“What do you do, if I may ask?”
The man in the plane returning to Los Angeles leaned toward Gregory, a friendly smile on his face.
Gregory told him what he did and the man allowed himself to be impressed. He’d seen Gregory’s last film, it turned out, and wanted to talk about it. “I’m in the import business; electronics. Stereos, television, that stuff. But I like films,” he said, as if art and life were two incompatible entities.
Gregory didn’t want to talk; he needed to think. He managed to decline the man’s offer of a drink without offending him by announcing his desire for sleep. Adjusting his seat, slipping a pillow behind his head, he closed his eyes and retired to inspect his private memories.
Brooke’s mother. Reading the letter Eleanor Harvey had written to his mother had jogged his memory. Something he had forgotten. The time she came to visit him…
He had found a new, bigger house in the hills above Franklin Avenue, and had just moved in earlier that week. He had chosen the brightest room in the house to use as his study, an airy space lined with windows that were brushed by blue sky and tangled shrubbery. He was working there when she came.
He had completed the script for The Flight of an Eagle a few weeks earlier. It had worked out well. Harry Shankman had liked it, bought it, and chosen it as a vehicle for Brooke to star in, just as they had intended. Now he was using the time to work on one of the novels he had always wanted to do. Brooke had pushed him into it, although, in truth, he hadn’t needed much encouragement. For the first time in his life he felt confident enough to take it on. Knowing and loving Brooke had evened his life out into controllable segments, given him some order, eradicating most of the confusion that had driven him and tossed him around like a leaf in the wind.
He stopped in mid-sentence when the doorbell rang.
Brooke’s mother stood on the doorstep. He was surprised to see her. Since Brooke had moved into her own apartment, he hadn’t seen her at all. Before that, after the initial interrogation when he had started to take Brooke out, their conversation had been limited to the mildest social intercourse.
“May I come in, Michael?” she said.
“Of course,” he said, recovering from his surprise. “Come in, Mrs. Harvey.”
He took her coat and led her into the living room. “Would you like a cup of coffee or something to drink?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” She chose an armchair and sat upright with her knees together, her hands resting on her lap.
He went to the couch and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Harvey,” he said politely. “What can I do for you?”
She took her time replying, crossing her legs to get comfortable, and showing a slim calf. She was still a good-looking woman, with pitch black hair pulled back into a braided bun. She was totally unlike her daughter, with broad, Teutonic features that gave her face a flat, watchful look. Although her figure was still good, she had begun to thicken around the waist and neck. Brooke had once described her to him as “totally selfless.” Brooke had added, “She gave me everything. Gave up her life because she wanted me to become a star.” Michael, instinctively distrustful of what was described as selflessness, had wondered if her conduct had been truly altruistic, or motivated by a hidden agenda. He hadn’t made up his mind.
“I want to talk to you about Brooke,” she said.
“What about Brooke?”
“I want you to stop seeing her.”
Michael struggled against a rising flush of anger.
“Would you care to explain exactly what you mean?” he said carefully.
She looked coolly over at him, her face impassive, her voice even. “We are both adults, Michael, and we both want what is best for Brooke, so I will assume that we can speak freely to each other.”
“By all means,” he said, still maintaining a façade of civility and control.
“The simple fact is that you are not what is best for her. You are not what she needs,” she said.
“What right have you to judge what is best for her?” he asked.
“A mother’s right,” she said, imbuing the phrase with divine authority. “So far, I have guided her well, don’t you think? Soon she’ll be one of the best-known actresses in the world. She has a great career ahead of her, and I don’t intend to allow her to jeopardize it in any way. Least of all for a common screenwriter.”
Michael managed to ignore the insult. “Don’t you care about Brooke’s feelings in this? What she wants?” he asked, awed by her single-minded callousness.
Her composure slipped a notch. Her mouth tightened. “My only thought is for her true interests. Her long-range interests. I have consistently guided her in the right direction and she’s always agreed with me. For some reason, where you are concerned, she has lost her judgment.” She gave a derisive little laugh. “Love! Marriage! These are indulgences she can’t afford. Not even with someone worthy of her. These are things for ordinary people. She is hardly an ordinary girl. Brooke has a destiny to fulfill. Do you think I am going to allow such a thing as animal sexual attraction to spoil that destiny?”
Michael got up and stood in front of her. He was furious, but he spoke calmly. “Mrs. Harvey, I agree that Brooke is not an ordinary girl. But that’s about the only thing you’ve said that I agree with. Brooke is indeed extraordinary and unique; too extraordinary to be manipulated by you for the rest of her life.”
She tried to interrupt him, but he cut her off.
“Let me finish please. Brooke knows what she wants, and if it doesn’t happen to coincide with your desires, you’ll just have to step aside. She’s a big girl now, with her own hopes and plans. You can’t even see the real Brooke anymore—all you see is your own dream. Well, she has her dreams, and you’d better recognize them, or you’ll lose her completely.”
She pointed a trembling finger at him. “You… you’ve poisoned her mind, changed her values. Before she met you, everything was perfect. Now she’s talking about marriage… becoming a mother. It’s all your doing.”
Michael waved her off with a movement of his arm. “Listen to me,” he said. “This will probably come as a shock to you, but Brooke wasn’t really happy before she met me. You were just too blind to see it. Yes, we’ve talked about marriage and children, but I’ve never tried to influence Brooke to give up her work, and never will. If she decides to do that, it will be her own decision. But if she does decide to do that, if that’s what she really wants, I’ll back her every step of the way. And nothing you can do will change that!”
Mrs. Harvey rose to her feet. Her face had paled, giving her rouged cheeks a crimson blush. She didn’t bother to hide the malice in her eyes. “I can see there’s no point in talking to you,” she said stiffly. “But you haven’t heard the last of this. I’m going to stop this nonsense any way I can. You’re not good enough for my daughter and never will be. I’m going to do everything in my power to see that you don’t get her.”
She turned and stalked toward the door. Michael put his hands on his hips and smiled grimly. “Lady, if it’s war you want, you’ve got it. I warn you, though, you’re going to lose.”
She turned in the doorway and looked at him contemptuously, her lips drawn back. “Michael, as you’ll find out, I never lose.”
Gregory opened his eyes and straightened up in the seat. The man sitting beside him looked over.
“Well, back to the land of the living, hey?” he said with a jovial chuckle. “Have a good sleep?”
“Yes, thank you,” Gregory said. He looked out of the window at a cloudless sky. He had kept a brave exterior under her assault, but the scene with Brooke’s mother had been a nightmare. He hadn’t underestimated the seriousness of her declaration. Even now, Gregory realized, his stomach was knotted up exactly as it had been when Mrs. Harvey had stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind her.
He turned to the man beside him and forced a smile. “I’ll have that drink now, if the offer’s still open,” he said. “On second thought, I’d better pay for it myself. I’m going to make it a double.”