Danielle Steel - One Day at a Time

“Very pretty,” she commented, jotting that down too, and then turned back to Leslie, as a photographer took their picture with his arm around her. “So, Leslie, is it serious or what?” “What” being just another pretty face.

“Miss Barrington was kind enough to join me this evening, which is a huge imposition for any civilized person,” he said, flashing his dazzling smile at the reporter. “I don't think we need to destroy her reputation quite yet.” The reporter laughed at what he said, and it seemed to satisfy her for the moment.

“When do you leave for Venice?” she asked with interest.

“Next week.” He knew all the pat answers and how to fend off what he didn't want to address.

“Are you excited about working with Madison Allbright?”

“Extremely,” he said with an exaggerated look of delight, and the reporter laughed again. “I mean, look at the shirt she's wearing. All those rhinestones would dazzle any man, or blind them.” He looked serious then. “She's a wonderful actress, and I'm honored to be working with her. I'm sure she'll do a fantastic job.”

“Good luck with the film,” the reporter said, and moved on to someone else. She asked the same kinds of questions to everyone, as did half a dozen others who had been invited into the inner sanctum of the producer's home. They had been carefully chosen as to the publications that would do them the most good. Leslie whispered to Coco under his breath that it was a cattle show. A dozen photographers were there as well, taking pictures of everyone. They all got a turn with Leslie and Coco, they took some shots with her and others with him alone, and three of them wanted photographs of him and Madison. They cooperated fully with the press, and then the reporters and photographers were ushered out, and dinner was served at tables around the pool. There were orchids on every table and hundreds in the water. Leslie looked at her carefully when they sat down.

“Are you all right?” She had done a fantastic job with the press, just the right amount of pleasant and polite, a warm smile, and no information about anything but her dress. It was such a relief to be with someone who hadn't crawled all over him or kissed him, or draped herself on him like a snake, which most of the actresses he went out with did, to further their careers. She wasn't fighting him for the limelight or pretending a relationship they didn't have, although in their case they did. But she was so elegant and poised that you couldn't really tell if she was just a date for the evening, or something more. He was grateful for her discretion. And he could tell as he watched her that she had experienced this kind of thing before, and she did it well, better than she knew.

“I'm fine,” she said, smiling at him. It would have been a perfect evening without the press, but that couldn't be avoided. She had suspected they might be there but didn't dare to ask. She hadn't wanted to scare herself more than she already was.

“You were splendid,” he whispered, and then introduced her to everyone at their table, most of whom were actors in the film, and their significant others.

It was a beautiful evening, and they thanked the producer and his wife when they left. They were among the first to leave. Leslie had had enough, he had sung for his supper, and he could see that Coco was tired too.

There were four photographers waiting outside to take photographs of the guests as they left, and they leaped toward Leslie as he smiled at them and didn't flinch, and held Coco's hand. “What's her name?” one of them shouted at him.

“Cinderella!” Leslie answered. “Be careful or you'll turn into one of the mice,” he quipped as he slipped gracefully into the car and pulled Coco in beside him just as quickly. They closed the door and drove away, as Leslie heaved a sigh of relief and looked at her. “It may please you to know, my darling, that I hate those evenings too. They're a bloody lot of work. I feel like my face may fall off if I smile one more time.”

“You were fantastic,” she said, smiling proudly at him.

“So were you. Did you hate every minute of it?” he asked, looking concerned.

“No,” she said honestly. “In a weird way, it was fun. Though a little goes a long way. Madison is gorgeous,” she commented, trying not to look worried, but she was. She remembered everything her sister had said about him and his costars, and so did he.

“I think you're far more beautiful than she is. She looked vulgar in that shirt. And her new breasts are about four sizes too big. I swear they've doubled since I last saw her. You looked far prettier and more elegant than she did. I was very, very proud to be with you,” he said, and obviously meant it. “Thank you for putting up with it.”

“I loved being with you,” she said honestly. She hadn't even minded the press as much as she thought she would. “If it never gets any worse than that, I can deal with it.”

He looked unhappy to admit it to her, but he wanted to be honest. “It gets a lot worse than that. They were all on their best behavior tonight, or they would have been tossed out on their ears, or worse.” He smiled at her again, as they arrived at the hotel, and walked quickly back to their room in case one of the photographers had followed them, but no one did. He used bodyguards to accompany him at times, but not tonight. Everything about the evening had been well controlled and very tame.

Leslie took his jacket and shoes off and sprawled out on the couch, and then he remembered something the producer had given him, and fished it out of his pocket to show her. “I have the keys to the house in Malibu. We have it for the weekend,” he said victoriously, and tossed them on the table. It was Friday night, and he was planning to take her there in the morning whenever they woke up, hopefully not soon.

Coco took her dress off and hung it up, and followed him into the bedroom. The evening had been a success, and she had survived it. It was exciting being with him, and she had felt how proud he was of her. She was equally so of him. And a few minutes later they both slipped gratefully into bed. As nice as it had been, it had been exhausting for him, and even for her, and they were both glad it was over. Now they could play for the rest of the weekend. Leslie was so tired, he was asleep before she could turn off the light. She kissed his cheek gently, and he didn't even stir. He was dead to the world. It had been a long day for him.

They ordered room service the next morning when they woke up, and Leslie carefully perused the paper. Without comment, he handed it to her. It was there, a large photograph of them talking to Madison Allbright. Coco's name appeared below the photograph, but it made no further comment. It looked totally appropriate.

“Well done,” Leslie said, looking pleased.

Half an hour later they walked out of the hotel, and left for Malibu. They found the producer's house easily. The refrigerator had been stocked with everything they might need, and the house was spectacular, right on the beach in the Colony. Coco felt like Cinderella again. It was a fairy-tale life with him.

“It's not exactly Bolinas,” she commented with a grin. It was an enormous house, designed by a famous architect and decorator, everything was white and pale blue, and there was a gigantic four-poster bed in their room.

It was the perfect weekend. They walked on the beach, slept in comfortable chairs on the deck, played cards, watched movies, made love, and talked about a thousand things. It was exactly the break they needed, and he promised to come to Bolinas the following weekend. He was planning to leave for Venice from San Francisco. It was more complicated for him, but he wanted to be with her until he left.