Training Days (11 page)

Morgan shook her head. “No. No. I was kidding. Lucas has never proposed to me.”

“Bless you, dear. You shouldn’t tease me like that.” Marge leaned a little over the table, begging Morgan to share some secret details. “But there
is
someone special in your life?”

Morgan glanced at Ally then scooped a large spoonful of chocolate mousse and brought it to her mouth. “No. There’s no one special right now.” She briefly looked at Ally again before dropping her gaze and filling her mouth with mousse.

Now, Morgan again lowered her lashes.

“Morgan?” Ally prompted.

Morgan shifted a little uncomfortably. “Nick and I aren’t actually together. That was just a story that Kit . . . that
we
fabricated to throw you off the trail.”

Ally frowned. This whole Nick business was odder by the second. Why manufacture a romance between her and Nick if she and Mark were actually together? Ally didn’t know either of them from a bar of soap so it made little difference to her which one Morgan slept with. Hmm.
Unless, of course . . .
“Is Mark married?” she asked.

Morgan appeared surprised by the question. “No.”

“So why are you two hiding behind Nick?”

“Pardon?”

“You and Mark. Why do you want to keep it a secret?”

“You think it was Mark with me last night?”

Ally scoffed. “Well, it sure wasn’t Nick.”

Morgan seemed at a loss for words. “Mark and I are not . . .” She fell silent for a full three seconds. “Last night I was . . . um . . . I’m a—”

“It’s okay.” Ally discovered she was unable to watch Morgan squirm. It was all quite obvious to her now. Morgan and Mark weren’t an item any more than Morgan and Nick were. It had just been a one-night thing. Good friends who momentarily became bed buddies. And while Mark may not be married, maybe he had a significant other waiting for him at home. And probably Nick didn’t so he had been set up as the stooge. For some reason Ally was pleased with the thought that Morgan had never slept with Nick, and that Mark had only been a once-off. “Like I’ve said so many times now . . . It really doesn’t matter to me. So can we just declare the topic closed?”

Morgan smiled wanly, but she made the motion of buttoning her lip.

They both lifted their cognacs and downed the contents in one swallow. And they both put their glasses on the table and curled their fingers around the handles of their coffee cups and sat in contemplative silence.

Morgan hovered for at least a minute in front of the compartment that Mark and Nick shared. When she did eventually knock on the door she was greeted by a bleary-eyed Nick. After apologetically explaining she wanted to talk to Mark alone, he groggily gathered his shower accoutrements and shuffled down the corridor.

“Can’t it wait?” Mark yawned. He shoved his pillow over his head and snuggled deeper into the bedclothes. “I haven’t even had my first cigarette yet. And you know I can’t think without it.”

“No. It’s about last night.”

“Hmm.” There was another yawn followed by a muffled, “How did it go?”

“Well—” Morgan stopped short. She wasn’t going to talk to a pillow. Her sudden silence worked. The pillow was thrust aside and Mark turned over to regard her sleepily from his position on the top bunk. With his attention at least partially grabbed, she took a deep breath and blurted, “Ally thinks it was you with me the other night.”

Mark frowned, becoming a little more alert. “What?”

“I said—”

“I know what you said. I’m just wondering why she would think that.”

“Well, she knows it wasn’t Nick because she saw him on the platform at the time I was . . . busy. So, I guess she was using the process of elimination.”

“But of course you set her straight.” When Morgan shifted uneasily Mark’s voice took a warning tone. “Didn’t you?”

“Well . . .”

“Mogs!”

“I did try.” Morgan shifted again, this time reaching behind her to hold onto the edge of the wash basin. “Honestly I did—”

“Well, you obviously didn’t try very hard.” Mark flung the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. The ceiling of the compartment was not exceptionally high, so he sat hunched over. The slumped posture was in direct opposition to his current, thoroughly rankled expression. As if to get the two in sync, he leapt from the bunk, stood up straight and squared his shoulders. “You know why I didn’t agree to Kitty’s pairing of us in the first place. I tell you, Morgan, if this gets out and I lose my chance with Rebecca—”

“That’s not going to happen,” Morgan said quickly. “Ally won’t say anything. She told me she wouldn’t . . . and I trust her on that.”

Mark folded his arms. “If you trust her so much why didn’t you come out to her like you told me you were going to?”

“I don’t know.” Morgan shook her head, not exactly sure of the reason herself. “It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her, and then, when the moment came, I just couldn’t do it.”

“Well, you sure don’t have a problem with it at other times,” Mark said sarcastically. “Not with that French bird, or your little Swiss Miss, or that chick in Tokyo, or—”

Morgan cut Mark short from listing the participants in her recent escapades. “That’s not the same and you know it. With them it was more of a . . . mutual acknowledgment.”

“Mutual acknowledgment,” Mark echoed, again shaking his head. “I wish I could get some woman to ‘mutually acknowledge’ she wants to sleep with me.”

“I know a lot of women who think you’re terrific.”

“Don’t try to butter me up,” Mark warned, although she saw his chest puff slightly at her comment. “And don’t try to change the subject. Look”—he sat down on the edge of Nick’s unmade bottom bunk—“I know it’s hard for you, being . . . what do you call it?”

“In the closet?” Morgan offered.

“That’s it. In the closet.” Mark nodded. “And while I understand how you might have changed your mind about doing it at the last minute, I don’t understand how you could sit back and let her believe something that directly affects
me
.”

“But it doesn’t, really,” Morgan argued. “I truly believe she’s not going to tell anyone.”

“Maybe not. But maybe she’ll just tell her other half and maybe he’ll just casually mention it to someone. And . . . you know how these things get round. More than that,” Mark continued, “I happen to think Ally is an all right chick and maybe
I
don’t want to have to lie to her when I see her next.” He folded his arms, his expression as serious as Morgan had ever seen it. “In fact, I
won’t
lie to her when I see her next. If you don’t tell her she’s wrong about you and me, then I will.”

“Are you threatening me, Mark Baker?”

“Damn right I am.”

Morgan sagged a little. While she didn’t like confrontation generally, her distaste was compounded when she was in opposition to someone she considered one of her close friends. “Okay,” she said, defeated.

“Come on, Mogs.” Mark stood up and gave her a friendly punch on the shoulder. “You can do it. And if you can’t bring yourself to tell her you were with a woman, then just say it was someone who left the train at Kalgoorlie. You don’t have to mention their sex.”

“Okay,” she said again, feeling a little stronger.

“Now go away and leave me alone.” Mark yawned widely and scratched his stomach through the ragged T-shirt he called his pajama top. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Okay.” Morgan turned to leave the compartment, smiling for the first time since she’d entered it. She hurried back to her own compartment, announced herself through the closed door and entered to find Kitty half-dressed, facing the window and putting her hair into its usual bun.

Having shared accommodations with her producer on countless occasions, they had both seen each other in various states of undress almost as often. Normally, Morgan never paid any attention to it, her feelings toward Kitty totally sexless. But now she found herself staring at Kitty’s bare back. Did Ally’s muscles move in the same way when she reached up to arrange her hair? she wondered.

“You’re up early,” Kitty commented, half turning, a hairpin between her lips.

“Yes,” Morgan stammered, her gaze sliding downward to the curve of breast that Kitty’s movement had revealed. She actually had to tell herself to stop staring. “My stomach’s upset.” That was the truth. Her insides were suddenly gripped by a churning sensation.

“Are you sick?” Kitty turned to face her fully. “Because we’ve got a very full schedule today.”

“I know.” Despite her attempts not to, Morgan’s eyes strayed to Kitty’s breasts. She had to admit they were exceptional. Firm and smooth, with two cherry-red nipples that seemed to be sitting up and begging for a caress.
Every woman is different, s
he told herself firmly.
Even if on the surface they are physically similar
. Goodness knew, she’d seen enough unclothed women in her life to know that to be true. Having finally convinced her brain to stop interpreting the current visual input as a preview of Ally’s assets, she lifted her gaze to Kitty’s face. “I’ll be fine, I promise. I just have to get something out of my system.”

With that, she fled the compartment, hoping Kitty would interpret her words and sudden departure as proof she was making a dash to the toilet.

The toilet was not her destination at all, which turned out to be just as well, since each facility she passed appeared to have a little queue waiting outside—even in Gold where the passenger-to-toilet ratio was much lower. Clearly, it was morning rush hour. Once outside Ally’s door, Morgan wished she had made a bathroom stop as she had a sudden urge to pee.
It’s just nerves
, she told herself. The very same symptom had plagued her in the early days of her on-screen career. Back then, she thought she would wet herself each time someone called “action.” Now, she did as she had in the past, taking a series of calming breaths and mentally talking herself up.

She knocked.

“Just a minute.” Ally’s voice came from the other side of the door.

She waited.

She kept breathing.

And by the time the door slid across Morgan felt her poise return. “Hi, Ally. I wanted to speak to you, if I could.”

“Oh.” Ally glanced to her watch, seemingly torn. “I’m supposed to meet Marge in a few minutes to say good-bye. I was just on my way there now. Can it wait . . . or would you like to walk and talk?”

Shit
. Morgan had forgotten the appointment Ally had made with Marge last night. Morgan had already said her good-byes to Marge, explaining, truthfully, that she had a breakfast meeting scheduled this morning to run over the final details before their big day of filming. And it was a big day. At Adelaide, a special carriage would be hooked onto the train, taking an eccentric and usually media-shy English crooner to Sydney. They were to film the carriage as it was attached, have an on-camera chat with the crooner before he boarded, and another once he was settled into his private carriage with king-size bed and full-sized bathroom. Finally, Morgan would be filmed trying out the luncheon delicacies prepared by an on-board chef to the crooner’s advance order. Once that was done, she had a brief respite to freshen up and change her outfit before conducting some interviews with the Red class passengers she had scouted in the lounge car on the first day of the journey. Come dinnertime, she would be filmed dining in Red, something that promised to be a big letdown after her private-carriage, chef-created lunch.

She said, “Can we meet after dinner tonight? Say at about ten p.m.?”

“Sure.” Ally closed the door behind her and turned the key in the lock. She grinned. “That’s right. Lucky you gets to feed at the cattle trough tonight.”

Morgan barely moved out of the way when Ally stepped into the corridor and she felt the loose cotton sleeves of Ally’s shirt brush against her arm. It made the hairs on her forearm stand on end. “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“I couldn’t comment about dinner as I’ve never experienced it. But if breakfast is any indication . . .” Ally trailed off, leaving Morgan to fill in the blanks. She nodded down the corridor. “Sorry, Morgan, but I really have to go.”

“No worries. I’ll come with you as far as my room.”

The narrow corridor forced them to walk in single file. Ally led and Morgan followed at a distance that allowed them to speak comfortably but still afforded her a full-length view. By the time she had passed out of Gold she had verified what she already knew to be true: that Ally had a build very similar to Kitty’s. And by the time she reached her carriage, she had also reconfirmed the other conclusion she had drawn earlier: that no two women were the same. Height, build and hair color aside, everything about Ally was different than Kitty—the way she walked, the way she talked, the way she laughed, the sincerity of her smile.

Ally turned when she reached Morgan’s door. “There you go. Delivered home safely.”

“Thank you, madam.” Morgan made a show out of bowing, mainly to hide her eyes, which she was sure would advertise the fact she was fast becoming besotted.