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Unable to hold back any longer, Jewel launched the question that had been uppermost in her mind since he sat down. “What got you interested in directing daytime drama? Are you a longtime soap fan?”
“Not at all,” he quickly and laughingly confessed. “But I do appreciate the genre and I love a great romance. The Terror Train films incorporate romantic subplots with passionate, star-crossed lovers. They provide a nice respite from all the action…and encourage both the men and women to see the movies.”
Sounds reasonable, Jewel thought, while not thoroughly convinced that Taye completely understood what he was getting into. “Okay, you like romance and action, but still…if your expertise is action flicks, isn’t this a huge departure from the genre you’re most comfortable with?” It was time to get real, get down to the essence of who Taye Elliott was and why he thought he could direct The Proud and the Passionate.
Settling back in his chair, Taye went calm, assessing Jewel with vaguely sensuous eyes. “This is how it happened,” he started. “I guess I was in the right place at the right time and had the right vibes working for me. Like surviving an accidental collision that has positive results, you know?”
“Accident? Collision? No, sorry. I don’t understand at all.” Jewel tossed a questioning look at Fred, who mugged innocence and shrugged. Did Taye just compare directing P & P to a car wreck? A crash? No surprise there. With an obvious sigh of frustration, she launched her next zinger. “How exactly did you get in line to be P & P’s next director?”
Taye flashed Jewel a magnetic smile. “I’m happy to explain.”
Jewel bent forward, anxious for the story behind this surprising development.
Taye squinted at Fred, appearing uneasy, confirming Jewel’s suspicion that her question may have caught him off guard. “Well…you see,” Taye began. “Richie Farral, who produced the action movies that I directed, is Arthur Platt’s half brother.”
“The Arthur Platt?” Jewel had to cut Taye off. “The former CEO of CBC?”
“Right. So, I was talking to Richie about my plans after Terror Train, and he mentioned his relationship with Arthur Platt.”
Jewel went slack-jawed while listening to Taye, slightly annoyed by how casually he was tossing around the names of major players in the industry. Richie Farral was up there with Spielberg and Eastwood and Lucas. And Arthur Platt was the legendary founder of the network that carried her show, a hard-nosed billionaire rarely seen in public and not known to be a generous man.
“So I told Richie I was open for a change, you know? A project that would challenge me,” Taye was saying as Jewel struggled to concentrate. “A few days later, Richie called to tell me that Platt had alerted him to this temporary gig for a director for a daytime drama, so I took a meeting with CBC and here I am.”
Now, she was truly annoyed. “Oh, really? It was that easy?”
“Yep. Wasn’t much more to it,” Taye confessed.
The ring of pride in his snappy reply sent blood rushing into Jewel’s head. A flicker of anger propelled her next comment. “So, The Proud and the Passionate is your test case? An experiment to gauge your ability to direct a daytime drama?”
Taye scoffed a laugh. “No, nothing like that.”
“No, not at all,” Fred jumped in in support of the studio’s pick.
But Jewel wasn’t about to let either of them off so easily. “Sounds like P & P is little more than a guinea-pig project as far as you’re concerned,” she threw at Taye, not particularly liking what she’d heard and letting her displeasure show. To her, the whole thing smacked of a good-old-boy hire—done quickly to fill a gap, with little thought to how such a snap decision might affect the cast.
Now, Fred Warner leaned low on one elbow, close to Jewel, obviously concerned about where this exchange was headed. “Nothing like that is going on, Jewel. Taye’s got what we…”
“Wait a minute, Fred,” Taye interrupted, slicing the air at chest level with a sweep of one hand. “I can speak for myself. I’d like to clear up Ms. Blaine’s concerns.”
“All right with me. Have at it.” Jewel sat back, ready to listen.
Turning to Jewel, Taye rounded his shoulders, gave her a quiet stare and then said, “You need to know that I’m a man who is constantly learning. Maybe that’s why I went into stunt work in the first place. Every scene, every stunt, every movie was different and I like that, as well as the challenges that come with each new film. I view risky situations as opportunities to push myself, to see how far I can go with my talent and the talent of the actors. Daytime drama will expand my experience, diversify my body of work. I view every project as a collaborative effort to perfect a common creative vision.”
“But what if the creative visions of the actor and the director are traveling separate paths?” Jewel tested, having no idea what his creative vision for P & P might be or if she’d share it once she knew. How could a hunky stunt guy whose head was filled with images of fiery action sequences and love scenes in the backs of race cars possibly grasp the nuanced passion, silky romance and complicated personal relationships that made up a daytime drama? A long shot, at best, Jewel decided.
“If there’s disagreement, then we compromise, of course. It’s all about working together to get the best footage in the can, isn’t it?” Taye asked.
A short hesitation while Jewel considered his remark, thankful that at least his answer had a ring of sincerity. Compromise was good. Working together was vital and she had no choice but to cooperate fully with Taye. After all, she had legions of loyal fans and was committed to protecting her hard-won reputation as a dependable actress who never failed to deliver exactly what her fans expected. And, she reminded herself, Taye Elliott was only a temporary hire. She’d be at P & P long after he was gone.
Forcing a more rational attitude into play, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Good approach,” she tossed back, a bit warmer. “You’re absolutely right. We all want what’s best for the show.”
Taye sagged back in his seat, seemingly relieved to have passed that hurdle. “I’ve met with Lori, your head writer, and I’m up on the current relationships, but I could still use some help with the backstory on Caprice and Darin’s long-standing love affair.”
“Sure, it’s very complicated. How can I help?” Jewel offered.
“I was wondering,” Taye started, followed by a slight hesitation. “If it’s not an imposition, think you, Sonny and I might squeeze in an hour or so tomorrow to go over a few areas of the current story line?”
In the lull that followed, Jewel calculated her answer. Should she agree? Demonstrate her willingness to help? Or let him know that Jewel Blaine had other things to do on Saturday than talk story line with her executive director? “Well, I don’t know,” she hedged, watching for his reaction.
“I know it’s short notice and I’d hate to cut into your weekend,” he rushed to add. “So, if you’re busy, I understand. Just a thought…that maybe we could get a jump on Monday, but…”
Jewel’s mind flipped to the weekend. For the first time in months, she had no public appearances, charity events, social engagements or a date with one of the devoted bachelors she partied with when she felt like hitting the club scene or going out for a quiet dinner. In fact, she’d been looking forward to a few days at home alone to catch up on fan mail or simply lounge by the pool before launching back into work on Monday. But did she really want Taye Elliott to know that?
“Saturday’s not so good,” she decided. “Really busy all morning and most of the afternoon.” She swept her tongue over her teeth, appearing to be perplexed. “And I never work on Sundays if I can avoid it. That’s my day…totally mine to relax, do nothing I don’t feel like doing.”
“I heard that,” Taye agreed with a knowing smile. “We all need downtime. But what about later on Saturday? Maybe the three of us could talk over dinner?”
Startled by his persistence, Jewel inched one shoulder higher than the other in a subtle stall, thinking that one through.
Fred shot Jewel an impatient glance, which she interpreted as It might be a good idea, Jewel, while she was telling herself, Don’t push too hard, Mr. New-to-P & P-Director. I don’t like to be crowded.
Their shrimp salads arrived, temporarily letting her off the hook as they settled in to eat. During lunch, they discussed the shooting schedule leading into May sweeps and the kind of focus Fred wanted on the upcoming episodes.
An hour later, over dessert of pecan praline cheesecake, Jewel finally answered Taye. “Tell you what,” she started. “Maybe I can squeeze in an hour or two tomorrow. Early evening. Can I call you later to set a time?”
“That’d be great,” Taye replied with enthusiasm, handing Jewel his card, seeming pleased that his request might be accommodated.
“And I’ll call Sonny. See if he can fit it in,” Jewel offered, praying her costar would be available because meeting alone with Taye Elliott didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Now, tell me how you see Caprice Desmond and Darin Saintclare’s love story unfolding during sweeps,” she asked, making a mental shift in the jumble of unanswered questions cascading through her mind.
Sitting back, Jewel listened with interest to the man whose presence was sending all the wrong signals. Whose eyes were undressing her. Whose cologne was stoking a pleasure point deep inside her core and whose voice was challenging her long-standing, never-to-be-broken rule: no romantic involvement with anyone connected with her career.
Chapter 5
Taye drove away from Bon Ami with both hands tensed on the steering wheel of his truck, as if holding on to it kept Jewel Blaine’s image from slipping away too soon. Damn, she was hot! He could still feel her luminous brown eyes engaged with his, smell the delicate perfume that drifted from her beige-tan cleavage, hear the titillating chime of her voice in his ears. The heat of his reaction filled his gut, simmering there like hot coals banked to hold their warmth. Flushed with a strange sense of anticipation, he was not surprised that just thinking about her initiated the beginnings of an arousal that had no business existing and definitely no place to go.
She was more beautiful in person than she was on TV. Soft sable-brown hair, pulled back into a cascading upsweep of curls that created a sophisticated yet playful appearance. Smoky brown eyes that could flash with intelligence or simmer in sexy seduction. Skin like satiny sweet toffee—candy that he’d love to feel melting in his mouth. A diminutive powerhouse of a woman with gorgeous curves and the electric chemistry that put her slightly out of reach, even though her low-cut blouse had exposed sufficient cleavage to tease him, to dare him to try to shatter that proper-public image she presented to the world.
Taye smiled to himself. Jewel Blaine might not know much about him, but he sure knew a hell of a lot about her. Before their meeting today, he’d scoured the Internet for information about the mega soap star, checked out her Web site and viewed hours of past episodes of P & P. He knew that she came from a small east Texas town where she’d worked as a teenage model in a local department store before coming to Los Angeles to attend UCLA. Her first job after graduation had been as a pool secretary at Metro Artists United, a talent agency where she caught the eye of an agent who put her in a TV commercial and launched her career. She had never been married, had won two Daytime Emmys, a BET Award and an NAACP Image Award. She was devoted to her fans, whom she referred to as her family and in more than one interview she’d stated that a husband and children were most likely not in her future, as they would complicate the career goals she’d set for herself.
But is she happy? Taye wondered as he tried to throw off images of his lips easing down over hers, his hands spanning her tiny waist. Had she felt the sexual magnetism radiating between them every time they’d locked eyes? His heart turned over. Was hers doing the same? A quiver of arousal slid through him, making him shudder with startling need. God, how wonderful it would be to make love to her! But that was an impossible dream.
Jewel Blaine was smart. Professional. Driven. Secure. And certainly not easily swayed. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she would question if he was the right man to direct her show.
But she’ll come around, Taye told himself, sensing that he was just the man to handle a woman like her. It was going to be an incredibly exhilarating and possibly slippery experience, but he could hardly wait to get started.
It wasn’t the single glass of white wine that Jewel had had with lunch that made her miscalculate the distance between her car and the utility van that suddenly stopped in front of her. She stomped on the brakes and held her breath as the mind-fog fueled by thoughts of Taye Elliott broke apart and dissolved.
“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.”
