Temptation's Kiss. Janice Sims
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Before she had left after auditioning for the casting director, he had given her the script. At the time, Patrice had thought it odd that one of the producers would discreetly give her a script, but now she understood that Mark had seen something in her that he had liked that day. That’s why he had given it to her.
She smiled at Mark. “Mark gave me a copy. It’s a wonderful story.”
“Did you know it’s loosely based on the life and times of a real black lawman?”
She did. She had researched Frontier Marshal Bass Reeves after reading the script.
“I found a couple of books online about him,” she told him. She smiled at T.K. “You look kind of like him. However, he was only six-two, and he had a handlebar mustache.”
T.K. looked over at Mark and grinned. “She’s done her homework.”
“What made you want to tell the story of Bass Reeves?” she asked both of them.
Mark deferred to T.K. T.K. leaned back in his chair before beginning, thinking he was crowding Patrice and she might get skittish again if he didn’t back off a little. He found himself naturally drawn to the attractive actress. She had the kind of rich brown skin with red undertones that he loved. Her sooty black hair was healthy-looking and shone like a raven’s wing. Her dark, wide-spaced eyes were beautiful. He tried not to look at those full red lips because he kept getting an image of them kissing whenever he did. He didn’t know if the fact that she had grown up on a ranch made him see her as a natural beauty or if it was simply that she appeared so fresh to him. She fairly glowed, and unlike some actresses who knew their effect on males, she appeared quite unaware of her sex appeal. If she were aware, she would be looking him straight in the eyes with a confident expression in her own. She found it difficult looking into his eyes for any length of time, and she was blushing like crazy. He decided that Patrice Sutton was a very sweet, unaffected girl. He hoped she stayed that way.
“It’s a piece of the American West that has been sorely neglected,” he said of wanting to tell Bass Reeves’s story. “We’ve had movies about Wyatt Earp, ‘Wild Bill’ Hickok, but nothing about Reeves, who was just as big a legend as those men. He was good with a gun. He tracked down and arrested countless outlaws and killed fourteen of them in fair gunfights.”
“Where does the character I read for, Bella Donna, come in? Was she a real person, too?”
“I’m afraid not,” T.K. told her. “Not much was writ ten about his relationship with women.”
“The scriptwriter made her up at our request,” Mark told her. “We thought the lawman should have a noble love.”
“So the writer made her a prostitute?” said Patrice incredulously. She couldn’t help it. If Bella Donna was a fictional character, the writer could have made her a schoolteacher.
“Prostitutes were prevalent in those days,” T.K. said unapologetically. “Because women were so scarce in some areas, oftentimes those were the only kind of women a man saw for years. Think of the lack of opportunities women had back then. Bella Donna might be a prostitute, but she’s also loving and extremely tough. She’s a worthy mate for the marshal.”
“Aren’t you afraid of what the NAACP is going to say about your film? It’s wonderful to remind moviegoers of a great man in history, a great black man, but to pair him with a prostitute? Some people are going to be upset about that.”
T.K. smiled. “A film that doesn’t cause controversy doesn’t cause a stir in the minds of moviegoers. It’ll be good for box-office receipts.”
Patrice nodded in agreement. He was a shrewd businessman as well as a fine actor. “All right, I understand your reasoning.”
“Does that mean you want to work with us?” T.K. asked hopefully.
Patrice’s stomach muscles tightened in panic. Was he actually offering her the role of a lifetime? She looked into his eyes. T.K. smiled. “Sounds tempting,” she said, appearing perfectly calm when she was a quivering bowl of jelly inside. “Let me sleep on it and get back to you tomorrow.”
Blanca had instructed her to never accept a first offer. “You don’t want to appear desperate, chica,” was Blanca’s advice.
“Fair enough,” said T.K. He got to his feet. Mark rose, too. Patrice didn’t move for a moment. The shock of being offered the role had rendered her legs momentarily weak.
She took a deep breath and got to her feet. Offering T.K. her hand, she said, “My sister is going to scream in my ear when I tell her I met you. She adores you.”
T.K. took her hand and covered it with his other one. “Tell her it was I who was impressed with her sister.”
Patrice’s heartbeat doubled when he said that even though she knew he was just being nice. She supposed a man like T. K. McKenna had had plenty of practice charming women. Of course, a star of his stature didn’t have to put forth much effort to entice women. They were probably throwing themselves at him on a daily basis.
“She’s family,” Patrice joked. “She’ll never believe it.”
T.K. laughed. Yes, he was well aware of how truly unimpressed family members could be about your success as an actor. To millions of people, you were an idol. But to your family, you were just the boy who slept with a teddy bear until you were nine.
Family knew where all your skeletons were buried. Heck, they’d helped you bury them.
The three of them walked to the door.
“Thanks for coming, Patrice,” Mark said, smiling warmly. “I hope you decide to sign on. We’re not that bad to work with. As one of the producers, you’ll rarely see me on the set, and T.K. is reportedly now a dream to work with since I convinced him to quit doing the Tarzan yell every time he got a scene right. That was very unsettling.”
“It was also bad for the voice,” T.K. said, playing along.
Patrice laughed. “You guys are crazy.” She reached into her bag and retrieved her cell phone.
“Uh-oh,” said Mark. “We’re so boring she’s going to make a phone call right in the middle of a conversation.”
“I’m phoning for a cab,” she explained. “Hopefully it’ll get here not too long after I get downstairs.”
“A cab?” said T.K. “You don’t drive?”
“Of course I drive,” Patrice explained. “However, my car is in Albuquerque.” She told them how her car happened to be in New Mexico while she was in California.
“Since you went to so much trouble to be here today, the least I can do is give you a lift home,” T.K. gallantly offered.
“That’s very nice of you, but I don’t want you to go out of your way,” Patrice said hurriedly. Here she was about to get out of his presence so that her heart rate could return to some semblance of normal, and he was suggesting they spend more time together?
“How do you know it’s out of my way?” T.K. asked reasonably. “I don’t even know where you live.” He peered down at her with a concerned expression.
“Beverly Hills,” Patrice told him. “Well, not in one of the pricier neighborhoods. I live in a nice bungalow south of Santa Monica Boulevard.”
“That’s not out of my way,” T.K. insisted.
“All right, if you’re sure,” Patrice said reluctantly.
They were in the outer office now. Calvin looked expectantly at Patrice. She smiled at him. “Goodbye, Calvin. It was nice meeting you.”
Beaming with pleasure, he quickly crossed the room and shook her hand again. “It was my pleasure, Ms. Sutton. Please come again soon.”
Mark’s hand was on the small of Patrice’s back, ushering her from the outer office and into T.K.’s capable hands.