Jake reappeared in costume. As Johnny Guy began outlining the scene, Jake interrupted. “I thought we decided to cut most of this. We already know she can’t handle it. Let’s not waste any more time.”

Johnny Guy didn’t let her respond. “The little lady says she wants to give it a try.” He turned toward the crew. “Showtime, boys and girls. Let’s get to work.”

The cameras rolled. Jake glowered at her from across the tiny bedroom. She grinned at him, her hands going to her buttons. He was too cocky, and she was going to show him. She stepped out of the dress without taking her eyes from his. They had secrets now, the two of them. He was funny and maddening and dear, and she loved him with all her heart. He had to feel the same-at least a little bit-or he could never have made such sweet love to her.

Please love me. Just a little.

She unfastened her bra. Jake scowled and stepped off his mark. “Cut it!”

“Goddamn it, Jako, I’m the one who calls ‘cut’! She was doing great. What’s wrong with you?” Johnny Guy slapped his leg. “Nobody calls ‘cut’ except me! Nobody!” The tirade went on, and Jake grew more sullen. Finally he complained that a chair had been moved out of position. Johnny Guy nearly hit him.

“It’s okay,” she said to the director, feeling very much like a woman in control. “I’m ready to go again.”

The cameras rolled. Jake’s face was a thundercloud. The bra came off. She unfastened it slowly, tantalizing him, torturing him with her delicious, newfound power. Bending over, she pulled off her panties and walked over to him.

His body was rigid as she unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hands inside. She touched the spot she’d kissed just that morning. She pushed her hips against his, and then did something that hadn’t been rehearsed. She leaned forward and flicked her tongue over one of his nipples.

“Cut and print!” Johnny Guy yelled, jumping around like a jubilant jack-in-the-box. “Beautiful, honey lamb! Just beautiful!”

Jake scowled, grabbed the white terry-cloth robe from the wardrobe girl, and shoved Fleur into it.

During a break, she sought out Lynn. Since she didn’t want her to know she’d gone to Jake’s house, she couldn’t come out and ask her directly if she’d sent the note, so she had to poke around. But Lynn refused to take the bait. Sooner or later, Fleur vowed, she’d weasel the truth out of her.

Things went well for the rest of the morning, and by late afternoon they’d reshot all the material from Friday and begun shooting the two of them in bed. Johnny Guy captured everything-Matt’s tension, his guilt, the anguish simmering just beneath the surface…and Lizzie’s relentless seduction. Jake barely talked to her unless the cameras were rolling, but it was an intense scene, and they both needed to stay focused.

As soon as they wrapped for the day, he disappeared. Neither of them had gotten much sleep for the past two nights, and she told herself he was tired. But as the next few days passed and he continued to keep his distance, she ran out of comforting excuses. He was avoiding her.

The weekend came and went, and her hopes that he’d call her turned to misery. Monday morning arrived, and she thought about forcing a confrontation, but she was too afraid she’d end up begging him to love her, and she couldn’t bear that. Jake was telling her loud and clear not to place any significance on what had happened between them in Morro Bay.

Instead of days, she began counting the hours until she was done. Thursday was her last day on the set. She moved mechanically through her scene with Lynn, did some close-ups, and went home in despair.

“Did Jake say anything to you about Johnny Guy’s party this weekend?” Belinda asked over dinner that evening. “Surely he’s planning to attend.”

“I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.” Fleur would never talk to Belinda about her feelings for Jake, and she excused herself from the table.

Johnny Guy’s wife, Marcella, was one of Hollywood’s favorite hostesses, and she’d invited everyone who was anyone to the party she was throwing to celebrate the completion of Sunday Morning Eclipse. Fleur was a slow learner. Right up until the last minute, she’d entertained the frail hope that Jake would ask her to go with him. Instead she ended up going with Belinda.

Marcella had filled the Kellys’ Brentwood home with flowers, candles, and music. Fleur knew the only way she could get through the night with any kind of dignity was by playing the Glitter Baby, and she wore an ecru silk gown with shimmering horizontal stripes of mocha, beige, and terra-cotta. The tubular dress had a subtle Egyptian feeling that she’d emphasized with matching gold cuff bracelets and flat sandals that had a jeweled clasp at the instep. She’d braided her hair wet and brushed it out after it had dried so it fell down her back in a cascade of tiny waves. Marcella Kelly told her she looked like a blond Cleopatra.

Marcella was as sophisticated as Johnny Guy was homespun. While he walked around with a can of Orange Crush and a Cuban cigar, she encouraged her guest to try the hors d’oeuvres-salmon cured in tequila, canapés decorated with edible cactus leaves, and tiny beignets stuffed with hydroponically grown vegetables.

Fleur studied the crowd over the top of Dick Spano’s head, but Jake was nowhere to be seen. Belinda had wedged Kirk Douglas into a corner. The actor, who had a slightly bemused expression, was undoubtedly being bombarded with the history of every film he’d made, some of which he’d probably just as soon forget. Fleur sipped her drink and pretended to listen to the male rising star who’d popped up at her side. Outside, she heard a clap of thunder. Then the crowd shifted, and she spotted Jake.

He’d arrived with Lynn and the documentary filmmaker who was Lynn’s latest lover. Fleur’s heart constricted. Marcella Kelly swooped down on him and began leading him through her guests, a prize catch put on display. Fleur couldn’t endure it. She excused herself from the rising star and locked herself in the bathroom, where she leaned back against the door and told herself-no matter what-she’d hold on to her pride tonight. He was going to remember her dressed like Cleopatra with a Hollywood heartthrob dancing attendance at her side.

Finally she made herself leave the bathroom and slip back into the crowd. Rain had begun tapping on the mullioned windows. She looked around and saw that Jake had disappeared. Moments later, she realized Belinda was nowhere to be seen, either.

It could have been coincidence, but she knew her mother too well, and she immediately felt uneasy. I only do what’s best for you, baby. What if Belinda had figured out how Fleur felt and decided to interfere? Just the thought of it made Fleur shudder.

She began to search for her, weaving through the guests as she moved from room to room while an invisible conversation played out in her head. Just give her a chance, Jake, and I know you’ll fall in love with her the same way she’s fallen for you. The two of you are a perfect match.

Fleur would never forgive her.

When her downstairs search came up empty, she slipped upstairs, and though she managed an embarrassing intrusion on Lynn and her lover, she couldn’t find her mother. Just as she was getting ready to return downstairs, however, she heard noises coming from Marcella Kelly’s bedroom. She peeked in.

“There’s nothing more to talk about. Let’s go back to the party.”

It was Jake’s voice. With her heart in her throat, Fleur slipped into the bedroom.

“Two more minutes for old time’s sake,” Belinda said. “Remember how much fun we had together in that awful motel in Iowa? I’ll never forget that morning.”

The intimate note in Belinda’s voice caught Fleur by surprise. As she took another step into the room, their reflections jumped out at her from a floor-length antique mirror, Belinda in shrimp-pink Karl Lagerfeld and Jake wearing a jacket that looked almost respectable. They stood in some kind of dressing alcove. He crossed his arms over his chest. Belinda reached out and touched him. The soft, terrible expression on her face made Fleur’s mouth go dry.

“It must be your mission in life to break the hearts of the Savagar women,” she said. “I understand a rebel spirit, and I knew from the beginning that I wasn’t special enough for you. But Fleur is. Don’t you see that? The two of you belong together, and you’re breaking her heart.”

Fleur dug her fingernails into her palms.

Jake pulled away from her. “Don’t do this.”

“I sent her to you!” she exclaimed. “I sent her to you, and now you’re violating my trust.”

“Trust! You sent her to me to save five minutes of film that you didn’t want to end up on the cutting room floor. Five minutes of your precious Glitter Baby’s career. Fuck my daughter, Koranda, so Baby can save her career. That’s what you told me.”

Fleur’s stomach pitched.

“Don’t be so sanctimonious,” Belinda hissed. “I saved your picture.”

“The picture wasn’t in that much danger.”

“That’s not how it looked to me. I did what I had to.”

“Yeah, right. You dropped your daughter on my doorstep for Mommy’s magic bedroom cure. Tell me something, Belinda. Is this going to be the pattern with you? Trying out your daughter’s lovers first? Auditioning them to make sure they meet your standards before you let them into Baby’s bed?”

The room reeled around her.

Jake’s contempt scorched the air. “What the hell kind of woman are you?”

“I’m a woman who loves her daughter.”

“Bullshit. You don’t even know your daughter. The only person you love is yourself.” He spun around and came face-to-face with Fleur’s reflection in the mirror.

Fleur couldn’t move. The pain in her chest twisted like some terrible beast, stealing her breath and turning the world black and ugly.