Loved and Wanted and Needed Part 1

"Maxine, are you sure you're ready for this?"

Maxine Donegal gave her brother a questioning, sidelong glance before returning to concentrate on the road. She thought to criticize his mangled Gaelic, but decided against it. It was just the two of them on the open road, talking back and forth to each other; there were no grammar teachers around. "Ready for what?"

Killian ran his hand through his blazing copper hair and sighed. "This project, Max. Are you sure you can handle it?" Glancing at the spedometer, he added, "Incedentally, you're going eighty."

Maxine shrugged her jacketed shoulders. "Only eighty? I should speed up."

As the Sunbird accelerated Killian covered his face. "Maxine, don't get us pulled over!"

"Will you relax? Just get your stupid hands away from your eyes and watch out for cops." She grinned. "I'm still only going eighty, Killian. I was just toying with you."

For the six hundreth time since leaving Tallahassee, Killian Donegal wished that he, not Maxine, was driving. But no, Maxine had insisted on driving, especially since this emerald green Sunbird was specifically her car. Maxine had gotten the car up to 100 miles an hour on Interstate 10; she had cooled it considerably after turning onto Interstate 95 north at Jacksonville, keeping speed between eighty and ninety. Killian had ridden white-knuckled through Georgia, convinced that Maxine would attract some state policemen's attention. Georgia was the worst state to drive through for that sort of thing, at least on 95. But luck was with her, as usual. Begrudgingly, Killian had to admit that although she tended to speed, Maxine was a very careful and conscientious driver. She drove quickly, not stupidly, and she was an unlikely candidate for a cop's unwanted attention.

"You wouldn't happen to have the map there, would you?" she asked, turning on the internal lights.

Killian lifted the box of compact discs he carried on his lap, and pulled out the map. "What do you need?"

"We're about to pass exit 68; how far until the junction with I-26?"

As Killian calculated, Maxine glanced at a neon-splattered billboard along the interstate. The cartoon, portraying a bad pun in even worse taste, made her laugh and shake her head. Maxine drove through South Carolina on I-95 often, whenever going to Philadelphia for school or back home to Tallahassee. She would know it was South Carolina by its gaudy, neon billboards for motels and fireworks alone. "South Carolina," she mumbled in accented English. "The tackiest state in the nation."

"And home for the next few months," Killian commented, also switching from Gaelic to English. "The junction is at exit 86."

"Thanks." She sipped her weak, rest stop vending machine decaffeinated coffee carefully from her travel mug. This trip had been as familiar to this point as her pet cat Speedbump, who mewled contentedly from his travel kennel on the back seat. Maxine had never driven on Interstate 26, never been to Charleston, and had certainly never been to Santee Island, their ultimate destination. In other words, she was in unknown territory once they turned off 95. She hoped her brother would be up to looking for road signs.

"Back to what I was saying," Killian attempted.

"Are you looking out for cops?"

He growled. "Yes, I am. Will you listen to me? I'm worried about you."

Maxine glanced at him again as she clutched the steering wheel. "I'm worried about me too, Killian," she admitted with only slight hesitation. "But I can't miss this opportunity."

Killian put his elbow in the crevice along the window, and leaned his head against his hand. "I know it, Max." And he knew what an opportunity this was! It sure wasn't every year that a major motion picture studio like Euterpe Films invited undergraduate student interns like he and Maxine to work on a film production like the movie adaptation of the bestseller "His Passion and Anguish", with a superstar actor like Byron Thorn and a world-reknowned director like Richard Morrow. But this was occurring right now, and he and Maxine were in on the action. Killian could easily understand his sister's determination.

"Besides, Dr. Capobianco said I was okay to do this project," Maxine assured him. "You were there when she told me that. She thought it'd be good for me." Indeed, the thorough, gentle psychiatrist did think this film project would help Maxine overcome her recent, long bout with manic depression. After many months of adjusting dosages and checking blood levels, lithium finally seemed to be working for Maxine; she had been almost perfectly stable for two months. While the illness would never completely leave her, Maxine was taking the necessary steps to bring it under control. Maxine already had an appointment with a psychiatrist in Chareleston, reccommended by Dr. Capobianco, who would be taking care of her during the four months of filming. The thought that she could somehow swing far enough to wind up back in the hospital did not escape Maxine, but it did not intimidate her, either.

"Yes, yes, she did say that," Killian conceeded.

"And Laura and Maria will be with me, and so will you. And above all, I'll take care of myself. So what's to worry?"

Looking out the window at the passing countryside, Killian stayed quiet. This was true what Maxine said. Laura had been Maxine's bosom buddy at Penn since their first year, and they had shared a quad with Maxine's bandmates their second year. She had spent most of last summer with Maxine in Tallahassee when she was ill, just helping Killian and their father keep Maxine entertained. Maria, however, was another matter. Maxine and Maria were friends of a sort; his sister provided Maria with a shoulder and a pair of ears for Maria's endless romantic troubles.

To himself, Killian admitted having certain reservations about how the three of them would fare as roomates, as they would be for the duration of this film project. Maxine and Laura would be great roomies, he knew, especially since they had already lived together successfully. Again, Maria was another matter. Killian knew Maria's neurotically dark side a little better than he cared to. In fact, he was desperately hoping that she had come to accept the fact that he had broken up with her by this point in time. It was now the second of January, and he had nicely ended their two-month romance in November.

Killian contemplated his situation with his ex-girlfriend and possible complications until he spotted a sign for I-26. "The junction's coming up, Max."

"I saw the sign. But thanks." She smiled affectionately at him. "Killian, please don't worry too much. It won't help either of us. We need to be positive."

"I just want to look out for you Max," he said softly. "You're my sister, and I love you to pieces."

"Well I love you too," she answered with a silly grin. "And everything's going to be fine. I have to control this monster, so it doesn't control me."

He had to smile. "A lot can happen in four months, Max," he mused. "I wonder what this will be like. I wonder if anything interesting will happen. I like interesting."

Turning onto the exit, Maxine howled in laughter. "Four months on an empty island with a bunch of film types and other students," she declared. "What could possibly happen?"

*************
Byron Thorn had hoped he could fool his fiancee into thinking he was asleep. He was, after all, an actor; he got paid to trick people into believing he thought and said and did things he personally never would. Maybe Samantha would shut up if she could be convinced he was unconscious. However, she did not relent, regardless of what contortions Byron pushed his head and neck into against the plane window to feign sleep.

Frustrated, Byron finally opened his eyes and stretched out in his seat. Glancing at his watch, he figured another two hours' flight time until they were on the ground in Charleston. He shot Samantha an irritated glance, loaded with disgust. "Sam, do you ever shut up?"

Samantha regarded him spitefully, her artificial lips pouting. "You haven't heard one thing I've said this entire flight, have you?"

Byron considered contradicting her--he had actually been actively ignoring anything that came out of her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"I'm sick of you," she muttered. "You never listen to me."

With a sigh, he stared at her icily, wondering for the millionth time why he was stuck with this woman who he didn't like, didn't get along with, and generally despised. Sadly, he knew it was all part of his own stardom, and hers. Somehow, Samantha Green had managed to become a supermodel; Byron would have wagered that her income in a year would have easily topped his own, and he was (debatably, he thought, maintaining his humility) the most popular actor of his time. Byron suspected that he saw too far bellow the surface to think that Samantha was beautiful, but certainly millions of her fans and modelling agents could not see that far.

Ignoring Samantha, Byron whipped out the script for "His Passion and Anguish", looking over his part yet again. Reading through it, Byron got the same thrilling sensation he had experienced when Richard Morrow had first sent him the script. It was an incredible love story, set against the backdrop of Charleston, South Carolina in the early nineteenth century. Byron knew that Richard had been trying to get the actor into a role worthy of his abilities for years, and that "His Passion" seemed to be Byron's ticket to respectable infamy. His leading lady, Gabrielle Taylor, was still a virtual unknown. Like Byron himself, Gabrielle was one of Rich Morrow's discoveries; she was young, had recently finished up her degree at Duke, and showed an incredible amount of promise. She would play the kind daughter of a wealthy plantation owner; Byron held the role of her unlanded lover, poor but still a gentleman, and devoted to her with everything he was. Indeed, the role required the full spectrum of potent, tangible emotion from Byron, and Byron looked forward to the challenge.

That he also looked forward to working with Richard Morrow again was unquestionable. Byron had worked on his last two films with other directors, and he missed the incredible teamwork he and Richard had together. It had been this director's discerning eye that had first spotted the teenaged Byron, thirteen years before. Rich had taken Byron in, had cultivated his natural talent for acting and emoting. Their first film together, "Prince of Arizona", had been the summer smash hit of that year. Byron had gone on to star in most of Rich's films, practically all of which were box office smashes.

But what had really attracted Byron to this film was its involvement with Euterpe Fiml's educational outreach endeavor. "His Passion" would be partially staffed by thirty college students from around the country--people a little younger than Byron, alive and learning and thinking. Personally, Byron thought bringing interns into the production was a terrific idea. And while he was certain many of his contemporaries would snub their noses at working with young non-professionals, Byron rather liked the notion. He had never been one to snub anybody, regardless of how high his star had risen. For one thing, he found that the people he liked best were the people who cared the least about the altitude of their star.

"Why did you take this bum flick anyway?" Samantha whined, adjusting her thigh-high leather skirt.

Byron glanced at her questioningly. "I would hardly call it a bum flick," he corrected. Samantha probably had no idea "His Passion and Anguish" had been a blockbuster novel, and she would not care that the same author had penned the script.

"Yeah, but how will you stand having those kids around you?"

He thought this was very funny considering Samantha herself had only just turned nineteen. "Kids, eh?"

She took another sip of her fifth beer that flight. "They might be dirty."

Rolling his eyes, Byron said, "What kind of attitude is that?"

"A realistic one. A star like you can get any role he wants. So why are you doing this one with a bunch of pot-headed yuppy freaks, way out in the boon docks? It sucks."

"Then I guess it's a good thing that I'm in the role, and not you," he affirmed. "I might enjoy the pot-headed yuppy freaks, and I've always had a fondness for boon docks."

Samantha shot him a look of disbelief. She turned away from him, leaning against the armrest in her inebriated malaise. Soon she either fell asleep or passed out, Byron didn't know which. Byron stared at her in disgust, repelled by her drunkeness and her attitude. He had to ditch her, he had to liberate himself, he told himself for the millionth time.

Just then Paulette Duval, Byron's personal assistant, came by to check on him. She looked at Samantha in repelled curiosity, and glanced up at Byron. "Is she okay?"

Byron began to laugh, with a humorous, exasperated look lighting his stunning face. "What do you think?"

Paulette shook her head, then looked at Byron in concern. "How about you? Do you need anything? Spring water? Iced tea?"

"I'm okay, Paulette," Byron affirmed.

"Alright, I'm just looking out for you," she said. "I know you've been sleepy lately. While Ms. Gab is passed out, maybe you should catch a few winks yourself. They've got a big night planned for us."

Byron's eyes widened. "What's up?"

"Social at the Hotel Santee," Paulette answered. "Dinner, dancing, socializing. It's to welcome you and the interns to the set. You meet them, they meet you, fun stuff."

"That's awfully nice," he said sincerely. "Maybe I should just relax a while then."

"You do that, sweetie," she agreed cheerfully, smiling at Byron fondly.

Byron looked up at her again. "Thanks for taking care of me," he said sincerely.

Paulette nodded. "It's always a pleasure."

As he turned away from Samantha, back towards the window, Byron wondered how many other agents were as coddling as Paulette Duval. Even the fact that she prefered to call herself his personal assistant rather than agent indicated the kind of soft-pedaled, helpful person she was. She had been with Byron since he was nineteen, and neither had ever wished to part with the other. Byron, though he tended to be sad, was exceptionally nice, intelligent, and easy to work with; Paulette was kind and doting, yet efficient, professional and organized. They made an exceptionally good Hollywood team.

He knew Paulette detested Samantha, wanted the model banned from the Byron Thorn retinue, and had only held her tongue in front of Samantha for Byron's sake. Paulette also understood the unspoken laws of stardom which had forced the unlikely pair together in the first place. That is, under the surface they were an unlikely pair. Superficially, Byron and Samantha were consider the best looking man and woman in the country, and therefore belonged together. Byron winced at this horrendous logic. He knew that Paulette wanted to bust him out of this romantic prison as much as he wanted to be freed, and they both knew it was only a matter of time. Yet Byron was not looking forward to the media feeding frenzy he knew would devour him the minute he broke his farce engagement with Samantha. Admittedly, he lacked courage, and hadn't yet found the inspiration to give him that courage.

Gazing out the window at the clouds, Byron's thoughts turned once again to what he truly wanted--and it wasn't this plastic leather-clad blonde next to him. His imagination, his greatest comfort, escorted him into the loving, devoted arms of the woman of his deepest desires. She had been out there, somewhere, waiting for him to find her. And soon, losing himself in these pleasant thoughts, Byron fell asleep.

The media circus that awaited Byron Thorn's arrival at Charleston Airport was blissfully manageable. Paulette Duval had little trouble getting her charge through the mob to the waiting limousine. Byron, however, made certain to acknowledge the local press. "I figure it's good public relations for the whole project," he explained to Paulette, and she nodded vigorously.

Byron found himself sitting between Paulette and Samantha inside the sumptuous limousine. "Now where are we going?" Samantha whined.

Paulette shot her a sharp look. "To the set, of course," she stated. "Byron needs to get settled in."

"I'm glad they listened to me about staying on location," Byron offered. "I like being right in the middle of things."

"You're crazy," Samantha said.

"Absolutely," he retorted.

Once again, Paulette couldn't help but wonder how these two ever went to bed together, but she kept quiet on that subject. "Santee Island is right outside of town," she mentioned. "It's very popular in the summertime. I hear the beach is beautiful."

"I didn't know there was a beach," Byron said in a tone of happy surprise.

"It's not far from the set--you'll be able to walk there."

Byron sat back, a content expression on his handsome features. "I really am looking forward to this," he said.

Samantha rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. "You'll miss Hollywood real fast, you wait and see."

"Why are you here if you're just going to bust on everything?" he asked sarcastically. "Do I look like I need a downer?"

Humphing, Samantha said "Because I'm you're fiancee, and you don't make a big arrival on a set without me."

Undetected by Samantha, Byron shot Paulette an amusing, irritated glance, and Paulette bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Maybe I'm old fashioned," he mused, "but I always thought fiancees were supposed to be supportive."

"Not when the guy is being an idiot."

Paulette interrupted. "Byron, did you get to look through any of the intern profiles?"

Byron nodded. "Just a few. Some of them never made it to me." He raised his eyebrows. "They seem like fun people."

"Children," muttered Samantha.

"I've spoken with a few on the phone," Paulette said. "Euterpe did a great job in the selection process." She chuckled. "We have a brother-sister team with us, actually. I remember them, because I talked with both of them at the same time. Split phone line or something. Anyway, we must have talked for about two hours--I was laughing so hard!"

Byron grinned at Paulette. "That's pretty neat. They both got picked?"

Paulette shrugged. "They both had outstanding applications," she said.

Samantha humphed and folded her arms. "In this hick place, they'll probably fuck," she muttered.

Byron looked at her sharply. "Knock it off--now," he commanded, with an uncharacteristic menace in his voice.

Quickly, Paulette redirected the conversation. "Byron, you've read the book, haven't you? I remember you toting 'His Passion and Anguish' around with you sometime last year."

He nodded vigorously. "I couldn't put it down," he said. "It's completely engrossing. The characters haunted me for months afterwards. I never thought I'd actually get to be Tom Putnam, though!"

"You and your books," Samantha muttered.

"What about them?" he snapped. He thought of the large box of novels he had sent to the set, so he could read in his spare time. "I like being literate, thank you."

"Sarah Oakes is quite a character too," Paulette ventured. "Do you know Gabrielle, Byron?"

"Not really. I met her and her husband briefly at some party of Rich's last year." He glared at Samantha, just for the heck of it. "I've been told she's nice."

Paulette nodded. "Very nice," she agreed. "I think you two will work well together."

Byron giggled. "Considering the nature of the scenes I have to do with her," he said, "I will be very glad if we get along!" Not that Byron hadn't done his fill of love scenes with actresses he detested--or, he thought as he looked at Samantha, supermodels. But, for once, he would appreciate having some kind of friendly affection for his leading lady to power the romance they were to project.

"I just hope the press doesn't catch wind of our little party tonight," Paulette expressed with a groan. "You deserve a break, Byron."

At that point, Byron felt like pushing Samantha out of the limousine. She had opened her cavernous trap to the media sometime the previous week, claiming to be pregnant with Byron's child. Byron had blown up in a passionate rage at her, shaking his fists and shouting at the top of his lungs. For the normally sedate Byron, this was quite a departure in behavior. But Byron knew, as well as Samantha, that her pregnancy was impossible--at least if Byron was the father. Quite simply, Byron had been impotent with her for over seven months. Byron didn't care if she'd gotten knocked up by some other guy; he knew she kept enough lovers around to entertain her. He did care that she was calling him the father. Her story was yet another attempt to keep the media spotlight firmly on herself, and it had been a successful one. And now, he did not feel optimistic that he would enjoy the evening without some reporter getting in his face.

"I really hate the press," he muttered.

"Only because you don't know how to play them," Samantha said tartly.

"I don't want to know how to play them! I want to be left alone." He snickered softly. "Why am I so interesting, anyway?"

Paulette winked at Byron. "You've got great hair," she joked, and he smiled at her.