguely punitive tone, “It’s hard to believe your OH okayed doing this particular role.”

“I’m in tiptop shape, Beth. How did you guess?”

Beth stirred uneasily.

“Oh, observation, and something the wardrobe woman said.”

The low-watt bulb flickered, dimming until only the filament showed.

Beth’s fears crowded into the darkness. She clicked on the flashlight, holding it straight-armed in front of her the way actors hold crosses to ward off vampires.

“You promise not to spread the word?” Alyssia asked from beyond the shadows.

“Or tell Barry?”

“I won’t.” Forgetting her umbrella, Beth charged into the dripping, terrifying African night.

Hap, sitting in the clammy, pitch-black tent, squinted into her flashlight.

“Well?” he asked in a low voice.

Beth told him that Alyssia was indeed having a baby and had sworn her to secrecy.

“You mustn’t let on that you know,” she finished.

“I’ll do my best to make it easy on her, that’s all.” Hap’s hands were clenched tightly.

“If only Barry were around” -Beth interrupted, whispering.

“He’s nearly done with the book and she wants him to finish. She hasn’t told him yet, and she’ll be furious if anyone else does.”

“Even that maid of hers isn’t here. Your leaving is going to be very rough on her.”

“Hap, I’ve been away two months!”

“Couldn’t you stretch it out just a bit longer until Barry gets here?”

A pair of white moths circled around the flashlight. Something about the way the shadows moved across Hap’s face made Beth sense that this was what had brought her cousin to her tent in the first place. He wanted her to stay so Alyssia would have somebody to lean on. His eyes were pleading with her.

“Clarrie and Irving have managed this long.” She sighed, then added reluctantly, “A few more days won’t be the end of the world.”

“I knew I could count on you, Bethie,” he said with that warm smile of his.

After he left, Beth tore up the letter to Irving and set the flashlight on the table to compose another. Writing about Alyssia’s secret in some manner eased her jealousy, and by the time she pulled the blankets up over her ears, she considered herself delighted with the news of her impending niece or nephew.

The following dawn, over coffee, Beth told Alyssia she was staying”—Just a bit longer.”

“I knew I never should have told you,” Alyssia retorted.

“Don’t be so conceited. The African mystique has finally gotten through. Irving and Clarrie are having a wonderful time together.

Aren’t I entitled to a holiday? “

Alyssia and Beth were nibbling iodine-washed lunch salads in the trailer when a faraway buzz intruded, growing louder and angrier.

“Sounds like a helicopter,” Beth said.

“Doesn’t it, though? But I thought Maxim paid off enough Nairobi officials to ward off every chopper, plane and minibus for miles around.” She set down her fork, pulling aside the curtain.

The two women watched the machine land amid great, swirling clouds of yellow-brown dust. A man emerged, ducking under blades that whipped his thinning brown hair.

Alyssia sat back abruptly.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“It’s Lang.”

Beth, deafened by the roar, shook her head to show she hadn’t heard.

“It’s Robert Lang!” Alyssia shouted.

Ten minutes later, when the din had subsided, Beth was still asking, “What’s he doing here?”

“Checking up, Beth, that’s all it can be.”

“Nobody drops down out of the blue like that.”

“It’s his style.”

“Close again, please. Miss del Mar,” said the makeup artist, applying another of the six pinks that enhanced the soft fullness of Alyssia’s lips.

Beth stared out the trailer window. Hap and Lang stood talking. They were too far away to make out expressions, but Hap’s feet were braced apart, as if he were a soldier standing guard.

“Perfect,” said the makeup woman.

“There you go, Miss del Mar.”

Alyssia left the trailer, hurrying along the path. In the shadow of the stable carriage house, Cliff Camron sat on a stool while his hairdresser stuck bits of straw in his tinted yellow hair.

“So the moneybags has arrived,” Cliff said.

“It’s probably come to his attention that we’re a mite over budget,” Alyssia replied.

“Stop worrying, chick. Isn’t old Cliff here to protect you?” He ogled the open neckline of her shirtwaist with his boyish grin.

“Don’t you look eminently seducible.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. Cliff might be an irresponsible egotist, but he was a likable one.

Entering the stable, she saw Hap peering through the camera.

As she approached, he looked up.

“Alyssia,” he said.

“Have a minute?”

“Any number of minutes.”

He led her to a dim corner where their privacy would be respected.

“Lang’s here,” he said.

“Descended from the heavens,” she said.

“He wants to watch the afternoon’s shooting.”

“Funny. I never thought of him as a masochist.”

“Is it okay with you?”

A wintry shiver ran through her. Under Lang’s unblinking gaze, how could she respond with a young girl’s timidly awakening passion to Cliff’s baring of her breasts? But it was Maxim’s warning that Lang would blame Hap for everything and anything that dictated her response.

“Delighted to have him aboard,” she said.

“You’re positive?”

“Isn’t he putting up his illegally gotten gains to make this Euripidean tale of love and revenge?”

“You’re upset enough as it is.”

“Upset? Flattered’s more like it. After all, he’s flown to Africa to view my anatomy.”

“You’re reaching. You always reach when you’re shook.”

“I must remember it’s a no-no to be directed by former lovers.”

Hap was standing with his back to the lights of the setup. Shadows pooled in his eye sockets.

“Alyssia, what happened the other night—I’d been building myself up in a major way that the baby was mine. When you told me it was Barry’s, I couldn’t deal with it.” He sighed.

“I still can’t deal with it.”

Numbness prickled on her face and she wondered if she had gone white under her makeup.

“Not to fret,” she said.

“We each have our own little adjustment problems.”

“I’m trying to apologize.”

“For what?”

“I behaved badly. Look, I want to be able to deal with it, God how I want to! Alyssia, give me time.”

“How about another few months? Let me see, what will you two be? First cousin once removed, does that sound right?”

“Stop putting up barriers. At least let’s talk about it.”

“But we are talking,” she said.

“Very heavy stuff.”

“You can’t punish me any more than I’m punishing myself.”

“What’s the problem, Hap? We had a little location fling for old time’s sake.”

He swallowed sharply, as if he were going to respond. Instead, he walked away.

She called after him, “Please tell Mr. Lang if he wants to watch, as far as I’m concerned he’s welcome.”

Hap nodded but didn’t turn. As she watched him go toward the brightly lit setup, she leaned against the plank wall, weakened by inconsolable misery.

Lang sat just out of camera range, his chin in his hand, and though she couldn’t see him, she could never forget he was staring at her.

She found it impossible to keep her mind away from the conversation with Hap. No wonder she couldn’t rouse up the appropriately enamored rapture as Cliff’s hands began their maneuvering. She fluffed her lines.

On the twelfth take, Hap called, “People, be back in fifteen minutes.”

“Upsydaisy,” Cliff said, extending his hand.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Happens to all of us,” he replied goodnaturedly.

The chain-smoking wardrobe mistress handed her a duster to pull over her now gaping shirtwaist.