STRUGGLE OF TEMPTATION

    BY

   Chere Lynn

Dedication

To: Adrianna, and Alyssa, my two lovely daughters.

They’ve seen me strong. They’ve seen me weak.

I hope they always see me with love in their hearts . . . the way I will always see them.

                                                              Prologue

California, Holy Trinity Hospital, 1992

An unbearable light filled the room from above. My eyelids were squeezed shut, but the glare penetrated like sunlight breaking through an overcast. I struggled to free myself from the hands that were restraining me. 

 “Hold her still!” His voice was that of someone accustomed to being obeyed. 

 “No, you're hurting me!” I screamed. “Let me go!” I exerted all my strength to break free. But the strangers did not let go.                                                                                                                                                                                           

Then escape wasn't important anymore. The pain was subsiding. Their voices were coming from some far-off distance. I was sinking into a dark sea, and I wanted it to enfold me, drown me. The greater the darkness, the less I felt the pain. 

 “Sara! Sara! Stay with us, dammit!” the commanding voice shouted.

 “She's going into shock! —we're losing her, doctor!” 

Then a different kind of light enveloped me. Exquisite shades of illumination formed into an achingly familiar figure. It glided toward me. The warmth I felt was indescribable. I recognized those blue-green eyes instantly.

 “Dad—is it really you?” I could feel his loving energy encircling me as his arms swept around me. I felt safe. I never wanted to leave this place.

“Daddy, I've missed you so much!” 

Suddenly I wondered . . . what was this place? Then I realized . . . I shouldn't be there unless—

“Dad, didI die?” I pushed myself away from him, desperately seeking reassurance, but what I found was an expression of disappointment. 

“Sara,” he said, “You can't keep this secret.” His words cut through me like shards of glass, and I felt his warm energy vanishing. A desperate sensation of loss grew inside me. It was the most hopeless feeling I had ever experienced. 

“Dad—where are you going? Wait! Don't leave me!” My grasping hands slipped through him as he faded into the fragmenting light.

                                                            Part One                 

                                       To burn with desire and keep quiet about it

                              is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.                                                                            

                                                   ~ Federico Garcia Lorca      

                                                     Chapter one

The Big Island of Hawaii, 1990

I awoke in darkness drenched in sweat. I looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand:  2:47a.m. These sleepless nights weren’t going to end until I brought this killer to justice.

“Come on, Anna,” I told myself. “If anyone can do this—you can!”

I reached for the pack of cigarettes, brushing away strands of my long, black hair that stuck to the moisture of my arm. I flicked the lighter, inhaled and exhaled the smoke toward the dysfunctional ceiling fan’s irritating knock. I watched the smoke hang in the air like a poisonous mist, barely disturbed by the half-hearted whirling of the fan.

 "Now I know how Bette Davis felt—what a dump!" I hauled myself out of bed. "Doesn't anyone breathe on this damn island?" I walked over to the window, raised it, and inhaled the muggy breeze.                                                         

Looking into the night sky, I rolled my eyes. 

"A full moon—great, what's one more strike against me, right?" The clouds were scarce, and a red death ring outlined the moon. Its light reflected in chaotic flashes from the glistening black waves that pummeled the beach.

I turned and leaned against the windowsill, stared into the semi-darkness of the room, and inhaled another deep drag. My eyes focused on the remains of the fifth of vodka and the two empty glasses on the small coffee table.

 “Why not?” I said as I walked over, picked up the fifth, and took a swig.

I knew what I had to do. If I waited any longer, I was sure to lose my nerve. I drank down one more swallow of liquid will power. Then I slid on my cut-offs, grabbed a wrinkled tee shirt from the back of a chair, stuffed my hair inside a black baseball cap, and stepped into my black high-top boots, checking the concealed side pockets.                                                                                                                                               

I tucked a small flashlight inside the waistband of my cutoffs, and pulled on black leather gloves. I grabbed my cigarettes.

“More will power,” I whispered. I shoved them into my back pocket. Once out the door, there was no turning back.

With extreme caution, I proceeded down the beach and headed directly toward the cliff base, profiled by the moons circular torch. I could see the landing halfway up the rock staircase in the dim light. A dank, chilling breeze blew around me, leaving me with a strange feeling . . . the kinda feeling you get when you know someone’s watching you.                                                                                       

I hastened steps toward the target. I flipped on the flashlight and clenched it between my teeth, as I started up the sharp slippery rocks.                                                                                                                                                           

I had never climbed them at night before. Who in their right mind would want to climb up these death traps day or night? But I knew the answer: Carla and her secret lover.               

“Halfway there,” I told myself. I paused for a moment to catch my breath. If her gold lighter is up there, the killer's fingerprints would still be on it. With that thought, my adrenaline kicked in again. If only I could have called the police, but at least one of their higher ups was in on this cover up. Go figure.

As I stretched my leg up to the last rock, I heard the loud ripping sound in the front of my cutoffs.

“Dammit!” I cursed. “These were my favorite.”                                                                                                                                             

I grabbed the flashlight out of my mouth and quickly scanned the area. There they were—the two immense stone structures at the far side of the caved enclosure. Horny couples often climbed up to this shrouded haven. It was cheaper than renting a room by the hour. Rick had finally spilled his guts last night, like a frightened Catholic schoolgirl caught skipping class— but only after his seventh shot of vodka.                                                                                                                                         

Turns out, that fated night, he and Marcy climbed up the cliffs, for some privacy—and a quick roll. When Rick shined his lantern toward the back of the cave, to his surprise, Carla was up there—with a dark-haired man he didn’t recognize, and they were in a heated argument.             

As soon as the man spotted Rick and Marcy, he immediately picked his jacket up off the moss-covered floor—That’s when Rick saw Carla’s gold lighter fall to the ground. How did he know it was Carla’s? Simple. He saw the sparkle of emerald-colored stones, reflected from the shine of his lantern, which were in the shape of a cursive, capitol “C,” and placed at the tail-end of that C, was a small, ruby stone, in the shape of a heart. According to Rick, there was no other lighter like it in the world.

When the dude grabbed Carla by her arm, and quickly yanked her out of the cave, the frightened expression on Carla’s face, caused Rick and Marcy to momentarily freeze in silence. After a moment, Rick suddenly remembered he was up there for one reason—to screw Marcy. And just like that, he forgot all about Carla—and the lighter.                                                                                                   

Thank God Rick can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. If the damn fool would have remembered to pick it up, he would have smudged the fingerprints! All I have to do is find it and get the hell out of here. How hard can it be to find—

Suddenly, a small flame flickered in the darkest part of the hollow. My body froze.

“Oh shit!” I whispered.  

“Looking for this?” he asked casually, as he lit his cigarette and began walking toward me.

I could see the shine of gold through his fingers and the evil mockery in his eyes. He snapped the lighter shut. I switched off my flashlight and let it drop to the ground as I slowly backed away. His silhouette continued in my direction. 

Once he was out of the caved area, the light of the moon revealed the familiar scar across his left cheek.

“Demetrius—I should have known.”   

“It's a shame you had to come snooping around here tonight, Anna. Rick has a loose tongue when he’s drunk.”                                                                                                                                                                                            

His voice was steady. He was enjoying this cat-and-mouse game.

“I made sure that won't happen again,” he continued, as a cruel smile formed on his face. 

“Oh my God—you killed him?!” The fear in my eyes caused his smile to broaden, displaying tobacco-stained teeth.

“And now I just need to tie up one final loose end,” he said, pleased with himself.

“Why did you have to murder Carla?” I demanded, trying to buy myself time. A sinister laugh was his only reply as he continued moving toward me.

“But first I have something else in mind,” he said as he flicked his cigarette away and licked his thick lips, his eyes focused on my ripped shorts, which left one thigh completely exposed. 

 “She didn't love you so you murdered her!” I yelled, taking more steps back. 

 “She was a worthless whore!” 

“And you're a monster!”                                                                                                                                        

He started taking longer strides, quickening his pace with each step. The moon ducked behind a small cloud. That moment of darkness was all I needed. I quickly reached inside the concealed side pocket of my left boot.                                                                                                                                                                            

The cliff edge was upon me, and so was Demetrius.

 “All you bitches are the same!” He clamped his chubby hands around my neck. My baseball cap flew off and over the edge of the cliff. I couldn’t breathe. Consciousness began slipping away. I was so close to the edge that my boots were sending small stones clattering down the cliff side.                                                               

If I die, the truth will die with me, I thought. I can’t let that happen!                        

I plunged my knife into his chest. The moon reappeared from behind its curtain. I could see the dark stain spreading down his light-colored shirt as he released me and stumbled backward. He clutched the knife and pulled it out of his chest, his rage giving way to terror. 

 “You fucking bitch!” he screamed as he lunged toward me. I leapt to my right, sprawling painfully on my hands and knees. He tripped over my outstretched legs and plunged over the edge. His shrill scream almost made me feel sorry for him—almost.

 There were no more yells of dread. The only sound was his corpse smacking off the razor-sharp rocks on its way to the bottom. I crawled to the edge, searching for his body, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain in my throat. I sat back and gently rubbed my neck. I wiped beads of sweat from my forehead, and let my head fall forward on to my raised knees. I exhaled a deep exhausted breath.

 “Got you, you son of a bitch,” I whispered hoarsely as I slowly opened my eyes.

 “Dammit, if only—” In the moonlight, I caught a glint of gold near the cliff edge. A smile began to form across my lips. I reached into the back pocket of my shorts for my pack of cigarettes. I managed to extract one, despite the shaking of my hands.

 “Nice lighter,” I smiled as I carefully picked it up with my gloved hand, flicked it, and exhaled into the night.

“And—cut! That's a wrap people!” Sara Gibson yelled as a round of applause and cheering broke out among the cast and crew. She wiped her brow. Finally! she thought A perfect take.

 “Anna, for a minute there I thought you were gonna tumble over the cliff with Demetrius,” Sara said, laughing. 

“Ha! You’re not the only one,” she said as reached for a cold bottle of water from a nearby cooler.  

Sara looked over the cliff edge at the stunt net. 

“Great job, Thomas! That scream sounded authentic.”                                                                                                      

“That’s because it was—I was scared shitless that time!” Thomas climbed out of the net; his smile convincing otherwise. Sara laughed. She had known Thomas for years, and was quite aware that he was one of the top stuntmen in Hollywood. He was fearless, and Sara would never accept anything less than the best.

“Mia—great job. Your narration was spectacular!” Mia had a sultry, throaty voice. Sara knew Mia was perfect for the narration, before she finished her first sentence at the auditions last year in New York. Sara had a knack for spotting talent a mile away.

“I can't believe you actually climbed up those cliffs with Anna yesterday,” said Carol Marlow, Sara's best friend and assistant director.

 “Well, she just wasn't making the magic happen and that scene is just too important.”

“. . . and the rip in the cutoffs?”

“Yep, that was me,” Sara said. 

“I gotta hand it to ya, Miss Gibson,” she said, with mock formality.

“Thank you, Miss Marlow.” The two women exchanged smiles and a high-five.

“Okay, Carol, you know the cutaways and B-roll we need. I’ll leave you, Anna and Demetrius to deal with those. Everybody else, seven a.m. sharp on the sound stage for the Secret Rendezvous Scene.” She packed up her clipboard and director’s notes. She proceeded back to her location trailer.

Sara was a petit five foot two. Her small frame and delicate features led many to assume she was a fragile blossom, until they watched her at work. Then it became clear why she was one of Hollywood's most powerful female directors.                                                                                                                       

Her blonde curly hair draped down to the middle of her back, although very few ever caught a glimpse of it flowing free during her working hours, which began in the early morning and lasted well into the night, pretty much seven days a week. She normally wore it stuffed up inside a baseball cap or in a ponytail. 

Her striking turquoise-colored eyes usually peered at the world through sunglasses or reading glasses. Her rose tinted lips were full and sensual with a set of perfect white teeth. It was true she had an alluring smile, but seldom displayed it to the cast and crew. She took great pride in never mixing business with pleasure.

A couple of the cast members watched as she walked away.

 “Wow, thatone is 100% business,” Phil Gordon quietly said to Rob Donavan. 

 “I heard they call her ‘the ball-buster’,” Joe Pocco said, as he strolled by. 

“Ball-buster?” Rob and Phil questioned at the same time.

*   *   *

The following morning the crew and cast members were gathered around buffet tables when Sara walked in from a pre-dawn meeting with Carol, and Paul Larson, the unit’s camera operator.                                                                                                                

“Good morning everyone, please help yourself to coffee, juice, or whatever legal substance gets you going at this early hour,” Sara said as she scanned her clipboard. “I'll need to see Derrick and Kiana on the set in ten mins. for scene 44— Secret Rendezvous Scene.” 

Cast in his first major role, Rob Donavan had won the male lead role of Derrick Griffin in an open audition against several more established actors, largely because he exactly fit the description of the novel from which the movie was taken. Hawaii Noir. Where a young man takes a trip to Hawaii with his two best friends, falls in love with one of the locals, and ends up framed for a murder.                                                                                                                                                                                               

 Rob stood about six foot two, with dark brown hair that was feathered throughout, and in the back, over-lapped his shirt collar. A thick row of black lashes outlined his soulful sienna eyes, and he had the tanned, muscular body of an outdoorsman.                                                                                                A Hawaiian actress named Alana had been cast as his local girlfriend, Kiana. Sara briefly went over the scene, which took place in Kiana’s living room and filming began.

After the seventeenth failed take, Sara slammed down her clipboard on the nearby table. She glared at Kiana.

"This is supposed to be the man of your dreams, and he's about to leave you—forever!”                                                                                                                                                                                                               

Sara let out a frustrated breath, and shook her head, as she thought for a minute, then she removed her glasses, flung them into the hands of whoever was standing beside her at the time, and ripped off her baseball cap, letting her light blonde hair cascade down her back. Rob’s eyebrows went up. Absent ball cap and glasses, even wearing an exasperated expression, Sara was more than merely pretty. She’s beautiful enough to be in front of the cameras, he thought.

Sara shifted her attention from Kiana to Rob, she sized him up, and then turned to the assistant grip.

“Get me half an apple box over here, LA position, ASAP.” The sturdy wooden box materialized in seconds. Sara pointed to the floor in front of her and the assistant grip deposited the box.

She turned her attention again to Rob, motioning him to stand on the opposite side of the eight-inch-high platform and extended her hand. He took it and she stepped up on the box, bringing her close to Alana’s height.                                                                                                                                                                        

She pressed herself against Rob, pulling his face toward her with a hand on the back of his neck. “You can't leave me, Derrick,” she whispered the scripted lines next to his ear, then brushing her lips down his cheek, she began kissing his neck.

“I cannot—I will not let you go!”                      

She placed her hands on either side of his breakaway shirtfront, and ripped it wide open, sending buttons flying.                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Her hands made their way inside his shirt and around to his back, where she lightly dug her fingernails in while pressing herself against his chest. Rob reflectively closed his eyes and moaned slightly. Sara slid her hands around to his chest, gliding them up around the back of his neck. She jumped from the box and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.                                       

His hands automatically grabbed her thighs, and his fingers, suddenly with a mind of their own, began to work their way up to her buttocks, giving it a squeeze. She kissed her way up the side of his neck. 

“I will surely die without you,” she sighed, her lips near his ear.                                              

She unwound her legs from around him and stepped lightly onto the apple box, then took his face between her hands and stared intently into his dark eyes.

 “You are my life,” she pleaded. For a long moment, they stood locked in that embrace, their lips almost touching. 

But, instead of the climatic kiss, Sara abruptly turned to her mesmerized audience, stepped down from the box and glared at Alana. 

“That's exactly the way I want you to do the scene!” She picked up her clipboard and retrieved her glasses and baseball cap. “Twenty-minute break while we reset,” she said, as she walked off the sound stage to her location trailer’s bathroom.

She stared, wide-eyed, at her flushed reflection in the mirror, waiting for her breathing to ease and the pounding of her heart to subside. 

“Oh my God,” she whispered. She splashed cold water on her face, and then grabbed the hand towel to pat it dry. She hadn’t been that turned on by a man in—well, ever!                                                                                                                                                                                            

His beautiful brown eyes, his soft silky hair, his hard-muscled bare chest, and the most inviting lips—

 “Are you out of your flippin mind!?” she said aloud to her reflection. Exhaling out a deep “cleansing” breath, she picked up her tinted glasses, wiped them off, and set them in place on her face once more. Her heart was racing as she eyed the door, praying Carol would be too pre-occupied, to come bursting into Sara’s trailer, demanding details of what it felt like to rub up against Rob’s sexy, muscular body. That’s the last thing I need, Carol, seeing my face three shades of pink—I would NEVER hear the end of it!                                                                                                      

She took another deep breath and released it in a long shuddering sigh, glanced at her watch and realized that she hadn’t noticed the time when she ordered the 20-minute break.

“What the hell, they can’t start without me. She gave herself another 10 minutes.

Back on the set, a flabbergasted silence reigned until Carol said;

“Okay, where’s the new shirt for Rob? And someone bring me a glass of ice water—to pour over my head.” She waved her hand in a fanning motion. Oh my God, she thought, if we use that take, we’ll definitely bring home the Oscar.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Carol’s eyes focused toward the snack tables. At least a dozen members of the cast and crew grabbed a bottle of ice-cold water. Some just grabbed for the ice to rub on the back of their necks. Everyone was definitely wide awake now, and anxious to resume filming.

“Well, that’s one way to get their undivided attention—SEX!” Carol shook her head and laughed.

Only Rob and Alana remained transfixed, Rob attempting to regain his composure, Alana wondering if she had the nerve to match the performance she had just witnessed. Shane, from wardrobe, walked by Rob and flung a new dress shirt at him.

“Here you go, buddy, I feel your pain,” he remarked with a grin.                                                   

Rob awkwardly clutched it to his chest, and swallowing hard, managed to squeak out a

“thanks.” 

If that was acting, it sure as hell was R-rated, Alana, told herself, grimly. A few less clothes and we’re talking porn!  Carol noticed Alana’s apprehension, as she was walking past her.

“Just do what she told you to do, Alana, and you’ll be fine.”She patted Alana on the shoulder. “Trust me, the men in this town will be knocking downyour door after they get wind of that scene.” Carol smiled to herself. “And that, myfriends, is why they pay Gibson the big bucks. I’m going out for a smoke,” said Carol. “Maybe two.”

About twenty minutes later, a fully composed Sara walked back onto the set, glasses in place, hair once again tucked under her cap. She opened her script to the scene, dropped into her director’s chair and called out;

 “Places everyone.” Then, when actors and crew had moved into position, she shouted. “Quiet on the set!”                                                                                                                     

Everyone fell silent,  and she began the call and response that has characterized movie making for eight decades.

“Roll sound!”                                                                                                  

 “Sound rolling,” replied the technician hunched over the Nagra recorder.                                         “Roll camera!’                                                                                                                        “Camera rolling.”                                                                                                                                                                                       

A technician stepped into the shot, held up the clapboard and announced

“Scene 44, take 18!” He snapped the hinged wooden bar shut, and he scampered out of the scene.                                                                                                                              “Action!” commanded Sara.                                                                                                                                                                           

It only took one take, after her “hands-on” example, to get it perfect, and perfect was the only acceptable way as long as she was the director.

 * *  *

Rob woke up earlier than usual the following morning, still obsessed with the memory of Sara, with her legs wrapped around him, and her body pressed against his chest.                                                             He slipped on his sweats and tee shirt, grabbed his MP3 player and ear buds, and departed out the door.

With the music of one of his running mixes blaring and his long legs driving, it seemed to be working. His anxiety was starting to fade away. He threw a few air punches and lengthened his stride a bit. Yeah, this was just what I needed.

Then the opening bars of the old Shondells song, Crimson and Clover, began and his mood deflated at the first line of the lyrics: . . . I don’t hardly know her, but I think I could love her.                                                                                        

His pace dropped to a jog as his mind drifted back to yesterday . . . and that intimate scene they shared. I know she felt something between us too! The way her eyes penetrated mine, and—

"What am I saying??—she was ACTING out a scene you idiot!” He scolded himself. “Why would a powerful, beautiful woman like Sara Gibson have any interest in ME?”

But before Rob could punish himself further, his legs came to an abrupt stop.

“Holy Christ!” He whispered. There she was—in the woods—alone, and in a very sexy pale blue leotard.                                                 

He quietly pulled the branch back so he could get a better look. She moved like a creature of beauty. Each movement flowed into the next, as she glided from warrior pose to mountain pose. The rays from the sun that peaked through the clouds wrapped a heavenly glow around her.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 A part of him felt like an intruder, but he couldn't break himself away from admiring every inch of her. My minds such a sweet thing. I wanna do ever-y-thing. Crimson and Clover. . . The music continued through his earphones, but the only thing his mind could comprehend was—her.

“Hey man, what's up?” Phil said, as he and three other cast members jogged by on the path Rob was standing on. Caught completely off guard, he whirled around so fast that when he let go of the branch, it smacked him right in the forehead.                                                                                                                   

The guys continued along completely oblivious to his ordeal. 

“Hey, when you're finished with your walk, meet us for breakfast at our usual table,” Phil said, hollering back over his shoulder, as he continued to jog. 

“Yeah sure—sounds good,” yelled Rob in their direction, trying to sound normal. “Christ!” He said in a whisper. He was positive she had heard their loud conversation. “Now she’ll know I was watching her like some freaking stalker!”                                                                                                                          

He prepared himself for the worst embarrassment ever. He exhaled deeply and pulled the tree branch aside as he took a step in her direction. I'll just explain that I was walking by and— he immediately stopped. Her back was facing him but he could see that she had earphones on. 

“Thank God!” he gasped. She hadn't heard him after all. His heart was pounding through his chest as he quietly, but very quickly, got the hell out of there.

From the other side of the clearing, Leo, Sara's bodyguard, limo driver, and very dear friend, looked back down at his newspaper. He shook his head and smiled.

 “Amateur,” he said quietly as he took a sip of his coffee and set it back down on the little picnic table.                                           

Leo was in his late forties, with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He stood about six foot three. His muscular stocky frame was proof enough as to why he had been a bouncer for the past fifteen years. He looked down at his watch. Sara would be finished with her yoga in about ten minutes, he thought, and then it’s off to breakfast.

                                          *    *    *    

Sara walked up to the buffet table to grab her usual bagel and coffee. She looked over at Rob who was also getting his breakfast.

 “You know your forehead's bleeding?” She tried her best not to stare into his sexy brown eyes. Picking up her notes, she continued on her way. Rob touched his forehead and looked at his fingers. 

“Shit,” he whispered. He grabbed a napkin and made his way to where Phil and Joe were sitting.                                                                                                                                                 

Rob met the two cast members on their flight to Hawaii. Phil was about six feet tall, medium built, had green eyes and dark blonde hair. He was the type of person who calmly reasoned things out, and then gave good sound advice. Joe was quite the opposite. He blurted, and then thought, which usually got him in trouble, or punched. He had light brown hair and blue eyes. He was husky in stature, and stood about five foot six, and that was when he stood up very straight.

Joe was busy woofing down his bacon and eggs. Phil, on the other hand, gave Rob a slight frown with a half-smile but said nothing as he watched his friend press the napkin to his forehead. Joe happened to look up, and with eggs hanging out of his mouth he muttered,

 “Hey, man, what happened to your—?”

“Nothing happened!” Rob immediately shot back. “Just eat your damn breakfast!”

Rob quickly looked over at Phil, who now had both eyebrows raised up in question. “What?!” Rob shouted, while dabbing his forehead once more with the napkin. 

“Um, nothing,” answered Phil. He tried to wipe the smirk from his face as he cleared his throat and continued to eat.

                                       *    *    *    

The cast and crew put in fourteen-hour workdays for the remainder of the week. Sara knew they were exhausted and more than ready for the four-day weekend she had promised them. She began packing her clipboard and her director’s notes into her black leather case.

“Okay everyone; enjoy your four-day weekend—you’ve all earned it. We’ll meet back here Tuesday morning, 7a.m. sharp, and then drive to the Kilauea sight for the volcano scene.” Cheering and applause echoed throughout the cast and crew.

“Sara, are you sure you don’t want me to go with you tomorrow?”

 “No, Carol, take this time to be with—what’s his name again?”

“Akamu,” Carol said, as a grin began to form across her face.

“Akamu. Right. Anyway, I’ll be fine. I’ll get a ride up to the volcano sight in the morning with Peleke, survey the scene, take some video and camera shots, and be back at the hotel before evening. That’ll give me a few days to hang out and do nothing.”

“Ha! You do nothing. Now that’s something I would love to see. You haven’t taken two minutes off since we began filming to explore this beautiful island and all of its fringe benefits.”  

“And what number is this fringe benefit?” Sara said, unable to hide her amusement.               

Carol laughed, and then thought for a moment as she began counting on her fingers.

 “Oh my God, seriously?” Sara questioned, as a small snicker escaped her mouth, and then she quickly cleared her throat and changed the subject. “I need those rewrites I left in your trailer today.”  

“Okay, I’ll go grab ‘em now,” said Carol.  “Just promise me you’ll do something adventurous during the next four days.” 

“Yeah, sure” Sara said, but her attention was already focused back on her directors’ notes.    Carol began walking back to her trailer, shaking her head.                                                                                   

“Like I have time for fringe benefits,” Sara mumbled under her breath.  

“So, miss Gibson, what will you be doing with your four days off?” Sara looked up to see Rob Donavan staring down at her. Her mind went blank, as her thoughts got lost in his beautiful brown eyes.                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

The papers she was packing into her leather case slipped out of her hand and spilled on to the ground. She quickly looked down, embarrassed for becoming so easily distracted by his presence.  

“Shoot,” she said with a groan as she began to pick them up.                                                              

Rob bent down to give her a hand.

 “Hmm. . .déjà vu. . .huh?” Sara ignored his comment. As they reached for the same paper, they bumped heads. 

 “Ouch” she said, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh. 

“Wow, you have a great smile. You should show it more often.” Her friendly expression quickly vanished. 

 “I’m sorry about your head—” he quickly added.

“I’m fine, Mr. Donavan.” 

 “It’s Rob.”                                                                                                                                                

There was that electrifying smile again. Sara opened her mouth to speak, but Rob, knew her response would surely go something like; ‘I told you, Mr. Donavan, I prefer to keep things on a professional level.’ Heswiftly asked once more;

“You never answered me,” he kindly said, as he handed her the papers he picked up off the ground.

 “Well unfortunately, Mr. Donavan, some of us have to work.” 

“Oh, I see,” he said, trying not to sound as disappointed as he felt. 

“Um, thanks for your help,” Sara said, “I really have to get going, I’ve got an early start in the morning.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

Sara stuffed the last of her papers into her bag and quickly made her way back to her location trailer, leaving Rob with a dismal look on his face as he watched her walk away.

“Hmm, what was that about?” Carol asked, handing her the rewrites.                                    “What was what about?” Sara flipped through them while she continued to walk to her trailer.

 “Now that’s one fine looking young man,” said Carol, “mm,mm,mm,” she added.

“Young,” being the opportune word, besides the fact that he’s barely legal, you know I don’t get involved with anyone from the cast in that way. My unbreakable rule from day one. Remember?” Sara said matter-of-factly, as she opened her trailer door.  

“He’s twenty-six, and some rules are meant to be broken,” Carol said, with a mischievous grin. 

 “Not my rules.” She gave Carol the raised eyebrow as she shook her head. “Good night, Carol.”   “Okay, Gibson. You win. Good night.”  

Carol knew it was no use saying anything more about it. In the ten years they had worked together, Sara never broke that rule.

 “Catholic guilt,” Carol muttered, unable to resist one more playful dig as she walked away.

 “Hey, I heard that,” Sara said in a lighthearted tone. 

“Good,” Carol teased.  “You were supposed to.”  Sara rolled her eyes, but a smile graced her lips. She went inside and shut her door.

Carol had been her colleague since their college days together, but when it came to their views on casual sex, they were polar opposites. Carol was five foot five, with a medium build, had bright green eyes, and fiery red hair to her shoulders. She had the kind of outgoing personality that could either cause you to laugh or cringe. She always made a point to say what was on her mind, appropriate or not had nothing to do with it.

Sara set her bag down on the coffee table, pulled out the rewrites, and walked over to the fax. She wanted to get them sent to Jarrod before her shower. Huge Hollywood producer, Jarrod McKaine, specifically wanted Sara to direct Hawaii Noir, and no one said “no” to Jarrod McKaine, if they wanted to continue working in Hollywood.               

Sara had known Jarrod and his wife Ella for more than ten years. He discovered her a few years out of college, when she was working in a little bar called “Mel’s,” during most evenings, and working with Carol, most days. They had formed a small company called Gib-Mar Productions, where they directed as many commercials as they could get their hands on. Jarrod had caught wind of her talent, and wasn’t about to let her get away.                                                                           

Through the years, Jarrod was not only her boss, but he had become like a second father to her. She was his number one director; and like a daughter to him.

After sending the last paper, she undressed and turned on the shower. The steaming water felt refreshing after her fourteen-hour workday. She closed her eyes. Her mind began to drift to the first time she met the handsome Rob Donavan. . ..

She was running late that day for the casting of “Derrick,” the main character in Jarrod’s movie, Hawaii Noir. When the elevator doors opened and she ran out, she smacked directly into Rob. When they collided, she fell to the marble floor, with him landing on top of her. Before her head hit the hard surface, he quickly placed his hand under it.                                                                                    

She found herself staring into the most captivating brown eyes she had ever seen. This gorgeous man’s mouth was just inches from her lips. She could feel the warmth of his body, which was pressing down on her, and he smelled fabulous. 

“Oh my god, are you alright?” he asked, as he quickly moved off her and gently helped her to her knees.

“Yes—I’m fine—I’m sorry I wasn’t watching—”

Sara stopped talking when she looked down at her papers, which were in disarray on the floor. A frown developed between her brows. 

“Here let me help you, by the way, I’m Rob Donavan.” This seemingly perfect man politely held out his hand for Sara to shake. She looked at his outstretched hand and immediately up to his sexy brown eyes. She couldn’t help but smile as she extended her arm out to meet his. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Rob Donavan.”                                                                                                           “I’m actually kind of lost,” he said as he helped her gather up her scattered papers. “I’m here on a casting call for a movie called; Hawaii Noir. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”                                                                                                                                                                                                 

He flashed his perfect smile. Sara’s mouth began to drop open. 

“Um, as a matter of fact I do. You’ll need to go down that hall, third door on your left.”

“Wow, thanks! Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked once more, taking her hand to help her stand. 

“Yes, I’m fine, that was pretty quick thinking on your part, thank you,” she said touching the back of her head with her hand.  

“Naw, it was nothing” he replied. 

Wow, humble too, she thought.

“Well, I better get going. I heard this director is a real stickler for time—what did you say your name was?”

“Um, Sara Gibson,” she answered, nearly forgetting her own name. She found herself completely charmed by his demeanor. 

“Well, nice to meet you, Sara Gibson.”                                                                                                                                                        

He dazzled her with his pearly whites once more before he turned and began walking down the hall. He quickly turned back around to face her.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.” She hadn’t moved a muscle; she was still standing in the middle of the floor, staring in his direction. Giving her one last memorable stare, he turned back around and continued down the hall.

“You have no idea how soon that day will be,” she said in a quiet voice, as she watched him knock first, and then respectfully walk into the audition room.                                                 

He seemed perfect for the part of “Derrick,” Right height, ideal built, not too big, not too small, an electric personality, and he was gorgeous to boot.

“But let’s see if you can act, Mr. Donavan . . .”

Sara turned the water off and stood there dripping wet. She had recognized his extraordinary acting abilities the moment he began reading for the part of “Derrick” that day. Keeping him on a professional level was the only way—her only way. Gossip spreads fast in the public eye.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Besides, she would never risk a scandalous affair, especially if it could have an outcome, anywhere close to “The Mr. Slater” incident. That night had been a torturous memory for her ever since she was a little girl, awakened by desperate sounds of weeping, in the middle of the night.

Sara pushed that recollection away and returned her thoughts back to Rob. The fact that he had a killer smile, was sexy beyond belief, and had the most alluring brown eyes she had ever seen, wouldn’t be a problem.

“I’m thirty-one—way too old for him. Nope, it’s not a big deal,” she said shaking her head back and forth, although, convincing herself of that seemed to be a losing battle. She bit down on her lower lip and let out a heavy sigh.

 “Maybe it’s time for a cold shower,” she said, running her hands through her soaked hair.