ollywood wanted Jake Koranda smart-ass and mean. They wanted him staring at a piece of street scum over the barrel of a.44 Magnum. They wanted him using pearl-handled Colts on a band of desperados and then kissing a busty broad good-bye before he walked out the saloon doors. Koranda might only be twenty-eight years old, but he was a real man, not one of those pansies who carried a hair dryer in his hip pocket.

Jake had hit it big right from the start playing a drifter named Bird Dog Caliber in a low-budget Western that grossed six times what it had cost to make. Despite his youth, he had the rough, outlaw image that men liked as much as women, the same as Eastwood did. Two more Caliber pictures immediately followed the first, each one bloodier. After that, he made a couple of modern action-adventure movies. His career rise was meteoric. Then Koranda got stubborn. He said he needed more time to write his plays.

What was Hollywood supposed to do about that? The best action actor to come along since Eastwood, and he wrote shit that ended up in college anthologies instead of staying in front of a camera where he belonged. The fuckin’ Pulitzer Prize had ruined him.

And it got worse…Koranda decided he wanted to try writing for film instead of the theater. He called his screenplay Sunday Morning Eclipse, and there wasn’t a single car chase in the whole damned thing. “That highbrow shit is okay for the stage, kid,” the Hollywood brass told him when he started shopping it around, “but the American public wants tits and guns on screen.”

Koranda eventually ended up with Dick Spano, a smalltime producer who agreed to do Sunday Morning Eclipse on two conditions: Jake had to take the leading role, and he had to give Spano a big-budget cops-and-robbers afterward.

On a Tuesday night in early March, three men sat in a smoke-filled projection room. “Run Savagar’s screen test again,” Dick Spano called out around one of the fat Cuban cigars he loved to smoke.

Johnny Guy Kelly, the film’s legendary silver-haired director, popped the lid on a can of Orange Crush and spoke over his shoulder to the lone figure sitting in the shadows at the back. “Jako, boy, we don’t want you unhappy, but I think you left those genius brains of yours in bed with your latest lady friend.”

Jake Koranda pulled his long legs from the back of the seat in front of him. “Savagar’s wrong for Lizzie. I can feel it in my gut.”

“You take a long, hard look at Cupcake up there and tell me you don’t feel something someplace other than in your gut.” Johnny Guy pointed his Orange Crush toward the screen. “The camera loves her, Jako. And she’s also been taking acting lessons, so she’s real serious about this.”

Koranda slouched deeper into his seat. “She’s a model. One more ditzy glamour girl who wants a movie career. I went through this with what’s-her-name last year, and I swore I’d never do it again. Especially not on this picture. Did you check Amy Irving again?”

“Irving is tied up,” Spano said, “and even if she wasn’t, I gotta tell you I’d go with Savagar right now. She’s hot. You can’t pick up a magazine without seeing her face on the cover. Everybody’s been waiting to see what she chooses for her first film. It’s built-in publicity.”

“Screw the publicity,” Koranda said.

Dick Spano and Johnny Guy Kelly exchanged glances. They liked Jake, but he had strong opinions, and he could be a stubborn son of a bitch when he believed in something. “It’s not that easy,” Johnny Guy said. “She’s got some smart people behind her. They’d been waiting a long time to find exactly the right picture.”

“Bullshit,” Jake retorted. “All they want is a leading man tall enough to play with their little girl. It doesn’t go any deeper than that.”

“I think you’re underestimating them.”

Cold silence drifted their way from the back of the room.

“Sorry, Jake,” Spano finally said, not without some trepidation, “but we’re going to overrule you on this one. We’re making her an offer tomorrow.”

Behind them, Koranda uncoiled from his seat. “Do what you have to, but don’t expect me to roll out the welcome mat.”

Johnny Guy shook his head as Jake disappeared, then once again looked at the screen. “Let’s hope Cupcake up there knows how to take some heat.”

Belinda had dragged Fleur to all of Jake Koranda’s pictures, and Fleur had hated every one of them. He was always shooting someone in the head, knifing him in the belly, or terrorizing a woman. And he seemed to enjoy it! Now she had to work with him, and she knew from her agent exactly how dead set he’d been against casting her. Part of her couldn’t exactly blame him. No matter what Belinda believed, Fleur was no actress.

“Stop worrying,” Belinda said, whenever Fleur tried to talk to her about it. “The minute he sees you, he’ll fall in love.”

Fleur couldn’t imagine that happening.

The white stretch limousine the studio had sent to pick her up at LAX delivered her to the two-story Spanish-style Beverly Hills house Belinda had rented for them. It was early May, unseasonably cold when she’d left New York, but warm and sunny in Southern California. When she’d come over from France three years ago, she’d never imagined her life taking such a strange direction. She tried to be grateful, but lately that had been hard.

A housekeeper who looked like she was at least a hundred years old let her into a foyer with white walls, dark beams, a wrought-iron chandelier, and a terra-cotta floor. Fleur took the suitcases away from her when she started to carry them upstairs. She chose a back bedroom that looked down over the pool and left the master bedroom for Belinda. The house seemed even larger than the photos. With six bedrooms, four decks, and a couple of Jacuzzis, it had more space than two people needed, something she’d made the mistake of mentioning to Alexi during one of their phone conversations that substituted for visits.

“In Southern California, lack of ostentation is vulgar,” he’d said. “Follow your mother’s lead, and you will be a wonderful success.”

She’d let the dig pass. The problems between Alexi and Belinda were too complicated for her to solve, especially since she’d never been able to understand why two people who hated each other so much didn’t get a divorce. She kicked off her shoes and gazed around the room with its warm wooden pieces and earth-toned fabrics. A collection of Mexican crosses hanging on the wall gave her a pang of homesickness for the nuns. Never once had she imagined making this particular trip alone.

She sat on the side of the bed and called New York. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked when Belinda answered.

“I’m miserable. And humiliated. How can a woman my age get chicken pox?” Belinda blew her nose. “My baby is going to star in the most talked-about film of the year, and here I am stuck in New York with this ridiculous disease. If I get scars…”

“You’ll be fine in a week or so.”

“I’m not coming out there until I look my best. I want them to see what they passed up all those years ago.” Another nose blow. “Call me the moment you meet him. Don’t worry about the time difference.”

Fleur didn’t have to ask whom Belinda was talking about. She braced herself, and—sure enough…

“My baby’s going to be doing love scenes with Jake Koranda.”

“If you say that one more time, I’m going to throw up.”

Belinda managed a laugh through her misery. “Lucky, lucky, baby.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

But Belinda had beaten her to it.

Fleur walked over to the window and gazed down at the pool. She’d started to hate modeling, another thing Belinda would never understand. And she definitely didn’t want to be an actress. But since she had no idea what she wanted to do instead, she could hardly complain. She had gobs of money, a fabulous career, and a great part in a prestigious film. She was the luckiest girl in the world, and she was going to stop acting like a spoiled brat. So what if she never felt completely comfortable in front of the camera? She did a darned good job of faking it, and that’s exactly what she’d do with this movie. She’d fake it.

She changed into shorts, twisted her hair on top of her head, and carried the script of Sunday Morning Eclipse out to the patio. She settled into one of the cushioned chaises along with a glass of fresh orange juice and gazed down at the script.

Jake Koranda was playing Matt, the lead, a soldier returning home to Iowa from Vietnam. Matt is tortured by memories of a My Lai–type massacre he witnessed. When he gets home, he finds his wife pregnant with another man’s child and his brother caught up in a local scandal. Matt is drawn to Lizzie, his wife’s kid sister, who’s grown up in his absence. Fleur was playing Lizzie. She thumbed to the script notes.

Untouched by the smell of napalm and the corruption in Matt’s own family, Lizzie makes Matt feel innocent again.

The two of them get into a playful argument over the best place to find a great hamburger, and after a traumatic scene with his wife, Matt takes Lizzie on a week-long odyssey through Iowa in search of an old-fashioned root beer stand. The root beer stand served as both a tragic and comic symbol of the country’s lost innocence. At the end of the journey, Matt discovers that Lizzie is neither as guileless nor as virginal as she acts.

Despite the movie’s cynical view of women, Fleur liked the script a lot better than the Bird Dog Caliber pictures. But even after two months of acting lessons, she didn’t see how she’d ever play a character as complex as Lizzie. She wished she was doing some kind of romantic comedy.

At least she wouldn’t have to do the movie’s nude love scene. This was the only battle with Belinda that she’d won. Her mother said Fleur was being a prude and that her attitude was hypocritical after all the swimsuit ads she’d done, but swimsuits were swimsuits, and naked was naked. Fleur wouldn’t budge.

She’d always refused to pose nude, even for the world’s most respected photographers. Belinda said it was because she was still a virgin, but that wasn’t it. Fleur had to keep some part of herself private.

The housekeeper interrupted and told her she needed to look outside. Fleur went to the front door. In the center of the driveway sat a shiny new red Porsche topped with a giant silver bow.

She raced to the phone and caught Alexi just as he was getting ready for bed. “It’s beautiful,” she cried. “I’m going to be scared to death to drive it.”

“Nonsense. It is you who control the car, chérie, not the other way around.”

“I’ve got the wrong number. I want to speak with the man who’s invested a fortune trying to find the Bugatti Royale that spent the war in the sewers of Paris.”

“That, my dear, is different.”

Fleur smiled. They chatted for a few minutes, then she rushed outside to drive her new car. She wished she could thank Alexi in person, but he’d never come back to see her.

Some of her pleasure in the gift faded. She’d become a pawn in the battle between her parents, and she hated that. But as important as her new relationship was with her father, and as much as she appreciated this beautiful car, her first loyalty would always be with Belinda.

The next morning, she drove the Porsche through the studio gates to the soundstage where Sunday Morning Eclipse was shooting. Fleur Savagar was too scared to show up on the set herself, so she’d sent the Glitter Baby instead. As she’d gotten dressed, she’d taken extra care with her makeup and pulled her hair away from her face with a set of enameled combs so that it fell long and straight down her back. Her peony-colored Sonia Rykiel body sweater complemented a pair of strappy lizard sandals with three-inch heels. Jake Koranda was tall, but those heels should just about even them out.

She found the parking lot the guard had directed her to. The toast she’d eaten for breakfast clumped in her stomach. Although filming on Sunday Morning Eclipse had been under way for several weeks, she didn’t have to report for another few days, but she’d decided that checking things out before she had to go in front of the camera would build her confidence. So far, it wasn’t working.

This was silly. She’d made television commercials, so she understood the process. She knew how to hit her marks and take direction. But her anxiety refused to ease. Belinda should have been the movie star. Not her.

The guard had phoned ahead, and Dick Spano, the producer, met her inside the soundstage door. “Fleur, sweetheart! It’s good to see you.” He welcomed her with a cheek kiss and an admiring look at the leggy expanse that the body sweater put on display. Fleur had liked Spano when they’d met in New York, especially when she’d found out how much he loved horses. He led her toward a pair of heavy doors. “They’re getting ready to shoot. I’ll take you in.”

Fleur recognized the brightly lit set on the soundstage as the kitchen of Matt’s house in Iowa. Standing in the middle of it, she saw Johnny Guy Kelly deep in conversation with Lynn David, the tiny, auburn-haired actress who was playing Matt’s wife, DeeDee. Dick Spano gestured Fleur toward a canvas director’s chair. She resisted the urge to peek at the back and see if her name was stenciled there.

“You ready, Jako?”

Jake Koranda stepped out of the shadows.

The first thing Fleur noticed was his impossible mouth, soft and sulky as a baby’s. But that was the only thing baby-like about him. His walk was loose-jointed with a rolling, slouch-shouldered gait that made him look more like a range-weary cowboy than a playwright–movie star. His straight brown hair had been cut shorter than he wore it in the Caliber pictures, making him look both taller and thinner than his screen image. Offscreen, she decided, he didn’t look any friendlier than he did onscreen.

Thanks to Belinda, Fleur knew more about him than she wanted to. Although he was notoriously reticent with the press and seldom gave interviews, certain facts had emerged. He’d been born John Joseph Koranda and raised in the worst part of Cleveland, Ohio, by a mother who cleaned houses during the day and offices at night. He had a juvenile police record. Petty theft, shoplifting, hot-wiring a car when he was thirteen. When reporters tried to get him to open up about how he’d turned his life around, he referred to a college athletic scholarship. “Just a punk who got lucky with a basketball,” he said. He refused to talk about why he’d left college during his sophomore year, his short-lived marriage, or his military service in Vietnam. He said his life was his own.

Johnny Guy called out for quiet, and the set grew still. Lynn David stood with her head down, not looking at Jake, who was all sulky mouth and hard blue eyes. Johnny Guy called for action.

Jake leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “You can’t help being a tramp, can you?”

Fleur clutched her hands in her lap. They were filming one of the uglier scenes in the movie, where Jake’s character, Matt, had just found out about DeeDee’s infidelity. In the editing room, the scene would be interspersed with quick cuts of the village massacre Matt had witnessed in Vietnam, shadow images that make him lose control until he lashes out at DeeDee in a macabre duplication of the violence he’d witnessed.

Matt began walking across the kitchen floor, every muscle in his body taut with menace. In a small, helpless gesture, DeeDee closed her fingers around a necklace he’d given her. She was so tiny next to him, a fragile little Kewpie doll about to be broken. “It wasn’t like that, Matt. It wasn’t.”

Without warning, his hand shot out and ripped off her necklace. She screamed and tried to get away from him, but he was too fast. He shook her, and she started to cry. Fleur’s mouth went dry. She hated this scene. Hated everything about it.

“Cut!” Johnny Guy called out. “We’ve got a shadow by the window.”

Jake’s angry voice ripped through the set. “I thought we were going to try to do this in one take!”

Fleur couldn’t have picked a worse day to show up. She wasn’t ready to do a movie. She especially wasn’t ready to do a movie with Jake Koranda. Why couldn’t it have been with Robert Redford or Burt Reynolds? Somebody nice. At least she didn’t have any scenes where Jake beat her up. But that wasn’t any consolation when she thought about the scenes she did have with him.

Johnny Guy called for quiet. Someone from wardrobe replaced Lynn’s necklace. Fleur’s palms started to sweat.

“You can’t help being a tramp, can you?” Matt said in the same ugly voice. He bore down on DeeDee and yanked off the necklace. DeeDee screamed and struggled with him. He shook her harder, his expression so vicious that Fleur had to remind herself he was acting. God, she hoped he was acting.

He pushed DeeDee against the wall, and then he slapped her. Fleur couldn’t watch any more. She closed her eyes and wished she was anywhere but here.

“Cut!”

Lynn David’s crying didn’t stop with the end of the scene. Jake pulled Lynn into his arms and tucked her head under his chin.

Johnny Guy ambled forward. “You okay, Lynnie?”

Jake rounded on him. “Leave us alone!”

Johnny Guy nodded and moved away. A moment later he spotted Fleur. She stood half a head taller, but that didn’t stop him from enveloping her in a bear hug. “Aren’t you just what the doctor ordered? Pretty as a Texas sunset after a spring rain.”

Johnny Guy was one of the best directors in the business, despite his good ol’ boy manner. When they’d met in New York, he’d been sensitive to her inexperience and promised he’d do everything he could to make her comfortable. “Come on over here with me. I want you to meet everybody.”

He began introducing her to the crew, telling her something personal about each one. The names and faces flew past her too quickly to remember, but she smiled at everyone. “Where’s that pretty mother of yours?” he asked. “I thought she’d come with you today.”

“She had some business to take care of.” Fleur didn’t mention the business involved cotton swabs and calamine lotion. “She’ll be here in a week or so.”

“I remember her from the fifties,” he said. “I was working as a grip then. I saw her once at the Garden of Allah when she was with Errol Flynn.”

Fleur tripped over a cable she hadn’t noticed. Johnny Guy caught her arm. Belinda had chronicled every movie star she had ever met, but she’d never mentioned Errol Flynn. He must be mistaken.

Johnny Guy suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Come on, darlin’. Let me take you over to meet Jake.”

Exactly what she most didn’t want to do, but Johnny Guy was already steering her toward him. Her discomfort increased at the sight of a teary Lynn David still tucked against Jake’s side. Fleur whispered to Johnny Guy. “Why don’t we wait—”

“Jako, Lynnie. I’ve got somebody here I want you to meet.” He propelled her forward and introduced her.

Lynn managed a weak smile of acknowledgment. Jake looked at her with Bird Dog Caliber’s eyes and gave her a brusque nod. Fleur’s three-inch lizard strap sandals let her eye him dead on, and somehow she managed not to flinch.

An awkward silence followed, broken finally by a stubble-faced young man. “We have to do it again, Johnny Guy,” he said. “We picked up some noise.”

Koranda pushed past Fleur and stalked toward the center of the set. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?” The set grew instantly quiet. “Get your act together. How many times do we have to go through this for you?”

A long silence followed. Finally an anonymous voice filled the tense stillness. “Sorry, Jake. It couldn’t be helped.”

“The hell it couldn’t!” Fleur waited for him to pull out the pearl-handled Colts. “Get your shit together! We’re only doing it once more.”

“Easy, boy,” Johnny Guy said. “Last time I checked, I was the director around here.”

“Then do your job,” Koranda shot back.

Johnny Guy scratched his head. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that, Jako, and chalk this up to a full moon. Let’s get back to work.”

Temper tantrums weren’t new to Fleur—she’d seen some doozies in the last few years—but this one made the butterflies in her stomach do nosedives. She looked down at her fat runner’s watch and yawned. It was a technique she’d developed when she got uncomfortable—looking at her watch and yawning. It made people think they couldn’t get to her, even when they could.

She imagined what Belinda would say if she’d seen her idol’s obnoxious behavior. Celebrities are different from ordinary people, baby. They don’t have to follow the same rules.

Not in Fleur’s book. Rude was rude no matter how famous you were.

The scene began again. Fleur stole back into the shadows where she didn’t have to watch, but she couldn’t block out the sounds of violence. It seemed like forever before it was over.

A woman Johnny Guy had introduced earlier as a production assistant appeared at Fleur’s side and asked if she’d go to wardrobe. Fleur could have kissed her. By the time she returned, the crew was taking a lunch break. Lynn and Jake sat eating sandwiches off to the side by themselves, and Lynn immediately spotted her. “Come over and join us.”

All Fleur wanted to do was get away, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to refuse. The heels of her lizard strap sandals tapped on the concrete floor as she made her way across the set. They’d changed into jeans, which made her feel like an overdressed outsider. She picked up her chin and pulled back her shoulders.

“Have a seat.” Lynn gestured toward a folding chair. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk earlier.”

“That’s okay. You were busy.”

Jake stood and balled his sandwich in the wrapper. Fleur was used to looking down at men, not looking up, and he was so intimidating she had to force herself not to step back. She stared at that impossible mouth and saw his famous front tooth with the tiny chip at the corner. He gave her another short nod, then turned to Lynn. “I’m going out to shoot some baskets. I’ll see you later.”

As he disappeared, Lynn held out half her sandwich. “Eat this so I don’t gain any more weight. It’s salmon with low-cal mayonnaise.”

Fleur took the friendship offering and sat down. Lynn was in her mid-twenties and delicate, with tiny hands and wispy auburn hair. A thousand magazine covers wouldn’t change the way being around such a petite woman made Fleur feel like the Jolly Green Giant.

Lynn was returning the inspection. “You don’t look like you have to worry about your weight.”

Fleur swallowed a bite of sandwich. “I do. Working in front of a camera, I can’t go above one thirty-five. That’s hard with my height, especially for somebody who loves bread and ice cream.”

“Good, then we can be friends.” Lynn’s smile showed a row of small, straight teeth. “I hate women who can eat anything.”

“Me, too.” Fleur smiled, and they talked for a while about the injustices of being female. Eventually the subject shifted to Sunday Morning Eclipse.

“Playing DeeDee is the break I’ve been waiting for after the soaps.” Lynn picked a flake of salmon from her jeans. “Critics say Jake’s women aren’t as well-written as his men, but I think DeeDee’s an exception. She’s foolish, but she’s vulnerable. Everybody has a little DeeDee in them.”

“It’s a really great part,” Fleur said. “More straightforward than Lizzie. I’m…nervous about playing her. I guess…I’m not too sure of myself.” She flushed. This was hardly the way to inspire confidence in a coworker.

But Lynn nodded. “Once you get into the part, you’ll be more confident. Talk to Jake about Lizzie. He’s good about that kind of thing.”

Fleur picked at a loop of yarn on her sweater. “I don’t think Jake’s going to be too interested in talking to me about anything. It’s no secret he didn’t want me in the picture.”

Lynn gave her a sympathetic smile. “When he sees you’re committed, he’ll come around. Give him time.”

“And space,” Fleur said. “The more the better.”

Lynn settled back into the chair. “Jake’s the last of the good guys, Fleur.”

She retrenched. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“No. I mean it.”

“Well…You know him a lot better than I do.”

“You’re thinking about what you saw today.”

“He was…sort of rough on the crew.”

Lynn picked up her purse and began rummaging through it. “Jake and I were an item a couple of years ago. Nothing serious, but we got to know each other pretty well, and once we stopped sleeping together, we became good friends.” She pulled out a pack of breath mints. “I confided in him a lot, and Jake drew on something that happened to me when he wrote that scene. He knew it would bring back bad memories, and he wanted to get it over with for my sake.”

Fleur pulled her legs tighter again the chair. “I’m not…too comfortable with men like him.”

The corner of Lynn’s mouth curled. “That’s what makes men like him irresistible.”

It wasn’t the word Fleur would have picked, but she’d already said more than she should.

For the next few days, Fleur kept out of Jake Koranda’s way. At the same time, she found herself watching him. He and Johnny Guy sparred constantly, frequently going out of their way to disagree. Their arguments made her uncomfortable until she saw how much they enjoyed their spats. Considering his outburst that first day, she was surprised to see how popular Jake was with the crew. In fact, he seemed easy with everybody except her. Other than a brief nod in the morning, he acted as though she didn’t exist.

Fortunately her first scene was with Lynn. On Thursday night before the shoot, she studied her lines until she was letter-perfect and got ready to go to bed early so she’d be fresh for her seven o’clock makeup call. But just before she turned off the light, the phone rang. She expected to hear Belinda’s voice, but it was Barry, the assistant director.

“Fleur, we had to change the schedule for tomorrow. We’re shooting the opening scene with Matt and Lizzie.”

Her stomach dropped. She couldn’t stand the idea of working with Jake, not on her first day.

After that, sleep was impossible. She kept turning the light on to review her lines, and she didn’t drift off until it was nearly dawn, only to be awakened by her alarm an hour later. Her makeup artist grumbled about the dark circles under her eyes. Fleur apologized and said it wouldn’t happen again. She was a ball of nerves by the time Johnny Guy appeared in the makeup trailer to discuss the opening scene.

“We’re working on the back lot today. You’ll be sitting in the swing on the farmhouse porch.”

Fleur had seen the exterior of the Iowa farmhouse they’d built, and she was glad they’d be working outside today. “You look up and see Matt standing by the road. You call out his name, jump out of the swing, and run across the yard to get to him. Throw yourself right at him. An easy scene.”

And Fleur was going to blow it. A few months of acting classes didn’t make her an actress. She’d seen what a perfectionist Jake was. He already hated her. Just wait till he saw how incompetent she was.

Her spirits dipped lower when she got into costume. The movie was set in August, and she was wearing a skimpy white bikini embossed with little red hearts and cut high at the thigh to make her legs look even longer. A man’s blue work shirt tied in a knot at the waist left her stomach bare, and they’d arranged her hair in a loose braid down her back. The stylist had wanted to tie a red bow on the end to emphasize Lizzie’s false innocence, but Fleur told him to forget it. She didn’t wear bows in her hair, and neither would Lizzie.

Just as she made her fourth trip to the bathroom, the assistant director called for her. Fleur took her place on the porch swing and reviewed what she had to do. Lizzie was expecting to see Matt, but she couldn’t show it. Lizzie couldn’t show a lot of things—how much she resented her sister, how much she lusted after her sister’s husband. Jake stood near one of the trailers. He wore the soldier’s uniform that was his costume at the beginning of the film. How could she lust after him when she didn’t even like him? She yawned and looked at her watch only to realize she wasn’t wearing one.

He stuffed one hand in his pocket. As he leaned against the trailer, he planted the sole of his shoe against the tire in a sexy, slouchy kind of posture that reminded her of his publicity photographs. All he needed was a squint and a cigarette to make Bird Dog come to life.

“Showtime, boys and girls,” Johnny Guy called out. “You ready, Fleur honey? Let’s walk it through.”

She followed his directions, carefully noting the path he wanted her to run. Finally she returned to the swing and waited nervously while the crew made the final adjustments. Excitement…she had to think excitement. But not too soon. Don’t anticipate. Wait until you see him before you let it show on your face. Don’t think about anything but Matt. Matt, not Jake.

Johnny Guy called for action. She lifted her head. Spotted Matt. Matt! He was back! Jumping up, she ran across the porch. She took the wooden steps in one leap. Her braid slapped the back of her neck. She had to get to him. Touch him. He was hers, not DeeDee’s. She ran across the yard. There he was, just ahead of her. “Matt!” She called out his name again and catapulted into his arms.

He stumbled backward, and they both crashed to the ground.

There was an explosion of laughter from the crew. Fleur lay sprawled on top of Jake Koranda, pinning him down with her half-naked body. She wanted to crawl into a corner and die. She was an elephant. A big, clumsy giant of an elephant, and this was the most humiliating moment of her life.

“Anybody hurt here?” Johnny Guy chuckled as he came over and helped her up.

“No, I—I’m all right.” She kept her head down and concentrated on brushing the dirt from her legs. One of the makeup people ran over with a wet cloth, and she wiped herself off without looking up at Jake. If he needed any more proof that she wasn’t right for the part, she’d just given it to him. She wanted to go back to New York. And she wanted her mother!

“How ’bout you, Jako?”

“I’m okay.”

Johnny Guy patted her arm. “That was real nice, honey.” He grinned. “Too bad this boy’s so puny he can’t stand up to a real woman.”

Johnny Guy was trying to make her feel better, but he was making it worse. She felt big and clumsy and ugly. Everybody was staring at her. If only she could shrink-wrap herself. “I—I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “I think I’ve ruined this suit. The dirt doesn’t want to come out.”

“That’s why we have spares. Go on and get changed.”

In too short a time, she was back in the porch swing, and they were ready to go again. As the cameras rolled, she tried to recreate the feeling of excitement she’d experienced during the first take. She saw Matt, jumped up, ran down the steps and across the yard. Please God, don’t let me knock him over again. She checked herself ever so slightly and slid into his arms.

Johnny Guy hated it.

They did it again, and she stumbled going down the steps. The fourth time the porch swing bumped against the backs of her legs. The fifth time she made it all the way to Jake, but again she checked herself at the last moment. Her misery was growing by the minute.

“You’re not relating to him, honey,” Johnny Guy said as Jake released her. “You’re not connecting. Don’t worry so much about where you’re putting your feet. Do it the way you did it the first time.”

“I’ll try.” She had to endure more humiliation as wardrobe noticed she’d sweated through the work shirt and had to bring her a new one without half-moons under the arms. As she headed back for the porch swing, she knew no power on earth could make her throw her body full force at Jake Koranda again. Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard.

“Hey, wait up.”

Slowly she turned and watched Jake walk up to her. “I was off balance the first time,” he said curtly. “It was my fault, not yours. I’ll catch you the next time.”

Sure he would. She nodded and started to walk away.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

She turned back to him. “I’m not exactly a lightweight.”

His mouth curved in a cocky grin that looked strange on Bird Dog Caliber’s face. “Hey, Johnny Guy!” he called over his shoulder. “Give us a few minutes, will you? Flower Power here thinks she’s got me beat.”

“Flower Power!”

He grabbed her arm and propelled her none-too-gently around the side of the house away from the crew. When they were ankle-deep in weeds, he let her go. “I’ve got ten bucks says you can’t knock me over again.”

She shoved a hand on her bare hip and tried to look like she wasn’t nineteen and scared to death. “I’m not getting into a wrestling match with you.”

“Glitter Baby worried about messing up her hair? Or are you afraid you’ll knock me down again and win the bet?”

“I know I’ll win the bet,” she shot back.

“We’ll have to see about that. Ten bucks, Flower. Put up or shut up.”

He was baiting her on purpose, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was wipe that stupid smirk off his stupid mouth. “Make it twenty.”

“I’m scared, Flower. Real scared.” He moved back and braced himself. A lot of good it would do him.

She glared at him. “I hope you have a good doctor.”

“So far all you’ve got is talk.”

“Don’t you think this is just a little juvenile?”

“Glitter Baby’s chickening out. She’s afraid she’s going to hurt herself.”

“That’s it!” She dug her feet into the sandy ground, pumped her arms, and charged him.

It was like hitting a wall.

The impact would have sent her to the ground if he hadn’t caught her. Instead he held her tightly against him. A few seconds ticked by as she tried to catch her breath, then she jerked away. Her chin hurt where she’d bumped it against his shoulder, and her shoulder throbbed. “This is stupid.” She started to stomp away.

“Hey, Flower.” He ambled forward with his worn-out cowboy gait and reined in next to her. “Is that really the best you can do? Or are you afraid of getting that skimpy white bikini dirty again?”

She looked at him incredulously. Her ribs ached, her chin was killing her, and she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “You’re crazy.”

“Double or nothing. And this time get farther back.”

She rubbed her shoulder. “I think I’ll pass.”

He laughed. It was almost a nice sound. “Okay, I’ll let you off. But you owe me twenty bucks.”

He looked so smug that she actually opened her mouth to take him up on his challenge. Fortunately her common sense kicked in. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, he’d done a nice thing for her. They began walking back around the house together. “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you,” she said.

“Hey, I’m a boy genius. Read the critics. Any of them. They’ll tell you.”

She looked up at him and curled her mouth in a fake-sweet smile. “Glamour girls don’t know how to read. We just look at the pictures.”

He laughed and walked away.

They did the scene in the next take, and Johnny Guy said it was exactly what he wanted, but Fleur’s brief moment of satisfaction disappeared as he rehearsed them for the following scene. While Lizzie was still in Matt’s arms, she was supposed to give him a sisterly kiss. They exchanged a few lines of dialogue, then Lizzie kissed him again, but this time it wasn’t supposed to be sisterly. Matt would pull away confused while the camera showed him trying to take in the changes since he had last seen her.

Jake continued joking around with her, refusing to go to work until she’d handed over twenty bucks. He made her laugh, and she handled the sisterly kiss without a problem. But her dialogue delivery was stiff and required too many takes. Still, Lizzie couldn’t have been all that comfortable, either, and it wasn’t a complete disaster. When they broke for lunch, Jake pulled on her braid as if she were ten years old and told her not to beat up anybody while he was gone.

After lunch, they shot some close-ups, and by the time they were done, she’d perspired through her third shirt. The wardrobe people started sewing in dress shields.

The second kiss was up next, and she knew she was going to have trouble. She’d kissed men on camera and a few of them off camera, too, but she didn’t want to kiss Jake Koranda, not because he was being a hard-ass—he was going out of his way to be friendly—but because something weird had started happening to her when she got too close to him.

The assistant director called for her. Jake was already in place talking to Johnny Guy. While Johnny Guy explained the shot, she stared at Jake’s mouth, that soft, sulky, baby’s pout. He caught her at it and looked at her funny. She yawned and gazed at her bare wrist.

“Does the Glitter Baby have a hot date waiting?” he asked.

“Always,” she said.

Johnny Guy turned to her. “What we need here, honey lamb, is a real open-mouth tonsil bouncer. Lizzie’s got to wake Matt up.”

She gave him a grin and a thumbs-up. “Gotcha.” The butterflies in her stomach started a war dance. She wasn’t the greatest kisser in the world. But how could she be when she hardly ever got to go out with someone she actually liked?

Jake put his arms around her. She felt his hands flatten against the bare skin just above her bikini bottom and realized she’d spent most of the day crawling over his body in one way or another.

“Your feet, honey,” Johnny Guy said.

She looked down. They were as big as ever.

“A little closer, baby lamb.”

That’s when she saw what she’d done. Although her chest was pressed against Jake’s, she’d pulled her bottom half as far away as she could. She quickly adjusted herself. With his shoes and her bare feet, he was about four inches taller. That was weird, and she didn’t like it.

This is Matt, she told herself, as Johnny Guy moved behind the cameras. You’ve been with other men, but Matt is the one you want.

Johnny Guy called for action and she ran her fingers over the front of Matt’s uniform. Closing her eyes, she touched her lips to his soft, warm ones. She held them there, trying to think about Matt and Lizzie.

Johnny Guy was less than impressed. “You didn’t put too much into that one, honey. Let’s try it again.”

During the next take, she moved her hands up and down the sleeves of Matt’s uniform. Jake yawned when the scene was over and looked at his watch. Something told her it wasn’t because he was nervous.

Johnny Guy took her aside. “Forget about the people watching you. All they’re thinking about is getting home for dinner. Relax. Lean into him a little more.”

She talked to herself all the way back to her mark. This was nothing more than a technical piece of business, just like opening a door. She had to relax. Relax, damn it!

She thought the next kiss was better, but apparently she was the only one. “Do you think you could open your mouth a little, honey lamb?” Johnny Guy said.

Muttering to herself, she stepped back into Jake’s arms and then glanced up to see if he’d overheard her. “Sorry, kiddo, but I can’t help you out,” he said. “I’m the passive party here.”

“I don’t need help.”

“My mistake.”

“Like I’d need help.”

“Whatever you say.”

Johnny Guy called for action. She did her best, but when the kiss was over, Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re putting me to sleep, Flower Power. Want me to ask Johnny Guy for a break so we can go behind the house and practice?”

“I’m a little nervous, that’s all. It’s my first day. And I’m not doing another practice session with you without a helmet and knee pads.”

He grinned and then, unexpectedly, leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I got a twenty-dollar bill says you can’t wake me up, Flower.”

It was the sexiest, most devastating, bedroomiest whisper she’d ever heard.

The next take was better, and Johnny Guy said to print it, but Jake told her she owed him another twenty bucks.