A Different Kind of Forever(75)
“Yes. And that’s rare in this business. He actually believes in encouraging his actors instead of beating them into submission. Last year I did Ibsen with Gordon Prescott, and I was suicidal. Truly. Without the support of a lovely little bike messenger named Geoffrey, I would have succumbed.”
“A friend of mine is working with Prescott now.” Diane said. “He says Prescott is a madman.”
Derek looked interested. “Gordon’s finishing his film right now. They say there’s smoke rolling out of the studio windows. Who do you know? I can tell you all the gossip.”
“Michael Carlucci. He’s doing the score.” Derek looked blank. “Mickey Flynn?” Diane prompted.
“Oh?” Derek put his arm around her shoulder again. “Yes, I know all about him. A ‘friend’ did you say? He’s quite scrumptious. The other one, Joe somebody, is getting most of the attention, especially since his wife has left our rainy isle for sunnier climes. But I know all about your little genius. He’s created quite a stir. Of course our tabloids are such a load of crap.” Derek leaned down, speaking into her ear. “If he’s f*cked half the people they claimed, he wouldn’t have time to take a decent shit, let alone work for Prescott. Gordon is such a beast, really. But you, my dear,” he stepped back and looked her up and down again, eyebrows arched, “you and Mickey Flynn? Well. I can see why Quinn hasn’t got a chance. American rock stars are so exciting. Our British boys are mostly old, married and boring, or complete junkies. I saw him in the luscious flesh, you know, at some publicity thing, just last week He was being stalked by some bulimic blonde who couldn’t keep her tongue out of his ear. Of course, I prefer my boy toys a bit taller. Pure logistics, you know. You two must be a good match, though. He wouldn’t have to stoop. Ah, Harris.” Quinn had come up, placing his empty glass on the bar. “I was just telling the delightful Diane here about her boyfriends’ exploits in Londontown.”
“And if she has a lick of sense, which I know she does, she won’t believe a word.” Quinn took Diane’s hand and patted it. “He’s a terrible liar and an incorrigible trouble-maker. Please ignore everything he said. They’re serving. Shall we go in?”
The rest of the evening was a pleasant blur. Diane put Derek’s words out of her head. The food turned out to be delicious, and after the dinner was finished, and the official part of the evening was over, Diane followed Quinn into a small, dark lounge, where she sat and listened to Quinn, Derek, and a few others talk about the theater. It was her favorite kind of conversation, the insiders dish. It was almost two in the morning before she even realized it.
“Quinn, what about the car?” She asked, shamefaced. “I’ve been sitting in here making that poor man wait.”
“It’s his job to wait,” Quinn said mildly. “He’ll take you home now. Unless you’d rather stay? We could get you a room, I’m sure.” His hand had been resting lightly on her upper arm. Now, he touched her cheek. “Or we could just take a cab to my place.”
Diane shook her head slowly. “No, Quinn.”
He took her chin in his hand and kissed her lips. “You’re beautiful tonight, Diane. It would be such a lovely end of a lovely evening.”
Her lips were tingling, and she felt a slow rise of heat in the pit of her stomach. Her body was remembering another touch, Michaels’ soft mouth. She could feel herself starting to blush.
Quinn kissed her again, longer this time, but she stepped back, away from him. “No, Quinn. Please.”
Quinn pursed his lips, and put his hands in his pants pockets. He jingled the coins in his pockets nervously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to presume.”
“I think I should go home now.” Diane said quietly, and Quinn walked her through the hotel doors, and waited silently with her until the car came up to take her home.
Derek Shore came down the steps and stood beside Quinn, lighting a cigarette. “Is she the reason?” he asked casually.
Quinn glanced at him briefly. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come now. I know we’re not close friends, but we’re in the same brotherhood. Surely I’m entitled to a few confidences.”
Quinn raised his eyebrows. “Brotherhood?”
“Yes.” Derek took a long drag. “We’re one of the select few in theater who have worked with your ex-wife in the past five years without actually f*cking her.”