Sally Wentworth - Set the Stars on Fire Page 3

  With this resolve firmly in mind Lori began to unpack, and as she emptied the last, smallest case and went to stow it away, she found the missing call sheet, completely hidden beneath it. Lori's face tightened; the typed sheet had been put on a small table-cum-desk in the corner of the room, and she remembered thinking that that was rather a strange place for the porter to have set down her case. But was it the porter? Perhaps it was Bill, who had picked her up from the airport and been so rude to her. Could it have been that he had done it deliberately, taking his cue-or even his instructions-from Lewis Brent? Slowly Lori picked up the sheet and read it through, but without really taking the text in. If she were right, then she had far more to face than she had first supposed. Had he turned everyone against her? If so, her position would be intolerable. She couldn't 'be on her guard against the whole film crew. Lori felt a cold, hollow feeling in her stomach and she had to sit down, her thoughts in turmoil. But she wouldn't just tamely give in, she wouldn't!

  And somehow she overcame her fears and sternly told herself that she would feel better if she had something to eat, remembering that she had only had a snack meal on the plane all day. The call sheet had at least told her that she was entitled to dinner at the hotel and she decided to go down and eat at once and then spend the evening learning her lines for the next day's filming.

  A glance in the mirror did nothing to comfort her, though; her hair was dishevelled, her make-up nonexistent after her swim, and she was dismayed to see a red tinge to her skin where she had fallen asleep in the sun. No wonder Lewis Brent hadn't wanted her in his film. Oh well, at least that, was one thing she could put right. If lie saw her properly dressed and made up perhaps he wouldn't feel quite so antagonistic towards her.

  But when Lori, Looking sophisticated with her hair up and dressed in one of her prettiest dresses, made her way to the restaurant and was directed to a section set apart for the film crew, she saw that Lewis Brent wasn't among the diners and didn't know whether to be pleased or sorry. Tony wasn't there either and as the place was crowded she had to share a, table with three other people who just stared coldly at her when she apologised for intruding on them, and then carried on their conversation, pointedly excluding her. Lori seethed, she had never in her life been treated so abominably and it was obvious that everyone was taking their cue from the director. She was hungry, but she found that the food choked her and after only a few mouthfuls she pushed her plate away, but forced herself to sit through the meal and not run out of the room as she longed to do. This was only a minor thing and she could take it. But for three months? The thought burned into her brain and seemed to stretch like an eternity, an eternity of being humiliated and ignored. When she left the restaurant at last Lori walked down to the beach and stood staring out at the sea for a long time. Then she squared her shoulders resolutely. Well, she would just have to show Lewis Brent and everyone else that she wasn't afraid. She would have to take each day as it came and then put it behind her. That way the time would soon pass and the longer she managed to last out then the nearer she would come to winning. They couldn't keep re-shooting scenes for new actresses. If she could just hold out for the first week or so then they would have to keep her, whether Lewis Brent liked it or not!

  When she got back to her room she found that a new call sheet for the next day's shooting had been pushed under her door and she immediately sorted out the scenes in her shooting script and started to learn her lines. Years of training had given her a good memory and she didn't find it too difficult, but at exactly ten o'clock she was startled by the sound of what seemed to be a band tuning up right above her head, and within minutes her fears were fulfilled as a rock group with extremely Loud, whining electronic instruments broke into the latest pop numbers. Going out on to the balcony, Lori looked up and saw that she was on the top floor of the hotel, but the roof was being used as an open-air night club and was crowded with people, many of whom were already dancing under the flashing, coloured disco lights.

  Lori groaned and mentally cursed whoever had put her in this room; it must be the worst in the hotel! Picking up her script, she resignedly left the room and took an elevator down to the ground floor, looking for somewhere quiet to sit. There were several lounges in the hotel, but in one a television was on, in another a pianist was playing, and a third had a bar and she noticed among the people several groups of film workers, so that was out completely. She finally found the emptiness and quiet she sought in a card room where only two men were seated at afar table, absorbed in their game.

  There were five scenes to be shot the next day, two of them very short, but in all of them she was to play opposite Dean Farrow, the young American actor, whom she hadn't yet met. She wondered what he would be like and-with a feeling of dread-whether he too would be as hateful towards her as Lewis Brent. She worked steadily on, making sure that she was word perfect, knew her cues, and had carefully studied all the directions given for the scenes; she was going to make very sure that no one would be able to criticise her in this at least. It was nearly midnight before she rose tiredly to her feet to go back to her room. The men, too, had finished their game and left at the same time. One gallantly held the door open for her and said something in a language she didn't understand. She smiled and shook her head and the man, a jolly middle aged, rather tubby person, tried out his broken English on her as they walked to the elevators while his companion went off to get his key from Reception. Lori was still trying to understand what he was saying and nodding whenever she caught a word, when she suddenly had the prickly feeling that she was being watched. Quickly she turned and found herself looking straight at Lewis Brent who was waiting for an elevator at another block about twenty yards away. For a moment their glances held. The contempt in his eyes sent a flare of anger through her veins and Lori's chin tame up as she glared back at him defiantly. But then his elevator came and he stepped inside as if she didn't exist.

  Lori came slowly awake the next morning as the sunlight reached her. She stretched and went to turn over, but then was suddenly fully awake as she realised where she was. She sat up quickly and grabbed her bedside clock. Oh no! It was almost six o'clock. Quickly she leaped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. When she had got to her room last night she had closed the win(lows to the balcony to try to shut out the noise of the night-club, but this had also shut out the cooling breeze from the sea and the room had become stiflingly hot so that she couldn't sleep anyway. In the end she had opened the windows and stuffed cotton wool in her cars, which had helped to shut out the noise but had also made her not hear the alarm which she had set for live o'clock, giving her plenty of time to get to the first location by the required time of six-thirty. Hurriedly she showered and dressed, not bothering with make-up—she would have to be made up on the act anyway. Breakfast too she would have to miss out on, although her stomach protested loudly. She threw her script and everything else she would need into a big clutch bag, adding a bottle of aspirins because her head was throbbing as much as the music above her had throbbed through into the early hours of the morning. Then she ran for the elevators, determined to ask at the reception desk for a change of room just as soon as she got back from filming that evening; she just couldn't take another night of that noise. Impatiently she tapped her foot as she waited for an elevator, but the lights showed that they were all stationary on the ground floor and in the end she found the service stairs and ran down them, arriving absolutely breathless at the bottom and worried sick that she would be late and give Lewis Brent an excuse to have another go at her.

  But luckily she Found a taxi outside the Hotel, and when she gaspingly asked the driver to hurry he took her at her word and covered the two miles to Rhodes in record time, and she arrived on the set only a few minutes after six-thirty. And almost the first person she saw was the director. He glanced at his watch, raised one eyebrow, and said with icy politeness, `Good morning, Miss. West. They're waiting for you in Make-up, if you can spare the time, of course.'
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  All the scenes were to take place in various parts of the old city built by the Knights of Sc John and Lori would dearly have loved to look around her, but Lydia Grey, the wardrobe mistress, was on the look-out for her and grabbed her the moment she arrived. `We've altered your first costume, but I want you to try it on before you go into make-up. This way.'

  She led Lori to a nearby house, which the film company had evidently taken over, and up a flight of narrow stairs to one of the upper rooms. Here there were dozens of beautifully made costumes Banging on racks while several women were working away on electric sewing machines or by hand, busily preparing costumes for later scenes. Lori slipped out of her shirt and jeans and Lydia helped her to put on the long coloured tights and boy's tunic.

  'Your hair will be hidden under a wig, of course,' the elder woman murmured as she looked Lori over critically, walking all round her. 'You're very slim, I know, and that tunic is cut very loose, but even so you still stick out too much for anyone to mistake you for a boy.

  You'll just have to wear a special bodice to hold you in. It will be hot, but it can't be helped.'

  From the costume fitting Lori went straight to Makeup where the chief make-up man himself took her over and did several very clever things that took a lot of the femininity out of her face and made her look surprisingly boyish. And when the hairdresser added a raggedly cut wig that matched her own hair colouring the transformation was startling.

  'It's got to be ragged,' he explained, 'because it was supposed to be cut very hastily in order to disguise you as a boy.' He, too, looked her over critically. 'Yes, I think you'll do.'

  He led her out into a courtyard where the sun was now very hot even though it was still early morning. The place was an anthill of activity as everyone prepared for the first scene, the cinematographers getting their cameras into marked positions, the sound recorders setting up their equipment and microphones, extras being made up and positioned, the continuity girl checking that everyone looked the same as in the original shots, the set designers making sure that nothing later than the sixteenth century appeared in the scene. It was chaotic, bewildering and overpoweringly exciting. Lori stood and gazed for a moment and was instantly fascinated.

  But she was given little time to stand and stare; she was led over to where Lewis Brent was standing in consultation with several other people, most of them in ordinary clothes, but one or two in costume. He kept her waiting for several minutes before he let himself become aware of her-then he turned and examined her as he would an animal he was thinking of buying.

  `She's not dirty enough,' he said dictatorially, ‘and she should . still be ' a bit wet from the sea, not completely dry.'

  So they took her away and wetted the wig and dampened down her clothes, then dirtied her up a little and presented her to Lewis Brent again, but still the director wasn't satisfied. `She still doesn't look as if she's been washed up out of the sea. Take her down to the beach and roll her in the sand.'

  When they brought her back for the third time with sand stuck in her hair, on her face and in her clothes he merely gave a small nod before walking away to talk to someone else. Lori didn't know what she was supposed to do, so she just stayed where she was, although in no time at all she seemed to get in everyone's way and kept having to jump aside or get knocked down as people pushed past her.

  After about ten minutes Lewis Brent came back and with him he brought another actor dressed as a knight, a handsome, fair-haired young man whom Lori instantly recognised as Dean Farrow. If anything he was even better looking in the flesh than on film. The director said offhandedly, `Miss West, this is your co-star, Dean Farrow.'

  Lori waited for a cool greeting, but instead the young man grinned lazily, thrust out a hand and said, 'Hi. Welcome to The Siege.' And Lori was so surprised by his apparent friendliness that she could only stare at him and mutter inarticulately.

  Lewis Brent looked at her sardonically. 'Lost your voice, Miss West? Let's hope you find it before we shoot the first scene.'

  Lori would have given a lot to prove him wrong and voice the sharp retort that came to her lips, but he had beckoned over two more men whom he introduced as the production designer and the director of photography and then went on, 'We'd better have a skull session before we start so that…'

  Despite herself, Lori's eyes widened and she blurted out, 'Skull session?'

  He frowned exasperatedly, but Dean Farrow broke in with, 'That's film-makers' jargon for the talk the director has before a scene is played. It just means he tells everyone what he wants them to, do.' He added with a grin, 'It had me fooled at first; I thought we were going to practise a fight where I got my head bashed in!'

  Lewis Brent gave a wry grin. 'Bashing you on the head is about the only way I can get my directions into that thick skull of yours.'

  Lori stared at him. Heavens, the man could actually make a joke] He had even come near the semblance of a smile. Maybe beneath that arctic exterior there lurked something faintly resembling a human being after all! But these thoughts were lost as he began to talk and she listened intently. His 'skull session' in reality turned out to be a lengthy briefing during which every aspect of the shots was worked out minutely with the cast and crew, and he illustrated his instructions by a diagram drawn on a blackboard showing where every key position of lights and cameras would be set up.

  Part of his talk with the director of photography was technical and way above Lori's head, but during this time she had the leisure to study Lewis Brent more closely. She judged him to be only in his early thirties, but he seemed very self-assured, very energetic as he talked, with a strong, masterful face, tanned already from the Mediterranean sun. His hair was nut-brown and thick, and his left eyebrow was slightly higher than the other, giving him a quizzical and slightly arrogant appearance. His bone structure was good and he had a thin mouth that Looked as if it might break into a smile at any moment. It was the sort of face that would have interested her if it hadn't been for his grey eyes that grew cold every time they settled on her.

  The skull session over, they rehearsed the scene for positions and cameras a couple of times and then for dialogue and acting. Lori was fully expecting him to pull her up for the slightest error and was doubly glad that she had taken such pains to learn her part, although this scene wasn't very difficult. She had only to follow Dean as he walked through part of the old city, looking round her in wonder and fear and then trying to tell him who she really was, but being afraid to. As they went through the first acting rehearsal Lori was burningly aware of Lewis Brent's eyes following her every movement, every second waiting for him to call out some rebuke or criticism.

  But it wasn't until they had gone right through the scene that he said sardonically, `I know I told you to appear to be nervous, Miss West, but you don't need to look like a frightened rabbit that wants to disappear down a hole in the wall.'

  Lori stiffened at his rebuke and was acutely aware of the grins it raised among several members of the crew.

  Tightly she replied, 'Thank you, Mr Brent, I'll bear that in mind.'

  For a moment their glances locked and he said silkily, 'Then let's shoot it, shall we?' Then, loudly, 'All right, let's go.'

  The clapper-boy hurried forward, there was a sudden complete silence all around her in which the sharp clap of the board sounded like a pistol shot, and Lori felt her throat go dry and her muscles tense with stage fright as she prepared to play her first scene in her first film. Of course it went wrong; it was bound to. As they walked down through the street Dean went a little slower than before, and Lori, looking round in awe as she had been instructed, bumped right into him and automatically said, 'Oh, sorry.'

  'Cut!' The director's voice echoed through the old buildings. 'Let's take it again. And perhaps you could continue to also look where you're going this time, Miss West?'

  Lori flushed and turned away to quickly walk back again, but Dean caught her arm and slowed her down. 'Hey, don't rush ! It's getting
pretty hot in this mediaeval tin can.' Then he grinned at her. 'Sorry, that was my fault back there.'

  They shot the scene again and this time she forgot to look directly into one of the cameras. The third time she stood in Dean's shadow, and by the fourth time she was so uptight that she was shaking and mumbled her lines. She waited, miserably, for Lewis Brent's cutting tongue to flay her.

  And this time his tone absolutely dripped with sarcasm. 'I'm fully aware, Miss West, that you regard this merely as a holiday, but there are others of us who are here to work, and strangely enough we do not have unlimited time to spend on one short—-and I previously thought very simple-scene ! '

  Biting her lip in mortification, Lori walked with Dean back to the beginning of the set. It was very hot now and she could feel her skin starting to perspire beneath the heavy wig and the special bodice. A make-up girl carne to dab away at her face and to wipe the perspiration that flowed freely off Dean's brow. Lori apologised to him guiltily; he must be burning hot inside the suit of armour and chain mail, even if it was made of lightweight modern material instead of the original metal.

  He gave a good-natured grin. 'Think nothing of it. If I wasn't doing this they'd have me up on a horse. fighting a battle-and that's ready hot work ! ' Lori gave a half smile and, emboldened by his sympathetic manner, asked hesitatingly, `Is he always like this'