Christmas Revels Page 7
"Yes, he's a great guy—an old-fashioned moviemaker who cares about quality and good stories." A sinking feeling in his midriff, Greg set her on the sofa beside him. "What did he have to say?"
"He's about to start shooting a movie that's a loose remake of Auntie Mame, and he lost his leading lady to the Betty Ford Clinic." Jenny was positively bouncing. "Then someone suggested I was available. He says I would have been his first choice—he and his wife are both huge fans of Still Talking—but the financial people wanted someone better known in America. When their choice crashed, Mr. Gordon showed some clips of my work to the numbers crunchers, and got their agreement to make an offer. Oh, Greg, this is wonderful. It's what I've dreamed of—a great movie with a great moviemaker. I've always loved Mame, and now I'm going to be an updated version of her."
So the call Greg had made to Raine Marlowe had borne fruit. But he hadn't expected anything on this scale. "I've read the script—Marcus asked me to be director of photography, but the schedule turned out to conflict with this job in Argentina, which I'd already agreed to. You'll be fantastic as Mame—funny, madcap, and with a heart of gold. Anything from Marcus is first class, and the lead role is a real star maker."
Jenny's face fell. "To think we might have been working together! What's worse, because they're about ready to start shooting, Marcus wants me to fly to California day after tomorrow, on Christmas Eve."
Greg felt a weird sense of deja vu—an offer that was too good to pass up had separated them the first time. "So we won't spend Christmas together after all. Well, that's show business. When this kind of opportunity shows up, we have to jump." It was an effort to keep his voice light when he could feel cracks forming in his heart. Down-to-earth Jenny, who put on a show in her hometown to save a local landmark, had seemed almost possible. Now she was heading for the horizon like a shooting star.
"If you want that English Christmas, I know my family would love to have you." Her blue eyes were stricken. "You could stay here. I'll even let you drive the Jaguar. Or ... or you could come to Los Angeles with me, and I'll roast you a Christmas goose."
He thought wistfully of the holiday they'd planned in that rambling brick house. It would have been fun, with Jenny. "Thanks, but I'd rather go home to Ohio. If I can get a flight on the twenty-fourth, I'll be able to spend Christmas Eve with my family."
"Of course." She hesitated. "When you return to Los Angeles, might we be able to get together before you leave for Argentina?"
"You're going to be pretty busy." In his heart, he knew their affair was over. If they ran into each other in Los Angeles, Jenny would be friendly because that was her nature, but they would have nothing in common. Better to bow out now—and never reveal that he had ever had hopes of something more.
HEATHROW the day before Christmas was a madhouse. Jenny and Greg had flights to the U.S. that left within an hour of each other, but on different airlines. She clutched his hand during the limousine ride from the Cotswolds to the airport. He hadn't seemed to mind, but he didn't have much to say, either. Mentally, he'd already moved on. She suspected that he was already beyond Ohio and into Argentina,
Jenny, though, was firmly anchored in the present. She could feel the moments trickling away, one at a time, impossible to catch and hold. A phenomenal opportunity had fallen into her lap, but she was having trouble remembering that when her heart was numbed by their upcoming separation. How had daughters of Britannia kept a stiff upper lip when their husbands and sweethearts went off to India for years on end?
Inside the terminal, Greg stopped in the middle of the swirling crowd. "Time for us to go our separate ways. I have quite a hike to my gate."
"I know." She stared at him, trying to memorize that familiar, craggy face, not quite believing this was really the end. "I... I'm so glad you came and helped us out. You made all the difference. We should rename the barn the Marino Center."
"It was your inspiration and talent and leadership that saved it, Jenny. I'm just glad I was along for the ride."
She almost asked if he would shoot the Victorian Revels they would stage next year, but stopped herself. One didn't ask a favor of that magnitude twice. "Take care of yourself, Greg. Don't get caught in an Andes avalanche or anything."
"I won't." He touched her cheek, his brown eyes warm with affection. Then his expression became impersonal. "I'll eat popcorn and cheer for you when your turn comes on Oscar night."
He lifted his duffle and turned to walk away—tall, strong, self-contained. Unable to stop herself, she whispered, "Greg—can't we do a better good-bye scene than this?"
She thought he wouldn't hear her in the tumult of travelers, but his shoulders stiffened and he pivoted to face her again, his expression stark. Dropping her carry-on, she threw herself into his arms, not caring what anyone thought.
His lips were warm and dear, his embrace crushing as he kissed her. Passersby buffeted her, but she ignored them, all her focus on the man in her arms. She had come to know his body in passion and in tenderness, his mind in humor and in intelligence. Surely these feelings were mutual, they had to be. Surely . . .
Slowly he withdrew, his eyes dark with regret. "Good-bye, Jenny. Have a good life."
This time, there would be no curtain call. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, then turned and walked away.
TEN
Los Angeles
USUALLY the week between Christmas and New Year's was an odd, waiting time, when the real world was held at bay and a girl could catch up with friends, sleep, and shopping, if she was lucky.
Of course, mad preparations for a starring role in a movie were a different kind of luck. Jenny sprawled on the sofa in the living room of her hotel suite, sipping from a glass of white burgundy and toying with a key on a small brass ring. Marcus was taking very good care of his new leading lady. She had been working hard ever since she'd arrived in Los Angeles, but he made sure she was comfortable, and had even taken her home to his own warm, eclectic family for dinner on Christmas Day.
Jenny suppressed a yawn, knowing she should be studying her script. She loved this movie, and deep in her bones felt the Tightness that came with having material that suited her. Whether the movie turned into box office gold or bust, she would never be sorry she had accepted the role.
But hotels were lonely. She would love to have Plato here, but that would mean six months of quarantine when she took him back to England, and that didn't bear thinking of. Instead, he was being spoiled rotten at her parents' house, where he stayed whenever she traveled.
A pity she couldn't call Patricia or another friend for a good gossip, but the hour was far too late in England, and she didn't have close friends on this side of the Atlantic. Former lovers like Greg didn't count. Even if she had his family's number in Ohio, she couldn't call. That nice cinematic farewell at Heathrow had been the end.
She spun the key ring on her finger. In a burst of sentimentality, she had dug out the apartment key Greg had given her so many years earlier. Not that she could use it, any more than she could call him at his parents' home, but it was a nice talisman for remembering the good times.
On the verge of bathos, she remembered that she did have one good friend on this side of the Atlantic, and he would be happy to learn of her lucky break. She found her address book and dialed Kenzie Scott's private number at his ranch in New Mexico.
"Hello?" The feminine voice was low and distinctive.
Belatedly Jenny realized that she should have anticipated that the phone might be answered by Kenzie's wife, Raine Marlowe. Though Raine had been civil the one time they had met, she might be less polite about a phone call to he
r husband from an old girlfriend. A little cautiously, Jenny said, "Hello, Raine, this is Jenny Lyme. I'm in Los Angeles and have some wonderful news that I wanted to tell Kenzie. Is he available?"
"We're having a lovely moonlight-on-snow night, so he took Faith for a walk," Raine explained.
Jenny did a quick mental calculation. "Faith is old enough to walk?"
The other woman laughed. "Actually, she's in a baby carrier across Kenzie's chest and probably sound asleep, but Kenzie likes taking her out. He should be back soon. If you give me your number, I can have him call you. Though if you don't mind sharing, I always love to hear good news, too."
Since Raine sounded friendly and interested, Jenny said, "Just before Christmas, Marcus Gordon called me out of the blue and asked me to step in as the female lead for his version of Auntie Mame."
"So you got the role! Wonderful—it was made for you, and you'll look gorgeous in those 1920s costumes. Congratulations!"
This didn't sound like surprise. Putting two and two together, Jenny asked, "Did you or Kenzie suggest me to Marcus?"
"Yes, but Greg Marino was the one who set the ball rolling in the first place. Did he come back to Los Angeles with you?"
"No, he flew home to Ohio." Jenny's brow wrinkled. "How was he involved?"
"He called a couple of weeks ago and said that if any good parts turned up for a brilliant and beautiful English actress, we should think of you. A couple of days later Marcus told me his lead for the Mame movie had just gone to rehab, and did I have any suggestions? So I tossed him your name."
Jenny was silent for a long moment. "More was going on than I realized."
"There is no substitute for word of mouth. Since he knew your work, Marcus loved the idea of using you." Raine's voice softened. "Greg wanted to give you a very special Christmas present, and he succeeded."
Jenny blinked. "This was Greg's idea of a Christmas present?"
"What better than giving someone her heart's desire? The sign of a man in love. Some men give flowers or chocolate. Movie people give movies."
Jenny swallowed hard. "Greg isn't in love with me. He's just a really nice man."
"I'm sorry—maybe I misread the signals," the other woman said apologetically. "I thought the two of you were involved. He seemed rather gaga over you."
"Involved, yes, but only in passing." To her horror, Jenny heard a break in her voice. "It was just a ... a holiday fling."
The phone wires hummed with silence until Raine said hesitantly, "Forgive me, this is none of my business, Jenny, but it sounds as if you need someone to talk to. Has something gone wrong between you?"
"Not really, we're just geographically challenged. Besides, he's wildly successful and always traveling and he certainly isn't going to settle down with an over-the-hill actress from another country." Jenny's voice came out brittle rather than casual.
After a long pause, Raine asked, "Are you sure that's how he feels about it? Maybe from his point of view, you're a gorgeous, successful actress and he's just a shy technician that you could never take seriously."
"Greg isn't just a technician! He's an incredibly gifted artist who can make us see the world in special new ways. He leaves his mark on every movie he does."
"It sounds as if he's left his mark on you, too. Perhaps you should rethink the question of whether or not you have a future together. Maybe it ended because you assumed it would end."
"A self-fulfilling prophecy?" Jenny frowned. "I... I need to think about that. Even if that's part of what happened, the geographical problems are real. My roots are firmly sunk into English soil, while Greg is wonderfully and deeply American."
"Marriage is never easy," Raine said seriously. "Our business has more than its share of conflicts and stresses that can fracture a marriage— my English husband and I almost divorced over such things. But we survived, after making a conscious decision to put the marriage first, always.
"And while there are downsides, the movie business has the advantage of flexibility. Why can't you have homes in two countries? It's a compromise, but one that makes your life richer, if a little more frantic. What matters is having enough love and commitment to find ways to build a life that will work for you both."
"You make a good agony aunt," Jenny said wryly. "Just what I needed tonight."
"Agony aunt? Oh, an advice columnist. Sorry, I've been speaking out of turn." A door closed in the background. "Kenzie just came in. Would you like to talk to him?"
"Please."
A minute passed before Kenzie's deep voice said, "Hello, Jenny. I hear that the gods have smiled and you're now getting the Hollywood star treatment."
She laughed, relaxing at the familiar warmth of his greeting. They'd been so young when they first met at RADA. Incredibly handsome and wrapped in aristocratic reserve, Kenzie had been promptly labeled a snob by some students. Jenny, as confident as a golden retriever, had made the effort to get acquainted and found that he was shy and surprisingly unsure of himself. Though they had sometimes been lovers, far more important had been this enduring friendship. "This is much nicer than my first visit to Hollywood. I'm half terrified and half over the moon."
"That sounds about right, but you'll do fine. You have the talent and the star quality, and now you have the right role." Kenzie's voice changed. "Faith just woke up. Faith, talk to Jenny, she's sort of an English aunt."
An infantile burble could be heard. Jenny's heart melted. As well as she knew Kenzie, she had never realized what a doting father he would be.
She made suitable remarks about Kenzie's precocious daughter when he came back on the line, asked him to give her thanks to Raine, then hung up, mind spinning.
A self-fulfilling prophecy. Yes, she had known from the beginning that any relationship between her and Greg would be short-lived, and that had governed her actions. Greg had shared the same belief. He was a rolling stone, too busy even to move from the apartment that served as not much more than a hotel room between projects.
But surely she hadn't imagined that there was something special between them? They blended together like whiskey and water. Of course, she had a history of thinking there was more to a relationship than the man did, but Greg wasn't like any of the other men she had dated. Though ambitious and hardworking, he wasn't a vain actor with an insatiable need for adulation, or a rich man looking for a trophy.
Maybe Raine was right that he had a kind of shyness under his easy confidence; he made more than his share of wry, self-deprecating comments. On some level, he must feel he was the behind-the-scenes technical whiz, the nice guy who didn't get the girl.
What an idiot he was! A woman would have to be mad not to appreciate a man as smart, sexy, and fun to be with as Greg. He had been splendid when he was just starting out on his career, and had only improved with age. He was . . .
He was the man she loved. Dear Lord, why had it taken her this long to realize something so profound and fundamental? Raine was right— their relationship had fallen victim to a self-fulfilling prophecy. They were both idiots.
When she first called Greg about the Revels, she had been feeling low, convinced her career was headed into permanent decline. Now that she thought about it, that had probably added to her obsessive need to fight for the tithe barn. She had been feeling the loss of her career, and couldn't bear losing the community center as well.
But the barn was going to be saved—an American television offer the day before had clinched it. And she had gone from fading actress to the lead in a major movie with one of Hollywood's most respected producers. Her career had changed in a finger snap—why not her relationship with Greg?
She stared at the key to his apartment. It was quite possible that she and Raine were both wrong and Greg had no desire to further their relationship. But she'd be a fool not to try for more. Greg was worth the risk of failure.
She sipped at her wine, now warm to room temperature. Greg had tried and succeeded in giving her a heart's desire. What could she give him of
equal value?
ELEVEN
A New Year's Day flight swept Greg from icy Ohio to temperate Los Angeles. Home, sweet home. Wearily Greg bumped his suitcase up the steps to his apartment. Being enveloped by Clan Marino had soothed his frayed emotions, but now he was ready for peace and quiet. Preparing for Argentina should keep his mind off Jenny, at least some of the time. He hoped.
He wondered what she was doing now. Working on the script? Being introduced to Hollywood movers and shakers as the next hot new actress?
He unlocked his door, walked inside—and stopped dead at the sight of Jenny sprawled across his sofa, reading a book. Elegant long legs in casual black slacks, stunning figure draped in a shimmery blue tunic that matched her eyes, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. He wanted to cross the room and enfold her in his arms and never let her go. Instead, he said stupidly, "How did you get in here?"
Expression uncertain, she set the book aside and swung her feet to the floor. "I still have your key, remember? I thought you might not mind since I'm here to take you out for that Christmas dinner I owe you. Better late than never."
He dropped his bags by the door, almost angry at her presence. He had accepted that their affair was over. By the time he returned from Argentina, he would be able to run into her casually without making a fool of himself. But not now, when the pain of separation was still as raw as an amputated limb. "I suppose one of Marcus's gofers was able to run down my flight time."
She nodded. "Everyone is so helpful it's scary."
"They're grateful to have you. You're a better actress than the lady in rehab, and infinitely easier to get along with."
"All that, plus clean, straight, and sober. I sound like an alarming paragon." She moved toward him. "Can I have a hello kiss?"
He stepped back, banging into the door. Why did she have to be so damned adorable? "I may be coming down with a cold—I was exposed to several by my nieces and nephews—and you really can't afford to get sick if you're about to start shooting."