Stormy Vows - Iris Johansen [56]
She felt an urge to reach out and touch his arm, not in desire but in sympathy for the boy that was. She knew better than to give in to the impulse. Donovan was proud, and that boy had fought his battles and won them a long time ago.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the lounge. She leaned lazily back, bracing her weight on her stiffened arms. “How is the preproduction work going on Wild Heritage?” she asked casually.
“Well enough,” Donovan answered. “We should be ready to start shooting next week.”
“You're not directing Heritage are you?” she asked. “Didn't I hear you tell Jake you were giving it to that TV director who had never done a theatrical film?”
“What big ears you have, grandma,” he said with a grin. “Tim Butler is a terrific director. He did fantastic things with that David and Bathsheba mini-series, and I have too many irons in the fire right now.”
“Speaking of Wild Heritage, I have a bone to pick with you,” she said severely. “I was talking to Jake about your views on method acting the other evening. When I told him what a fanatic you were on the subject, he nearly fell off the couch laughing. He said you must have been pulling my leg.”
Donovan looked down at the two delectable limbs in question and murmured, “What an intriguing idea.”
“Michael!” Brenna said warningly. “Why did you give me all that garbage about experience and method acting if you didn't mean it?” As she continued to think about it, her indignation grew. “Why didn't you give me Angie? I was damn good. I know I was!”
“Yes,” he said lazily. “You were better than any of the others who tested for it.” He leaned back, and tipped his head back like a cat arching lazily in the sun.
“Michael!” she said in exasperation.
He turned and smiled mockingly. “Jake has an exceedingly big mouth,” he said calmly. “Now I suppose I'll have to confess. I made up all that tripe about method acting on the spur of the moment to give me an excuse not to hire you for Angie. I knew from the minute I saw you that I couldn't let you have it.”
As she opened her mouth to protest, he quickly put his hand over her lips to silence her. “In case you hadn't noticed, there are two sexually explicit bedroom scenes, and in one Angie is nude. It's necessary for the story. There was no way I could tolerate you doing that… even then.” His tone was grim. “I would have felt like killing someone, before the damn picture was finished.”
When he removed his hand, she looked at him solemnly. “I didn't notice,” she said in a small voice, a flush pinking her cheeks.
“I didn't think you had,” Donovan said with a grin. “I was feeling a bit guilty about taking it away from you, when I realized Mary Durney was available. I could have my cake and eat it, too. It's going to be a hell of a good movie. I'm going to make a bundle on it.”
“Egad, what a shockingly commercial mind you have,” she exclaimed in mock horror, her eyes twinkling. “What about art for art's sake?”
“I'm just a bloody capitalist,” he admitted, with an underlying seriousness beneath the lightness of his tone. “I consider myself an artist, and a very good one. I make the very best films of which I am capable. I'm a storyteller par excellence. In our society, the most revered reward for achievement is money, not critical acclaim, and I'll be damned if I don't wrest the greatest reward possible for my work.”
She was silent for a long moment before she asked, “Have you ever not made money on one of your films?”
“Once I came pretty close,” he said thoughtfully, his blue eyes reminiscent. “I was just starting out, and it was only my second film. The critics panned it and the public stayed away in droves. Everyone said it was too