Chapter 3

TILDA would have liked to have spent more time thinking about her discovery, but she was distracted by the man whose head was in her lap.

He was a dark-haired Italian stallion. Not that Tilda could identify his nationality just by looking at him. She’d been told about it when they first met, a few days before their first date. It was Nick Tolomeo, her ex-boyfriend. Not coincidentally, he was Dom’s son and favorite employee.

Now she knew why Dom had invited her to come along.

The blond man Tilda recognized as John Laryea said, “Did we lose him?”

“Dad, did we shake him?” Nick asked as he tried to untangle himself from Tilda.

Dom was looking behind them in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, we’re clear. By the time he gets to his car, we’ll be long gone.”

Laryea and the other members of his party sank back into their seats in relief, Nick finally got himself situated, and to give him credit, he looked as taken aback to see Tilda as she was to see him. After a moment of staring at each other, they both turned to glare at Dom, who was carefully not looking in their direction.

Then Nick lifted one eyebrow quizzically, and glanced at his father. Tilda and Nick had dated long enough for her to interpret his expressions. He’d had no idea she was going to be in the limo, but obviously his father was up to something. She shrugged in response, knowing he’d realize that she was just as much Dom’s hapless pawn as he was.

Then they both nodded, agreeing that it wasn’t the time to discuss it.

Out loud Tilda asked, “Who did we shake?”

“A stalker,” Nick said. “The guy was waiting by baggage claim, may have known we were coming.”

“What did he do?”

“He followed me into the john,” Laryea said indignantly, “and pulled out a camera while I was pissing!”

“Geez! Did he get a picture?”

“Nope,” Nick said. “I went in to let Mr. Laryea know we had the luggage and got the camera just in time. The guy started squawking, but I held on to it until Dad got Mr. Laryea away, and when he grabbed at it, it slipped into the toilet. It’ll still work if he got it out in time. Probably.”

“Excuse me,” a man Tilda didn’t know said, “but who are you?”

“Sorry,” Dom said from the front seat. “There hasn’t exactly been time to make introductions. John, this is Tilda Harper, the reporter I told you about. She’s going to be interviewing you during the drive to the Cape.”

Tilda offered the star her hand, which he took in a manly but sensitive grasp. Laryea was famous for manly yet sensitive roles, an everyman rising to the occasion when caught up in bigger events—a kind of low-grade Harrison Ford. In his last three pictures, he’d played a man whose wife and kids had been kidnapped by drug dealers, an accountant who unknowingly uncovered an international conspiracy, and a researcher who’d realized that his chemical discoveries were being misused by arms merchants. He’d risen to the occasions successfully enough that he was now counted on to open pictures.

“A pleasure,” Laryea said.

Nick took over the introductions. “This is Francis Foster, John’s personal assistant.”

Foster, a slight man with tight lips, took her hand in a much less impressive clasp, and said sharply, “The story about the restroom stalker is off the record.”

“No problem,” Tilda said. It was more of a tabloid story, anyway, which meant that she wasn’t professionally interested.

Nick went on. “This is Joni Langevoort, who is directing Pharos, and Edwina Hudson, who is producing.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Tilda said. Langevoort was an attractive blonde with a petite figure, blue eyes, and a friendly smile. Hudson was taller, darker, and, though she smiled, too, looked considerably more reserved. Tilda knew from her advance research that the pair made movies together. Langevoort was known to be the creative half of the team while Hudson was the practical one. Most of their previous work had been smaller films—well-reviewed with modest box office numbers—but casting Laryea to play Dylan O’Taine in the adaptation of the cult comic book Pharos could put them into the big leagues.

Nick continued in his role as host by making sure everybody was comfortable and then dispensing drinks all around. Tilda really wasn’t sure what had happened to her Dr Pepper in all the excitement, but turned down a replacement so she could have her hands free to take notes. As she pulled out her pad and tape recorder, Nick said, “Should we rearrange so that Mr. Laryea and Tilda are sitting closer?”

“I don’t know why this couldn’t wait until later,” Foster said with a sniff. “Mr. Laryea deserves a moment to relax.”

“If Mr. Laryea would prefer that, I’m fine with it,” Tilda said. She’d rather not conduct an interview as a spectator sport anyway.

But Laryea said, “No, this is perfect. It’s a long drive, and I can’t think of anything that would be more pleasant than chatting with a lovely young lady. And please, call me John.”

Joni and Edwina shared an indulgent look which told Tilda that maybe it was just as well she wasn’t interviewing the man on her own, while Foster just pursed his lips and reluctantly switched places with Tilda.

After she took care of the preliminaries—asking if it was okay to record the interview and so forth—Tilda said, “I’d like to start with some of your early experiences in the business, working on The Blastoffs.” She couldn’t help looking toward the front seat, but there was no reaction from Pete. Could she have been wrong about him?

Laryea said, “The Blastoffs … Wow, I was just a kid then.”

In fact, Laryea had been nineteen when that show was filmed, but Tilda knew that most actors preferred to shave a year or three off their ages whenever possible. To be fair, it wasn’t purely vanity. Hollywood was known for its bias against older actors, particularly in action hero roles. So she just said, “That was your first big break, wasn’t it?”

“Yes and no. It was a start, but it was my work on More Bitter than Death that really got the industry’s attention.” He went on to describe how wonderful it had been to work with Emma Thompson and Mark Wahlberg in that film. That led him to talk about how wonderful it was to work with the people in his next few movies—in fact, how wonderful the entire industry was to work with and how each new project was a virtual Eden of a working environment.

Tilda dutifully wrote down every ecstatic quote, not because they were particularly interesting or insightful, but because she was pretty sure that’s all she was going to get. Laryea was, after all, trying to promote himself and Pharos, in that order. That meant he wasn’t going to admit that he hated the script for last year’s movie—he was still trying to sell DVDs of that movie and the rumored sequel. And he wasn’t going to say he hated the other actors cast in Pharos—he was going to be working with them for the better part of a year. Besides, his director and producer were sitting right there. Naturally he was going to put a positive spin on everything.

Tilda understood completely. She was just a little bit bored with it all.

Laryea got his flirt on halfway through the interview, but for three reasons, Tilda ignored it. One, she wasn’t particularly attracted to the guy. Two, even if she had been, she wasn’t willing to provide drive time entertainment for the other people in the car, especially not an ex-boyfriend and the ex-boyfriend’s father. And three, experience had taught her that if she remained aloof, Laryea would keep answering her questions in hopes of winning her over, whereas if she flirted back, he’d lose all interest in the interview, which would give her nothing for her article but lame double entendres.

By the time they reached the Sagamore Bridge, which carried them across the Cape Cod Canal and onto the Cape itself, Tilda was so bored that she was thinking that maybe she should have gone for the double entendres. Despite a tsunami of name-dropping, Laryea wasn’t open enough for a stellar interview.

When Foster insisted that Laryea take a phone call, Tilda was more than ready to conclude the interview, and was satisfied to watch the scenery go by for the rest of the drive.