Somewhere I'll Find You (5 page)

“You - you did that cold!” he gasped.  “Good God, you’re scaring the hell out of me – you were
spot
on.”

Lifting her shoulders in a slight shrug, Paige gently stroked the envelope still in her hands.  “I’ll let you in on a little secret.  Sometimes I scare myself.” With a shudder, she ignored the voice in her head that warned her of danger if she continued. 
The siren’s call is too much.  He opened the gate – there’s no getting it closed.  What else is there to find here?

Gritting his teeth, Miles watched as her eyes darkened, her skin paling to the shade of skim milk.  In moments, her head tilted aside until it seemed she was drifting away before his eyes.  “Papers . . . what is so important about these papers after all these years?”

“Papers?”  A note of caution lowered his voice even as Miles took the envelope gingerly from her hands.  “I never said what we were looking for . . .”

Some things never change and trusting someone can get you killed. Even a friend.  Miles is holding something back – I suppose I can’t blame him. 
How many times had she been warned that impressions and descriptions of things she ‘knew’ to be important were her only duty?  She was never to ask questions, never to add her own presence into the dangerous game in which she was a simple pawn. 
For so long, I didn’t ask questions,
b
ut maybe it’s time I started.

Crossing her arms about her chest, Paige lifted a brow.  “If you want me to put my neck on the line and risk my career, you’re going to have to give me
something.
”

Gritting his teeth, Miles stepped back.  “You know I can’t do that.  I can only say that this could bring a traitor to justice.  A traitor that cost the lives of many
a good ma
n.  And more could still be at risk
,
even after all these years.”

Paige watched him closely, and when she decided he truly believed that was the best he could give her, she sighed.  “I’ll think about it.  That is all that I’ll promise.”  Taking a deep breath, she gave Miles a lopsided grin.  “But right now, I’ve obligations that don’t involve violence or death.  That is, unless it’s from sheer boredom.  So get out of here and let me finish up for the day, please.”  Watching as Miles left, she thought of what she had not told him.  Of the image of a woman with sad,
gray
eyes, or the scent of betrayal that lingered like a putrid smell. 

There was more to this operation, and it called to her like a siren’s song that she found difficult to resist.  Despite herself, she was already drawn into his world because of the memory of that woman’s face and the pain she had witnessed in the face of an actor from long ago.

Damn Miles,
she thought. 
And damn me too.

* * * *

The large studio that was Jack Warner’s personal domain was populated with people in all shapes and sizes.  Cigarette smoking grips mingled with the elegantly gowned actresses.  The strong scent of horses drifted through the air from the western being shot on yet another set, and over it all, the blazing blue sky gleamed hotly.

And in this world where reality intertwined with fantasy, Jenny Bowman had found herself a home.  In a male dominated world, she had found her niche, gaining the reputation for being ‘just one of the boys’ without losing either her femininity or self-respect.  Along the way, she had managed to avoid the famous casting couch as well as the subtle - and sometimes not so subtle - offers of seduction. She held her own as she slaved over a typewriter in a sweltering box that masqueraded as an office.

Called in to a particular set for the third day in a row, she gripped in her hands yet another set of pages she had rewritten, cursing at the star who was the source of her wrath.  Whoever he was, he was becoming increasingly difficult, rejecting nearly everything she pounded out.  Leaning her bicycle against a tree, she meandered through Bidwell Park, amused at how it had been transformed back to the time of Richard the Lionheart.

When she waved to various members of the crew, the film’s lead, Erik Fletcher, idly wondered how she had escaped his notice.  Assuming she was the messenger sent over with new material, an indolent grin crossed his handsome face.

For the first time in days, he felt his spirit lift both at the beauty sauntering towards him and the hope that this set of lines would be better than the last because, for Erik, this particular film was the culmination of a childhood dream.  Throughout his long career, he had played more than one period flick, all the time aiming for this one film.  One film that would lift him from being just another pretty boy in a costume to being regarded as a serous thespian.

It had been a crushing blow three years past when it had been announced that Jimmy Cagney was set to play the title role.  But the gods hadn’t been finished with Erik: when contract negotiation failed, Cagney walked, and the film was shelved until finally, the part went to Erik.  He’d leapt at it, of course, and pushed himself fully into the character of Robin Hood – until this scene.  These lines were horrendous, making a mockery of everything h
e’d fought for this film to be. H
ell, he imagined that the errand girl walking up to the set now could write better lines than this garbage!

He tilted his head as he settled his attention more fully upon the soft sway of the aforementioned messenger’s dress against her slender legs. 
Never mind about her writing ability,
he thought with a grin he barely managed to hide. 
I want to find out what’s beneath that dress of hers.  Where have you been hiding all this time, my pretty one?
 

“Forget it
,
boyo – that one isn’t for the likes of us.” 

The lilt of Ireland jolted him out of his momentary fantasy, and without turning, Erik recognized his director’s voice.  Daniel Flanagan, the film’s director and Erik’s closest friend, was gifted
, if one could have called it that,
with a craggy face and a lanky body.  A thick shock of silver hair fell over shaggy brows, while a perpetual cigarette dangled from an arrogant grin.  Pausing to take a heavy drag, smoke swirled about his face, while a hi
n
t of regret sounded in his voice.  “She’s a beauty alright,” he continued agreeably, “but let me tell you about the time someone coaxed her into a screen test.”

“
What about it
?”  There was a note of impatience in Erik’s voice, his eyes never leaving Jenny’s slender figure.

“
S
he’s as cold as ice - there’s not a bit o’ spark in her.  I suggest you pay attention to your lines and forget the ice queen.  Rumor has it the only thing she loves is her typewriter.”

Erik blinked in surprise and opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again.  “You mean that she’s . . .”

Daniel grinned.  “I do boyo.  That lass has been the writer you’ve been cursing since we started this film.”

Shaking his head, Erik watched in regret when Jenny returned to her bicycle, wondering if he would ever see her again. 
Then again, if this round of tripe is as terrible as the last, I know I will,
he thought grimly.

The next day’s shooting seemed even worse than the previous day.  Repeatedly, Erik blew his lines, forgetting his mark and in essence, setting everyone’s teeth on edge, including Daniel’s.  Kicking out from his chair, his long legs crossed the distance to Erik, his bright blue eyes glaring impatiently.  “What the hell is the matter with ya?  You’re behaving as if this was your first time in front of a camera!”

“It’s these damn lines!”  Scowling past the crew that stood gaping about, Erik threw his script down in disgust.  “I said almost the same tripe in the last three flicks.  Can’t someone PLEASE write something original?”

The expletives that sounded from beyond the huge cameras were even more startling coming from Jenny as she strode on the set.  Sunlight sparked from her blonde hair while fury steamed in her
gray
eyes.  Stalking towards them, she planted her feet firmly in front of him while her gaze drifted down to the discarded script.

“I happened to have been up half of the night rewriting those scenes . . . again, I might add.  Now what is your problem?”

Squinting past the hot lights, Erik unlaced his sweltering leather vest.  “Perhaps if you had some idea what it was like to be on this side of . . .” Grabbing Jenny’s hand, he nodded in the direction of his leading lady.  “Livia, would you mind?”

With an amused quirk of her lips, the slender actress slid behind the camera range, her dark eyes filled with amusement as yet another example of Erik’s pranks.

Looking down at the fuming blonde, Erik towered over her, ignoring her sputtering protests. The crisp sound of his Australian accent cut through the warm air.  “Now, you’re going to experience what it’s like to listen to this gibberish and have to act as if you believe it.”

Twisting in his arms, Jenny’s voice sizzled
.
“I’m not an actress.”

“That’s correct,” he conceded.  “But perhaps if you had a taste of it, you might have a better understanding of the rubbish you write.  Now,” he instructed, pushing her to his mark, “Remember that you’re falling in love with me, and what I tell you is somehow going to convince
to admit that
that you’re desperately and completely in love with me.”

With a quiet wave of his hand, Daniel motioned for the cameras to begin rolling, watching Erik wrap himself into the character of an impassioned Robin of Loxley.

Erik loomed over Jenny, his muscular body pressed tightly against hers
,
his breath warm against her cheek.

“I love you, Marian,” he began, his voice seductively low.  “I have loved you since the first time I saw you riding through the forest.  You were so proud, so secure in your position with Richard as your guardian, and yet I knew that you would be the only woman ever to own my heart.  It doesn’t matter to me that you’re Norman and I’m Saxon.  Or that you’re part of King John’s court.”  He paused, his eyes memorizing her face.  “All I care is that I love you and if you would just forget for an instant your Norman pride, you would admit that you love me.”

Caught unwillingly in the fantasy of the unfolding scene, she whispered words that she knew only too well.  “But I do love you, Robin,” she murmured passionately, forgetting the cameras, the crew, or that the man holding her in his arms was not the famous Robin Hood.  “I would renounce everything.  My family, my honor, my pride
, simply
to be with you.  But look about you . . . at all that rely on you.  The Sheriff is on your heels like a hound after a fox.  My presence would not only put you, but all of these people closer to a hangman’s noose.”

Leaning forward, the actor pulled her trembling body closer, a thumb tenderly tracing a tear that had escaped from her eyes.  Their lips inched closer; an edge of passion seemed to flood the lot, only to be lost with the sound of Daniel’s booming voice. 

“Cut!  All right, Erik, I believe you’ve made your point.  Now can we get back to business? Seduce the girl on your own time!”