Spotlight On Desire

“Damn!” she cursed as her front bumper connected with the spare tire riding on the back of the van—thankfully, the hunk of rubber cushioned what could have been a major impact. Jewel slumped back in her seat, angry with herself for losing control and allowing this to happen. She was a good driver with a spotless record, and the last thing she needed was a moving violation or an angry driver screaming in her face.

Through her windshield, she saw the driver of the van—a wiry Asian man in a white jumpsuit—hop out and go to the rear of his vehicle. While he inspected the damage, three more men, who looked as if they could have been the driver’s brothers, emerged from the passenger side of the van and joined him. They began chattering away in a language that Jewel did not understand. However, she could certainly tell by the tone of their voices and their hand gestures that they were upset about the accident.

“Oh, hell, I gotta deal with this,” Jewel muttered, flipping open the storage compartment in the dash to retrieve a card with insurance information on it. Grabbing her purse and flinging her car door open, she jumped out and looked around.

Luckily, she had turned off busy Wilshire Boulevard to take Windsor to West Eighth, and was on a side street dotted with small shops, a gas station and a huge abandoned warehouse.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she began, hurrying toward the front of her car, thankful that no one was around who might recognize her and initiate a paparazzi frenzy.

“You hit me, lady!” the driver shouted, pointing to the back of his van. “You hit me hard.”

“I know, I know. It was all my fault. I’ll take care of any damage.” Jewel offered him her insurance information, which he snatched out of her hand, glowering more hatefully at her. Jewel sucked in a deep breath, stepped over to inspect the damage and was pleasantly surprised to see that the only vehicle injured was hers—a deep scrape that ran the length of her bumper. The spare tire on the back of the van had protected the other vehicle from damage.

“Well, that’s good,” she said with an audible sigh of relief, using hand signals to demonstrate to the man that hers was the only vehicle with a problem. “My insurance will cover my car. No reason to call the police,” she said, raising her voice. “No damage to you, thank God. No problem, right?”

The man rolled his eyes and glanced, three times, from the dent in her bumper to his unscarred van while his fellow passengers crowded around. Immediately, a rapid exchange of conversation erupted—short guttural bursts thrown back and forth, sounding very angry to Jewel, who stepped away in alarm.

Easing back toward her car, she began to worry. What were they talking about? Why were they waving their arms and screaming? Deciding that she’d better call the police after all, Jewel leaned into the open car door to get her cell phone, but when she raised her head, the driver of the van was standing in her face, screaming. He clutched his left shoulder with his right hand and bent over. “Problem, lady. Big problem. Hurt. Hurt real bad.” He kept rubbing his hand back and forth over his shoulder and groaning low in his throat. His companions patted his back in sympathy making pointed frowns at Jewel.

Jewel felt her mouth go dry and the muscles in her throat clamp shut. Was this some kind of a scam? Had she been drawn into a situation that was about to turn ugly? As the realization settled in, she made a quick decision: no way was she going to fall for whatever con job or sting these men planned to pull.

Revising her approach, she turned to the driver and, using her most intimidating voice, yelled, “What in hell are you talking about?” A pause long enough for him to understand that he’d chosen the wrong sister to tangle with today. “You’re hurt?” she snapped. “I did not hit you hard enough to hurt you and you sure as hell didn’t have any trouble jumpin’ outta your van.” She almost spat the words at the man. “I hit the spare tire. I was going only twenty miles an hour, at most!”

“Bad. Hurt bad,” the driver insisted in a more urgent groan, eyes swiveling toward his fellow passengers, who nodded their agreement.

Determined to maintain control over the situation, Jewel sniffed and then squinted suspiciously at the moaning man. “Fine. If you’re really injured, I’d better call an ambulance. And the police, too.” She whipped out her cell phone and held it up, almost like a gun, thumb poised, ready to launch a 911 call. Taking care to enunciate slowly and clearly, she told him, “I am calling the police. Police? Hospital? Okay?”

The driver’s eyes widened in apprehension. He let go of his shoulder and waved both hands back and forth. “No. No police, lady. No hospital. You pay me cash money, okay?”

Infuriated, Jewel laughed in his face, unable to believe this brazen demand. How dare he try to shake her down? In broad daylight? She snorted in disgust and jabbed the air with her cell phone. “Pay you cash money? I don’t think so. You gotta be out of your mind. I have insurance. If you’re really injured, my insurance will take care of you. I’m gonna call 911 and we’re gonna stay right here until the ambulance and the police arrive, then we’ll see how hurt you are.”

The man shouted something at his companions, who scurried back into the van. The driver spat on the pavement, hurled sharp words at Jewel and then returned to his van, taking off in a squeal of hot rubber.

Shaking with outrage, Jewel got back into her car and started the engine. Driving slowly, she paid better attention to the road and did not let her mind drift back to Taye Elliott, who’d already caused enough drama for one day.

Chapter 6

Early Saturday morning Jewel awakened feeling ravenous, so she ditched her usual wheat toast and herbal tea breakfast regime and whipped up a batch of cinnamon butter sweet rolls. The impulsive indulgence seemed perfectly logical to her, considering how much stress she was under.

Setting down her fork, Jewel crossed her arms over the silky soft fabric of her pale peach shirt, her stomach in knots and her appetite rapidly fading. Her car was wrecked. Taye was coming for dinner and she hadn’t heard back from Sonny.

Why did I agree to meet with Taye tonight? she fretted. What had she been thinking, inviting him to her house? They could have met at the studio, or in a private room in a restaurant, or at Fred Warner’s business office in downtown L.A. Anyplace less intimate than her home.

Jewel shoved aside her icing-laced sweet roll when the telephone rang. She snatched it up and scowled into the receiver as Sonny told her he could not make it to her meeting with Taye tonight. Family commitment. He’d catch up with her Monday.

Frustrated, Jewel jabbed the button to end the call and focused on the back door as it suddenly opened.

The woman who entered the kitchen was humming, an iPod device plugged into her ears.

“Hello, Carmie,” Jewel called over to her assistant, who removed her ear plugs, made three quick turns to wrap the black wires around her music player and then acknowledged Jewel with a short half wave as she pocketed her keys and shut the door.

Carmie Lewis was the woman who took care of both the mundane and the extravagant details that made up Jewel Blaine’s life. She was Jewel’s go-to person, secretary, trusted friend and her conscience, too, when the situation required.

Carmie was petite, almost as short as Jewel, but heavier in the hips and thighs. She had butter-cream skin, textured copperred hair that dangled in tight curls around a wise face, cheekbones that any professional model would kill for and wide-set brown eyes that drew attention away from the sprinkling of freckles that marched across the bridge of her upturned nose. At forty-three, she was as hip, sassy and attractive as a woman ten years younger.

“Thanks for coming over so fast,” Jewel added, sounding a tad apologetic, knowing how bad traffic on the 405 could be between Ladera Heights and her home in Brentwood. Monday through Friday, Carmie managed Jewel’s correspondence, kept her calendars on track, organized her wardrobe to ensure that Jewel’s clothing delivered a diva punch without looking slutty, did the grocery shopping and most of the cooking. In fact, Carmie was an excellent cook who enjoyed showing off her skill, with special meals for her busy, on-the-go employer.

“Sure you didn’t have plans this morning?” Jewel asked.

“Nope. Just like I said, coming over now is fine, but I’ve gotta leave here by two. Hair appointment that I can’t afford to miss.” Carmie removed her reflective sunglasses and stuck them into the side pocket of her purse. “I stopped by Royal Street Market and picked up a pint of mango sherbet for dessert.” She plunked her leather patchwork purse down on the gold-flecked granite counter separating the kitchen from the breakfast area and then stuck the sherbet in the freezer. “So, what do you want for dinner?” Carmie asked as she went to the sink and washed her hands.

“Something simple, light and in the fridge…ready for me to heat up and serve.”

“No problem.” Carmie paused, frowning. “And what’s that you’re eating?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at Jewel’s plate.

“Cinnamon sweet rolls.”

“Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Only time you make those things is when something or someone’s gotten to you.”

With a flick of her wrist, Jewel dismissed her assistant’s comment. “Nothing’s wrong. In fact, things couldn’t be better. Guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought,” Jewel feigned, pushing her plate aside.

“Well, I’m not surprised you’re stressin’ out and eatin’ all that sugar,” Carmie stated with the authority that came from three years of working for the actress, “with all that’s been going on. First, Brad up and dies, then you get a stunt director in charge of your show and next, some Koreans try to shake you down on your way home. I told you, you need a driver. Why you insist on driving yourself around L.A. I don’t understand. Los Angeles can be a dangerous place for a woman out and about alone. You need to be more careful. If I could afford it, I’d keep a chauffeured car on call 24/7 ’cause driving is one thing I could easily give up.”

“First of all, I didn’t say they were Koreans. Asians. That’s all I said,” Jewel clarified, having anticipating Carmie’s reaction to what happened.

“Okay, Asians,” Carmie conceded. “Doesn’t matter who they are, they oughta be arrested for trying a stunt like that.”

Jewel ignored the remark and went on. “And second, I don’t mind the driving. Being alone in the car with my music is kinda nice. Makes me feel safe, not insecure or helpless. As if I can really take care of myself.”

“Is it the freedom you like or the control?”

Carmie’s question was dead serious, giving Jewel pause. As a television actress, she was surrounded by people assigned to take care of her makeup, her hair, her body, her schedule and even the meals she ate. It seemed as if some eager man or woman was always standing nearby, prepared to do things for Jewel that she had once enjoyed doing for herself. Driving her own car to work every day was her last hold on an independence she was reluctant to give up. However, she had to agree with her assistant. “All right. I want both freedom and control! So what? And please don’t play Doctor Phil with me today, okay?”

With a louder-than-usual huff, Carmie bobbed her head up and down. “All right. Don’t want my advice? I’ll shut up.” She went back to getting her meal together, while commenting over her shoulder. “My son has all of those Terror Train DVDs and I’ve watched ’em with him and his friends a few times. They’re absolutely wild! The body count is so high you can’t keep up with who’s killin’ who. And the sex? Whew! It’s a whole lot raunchier than anything you’ve ever done on P & P. Closer to soft porn, I’d say. You think Taye Elliott’s gonna spice things up in the bedroom between Caprice and Darin? Let ’em get down and dirty? Do some serious lovin’, you know?”

Jewel made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat. Spice things up? Get down and dirty? Hell, no! Caprice was sensuous, seductive and sexy. Nothing remotely close to soft porn was going to appear on a network show. Surely, Taye Elliott knew how far he could push the censors, didn’t he? If not, she’d make sure to discuss that with Taye tonight.

“Have you seen any of his movies?” Carmie inquired, opening the refrigerator to remove a bag of grated cheese.

“No, of course not.” Action flicks are not my thing.

“Well, why don’t you rent one, watch it before he shows up tonight?”

“Think I should?” Why? So we can talk car chases and rollovers all evening? Or analyze fake orgasms and equally fake tits?

“Absolutely!” Carmie was emphatic.

“Well, I’ll think about it,” Jewel vaguely responded, wondering if Carmie might have a point. Perhaps viewing Mr. Elliott’s work would give her a better feel for his creative approach as well as ammunition for any disagreements they might have over his vision for P & P. “Are they in stock at Movieland?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’d have all of ’em,” Carmie replied. “But you’d better get over there before noon. After that, all the good movies are gone.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll do that,” Jewel decided, leaving the kitchen and heading toward her bedroom.

Passing through the den, she paused at the bay window overlooking the shimmering aqua pool that swept the curve of the flagstone patio. Her favorite pink rosebush was in flower, creating a vibrant splash of color against the lush green foliage in the yard. She smiled, recalling that Brad Fortune had given her that rosebush as a housewarming gift when she first moved in. She loved her house in Brentwood. It was small enough to manage on her own, yet large enough to entertain a crowd of friends when she felt like throwing a party. The one-story Mediterranean white stucco house was the perfect home for her, where she, Brad and Sonny had spent quite a few Saturday afternoons by the pool, running lines and drinking margaritas while strategizing Caprice and Darin’s next moves. Jewel shuddered, throwing off the memories, unable to imagine doing the same with Taye Elliott.

Leaving the den, Jewel went into her bedroom to retrieve her purse and her car keys. Hurrying through the kitchen, she called out to Carmie, “Be right back!” While waiting for the garage door to rise, she tried to calculate how many Terror Train films she could watch before Taye showed up at six o’clock.

Chapter 7

When the phone rang, Taye clicked Pause on the remote control and stilled the image of Caprice Desmond kissing Darin Saintclare in the backseat of a dark limousine. The episode of The Proud and the Passionate that he’d been watching was the last of Brad Fortune’s work and from it, Taye had been able to detect nuances in the characters that he wanted to recapture when he took over as director.

Now, he checked the caller ID on the phone, saw the name “Elliott,” paused, took a deep breath and then reached for the handset.

“Hey, Cliff,” he said, greeting his younger brother, the only member of his family to whom he spoke on a regular basis.

“Taye. Just checkin’ in. Hadn’t heard from you for a while, man,” Cliff replied in an upbeat tone. “Been thinking about you…What’s up out there in la-la land?”

“Nothing much,” Taye hedged, not ready to tell his brother the truth: a hell of a lot was going on. He had a new gig at CBC. He was entering the world of daytime drama. He was totally smitten with a soap star named Jewel Blaine and thought he was falling in love. But now was not the time to elaborate on his chaotic show-business lifestyle, which was much more exotic and unstable than his brother’s predictable world.

Cliff was a steady, reliable lawyer with a wife, two daughters and a home in the suburbs of Pittsburgh. His life was safe, orderly and totally removed from the shifting, gutsy environment in which Taye moved, where everything could change in a heartbeat. A deal could be canceled with a phone call. A contract broken via e-mail. A director could be fired and replaced within the span of a day, without ever being told why he was no longer needed. In Taye’s line of work, nothing was certain until it was over—until the film was on the screen, the principals had been paid and the royalties started rolling in. Until that happened, it was all speculation and he’d learned to live with the insecurities of his chosen career.

“I saw the latest Terror Train. Good stuff, man,” Cliff said. “I took Sandra to one of those advance screenings in the mall. She really got into the movie and she’s not one for action flicks, you know? The love story was what she liked best. But that gas station explosion? That was the bomb, man. Too wild!”

“Glad you guys enjoyed it,” Taye replied, then there was silence for a moment. Cliff, his wife, Sandra, and their two daughters had visited Taye in Los Angeles last year, ending a family estrangement that began when Taye defied his father and left Pittsburgh to launch his acting career. All year, Cliff had been trying to bring their tiny family back together and Taye was beginning to feel guilty for not doing more to make that happen.

“So, what’re you workin’ on now? Another movie?” Cliff asked.

“No. Not now. I’m doing TV. A great opportunity that’s gonna be a lot of fun,” Taye hedged, hesitant to go into details. After all, the directing job was only for a soap opera, not a made-for-TV movie with A-list stars. A temporary fill-in until the end of the sweeps. But why did he feel so uneasy talking about it? Did he worry that his work was somehow less important than his brother’s, his father’s? Why did he feel like he had to prove himself repeatedly? He was making a damn good living and had no reason to feel ashamed. He was as successful as his brothers, wasn’t he?

“Yeah? Television? Any show I might watch?” Cliff wanted to know.

“No, probably not,” Taye responded. “I start Monday…. I’ll fill you in later, once I get a feel for how it’s gonna play out.” Eager to move on, Taye changed the subject, inquiring after his father and other two brothers, whom he had not seen in years.

As Cliff filled Taye in on the family happenings, Taye’s mind slipped back to the day he decided to drop out of medical school, leave Pittsburgh and head to Los Angeles to try his luck in the movies. His decision had infuriated and disappointed his father, Dr. Roland Elliott, the respected reconstructive surgeon who had invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in each of his sons’ educations with the expectation that they join the family business—The Elliott Cosmetic Surgery Center.

Taye’s three brothers went along with their father’s plan and earned degrees in medicine. Don specialized in nose jobs, eyes and face-lifts. William preferred liposuction and breast augmentation. And Cliff, who went back to law school to become a medical attorney, skillfully handled the legal challenges from clients who’d expected miracle results.

When Taye tossed away his chance at a career in medicine, brothers Don and William had blasted him for being foolish and naive, calling him ungrateful and selfish for allowing their father to fund his education when he had never intended to complete medical school. Only Cliff had sided with Taye, supporting his decision to go his own way.

Over the years, Taye had tried to repay his father’s investment, but his checks always came back, uncashed. This refusal deeply hurt Taye, who saw it as a blatant rejection of all he had accomplished, further hardening his heart toward his father. He spoke to his dad on Father’s Day and Christmas Day, in conversations that were one-sided and brief. Taye missed the close relationship he’d once enjoyed with his family, but wasn’t sorry about the career choice he’d made.

“We need to get together. All of us,” Cliff was pressing. “Dad’s getting older, the kids are growing up and time is passin’, bro. Think about coming home for a visit this summer, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll think about it,” Taye agreed, knowing that would never happen. He had too much to take care of in L.A.

After hanging up, Taye put Cliff’s call out of his mind and resumed the DVD he’d been watching. In less than half an hour, he had to be at Jewel’s house, but he wanted to see how the episode concluded.

Watching closely, Taye studied Caprice Desmond as she snaked her arms around Darin Saintclare’s neck and smothered him with a kiss. It was long and deep, ending when she slid her hands down to rest them on Darin’s thighs, very near his crotch. The scene brought a surge of heat into Taye’s belly, initiating an unexpected hard-on.

But I’m a hell of a lucky guy, Taye decided. He was actually going to direct that gorgeous woman! Watch her every move through the camera lens. Listen to her sexy voice, inhale her perfume and spend hours in conversations that he hoped would spill off the set and into more intimate settings. Taye shook his head, knowing he shouldn’t have such cozy thoughts about an actress under his direction, but couldn’t help himself. Engaging in a fantasy romantic encounter with Jewel Blaine was the only indulgence he could afford.

I wonder what she’s doing right now? He let his thoughts wander. Getting ready for our meeting? Stepping out of the shower? He could just imagine what she looked like wrapped in nothing but a towel, a damp swell of soft tan breasts peeking over the fold of white terry cloth.

Blinking away that vision, he refocused on the television where the romantic scene in the limo was giving way to a lover’s quarrel about Caprice and Darin’s upcoming separation. Taye kept one eye on the flat-screen TV as their argument unfolded and continued to dress, stepping into a pair of navy slacks and pulling on a crisp white shirt.

When the credits began to roll, Taye paused to think over what he’d just seen, realizing he’d expected much more emotion from Caprice at the end. More desperation. Remorse. Even fear. In Taye’s opinion, the scene had not inflicted enough emotional damage to the couple’s rocky relationship. It had been a predictable, satisfying exchange, but Taye would have done it differently.

Taye wanted Caprice Desmond to show more spunk, deliver more spark. As it stood, Caprice was coming off as a tiger that had been tamed. A domesticated wildcat seething with desire, which needed to break free.

Taye tapped his key chain against his thigh and mulled the episode, knowing Caprice’s undercurrent of simmering emotion had teased him, lured him into anticipating a climactic explosion that simply hadn’t materialized. He felt cheated and let down.

It’s time for Caprice Desmond to create some havoc, he decided. Become a mega diva wildcat that the fans will absolutely love…or hate. Either way, they’ll watch every episode to see what she’s gonna do.

Taye knew how to get what he wanted on film. He’d moved audiences, literally, to the edges of their seats, infusing them with awe, shock and fear laced with hope. He could do the same for the fans of P & P by making them hunger for Caprice Desmond’s next move like chocolate junkies craving a fix. He planned to engage and outrage her fans, encouraging them to cry for more. What Jewel Blaine needed was a director who could expose and exploit the raw undercurrent of heat that Taye knew she possessed. And I’m the one to do it, he vowed, knowing it could happen now that he was in control.

Chapter 8

The loose yellow-and-tan-print cardigan, paired with sleek chocolate-brown leggings, was the perfect backdrop for the chunky tiger’s eye and butterscotch jade necklace that Jewel bought last summer in Hong Kong. Two tortoiseshell cuff bracelets stacked on one arm and ballerina flats in metallic tones of gold and rust completed her casual at-home outfit. A short blast of Glossy Girl hair shine over the curls she’d arranged in a bouncy cascade at the back of her head and Jewel was ready for her meeting with Taye.

Deciding what to wear tonight had taken up the better part of the afternoon as Jewel pawed her way through her massive walk-in closet, examining different outfits. At work, her character’s clothes were like props, extensions of Caprice Desmond’s personality and attitude that helped set a mood or define her motivation. Caprice was a clotheshorse diva with an extensive P & P wardrobe that was trendy, hip and fashion-setting edgy. However, when Jewel Blaine was out of camera range and ready to relax at home, she preferred comfortable, easy-to-wear pieces that reflected her more conservative side.