What Movies Made Me Do (17 page)

“Hey,” he asked lightly, “how did we connect up anyway?”

I leaned my head out the window, embarrassed. The wind clapped high yellow sails on the next boat. Watch out, I told myself. No point in getting all involved with him again. Anita was right. He was dangerous and unavailable. “I’m surprised you remember me at all,” I said, wishing I wasn’t so curious to hear his version of our encounter.

“Who could forget?” There was a crackle in his voice.

“But you’ve been with lots of women.” I leaned my head out the window again.

“But you were dying to escape and you wanted to stay.” He laughed and kicked off the wool coats. He was wearing dungarees and a tee shirt, no shoes or socks. “Your conflict was so sexual,” he drawled.

I knew this kind of seduction. I picked up the coats and threw them over him.

“What was that Italian restaurant?” he asked, coughing.

“Nanni’s on Sixty-first Street.”

“What exactly happened?” He frowned up at the ceiling.

“I trailed you up Madison Avenue. I seduced you.”

“Hardly.”

“It was the last frivolous thing I did,” I said.

“Flattering.” He yawned.

I sat down and looked him in the eyes. “Why do people chase stars?”

“They want something too big,” he said wearily. “They think we got whatever they need.” He sat up on his elbows, his face close to mine. I felt his warm breath.
“What did you want from me?”

I smiled at him helplessly. His eyes were red-rimmed. He had fever. We couldn’t sit here and reminisce forever. “Well, I remember it was the night after my marriage broke up,” I said hastily.

“Oh, right, you were in pain.”

“That’s what you said at the time.”

“When did you start feeling it?”

“Six months later. I almost died.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing,” he muttered. “That’s the breaks. Go on.” He sneezed three times. “Tell it like a story.”

“Well, I was eating pasta and my date was doing all the talking. And then you sat down at the next table. What a view I had, and it was a complete accident. Like finding a hundred thousand dollars.” I paused again. “You looked like the movies to me.”

A smile twitched Jack Hanscomb’s mouth.

Encouraged, I continued. “So anyway, my date stopped describing his farm kitchen and asked how I was. I kept staring at you. I had goose bumps like I was a kid again near somebody who was the best fun.”

“Why not just go to my next movie?”

I smiled back uncertainly. I had to keep my ground. “Well, I wanted to connect to the famous king of charm.”

He raised one eyebrow sarcastically. “What was I up to?”

“Well, you were trying to get the actress you were with to say ‘fuck’ before a sex scene in your next movie. You said she’d be famous.”

He snorted. “What a bullshit artist. Who was she? She go for it?”

“Hook and line,” I said. “I watched for her name on your next movie credits. I think it was Angie.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“She was wearing a white miniskirt and her hair was black and falling out of combs.”

His voice crackled. “Oh, right, Angie. Keep going. What a memory you have.”

“Well, while my date is describing the water pump in his farmhouse basement I see you’re going to be eating pasta for twenty more minutes. I clutch my stomach and tell him about my toxic appendix, I pay my half of the bill and get in a cab. I say I am going right to bed.”

Jack snorted. It was great to hear him happy. “Was that the first time you pulled something like that?”

“No, no,” I lied. “Then I got the cabdriver to circle back and I ran into the restaurant before they gave my seat away. I wolfed down three rolls. I hadn’t been eating. You know women lose weight when they lose a mate.”

“Men too. Did I notice you?”

“No, you were still snowing the actress. I think she agreed to say ‘blow job.’ ”

“God, I’m great at business.” He laughed. “This is beginning to feel like an old-fashioned date.”

“Why?”

“Each person tells a few stories from their autobiography and then they fuck.” He laughed until he coughed.

“That’s a fast crowd’s definition,” I shot back.

“Fair enough.” He pulled one hand out from under the coats and punched my arm lightly.

I continued with some relish. “I sat ten more minutes, pretending to eat. Then I left, very dignified, and stood soaking, waiting outside in the rain next to an exotic-bird store.”

“What were you waiting for?”

“Who knows? Fun.” I lifted both shoulders. “What do you remember?”

“Well, I saw you come back to the table in your raincoat like a crank. I almost asked you to leave. But then I saw you had curves in your face and you had this long, long neck and you were very young.”

“I was young.”

He was still talking. “Then I saw all those reactions on your face to my bullshit. I mean, your face lit up when I got silly, and when I laid it on too thick.”

I closed my eyes. I had been so naïve.

“You’re a voyeur,” he said flatly. “Like me, and guess what else I noticed.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You were lovely,” he said in a funny, hoarse voice, “because you don’t have a clue, you’re out of it, and that makes you beautiful.”

I was flushing all over my back and arms.

“What do you feel when you look in a mirror?” he demanded.

“Amazed,” I said slowly, “that I’m not a frumpy bookworm.”

“Right, and to make the story short but honest, I dumped the black-haired actress and waited for you at the revolving door of the Carlyle.”

“Dumped?” I said. “That’s charming.”

He waved his fingers. “She needed to get to her manager anyhow. What about you?”

“I was in shock. I kept wishing I could follow you home and sit on your ceiling like an invisible bug. Then you turned around and said to me, ‘I’m being followed, don’t make a sound.’ ”

“Yeah, I was much younger,” he reflected, one hand over his face, “much more shameless. When did we have the food fight?”

“Not until we got room service in your room.”

“Was it fun?” he asked, like he wondered how he felt too.

“It was the best.”

“Hey”—he blinked at he ceiling—“when do we get to the hard part? The reason I couldn’t get you on the goddamn telephone.”

“There were lots of reasons,” I mumbled.

“Tell me one.”

“You shouted the wrong name when we were in bed.” I looked out the small round window at the gray water.

Incredulous, he stared at me. “No kidding.”

“You said ‘Dorry’ or ‘doll.’ ”

“ ‘Doll’ is just a nickname for ‘lady.’ ”

“It wasn’t ‘doll.’ ” Sailboats moved past me: the port was waking up. “It was somebody’s name and everybody knows you’re not exactly constant.”

“Hey, be nice, let’s do a rerun. I’d remember my line,
doll.
”

Embarrassed, I changed the subject. “Do you have a temperature?” I pressed my palm to his forehead. Hot.

He winked. “Playing doctor?”

I ignored him. “How much weight have you lost?”

“Forty pounds.”

“No wonder you got sick.”

“Makes me look spiritual.” He made a rueful face.

“How sick are you?”

He scratched at his neck. “I got some local mystery virus. I’ll live. It shoots my temperature way up and then way down.”

“How’s your appetite?”

“I don’t eat. I’ve been taking hot baths to stop the chills.”

Now I was worried. “You try antibiotics? Did you see a doctor?”

“Nope.” He yawned.

“I want to ask a local doctor if you can travel with this bug.”

“Nuts, I’ll go to a doctor in Rome or New York. Now, quick, get to the end of our story,” he ordered. Our faces were less than a foot apart.

“Don’t you remember how you stood me up the next
night?” I blurted indignantly. I sat back on my heels, still anxious about his health.

“No, really?” He sounded disgusted.

I put my fists on my hips. “I waited for hours. I ate four
crèmes brûlées
and a peach tart. Boy, I felt sorry for myself.”

“Humiliating.” He shook his head. “Where the hell was I?”

“I figured you were only giving it twenty percent that night in your hotel anyway.”

“Don’t insult yourself.” He coughed. “I probably had some business crisis.”

“Sure.”

“What makes you the expert?” he snapped back. “You don’t know my personal habits.”

“Well, they’re pretty sophisticated,” I muttered.

“Sure, and what about you? You play the angles.” He sounded tired. “Just a wild guess, but you look like a fucky lady who put it on hold for power and solitary independence.” His reddened eyes bore into mine.

“That’s a sickening word, and at least I don’t have an addiction problem with women; it’s a disease.”

“What a knack for putting things unpleasantly.” He took my hand, pressed it, and added gently, “We’re both distorted to be where we are, you know.”

I felt his hot palm a minute, then pulled away. “Well, I don’t hurt people.” Then I felt stupid. What about Barry?

“Everybody hurts somebody; don’t get carried away. I get in big trouble because everybody wants something from me, and I want everybody to love me, and I hate turning them down until I got nothing left to give.” His face was candid.

I felt better. “Well, it’s no surprise you stood me up. But we’re friends now, right? Can we just make everything simpler and keep it at that?”

The man in the turban stuck his head in the door. “We’re taking off for Tel Aviv.” He switched on an overhead light.
“Turn it off.” Jack threw his forearm over his eyes.

I leaned over him. “Don’t fly anywhere with that fever. Is there a doctor in town?” I asked the stranger.

“Behind the new motel.” The man checked his big metal watch. “You got fifteen minutes.”

“I’m not moving.” Jack snuggled under the coats.

“Don’t,” I said.

I ran down the gangplank to the parked car, opened the door, and told Mae to sit tight while I drove her and the car down close to the hydrofoil. “I made up my mind,” I told her. “I’m taking him back to New York. I’m not letting him out of my sight. He’s too upset to go right back to work. He just needs a change of scenery.”

She gave me a worldly-wise look.

He was lying with his eyes closed when I got back. “Let’s go,” I said cheerfully, “hospital train to Manhattan. I got a couple days. We’ll get you lots of rest and peace. First stop is a local doctor.”

“I’m nobody’s problem.” He wouldn’t open his eyes. “I can manage,
doll
, and anyway, I’m splitting for Rome.”

“You’ll get pneumonia.” I pulled the coats off him. “Let’s go.” He doubled up, shivering.

“You got your passport?” I asked, changing my tack.

“Maybe.”

“How’re you going to travel anywhere?”

“I filched my stunt double’s ID and passport.”

“That’s the adult thing to do,” I said.

“It was a goddamn emergency. I’ve got to go someplace without anybody knowing,” he moaned.

“You can’t travel with such a high fever,” I said forcefully.

“Don’t worry, it’ll drop about eight degrees in a minute.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “What are you really up to, Carol?”

I took a deep breath. What was I doing? He did need to
get away from here, calm down, and then I could talk sense to him, and convince him to go back to work. It was my job to get him and Anita working together; and she’d be nicer to him if she didn’t see his face for a couple of days. “Come back to New York with me.”

“What’s your hurry?” He looked seductive. It was probably nothing personal, just a reflex. “Why not hop over to Rome with me and play?”

“I got trouble in my New York office. I got a career to rescue.”

He waved a dismissive hand.

“How about
your
career?” I asked.

“Who cares?”

I made my voice authoritative. “We’ll sue you for twelve million dollars’ worth.”

He poked a finger inside his inflamed ear. “Where’d you come up with that figure?”

“Cost of picture from pre-production two years ago. No studio’s going to eat those costs.”

“Insurance companies will,” he argued. “Lloyds and Transamerica pay everything. I’m insured, you’re insured.”

“Be too many questions, unless we had a corpse.”

“For twelve million, you’ll come up with a corpse.”

“I’d rather have this movie.”

“Bad thinking,” he said very fast. “You don’t belong on the studio side. You like movies too much. You’re supposed to love the money and put on the brakes for creative people.”

Tears came to my eyes again. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Tough guys don’t cry.” He reached out and squeezed my hand. “But you don’t have to pretend to be the hero, that’s my job.”

I kept snuffling until he said, “I’m not finishing your movie. String together what footage you got and see if her cinematic bullshit and silver paint do anything for you.”

He pressed my hand lightly between both his palms. I jerked my fingers free. What a selfish guy. I was screwed, no movie and kiss the job goodbye. I swallowed against my rage. I couldn’t afford a tantrum, I knew what Michael would do. “You live like there’s a solid wall of mirror around you.”

“It’s been a great solo act,” he said lightly. But he turned his face away. “I can hire a nurse in Rome.”

“You speak Italian?”

He shook his head.

“Look, you need my help to get on a plane. And I need you—”

“For the movie or what?” He was thrusting his lower lip at me. I rubbed my eyes.

“Are you going to show me a good time?” he teased. “Are you available for card games?”

“I don’t know. I got big work problems. I’m hoping you’ll feel better and decide to come back here. It’ll be an adventure; I mean, traveling together. You could try it.”

“The old black magic,” he said sarcastically. “It’s an interesting proposition.” But then he scowled. “Don’t try and talk me into coming back here.”

“We’ll make a pact,” I said hastily.

He shook his head. “I don’t know about Manhattan. Too many cars.”

“Rome has worse traffic.”

He smoothed his crew-cut stubble. “Lately when I cross a street I worry cars are trying to run me down.” He finally sat up again. “I had a close call three nights ago. I had to climb up the old olive tree in front of my meadow.”