Chapter 35: CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Benita Corovelli couldn’t keep her hands off Cal Torrence. Those hands, those long slender fingers caressed every inch of his body. Both naked, hidden in Cal’s room. If Creighton caught them again it would mean the end of their careers, maybe the end of something much more important. But the power of love, or perhaps lust overwhelmed them, and they took chances.

Too many chances, Cal thought. He pushed her away. “We can’t go on like this.”

She fell backward on the bed. “Don’t say that, Cal.”

“We’re in the next scene,” he said. “He’s going to miss us.”

“You don’t love me.” Dejectedly.

“Of course I love you, but...” He cupped her chin in a strong, tanned hand. “We have to finish this picture, and we have to do it like there’s nothing going on between us. Once this film is done, we’re out of here. We’ll go wherever you want to go. Europe, Asia, Africa... We’ll be together forever.”

“Are you asking to marry me?”

“Not yet. That would be too soon, too sudden.”

They left the house one at a time, making sure a few minutes elapsed between each departure. Benita went left, ten minutes later Cal walked out, headed right. They agreed they wouldn’t look at each other, speak to each other, unless it had something to do with the film.

Clarence Fenwick stood with the script in his hand. Benita didn’t know why Creighton had chosen him to replace Bill Tallard. If her acting left a lot to be desired, Fenwick’s was nothing to write home about. Every time he was in a scene it had to be shot five, six times before Creighton was satisfied with it. Even that whistling dragon did a better job in this film, even if it meant just flying around up there.

“Creighton’s been looking for you,” Fenwick said. “You and Cal.” He ran the names together as if they were joined at the hip. Youncal.

“I’m here.”

“Are you and Cal...?”

“Fucking? Like a pair of horny goats.” She laughed. “Cal loves me, and he is going to take me away once this film is done. Don’t tell Creighton.” She raised a finger to her lips.

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“None of my business,” he said. “I don’t care if you get laid by every guy on this set.”

“You don’t like me, do you?”

“No.”

“Fair enough. I don’t like you either, Fenwick. Your acting stinks.”

“I know that too.” Voice harsh. “I’ve told Creighton I don’t want to be in this movie.”

Creighton appeared around the corner of the building. “Where the hell have you been, Benita?” Fire in his eyes.

“I’ve been freshening up,” she said.

He regarded her from head to toe. “You didn’t do a good job, Benita.” He grabbed her wrist. “I know what you and Cal Torrence are doing.” He held her tight, covered her lips with his. “I want you to remember this: No one takes my girl from me, do you understand? You’re mine. I made you, and I can break you. I want you to stay away from Cal Torrence, or...”

“Or what? Don’t threaten me, Mr. Bigshot Director.” She tore herself loose, stepped away from him. “I quit. You can find yourself another lead actress. Non sei altro che uno stronzo, quindi fanculo.” She displayed the middle finger in front of his face.

“If you walk away from this, I’ll make sure you’ll never work again.”

She faced him, hands clenched. “Fine. Someday I’ll be more famous than you’ll ever be, Mr. Hotshot. At least Cal has some balls, and he knows how to use them. A differenza del tuo vecchio sacco rugoso.”

He slapped her with the back of his hand. “You listen to me, you little bitch. I want you out of this village right now. I don’t give a rat’s ass where you go, but I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Figlio di puttana.”

He ignored her. “There’s a plane on the runway,” he said. “You can stay there, and maybe General Wittenbrg will fly you back to Los Angeles… or better yet, Italy.”

“Vorrei che fossi morto.” The tears threatened to spill. 

Creighton turned and walked away. He didn’t know what she had said, didn’t care.

She opened her mouth, wanted to yell something else, but gave up when Creighton walked out of shouting range.

“He doesn’t have a leading actress now,” Fenwick said.

“Do you think I care. He’s a… mostro… monster.” She sighed. “Maybe my career will be better in Italy. I won’t have to worry about speaking English. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’ll ask General Wittenberg to take me home.”

“You want to show him how serious you are about acting?”

“Si.”

“First, lose the accent. You’ve been in the U.S. long enough, haven’t you? You should be talking like an American. Second, change your name to something American. Third, start with small parts, even walk-ons, bit parts. Play the victim who gets killed at the beginning of the movie, the waitress who takes the orders, the bank teller, then move to bigger parts. You can’t walk unless you crawl first.”

“And all this from a special effects man who is now acting?”

“Just a bit of advice.”

“Benita Carson.”

“What?”

“Benita Carson. Name change.”

“No. Lose the Benita. Barbara.”

“I was thinking of that earlier. Barbara Corville.”

“It has… potential.”

“Barbara Stanwyck is one of my favorite actresses. I used to watch… La Grande Vallata when I was young.”

“The Big Valley.”

“Si… yes. She was so good in that…”

“Why are we talking about this now?” he interrupted. “Right now, you’re still Benita Corovelli.”

“All right,” she said, “but I’m hoping something will happen soon.” 

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