Stormy Vows/Tempest at Sea (2 page)

“Neither did I,” Brenna replied. “I don't think he wanted to trade on the association. That's why it's so important that I do well at the reading. I can't let him down after he went to the trouble of asking for a special favor from Mr. Donovan.”

She moistened her lips nervously, and then straightened her shoulders. “Well, they can only turn me down,” she said with bravado. She flashed a quick smile at the older woman. “Wish me luck?”

“Break a leg, Brenna,” Vivian said.

Giving a quick kiss on the top of Randy's silky head, Brenna left.

It was only as she was maneuvering her ancient gray Honda out of the apartment complex parking lot that she allowed her thoughts to turn back to the interview ahead.

When Charles had told her what he had arranged for her and handed her the script for
Wild Heritage
, she had been stunned. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined a chance to audition for Donovan. Charles had been almost childishly pleased at
her surprise. He explained gruffly that Donovan had been a student of his quite some years before and they still kept in casual contact.

“When I read that Michael had bought the book
Wild Heritage
, I knew you'd be perfect for Angie,” he said simply. He patted her on the shoulder awkwardly. “Do me proud, Brenna.”

Wild Heritage
centered around the character of Angie Linden, a complex young woman struggling to overcome her promiscuous past. It had everything: pathos, humor, and an underlying hint of tragedy. Any actress would give her eyeteeth for the role, and Brenna was frankly skeptical of such a plum being awarded to an unknown. If Charles Wilkes had not been so insistent, she wouldn't have even consented to go for the reading. But she could not disappoint him after all he had done for her.

The address Charles had given her was in downtown Los Angeles, and when she located it, she was surprised to find it was a modest two-story brick building with a discreet plaque reading
DONOVAN ENTERPRISES LTD
. Rather an unimposing establishment for a man of Donovan's reputed flamboyance, she thought, as she parked in front of the building. After putting coins in the meter, she entered the swinging glass doors. A smiling receptionist directed her to Studio B on the second floor.

Studio B was actually a small theater with a raised stage and several rows of padded velvet seats. Two seats near the door were occupied by a short, dark-haired man in his thirties and a casually dressed red-haired woman of about her own age. The man rose to his feet as she entered, picking up a clipboard from the seat next to him.

“Miss Sloan?” His smile was quick, charging his thin, clever face with warmth. “Josh Hernandez, and this is my assistant, Billie Perkins.” The red-haired woman smiled in acknowledgment of Brenna's nod. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Brenna relaxed slightly, and drew a deep breath of relief. Perhaps
it wouldn't be so bad after all. Josh Hernandez was far from the cigar-smoking, beady-eyed executive of her nervous imagination.

A smile lit her face, and Josh Hernandez caught his breath involuntarily. God, he hadn't seen a smile like that since Audrey Hepburn.

“I'm very happy to meet you, Mr. Hernandez,” she said shyly. Then looking around the tiny theater, “This isn't at all what I expected.”

He grinned and shrugged. “If you get through this intact, you still have to take a screen test. But Mr. Donovan prefers that the first audition take place here. He thinks the stage highlights the actor, and lets us better appraise the body movements.”

“Mr. Donovan appears to be a man of original ideas,” Brenna said lightly.

“He is indeed, Miss Sloan,” Josh Hernandez said ruefully. “He is indeed.” He looked down at the clipboard and detached a form. “If you will fill this out, we'll get on with the actual audition.”

The audition form was quite short, and in a few minutes she had completed it and returned it to Hernandez.

He gestured to the stage casually. “When you're ready,” he said easily.

Brenna mounted the four steps at the side of the stage, and moved to center stage. Drawing a deep breath to still the quivering butterflies, she asked quietly. “Where do you want me to begin?”

“Start with Angie's monologue on page three, scene two,” Hernandez said. “Billie will read Joe.”

Brenna began to read, and, as usual, once she became involved with the character, she forgot everything else. All nervous apprehension vanished in her absorption with Angie Linden. She actually began to enjoy herself, and was almost disappointed
when Hernandez called a halt to the reading. She knew with a confident thrill that it had been a good audition. She had done well.

Hernandez came up the stairs two at a time, a broad grin on his dark face. “A really great job, Miss Sloan!”

She looked up at him hopefully, her face glowing. “You like it?” she asked breathlessly. Hernandez stared down into her face bemusedly. “Damn, if you photograph well, you'll be a natural.” Then he added quickly, “The final decision isn't mine, of course. But if I have anything to say about it, you have the role.”

“Hold it, Josh!”

They both looked with startled eyes toward the door.

The red-haired man leaning indolently against the doorjamb was dressed casually in faded jeans and a cream-colored shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow. Despite the casualness of his dress, there was no mistaking his identity. Though Michael Donovan was militantly vigilant of his privacy, he was excellent copy, and newspaper photos of him appeared on occasion. Once seen, he couldn't be forgotten.

Brenna's breath caught in her throat at the explosive impact of the man. He was not at all handsome, she thought dazedly, and then was amazed that she had noticed because Michael Donovan made conventional observations unimportant. His blunt, rough-hewn features carried a power all their own, and the piercing blue of his eyes cut through what wasn't essential with the force of a lightning bolt. The air around him seemed to crackle with the strength and vitality of his personality. The mahogany hair and eyebrows, and the tall muscular body were dwarfed by the sheer overpowering virility that emanated from the man.

He moved with lithe swiftness past a dazzled Billie Perkins, to mount the steps and cross to stand before Brenna and Hernandez.

At close range, he was even more intimidating, and Brenna stepped back instinctively, a fact that Donovan noted with narrowed eyes. His mouth twisted cynically as he turned to Hernandez. “I believe you're slipping, Josh,” he said smoothly. “It's not like you to make even a tentative commitment without consulting me. Isn't your usual policy, Don't call us, we'll call you?” His eyes traveled intimately from the top of Brenna's glossy head to the delicate bones of her ankles. “It would take something pretty world-shaking to budge you from your standard procedure.”

Hernandez was looking at Donovan with dark, puzzled eyes. “There was no commitment, Mr. Donovan,” he said quietly. “I do plead guilty to enthusiasm. She gave a damn good reading.”

Donovan nodded casually. “She was good, I caught the last half.”

Brenna's eyes brightened as they flew to Donovan's face. His gaze had never left her expressive face, and he caught the look of eager expectancy radiating from her. He said briskly, “There's no use raising your hopes, Miss Sloan. You won't do for the role.”

The soft doe eyes widened with shock at the cruel bluntness of his statement. “But why?” she asked in bewilderment. “You said I was good.”

Donovan had taken the clipboard from Hernandez and was swiftly perusing the information on the personnel sheet. “You were good,” he said coolly. “That doesn't mean you are suited for the role of Angie. Any number of actresses could have given an equally convincing reading.”

Hernandez opened his mouth as if to protest, but, at a lightning glance from Donovan, he subsided with a shrug.

Donovan continued, “What we need for Angie is someone with more experience.”

“Professional experience?” Brenna asked, thinking she understood. Though Donovan didn't have the reputation of
playing it safe by hiring box office draws, it was logical that he would not want to gamble a multimillion-dollar movie on an unknown.

But Donovan was shaking his head. “I don't give a damn about professional experience,” he said swiftly. “I'm talking about personal experience. You gave a nice surface reading, but I want more than that for Angie. I want the actress who plays the part to reach down and bring up real gut feelings.” He gestured toward the clipboard in his hand. “You're only twenty, and you've had no formal theatrical training, so perhaps you're unfamiliar with Stanislavski and sense memory?”

“Stanislavski? Method acting?” she asked dazedly.

“Precisely. I forgot for a moment that you are a protégée of Wilkes'. You're aware that method acting endorses using your own emotions and experiences as the basis for your performance. Angie Linden is a woman who has lived life to the fullest, despite her youth. She's had lovers by the score, and has suffered disillusionment and cruelty.” His eyes lingered on her face. “You look as if you still have the morning dew on you, Miss Sloan,” he said. “Angie Linden is definitely midnight lace and French perfume.”

Brenna could feel a slow anger beginning to build. “Let me understand you, Mr. Donovan,” she said carefully. “It's not because I'm not a good enough actress to play the part. You're refusing to give me the role because I don't have a torrid past to draw on for Angie's character?”

His vivid blue eyes were curiously watchful. “That's quite right,” he said silkily. “I'm sure you would do very well in ingenue or Juliet roles, Miss Sloan.”

“That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life,” she said flatly, ignoring Hernandez’ hastily drawn breath at her insolence. Her anger had leaped to full blaze, and the usual limpid brown eyes were sparkling with feeling. In just a few minutes, she had been moved from hope to bewilderment to disappointment
by this arrogant dictator, and now he was denying her a chance that might mean her whole future… and denying it on the flimsiest pretext imaginable!

“You think so?” Donovan asked idly, his eyes still observing her as if she were an interesting new specimen at the zoo. “I take it you don't agree with Stanislavski, Miss Sloan?”

“An actress can work with any number of tools that help her perfect a characterization. Theories, like method acting and sense memory, are just that—tools. But they are far from the only tools, if you're to be any good at all. A creative imagination, sensitivity, and just plain hard work are much more important. To subscribe so fanatically to one aspect of a complex whole is utterly absurd.” She tossed her hair back from her face, and said emphatically, “To deny me the part because you think I lack sex appeal is totally and completely asinine.”

Donovan's eyes were amused as they moved over her lazily, causing a flood of heat to envelope her body. “I never said you lacked sex appeal. Merely experience.” Blue devils gleamed in his eyes as he continued softly. “A lack that I would be more than happy to supply.”

She could feel the blood rush to her face in a burning blush that was due as much to anger as embarrassment. The knowledge that he was toying with her increased her rage. Donovan's affairs were legion. He was reputedly as sexually active as a tomcat, and with some of the most sophisticated and beautiful women in the world, if the gossip columns were correct. The possibility that he would find a twenty-year-old “ingenue-type” attractive was ludicrous. No, he was merely revenging himself for the insults she had hurled at him by teasing her as a cat would a mouse.

“I don't deserve that,” she said quietly, lifting her chin defiantly. “I know you're annoyed with me, but don't descend to that sexist casting couch routine to put me in my place, Mr. Donovan. I have a valid argument and I'm sorry you're too
blind and pigheaded to appreciate it.” She turned and stalked majestically off the stage, leaving the two men staring after her. She paused at the door, and turned to meet Donovan's narrowed eyes. “You're wrong, Michael Donovan,” she said with serene conviction. “I could have made something very special out of Angie Linden.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “And if my memory serves, Juliet was a very sexy lady,” she said softly. “So you're wrong there, too.” She strode from the theater.

two

A WHITE CORE OF ANGER BURNED LIKE A
piece of molten steel in Brenna as she went through the motions of driving home, picking up Randy from Vivian's, and taking him back to their apartment. Once home, Brenna put Randy down for his afternoon nap. She scrupulously removed all the toys from his bed, knowing that if there was even one distraction, Randy would find it and refuse to go to sleep. She ignored his pleading eyes, turned him over on his stomach, tucked his blanket around him and, patted his round bottom. “Sleep,” she said firmly, and closed the door decisively behind her.

She leaned wearily against the door, feeling as if the violent emotions of the morning had savaged her and left her weak and drained. She moved slowly to the couch, and curled up in the corner, leaning her head on the arm. Unexpectedly a drop of moisture coursed down her cheek, and she brushed it aside angrily. Tears? No, dammit, she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't give Michael Donovan the satisfaction of upsetting her that much. She was tougher than that. Hadn't Janine said that, she thought suddenly, her throat tightening. She could remember her sister kneeling beside her bed, her ash-blond hair wild around her white face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You're strong,
Brenna,” Janine had gasped. “You've always been stronger than me, even though I'm older. Help me, Brenna. Help me!”