Superstar (25 page)

"No, I don't
recall making any such promise before."

"Don't. You're
only making it worse."

"You've got me
all figured out, haven't you? A cold-hearted philanderer with a
silver tongue and an endless repertoire of bullshit." His tone was
savage, and she bit her lip. He snorted. "How can you want to be
friends with someone like that?"

Carrin
shrugged, wishing the conversation would end. "So long as we're
friends, you can't hurt me. What you do for entertainment is your
business."

Mark turned
and clasped her shoulders. "What would it take to convince you that
you're wrong?"

Carrin glared
at him, her heart pounding. "Attacking me won't help."

He stared at
her, a muscle in his jaw jumping, his mouth a hard line. A look of
despair and defeat flashed in his eyes, then he released her and
turned away. "I'm not going to beg. Since you don't feel anything
for me, friendship will have to do, won't it?"

Carrin
clenched her fists until the pain of her nails digging into her
palms stemmed the awful urge to tell him the truth. He found it
frustrating and annoying that she was a pretty girl that he
couldn't lure into his bed, nothing more. The temptation to take
what little he offered and enjoy it while it lasted was strong, but
she knew that a temporary relationship with him would tear her
apart. She jumped up, brushing sand from her jeans. As she started
back towards the trailers, he rose and followed, calling out to
her.

"Carrin,
wait."

She let him
catch up and walk beside her.

"You're not
mad at me, are you?" he asked.

She shook her
head. "No, I'm flattered that you find me attractive."

"Flattered,"
he mused. "At least you feel something."

Carrin opened
her mouth to argue the state of her feelings, then realised it was
a trap and nodded. "Yes."

Mark sighed,
and they walked back to the location in silence. In her trailer,
she listened to the delicate snores of her female companions and
reviewed their conversation. One thing about it struck her. Mark
had been careful not to allow it to build into an argument. He had
not challenged or goaded her. From this, she deduced that he too
valued their friendship, and that helped to quench her burning
misery a little.

On Friday, she
received a phone call from Simon, who sounded upset and scared.

"Birdie
phoned."

"Oh, so he did
see the newspaper."

"He was
furious. The bank almost had him arrested."

"Pity they
didn't," she grumbled.

"He made
threats. He said he'd smash my face in, and break my arms. He wants
the photos back, but they're gone."

"Did you tell
him?"

"Of course! He
said he wants the two million, or he'll go to the press and tell
them the whole story."

Carrin
considered this, listening to his scared panting on the line.
"Okay, I'll speak to Mark."

"You two are
still speaking?"

"Why wouldn't
we be?"

"Well, you
fight a lot."

She pulled a
face. "We've managed not to. I'll call you back in a little
while."

Carrin
found Mark in the shade of an awning, chatting to a make-up girl. A
twinge of jealousy shot through her, and she quelled it.

"Mark, Simon
phoned. The trouble's started."

He looked up.
"Okay. We'll be back in the city tomorrow. Tell him to phone Birdie
and arrange for him to meet me at my house tomorrow."

His calm
assurance amazed her, and she wanted to question him further, but
he was already back in deep conversation with the giggling blond.
With a snort, she strode back to the phone to call Simon and relay
the message. He sounded relieved, and promised to do it right away.
Carrin avoided the awning under which Mark was ensconced with the
blond and went to sit with Warren instead. The producer chatted
about the film, while Carrin tried not to think about Mark and the
girl.

That
afternoon, they left the equipment on location under guard, and the
cast and crew drove back to the city in buses or cars. Mark had
asked her to join him in his, and she had accepted. The silver-grey
limousine purred beside the road, waiting for her, and John opened
the door. He was not smiling, and she caught a flash of warning in
his eyes. She peered inside instead of sliding in, and found Mark
sitting with the little blond make up girl cuddled beside him.
Carrin hesitated.

"I think I'll
go with Warren."

"What's
wrong?"

"Nothing, but
you know how it is. Two's company, three's a crowd."

She turned
away as he called after her, "In a limousine?"

Carrin ignored
him, and John gave her an approving smile before he slammed the
door. She went in search of Warren, afraid that she would miss him
and be left on location with the guards and their dogs like
forgotten baggage. Warren was happy to have company on the drive,
and helped her into his black Cadillac.

"I thought you
were going with Mark?"

"He has
company already. I thought it would be more fun to go with
you."

"Oh, I see."
He looked puzzled.

Mark's name
was not mentioned again, and he dropped her off at her hotel with a
cheerful wave. Almost as she walked into her room, the phone rang.
It was Simon, to her relief, to tell her that the meeting was set
for the following morning at Mark's.

Carrin nodded.
"Okay. Could you swing by and pick me up?"

"I thought
Mark would send his car?"

"I'd rather
not bother him, besides, it's on your way."

"No it's not.
Have you two had a fight again?"

She forced a
laugh. "No. If it's too much trouble, I'll take a damned taxi."

He sighed.
"No, no, I'll pick you up. What's it about this time?"

"Nothing. We're not fighting, he's just... made a new
friend. One of the make-up girls. He might be busy."

"Mark? That's
odd."

"What's
odd?"

"Well
Mark's not... He's not only the most eligible bachelor in
Hollywood, he's also the most elusive. He doesn't go out with
make-up girls."

She laughed.
"Well he does now. He must have taken a shine to this one."

"Carrin..."

"Yes?"

"Don't be
upset, he must have a reason."

"Oh, I'm
sure... in fact I know he has a reason, and I know what it is,
too."

"Oh, what?"
Simon sounded relieved.

"You should
know, you're a man."

He spluttered.
"You're not suggesting... come on, Carrin, Mark's not like
that."

"He's a man
too, isn't he?"

"Yes,
but..."

"Relax. Why
should I be upset about it, anyway? Mark can go out with whomever
he likes. We're just friends."

"But -"

"I'll see you
tomorrow morning. Don't be late."

Carrin
hung up before Simon could say anything else, her mind whirling.
Now she knew why Mark was flirting with the make-up girl. Simon had
given her the clue she needed. If he wasn't normally like this,
then it could only mean that he was trying to make her jealous. She
had rejected him again, and told him that she did not feel anything
more than friendship for him. That must have dented his ego badly,
for now he was trying make her jealous to prove her wrong. He was
right, of course, she was, but she was not going to give him that
satisfaction. In fact, she would make him regret it. Her decision
cheered her up immensely, and she almost looked forward to the next
day.

Chapter
Eleven

Simon was on
time, and studied her with worried eyes as she slid into the
limousine beside him.

"Well, you
look more cheerful today. Did you speak to Mark?"

"Nope. I
haven't seen him."

Simon's blond
brows rose. "You haven't?"

"No. Like I
told you yesterday, I just didn't want to bother him in case he was
busy. I mean, he brought his new friend back with him yesterday,
and they probably had a lovely time last night. He wouldn't want to
be bothered about fetching me."

He looked
perplexed. "All he has to do is send his car."

"Yes, but I
would have had to phone him and disturb them. I already had you on
the phone." She smiled at him.

Simon turned
to stare out at the passing scenery. "I can't believe Mark is doing
this."

"Why? He's
entitled to a little fun, isn't he?"

"Yes, but...
he led me to believe... he told me..." he stammered into
silence.

"Told you
what?"

"Nothing. I'm
going to talk to him about it."

She shrugged.
"If you like. But don't make the poor man feel guilty, for heaven's
sake. That wouldn't be fair on him, now would it?"

He stared at
her as if she had sprouted horns, and it was all she could do not
to laugh. A sudden idea struck Carrin. She needed an ally, if an
unwitting one.

"Are you going
out with Janice now?"

The change of
subject appeared to startle him. "Not really. I mean, she'd like
to, but apart from a great body and her looks, she's really not my
type."

"Oh good. In
that case, since we're both free, why don't you and I go out this
weekend?"

"I don't think
that would be a good idea. Mark wouldn't like it. You know what he
thinks of me."

She snorted.
"What's it got to do with him? He'll be busy with his new friend,
so why not? We're friends, aren't we?"

"Well sure,
but..."

"Good, that's
settled then. I'd like to go out tonight, dinner and dancing.
Somewhere glitzy and glamorous." Somewhere with a lot of paparazzi,
she added silently.

Simon looked
confused, and she realised that he was easily influenced. The great
Simon Grey, superstar, was a pushover. She didn't feel guilty about
using him. Simon was too shallow to be hurt by such a move, and he
used people all the time, especially women, so maybe it was his
turn to be used.

The car pulled
up outside Mark's mansion, and Carrin slid out while the chauffeur
held the door. Simon followed her into the house, where a maid
directed them into the den. Carrin found it to be an imposing room,
the walls covered with movie posters, all starring Mark Lord in the
lead role. Priceless Persian rugs covered the floor, and antique
glass cabinets displayed an impressive array of awards and
statuettes, including two Oscars and three Academy Awards, amongst
many others. She had noticed the lack of memorabilia around the
house, and now she knew why. It was all here, in his trophy room. A
huge TV stood before shelves packed with Mark Lord's movies. She
gazed around, wondering what Mark used this room for.

The superstar
stood silhouetted before the glass doors that opened onto the
garden, and turned as they entered. A royal blue smoking jacket
clung to his broad shoulders and hung open to reveal a cream silk
shirt tucked into slim-fitting jeans. Narrow black suede boots shod
his feet.

"Simon,
Carrin. Hi, sit down, have a drink."

Carrin sat,
pointedly ignoring the wealth of achievement around her, and smiled
at Mark.

"Where's your
new friend?"

"Patsy? She's
in the pool. I thought... well, this is business, and it only
involves the three of us, right?"

"Of course.
But I would like to meet her, she seems really nice."

"She is. You
should have driven here with us, you could have met her then."

Carrin shook
her head. "I would have, but Warren was all alone, poor thing, so
when I saw that you had company, I thought I'd keep him
company."

"Ah." He
nodded. "I hope he appreciated it."

"He did. We
had a lovely chat, and came up with a few ideas for the movie,
too."

Mark nodded
again, looking a little bemused. Simon poured a stiff drink, his
eyes darting between them. Carrin sat back and smiled, well pleased
with her ploy's success. A knocking came at the door, and Mark
called out for the applicant to enter. Rita stood aside and showed
Birdie in. The seedy singer slouched across the room, his oily,
plaited hair swinging around his face. His skin-tight leather jeans
squeaked as he walked, and the gold jewellery that adorned just
about every orifice he possessed, as well as his neck, wrists and
fingers, jangled an accompaniment. His eyes darted around the room,
taking in the awards and tokens of achievement that he could never
hope to match with a sour glare. Mark straightened behind the
imposing desk and gestured to a chair.

"Have a seat,
Birdie."

The singer
glared around, spotting Carrin. "Mrs Jones, I presume?" He sneered.
"Or is it Miss York?"

She raised her
chin. "It's Miss York."

"Yeah. Did you
enjoy your trip?" He sniggered.

Mark appeared
to be controlling himself with an effort. "Sit down."

Birdie
sprawled in a chair and flung back his braids to glare at Mark.
"So, Mr Big Man Superstar Lord, where's the cheque?"

"There's no
cheque." Mark walked around the desk to stand in front of Birdie,
forcing him to look up, which put him at a disadvantage.

Birdie
growled, "I distinctly told that wimp to have a cheque for me." He
looked at Simon, who gulped his drink.

"There's no
cheque," Mark repeated.

Birdie jumped
up. "I told you, I want two million -"

"And I told
you to sit down." Mark gave him a push in the chest that sent him
crashing back into the chair. "I didn't have you come here so that
I could give you money. I had you come here to tell you that you're
not getting anything."

Birdie glared
up at him. "I'll tell the story to the press, and they'll crucify
you."

Mark folded
his arms, leant against the desk and shook his head. "No they
won't. Without the pictures it's all hearsay, and I'll sue you for
slander if you open your mouth. You're lucky if Miss York doesn't
press charges for that drug you slipped into her drink. That's
passing an illegal substance. What's more, I could have the police
drop by sometime and check your supplies for you. Now wouldn't that
make great headlines?"