Seduced by the Screenwriter

Chapter 12, That's Amore, Part 12

Anticipation bubbled below her calm surface. He amused her, he turned her on. She placed a couple of wine glasses, plates, cutlery and serviettes on a white wood tray and carried it to the antique trunk, a relic from the days when steamboats conveyed tourists to Lake Muskoka resorts.

Chett perched straight-backed at one end of her navy slipcovered sofa, a position with a direct line of sight to Titan. He kept one eye on the lounging dog while he twisted off the wine bottle cap and poured.

He handed her a glass and raised his. Solemnly, he toasted, "To your and Titan's heroism today." He sipped, his baby blues above the glass filled with undeniable respect.

"Don't you start in on my 'calling' as a police officer," she warned. Sure, rescuing the child with Titan's help had made her feel good. But that rescue was a one time thing. Period. "The cops eventually arrived. If I hadn't taken action, the little girl would have been just fine."

"Did they have a trained dog? How would they have rescued the kid?" He quirked a questioning brow.

"Safety lines and dry suits," she mumbled.

"Those two cops marched on the scene dressed for patrol. I didn't see any safety lines or dry suits."

"No." Even she had to admit that much. "I'm sure they called the rescue team."

"More delay. You and Titan averted what could very well have been a tragedy." Chett sawed off a bite-sized piece of the all-dressed pizza and raised the fork to his mouth. "Actions illuminate character. I learned that in film school. You stepped up and took action. That makes you a hero."

She didn't have a comeback so she picked up her fork and buried the uncomfortable feelings churning her stomach under two thick pizza slices loaded with cheese, bacon, pepperoni and sliced vegetables. She must be crazy to keep torturing herself with the dangerous emotions that Chett evoked every time they got together. Well, he'd return to California soon. Surely he'd made progress on a screenplay. He hadn't left Jenna's cottage in days or she'd have heard about it. No one in Port Carson kept secrets for long.

Except me.

Well, Chett knew her secret, but after he returned to LA her private struggle with PTSD would be safe again. She leaned back against the cushions. "How's the script coming along?"

Chett pushed away his empty plate and refilled their wine glasses. "According to studio scuttlebutt, they're looking for another True Lies or James Bond-type story involving international intrigue. My agent tells me that studios want sophisticated scripts for action films that they can easily dub into various languages and sell overseas. There's a lot of money in foreign sales. Everybody, including me, wants to make a pile of money."

He sighed, leaned back against the cushions, and propped his feet on the trunk, as comfortable in her space as if he lived there. "An action script is certainly doable on my end, but Jenna insists that it be a vehicle for her comeback. Her demands are killing me. She wants a meaty starring role that showcases her acting skills, but nevertheless she refuses to dump the pinup girl persona. She wants to be a babe-an ageing babe, mindyou-who's taken seriously as an actor." He drained his glass. "She can't have it both ways," he said with conviction.

Catrina waved a languid hand. "The beautiful and talented Halle Berry, Scarlett Johansson and Kim Basinger were all nominated for acting awards. Halle Berry won-"

He threw up his hands. "All right, already. I grant you the point. I guess what I'm really saying is that writing a female lead character is out of my comfort zone."

"You mean a female character with a brain?" She had him like a perp pinned to the floor, and grinned at his discomfort. Back to her real question. "How far along is the script?"