скачать книгу бесплатно
“You directed all of ’em?” the young man asked.
“All four films,” Taye conceded with a touch of pride.
“That means you directed that wild chase scene on that bomb-rigged bridge in Terror Train 2?”
“Yep. I sure did.”
“Loved it. The bomb! Hey, but I loved number four, too! The best so far, I think.”
“Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it,” Taye replied, appreciating the comment and impressed that the boy concurred with Taye: Terror Train 4 was his best directorial work so far. After having worked as stunt man for fifteen years, he ought to know what made a memorable action film. The Terror Train series had given him the opportunity to prove what he could do and even though the series went straight to DVD and would never hit theaters nationwide, it created a solid base of followers and pulled in substantial international sales.
“Is it true? Is this the last Terror Train movie?” the fan asked, sounding genuinely distressed.
“Yeah. This is it for the series.”
“Damn, man. That sucks,” the boy grumbled. “Why somethin’ this great gotta end?”
Taye offered a noncommittal lift of his eyebrows as the same question hung in his mind, feeling as agitated and frustrated as the boy. However, he understood how the industry worked: Taye was only a director. The money people held all the power. And without funding, there couldn’t be a deal. “Even good things gotta end sometime, you know?” he finally stated.
“I guess,” the boy grudgingly remarked, adding, “Stay cool.”
“Sure will,” Taye agreed, reaching up to slap palms with the guy, who slipped off into the crush of people clumped around the table where the real stars of the movie busily greeted fans.
Moving to a quieter spot in the lobby, Taye leaned against a wall and watched the animated audience move past, liking what he saw: young males in sports-branded clothing, slouch jeans, T-shirts and baseball caps. Girls in tight T-shirts, lots of jewelry, low-rise jeans and flip-flops on their feet. They were white, African American, Asian, Hispanic. Mostly young, but there was also a substantial number of graying baby boomers visible in the crowd.
A fair-skinned woman with dyed blond hair, accompanied by a bearded guy who looked stoned, stopped in front of Taye, breaking into his assessment of the audience. “You look better in person,” she bluntly assessed, blue eyes boring into Taye.
Taye snapped alert and stared at her. “What?”
She repeated her comment, even more emphatically the second time.
“Oh? Well, sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t in the movie.”
“I know you weren’t, but you’re a movie star, right?”
He chuckled low in his throat. “Nope. Got the wrong man. Sorry, I’m not an actor.”
“But I’ve seen you somewhere. I know I have,” she insisted, cracking gum that bounced from one side of her mouth to the other while intently studying Taye. “I got it! Read about you on Hollywood Web Watch. You’re the stunt man who doubles for all those big stars.”
“Used to,” Taye conceded with an edge of defiance, not particularly interested in talking about those days.
A pause. “Mario Van Peebles in Downtown Killer, right?” the woman blurted with glee.
Surprised to have this bit of trivia thrown at him, Taye simply nodded.
“And that was the movie where an extra got killed in a car chase and you got hurt real bad, wasn’t it?”
A stream of air slipped from between Taye’s lips as he inclined his head in surrender. “You got it right,” he admitted, realizing that he should never underestimate how closely the public followed movies, movie stars and all the peripherals connected to the industry. With all the blogs and Web sites and Internet chats going on 24/7, it was easy to find obscure details about actors, doubles, scene sequences, writers and obviously former stunt people like himself.
The woman bobbed her head up and down, sending her halo of blond hair into a frizzy dance. “I knew I was right. Tore up your back and now you direct Terror Train films.”
“A lot safer line of work,” Taye offered, giving her a playful thumbs-up.
“Yeah…well, you still got that stuntman body.” She raked Taye with an appreciative glance that lingered at his horseshoe-shaped belt buckle and then swept down to his black ostrich-skin boots. She ran her tongue over cherry-red lips and sighed.
Suppressing a laugh, Taye raised both hands, palms up, as if to deflect the uninvited compliment. “Even a director’s gotta keep in shape, you know?”
“Hey, that’s cool. The ladies love a man who’s tight…on and off the screen.” She shot an appraising look at her bearded companion, gave up an easy snicker and then headed out into the mall.
Taye laughed aloud, not completely surprised that he’d been mistaken for an actor. He’d stunt doubled for Mario, Will, Wesley and even Denzel in dozens of movies before injuring his back in that rollover crash nearly four years ago. With his career in stunt work compromised, he’d decided to try his hand at directing and had taken on the Terror Train series as soon as it was offered. Shifting from in front of the camera to behind it had been a risky move, but Taye had never been one to shy away from risks. And while accumulating his directing credentials, he’d also formed valuable alliances with important industry people who were proving to be very helpful. He already had a new project lined up that presented quite a challenge.
When the movie crowd thinned, Taye went over to the stars, thanked them for coming out to promote the film and then headed to the mall parking lot. He got into his dark green Hummer truck, fastened his seat belt and glanced into the side-view mirror, catching his reflection while recalling the blond woman’s remarks.
In Hollywood, image was everything and although Taye no longer stunt doubled for handsome A-list actors, he enjoyed walking into a room and causing a stir, especially among women, even though he’d sworn off all but the most casual of relationships since ending his marriage nearly two years ago.
Chapter 3
Jewel could hardly believe that Brad Fortune was gone, struck down by a massive heart attack due to a long-standing heart condition. And it happened so fast, she sadly recalled as she braked at a red light and scanned the block until she saw Bon Ami, the restaurant where she was meeting Fred Warner for lunch.
Sitting at the corner of Rodeo Drive and Beverly Lane, her thoughts remained on Brad. She, along with everyone connected with The Proud and the Passionate, remained stunned by the loss of their beloved director. Brad had appeared to be in perfect health, with the energy and physique of a much younger man. However, he had vigorously protected his private life, so it should not have come as a surprise that he’d kept his illness a secret.
Jewel missed him terribly. They had clicked the first day on the set when, at the end of the shoot, they’d hunkered down in her dressing room with a bottle of Cristal champagne to toast the launch of the show. They’d gotten slightly drunk, bared their souls about their hopes and dreams and goals for their careers and bonded in a special way. Brad had made it easy for Jewel to display the raw emotion that her role as Caprice Desmond demanded. With him, she’d been able to lose herself in her character and give her heart and soul to the camera without inhibition or self-conscious worry.
A swell of sorrow came over Jewel, but she refused to let it build.
No one will ever replace Brad, she sadly mused. But he’s dead and as difficult as that is to accept, I have to press on. I just hope to God that whoever steps in measures up to the standards Brad set.
After handing her silver Lexus sedan over to the parking attendant, Jewel stepped out onto the sidewalk and glanced around. The trendy eatery on Rodeo Drive was a convenient meeting place for Jewel and Fred, as it was halfway between his home in Beverly Hills and her house in Brentwood. The white stone, multiterraced building was buzzing with activity on all three levels, packed with impeccably dressed people as well as tourists in casual clothing, cameras primed to snap photos of someone famous.
Jewel gave her gem-studded jeans a tug, fluttered the wide sleeves of her gauzy black top and touched her Chanel wraparound sunglasses for security, bracing for the paparazzi that she had no doubt were lurking nearby. She swept her eyes over the people sitting at the linen-draped tables nibbling zero-calorie endive-arugula salads and drinking pastel vitamin waters. She saw familiar faces and strangers, too. And in her mind’s eye she also saw fans, the people who appreciated her work, followed her career and were eagerly awaiting the conclusion of the cliffhanger story line that had been so abruptly interrupted by Brad’s untimely death.
Just as she’d suspected, a photographer rushed over and squatted down in front of her, initiating his usual clamor for a photo. She obliged, fluffing up her loose curly hair, striking a flirty, sexy pose with both hands on her hips and easing a pouty smile onto her lips. Jewel grinned and waved at the camera as well as at the curious onlookers who began moving forward, eager to see saucy Caprice Desmond—the character she loved to play and the public loved to follow—in the flesh. While maintaining her public-perfect pose, Jewel graciously accepted pens, pencils and pieces of paper that were thrust at her, happy to scribble “Love, Caprice” on each one.
When the Bon Ami hostess managed to push through the crowd to escort Jewel to her table, Jewel laughingly called out, “No more autographs. I’d like to eat lunch now, okay?” The crowd fell back, the photographer stood. With a quick wave, Jewel made her exit and walked up a short flight of steps to the outdoor patio where Fred was waiting, BlackBerry handheld pressed to his ear, a glass of white wine nearby.
Jewel gave Fred an airbrushed kiss before sitting.
“Just be a sec,” he told her, index finger raised.
“Take your time,” Jewel whispered in a breathy voice, before asking the server to bring her a Perrier water and lime. She settled into the white wrought-iron chair across from her producer and then glanced down at the street-level entry to the restaurant. People were milling around, waiting for their cars and chatting before saying goodbye.
Scanning the crowd, she was struck by the design on the back of a man’s shirt. The swirling collage of red, blue, yellow and green came together in what looked like an eagle, wings spread. It seemed oddly familiar. The man wearing it was talking to a parking valet and gesturing with his hands. Jewel tilted forward to get a closer look, but he disappeared inside the restaurant, so she put it out of her mind.
Some struggling actor, she decided. Hanging around the restaurant, hoping to get the attention of a director or a casting agent. She knew his type. Los Angeles was full of men and women like him—obsessed with creating a splashy impression, so they’d be noticed and, hopefully, offered a movie role. He’s probably a menswear salesman wearing a store sample, she mused, ripping her gaze from the street below just as Fred finished his call and the server placed her water on the table.
“So, tell me. Who’s our new director? I’m so ready to get back to work.” Jewel plunged right in, taking a sip of her drink.
Fred Warner slipped his handheld into the inside pocket of his beige linen suit and adjusted his tan silk tie. “Yeah, well, everyone is.” He sat back, lowered his chin and gave Jewel a look that lasted long enough to let his silence send a message of reassurance. Fred Warner, executive producer of The Proud and the Passionate, was fifty-two years old, two inches shy of six feet tall and startlingly corporate in both appearance and demeanor. His hair was silver, full and impeccably styled. His jewelry was real, understated and tasteful. He wore suits crafted by European designers and hand-made monogrammed shirts and insisted on being chauffeured around town in a white Bentley luxury car that reflected his status as a man with power and money.
“The network has decided to bring in Taye Elliott. He’ll fill in as executive director to take us through May sweeps.”
“Hmm, I don’t know him. What’s he done?” Jewel asked.
“New to daytime but comes with good credentials,” Fred replied.
“Yeah? Tell me more.”
“Youngish…well, younger than Brad. Midthirties. Divorced. No kids…he made a point of informing us of that. Said he’s free to work round the clock, if we need him.”
“Mmm-hmm. But what’s he been doing, if not daytime?” Jewel asked, eager for the professional credentials of the man she’d start working with on Monday. “Lifetime movies? Hallmark? A&E?”
“Nope. Nothing like that.” Fred tasted his wine, a silver eyebrow arched. “Ever heard of the Terror Train series?”
Jewel shook her head, confused. “No…they sound like teenage action/slasher flicks.”
Fred started to reply but stopped when the waiter arrived to take their order. He glanced at Jewel, who shook her head. Suddenly, eating was the last thing on her mind.
“We’ll order later,” Fred advised the young man, turning back to Jewel. “Basically, you’re pretty much on target. Action movies have been Taye Elliott’s forte. He did stunt double work for a lot of A-list actors…Wesley Snipes, Denzel, Will Smith.”
“Oh, he’s black?” Jewel commented, impressed. She could count on one hand the number of African Americans behind the camera in daytime television. This guy must be pretty damn good to have been tapped for a job like this. Suddenly, she was more eager than ever to meet him.
“Right. He doubled for Mario in that scene where he jumps off the roof of that skyscraper in The First Real War. Fantastic work. He won the award for best action movie star at the World Stunt Awards. Did you see that movie?”
Jewel shook her head no.
“Anyway,” Fred continued, “a few years back, Taye injured his spine in a car crash, decided to give up stunt work and try his hand at directing. Took on the Terror Train series…independently financed films that went straight to DVD.” Fred fiddled with a gold cuff link shaped like a half-moon, eyes locked on Jewel. “He did a heck of a job, impressed his producers and started making noise in circles that count.”
Even though Jewel trusted Fred and wanted to share his enthusiasm for this unknown former stuntman turned director, an alarming sense of apprehension began to rise. Her mind jumped ahead to visions of Taye cursing at his actors, corralling them onto the set like cattle on the range and of tough-guy talk in a brusque commando style.
“I don’t get it,” Jewel said, apprehension evident. “How can an action-hero stuntman replace a classy guy like Brad Fortune?”
“Former stuntman,” Fred deadpanned his response, the tip of his tongue pressed to his lower lip.
“Okay, former stuntman,” Jewel conceded, struggling to control her sense of unease, but wanting to hear the network’s rationale for going in this direction. “What am I missing, Fred? What qualifies Elliott to direct a soap opera?”
Hand raised, Fred cautioned patience. “I hear you, Jewel, and I understand your concern, but I really do think Taye Elliott will be a good fit. He’ll bring a fresh approach to the show and, hopefully, help us lock down that young demographic that’s been slipping. Daytime drama won’t be a problem for him. He’s used to fast-paced work and story lines that use recurring characters. He’s got a good track record…comes in on time, under budget and delivers tightly controlled, effective scenes. I have to believe he can do the job. I’ve screened every movie he’s directed and I gotta say, they might be action films, but they have beautifully crafted love scenes, too. They’re huge hits with his target audience….”
“Which is?” Jewel sullenly interrupted, too concerned with how this new director would affect her work to mask her growing irritation.
“Youth. Viewers between eighteen and thirty. The market we’ve got to go after hard…and hold on to. We’re heading into May sweeps with ratings that have been slipping a point a week. We’re counting on Taye to reverse that trend.”
“And I know what the problem is,” Jewel grudgingly concurred. “Down for Love’s debut in January.”
“Exactly. DFL is kickin’ our butts, pulling all the younger viewers, and if we don’t catch up soon, we may not survive this ratings war.”
“And you think Taye Elliott is the savior who will snatch that audience away from DFL?”
“I do. I think he’s precisely what we need right now.” Fred sounded confident, even though a new frown line deepened on his slightly freckled forehead.
“In theory, that sounds good, but it won’t be easy for him to step in, pick up the P & P story lines and pull off a winning sweeps finale. This is April, Fred. There’s not much time. This is gonna be rough on everyone.”
Fred rounded his lips over obviously capped teeth and shifted forward in his seat. “I know, Jewel. That’s why I want you to meet him, get to know him before you start working together. You can help smooth out his introduction. Make him feel comfortable, all right?”
Jewel didn’t respond, wondering if she should take Fred up on that. Certainly, she was dedicated to making P & P the top-rated daytime drama, but why stick out her neck to support a novice director? However, because the studio was firmly behind Taye, she had no choice but to agree to Fred’s request.
Pulling in a slow breath, Jewel groped for a less-than-pessimistic mind-set, knowing she needed an attitude adjustment. “Fine. Fred, I’ll do whatever I can to help Taye Elliott settle in and get his footing.”
“I knew you’d feel that way. You’re a real pro, Jewel, and Elliott will appreciate your cooperation.”
“So, when do I meet him?”
Instead of responding, Fred shifted his focus above Jewel’s head and made a calculating jerk with his chin. “Here he comes right now.”
Jewel turned around in her seat, looked toward the entry and was shocked to see the man wearing the fancy black shirt walking toward her. He had a smugly confident expression on his face and was moving across the room with long, purposeful strides. He looks entirely too self-satisfied, Jewel observed, gripping the arm of her chair to steady herself when he stopped, looked down and said, “Ms. Blaine?”
In answer, she slowly dropped her chin, eyeing him from beneath thick lashes.
“I’m Taye Elliott.” He offered her his hand.
Jewel stood up to take it and immediately two things clicked in her mind. First, his palm was dry and cool. Second, his fresh lemon-lime scent was making the muscles in her stomach tighten, freezing her greeting on her tongue.
Chapter 4
Gulping her surprise, Jewel floundered for a moment and then regained her voice. “Yes, I’m Jewel Blaine. Good to meet you, Taye.” She squeezed his hand, quickly let it go and then sat down, struck by an irresistible urge to grin. He was one fine brother! Just the touch of his hand had rocked her, shaken her, made her go damp in her panties! And she was supposed to maintain a professional cool while following this man’s direction? That was certainly going to be a challenge.
Keep it together, girl, she silently reprimanded. Gotta play this one right. Can’t act too glad to meet him. Luckily, the waiter arrived to take their orders, interrupting the electrified lull, providing Jewel a chance to regain her composure.
Deciding on shrimp salads all around made it easy on the server and while Taye consulted with the young man on the wine, Jewel studied her new director’s ruggedly appealing profile.
The tiny nicks and scars on the side of his face only added to his Alpha-male image. Trophies from his stuntman days, Jewel surmised, her eyes moving over his rich tan skin. He had sooty brown eyes that sloped gently at the edges in a lazy slant that sent serious bedroom signals. His jawline was severe, but rounded at the chin, softening an otherwise-tough-guy face. Flared nostrils capped a keen nose. Black curly hair that was slightly unruly, but still well-groomed. I’d love to slip my little finger through that ringlet behind his ear, Jewel impulsively mused, shifting her attention to the vintage Cartier watch on Taye’s wrist. The man’s got good taste, she allowed, moving on to assess his flamboyant shirt once more, realizing why it seemed familiar. Ralph Lauren. Last season. She’d seen it on the runway during Fashion Week in New York.
Fred Warner broke Jewel’s mental trippin’ with a jolt. “Jewel, I was telling Taye that you and the P & P cast are ready to get back before the cameras.” He blinked at Jewel, clearly urging her to jump in and express her mutual delight with the studio’s newest hire.
Getting Fred’s message, Jewel locked eyes with Taye, who shot her a dazzling smile. Exhaling, she plunged ahead. “I agree completely,” she hurried to say. “The cast is fired up and ready to get on with the show. And please, Taye, let me know if I can help in any way…as far as characters, motivation or backstory go.”
“Thanks, I’m sure I’ll need to take you up on that and I have to say…what an impossibly wonderful and complicated character you play, Jewel. Caprice Desmond is somethin’ else.”
“Yeah, she’s a sister on a mission, all right,” Jewel jokingly agreed. “And the more you get to know Caprice, the more you’ll love her.” Jewel gulped. Damn! Why’d she say that?
“I’m sure I will,” Taye concurred in a melodious voice that initiated a warm pulse inside Jewel. She held very still as his attention slipped from her face to the gold chain settled in her cleavage and then back up to her lips.
Jewel resisted the urge to show him how amused she was by his obvious visual meandering. Clearing her throat, she adopted an all-about-business tone. “You’ll find the cast easy to work with,” she said. “No divas, neurotics or dual personalities among us. We’re a pretty normal bunch, so don’t be nervous.”
“I won’t be as long as you’re around to keep things sane.”
“I’m on the set every day, except most Fridays. If things do get crazy, and they can…or if stuff starts to unravel, I’ll do what I can to help you sort it all out.”
“I’m sure it won’t take long for everything to fall into place,” Taye replied with a self-assurance that made Jewel flinch.
