AllFreeNovel
Share Us
For the next hour, they made a mess of the kitchen. They grilled steaks that didn’t have the decency to thaw in the middle, incinerated a loaf of French bread under the broiler, and fixed a salad from a head of browning lettuce and some limp carrots. It was the best meal Fleur had ever eaten.
They planned to go for a run on Sunday morning but went back to bed instead and made love all over again. In the afternoon they played cards and told terrible jokes and took another erotic bath. Jake woke her just before dawn on Monday morning for the trip back to Los Angeles. Since they both had cars, they had to drive separately. He kissed her after she got in the Porsche. “Don’t straighten out any curves, okay?”
“You, either.”
She’d called Belinda the day before and guiltily repeated her lie about Lynn needing her. Now she drove straight to the studio.
When she came out from hair and makeup, Jake and Johnny Guy were already arguing, this time about the revision Jake hadn’t finished that weekend. Jake gave her an impersonal nod. She hated the idea of everyone gossiping about them, and she told herself she appreciated his discretion. Still, she felt just a little disappointed.
Johnny Guy came over. “Now, honey, I know Friday was a little hard on you, but we’ll try to make things easier today. I’ve made some changes—”
“I don’t need any changes,” Fleur heard herself say. “Let’s do it right.”
He looked at her doubtfully. She gave him a cocky thumbs-up, as if she were a fighter pilot about to take off on a dawn patrol. She could do this. And this time she wouldn’t let Jake forget that he was looking at a woman, not a kid.
Jake reappeared in costume. As Johnny Guy began outlining the scene, Jake interrupted. “I thought we decided to cut most of this. We already know she can’t handle it. Let’s not waste any more time.”
Johnny Guy didn’t let her respond. “The little lady says she wants to give it a try.” He turned toward the crew. “Showtime, boys and girls. Let’s get to work.”
The cameras rolled. Jake glowered at her from across the tiny bedroom. She grinned at him, her hands going to her buttons. He was too cocky, and she was going to show him. She stepped out of the dress without taking her eyes from his. They had secrets now, the two of them. He was funny and maddening and dear, and she loved him with all her heart. He had to feel the same—at least a little bit—or he could never have made such sweet love to her.
Please love me. Just a little.
She unfastened her bra. Jake scowled and stepped off his mark. “Cut it!”
“Goddamn it, Jako, I’m the one who calls ‘cut’! She was doing great. What’s wrong with you?” Johnny Guy slapped his leg. “Nobody calls ‘cut’ except me! Nobody!” The tirade went on, and Jake grew more sullen. Finally he complained that a chair had been moved out of position. Johnny Guy nearly hit him.
“It’s okay,” she said to the director, feeling very much like a woman in control. “I’m ready to go again.”
The cameras rolled. Jake’s face was a thundercloud. The bra came off. She unfastened it slowly, tantalizing him, torturing him with her delicious, newfound power. Bending over, she pulled off her panties and walked over to him.
His body was rigid as she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hands inside. She touched the spot she’d kissed just that morning. She pushed her hips against his, and then did something that hadn’t been rehearsed. She leaned forward and flicked her tongue over one of his nipples.
“Cut and print!” Johnny Guy yelled, jumping around like a jubilant jack-in-the-box. “Beautiful, honey lamb! Just beautiful!”
Jake scowled, grabbed the white terry-cloth robe from the wardrobe girl, and shoved Fleur into it.
During a break, she sought out Lynn. Since she didn’t want her to know she’d gone to Jake’s house, she couldn’t come out and ask her directly if she’d sent the note, so she had to poke around. But Lynn refused to take the bait. Sooner or later, Fleur vowed, she’d weasel the truth out of her.
Things went well for the rest of the morning, and by late afternoon they’d reshot all the material from Friday and begun shooting the two of them in bed. Johnny Guy captured everything—Matt’s tension, his guilt, the anguish simmering just beneath the surface…and Lizzie’s relentless seduction. Jake barely talked to her unless the cameras were rolling, but it was an intense scene, and they both needed to stay focused.
As soon as they wrapped for the day, he disappeared. Neither of them had gotten much sleep for the past two nights, and she told herself he was tired. But as the next few days passed and he continued to keep his distance, she ran out of comforting excuses. He was avoiding her.
The weekend came and went, and her hopes that he’d call her turned to misery. Monday morning arrived, and she thought about forcing a confrontation, but she was too afraid she’d end up begging him to love her, and she couldn’t bear that. Jake was telling her loud and clear not to place any significance on what had happened between them in Morro Bay.
Instead of days, she began counting the hours until she was done. Thursday was her last day on the set. She moved mechanically through her scene with Lynn, did some close-ups, and went home in despair.
“Did Jake say anything to you about Johnny Guy’s party this weekend?” Belinda asked over dinner that evening. “Surely he’s planning to attend.”
“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.” Fleur would never talk to Belinda about her feelings for Jake, and she excused herself from the table.
Johnny Guy’s wife, Marcella, was one of Hollywood’s favorite hostesses, and she’d invited everyone who was anyone to the party she was throwing to celebrate the completion of Sunday Morning Eclipse. Fleur was a slow learner. Right up until the last minute, she’d entertained the frail hope that Jake would ask her to go with him. Instead she ended up going with
Belinda.
Marcella had filled the Kellys’ Brentwood home with flowers, candles, and music. Fleur knew the only way she could get through the night with any kind of dignity was by playing the Glitter Baby, and she wore an ecru silk gown with shimmering horizontal stripes of mocha, beige, and terra-cotta. The tubular dress had a subtle Egyptian feeling that she’d emphasized with matching gold cuff bracelets and flat sandals that had a jeweled clasp at the instep. She’d braided her hair wet and brushed it out after it had dried so it fell down her back in a cascade of tiny waves. Marcella Kelly told her she looked like a blond Cleopatra.
Marcella was as sophisticated as Johnny Guy was homespun. While he walked around with a can of Orange Crush and a Cuban cigar, she encouraged her guest to try the hors d’oeuvres—salmon cured in tequila, canapés decorated with edible cactus leaves, and tiny beignets stuffed with hydroponically grown vegetables.
