Chapter One
New York City, December, 1963
"YO, STRAWBERRY."
"Why'd you do it, kid? I'm
available."
"Let's see it, Dannie."
"Later, guys--duty first!"
Smiling broadly, Danica Maureen Britt, nee Barre, waggled her left hand
above her head and hurried past the television crew, aimed for the
safety of her dressing room.
But handsome blond Tyler Newton, wearing
an equally wide smile, blocked her path, leaned down and planted a loud
smacking kiss somewhere in the vicinity of her mouth. "C'mon,
Dannie Girl, that thing cost me a month of shows. Let's flaunt it."
Dannie sighed, then, her smile restored,
she turned back to the swarm of camera men, script girls, prop men,
electricians and other crew members. "It's really only a small
token of a grand passion," she said, flinging out her left hand
with its flashy burden for inspection. Poker-straight, she added, "Tyle
says it's a diamond, but I've only his word for it. What do you
think?"
The three-plus carat marquis stone
caught a down light and glitter ricocheted around the studio.
"Good Lord! You'll never
need a flashlight again."
"A month of shows? When'd
you get a raise, Tyle?"
"Who you trying to impress? The
IRS?"
Everybody on the set had a comment, most
of them wisecracks.
"It'll be interesting to see the
fan mail next week." The dry voice behind Dannie and Tyle brought
the actors swinging around. "I'm betting it runs fifty-fifty. Half
from irate women losing their favorite bachelor and half from irate men
whose engagement rings are being sneered at."
"As long as they write," said
Tyle airily.
"Now may I go to my dressing
room?" Dannie inquired a little too sweetly of Producer Marc Ahren.
"Since we don't have a guard
dog," Marc said, falling into step beside her, "I'll walk with
you. With that thing on the premises, our insurance rates may go
up."
"I promise not to take it off
around here," Dannie said. "If anyone wants it, they'll have
to take me, too."
"Not funny."
"True. I just feel a little spacey
this morning."
"I can see why."
As they approached the dressing room
Dannie shared with the three other actresses in the Airlanes
sitcom, Ahren stroked the back of his neck, a sure sign he had something
on his mind. "Dannie, when you're ready for rehearsal, plan a few
minutes with me and a new guy, Zane McCaul. He's in town to help us with
some regional and historical flavor."
"Marc!" She pivoted to search
the producer's often inscrutable face. "Does that mean what I think
it means? Do I get the part?"
"It's not a sure thing," he
warned, veering into the hallway leading to his office. "So don't
get your hopes too high, but it looks good. Keep it under that pink wig,
though. Especially don't tell your lippy boyfriend."
Half floating, half sagging, Dannie
stepped into the empty dressing room, shut the door and leaned against
it, grateful for the moment to be surrounded only by a rack of costumes,
pots of makeup and yards of mirrors. Turning her head, she objectively
noted the outward evidence of her warring emotions in one of the
mirrors. Her color was high, her turquoise eyes shone, and her chest
pumped like she'd been swimming.
It took eighteen slow, deep breaths to
restore calm. Relieved that she'd come in early, she checked the
aquamarine-studded watch her parents had given her for her birthday, and
ran her hand through the short, reddish-blonde curls Tyle likened to a
ginger poodle. Plenty of time to put on the makeup and uniform she'd
wear for rehearsal before checking in with Marc.
Please-God-let-me-get-the-part-of-Jennifer-Laberge!
She didn't turn on the radio. The other
actresses liked music while they made up and dressed, but with the
steady coverage and endless discussion of Kennedy's and Oswald's murders
and the awful aftermath, she relished the temporary quiet.
Thirty minutes later Tyle tapped on the
door. "Come in," she called, sweeping a lipstick brush around
her lips Marilyn Monroe-style. Her dad swore she resembled Marilyn, only
not so curvy. Dannie didn't see it, but then she didn't see any
resemblance to her family either.
Tyle appeared behind her, his linebacker
shoulders blocking her view of the door, and smiled at her mirror image.
His expressive lips outlined perfect white teeth, and his warm brown
eyes would've melted a frozen heart. "You were beautiful out
there."
Pursing her mouth in a satirical bow,
she arched her slender eyebrows and cast her left hand at the mirror in
a theatrical flourish. "Well, it's not too tough to show off this
chunk of junk. Melany always told me to go for the good stuff."
He twined a strawberry curl around his
fingertip. "The trick is to act like you were born for it,
honey."
"Then be prepared to buy the
matching tiara--"
She broke off as the other Airlanes
'stewardesses' burst into the dressing room and virtually leapt on their
prey. When Tyle admitted he didn't have any more three-carat diamonds on
him, however, they gave him the boot.
Jill sat down at the table next to
Dannie and began swiftly applying the thick base makeup to conceal any
possible flaw of her beautiful face. Catching Dannie's eye in the
mirror, she said, "Any news on your chance for the lead in the
Laberge special? Somehow I can't see you as the bitchy wife of
anybody."
"That's because you don't see the
deep-down me." Giving her a sly wink, Dannie rose and picked up her
uniform cap and shoulder bag. "Remember, according to western
movies, I'm twenty-five per cent Indian savage. Cross my path to stardom
and I'll call down my ancestors on you."
"Just don't get to the set too
early," ordered Mae, already working on her eyeliner. "It'll
make the rest of us look bad."
"Yeah," grumbled Brenda,
searching the space between her eyebrows for a stray hair. "If she
was a politician, she could run for Vice-President today and head up the
Senate tomorrow."
"If I did, I'd hire you as a Senate
Page any day," retorted Dannie. As she passed behind Jill, she
halted and peered at the part line in the actress's dark hair. "Is
that a gray hair?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
Jill shrieked, then seeing the tease in
Dannie's eyes, snatched up a hairbrush. "If you weren't bigger than
me, I'd tan your backside!"
Chortling, Dannie hustled her size ten
self from the dressing room. In the hall she promptly sobered and walked
quickly to the producer's office. Ahren's secretary, Mandy, was busy
alternating between two phone conversations and making notes on each,
and waved her into Marc's office.
"...the kind of authenticity that's
part of the success of Bonanza, The Virginian and Gunsmoke,"
Marc was saying to the man seated across his desk. Both men looked up as
Dannie entered the room, and Marc said, "Danica Britt, this is Zane
McCaul, the researcher I mentioned. Right now, all you have to do is
say, 'How do.' Later you may have reason for conversation."
The stranger rose and stepped toward Dannie, limping slightly on one shorter leg. Dannie smiled and shook his
warm, dry, comfortably firm hand, filing her analysis--good handshake,
blistering dark eyes, deep hair for his age, otherwise
unexceptional--under 'May Come in Handy Sometime.'
"I hope that conversation takes
place soon," said McCaul without inflection or returning her smile.
Accustomed to masculine admiration from
babyhood, Dannie took his lack of enthusiasm as a scary message. Was he
important to her selection for the role of Jennifer Laberge? "I
hope so, too, Mr. McCaul," she said, with more emphasis than she
intended.
Damn--some actress I am!
To her relief, both men laughed.
"Relax, Dannie," Marc said. "We should know in a few days
who's going to play Jennifer. In the meantime, you better not keep our
star pilot waiting."
Tyle, the pilot and star of Airlanes,
was on the brink of mega-stardom if the show continued its meteoric rise
in the ratings. Already the show provided a great showcase for the four
previously unknown actresses in their roles as the crew stewardesses.
Once on the set, Dannie took her
position at the rear of the cockpit, ready to catch the sticky
bun hurled by an annoyed passenger before it struck Tyle's
carefully arranged hair. "Dannie," called a cameraman.
"You gotta dump that ring. It's shooting lights in the wrong
places."
"I'll see about pawning it,"
she said, and turned the ring around so only the gold band showed.
During filming tomorrow she must remember to add another ring so this
one wouldn't look like a wedding band--hardly appropriate for a
highflying single girl on a prime time TV show.
The dress rehearsal went smoothly until
near the end. As one of four stews on the show, Dannie in this
segment was the one favored by the magnificent Captain Bennett.
It was her High Harem moment, as the TV crew referred to the Captain's
choice of the week. In the final scene, Tyle impulsively snatched
the unwary Dannie into his cockpit for an enthusiastic
kiss. Deliberately off balance and arms flailing, Dannie felt her ring
snag Tyle's ear. Instantly blood trickled down his neck. Horrified, she
jumped backward, caught her heel on a power cord and knocked over a
light, which exploded when it hit the floor. Unable to catch herself,
she landed on her back, sprawled amid the glass litter.
"Good God!" bawled the
Director. "Somebody get the nurse before he bleeds all over the
set. Dannie, are you hurt? Watch the glass! Anybody else cut? Let's get
some damn brooms in here!"
Bedlam reigned as crew members scattered
in every direction. Tyle had instinctively raised his hand to his
injured ear before reaching down to help Dannie, now scrambling to free
herself from the tangled cord and at the same time yank her mini skirt
below bikini level.
"Don't touch her!" A
man's harsh order halted Tyle's bloody hand just above Dannie's
shoulder. Zane McCaul squatted beside her. "Are you all
right?" he asked, scanning her face and legs with eyes dark enough
to call black. "Do you feel any cuts, or strains?"
Except for the hot spots of
embarrassment in her cheeks, Dannie didn't feel much of anything, at
least no stinging cuts or broken bones. "I think so--that is, I
don't think so. I mean, I don't think I'm damaged." Using McCaul's
convenient knee as a brace, she started to get to her feet. Instead, he
slipped one strong arm under her shoulders and the other under her
thighs. Shifting her weight and his feet, he plucked her out of the mess
and tilted her upright. Then steadying her by the shoulders, he switched
his grip to her arm, and together they crunched their way off the set.
Behind them the crew was already moving props and equipment out of the
way of the janitors' brooms.
"Get the nurse to look you over, Dannie," the director shouted over the racket. "Sign a release
if you're okay."
Once she and McCaul were outside the
glass zone, Dannie twisted around to check on Tyle.
"I'm fine, honey," he called,
still standing in his cockpit and holding a bloody handkerchief
to his ear. "Just a nick. Ears bleed like the very devil."
"I'll see you later--"
"Don't wait up for me,
though."
Her cheeks flushed even hotter, and with
a sob and tears of humiliation, she whirled from her rescuer and ran
down the hall, past the bank of silent TV monitors displaying every
program or commercial currently airing on every major network. Before
she could slam the dressing room door shut, however, McCaul shoved his
way into the room, grasped her trembling shoulders and spun her around
to face him.
She shrank from his hard fingers and
stern expression, but his grip only tightened. "If you aren't
hurt," he said curtly, "this is no time for hysterics."
He stuffed a handkerchief into her hand. "Here, use this."
The handkerchief was crisp linen, she
noted, sniffling and dabbing at her nose and eyes. A glance in the
mirror showed she'd made things much worse, smearing mascara tracks into
bruise-like smudges.
McCaul pulled out a chair from one of
the makeup counters. "Sit down," he ordered. "Let me do
it." Swiftly and none too gently he cleaned off the worst of the
rivulets and smudges, then stood back to survey his work. "All
right. Now get out there and check on--Tyle."
Dannie slumped in her chair. "He's
all right," she said mournfully. "And I'd only be in the way
of the cleanup crew."
"That's not the point," McCaul
snapped. "This is the sort of situation that separates a pro from
an amateur."
Sudden hot anger bubbled through her,
stifling humiliation. She jerked upright, glared at the domineering man
standing over her and thrust his handkerchief at him. "Just because
you picked me up out of the rubble, doesn't mean you can order me
around."
His eyes reminded her of cold charcoal,
and his tone matched them. "You're right, Miss Britt. However, if
you don't get back to the set in one minute, you don't have what it
takes to play Jennifer Laberge."
Ignoring her stupefied expression, he
returned his handkerchief to his chest pocket with a casual flip.
"I suggest you decide."
To protect her career, Dannie would take
even the advice of an arrogant, snappish man old enough--almost--to be
her father. She left the dressing room in a hurry, telling herself that
now there were two men who deserved a good tongue-lashing as soon
as she got the opportunity.
Tyle had left the set and gone to his
private dressing room. She found him there, being attended by the studio
nurse, who took more time than necessary to stick a bandage on the
Captain's scratched ear. By the time the nurse packed up her kit and
left with a flirtatious smile and bye-bye wave to her hero, Dannie was
aimed and loaded for bear.
Tyle was too quick for her. "I
know, I know," he said, giving her his best Basset Hound look.
"My big mouth won over my little brain again. Just don't mangle me
... I have ring payments to make."
Dannie's temper snapped like a rubber
band, and she burst out laughing. Tyle had that crazy, mellowing effect
on her. "God, I wish I had the whole scene on film. Can't you
imagine it, titled The Stew's Revenge or The Captain's
Courage?"
"Great moments are always
unexpected." Tyle checked his bandage in the mirror. "At least
we don't have to rehearse it again. Bud said we'll film the show
straight through tomorrow. The optimist." He laughed. "Hey,
how about that McCaul guy leaping to your rescue in a single
bound?"
"Him! One rescue and the guy
acts like he owns me."
Tyle cocked his head and one eyebrow.
"Should I be jealous?"
"Not to worry, lover. I'm yours,
heart and soul."
He gave her the trademark wink that
netted him hundreds of fan letters a week. "That's my girl. After
all, I don't put three carats on my jewelry store account for just any
sexy blonde."
Considering her traumatic day, Dannie
didn't look forward to an evening with only her script for company.
"Since we're getting out early, how about taking me to
dinner?"
"Sorry, honey, I can't. How about
Saturday? I think it's time we go out and make a splash. We'll celebrate
our engagement and wriggle our butts around a dance floor."
"That'll be fun. I'll wear
something tight and slinky, assuming I can wrangle it out of
wardrobe." She paused at the door. "Well, I'm off to see
Nursie. See you later."
The Captain's famous smile lit up the
mirror just for her. "Love you, Dannie Girl. Thanks for making me
look good. As usual."
If he only knew.
Dannie's psychic gift was no match for
those of her mother and grandmother. The only way it worked for her was
in theatrical timing. Instinctively she knew when and how to react to
the other players' lines and actions for the maximum comedic effect.
Except today, when she'd been off just
enough to tear Tyle's ear and make a mess of the set.
Well, nobody's perfect.
But she must be. Her career depended on
it. |
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