Выбрать главу

Images rolled in accelerated fast-forward motion through her mind, and all the women in Carey's life appeared in blurred technicolor. “Tell him,” she said, icicles hanging from each word, “Molly Darian called.”

“Oops. Put you right through. Sorry, but I usually run interference for Carey. No hard feelings…”

And she heard the ringing of the extension.

“Golden Bear Productions.”

“How many people does he have running interference?” Molly asked.

“Could I help you?” Allen said. If Joey had put the call through, it was someone worth being polite to, regardless of the sarcasm.

“This is Molly Darian. I'd like to talk to Carey, if he has time for one of the many women calling him,” she crisply replied.

“I'm sorry, Molly, he's out in the middle of the lake on a barge filming. Could I have him get back to you?”

The man's voice was too smooth, too soothing, as though he'd run through this number endless times. “Tell him I've two photographers camped outside my door. It's extremely annoying, and if they're not gone very soon, I'm never talking to him again.” Her statement was partly rhetorical, but a real anger colored her words when all the old jealousies resurfaced at the thought of Carey being bombarded with female callers. In all the idyllic happiness of their reunion, somehow she'd lost sight of the fact Carey lived another life outside her world. A life where he was sought after, panted after, seen as an enviable prize by beautiful women everywhere.

I value my life, Allen thought. Let her tell him herself. “He'll call you as soon as he's off the lake.”

“Do me a favor.” She couldn't keep the snappishness out of her voice, wondering how many times other women had been put off by that calm tone telling them Carey would call them back.

“Sure, Molly, anything.”

“Tell your boss, if these photographers aren't away from my front door and out of my life-” She paused, realizing how shrill she sounded. “Sorry,” she said, “I'm not used to this-”

“Carey will take care of it,” Allen said in the reasonable voice he reserved for distrait wives, carping producers, and IRS officials. “Trust me. Just as soon as he's back on shore.”

“God I hate this.” Molly's voice had begun to rise again. “He's notorious, you know. Not only famous, but notorious, dammit.”

God in heaven. She just discovered that? In his position, however, Allen knew how to dodge a confrontation. His pacifying retort came automatically. “I'm sure Carey will straighten everything out. I'll have him call you.” But Allen also knew better than anyone that Carey Fersten was indeed notorious. Notorious for having a new woman on every location and in every city.

But this Molly Darian was different. That was obvious to him, to the crew, the cast, to anyone who'd seen Carey since she'd walked into his life. He was adjusting his life for her; he was forcing a relentless pace on the film, pushing the shooting schedule up so that he could fly off and spend a few hours with her. And this movie was his personal pet, the movie he'd waited all his life to make. Changing his life for a woman? No one would believe it. Not anyone who knew Carey before. You had to be here. Yeah, Molly Darian was different, all right.

She was the only woman Allen had ever seen who cost Carey Fersten a cool half million bucks. That was what the shut-downs had cost so far, and the accountants were screaming at him daily over the phone.

An hour later when Carey returned to the trailor, he received Molly's message along with a newly arrived tabloid emblazoned with headlines in twelve-point type screaming: CAREY FERSTEN'S LOVE CHILD over a series of photos showing Carrie walking home from school.

“Fucking Cerelli.”

“None other.”

“Shit.”

“Molly called to tell you she wants the photographers making a home on her doorstep removed a little sooner than immediately.”

Carey frowned. “She was mad?”

“I detected a twinge of annoyance,” Allen said.

“And she hasn't seen this yet.”

“She didn't mention it.” And Allen thought of her final comment-that Carey was notorious. Soon she'd be in that same category herself. It went with the territory. “I'd ease into the subject if I were you.”

“Diplomacy is required, then.”

“Along with a running start.”

Carey laughed. “Oh, hell, so what else is new.” But it was new. For the first time in his life he didn't walk away from an angry woman pressuring him. A novel experience.

Molly wasn't like all the other women. Those headlines and Carrie's pictures would be public property by noon tomorrow. Molly would have to marry him now… very soon. A press conference was in order to announce the date and acknowledge Carrie. “We'll have to call a press conference.”

“For-?” Allen tactfully inquired.

“Carrie's my daughter. I want to acknowledge her, and if I can talk some sense into her mother, we'll announce a wedding date.”

“The lady's reluctant?” After eight years of watching women try to entice Carey to the altar, Allen tried to disguise his astonishment.

“Not reluctant, but she wants time for Carrie and me to get to know each other.”

“The Star Inquirer moved that scenario into fast forward.”

Carey shrugged and smiled. “I'm not complaining.” He picked up the phone. “Wish me luck,” he said, “she's going to be pissed.”

“Luck, boss, although you've had plenty of practice with irate females.” And Allen knew if Carey set his mind to it, he could get most people to do what he wanted. Especially women.

“This is the only one who matters.” Carey crossed his fingers and then waved Allen out.

After making her call to the film site. Molly had explained to Carrie that some of Carey Fersten's prominence had spilled over on them. She promised to take her daughter to the beach later, after the photographers were gone. Then she waited, restlessly and disturbed, wondering if her call would be returned.

She picked up the receiver before the first shrill ring had completely died away.

“Are you all right?” Carey asked, and she could feel the warmth of his concern.

“I'm fine,” she replied, determined to remain composed. “But you heard… there're some photographers outside the gate. Can you get rid of them? Is that too much to ask?” Her initial anger had subsided in the interval between her call and his.

“I'll have some security guards hired and sent over.”

“Guards? I don't like the sound of that.”

“Just temporarily, sweetheart.” Until we hire the bodyguards, he thought, once the national scandal sheet hits the streets.

“They won't just leave if I ask them to, or if you ask them to?”

“It's a job for them, honey. They're not charitable institutions,” he said with a temperance he was far from feeling, knowing the stormy issues confronting them. Wishing he didn't have to break the news, he said, “Are you sitting down?”

“That sounds ominous,” Molly said softly.

“It's not dire, but serious. It's about Carrie.”

What could possibly be dire? Molly thought with relief. Carrie was here with her, safe and sound in her own room watching Love Connection. “She's here with me, Carey, and perfectly fine.”

Looking down at the front page article, at the bold headlines and fair, young girl pictured, Carey swore softly under his breath before saying, “I received an advance copy of the Star Inquirer today.”

“What could that have to do with Carrie? Oh, is there another one of those photos of you and some duchess? Don't worry, Carrie never reads those tabloids. And even if she did, she seems to accept your jet-set reputation without censure.”