Page 29 of Prime Time

“No, but you came sneaking into mine in the middle of the night wearing a sorry excuse for a nightgown.”

“You were naked!”

“In my own bed. I didn’t come creeping into your room that way.”

“I only came creeping into yours because I thought we, especially your father, could be in danger. If not us personally, then your property. Forgive me for warning you!” she shouted.

“You could have put on that robe a little sooner!” he shouted back.

“In the rush I didn’t think of it.”

“Well, think about it next time.”

“There won’t be one.”

“You’ve got that right. You stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

“Fine!” she screamed, but she didn’t think he’d heard her. He’d already slammed out the door.

She stood in the middle of the room for several minutes, staring at the door, pressing balled hands to her lips. Gulping at air that seemed to have been vacuumed out of the room with Lyon’s angry exit, she wondered how she was going to explain her tear-reddened eyes to her crew.

Chapter Six

The crew greeted her warmly when she joined them in the kitchen a good half-hour after Gracie had knocked on her door. It had taken her that long to recover from the verbal blows Lyon had dealt her.

“Sorry,” she said, hugging each of them in turn, ?

?but I had something in my eye that took forever to get out.” It was possible, though highly implausible, but they seemed to accept the explanation for her red, swollen eyes. “Think you can camouflage them on camera, Jeff?”

“You’re so gorgeous, who’d notice a couple of bloodshot eyes?”

Lyon chose that moment to push open the swinging door. Stiffly, but trying to act normally lest she alert the crew to the undercurrents between Lyon and her, she introduced him around.

“This is Jeff, our cinematographer.” Andy hadn’t taken Jeff’s comment seriously about her being gorgeous. He was a notorious flirt, and his camera was his license to get away with it. He used the mystique attached to a motion-picture camera to its full extent. Andy felt sorry for his pretty, meek wife, who waited patiently at home while he went out on frequent assignments. Jeff had never passed up an opportunity to be unfaithful, but early on Andy had let him know she wasn’t interested. His flirting with her was all for show.

She wondered if people had pitied her when Robert was away in the same way she did Jeff’s wife. More than likely they had. During the last year of their marriage Robert hadn’t been satisfied with the romantic aspects of it and had sought consolation elsewhere.

“Jeff,” Lyon said, shaking the photographer’s hand. “Lyon Ratliff.”

“This is Gil, our sound man.”

“Mr. Ratliff.” Gil shook Lyon’s hand deferentially. He was a likable guy who offended no one and did his job so well he was often ignored. His self-effacing personality had endeared him to Andy, and she could ask for the moon and he’d try to get it for her.

“Tony does our lighting.” Andy presented him to Lyon. Tony was often querulous, probably because he had six children to clothe and feed. But he was a master at highlighting, shading, and filtering.

The last crew member was a PA—production assistant. To him fell the jobs that had to be done and which no one else had any time or desire to do. Warren, a skeletal frame with skin stretched over it, had the strength of an ox and the agility of a monkey. He had been known to climb trees, ford rivers, tunnel through brush, or dangle from perilous perches to help the specialists get just the picture or sound they wanted.

“I see that Gracie’s already given you breakfast,” Lyon said, and the four groaned. He laughed. “Probably more than you bargained for.”

Andy was amazed at his geniality. Was she the one who would have to bear the brunt of his hostility?

“Make yourselves at home. When the time comes, Gracie will telephone the bunkhouse and someone will take you down there. If you need anything, tell Ms. Malone, and she’ll notify me.”

Ms. Malone.

The crew, even Jeff, seemed impressed with Lyon Ratliff, and Andy felt betrayed. She resented the hospitality and graciousness he had extended to them. When he went out the door, looking smugly satisfied, she knew he’d been deliberately effusive. It was his way of telling her that he could be nice when he wanted to be, but that he didn’t want to be nice to her. Her jaws began to ache before she realized how tightly she was clenching her teeth.

The first disaster occurred when Gil discovered that one of his microphone cords had gone dead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, Jeff,” he said placidly when the temperamental photographer lit into him. “It’s just not drawing power.”

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