Star Attraction (3 page)

Later in the privacy of her small
office, as Zaira sipped her coffee, she recalled the amazing sensations her
first meeting with Brad Clarke had produced.
 
For one thing, even though she’d seen photos of him in every
glossy magazine in the world, somehow in person he had seemed so ordinary, so
genuine.
 
He certainly hadn’t
behaved like the arrogant beast she had been led to expect.
 
His last remark had simply been a
feeble attempt to restore some of his own wounded pride.
 

Zaira could see why he had the
reputation of being a womanizer; Brad Clarke had looks every woman would swoon
over, she admitted reluctantly.
 
But he had not been in the least predatory towards herself, though Zaira
put that down to her prim and proper exterior in her university uniform, as she
considered her tailored suits and spectacles to be.
 

If the truth were told, Zaira was
anything but conventional; however, for one so young to be lecturing at
university, she had decided early on that she would not get anyone’s back up by
trying to assert her own style, or stand out from the crowd.
  
She had won every scholarship,
award, and honor possible in her field by the time she was twenty-two due to
her sheer hard work and determination. After a few years' study abroad, she had
come back home to New York and to her old university to finish her Ph. D.
 
Money was tight, so Zaira could not
afford to alienate anyone until her studies were finished.
 

Zaira was teaching all the hours
in the day in an effort to pay for past mistakes she wished she could put
behind her, and the role of prim professor suited her.
 
She didn’t want anyone to recognize her
at university, after the disgraceful fraud and bankruptcy case she had had to
endure.
 
It had been dire necessity
rather than any burning desire to write a bestseller which had now put her in
the path of Brad Clarke.

Zaira had always been fascinated
by history, and so it had been easy for her to dash off a light-weight
historical novel about the life and times of Shakespeare and his famous love
triangle with his patron, the Earl of Southampton, and “the Dark Lady.”
 
Amazingly, it had not only been
accepted for publication, but within a few weeks, it had soared to the top of
the bestsellers list, and won several prestigious literary prizes.
 

It was no small wonder then that
her novel had come to the attention of Brad Clarke, who was famous for his box
office successes with the most unlikely of subjects.
 
His range of films had been very wide, but even Zaira had
been amazed at his approach to her publisher.
 
He had written from Hollywood saying that he would be in New
York for a set of lectures, and wished to meet with Zaira to talk over a
project he had in mind.
 

Zaira had been very reluctant to
even consider a film being made of her book, let alone a film by Brad
Clarke.
 
Zaira couldn’t find any
logical objections, except that she disapproved of the way he wasted his
obvious talent making B-grade horror films and war pictures, and was afraid he
might turn her situations and characters into a sideshow.

That Brad Clarke was a talented
director Zaira was certain, for she was an avid film goer, and could see that
he admired many of the great old films. But in her opinion, his fatal flaw he
lacked the confidence to forge his own style.
 

Maybe that was not so surprising.
 
Brad was still young, under thirty, and
he was the fourth generation of a Hollywood dynasty whose name had become
synonymous with success both in front of and behind the camera.
 

His great grandfather Declan had
come over from Ireland and worked with Edison in the first film studios in New
Jersey, his grandfather had a legendary actor and screenwriter, and his father
Cormac Clarke was a famous actor, director and producer.
 

So far as Zaira knew from the
gossip columns, Cormac had grown increasingly estranged from his eldest son.
Now that she had met him, Zaira suspected that rather than overwhelming
arrogance, this too was symptomatic of Brad’s desire to prove his worth, to
stop living in other men’s shadows.

The telephone interrupted her
thoughts, and she hastily picked up the receiver, painfully aware that she had
spent too much time already sitting around doing nothing but thinking of the
stunningly handsome man who had literally knocked her off her feet.

She heard the cheerful voice of
her publisher, Matt Wolf, say, “Well, tomorrow is the big day.”

“Tomorrow!
 
But we're doing the first rehearsal of
Hamlet
tomorrow for the amateur
dramatics festival!”

“No problem, he can see you in
action.”

“But he’s a Hollywood
director!
 
He’ll laugh himself
silly.
 
And besides, we still
haven’t got a female lead, so I’ll have to read Ophelia as well until we find
someone suitable who can get along with the temperamental Peter Duffy. How can
I possibly meet with him tomorrow?” Zaira protested.

“Look, I know it will be awkward,
but money comes first here.
 
I know
you have your reservations, but this is a golden opportunity for you. As your
friend as well as publisher, you have to put this first, no matter what you
think of his films.
 
We'll work in
some clauses that stop him from taking too many liberties, and even if the
critics hate it, enough people will go to see it just because his name is on it
to make it well worth your while.

"But
Matt—"

"No buts, honey.
 
We need this. No author is bullet proof
in this economy. But something like this, well, it will make you a hot
property. If the worst happens, he’ll say no to our price. If the best happens,
you'll rake in royalties and be able to pay off all the debts Jonathan left
before he disappeared,” Matt advised.

Zaira’s sharp intake of breath
indicated to Matt that he had said the wrong thing, but rather than back off,
he decided to use his blunder to convince her.
 
“I know the book is still selling well, but there’s no guarantee
that this will continue.
 
If you
want to clear his debts, and finish your degree, and get a bit of financial
independence and security for the first time in your life, then go for it, and
the hell with your principles.”

“Damn you, Matt, you're one hell
of a salesman,” Zaira grumbled.
  
“Right, then, tell him to get down to the Loeb theatre for one
o’clock.
 
We’ll have finished
everything by then, I think.”

“Sure, Zaira, I’ll tell him,” Matt
said, with rather too much merriment for her liking.
 
“Dinner at One Fifth afterwards to tell all, ok?”

She heaved a sigh, knowing she had
been well and truly played.
 
He was
very fond of getting his own way, and she felt completely manoeuvred into a
corner.

“Right, Matt, but there may not be
much to tell.”

Glancing at her watch, she
realized it was time to get ready for the first night of term party, a
tradition she remembered from when she had been a student at New York
University years before.
 

She recalled her first alcoholic
stupor at the NYU club only too well, for it was then she had met her first and
only love Jonathan Waxman.

Damn it,
Zaira thought defiantly
, I am
not going to think about him now!
 

She snatched up her bag and
stormed down the corridor to the toilet, where she applied a small amount of
make up to her pale face, and redid her chignon.
 

Her specks she pushed firmly up
the bridge of her nose, and hoped that the fearsome Brad Clarke, with his
incredible emerald eyes, would not be there.
 
She didn’t know how she would face him after what she had said
today. Or what on earth she would say to him when they had to start haggling
over the film rights to her book.

But she wouldn't think about that
now. She had to get ready, and she didn't want to ruin the evening.
  
All the same, he was pretty
unforgettable.
 
And he was certainly
going to remember her. Well, at least she had a whole night to think of an
apology before she saw him again tomorrow!

When Zaira arrived at the New York
University club, she ran into many of the students she had taught that
afternoon, and made small talk and smiled until her face muscles positively
ached with the effort.
 

A tall figure with dark hair
loomed up beside her, and for one horrified moment Zaira was convinced it was
Brad Clarke coming to pounce on her.
 
She smiled with relief when she realized it was only her Head of
Department Raymond Ness, who remembered her well from her student days.

“Well, Zaira, how were your new
students today?
 
Mine were
overeager and under read, but then that’s typical, isn’t it?”

“I’m a bit less cynical than you
are, Ray, but then I’m new to the game.”

Raymond had encouraged her
throughout her university career, and was still fiercely protective of
her.
 
He proceeded to upbraid her
for avoiding him and his charming wife recently.

“Anna’s been asking if I’ve seen
you, if there’s been any news about Jonathan.”

Zaira shook her head, but she knew
she was a rather poor liar.
 
It had
been a point of pride with her that when her husband Jonathan had abandoned
her, Zaira had coped on her own.
 
She had confided only in Matt Wolf, an old friend and literary agent
with powerful contacts, about her predicament, and then only because she was so
financially desperate.

“No news, Ray.
 
He’s still on the missing person’s
list, but to be perfectly honest, in a way I hope they don’t find him.
 
I really don’t want to know why he did
what he did.
 
Why he left. I’d just
like to forget all about it. Put the past behind me.”

“Just don’t be a stranger, that’s
all I’m saying.
 
We understand that
you need time on your own, but please come to us if you want anything.
 
Oh well,” he sighed, downing his drink
in one gulp.
 
“Time to mingle
again.”
 
He patted her on the hand
and kissed her on the cheek before disappearing into the throng.
 

Now was her chance, she
decided.
 
Zaira turned towards the
door in an attempt to slip out of the party, when she again collided with the
infuriatingly solid body of Brad Clarke.

“We meet again, Zaira Darcy,” he
said, grinning as he stared down at her with an odd light in his eyes.

“Don’t you valley boys ever watch
where you’re going, Brad Clarke?” she snapped, trying to push past him.
 

He caught her arm and pulled her
tightly to him. In the crush of the growing crowd in the narrow, oak-paneled
room, she had little choice but to remain pinned to his chest.

“This time I spotted you a mile
off, but I thought it would be rude to break up the
tete a tete
between you and your—boyfriend?”
he guessed. “Or husband?
 
But then,
you’re not wearing a ring, so my guess is boyfriend, though ‘boy’ would be a
charitable description.”
 

He smiled down at her as he took
hold of her left hand and looked at it in a very obvious fashion. As the clean
masculine scent filled her nostrils, and his warm strong fingers caressed hers
intimately, Zaira felt herself go weak at the knees.
 
His presence was so overwhelming that she could only stare
up at him.

Brad seemed to accept her silence
as an indication that his last guess had been correct. “Since you are now
free,” he declared with a smile, taking her other hand, and pulling her along
into a dark alcove, “I shall get us several drinks, and we are going to settle
our score with each other once and for all.”

Zaira was astonished that he even
remembered her, let alone knew her name and wished to speak to her.
 
The fact that he had deliberately sought
her out was even more surprising in view of the fact that as she watched him
saunter towards the bar nearby, every eye in the room was upon him.

Admittedly, she thought some of
the men and women had to be fans, but most of the women gazed at him with open
admiration for his incredible physique.
 
He was wearing a dinner jacket and black silk bow tie, and his tan stood
out against the stark white of his shirt.
 
He looked exotic, foreign, a visitor from another world.
 
She admitted that she was curious, nay,
fascinated about what his life in Hollywood was like.