The Beach House (13 page)

Chapter 9

Chris rolled from his side to his back, tucking his hands under his head and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling in his bedroom. He couldn't sleep. His mind simply wouldn't shut down.

His two-day crowd scene in the movie had turned into a small speaking role that lasted four days and kept him on the set from early morning to late at night. During that time he'd seen Janice for an hour or so when he came home at night and a half hour every morning when they ran together on the beach, but that was all. She insisted she didn't mind. He hoped she was saying it only to be polite, because he sure as hell minded being away from her.

Just when Chris thought his role was over, Robert showed up on the set and asked him to hang around a few more days. He'd almost forgotten the conversation at Tony's party when Tony and Robert had said he looked like some David guy they both knew, but that night Chris had been reminded in a way he wasn't likely ever to forget.

It turned out David wasn't a person but a character in a book that Robert was making into a movie. They'd been looking for an actor to fill the role for over six months. But no one they'd come up with so far could win the author's approval. The deal had been about to fall apart when Tony spotted Chris.

Then tonight, the unimaginable had happened.

Robert offered him the role.

Now all Chris had to do was figure out what he was going to do about it.

When Chris told them there was no way the author would want someone who didn't have enough acting talent to talk his way out of a traffic ticket, Robert informed him that there had been half a dozen people from the project on the set that week, including the author. They'd come specifically to look him over, and all concurred—he was the perfect David.

Chris had been flattered at first, but close on its heels had come dry-mouthed fear. Robert was dumbfounded when Chris told him that he wanted some time to think about the offer first.

Before he'd left the set that night, the people Robert had brought with him began anticipating Chris's doubts and potential problems and supplying answers. School wouldn't be a problem; he'd have the best tutors available. It didn't matter that he'd never acted; he was a natural. Whatever he didn't know, they could teach him. The studio would arrange and pay for a place for him and his mother to live; they would even provide a car and driver. If he didn't like acting, it was only one movie, not a lifetime commitment. Chris couldn't help but notice that the last was said with about as much conviction as a kid left alone in a candy store promising not to eat anything.

The kicker, the argument Chris couldn't ignore, was the money. They wouldn't give a solid offer, telling him it was up to the agent he hired to work out the final figure, but the hinted amount could pay his way through Yale
and
Stanford and still leave enough for a down payment on his house at the beach.

How could he say no?

God, how could he say yes? Being in movies wasn't something ordinary people like him did. You had to be special, you had to want it so badly that you waited tables and lived in dumps and sacrificed.

Robert's staff had insisted he could pull it off, but what if they were wrong? What happened if they started filming and he was terrible? Everyone would know. It was the kind of thing you read about in newspapers and saw on those entertainment shows on television.

What if he made it through okay and the critics turned thumbs down?

It wasn't even an action flick that they wanted him for, something where it didn't matter whether he could act or not because all anyone cared about was how many cars and buildings were blown up. This story was about a kid in a small town in the Midwest whose father is wrongly accused of child molestation. The book had been on the best-seller list forever. Millions of people who had read the book and who would see the movie had their own ideas of what David should be like. There was no way he could please them all. He was Chris Sadler, not this David character.

The problem was Chris loved everything about making movies, or at least everything he'd seen so far. He'd even started daydreaming about being an actor someday, but it was a long way from dreaming to doing. He felt as if he'd been told he'd qualified for the Olympics, but as a platform diver.

He rolled back on his side, doubling the feather pillow and propping it under his head as he gazed out the window at the passing clouds.

Janice had waited up for him that night, as she had every night that past week. He'd spilled his news like a glass of milk, fast and all over the place. She hadn't said anything for a long time afterward. It was almost as if he'd dumped a load of compost in her lap and she couldn't figure out if it was for flowers or garbage. When the surprise had worn off and they'd finally talked about it, she'd said aloud all the things that were bothering him. She understood why he was more terrified than excited about the chance he'd been given and why, in spite of everything, he'd be an idiot to refuse.

What if five or ten years from then he decided acting was his thing? He wasn't so naive to think opportunities like this came along every day.

As Chris left the set that night, Robert let it casually drop that he'd set up a screen test for Chris in Los Angeles in two days. He assured him that it was just a formality, that no one who'd seen him had any doubt he could handle the part.

Chris had a feeling a lot of the stuff they were feeding him was crap, but he had no way to know for sure.

Bottom line—did he want to trade his last year in high school and a chance to repeat as state wrestling champion for what could either be the best or the worst thing that had ever happened to him? He had to make up his mind before he said anything to his mother. It was important the decision and its consequences be his, not hers.

He'd started to roll onto his back again when he heard the door open and someone come inside. Thinking—hoping—it was Janice, he propped himself up on his elbow and asked softly, “What's up?”

“I knew you'd be awake,” Tracy whispered. “I have something to show you.”

As confused as he was surprised, Chris sat up and peered at the dark figure at the foot of his bed. “Now?”

“You didn't leave me much choice. You're never here anymore,” she said in a pouting voice. She ran her fingers through her long hair to fluff it before sweeping it forward to lay on her shoulders.

He was dreaming.

He had to be.

But why this dream? And why now? He was over Tracy, at least that was what he'd told himself.

It was dark in his room, but Chris had no trouble seeing Tracy when she moved into the light coming from his window. She had on a short, silky bathrobe untied and open far enough to reveal a skimpy matching gown. His heart did a somersault before it slammed against his ribs.

She came around the side of the bed and sat next to him, drawing her leg up until it touched his. “It's boring around here without you.”

Jesus, it wasn't a dream. Not only could he feel her heat, he could smell her perfume, a heavy, musky odor that permeated his lungs and left him sucking for cleaner air. “What do you want, Tracy?”

She smiled. “First you have to promise you won't tell.”

It took a while to sink in that she was flirting with him. He would have been less surprised if a giant wave engulfed them and washed them out to sea. “Look, I'm tired and—”

She put her hand on his leg, high up near his groin. “Come on, Chris, all I'm asking is one little promise.”

Angry that she thought he was so gone on her that all she had to do was touch him and he would do whatever she asked, Chris took her hand off his thigh and moved to the middle of the double bed. “You're after something, Tracy. Why don't you just tell me what it is so we can skip all this other shit.”

She took some time before she answered. “It's really hard for me to admit this.” She did the thing with her hair again. “But Janice made me see how wrong I've been about you. We only have two more weeks.” She shrugged, bringing her shoulders forward and exposing the tops of her breasts. “I want to make the best of them.”

She was lying. He could see it in her eyes. “Sorry,” he said, feeling an intoxicating sense of power. “I'm not interested.”

“Janice told me that you were still mad about the other night,” she said, providing her own explanation for his refusal. She smiled seductively. “She tried to convince me it was serious, but I told her you've been mad at me before and that it never lasts very long.”

“Look, Tracy, I don't know what game you're playing or why, but I've got to get up early. If you've got something to tell me, either get it over with or save it until I get home.”

“Where are you going?”

She'd asked in such a way that it was obvious she already knew the answer. Like looking at the back of the crossword puzzle book, he suddenly understood, and everything fell into place. Somehow Tracy had found out about his being in the movie. “No place special,” he answered her.

“Can I go?”

“Why?”

“If I don't get away from here, I'm going to go crazy. You know what a pain in the ass my mother can be when she gets on one of her kicks.” This time her smile was coy. “Besides, she'd have an absolute shit fit if she found out what I did.”

She'd thrown the line, knowing there was no way he could resist taking the bait. “What did you do?”

“First you have to promise you won't tell.”

She didn't care about any promise; it was getting him to do what she wanted that mattered. For the first time in all the years they'd known each other, he had the upper hand in something. “Forget it,” he said. “I don't want to know.”

“Why are you being such a—” She caught herself. “Why are you being so stubborn? All I'm asking for is—The hell with it. I guess I'll just have to trust you.” She turned on the lamp beside the bed, sat back, spread her legs, and waited for Chris's reaction.

A shaft of heat hit his testicles. He felt himself grow hard—which was precisely what she'd been after. Instead of being turned on, he was pissed. Big time. She'd made a fool of him again.

“Well, what do you think?”

“About what?” he asked coolly.

“The tattoo.”

Even knowing it was a mistake, he couldn't stop himself from looking. There, high up on the inside of her thigh, an inch below the elastic on her blue bikini panties, was a rose encircled in barbed wire. All Chris could think about was how long she'd sat with her legs spread while some stranger got his rocks off branding her.

“Isn't it great?” she said.

“Yeah, I guess. Whatever makes you happy.”

“You want to touch it?”

He stared at her. All this because he'd had a couple of lines in a movie? “No thanks.”

She moved closer. “I don't mind. It's kind of—”

A light tapping drew their attention. The door eased open before Chris could answer. Janice came inside and closed the door behind her. She was wearing shorts and a sweatshirt with LIFE'S A BEACH printed across the front.

Tracy smiled triumphantly. Chris didn't move.

“I thought I'd find you in here,” Janice said, returning the smile.

Tracy turned and settled in next to Chris, leaning her back against the antique carved oak headboard and her shoulder into his. “You might want to wait for an answer before you come barging in next time.” With deliberate movements, she closed the front of her robe. “What do you want, anyway?”

“You need to work on your timing,” Janice said. “This is when Chris and I go running every morning.”

If Janice had been a little closer, Chris would have kissed her. “Give me a minute. I'll meet you outside.”

Janice nodded and left.

“I thought you said you wanted me to leave so you could get some sleep,” Tracy said accusingly.

Chris reached for the shorts he'd left on the chair beside the bed. “I figured you'd be uncomfortable if Janice found us together.”

“Why should that bother me?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “I don't know, maybe I thought it might screw things up for you if she told your boyfriend about me when you got home.”

She flung herself out of his bed. “You're a loser, Chris Sadler. You always were and you always will be. You and Janice deserve each other.”

He pulled his T-shirt over his head. “Thanks. And just think, it's all your doing. We never would have met if you hadn't insisted she come along.”

Tracy flung the door open and almost ran into Margaret, who had just come from the bathroom. They stared at each other for several seconds before Tracy said through clenched teeth, “Would you please get out of my way?” Margaret stepped to the side, and Tracy went into her own room, slamming the door behind her.

“Want to tell me what just happened here?” Margaret said to Chris as he came around the bed.