She was sitting in the conference room, drinking tea, with her feet on the table, when he walked in. She'd been talking and laughing and horsing around with one of the other stars. Hawkins walked over to where she was sitting, and sat down next to her.

“I'm glad you're not killing yourself on this,” he said seeming sincere, and then took her tea, sipped it and made a face. “You need sugar in that. Look, I just got off a plane from Paris. I'm tired. I'm sick. My hair is a mess. I'm not feeling funny. They're not paying me enough to take meetings when I have jet lag, so I'm going to my hotel. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be much funnier with some sleep. I'll give you my notes then.” He stood up, took another sip of her tea, shook his head, poured it out, and walked out of the room, while she grinned.

“I take it that's our star. Where's he staying?”

“The Beverly Hills. Bungalow 6. He always stays there. It has his name on it.”

“We're neighbors,” she said to a production assistant. “I'm 2.”

“Watch out. He's hell on wheels.” There were already bets placed as to which of the other stars he'd sleep with. He got involved with his costars on every movie. And it was easy to see why. He was one of the most beautiful men Tanya had ever seen. He was forty-five years old, had jet-black hair, blue eyes, a gorgeous body, and a smile that just didn't quit.

“I think I'm safe,” Tanya said as they all talked about him. “I think the last girl I read about him going out with was twenty-two.”

“No woman is safe with Gordon. He gets engaged on every picture. He's never gotten married yet. But he gets a hell of a lot of press out of it, and gives them gorgeous rings.”

“Do they have to give them back?”

“Probably. I think he borrows them.”

“Damn. I thought maybe I could at least get a ring out of it,” Tanya said with a grin, and then looked around. “Shit, he threw out my tea.” Someone gave her another cup, and the meeting went on from there. It was a day of banter and joking, figuring out who was comfortable saying what, and then going back to her bungalow and writing. She was still working at midnight, cackling to herself, when she heard a knock on her door. She opened it with a pencil in her hair and another in her teeth. It was Gordon Hawkins. He handed her a cup of tea.

“Try this. It's a brand I always carry with me. I get it in Paris, and it won't jangle your nerves. That stuff you were drinking this morning was shit.” She grinned and took a sip as he walked in. “Why is your bungalow bigger than mine?” he asked, looking around. “I'm much more famous than you are.”

“That's true. Maybe I have a better agent,” she suggested, as he sprawled out on the couch and turned on the TV. He was obviously crazy, but she loved it. He looked like a wild Irishman with his cornflower blue eyes and jet-black hair, as he dangled his feet off the end of the couch. He set the TiVo for two of his favorite shows while she laughed at him. He had a lot of nerve, but he was funny to be around. Just watching him made her laugh. He had a great deadpan face, and a funny expression in his eyes.

“I'll come in and watch my shows with you here,” he said comfortably. “I don't have TiVo in my room. I think I have to fire my agent. Who's yours?”

“Walt Drucker.”

He nodded. “He's good. I saw a soap you wrote once. It sucked, but it made me cry anyway. I don't want to cry in this movie,” he warned her. He looked about thirty-five, and acted about fourteen.

“You won't. I promise. I was working on it when you walked in. Thanks for the tea, by the way.” She took another sip. It was good. It tasted of vanilla, and the tag was French.

“Have you had dinner?” She shook her head. “Me neither. I'm on another time zone. I think it's breakfast time for me.” He checked his watch. “Yup. Nine-thirty A.M. in Paris. I'm starving. Do you want to have breakfast with me? We can charge it to your room.” He reached for the room service menu, called them, and ordered pancakes. He suggested she have French toast or an omelette so they could share. And she found herself doing what he said. She had no idea why, but he had that kind of effect on her. He was so crazy, he made you want to play with him. But she knew he was a very good actor, too. She was excited to be working with him.

They munched their way through pancakes, French toast, and several Danish pastries, fruit salad, and orange juice for two. It was the craziest meal she'd ever had, while he discussed the comparative virtues of Burger King versus McDonald's.

“I eat at McDonald's a lot in Paris,” he explained. “They call it Mac Do there. I stay at the Ritz.”

“I haven't been to Paris in years.”

“You should go. It would do you good.” He lay back down on the couch again then, exhausted from their feast, and then he picked his head up and looked at her with interest. “Do you have a boyfriend?” She wondered if he was taking a poll or checking her out for himself.

“No.” She didn't elaborate.

“Why not?”

“I'm divorced and have three kids.”

“I'm divorced and have five kids, all with different mothers. Long relationships bore me.”

“So I hear.”

“Ah, so they warned you. What did they say? Probably that I get engaged on every picture. Sometimes I just do it for publicity. You know how that is.” She nodded, wondering just how crazy he really was. She was getting sleepy. It was nearly two, and he was going full steam ahead, wide awake, on Paris time. She was on L.A. time, and about to fall asleep. He noticed her yawning and sat up. “Are you tired?”

“Kind of,” she admitted. “We have early meetings tomorrow,” she reminded him.

“Okay.” He stood up, looking like a tall, gangly kid. He couldn't find one shoe, and then finally did. “Get some sleep.” He waved at her from the door, and then went back to his own bungalow, while she stood there and grinned. The phone rang almost immediately, It was Gordon again. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said politely. “It was delicious, and you're fun to talk to.”

“Thank you. So are you. And breakfast was good.”

“Next time we can have it in my room,” he offered, and she laughed.

“You don't have TiVo.”

“Damn. That's right. I'm calling my agent tomorrow to complain. Do me a favor, wake me tomorrow, will you? What time do you get up?”

“Seven.”

“Call me when you leave.”

“Goodnight, Gordon,” she said firmly. He could have called the operator for a wake-up call. She should have made him, but he was so damned charming and flaky, he was hard to resist. She felt as though she had adopted a little kid.

“Goodnight, Tanya. Sleep tight. See you tomorrow.” With that, she hung up. She was still smiling about him as she turned off the lights, put on her nightgown, climbed into bed, and went to sleep. She was thinking about him as she drifted off. This movie was going to be fun to do. For once, Walt was right.





Chapter 21




The set of the movie Tanya was working on was in almost constant bedlam. With a dozen comedians involved, a funny story, and a comedic script, they could hardly keep straight faces to say their lines. There were a million outtakes that were even funnier than the movie. The director was hysterical, the producer was a good guy. The cameramen were funny. And Tanya had a great time writing the script. It almost wrote itself. She loved going to work every day and telling her kids about it. Molly came to visit her once and loved it. She thought Gordon Hawkins was gorgeous, and so did everyone else. He and Tanya were fast friends by the second week of shooting. She could see him checking all the women out, trying to decide which one he wanted. Movie sets were like a supermarket for him. There were no great beauties on this movie. But there were some very nice, smart women who knew better than to get involved with him. He was coming up dry on this one, which was unheard of for him.

He was lying on Tanya's couch, watching TV one night, while she was making script changes. He had just eaten his way through two hamburgers and a milk shake. In spite of that, he was relatively thin. He was a bottomless pit. He worked it off in the gym. “Do I look older to you, Tanya?” he asked, looking worried.

“Older than what?” She was busy and not paying attention. He talked a lot. And he hung out on her couch constantly. He was bored and lonely, and he liked her.

“Older than I used to look,” he explained, changing channels for the fiftieth time in an hour. He channel-surfed constantly. Whenever she saw something she would have liked to watch, it vanished instantly. It was a lot like being married.

“I wouldn't know. I just met you. I don't know how old you used to look.”

“That's true. There are no decent women on this picture. It's very depressing. They should have hired one for me.”

“From what I've heard, you do fine on your own,” she reminded him, and he shook his head vehemently.

“That's bullshit. I always get involved with the women I work with. I can never meet women outside work.”

“You may have to make a supreme effort and try this time,” she told him, and turned her computer off. It was too distracting to work with him in the room. Besides, he was fun to talk to.

“That sucks,” he said in answer to what she'd just told him. “What about you? You're a damned fine-looking woman.”

“Thank you.” She took what he said with a grain of salt. She told him regularly that he was full of shit, which he readily admitted was true.

“Do you like me?” he asked her with a look of innocence, and she laughed at him. They were rapidly becoming friends, hopefully for longer than just this movie. She really liked him. He was a nice guy, and fun to be around, even if silly. He was harmless, and underneath the craziness was a nice person. And he seemed to love his kids, and even his ex-wives and ex-girlfriends. And more important, they loved him.