A maid from the studio was assigned to take care of Faye, her clothes, and her dressing room. Some brought their own help, but Faye could never imagine Elizabeth here, and she always left her at home. The women provided by the studio did just as well. This time they assigned a pleasant black woman to her, who had worked with her before. She was extremely capable, and Faye had enjoyed her comments and remarks before. The woman was sharp and had been working around the studio for years, and some of the stories she told made Faye laugh until she cried. So this morning, they were happy to meet again. She hung up all of Faye's own clothes, put her makeup out, did not touch the briefcase because she had made that mistake before and remembered that Faye didn't like anyone else handling her script. She served her coffee with exactly the right dose of milk, and at seven in the morning, when the hairdresser arrived to do Faye's hair, she brought her one soft-boiled egg and a single slice of toast. She was known for working miracles on the set, and taking exquisite care of “her stars,” but Faye never took advantage of it, and Pearl liked that.

“Pearl, you're going to have me spoiled for life.” She looked gratefully at her as the hairdresser went to work on her hair.

“That's the whole idea, Miss Price.” She beamed at her. She liked working with this girl. She was one of the best, and she loved talking about her to her friends. Faye had a kind of dignity that was difficult to describe, but she also had warmth and wit and, she grinned to herself, one hell of a pair of legs.

In two hours her hair was done, set exactly the way it was meant to be, and she had put on the dark blue dress that had been assigned to her. Her makeup was done just as the director had specified, and Faye was standing in the wings. The usual excitement had begun. Cameras were being pushed around, script girls were standing by, the director was conferring with light men, and almost all the actors had arrived, except for the other star. Faye heard someone mutter “as usual,” and wondered if this was the way he always worked, and with a quiet sigh, she sat down unobtrusively in a chair. If need be, they'd go on to a scene that didn't call for him, but it didn't bode well for the next few months, if he was late for the first day. She was staring down at the matronly blue shoes she had been assigned by the wardrobe mistress when suddenly she had the odd feeling that someone was watching her, and she looked up into the deeply tanned face of a strikingly handsome man with blond hair and deep blue eyes. She imagined that he was one of the actors in the film, and maybe he wanted to say hello to her before they began. She smiled casually at him, but the young man didn't smile.

“You don't remember me, do you, Faye?” For the flicker of an instant there was that sinking feeling all women get when confronted with a man who gives the impression that he knows one well, although one doesn't remember him at all. Did I really know this man? Did I forget his face? Could it be? … but it couldn't have been serious…. He simply stood and stared at her, desperately intent, and he almost frightened her. There was the merest hint of memory somewhere at the very back of her mind, but she couldn't place this man. Had she acted with him before? “I don't suppose there's any reason why you should.” His voice was quiet and calm, his eyes so serious as he looked at her, as though disappointed that she hadn't recognized him at once, and she was growing increasingly uncomfortable. “Vk met in Guadalcanal two years ago. You did a show for us, and I was the C.O.'s aide.” Oh my God … her eyes grew wide … and suddenly it came back to her … all of it … that same handsome face, their long talk, the young nurse he had married, and who had been killed … the two of them stared at each other as the memories flooded back. How could she have forgotten him? His face had haunted her for months. But she had never expected to see him again. As she stood up and held out a hand, he smiled at her. He had wondered for so long if she would remember him.

“Welcome home, Lieutenant.”

He saluted smartly, as he had so long before, and did a little bow, the mischief slowly returning to his eyes. “Major, now, thank you.”

“I apologize.” She was relieved that he was still alive. “Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.” He answered her so quickly that she wondered if indeed he was, but he looked well enough, in fact he looked fabulous as she looked up at him, and then she remembered where they were, and the movie that was about to begin, if her co-star ever arrived.

“What are you doing here?”

“I live in Los Angeles. Remember? I told you that …” He smiled. “I also told you I'd drop in on you at the studio one day.” She smiled in answer. “I usually keep my promises, Miss Price.” It was easy to believe that about him. He was better-looking than she remembered. And there was something very dashing about him, and yet restrained, like a magnificent stallion held in on a tight rein. She knew he would be twenty-eight by now, and he had lost his boyish look. He looked every inch a man. But she had other things on her mind … like the star who hadn't yet arrived. It was awkward seeing him here again for the first time.

“How on earth did you get in here, Ward?” She still remembered his name. She smiled gently at him as she asked the question.

Suddenly the mischief in his eyes came back again and he grinned happily. “I greased a few palms, told them I was an old friend of yours … the war … Purple Heart… medals … Guadalcanal … you know, the usual.” She was laughing at him now. He had bribed his way in, but why? “I told you I'd like to see you again.” But he didn't tell her how often he had thought of her in the past two years. A thousand times he had wanted to write to her, but he hadn't dared.

What if they threw her “fan mail” away, and where would he send the letter to anyway? Faye Price, Hollywood, U.S.A.? He had decided to wait until he came home, if he ever did, and there were times when he doubted that. Many, many times. And now here he was. It was like a dream, standing there, looking at her, listening to her talk to him. He had remembered her voice in all his dreams, that deep, sensual voice that had lingered in his head for two years.

“When did you get back?”

He grinned again. He decided to be honest with her. “Yesterday. I would have come by then, but I had a few things to take care of first.” His lawyers to see, papers to fill out, the house that still seemed too big to him. He was staying in a hotel.

“It's perfectly all right, I understand.” But suddenly she was glad he was here now, glad he had lived, glad he'd come home. He was like the one living example of all the men she had met on tour. He stood before her like someone in a distant dream, someone she had met in a jungle two years ago … and now here he was, smiling down at her, out of uniform, just like everyone else, except that there was something special about him, in a way she'd never run into before.

And then suddenly her co-star arrived and everything exploded on the set, and the director began roaring at everyone and she had to do her first scene with her leading man. “You'd better go, Ward. I've got to go to work.” She felt pulled suddenly, for the first time in her life, between work and a man.

“Can't I watch?” He looked like a disappointed child and she shook her head.

“Not this time. First day is kind of tough for all of us. In a few weeks, when we've all relaxed.” He liked the sound of that. They both did … “in a few weeks” … as though they had all the time in the world, and a future to share. Who was this man, she suddenly asked herself as he looked intently at her? He was only a stranger after all.

“Dinner tonight?” He whispered the words on the darkening set and she started to say something to him and shake her head, and then the director roared again and Ward tried to speak to her but she held up her hand. Her eyes met his and she could feel the man's strength. He had fought a war, he had come home, he had lost his first wife, and he had come to see her. Maybe that was all she needed to know about him. For now anyway.

“All right,” she whispered back, and he asked her where she lived. She smiled, and scribbled her address for him, embarrassed that he would see how grandly she lived. It wasn't nearly as lavish as it could have been, but surely by his standards, he would be somewhat awed. But there was no time to arrange another meeting place. She just handed the slip of paper to him, and waved him off the set with a grin, and five minutes later, she was getting directions and an introduction to her leading man. He was a powerful, intriguing, and very handsome man. But Faye realized as they worked together for several hours that there was something lacking from him, something. Warmth … charm … she tried to define it to Pearl in the privacy of her dressing room later on.

“Yeah, I know what you mean, Miz Price. There's two things he ain't got. Heart and brains.” And suddenly, with a burst of laughter, Faye knew she was right. That was what was wrong with him, he wasn't bright. He was also terribly full of himself, which was tiresome after all. There was a fleet of valets, secretaries, and go-fers to attend to his every need on the set, from cigarettes to gin. And when they had finished work for the day, Faye saw him undressing her with his eyes. And then he asked her to dinner that night.

“Sorry, Vance. I've already got a date for tonight.” His eyes lit up like Christmas trees and she could have kicked herself. It wouldn't have mattered if she didn't have a date for the next ten years, she would never have gone out with him.

“Tomorrow night?”

She shook her head, and quietly walked away from him. It wasn't going to be easy working with Vance Saint George, but there were moments when she had thought his performance was actually very good.

And it actually wasn't Vance she was thinking of as she hurried back to her dressing room that night. It was already six o'clock, and she had been on the set for twelve hours, but she was used to that. After she changed her clothes she bid Pearl goodnight, and hurried out to where she had parked her car. She drove toward Beverly Hills as quickly as she could. Bob was still at the gate when she arrived, he let her in and she raced through, leaving the car out front, and not even taking the time to put up the top. She glanced at her watch again. He had whispered eight o'clock, and it was a quarter to seven now.

Arthur opened the door to her, and she raced upstairs. “A glass of sherry, miss?” He called after her, and she stopped on the stairs for a moment with the smile that always warmed his heart. He was crazy about her, more so than he would ever have admitted to Elizabeth.

“There's someone coming for drinks at eight o'clock.”

“Very well, miss. Shall I send Elizabeth up to draw your bath? She could bring a glass of sherry to you now.” He knew how exhausted she got on the set sometimes, but she didn't even look tired tonight.

“No, thank you, I';ll be fine.”

“Do you wish your guest in the living room, miss?” It was a rhetorical question, he knew she would, and was surprised when she shook her head.

“My study, please, Arthur.” She smiled once more at him, and vanished, cursing herself for not arranging to meet Ward somewhere downtown. How ridiculous to play movie star with him, poor kid. Well, at least he'd survived the war. That was the important thing, she told herself, as she ran into her dressing room, pulling open all the closet doors, and then dashing into the white marble bathroom to turn on the bath. She pulled out a plain white silk dress that suited her perfectly, and wasn't too showy. It had a gray silk coat that went over it, and she selected a pair of gray pearl earrings from her jewelry box, gray silk pumps, and a gray and white silk bag. All put together, it looked a little dressier than she thought, but she didn't want to insult him either by being too casual. He knew who she was after all. The only problem was that it was she who knew nothing about him. She stopped for a minute, staring into space, remembering him, as she turned off her bath. It was a good question. Who was Ward Thayer after all?





CHAPTER 3




At exactly five minutes to eight, Faye was downstairs in her study waiting for Ward. She was wearing the white silk dress, and the matching gray coat was tossed over the back of a chair. She paced nervously once or twice, regretting again that she hadn't arranged to meet him elsewhere, but it had been such a shock, his turning up on the set like that, after their brief meeting in Guadalcanal two years before. How strange life was. Here he was again, and she was having dinner with him, her heart was pounding, and she had to admit, she was excited about it. He was a very attractive man and there was something a little mysterious about him.