Читать книгу For The Love Of You - Donna Hill - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThe ten-hour flight from London Heathrow Airport landed in New Orleans, Louisiana, on time, to the delight of the weary passengers, Craig Lawson among them. His return home after more than ten years came with a mixture of regret and anticipation. Regret that for all those years he’d never felt compelled to return to the place where he’d grown up, and anticipation for the reason why he’d finally come home.
After breezing through customs and collecting his luggage, he and his business partner and lifelong buddy, Anthony Maxwell, headed for the pickup area and the car that awaited them. They passed a newsstand, and Anthony tapped Craig’s arm and lifted his head in the direction of the magazines, where Craig’s face graced the covers of Entertainment Weekly, Variety and Black Enterprise.
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were important,” Anthony teased.
Craig chuckled. “As long as the importance translates into success at the box office,” he said. He took a last glance at the magazines and shook his head. When he’d broken ties with his family—his father, specifically—and headed to Los Angeles to pursue his dream as a screenwriter, it had been one of the most difficult things he’d had to do. To a Lawson, family was everything. Yet as hard as it was, looking back, he would not have done anything differently. As much as his father would like to believe that what he did for a living was nothing more than pandering, the real reason for his distaste for his son’s profession went much deeper. Craig grew weary of fighting that ghost. So he left and never looked back. Now he was one of the most successful and celebrated screenwriters and movie directors on the East and the West Coasts. He had an Oscar, a Golden Globe and an NAACP Image Award under his belt. Behind closed doors he was called the golden boy. To his face he was Mr. Lawson.
As the duo exited baggage claim, they walked by the rows of drivers holding up signs with the names of their passengers. Craig’s driver spotted him first and stepped out of the line.
“Mr. Lawson,” the female driver greeted him with a tip of her head. “I’ll get a cart for your bags.”
Craig’s right brow lifted in question, and he quickly assessed the stunning young woman in front of him. Even in her stark uniform of black slacks and jacket and a starched white shirt she was a work of art. The corner of his mouth curved ever so slightly as he watched her retrieve a luggage cart and return to them. Although he knew it was her job, the Southern gentleman in him wouldn’t allow her to do it.
“Let me get the bags on the cart. We’ll meet you at the car.”
“I can take care of the bags, Mr. Lawson,” she mildly protested.
“I’m sure that you can.” He easily hoisted the oversize bags onto the cart. “But I’d rather that you didn’t. My mama didn’t raise me that way.”
The young woman flushed, pressed her polished lips together and murmured a thank-you. “The car is this way.” She started off toward the ground transportation area.
“Don’t distract her from her driving,” Anthony teased under his breath as they dutifully followed her to the exit.
“Not my intention. But I will say, it’s a pleasure following her lead.”
Truth be told, the last thing on his mind was getting with a woman. Although he had a reputation as a ladies’ man, especially his leading ladies, it was all smoke and mirrors. The women who drifted in and out of his life were just that—transient. He found none that could excite his mind as well as his body, so he kept his relationships short, practical and amicable. For all of his numerous dalliances, there wasn’t one woman who could say she had not been treated like a lady while she’d spent time with him.
“How does it feel to be back?” Anthony asked as they settled into the air-conditioned comfort of the town car.
Craig drew in a breath and glanced out the window as the Louisiana landscape unfolded in front of them. “Still trying to process it. Feels strange. I mean, things kind of look the same but different—smaller.” He chuckled.
“You plan to see the family?”
Craig’s jaw flexed. He leaned his elbow on the armrest and braced his chin on his fist. “I don’t know. I’m sure they’ve heard that I’m back. Guess it wouldn’t be right not to check in on my sister and brother and my cousins.” He paused. “And I know that’s not what you meant.” He flashed his friend a look of censure. “I’m not going to see him.”
Anthony held up his hands. “Hey, just asking a question, man.”
Craig went back to staring out the window. The rift between father and son wasn’t some simple spat that could be rectified with an adult conversation. His father made himself perfectly clear years ago that if Craig were to pursue “this trashy movie thing,” he was cut off from the family and he didn’t want him to set foot back in his house. His father, Jake Lawson, ran his family the way he ran his international land development enterprise—with an unbending hand. He couldn’t—or rather wouldn’t—see beyond his own narrow lens to be able to accept that his dreams and goals were not everyone else’s. He kept Craig’s sister, Alyse, and brother, Myles, on a short leash, but he never could control Craig. And Craig knew that his father’s disillusionment with the Hollywood life ran deep, and his mother was at the root of it. But he wasn’t his mother.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and speed-dialed his location scout Paul Frazier.
“Yeah, Paul, we landed about an hour ago. In the car now, headed to the hotel. Look, I want you to be ready to take us over to the location when I arrive at the hotel. Yeah, I know I said tomorrow. I want to see it today. Cool. See you in a few.” He disconnected the call.
“You don’t want to chill for a while before going over there?” Anthony asked.
“Naw. I’ve seen pictures, and that’s about it. I know Paul is good at what he does, but if I’m going to sink my money and a helluva lot of time and people’s talent in this film, I want everything to be perfect. I’d rather find out sooner than later.”
* * *
Jewel Fontaine took her cup of chamomile tea out to the back veranda of her sprawling pre–Civil War home. The house on Prytania Street, which was once a plantation, sat on five acres of land with a creek that ran the length of the property into the wooded area beyond. One of the former slave shacks still stood on the property, but it had been converted into an art studio when Jewel’s career took off. Every time Jewel surveyed her home, she was infused with the spirits of her ancestors who’d toiled on this land and served in those rooms. As an artist she firmly believed in the sanctity of preserving the past for future generations. The constant work that had to be done for the upkeep of the Fontaine home and the cost of maintenance had all but drained her accumulated wealth from her art career, compounded with the care of her ailing father—she was on the precipice of being broke.
The idea that she might lose her home kept her up at night and dogged her steps during the day. She hadn’t worked or sold a piece of art or sculpture in several years. She’d become disillusioned following her last poorly reviewed show nearly five years earlier, and then the decline of her father’s health had turned her away from her passion. She refocused her energies on taking care of the man who had sacrificed everything for her. But in the past six months, she’d realized she couldn’t do it alone, and she’d had to hire a live-in nurse. The cost was astronomical.
Then the call came, and like a miracle, her financial problems would be solved. CL Productions wanted to rent her home for the next six to eight weeks to shoot a film and was willing to pay an exorbitant amount of money for the privilege. She’d nearly leaped through the phone at the chance to lift the financial burden off her chest. The influx of cash would give her some breathing room and a chance to find other sources of revenue.
Jewel took a sip of her tea and gazed out onto the midafternoon glory. The tight churning in her stomach had finally begun to ease.
“Ms. Fontaine!”
Jewel spilled her tea down the front of her floral sundress as she jumped up at the frantic call of her name, which could only mean one thing—Daddy. She ran across the main level and up the winding staircase. The sound of something crashing and shattering quickened her steps. She reached her father’s bedroom door, and her heart stood still.
* * *
Craig didn’t waste much time at the hotel. Now that he’d arrived in Louisiana, the adrenaline of his upcoming project pumped through his veins, making him more brusque and antsy than usual. He began spouting orders to his team the minute he walked into the suite. Within moments everyone was scurrying around like their jobs depended on it.
Less than a half hour after arriving, Craig, Anthony, Paul and his assistant, along with the photographer and driver, were heading to the Fontaine mansion.
“Why the rush?” Anthony asked again. “You generally don’t get involved at this level.”
Craig adjusted his shades on the bridge of his nose. “I have a bigger investment this time. I want everything to be on point and run like clockwork. No screwups. We don’t have the usual wiggle room on time and cost overruns.”
Anthony nodded his head. “Agreed.” He clapped Craig on the shoulder. “You’ve done this countless times, bro,” he said, lowering his voice. “This is going to be your best project yet. We got your back on this.”
“’Preciate that.” He returned his attention to the script and line notes. The film chronicled a poor black family that rose from sharecropping to command the upper echelons of finance, real estate and politics, with great sex scenes and plenty of family drama and scandal thrown in. He wondered if his family would recognize themselves in the characters. Of course, he’d changed names and some professions to suit the storyline.
The driver turned the black Suburban onto a winding road that led to the Fontaine mansion. According to his location scouts’ notes, the home had once been a plantation and one of the shacks that had housed former slaves on the expansive land still remained. When the home appeared and spread out in front of him, it was like being thrown back into time to the days of Gone With the Wind. The only thing missing was the Confederate flag. The SUV came to a stop.
Craig got out and fully took in the setting, already beginning to visualize the scenes and where they would take place. It was better than any description or photograph could capture. This was exactly the setting he wanted. What he needed to do now was meet the owner and set up the official working arrangement. Generally this was something that Paul handled, but this project was his dream movie. It was his first time at bat as writer, director and executive producer. He had a lot riding on this and knew that there were plenty who wished him well and an equal amount that couldn’t wait to see him fail.
“Anthony and Paul, come with me. You guys can wait here,” he said to the photographer and Paul’s assistant. He flipped a page on his clipboard. Jewel Fontaine. It sounded like the name of someone that would live in a house like this. He strode down the pathway that led to the palatial entrance. The front was framed by six white columns, three on each side of the double front door. It was two levels with a wraparound terrace on the second floor and paneled windows.
Craig led his small entourage up the three steps to the front door. He rang the bell and made a mental note to have a temporary door knocker installed for the film.
Moments later the door opened and a woman dressed in what appeared to be a nurse’s uniform stood in front of them.
“Can I help you?”
“Craig Lawson. Ms. Fontaine?”
“No. I’m... Ms. Fontaine is busy right now. It may be best if you come back.”
“No. I don’t think that would be best. I’d appreciate it if you could get Ms. Fontaine. Please let her know that Craig Lawson is here to talk with her about the film.”
The woman in white huffed and rolled her eyes. “If you go round back, I’ll ask Ms. Fontaine to meet you there.”
“Thank you,” Craig said, his tone softening to match the smile on his lips.
“I’ll get Ms. Fontaine,” she said, her tone decidedly changed.
Craig turned and got a quick I told you so look from Anthony. He ignored it.
The trio rounded the building and found themselves in a mini paradise.
“You did good, Paul,” Craig said, slapping him heartily on the back.
“Thanks, boss. Ron was the one that actually found it,” Paul said of his assistant.
Craig pressed his lips together and nodded. What he appreciated about his staff was that they never hesitated to spread their support and share the credit. He set the clipboard down on a circular white metal table that was shaded by a huge umbrella. There was a half cup of tea on the table and a newspaper that had fallen to the ground. He reached down, picked it up and placed it back on the table. He turned at the sound of a door opening behind him.
The woman didn’t simply walk through the door. She swept in like a character from a novel. Every nerve in Craig’s body vibrated. Like the filmmaker that he was, he cataloged every inch of her, from the riotous swirl of cinnamon curls that seemed to want to break free from the knot on the top of her head to the high cheeks, wide expressive honey-toned eyes, sleek arching brows and full pouty lips all set on a flawless canvas of nut brown. The loosely flowing sundress that bared her shoulder and reached her ankles did nothing to camouflage the curves beneath.
Jewel stopped in front of him. “Mr. Lawson?”
“Yes. And you must be Ms. Fontaine.” He extended his hand.
Jewel placed her hand in his, and Craig felt the heat of their contact race straight to his groin. He shifted his stance slightly and cleared his throat to give himself a moment to recover.
“Thanks for seeing me.”
“You didn’t give me much choice, Mr. Lawson.”
“You’re right. I realize you were expecting me—us—tomorrow, but I wanted to see the estate for myself and meet you as soon as possible. I hope we can talk for a few minutes, go over the details and work out the schedule.”
Jewel lifted her chin ever so slightly, a move that Craig had seen his sister use whenever she was ready to do battle. He reflexively clenched his jaw. Craig glanced over his shoulder and angled his body. “Ms. Fontaine, this is my business partner and a producer of the film, Anthony Maxwell.”
Anthony stepped in between the standoff and extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fontaine. Your home is better than any pictures.”
She offered up a hint of a smile. “Thank you.” She turned her attention to Craig, and he felt her stare right in his center. “We need to talk, Mr. Lawson.”
His radar went on full alert, and every instinct told him that this was not going to go well. “Of course.”
Jewel stepped down off the back porch and walked toward the brook that ran behind the house. Craig fell in step next to her and wondered what that incredible scent was that floated around her.
“Mr. Lawson—” She stopped and turned to him, and he was hit in the chest again by the depth of her eyes. “I don’t know how to say this, but—” She paused, looked at the water and then at him. “I’m going to have to back out of this arrangement.”
He’d expected a discussion about more money, no Mondays or eating in the kitchen, or whatever other quirky thing homeowners wanted when they rented out their property, but not this.
Craig bent his head toward her in an almost combative move. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve changed my mind. This may be a great opportunity, but it will be too disruptive and... I can’t allow this.” She folded her arms beneath the swell of her breasts. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Craig was totally thrown. It took him a minute to process what she was saying. Months of work would go down the drain; the time it would take to find a new location would cost thousands and set the production schedule back by any number of days, possibly weeks. As the scenario played in his head, his level of pissed off rose. He’d never been one to take no for an answer, and now wasn’t the time to get started.
“Listen—” He reached out to touch her, and the instant his fingertips touched her bare arm he knew it was a major mistake. What felt like electricity brushed across his skin. “I, uh, totally get it that having a film crew in your home is a pretty big imposition.” He gave her his best Oscar-winning smile, coated with Nawlins drawl. He held up his hands. “I promise you we will totally respect your home. Whatever rules you set down...that’s what it will be.”
He watched the pink tip of her tongue peek out and stroke her bottom lip. He swallowed.
“It’s much more complicated than that, Mr. Lawson,” she said softly, the hard stance that she’d taken earlier seeming to ease somewhat. “I deeply apologize for any inconvenience—”
“If it’s about money, we can work that out. It’s a big imposition, and you should be compensated accordingly.”
“What makes you think I need or want your money!” Her hands dropped to her sides, and her fingers curled into her palms.
The 360 in her tone and body was so sudden, Craig actually took a step back. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you did,” he said, keeping his voice low and even in the hope of rescuing this rapidly sinking ship. “I’d really like to talk this out. I’m sure we can do whatever it is that you need to be comfortable.”
Jewel slowly shook her head. Her lids fluttered rapidly, and her nostrils flared even as she turned her lips inward and tightened them.
Craig took a cautious step closer. There were two things he was really good at: finding movieworthy material and noting the warning signs in a woman’s face. This woman was on the verge of tears, and he was pretty sure that it had nothing to do with the film, at least not directly.
“I’m sorry,” she managed and stuck out her hand.
Craig’s gaze ran over her face, but she wouldn’t look directly at him. He took her hand and slowly let his fingers envelop hers. “Thank you, Ms. Fontaine. I’m sorry that things didn’t work out. If you change your mind, you have the number.”
She bobbed her head, and he released her hand, turned and headed back to where he’d left Anthony.
“Let’s go,” he snapped, storming past Anthony.
Anthony double-timed it to catch up. “Yo, what happened?”
Craig slid on his shades. “We’ll talk back at the hotel and Paul can start looking for a new job.”
* * *
By the time the crew returned—very subdued—to the hotel, Craig’s ire had diminished by a fraction. At least he’d stopped cussing and tossing death stares at his crew.
“Look,” Anthony said, pulling Craig off to the side once they’d entered the suite, “go easy. We’ve been in tighter situations. We have some alternate locations on tap. We’ll find the right venue and keep it moving. Every one of us has screwed up at some point,” he added with a knowing look.
Craig grunted. “Yeah. I know. It’s just when you feel something in your gut...” He let his words drift away and wondered if he meant the location or Jewel Fontaine. He clapped Anthony on the arm. “You’re right. We’ll work it out.” He slung his hands into his pants pockets and turned to the crew, whose gazes were glued to the floor.
“Okay, look...it appears that we’re not going to be able to use the Fontaine location for the shoot. For whatever reason, the lady of the house has changed her mind.” He tossed a look in Paul’s direction.
Paul shifted his weight and looked appropriately contrite.
“Mr. Lawson...”
Craig turned his attention toward Diane Fisher, one of the assistant location scouts. “Yes?”
She cleared her throat, glanced briefly at Paul then focused on Craig. She lifted her dimpled chin. “It wasn’t Paul’s fault. He gave me my first assignment. I should have had her sign the contract.” She swallowed. “I didn’t. I guess I was a little starstruck when I realized who she was. I’m sorry. But this isn’t Paul’s fault.”
Craig held back a smile. He admired loyalty among his friends and his working crew. It was clear to him, however, that there was just a little something more than work between Paul and Diane, which was cool as long as it didn’t interfere with the job. He’d give them both a pass on this one.
“Thank you for telling me that, Diane. You’ll know for next time.”
The wave of relief in the room was palpable. There would be a next time instead of a goodbye.
“In the meantime I want Paul and Diane to get busy with the secondary locations. We can’t afford to have this project fall behind schedule.” He paused. “Thanks, y’all.” He tugged in a breath and exhaled. “I know how hard you work, and you’re some of the best in the business. I don’t say it much, but I appreciate each of you.” He turned and walked into his adjoining room, totally missing the look of outright shock on the faces of his crew.
* * *
Craig closed the door to his room and crossed the plush carpeted floor to the minibar. He poured himself a shot of bourbon on the rocks. He took a deep, satisfying swallow and allowed the smooth liquor to seep into his veins, warming them before he went to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His eyes cinched at the corners while he rocked his jaw from side to side and looked out on the city that he’d once called home. Had anyone asked him a year ago if he would ever return, he would have said, “Hell, no.” But here he was, back home, doing the very thing that had sent him away in the first place. He snorted a laugh at the irony of it all. The prodigal son had returned. By now his father would know that he was back. Why did it still matter?
He turned away from the past, crossed back to the bar and refilled his shot glass. Jake Lawson had been very clear when Craig announced that he was uninterested in learning about, participating in or ultimately running his father’s global real estate firm. As far as Jake Lawson was concerned, Craig was on his own, cut off from the family.
It had been ten years, and though he would never admit it, even with all the success he’d attained since he’d left, what he missed was his father and his blessing on all that he’d accomplished. What hurt him the most was not understanding his father’s near irrational disdain for Craig’s chosen profession. Growing up, Jake had instilled in each of his children the belief that they could achieve anything that they wanted in this world—apparently as long as it was what Jake Lawson wanted his children to achieve.
Wallowing in self-pity and reflection was never Craig’s MO, and he didn’t plan to start now. What he needed to concentrate on was getting his movie filmed and produced. His work was what was important. It was his validation. Nothing else mattered.
His thoughts shifted to his meeting with Jewel Fontaine. She’d flat-out told him no. No was a word that never sat well with him. If he didn’t take it from his father, he wouldn’t take it from her, either. Everyone could be persuaded. Everyone had a button that could be pushed. He simply had to discover what her yes button was.
He tossed back the rest of his drink, a plan formulating in his head. He smiled. Tomorrow was another day. He might have lost the first battle, but the fight was far from over.
* * *
The house was blissfully quiet. Jewel walked out onto the back veranda and sat on a cushioned lounge chair. She placed her cup of tea on the table beside her and tucked her feet beneath her. The sound of cicadas peppered the night, and the scent of lavender from her garden helped to soothe her unsettled soul. Her nerves were still on edge, a combination of the unannounced visit by Craig Lawson and her father’s latest episode. It was hard to distinguish which event had the greater effect on her. Meeting Craig Lawson had had a visceral impact. She felt as if every sense, every nerve was suddenly jolted awake when they met eye to eye and he took her hand. It still seemed to tingle. But that was silly. It was no more than her overwrought emotions at work.
Then there was her father. Her heart ached as if it had been pounded and abused then shoved back into her chest. Watching the man that she loved, admired and worshipped slowly disappear was, on some days, more than she could manage. Today was one of those days.
Jewel got up from the lounge chair and walked over to the railing that embraced the veranda. She gazed out on the star-filled night. If only she could cast a wish upon a star. She would wish that she had her career back. She would wish that she had her father back, and she would wish that Craig Lawson had never entered her life to remind her of what she’d left behind.
The choices and sacrifices she’d had to make over the past few years had begun to pile upon her soul, weighing it down, an anchor determined to tug her into the depths of no return.
Her stomach twisted with resentment and the guilt of it. She had no right to feel those emotions. But she did. She begrudged the world that had turned its back on her. She cursed fate that had leveled its will upon her father and locked them both in a spinning cycle of decline.
She sighed heavily and searched out the heavens for a star. If only it were that easy. In another six months, she would lose the home she’d grown up in. She’d lose the ability to take care of her father. Opportunity had knocked today—literally—and yet she couldn’t let it in. What was she going to do?
