Dual Image by Nora Roberts
general rule, Ariel considered concealments a waste of time, and consequences a by-product of living. Her gait was free and easy as she crossed the studio.
She knew something was happening before she saw the thicket of people or heard the excited voices. Tension was in the air. She felt it and thought instantly of Booth. But it wasn’t Booth she saw when she passed the false wall of the living room set.
Elizabeth Hunter.
Elegance. Icy. Smooth, smooth femininity. Outrageous beauty. Ariel saw her laugh lightly and lift a slender cigarette to her lips. She posed effortlessly, as if the cameras were on and focused on her. Her hair shimmered pale and frosty. Her skin was so exquisite it might have been carved from marble.
On the screen, she was larger than life, desirable, unattainable. Ariel saw little difference in the flesh. There couldn’t be a man alive who wouldn’t dream of peeling off that layer of frost and finding something molten and wild inside. If she were truly like Rae, Ariel thought, that man—any man—would be disappointed. Curious, she walked closer.
“Pat, how could I stay away?” Liz lifted one graceful hand and touched Marshell’s check. A fantasy of diamonds and sapphires winked on her ring finger. “After all, one might say I have a . . . vested interest in this film.” The provocative pout—a Hunter trademark—touched her mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re going to chase me away.”
“Of course not, Liz.” Marshell looked uncomfortable and resigned. “None of us knew you were in town.”
“I just wrapped the Simmeon film in Greece.” She drew on the slender cigarette again and carelessly flicked ashes on the floor. “I flew right in.” She shot a look over Marshell’s shoulder. Not hostile, not grim, but simply predatory. It was then Ariel saw Booth.
He stood slightly apart from the circle of people around Liz, as if he again sought distance without wholly removing himself. He met the look his ex-wife sent him without a flicker of expression. Even if Ariel had chosen to intrude, she doubted if she could have gauged his thoughts.
“I wasn’t allowed to read the screenplay.” Liz continued to talk to Marshell though her eyes remained on Booth. “But little dribbles leaked through to me. I must say, I’m fascinated. And a bit miffed that you didn’t ask me to do the film.”
Marshell’s eyes hardened, but he stuck with diplomacy. “You were unavailable, Liz.”
“And inappropriate,” Booth added mildly.
“Ah, Booth, always the clever last word.” Liz blew smoke in his direction and smiled.
It was a smile Ariel recognized. She’d seen it on the screen in countless Hunter movies. She’d mimicked it herself as Rae. It was the smile a witch wore before she cut the wings off a bat. Without realizing it, Ariel moved forward in direct defense of Booth. Liz’s gaze shifted and locked.
It wasn’t a pleasant survey. Again, not hostile but simply and essentially cold. Ariel studied Liz in turn and absorbed impressions. She was left with a sensation of emptiness. And what she felt was pity.
“Well . . .” Liz held out her cigarette for disposal. A small woman with a wrinkled face plucked it from her fingers. “It’s easy to deduce that this is Rae.”
“No.” Unconsciously, Ariel smiled with the same cold glitter as Liz. “I’m Ariel Kirkwood. Rae’s a character.”
“Indeed.” The haughty lift of brow had been used in a dozen scenes. “I always try to absorb the character I portray.”
“And it works brilliantly for you,” Ariel acknowledged with complete sincerity. “I limit that to when the lights are on, Miss Hunter.”
Only the barest flicker in her eyes betrayed annoyance. “Would I have seen you do anything else, dear?”
There was no mistaking the patronizing tone. Again, Ariel felt a flash of sympathy. “Possibly.”
He didn’t like seeing them together. No, Booth thought violently, by God, he didn’t. It had given him a wave of sheer pleasure to see Liz again and feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. No anger, no frustration. Not even disgust. The lack of feeling had been like a balm. Until Ariel had walked on set.
Face-to-face, they could have been sisters. The resemblance was heightened by the fact that Ariel’s hair, makeup and wardrobe were styled to Liz’s taste. He saw too many similarities. And as he looked closer, too many contrasts. Booth wasn’t sure which annoyed him more.
No matter how she was dressed, warmth flowed from Ariel. The inner softness edged through. He could feel the emotion from her even three feet away. And he saw . . . pity? Yes, it was pity in her eyes. Directed at Liz. Booth lit a cigarette with a jerk of his wrist. God, he’d rid himself of one and was being reeled in by another. Standing there, he could feel the quicksand sucking at his legs. Was there any closer analogy for love?
“Let’s get started,” he ordered briefly. Liz shot him another look.
“Don’t let me hold things up. I’ll stay out of the way.” She glided to the edge of the set, sat in a director’s chair and crossed her legs. A burly man, the small woman and what was hardly more than a boy settled behind her.
The audience had Ariel’s adrenaline pumping. The scene they were to shoot was the same one she’d auditioned with. More than any other, Ariel felt it encapsulated Rae’s personality, her motives, her essence. She didn’t think Liz Hunter would enjoy it, but . . . Ariel felt she’d be able to gauge just how successful her performance was by Liz’s reaction to it.
With a faintly bored expression on her face, Liz sat back and watched the scene unfold. The dialogue was not precisely a verbatim account of what had occurred between her and Booth years before, but she recognized the tenor. Damn him, she thought with a flicker of anger that showed nowhere on her sculpted face. Damn him for his memory and his talent. So this was his revenge.
While she hoped the film fell flat, she was too shrewd to believe it would. She could shrug that off. Liz was clever enough, experienced enough to make the film work for her rather than against her. With the right angle, she could get miles and miles of publicity from Booth’s work. That balanced things . . . to a point.
She was a woman of few emotions, but the most finely tuned of these was jealousy. It was this that ate at her as she sat, silent, watching. Ariel Kirkwood, she thought as one rose-colored nail began to tap on the arm of the chair. Liz was vain enough to consider herself more beautiful, but there was no denying the difference in age. Years were something that haunted her.
And talent. Her teeth scraped against each other because she wanted to scream. Her own skill, the accolades and awards she’d received for it were never enough. Especially when she was faced with a beautiful, younger woman of equal ability. Damn them both. Her finger began to tap harder, staccato. The young man put a soothing hand on her shoulder and was shrugged away.
Liz could taste the envy that edged toward fury. The part should have been hers, she thought as her lips tightened. If she had played Rae, she’d have added a dozen dimensions to the part—such as it was. She had more talent in the palm of her hand than this Ariel Kirkwood had in her whole body. More beauty, more fame, more sexuality. Her head began to pound as she watched Ariel skillfully weave sex and ice into the scene.
Then her eyes met Booth’s, and she nearly choked on an oath. He was laughing at her, Liz realized. Laughing, though his mouth was sober and his expression calm. He’d pay for that, she told herself as her lids lowered fractionally. For that and for everything else. She’d see that he and this no-talent actress from nowhere both paid.
Booth knew his ex-wife well enough to know what was going on in her mind. It should have pleased him; perhaps it would have only a few weeks before. Now, it did little more than slightly disgust him.
Shifting his gaze from her, he focused his attention on Ariel. Of all the scenes in the screenplay, this was the hardest for him. He’d crystallized himself too well as Phil in these few sharp, hard lines. And his Rae was too real here. Ariel made her too real, he thought as he wished for a cigarette. In this short, seven-minute scene, which would take much, muc
Ariel had said she loved him. Fighting discomfort that was laced with panic, Booth watched her. Was it possible? Once before he’d believed a woman who’d whispered those words to him. But Ariel . . . there was no one and nothing quite like Ariel.
Did he love her? Once before he’d believed himself in love. But whatever emotion it had been, it hadn’t been love. And it had been smeared with a fascination for great beauty, great talent, and cool, cool sex. No, he didn’t understand love—if it existed in the way he believed Ariel thought of it. No, he didn’t understand it, and he told himself he didn’t want it. What he wanted was his privacy, his peace.
And while he stood there, watching his own scene being painstakingly reproduced on film, he had neither.
“Cut. Cut and print.” Chuck ran a hand along the back of his neck to ease the tension. “Hell of a job.” Letting out a long breath, he walked toward Ariel and Jack. “Hell of a job, both of you. We’ll wrap for today. Nothing’s going to top that.”
Relieved, Ariel let her stomach relax, muscle by muscle. She glanced over idly at the sound of quiet applause.
Liz rose gracefully from her chair. “Marvelous job.” She gave Jack her dazzling, practiced smile before she turned to Ariel. “You have potential, dear,” Liz told her. “I’m sure this part will open a few doors for you.”
Ariel recognized the swipe and took it on the chin. “Thank you, Liz.” Deliberately, she drew the pins from her hair and let it fall free. She wanted badly to shed Rae. “It’s a challenging part.”
“You did your best with it.” Smiling, Liz touched her lightly on the shoulder.
I must’ve been on the money, Ariel thought and grinned. I must’ve been right on the money.
Liz wanted to rip the thick, tumbled hair out by the roots. She turned to Marshell. “Pat, I’d love to have dinner. We’ve a lot to catch up on.” She slipped her arm through his and patted his hand. “My treat, darling.”
Mentally swearing, Marshell acquiesced. The best way to get her out without a scene was simply to get her out. “My pleasure, Liz. Chuck, I’ll want a look at the dailies first thing in the morning.”
“Oh, by the way.” Liz paused beside Booth. “I really don’t think this little film will do much harm to your career, darling.” With an icy laugh she skimmed a finger down his shirt. “And I must say, I’m rather flattered, all in all. No hard feelings, Booth.”
He looked down at the beautiful, heartless smile. “No feelings, Liz. No feelings at all.”
Her fingers tightened briefly on Marshell’s arm before she swept away. “Oh, Pat, I must tell you about this marvelous young actor I met in Athens . . . ”
“Exit stage left,” Jack murmured, then shrugged when Ariel raised a brow at him. “Must still be functioning as Phil. But let me tell you, that’s one lady I wouldn’t turn my back on.”
“She’s rather sad,” Ariel said half to herself.
Jack gave a snort of laughter. “She’s a tarantula.” With another snort he cupped a hand on Ariel’s shoulder. “Let me tell you something, kid. I’ve been in the business a lot of years, worked with lots of actresses. You’re first class. And that just gripped her cookies.”
“And that’s sad,” Ariel repeated.
“Better put a layer of something over that compassion, babe,” he warned. “You’ll get burned.” Giving her shoulder a last squeeze, he walked off the set.
Gratefully, Ariel dropped into a chair. The lights were off now, the temperature cooling. Most of the stagehands were gone, except for three who huddled in a corner discussing a poker game. Tipping her head back, she waited as Booth approached.
“That was a tough one,” she commented. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine. You?”
“A little drained. I’ve only a few scenes left, none of them on this scale. Next week, I’ll be back to Amanda.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“The people on the soap are like family. I miss them.”
“Children leave home,” he reminded her.
“I know. So will I when the time’s right.”
“We both know you won’t be signing another contract with the soap.” He drew out a cigarette, lighting it automatically, drawing in smoke without tasting it. “Whether you’re ready to admit it or not.”
Feeling his tension, she tensed in turn. “You’re mixing us again,” she said quietly. “Just how much longer is it going to take you to see me for who I am, without the shadows?”
“I know who you are,” Booth corrected. “I’m not sure what to do about it.”
She rose. Maybe it was the lingering strain from the scene, or perhaps her sadness from watching Liz Hunter suffer in her own way. “I’ll tell you what you don’t want,” she said with an edge to her voice he hadn’t heard before. “You don’t want me to love you. You don’t want the responsibility of my emotions or of your own.”
He could deal with this, Booth thought as he took another drag. A fight was something he could handle effortlessly. “Maybe I don’t. I told you what I thought right up front.”
“So you did.” With a half laugh, she turned away. “Funny that you’re the one who’s always preaching change at me when you’re the one so unable to do so yourself. Let me tell you something, Booth.” She whirled back, flushed. “My feelings are mine. You can’t dictate them to me. The only thing it’s possible for you to do is dictate to yourself.”
“It isn’t a matter of dictating.” He found he didn’t want the cigarette after all. It tasted foul. Booth left it smoldering, half-crushed in an ashtray. “It’s a matter of not being able to give you what you want.”
“I haven’t asked you for anything.”
“You don’t have to ask.” He was angry, really angry, without being aware of when he’d crossed the line. “You’ve pulled at me from the start—pulled at things I want left alone. I made a commitment once, I’ll be damned if I’ll do it again. I don’t want to change my lifestyle. I don’t want—”
“To risk failure again,” Ariel finished.
His eyes blazed at her, but his voice was very, very calm. “You’re going to have to learn to watch your step, Ariel. Fragile bones are easily broken.”
“And they mend.” Abruptly, she was too weary to argue, too weary to think. “You’ll have to work out your own solution, Booth. The same as I’ll work out mine. I’m not sorry I love you, or that I’ve told you. But I am sorry that you can’t accept a gift.”
When he’d watched her walk away, Booth slipped his hands in his pockets and stared at the darkened set. No, he couldn’t accept it. Yet he felt as though he’d just tossed away something he’d searched for all of his life.
Chapter Ten
The water was a bit choppy. Small whitecaps bounced up, were swallowed, then bounced back again. Directly overhead the sky was a hard brilliant blue, but to the east, dark clouds were boiling and building. There was the threat of rain in the wind that blew in from the Atlantic. Booth estimated he had two hours before the storm caught up with him—an hour before he’d be forced to tack to shore to avoid it.
And on shore the heat would be staggering, the humidity thick enough to slice. On the water, the breeze smelled of summer and salt and storms. He could taste it as it whipped by him and billowed his sail. Exhilaration—he knew it for the sensation that could clear the mind and chill the skin. Holding lightly to the rigging, he let the wind take him.
Booth wore nothing but cutoffs and deck shoes. He hadn’t bothered to shave for two days. His eyes had grown accustomed to squinting against the sun reflecting off the water, and his hands to the feel of rough rope against the palm. Both were harsh, both were challenging.
Exhilaration? This time it hadn’t come with the force he’d expected. For days he’d sailed as long as the sun and the weather allowed. He’d worked at night until his mind was drained.
Escape? Was that a bett
That was all a lie.
None of those things had driven him out of Manhattan and onto Long Island. He’d needed to get away from Ariel—from what Ariel was doing to him. And perhaps most of all from his feelings for her. Yet the miles didn’t erase her from his thoughts. It took no effort to think of her, and every effort not to. Though she haunted him, Booth was certain he’d been right to come away. If thinking of her ate at him, seeing her, touching her would have driven him mad.
He didn’t want her love, he told himself savagely. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—be responsible for the range of emotions Ariel was capable of. Booth took another long pull from the beer can, then scowled at the water. He wasn’t capable of loving her in return. He didn’t possess those kinds of feelings. Whatever emotions he had were directed exclusively toward his work. He’d promised himself that. Inside, in the compartment that held the brighter feelings one person had for another, he was empty. He was void.
He ached for her—body, mind, soul.
Damn her, he thought as he jerked at the rigging. Damn her for pulling at him, for crowding him . . . for asking nothing of him. If she’d asked, demanded, pleaded, he could have refused. It was so simple to say no to an obligation. All she did was give until he was so full of her, he was losing himself.
He’d work, Booth told himself as he began to tack methodically back toward shore. The boat bucked beneath him as the wind kicked up. Adjusting the sails, he concentrated on the pure physicality of the task. Use your muscles, your back, not your brain. Don’t think, he warned himself, until it’s time to write again.