Superstar (27 page)

Desperate to
make him leave her alone, she shouted, "I know exactly how low
you'll go! I've seen what you're capable of! Seducing a young girl
is nothing compared to what you've done before."

He recoiled.
"What the hell are you talking about?"

Carrin
instantly regretted telling him anything. Of course he would only
deny it. "Forget it. Just leave me alone."

"No! Tell me
what it is you think I've done."

"No."

"My god, don't
I at least deserve an explanation?"

"What's the
point? You'd only deny it." She pushed him away, and to her
surprise, he stepped back. As she tried to make her escape, Mark
grabbed her wrist, and she turned to yell, "Let me go!"

"No." With a
swift jerk, he pulled her closer and gripped her upper arms. "Tell
me the truth. Tell me why you think I'm such a bastard."

She glared up at hi
m, resenting the shivers that his closeness sent
through her, hating the power that he wielded, with such unfeeling
ruthlessness, to get what he wanted. He must know the effect he
had. He must have used it many times, on many women. The resolve
not to give in to his devastating magnetism set as hard as stone
within her.

Her words
dropped like ice into the tense silence. "Because of what you did
to Helen."

"Helen!" Mark
released her and stepped back, looking stunned. He ran a hand
through his glossy hair, rumpling it. "Because I fired her?"

His innocent
act enraged her. He was so damned convincing! Then again, she had
seen him acting a part in her movie, so she knew just how brilliant
he was. Certainly an actor who had won two Oscars could fake any
emotion with total reality, enough to fool the most sceptical of
onlookers. She knew it was an act, however, he did not fool
her.

"Don't put on
an innocent act," she snarled. "Who the hell do you think you're
trying to fool?"

He stared at
her, and she searched his eyes for some sign of his duplicity, but
there was nothing but angry confusion in them. Boy, he was
good!

He shook his
head. "I don't know what you're talking about. I fired Helen for
wiping out your file in a fit of jealousy. She would only have made
more trouble. What did she tell you I did to her?"

"Oh, no.
You're not going to wriggle out of it by telling me that she was
lying. She showed me. I saw what you did. I saw the bruises, the
cuts!" Her voice rose. "You know what they say about seeing is
believing? My eyes didn't deceive me!"

Mark turned
away, leaning on the table that he had knocked aside earlier.
Trying to hide his guilt, she thought angrily. Even he wasn't good
enough to show no emotion when the truth was flung in his face. She
folded her arms and waited for the next great acting performance,
for which he was undoubtedly preparing himself. She was not
disappointed. He straightened and ran a hand through his hair
again, looking haggard. Lines of strain bracketed his mouth, and
his eyes were as hard as chips of ice.

"It wouldn't
do any good to tell you that you were tricked, would it? It
wouldn't help for me to deny it, because that's exactly what you're
expecting, isn't it? I could tell you a few choice stories about
Helen, but you wouldn't believe them either. That's what this is
all about. That's what your little secret has been all along, isn't
it? You think I'm some kind of monster. No wonder you haven't
wanted any more than friendship. In fact, I'm surprised you even
allowed that. Or was that because of the film?"

Carrin glared
at him, then clapped. "Oh, well done. An excellent performance. You
should get another Oscar for it, if it was on film." She shook her
head. "Why do you bother?"

He frowned.
"It's a pity you can't tell the difference between acting and
reality, Carrin."

"With you,
it's very hard."

"How am I
going to convince you that I never harmed Helen, or any other woman
for that matter? Must I write it in blood? Swear on a stack of
bibles? How? Tell me, and I'll do it."

She shook her
head. "Even if you carved it in stone and shouted it from the top
of the Empire State building, I wouldn't believe you. It's not as
if it's your word against hers. I know what I saw."

"Do you? This
is Hollywood, where all things are possible and fantasies come
true. How do you know it wasn't make up? Did you touch her
bruises?"

"No, of course
not, they were far too painful to me to go around poking them, for
Pete's sake. Her face was all swollen too, that's not make up."

Mark threw up
his hands. "They can do just about anything with make up now."

She did not
like the logic of his explanation. He was far too convincing.
Surely no one would go to such lengths to discredit him? Why would
Helen bother to go to all that trouble? Mark watched her, his eyes
narrowed.

"Having
doubts?"

She raised her
chin. "No."

"You were
tricked! Admit it!"

"Oh, it's a
very good explanation, and well portrayed. I'm sure you could
explain just about anything and make people believe it. I saw how
upset she was. Why would she go to all that trouble just to trick
me?"

He snorted.
"Ask yourself this: Why didn't she go to the press? Why didn't she
lay a charge against me?"

"Probably
because she was afraid of you."

"No, because
she would have been found out, that's why."

"So you
say."

He groaned.
"Oh, god, you won't believe anything I say, will you? Tell me, did
you see any cuts or bruises on my hands the next day? Do you think
I could bash somebody's face in and not be harmed myself?"

"I didn't
notice, but then I wasn't looking. Besides, you could have used a
baseball bat, for all I know."

Mark looked
desperate. "Okay, let's just say, for argument's sake, that the
marks on her face were real. How do you know I did it? You only
have her word on that, so that does make it her word against
mine."

Carrin raised
her brows. "Do you honestly think that she would deliberately do
that kind of damage to herself just so that she could blame it on
you?"

"No. Maybe her
boyfriend beat her up because she lost her job. Maybe she was
mugged. Perhaps then she saw a wonderful opportunity to make
trouble for me, so she took it."

She snorted.
"I doubt that. It would be too much of a coincidence, and very
convenient, wouldn't you say?"

Mark sighed,
shaking his head. The rage had drained out of him, apparently,
leaving him calm but depressed. "I'm wasting my time here. You just
don't trust me, do you? If I said the sun was going to rise
tomorrow morning, as it has for millions of years, you'd start
having doubts." He gripped her shoulders again, making her start.
"Well I'm not going to let that bitch beat me. I'll find a way to
convince you that you're wrong."

"Prove it,"
she snapped.

"I will, if
that's what it takes." His grip eased, and his hands slid down her
arms, then fell to his sides. "I've never mistreated a woman,
Carrin, never. They've mistreated me. I've been slapped, scratched,
and had things thrown at my head many times, because they didn't
get what they wanted from me. But I've never fought back, and I
doubt I ever will. Of course, you don't believe me, but I just had
to say it."

"You've got a
violent streak in you, I've seen it," she accused. "I saw you hit
Simon, and the table." She gestured at it.

"Simon is a
man, and the table, I'm afraid, is just a piece of fucking wood."
He moved past her and headed for the door, pausing on the step for
a parting shot. "Why don't you ask around, see how many other women
I've beaten up?"

Carrin
glared at the doorway long after it was empty. Her racing pulse
slowed, and she picked up her script, settling down with it in
front of her. She could not work on it; her mind whirled with
agitated thoughts. How was he going to prove it? What if he hurt
Helen to make her say what he wanted? No, surely not. Why did it
bother him so much? Why hadn't he simply said 'believe what you
want' and walked away? It could only be that he was worried about
his reputation. That sort of rumour could do a lot of damage,
especially with his vast following of female fans. What worried her
now were the lengths he was prepared to go to protect his
reputation.

Chapter
Twelve

The
tension between Carrin and Mark did not abate. Clearly her
accusation and mistrust had hurt and upset him, or at least, he
acted like he was. Carrin was still angry with him for the way he
had used Patsy to get at her; although Mark's sudden lack of
interest did not seem to affect the young make-up girl. Warren and
Harold watched the two of them snap and snarl at each other with
narrowed eyes, and Mark's bad mood put everyone on edge. They were
now filming the fight scene between Jason Talbot and the hit woman,
Sheena Marshall, in the desert.

After
the car chase, Jason caught up with his quarry, and they played cat
and mouse, dodging amongst the rocks as they tried to shoot each
other. When they ran out of bullets, they resorted to other means.
Mark got progressively dirtier and sweatier, although the sweat was
only water sprayed onto him. His shirt was torn and sand was rubbed
into his hair even before the two assassins came to blows. When at
last they did, blood was added to the actors' faces as the scene
was shot. By the time the fight scene was half complete, Mark's
face was battered and bloody. On one of his trips from the make-up
tent, he leant close to her where she sat under an
umbrella.

"Look
familiar?"

"Go
away," she snapped. It did look familiar, and very realistic. That,
however, didn't mean that Helen's had been fake, just because the
fake stuff looked so real. Mark strode away to complete the next
few moves of the scene, then returned to the make-up tent for more
blood and dirt. This time she went after him. His make-up was
getting far too gory.

Carrin found
Jerry splashing fake blood liberally down the side of Mark's neck
and onto the front of his shirt. Mark glared at her as she entered
the tent, and she ignored him.

"That's too
much, Jerry."

The
make-up artist paused and gave her a level look. "Harold said more
blood."

"He's supposed
to look like he's had a fight, not been chewed up by a combine
harvester."

Jerry glanced
down at his subject. "He does."

"No, he
wouldn't bleed that much from such a small cut."

"Head wounds
bleed a lot."

"Maybe,
but soon the audience won't be able to see who he is
anymore."

Jerry
shrugged. "They know who he is."

"That's not
the point. He's not supposed to look so ugly."

"Let the man
do his job," Mark growled.

"I'm trying to
do mine," she retorted.

"You've had
your say. Jerry doesn't agree."

Carrin scowled
at him. "Jerry's wrong."

"Jerry's
the damned make-up artist, not you."

"I have eyes,
I know what looks right."

Mark sat up,
glaring. "You're just an advisor, not the bloody director."

Carrin's voice
rose. "And you're just the actor, you have no say at all!"

"I'm not the
one arguing with the expert."

"Oh, no,
you're just venting a bit of bruised ego!"

"This has
nothing to do -"

The tent flap
was flung open, and Harold strode in, looking cross. "What the
hell's going on here? The whole crew can hear you."

Mark ripped
off the white cloth and stood up. "We're having a difference of
opinion."

"I'm trying to
give some advice. That's my job!" Carrin snarled.

Harold jerked
a thumb at Jerry, who rolled his eyes and left the tent. "Whatever
you're doing, you might try using a more reasonable tone of voice.
Or are you both deaf?"

Mark snorted.
"Carrin has a problem believing people; it has to be drummed into
her."

"Only you,
because no one can ever tell when you're lying," she shot back.

Harold looked
from one to the other, Carrin flushed with rage, Mark coldly
fuming. "Why don't you two just admit what you feel for each other
and get it over with, huh? Then we can get on with the film."

Carrin gasped.
"The only feelings he has are for his bloated ego!"

Harold looked
at Mark, who shrugged and said, "She wouldn't believe me."

The director
sighed. "Why is it that everyone can see what's going on between
you two except yourselves?"

Mark raised a
hand. "Count me out."

"What's going
on here is that he thinks he can run the whole show, since he's
such a bloody superstar. Meanwhile, he's just an actor," Carrin
growled.

Harold
hesitated. "But he's also..."

Out of the
corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mark shake his head slightly, and
Harold trailed off. She swung to glare at Mark. "More secrets?"

He shrugged.
"Just a little one."

Harold stepped
forward and took her arm in a gentle grip. "Let's go and talk about
this outside."

They left the
tent, and Harold gestured to Jerry to carry on. Many of the crew
stared at Carrin as she walked past, and she frowned at a few of
them. Harold led her back to her chair under the umbrella and made
her sit down.

"Now tell me
what the problem is."

"Jerry's
making him too bloody."

"I'm the
one who says how the make-up is done, and the art director.
Audiences love blood, and there's not enough of it in this movie.
Okay, it doesn't look pretty, but it's a head wound, they do bleed
a lot. It won't look so bad on film."