Captain of Industry Read online

  Jennifer kissed the side of Suzanne’s mouth. “Sounds like a pretty good dream.”

  “But it’s not realistic. It’s giving that guy more than he’s owed, for starters. And that kind of thing really does only happen in movies and the fact that I can’t make my pretty damned good life into a movie starring me shouldn’t make me disappointed with myself.”

  “When did you become a philosopher?” She nuzzled Suzanne’s shoulder.

  “When the woman I was crazy about dumped me.”

  Jennifer sighed. “I wondered when that would come up.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “If not now, you would have eventually. I was mean. And scared. Quitting you seemed easier than weaning.”

  “I get that now.”

  “I shouldn’t be here either.”

  Suzanne brushed her lips over Jennifer’s. “Are you sure about that?”

  Jennifer wanted to fall hard into Suzanne’s mouth again. She pulled away slightly, trying at least to put her fears into words. “Nothing has changed. I’m closer than ever to what I want from life and further away too. Every year is a setback, time is an enemy. Every last little thing is about how you look. If you look right, then they’ll decide if you have talent. I’m still waiting for the right people, anyone with some parts to cast, to think I have talent. It’s worse than modeling, where at least a sense of style and confidence are valued too.”

  “Everybody is judged by how they look in acting. It’s a brutal profession.”

  Jennifer sat up with a sigh, pulling the sheet around her. “Yes, it’s just that most men aren’t put through the same rigid standards that nearly all women are put through. Men with beer guts and blotchy skin get plenty of parts, big and small. They get work and opportunities. Women with muffin tops or wrinkles don’t even get cast for store clerks or friend of a friend unless being supposedly unattractive is the point. Then she’s the girl who gets killed that nobody misses or the female friend who can’t possibly be a distracting love interest for the male lead. A director can decide that a guy who rolled out of bed and put on a hat is just the right look for the sidekick with a heart of gold. For romantic leads a man is getting past it when he’s pushing sixty. For a woman it’s thirty. Which is right where I am.”

  Suzanne’s hand was warm on her hip, like sunshine. It would be so easy to push away reality and melt into her embrace again.

  “I’m sorry,” Jennifer went on. “I’m not very good company when I’m like this. I get like this before big auditions. I imagined we would meet again and you’d have invented some new way to put the world’s knowledge on a potato chip and I’d have an Oscar in each hand.”

  “Silicon, not potato.” She laughed at Jennifer’s swat in the shoulder.

  “Irony, okay? My dreams about you are coming true for you. Meanwhile—”

  “Did you really dream about me?” She gathered Jennifer to her, one hand slipping around to stroke her backside.

  “Why does it feel so good when you do that?”

  “I’m magic.”

  “I knew that.” The chiming bell of her own desire rang sharply through her mind. Like a warm sun, she wanted to feel the magic as deep as her bones.

  For the first time it didn’t feel as if she were losing herself in Suzanne’s touch. She didn’t feel swept away by their overwhelming desire. It wasn’t like the few times when loneliness had made her choose brief hours of intimacy with a guy she was fairly sure she’d never see again. It was easy to reach a very quick we-both-get-what-we-want situation with men.

  She was finding something else as she yielded to Suzanne’s kisses. Pleasure mixed with laughter, surrender melded with intimacy, even roughness softened by a tenderness that quelled any sense of fear. Except for the fear that was in a place Suzanne couldn’t touch, the fear that it was temporary. Like a beach in Spain, only for a while.

  Suzanne drew Jennifer’s arms over her head. “Let me.”

  “Yes.” She loved the feeling of Suzanne’s lips on her breasts. The light trail of her tongue followed by the brush of teeth against her nipple sent a shiver through her.

  Suzanne’s laugh was full of easy pleasure. “You do like that.”

  “I think we’re clear on that, aren’t we?”

  “Abundantly.”

  “You don’t want me to act all virginal and uncertain?”

  Suzanne raised her head and met Jennifer’s gaze. “I don’t want you to act with me at all.”

  She swallowed. “I know. It’s just—you feel so good.”

  “We’re not supposed to enjoy sex. Women aren’t, I mean.” Suzanne shook her head and leaned up to kiss Jennifer softly. “The fact that you do, and that you’re not afraid to show me what you need is what I want from you. That makes it very, very, very powerful for me.” She punctuated each very with a kiss.

  There were no words for a long time after that. Jennifer thought the moonlight was fading and she might have heard the cry of an early rising sea bird as she slipped back into sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Suzanne found English muffins in the freezer and some cheddar that was edible once she chopped off the blue edges. Jennifer had scampered to the shower after a shy hello from the kitchen doorway.

  The large bay windows were showing off a stunning morning on her little piece of the coast. The fog was still far offshore and a brisk wind was whipping the waves into frothy white lines. Sea foam blew across the pale sand below the cliff. Her small backyard ended in an abrupt drop of about twenty feet to the beach below and from several angles there was nothing but surf and sky. Not even the low, wrought-iron fence got in the way of a beautiful day.

  Jennifer reappeared in the clothes Suzanne had put out for her. Her shabby sweatpants and a worn Stanford tee had never looked so stunningly awesome. “Thanks for these. Your socks are just a little big, but they’re warm.”

  She grinned as Jennifer wiggled one foot, the toe of the wool sock flopping with a couple of inches to spare. “Coffee?”

  “God yes.”

  She gestured with her chin. “Mugs are up there.”

  Jennifer helped herself to coffee and added a healthy slug of milk. “I wonder why I feel so hungry and shaky this morning?”

  “I haven’t the faintest clue. Were you up late? Sleep poorly?”

  “I slept really well, as a matter of fact. When I slept. I love your bathroom. The shower was a religious experience.”

  “Remodeling to make use of every inch.”

  “You’re right, this place is half the size of that loft you were in. How did you squeeze into it?”

  “I lived in San Francisco, up on Russian Hill, for a couple of years. It was pretty chaotic. Deals were flying so fast it was numbing.” The sliced muffin halves popped up but they were too light so she set them through another cycle in the toaster. “Life became more predictable but the workload was intense. I wasn’t home for weeks at a time and I decided I wanted home to be as alluring as it could be so I would make being home a priority. Because you have to go barefoot to stay grounded, as my mom always said.” She swallowed hard, finding it as difficult as usual to mention her mother.

  “I’m sorry,” Jennifer said. “About your mother. I hadn’t realized—I saw the black ribbon on the photograph.”

  “This place came on the market while she was sick. She loved the beach. I cleared every afternoon I could to bring her here for the evening. My dad would drive down after his classes to pick her up. Until she couldn’t manage the drive. Cancer sucks.”

  Jennifer’s head rested on Suzanne’s shoulder for a moment in wordless comfort.

  She cleared her throat. “Anyway, when my priority became to get a place near the ocean where my mom could spend peaceful time, I realized that I had a lot of stuff I really didn’t need. Collectibles are in storage, though I keep a few favorites here.”

  “So this is ideal.”

  “Close. Lately I’ve been hamstrung by the poor conn
ectivity. This whole pocket of houses has serious construction restrictions because it’s so close to the water, so they haven’t laid fiber optics yet, and satellite dishes are forbidden.” She slid the toasted muffin slices onto a plate. “I can practically tell when a neighbor boots up.”

  “One of the hazards of getting away from it all is, well, getting away from it all, I guess.” Jennifer had gone to the windows that framed the far end of the living room to look out over the ocean. “So connectivity is the big thing in tech these days?”

  “It’ll always be a big thing. There’s no end to the money to be made when you can offer someone an improvement in speed. But the most secure thing to have, I’ve found, is partnerships. You can invent something new, but you can’t get it out to the world on your own. You need to know people with money and with experience. But you also have to avoid the assholes. Like gropey photographers.”

  Jennifer’s smile was rueful. “And producers with parts you can only audition for in their bedroom. Creeps and liars are everywhere.”

  “Exactly. I think who you work with matters as much as why you’re working together. Everybody has to agree on mutual goals or somebody ends up feeling taken advantage of. Some people see it as a battle and live to go to war. I’m focused on the outcome.”

  She added the tub of whipped butter and a jar of her favorite marmalade to her plate. She nodded at the other plate with a knife and cubes of the cheese. “Could you grab that one? Let’s enjoy the sunshine.”

  Jennifer fumbled with the sliding glass door lock, then slid it open. “Whoa!”

  A gust of wind threatened to whisk the plate out of Suzanne’s hand and scatter the contents across the living room, but she’d been ready for it. “Go to the right. I’ll get the door.”

  “This is gorgeous.” Jennifer had quickly scooted behind the plexiglass windbreak that sheltered a redwood table and chairs. She was darned adorable in floppy socks, Suzanne decided.

  “I could lie and say every morning is like this, but only a few of them are. You brought sunshine with you.” She retrieved beach towels from the tightly sealed plastic tub under the table and quickly dried the chairs and table top of the salty morning dew. She selected another towel and draped it around Jennifer’s shoulders as she kissed her on the tip of her ear.

  “Thank you. What a fab idea—the barriers. It feels like I can see all the way to China.”

  “It’s great for brunch with my dad, though he’s been known to cancel if the weather isn’t sunny. I come out here even when it’s misty and damp. It’s very quiet.”

  Jennifer reached across the table to lightly touch her hand. “Your dad is doing okay?”

  It had been two years now, but when her mother was alive she’d stopped at their house at least once a month for a home-cooked meal and just to talk. Now she found her dad only at the university, as if the house where she’d grown up was no longer home for him. “He’s doing okay, though he seems a little lost to me sometimes. How is your family?”

  “Well enough to ask for money a couple times a year. I send checks instead of visiting and everyone is happy.”

  Even though she’d known that Jennifer had been more or less on her own in the world since her teens, it was a situation Suzanne didn’t really understand. Between her older brothers’ toughen-up-the-girl ethos and her parents’ happy scholar-cum-hippie lifestyle, she’d had a supportive and generous safety net all of her life.

  After a lengthy swallow of coffee Jennifer sighed happily. “Can we get down to the beach?”

  “Sure. Do you have time this morning to take a walk?”

  “If you can get me back to San Francisco by noon or so.”

  She didn’t mention the string of profanity-laden texts she’d gotten from Annemarie for postponing this morning’s teleconferences. “No problem. When do you leave for Los Angeles?”

  “Two thirty. Going into Pasadena, not LAX. The audition is at five thirty near UCLA, if that helps.”

  “I’ve done a guest lecture there. And after the audition?”

  “An investors’ party for the production company of the film I’m promoting. Tomorrow starts the media cattle call for that market. I answer the same questions for different reporters. Over and over.”

  “Really?”

  “I know, who does that on Saturday? Apparently they all do these days. But LA is the last place I have to do press days. I wrap that up on Sunday afternoon.”

  Suzanne looked her next question, but didn’t put it into words.

  Jennifer licked a dab of marmalade off her fingertip. “I start a photo shoot on Wednesday evening in Vancouver.”

  Suzanne smiled. “That means you have Monday and Tuesday to find something to do with yourself.”

  Jennifer blinked at her very slowly. “I can’t think of a thing, can you?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The audition had been simply wonderful, and Jennifer’s elation buoyed her through the queue of entertainment reporters who asked the same questions nonstop for four hours on Saturday and another five on Sunday.

  What was it like to be in a scene with the dreamy leading man?

  How did you take time out from modeling to be in a movie?

  Who is your favorite designer right now?

  Who are you wearing today?

  Over and over and over.

  None of that bothered her after the assistant at Ryan Productions had called to ask her back for another audition, and had eagerly agreed when Jennifer had suggested first thing Monday morning. It meant staying over in LA another night, but Suzanne had understood.

  “Just come to the office when you get in,” she’d said when Jennifer had called. “I have two important meetings I can’t change first thing, but by lunchtime I’m free.”

  The movie studio’s assistant had happily gone back to New York immediately after the final press interview, leaving Jennifer with no one to explain her schedule to. The private car service she’d ordered before leaving LA was waiting at the security egress at San Francisco, and now the driver was trundling her luggage to the parking garage. A quick call to her agent and no one would wonder where she was until Wednesday morning.

  “It went great,” she told Phillip. He’d only been her agent for a scant six months, but he had gotten her more auditions than her old ones. T&T still handled her modeling assignments, but if she took Phillip’s advice and stopped modeling, it would sever all ties with their agency. It would be hard to bid them goodbye—they’d been very good to her. But the clock was ticking. She had plenty of savings to live on. “They’re looking for someone who can be underestimated by the audience.”

  “A card that can be played only once in an actor’s career. It’s flattering,” he assured her. “That means they know your work and are looking to build the picture around a surprise performance.”

  “It’s not exactly making me happy that they see me as a somewhat unknown.”

  “You live in New York which means you don’t exist. The whole concept for the part plays in with our plans for your brand.”

  She still didn’t care for how smug-sticky his voice sounded, but work was work. The part had real meat to it, a chance to show more than tears or boobs, and he’d persuaded someone to give her the chance. “I promise to look at that packet you sent.”

  “Ticktock, Jenny dear. You need a social media presence and package. Let’s get people talking about you, and looking to you to tell them what to think about movies and music and fashion.”

  “I thought we were going to play down modeling.”

  “We are. But you can’t let go of the fact that you’ve seen more fashion and fashion-makers than nearly any woman your age. You’re gorgeous, let’s make an entire generation think they just have to be like you.”

  Phillip’s advice was echoing in her ears as the car left the airport. Was that what it would take to become a name that was always brought up in a casting discussion? If she gave up her hard-won place in the modeling world she’d lose
the steady good press in those circles. La Lamont walked last in fashion shows now, and she knew that at least in part she had the Monique DuMars of the fashion world to thank for it. Who did she know in entertainment journalism? Nobody. A situation the Phillip Questor Agency was supposed to fix.

  The sky directly overhead was bright with the sun of early afternoon, but ahead of them it looked like the fog bank towering over the hills was going to engulf the area within a few hours. She hoped she didn’t regret her choice of clothes. The short, form-fitting skirt and jacket in vivid lemon drop yellow had been perfect for LA’s eighty degrees. The cotton-satin blend, however, was not up to San Francisco’s damp autumn chill. The Victoria’s Secret underneath was of no help either.

  Suzanne would find a way to keep her warm, of that she had no doubt. Even when she’d been doing all those interviews she’d been reliving the night with Suzanne, a distraction that had never happened before. She couldn’t believe she wanted more of the passion, and even more of the tender morning that had followed. What could be wrong with wanting to start more days in a cozy hideaway, just being…people?

  Unsure what Suzanne’s plans were, she paid the driver to park in the lot below the skyscraper and to keep her luggage with him until she called. She didn’t want to stroll through Suzanne’s office with suitcases. The honk and roar of the busy street was muffled as she crossed the glossy, pristine lobby. The path to the elevators was blocked by the reception desk staffed by polite but no-nonsense guards.

  As she allowed a search of her handbag, the guard broke protocol to whisper that she loved Jennifer’s shoes. “I wouldn’t last five minutes in a pair like that but they are really beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You’re right, they’re not comfortable.” She’d changed out of the lower heeled pumps she’d worn to the audition to the Manolo stilettos because, well, Suzanne seemed to like them on her.