"Okay, we're ready." Tom looked at Yves, who nodded. Meg kept watching Webb, although she knew.she was supposed to keep her eye on everything. She couldn't help it. How easily he seemed to shrug himself into the role he was playing, unlike some other actors she had watched. And from the back-stairs gossip, he obviously fitted the part he was playing. God, what wouldn't she givefor just one night with him!
The "quarrel" was in progress-weighted sarcasm turning into open insults and from there to blows after the jeering young officer had slapped the American with his glove.
As he had threatened, Karim didn't hold back, and there was a red streak down the side of the beard-stubbled face that turned slowly to face him.
"Would you like to settle this matter between us here and now, or would you prefer to go outside?"
"Nothin' wrong with now, is there?"
And then it erupted. The fight. With the extras yelling encouragement that was real, once they understood that this was for real, just like the courtyard scene yesterday.
"Christ, one or the other is going to get marked up good," Tom whispered to Pleydel, who only shook his head, a twisted smile pasted on his face.
"It is good because it is real, mon chet, It is always very good when two men fight over a woman. We will let the cameras roll until it is over."
Meg held the clipboard tight against her lips to stop from screaming. God-fantastic, she thought dazedly. The furniture was meant to splinter, and it did, with satisfying crashes, intermingled with the sound of breaking bottles and glasses. This was cinema verite-she must remember to write back to Marcella, and tell her all about it.
Marcella loved watching the fights on TV; she would have adored this.
The two antagonists were intent on each other. Karim had been smiling at first, but now his smile had disappeared. And the way they fought was a mixture of karate and kick-boxing and plain slugging. Until it was over-and it was over very suddenly. Meg couldn't quite remember exactly how it happened afterwards. They had been grappling with each other, up close at one moment, and the next Karim went crashing backward across a table to land on his back on the floor. He made an attempt to get up and fell back again, just like a KO'd boxer. Meg almost expected to hear a countdown. Instead Yves called, "Cut!"
"You did say realism, didn't you?" Webb snarled. And then he turned from Pleydel to Claudia, who was staring at him, her eyes very bright. "What say we go get ourselves a real drink, bambinai"
"It was another one-take scene-I really do not think they could have gone through that fight again-not our friend Karim, especially! The so-useful doctor had to put two stitches in his chin, you know, and he is not in a very good frame of mind. But cinematically, it was great. We can use most of the footage, with just a very few intercuts. So-what do you think?"
Yves Pleydel sounded jubilant-but then, he was mainly concerned with the movie itself. Harris and Rufus Randall exchanged looks, and Sal Espinoza was his usual relaxed self.
"One wonders why those two should hate each other so," he drawled, hooded eyes resting for just an instant on Harris.
This time Phelps didn't rise to the bait. He was being very guarded ever since that little episode between Karim and Anne. But he did say slowly, "Maybe the rivalry between them might prove quite useful to us. I've been thinking .. .”
Anne had been thinking, too. Her earlier feelings of shock and degradation and horror had given way to pure, cleansing anger, once she had got through soaking in the hot bath that Harris had so thoughtfully run for her. Harris! She was mad at him, too, for accusing her, brushing aside her explanations as if they didn't exist. Most of all, she was filled with rage towards Karim.
Parts of what she had believed were bad dreams came back to her while she lay in the sunken tub that was one of Danny Verrano's "improvements." Her grandparents'
house wasn't the refuge it had been once, before the day she'd found her mother dead. She should never have come back here-Harris shouldn't have found it and bought it for a movie. The film was catching everybody up in make-believe, making it difficult to distinguish it from reality. She should just walk out-go back to being a model, which didn't call for too much acting. She had signed a contract, but Harris wouldn't hold her to it. He couldn't, if she really fought it. And he was disgusted with her, he thought she had really ...
Even now she couldn't face the thought squarely. Karim. What had he said, besides the ugly, obscene things?
"I watched you in action this afternoon, and now it's my turn." Strange how some of what she hadn't at first chosen to believe came back to her now that she deliberately tried to recall it.
What had he meant by that? Had Webb ... she didn't understand why even now, after all she had learned about him, her mind shied away from that particular thought.
After her bath Sarah Vesper came up to see her, to ask sympathetically if she was feeling better-the flu was miserable, wasn't it? And Sarah told her about the filming this morning -the fight between Webb and Karim that had turned into a real battle.
Perhaps Sarah was trying to console her for the previous day, with its own share of realism. "Things like that sometimes happen-one gets caught up in the feeling of a part -acting, real acting, is like that. You become a character you're playing, both on screen and off."
Anne forced herself to ask, "And how's Karim?"
"Oh, resting, I understand. Very angry. I think it's more his pride that's been hurt than anything else! It was exciting to watch, though. You ought to see the rushes, if you feel up to it." And then, commiserating, "Shall I ask Hal to come up and see you? The poor man's been kept busier than he anticipated, I'm afraid, but I'm surprised that Harris hasn't told him you don't feel good."
"Oh, that's all right," Anne said quickly. "There's nothing much one can do about the flu except get lots of rest, is there? And I feel better already."
She didn't-but no one needed to know that but herself. Dressing, she ignored the tray that had been sent up for her. Everyone would be dressing for dinner, and there was no better time to pay Karim a visit in his guest chalet.
There was a mixture of rage and passion and malignance in his usually handsome features as he whirled about to face her.
Anne stood just inside the door, with her back to it, taking in the surface cuts and bruises on his face-the stripe of white bandage on his chin. She tried not to let emotion show on her face as she said quietly, "Hello, Karim."
He didn't want her pity-he had thought they were making a movie, which was why he had been unprepared. But there would be another time, a time for revenge... The things that poured out of him in his rage were both ugly and puzzling. Anne would have liked to avoid this confrontation, but she had been pushed to the point when she was tired of cowering away like a-a-what had Webb called her before? A frightened rabbit. ..
So she endured Karim's sneering at her. "What is this? You were sleeping very deeply, it's true, but you wanted it! Everything I did to you and for you-you are no virgin, as I very well know! I had your cooperation. Would you like to repeat what you experienced last night? I am surprised, I must admit, that you are here, and not with the victor-the temporary victor!"
He came to her, brushing his hands over her breasts; and she felt like a whore as she shrugged away with a brittle laugh. "You move too fast, Karim. And I don't like the idea of being-taken, while I was asleep. Why did you do that?" He was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face.
"Why? Because you were playing the usual silly games. You would not give yourself to me, and yet you would to Harris Phelps-and Webb Carnahan!" He said the last name like a curse.
"But I'm very fond of Harris!" she said reasonably, while she silently prayed he wouldn't try to touch her again. "Don't you have anything to drink in here?" Anything to distract him for a while. "And as for Webb-I've never tried to hide the fact that we were lovers once."
"Once? Only once?" His voice was a snarl. "You lie! You lie! You were so cold to me, and all the while you would let him do whatever he wanted to with you-yes, and enjoy it, too! When you stabbed him-that, too, was a form of love, of passion, wasn't it? You put a knife in him one moment, and the next you are lying with him, wrapping your arms and legs about him."
"You sound as if you were right there, watching!"
"I might as well have been!" He gave a sneering spurt of laughter that jarred her nerves. "Do you mean to tell me that you are not in on the secrets? The convenient, clever little machine that watches everything-just like Big Brother? I am sure Harris has shown it to you. And should you wish to go over our little scene last night, I am positive there was a videotape to register it. Perhaps we should let Carnahan see that, eh? Do you think it would make him jealous, or only turn him on?"
Anne felt frozen from the toes up. She could only look back at Karim, trying to take in the enormity of what he was telling her. What was he telling her?
She heard her voice emerge from her throat, sounding lightly flirtatious-but not knowing how she managed it. "Well, I just wanted to look in on you. But you don't seem in a very good mood, and since I don't remember anything about last night, I think I'd like to watch a replay before I decide whether I Should repeat the experience. Harris was very angry with me, you know!"
She didn't remember how she got away horn him. She had the vague impression that he had regretted his impulsive, malicious speech already-perhaps the mention of Harris's name had done it.
In any case, he had made no attempt to touch her again during the short time they talked. And his words couldn't hurt her-or could they? It all depended on whether he had been telling the truth or not. She would face one thing at a time.
Self-disgust, revulsion, the feeling of being used-the time she had had to herself seemed to have drained her for the moment of all feeling except anger. And the anger was good because it was cleansing.
Good-be angry-stay angry. She left Karim to his ugly mood and his thoughts of vengeance, and she could feel her mind moving coldly and quite rationally above the level of her anger.
Everyone would be at dinner right now. If there was anything to find, now was the time to find it, and she wasn't even thinking of afterwards as her feet, in flat-heeled sandals, took her back to the main house and up the narrow servants' stair-case to the tower.
THEY WERE UNUSUALLY QUIET at dinner, with only Dr. Brightman and Yves Pleydel carrying on an animated conversation about the psychology of actors, and those in films in particular.
Sarah Vesper and Jean Benedict smiled at each other often, but said little. Harris Phelps and Rufus Randall conversed in undertones, while Sal Espinoza stroked a sulky Claudia's hand under the table.
"So where is Webb?" Claudia asked abruptly. "And your girl friend, this Anna-Maria?"
Espinoza shrugged. "They planned to have dinner in Carmel -it's a quaint little town, you know, quite European in a way. She hadn't been there before, and I think he has friends who live close by. It's a pleasant drive on a clear night like this." He smiled at her lazily, toasting her with his glass of wine. "Don't you think it's too nice a night to be wasted on thinking what other people are doing?"
Snatches of the conversation between Brightman and Pleydel drifted to them. "Now, what happened today-and the day before, too-I have observed the same thing before. It's interesting, yes? Everyone is thrown together in this gigantic make-believe, playing parts-and suddenly all that is hidden inside themselves is out in the open. The jealousy and the hate, the rivalry and the anger ..."
"Yes, I must admit it is quite fascinating to observe. It happens, I think, because the barriers are down. As you said, they are consciously playing roles, and that releases everything that the veneer of what we call civilization would normally keep in check.
When called upon to act out certain emotions and make them appear real, it becomes all right to let go ..."
"Et voila! We have realite-with the real feelings laid bare, and an excuse as well. Am I right?"
The servants had already cleared the table-only the bottles of wine and the glasses remained. And before Brightman could answer, there was almost a concerted movement as chairs were pushed back-everyone making their polite excuses.
Randall was going up to his room to write an editorial, and Harris Phelps said he thought he'd look in on Anne.
Jean Benedict announced that she was going to take a walk outside, to watch the ocean and sing. "I think I'll come with you-it's such a nice night!" Sarah said in her soft voice. "Hal, do you want to come, too?"
"I suppose I had better go upstairs and watch some of the scenes we have done,"
Pleydel said. He shook Dr. Brightman's hand. "I would like to continue our conversation later. Ah, I could relate such incidents to you!"
Espinoza whispered to Claudia, "Will you wait for me? I have to speak to Harris for a little while, but afterwards I would like to visit you-for an after-dinner drink, perhaps?"
He noticed cynically that there was no hesitation in her manner now as she looked up at him and smiled. Well, so much for that-he had done his part so far. Harris, in more of a hurry than usual, had already left the room, and it was barely nine o'clock. Dinner was over at least an hour earlier than was customary. For a fleeting moment he allowed himself to wonder how Anna-Maria was doing with Carnahan.
They had had several drinks apiece at one of the oddly named bars in Carmel that was frequented mostly by locals. Then they decided to have dinner at a restaurant in Monterey that boasted excellent food and a VIP room where celebrities and near-celebrities could dine in private without being bothered by autograph hunters.
The drive up the coast in Webb's new Ferrari had been wild and exhilarating. And the wildness in her appreciated the wildness she had discovered in him. This game they were playing, this contest of wills, was turning out to be an excitement in itself. He had accepted without comment, the fact that they might still be married, and she felt confident enough to believe that after the drinks and after dinner-and more drinks-they would make love somewhere. And eventually, he would begin to trust her again, and talk to her. ..