Microsoft Word - Rogers, Rosemary - The Crowd Pleasers (49 page)

"Being raped is no fun at all, you know!" she'd wanted to scream at him, but his tense, angry silence had kept her quiet. They hadn't exchanged a word after he'd turned onto the highway. The weekend traffic-campers and vans and slow-moving VW's-was already clogging up the two-lane highway, and apart from swearing under his breath a few times, Webb had concentrated grimly on driving-passing sometimes when he had no right to try. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out or show any signs of apprehension. In any case, she was still numb, and beginning to shake from delayed shock. She hadn't thought he'd noticed, until after he'd found a parking space for the car at the side of a tree-shaded and comparatively deserted side street.

"Keep the doors locked, huh? I've got to call Dave. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Throwing the words like a sop to a child, his voice curt and detached. But then he'd come back from making the telephone call with a large box bearing a' Magnin's label.

"Just had time to get you a couple of things-they ought to fit. The saleslady informed me that everyone's wearing dresses that are loose and blouson ... whatever the hell that means! Go ahead, slip into something, I'll keep an eye down the road. You'd better be wearing something a little more formal than that scruffy robe when we get to Dave's place."

As it was, he'd had to help her, because even her fingers were shaking now. A silk two-piece by Calvin Klein. Wrap-around skirt, dark brown, with a tiny flower design on it that matched the pale-wheat blouse. Typically, he had forgotten about getting her any underwear, although to keep herself sane she'd tried to imagine the saleslady's face if he'd asked ...

He'd been helping her button up the blouse when she'd looked up to encounter the shocked and disapproving eyes of a middle-aged lady walking her dog. The woman had averted her eyes, and Webb had started to laugh.

"Do you think she thought I was trying to undress you, Annie love?"

And the next minute, the laughter wiped away as if it hadn't been there at all, he'd turned away from her, twisting the key in the ignition with unnecessary force. His voice had become curt and hard again. "Fasten your seatbelt. Once we get to Dave's, you'll be meeting another old friend of mine. He's a doctor. Lucky they happened to be playing tennis together when I called."

One wall of the huge bedroom was all plate-glass window. She had a view of the ocean, the moon cutting a silver swath through it. Silver separation of black and black. She was alone, having been left to "rest" on the king-sized waterbed after Dr.

Bernstein, tactful and very professional in spite of his tennis clothes, had checked her over. He hadn't asked questions and she hadn't felt up to volunteering any explanations.

"You'll be okay. You're on the Pill? I'll leave a prescription.

The cream will take care of any soreness, and the penicillin of any aftereffects."

"Can you give me a tranquilizer? I've been taking Valium lately, but I forgot to bring any with me."

"Sure." He'd said, sounding matter-of-fact, and left after patting her on the arm. "Try to relax now."

She wondered at the time what he had really been thinking, and pushed the thought away. She lay on the waterbed that moved constantly like the ocean and tried to shut out all thought. Like why Webb had brought her here-and left her. Shut out the first embarrassing moments when she'd been introduced to Dave Black, a smiling, friendly man, just as he appeared on his talk show. There were other people staying over-Webb had warned her that Dave loved company-but he'd promised her privacy and, like Dr. Bernstein, had asked no questions. She couldn't help wondering what, exactly, Webb had told him.

"So part of the gossip from London wasn't all that off-center, was it?" Dave's serve, and Webb, returning it, planted the ball in the net. He swore and Dave laughed. "Your tennis game hasn't improved any. Somehow, I don't think you're mind's on tennis right now. Let's can it."

He guessed he owed Dave some kind of explanation, but all this time he'd been trying to find his own explanations. He couldn't blame Dave for being curious, especially after he'd had Ben Bernstein go up and see Anne.

"Is it serious between you two?" Dave persisted. They were walking together towards the cabanas.

"Look, Dave, we're both kind of thinking this thing out right now. Shit, I don't know!

But Anne's been having a rough time with the filming, and we decided we both needed a break."

"She get hurt?"

He should have expected that question, it was a natural reaction. But all the same, he could feel himself getting tense, remembering.

"Pleydel believes in cinema verite,"

Webb said noncommittally. He saw Dave's eyes narrow.

"Yeah? I actually read Robbie's damn book. Must admit it had me hooked." And then, smiling again, he thumped Webb between the shoulder blades. "Okay, buddy, okay! I won't ask any more questionsI But you will get me a pass sometime, won't you?

And"-brightening at the thought-"maybe you and Anne can be on my show together.

It'd be good publicity. Especially if you two do decide to get serious." He laughed.

"How's Carol Cochran doing, by the way?"

When he went upstairs, Anne was standing by the window, looking out. Hiro, Dave's houseboy, had gone into town to get Bernstein's prescriptions filled, and Webb put the package on the dresser. She didn't turn around, and he felt the same unreasonable anger rise up in him. She was wearing her robe again-he knew she wouldn't have anything on underneath it, and he had to fight the blind impulse to tear it off her body, discovering all over again how easily she gave in.

Now that he had her, what he really should do was to find out exactly how much he could use her. He was in an ugly, frustrated mood. He'd made telephone calls, but Vito hadn't been available, and the other call had brought one of Peter's associates on the line. "Call back tomorrow, won't you?" Christ, what the hell was going on? If it had been an emergency ...

Anne kept looking out the window, diffused moonlight turning her hair to silver. She hadn't moved; she was standing there like a marble statue.

He said harshly from behind her, "Have you had anything to eat? Do you want anything?"

"No. I'm not hungry. Just ..."

She swung around to face him at last, not finishing what she had started to say. The space between them was as wide as the universe before he cleared it with three strides. Her body, once the robe had disappeared, was as silky-textured and. soft as he remembered it. Yielding. Yielding too easily, as he'd accused her of earlier, but this was not the time to think about it. Later he would ask her the questions he had to ask. Later-not now.

She had been hungry, but not for food. She realized that when he took her with the bed moving under them, knowing that he knew that having her was hurting her. But he was exorcising those others, and she knew it and he knew it.

It-whatever there was between them-had taken hold, and there was no retreating, only a going forward and meeting. A war that was not really a war. A contest that was equal on both sides. And now wasn't the time to think about all the women he'd had.

He wasn't fucking her, he was making love to her, and she was here because he'd brought her here, because he wanted her. If there was a question in the back of Anne's mind, she pushed it away until tomorrow.

"I AM SORRY TO INTRUDE on your privacy at such short notice. You have been very gracious and kind-you make me feel as if I've known you for a long time."

Anna-Maria lit a cigarette. She wasn't addicted to the habit, but she'd noticed right away that Roberta Savage smoked, and so she had done the same.

"Oh, I've enjoyed every minute! Do you know, you're the first person to interview me who hasn't asked all the usual questions?"

Robbie laughed and reached for her drink. They both laughed together.

Robbie was excited, and trying to hide her high. Fantastic publicity! This woman with a slightly foreign accent who had proved to be so nice and so friendly worked for Rufus Randall, who just happened to own-Christ! He was even bigger than Hearst in his heyday! Internationally. And she was nice-really nice and understanding.

"It's really a shame that they haven't asked you to the island, to watch some of the filming. After all, it is your book they are doing! I think I will have to talk with Mr.

Randall."

It was Robbie's pet peeve, and she leaned forward, stubbing out her cigarette.

"Oh, would you? I'd really love that. Webb Carnahan's a friend of mine, you know. He promised ... but I suppose they must be keeping him really busy!"

"Webb? Oh yes." Anna-Maria sounded uninterested. "But he is really not that busy, you know! I understand that he is spending this weekend with a friend of his in Pebble Beach. David Black-perhaps you know him?"

After that, it was easy. She had only to sigh and mention that she had been trying to get an interview with the so-busy Mr. Black for ages. She might have tried again this weekend, but unfortunately there were no accommodations to be found in Carmel-or in Monterey, for that matter-so she should be heading back down the coast.

Rising to the bait, Robbie said excitedly, "But I have a much better idea! Why don't you stay over with me tonight? I have plenty of room, and I'd really enjoy it! I could call Dave right now, and arrange it all for tomorrow-no, please! At least let me try!"

As Anna-Maria had expected, David Black's answer had been affirmative. She had received the impression that he, like Ms. Savage, was rather piqued at not having been asked to visit the film set. She might prove a useful contact.

It was convenient that she had brought an overnight bag with her, just in case she'd been lucky enough to obtain accommodations in Carmel.

Robbie fixed a steak dinner for them both, plying her with eager questions all the while. Were they sticking to the book in the script? What was this Anne Mallory really like? Had those rumors from London been just publicity or were they for real? She wanted to hear Inside Gossip in capital letters. Anna-Maria was careful to say just enough, while sounding noncommittal at the same time.

Webb. The bastard! What was he doing with that namby-pamby creature? Was he only using her, as Sal had suggested, or was it something else? He'd be surprised to see her tomorrow. She hoped that Anne Mallory would be surprised, too. And that sometime she could find the opportunity to have a girl-to-girl talk with Anne.

In Robbie Savage's guest bedroom, Ria stretched and yawned. Tomorrow was going to be a most interesting day!

It began with translucent gray fog, cloaking time. The drapes had been left open last night, to the stars and the moon. Morning was a time of coming back to reality, of shivering with cold in spite of the heated bed, because all the covers seemed to have disappeared.

Webb moved his body over hers, warming her flesh. At least that much. He was wide awake-there was nothing warming or comforting in his voice.

He attacked her before she had time to arm herself. Softly he said, "Hi, Annie. Feel better?" And then, his words an arrow-head striking through nerves and sinews, dead on target: "You don't have to worry about hidden cameras here, love. Or do you miss the replays?"

She wasn't ready. "Oh no! Webb, please, don't!" Fighting to get free, she found herself pinned down, as helpless as a butterfly. He'd been awake for some time before her, long enough to prepare his plan of attack.

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

"But you knew-I know you did. Why ask me? Danny Verrano- I suppose it was his idea of a joke on all his friends. Or kicks-or something-I don't care what it was! Why should you care? You're an exhibitionist and a voyeur, both. Aren't you? How often do you play your tapes back? And do you file us in alphabetical order?" She heard her voice rising and could do nothing about it. It was left to him to stop the swelling tide of hysteria in her.

"Oh damn, Annie! I guess I never learned to be tactful. Any more than I'm used to being patient-or being obsessed with a female the way I am with you."

Webb? Obsessed by any female? Obsession was her bag; she was the crazy one; the stupid one. Like a speeded-up film, images of Webb with other women flashed across her mind, a pitiful barrier against the present reality of his lips and his hands and the hardening, pulsating maleness of him, entering far too easily between her parted thighs.

Well ... the thought was like a sigh, far back in her mind. At least he desired her. It was the one thing a man couldn't hide, or fake. And morning was the best time for love . . .

The trouble was that the contest-this game they were both playing with each other and against each other-wasn't finished yet. What would the end be? Sudden death ...

?

Afterwards, Anne was to wonder why that particular phrase had flashed into her mind. But while she lay with Webb, his body locked into hers, there was only that old, terrible chemistry. Even at her moment of convulsion she knew with a sense of inescapable fatality that no matter what happened between them, whatever they did to each other, it would always be there. For him as well as for her. And her body had known it before her mind had sensed or accepted that fact.

It was her mind and her instinct for self-preservation that enabled Anne to get through the afternoon-starting with the moment when she walked downstairs with Webb into the almost blinding sunlight of the tennis courts.

She'd lain with him naked all night and into the morning, but she felt ridiculously naked and vulnerable in a too-short tennis dress that had belonged to Dave's wife.

"You ever play tennis, Annie? We take it seriously around here." "In Switzerland I took lessons. At the school I went to. But not since then." "Well, relax, baby. It'll be a change for me to be able to beat somebody."

No more serious "talking." Dave's houseboy had brought breakfast up to them-reminding her of the first night ever she'd spent with Webb. Scrambled eggs with hot muffins, champagne and orange juice.

And a truce between them-perhaps no more than an uneasy armistice; but at the time, she'd welcomed even that. Needing not to have to think, to be able to let go, relaxing in the sun.