Glamour, my ass, he thought as he stood on the studio lot. The sun was
high and hazy. The air-quality index was in the disgusting range, even
for L.A., Michael thought. The producers had decided it would make good
press to invite some of the fans to observe a few days' shooting, play
extras, fill in the background. Security had enough trouble keeping the
mobs back behind a police line. Now, with people free to mill around
what stood in for a London cross street, every muscle had to stay on
alert.
Then there she was. Angie Parks. The lusty, busty movie queen who
redefined the term hot sex. The press had already fallen gleefully on
the irony of P.M. Ferguson's ex-wife playing the role of Brian McAvoy's
ex-lover.
Men broke into sweats as she walked by in her snug skirt and cotton
blouse. Her hair was brushed srooth, puffed at the crown, tipped up at
the ends in the fashion of the early sixties. She smiled at the fans-a
friendly gesture, but more aloof than a wave. After a huddle with her
director and her co-star, they were set for the first run-through.
It was simple enough. Jane and Brian were walking down the dingy
street, arms tight around each other's waist. There was a sense of
romance as well as intimacy. As the morning wore on, they repeated that
stroll for different camera angles, for close-ups when Jane's face was
tipped adoringly toward her lover's.
It wasn't until the lunch break that Michael noticed Angie staring at
him. Abruptly his collar seemed too tight and his brow, under the shade
of his cap, pearled with sweat.
He watched her murmur something to one of the assistants that hovered,
then stroll off on the arm of her director.
They ran the dialogue later in the day. The same walk, the same
movements. For the life of him Michael couldn't remember what was being
said. Something about undying love, promises of devotion, plans for the
future. He only knew that between every take, Angie sent him one long,
level look. Each time she did, his stomacfi muscles jolted.
She was coming on to him, Michael thought with a dull, throbbing
excitement that bordered on raw fear. And she wasn't being subtle
about it. Despite his fascination with her, he hadn't missed the
envious glances and rude remarks of the other officers on security duty.
Still, it was a shock when the scene was wrapped and she signaled him by
crooking one long finger. "My trailer's over there."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My trailer?" She smiled, the slow, seductive smile he'd seen a
halfdozen times on the screen. Her mouth was painted a bright pink for
the scene. Watching him, she flicked out her tongue and ran it over her
top lip. "I have to change and get out of makeup. You can wait
outside."
"But-"
"You're taking me home," she said and began to walk.
"Miss Parks. I'm, ah, on duty."
"Yes. You're assigned to me now." She smiled again, enjoying that
particular phrase. "I've been getting some threatening letters-about
this role. I feel so much safer having a strong man around." She