Bungalow 2 by Danielle Steel Page B

“I'd like you to come. It's only for the major stars, of course, and the supporting cast.” They were a glittering assortment working on this movie. Tanya was anxious to meet them—it would make writing for them easier, if she developed a sense of their style and rhythm. She knew who most of them were, but seeing them in the flesh would be exciting and fun. This was a whole new world for her. She was suddenly glad she'd brought the one black cocktail dress. She had nothing else to wear other than the black pants she'd worn today, and jeans. And given the way Douglas had looked that day, she suspected that dinner at his house would be dressy. “I'll send my car for you. You don't have to get dressed up. They'll all come in jeans.”
    “Thank you.” She smiled. “You just solved a major fashion dilemma for me. I didn't bring much of a wardrobe. I figured I'd be working most of the time, and I'm planning to go home on weekends.”
    “I know,” he laughed at her, slightly scornful, “to your husband and kids.” He made it sound like something she should be embarrassed about, like a bad habit she had and ought to break. That's what it was to him, although he had admitted that he'd been married twice. But he clearly had an aversion to kids. He had looked nervous that morning when she and Max spoke of theirs.
    “Are you really as normal as you pretend to be?” he said, trying to provoke her, which was a favorite game of his. “You're so much deeper than that. The kind of things you write, the way your mind works. I just can't see you in the role of suburban housewife, feeding breakfast to your kids.” He was pressing her to see how she handled it, and what she did.
    “That's what I do in real life,” she said without apology. “I love it. I've spent the last twenty years that way, and I wouldn't have given up a minute with them for the world.” She looked smug and happy as she said it. She knew she had done the right thing.
    “Then why are you here?” he asked her bluntly, and waited to hear what she'd say. It was a reasonable question, and one she'd asked herself.
    “This is a golden opportunity for me,” she said honestly. “I didn't think I'd ever get a chance like this again. I wanted to write this script.”
    “And you left your husband and children to do it. So maybe you're not as bourgeois as you think.” He was almost like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, trying to lure her away.
    “Can't I be all of the above? Wife, mother, and writer? None of them are mutually exclusive.” He pointedly ignored what she'd said.
    “Do you feel guilty for being here, Tanya?” he asked with interest. He wanted to know more about her, and she was equally intrigued by him. Not in a sexual way, but he was an interesting person, a constant challenge. He darted forward and then moved away, sideways sometimes, almost like a snake.
    “Sometimes I feel guilty,” she admitted to him. “I did before I came here. I feel better, now that I'm working. Being in L.A. is starting to make sense.”
    “You'll feel even better once we start shooting. It's addictive, like a drug you'll have to have again. Once we finish the movie, you'll want more of it. We all do. That's what keeps us here. We can't stand it when the movie ends. I can feel it happening to you already, and we haven't even started.” He touched a nerve in her somewhere, and she was frightened by what he said. What if he was right, and it was addictive, even for her? “You won't want to go back, Tanya, after it's over. You'll want someone to find you another picture. I think we're going to enjoy working together.” He sounded like Rasputin, and she was sorry she had agreed to have lunch with him, or maybe he was just trying to test her, to find out how she was made.
    “I'm expecting to enjoy it,” she said sanely, “but I hope it's not as addictive as you say. I'm planning to go back to real life when this is over. I'm only on loan here, not for sale.”