The Last Story (4 page)

"I didn't see you there."

He smiled faintly. "I hid in the shadows."

"Why did you come to the signing?"

"To see you. I read your books before auditioning for this part." He paused. "You're quite the writer."

"Thank you. What do you think of the Daniel part in First to Die?"

Roger shrugged. "He's a strong character. But I think I would play him slightly differently from how you wrote him."

A bold comment, from someone trying to get a part. "How so?"

"I would have him talk less."

"I'm curious how you'd do that. When there's a line in the script that belongs to him, what are you going to do? Remain silent?"

He shrugged. "I think more can be done with looks than words in some places. I may only be talking about four or five lines altogether."

His boldness continued to amaze me. Most actors pant in front of someone who can give them a job. And here this guy was indirectly insulting my writing by telling me he could improve upon it.

"Hmm," I muttered.

My reaction amused him. "Of course, if you give me the role, I'll only be an employee. I can only make suggestions."

"I don't have final say on whether you get the role or not.""

"Yes, you do, Shari. It's your movie."

Now he was calling me a liar, but subtly. He was subtle about everything—the way he was checking out my body, my face. I don't know why I liked him, besides his good looks, although they helped.

Oh yes. And those deep, dark eyes.

"You have read Remember Me?" I said.

"Yes."

"What did you think of it?"

He met my gaze and held it. "It reads like a true story."

"Maybe it is a true story. Maybe a ghost told it to me.

"Are you thinking of making it into a movie?"

"Yes. But we need a larger budget than five million. It will require lots of special effects."

"For the death scenes?"

"Yes, and some of the other scenes as well."

"It sounds huge." He paused. "Do you want me to read for you for this movie?"

"Yes, please. Can I get you a copy of the script?"

"If you think it's necessary. I memorized the section where Daniel explains how Bob must be waiting somewhere between the sunken sailboat and the shore to kill them."

I nodded. "That's a crucial scene. Pretend I'm Kathy."

"It might help if you sat beside me. We can pretend we're alone in the lifeboat together."

I stood. "They're not alone. Mary is with them.

Or is that one of those small changes you'd like to make? Eliminate Mary's character?"

"I would keep her. I would just kill her off."

I sat beside him. The love seat was old, cramped.

Our legs touched. "How would you kill her?" I asked. "Feed her to the sharks?"

"No. Enough of them die that way. I'd have her die another way."

"Tell, me?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. You're the writer. But there are a lot of ways to die—in the movies."

"Why kill her? Haven't enough people died by that point?"

"I think it's important that the hero and heroine are alone when they confront Bob at the end."

"Why?"

"It would heighten the tension."

"It won't work. You forget, Daniel is not even in the lifeboat. He is hanging on to the side. For his plan to have even a chance of working, there must be at least two of them in the lifeboat when Bob arrives. Otherwise, there is no explanation for why only one of them is in the lifeboat."

Roger seemed taken aback by my explanation, and I knew he couldn't argue with my logic. He acted impressed. "You understand structure very well."

"Thank you." I checked my watch. "I have to go to a lecture tonight. Let's do the scene now, please."

Roger suddenly sat up. And just like that, he slipped into Daniel's character. He required no transition period. He was like liquid mercury when it came to playing the silver star. He reached over and took my hand—Kathy's hand—in the lifeboat.

The expression in his eyes changed from calm confidence to deadly seriousness.

"We cannot go back. If we do, he'll kill us. If we stay here, he'll kill us. All along he's intended for us to die. This whole scheme of who will be the first to die, and who will be left alive is just that—a scheme. Don't ask me why, but he hates us. Besides that he can't let any of us live and get away with what he's done."

"Then we're doomed," I said, mouthing Kathy's line from memory. His intensity was startling in its suddenness and effectiveness. I was mesmerized by his words, feeling as if I were indeed Kathy, trapped far out at sea with circling sharks and a madman in the area. Roger squeezed my hand.

"No," he said. "I have a plan. We have to head away from the coast. He'll come after us, I know he will. But we'll be ready for him. I'll hang outside the lifeboat. He won't see me. Then I'll swim under both boats and sneak up on him from behind."

I winced, or rather, Kathy did. "You'll die."

He smiled faintly. "I may die. But not today." He leaned over and—wow, the nerve—he kissed me on the lips! "Not with you here."

I sat back, stunned. "Jesus." The word was not in the script.

He laughed. "Does that mean I have the part?"

My blood was pounding. I had to assume he could make the blood in the veins of the girls in theaters do likewise. Yet his act had been presumptuous.

"I didn't give you permission to kiss me," I said firmly.

"I didn't kiss you. I kissed Kathy." He added, "It was in the script."

"Don't do it again."

He shrugged. "Not without your permission."

Discreetly wiping my mouth, I slowly nodded.

"All right, I forgive you." I hesitated for a moment. "You've got the part."

Henry and I enjoyed telling Darren to take a hike. At first the guy thought we were kidding, then he flew into a rage, saying we would be hearing from his agent and lawyer. He spat in the pool and stormed out of the backyard, where the others were rehearsing. Jo applauded his exit. She had been wanting to feed him to the sharks since she'd met him.

A few minutes later I wanted to do something painful to Bob, the actor who, ironically, was playing the nerdy villain Bob. The guy was much as I had written him: arrogant, overweight, rude.

Actor Bob didn't have to stretch for the role—he'd been rehearsing for the part for twenty years. His face was pockmarked with acne, his greasy red hair a warning flag for dandruff. He was big—six-two,

two hundred and fifty pounds easily. Had Henry found me a replacement for him, I would have fired him on the spot. But there were not too many Bobs in the world. To top it off, he wasn't chomping at the bit for the part. His parents were filthy rich. He had only taken up acting for the hell of it, and he could say "to hell with you" and split whenever he wished.

Ironically, he was talented, more so perhaps than even he realized. His arrogance was all superficial, I believed. He struck me as being insecure inside.

We got into it beside the pool. Henry was barbecuing chicken and hamburgers to feed the hungry actors, and, as usual, Bob was stuffing his face. That didn't bother me—I can eat like a pig when I want.

But he was drinking beer as well, belching loudly, and throwing the empties onto the lawn. Slobs piss me off; I don't know what it is.

"Hey," I said, pointing to the can he had just let fly onto the grass. "This isn't your house.

Pick that up and put it in the garbage."

He gave me one of his dangerous looks. It would probably work well on the screen, but not on me.

"Are you the new director?" he asked.

I stood up. "You don't need a director. You need a nanny. What zoo did you grow up in anyway?"

"You're great with those one-liners, aren't you?"

As he got up, I noticed he was a little drunk. "I don't need your abuse."

I tried to be patient. "I just want you to learn some manners. We're going to be working together every day for the next six weeks."

"You're going to be here all the time, huh? What for? To beautify the set?"

My patience ran out. "You idiot! Don't you realize you're getting the break of a lifetime being in my movie!"

Bob laughed. "Your movie! It isn't your movie.

It's the director's movie. Besides, it's going to flop.

The story sucks."

That really got me. I mean, I knew First to Die wasn't a masterpiece. I had told Jo as much on the way over. It was all right for me to criticize my story, but it wasn't OK for a guy who might get famous off my name to criticize it. If I'd wandered back to Earth in a male body, I would have smacked him right then. Instead, I did what I thought was the next best thing. I threw the Cherry Coke in my hand in his face. Bob's face turned cherry red, and I thought he was going to belt me.

But he did the next best thing, from his perspective.

He shoved me, his executive producer, in the pool.

Actors.

I landed with a big splash. The slap of water hurt my already sensitive head and my right leg, which had once taken a bullet fired by a friend who couldn't remember who he was. Bursting to the surface, I heard the laughter of the others and stabbed my arm in Bob's direction.

"You're fired!" I yelled. "Get the hell out of here!"

Henry ran to the side of the pool. Even in his vast experience, I'm sure, he had never fired his two

lead actors in the space of thirty minutes. He stretched out an arm to fish me out. Bob remained where he was, a smug look on his face.

"Shari," Henry said. "You should be an actor, not a producer."

"Get me out of here," I grumbled.

Henry pulled me onto the deck. Even standing soaking wet, I was still burning.

"I'm serious," I said. "I want him out of here." I pointed a finger at Bob. "Now!"

Bob was unimpressed. "Am I fired, Mr. Weathers?"

he asked.

Henry hesitated. "No."

"Yes!" I screamed. "He pushed me in the pool.

No one pushes me into a pool."

"I pushed you in the pool once," Jo remarked.

"Shut up!" I said. "I refuse to work with a pig who doesn't know an outhouse from a barn."

"Huh?" Jo said.

"Please," Henry said. "Let's talk this out. We start shooting in two days."

"Excuse me," Roger Teller said, stepping between us. "I think Shari's right. I think your callous act deserves retribution."

Bob was annoyed. "What are you talking about?

Say it in English."

"All right," Roger said calmly. He turned and slugged Bob in the face. Roger was stronger than he looked. He just about took Bob's head off. Bob didn't fall in the pool but on the beer can that had started the whole mess. He flattened that piece of aluminum bad. He sat up dizzily, blood dripping

from his nose, his eyes unfocused. Roger went and stood over him. "Apologize to Shari,"

he said.

Bob glanced up, and his eyes quickly came back into focus. Roger's expression was still calm but also strangely cold. Bob had to wonder, I knew, what Roger would do if he refused his order.

"I apologize, Shari," Bob said.

"That's all right," I muttered. Despite my momentary desire to hit Bob, the sight of blood sickened me. My books were occasionally violent, but I couldn't stand real violence. From experience, I knew too well how far it could go. I went over and helped Bob to his feet, brushing him off. "Do you still want to be in my movie?" I asked.

He wiped the blood off his face. "Your movie, huh?" he said.

I nodded. "I am your boss."

He cast Roger a wary glance. "Only if we get to change the ending," he mumbled.

Roger held his eye. "I like the ending as it is, Bob." He stepped past him and offered me his arm.

I took it without thinking. "Let me take you home, Boss," he said.

He was awfully cute. "All right," I said.

CHAPTER

IV

V V E DIDN'T HAVE TO GO to my place. Henry's daughter, Rico, was about my size so I was able to change out of my wet clothes right at Henry's.

Roger and I split after that, however, in his car. I left my Jaguar for Jo. It was only when we were on the road that I remembered the lecture I was supposed to go to with Peter and my brother.

Sitting beside Roger in his luxurious black Corvette, the thought of a talk by a yogi from India sounded boring. The other reason I didn't want to go to my apartment was that Peter would be waiting for me there. How would I explain Roger?

He just hit someone for me. It turned me on.

Yeah, the violence made me sick, but I had to admit the guy did intrigue me.

Roger looked over at me and smiled. His teeth were white as ivory.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

"Did you eat at Henry's?"

"No. Are you hungry?"

"Sort of."

"Do you like seafood?"

"Love it," I said.

We went to a place by the water in Pacific Palisades, at the end of Sunset Boulevard. The sun had recently set; the western sky was the color of candle flames. The candle on our table shone in Roger's eyes as he sat across from me and ordered a bottle of wine.

"Do you drink?" he asked.

"Seldom." I always felt the Rishi wanted me sober during my stay on Earth. "But I'll have one glass."

"Or two," he remarked. "I know this place. Let me order for you."

"OK."

We had lobster, burnt fiery red, and it was delicious. I ended up having three glasses of wine, toasting things I later couldn't remember. Then we went for a walk along the beach. The day had been warm but a chilly breeze came up as we listened to the sand crunch under our shoes. At some point Roger took my hand and I let him because it seemed so natural. I mean, it wasn't as if he tried to kiss me again. The wine had me feeling as if I were floating two feet above my body.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked.

I hesitated. "I live with a dear friend." I added,

"He's paralyzed."

Roger nodded. "I saw him at the signing."

"That's right, you were there." I paused. "I still don't understand why you came."

"I told you, to see you."

"Because you were auditioning for the part in the film?"