Heat n' Serve Steele
by
Anne Rose & Lauryn Poynor
___________________________________________________________________
The hard bitten blonde rounds on Steele.
"You know, Derek Vyvyan is a
very corrupting influence. If he's got your associate caught
up in his
childish hijinks . . ."
Steele cocks his head. "My associate?
Childish hijinks?" Wishful
thinking will get him nowhere. "Ms. Waggenbacker, there's
one thing I
can assure you about Miss Holt. It's that when she's working
- she's
deadly serious." Steele straightens his tie. "And
even when she's
not."
***
"Ha! I am no man's prize!"
Laura's sword is aimed decisively at the
actor's vitals, holding him for the nonce, at bay.
"Bold words from such sweet lips!"
They cross swords and advance down
a staircase as Laura shouts, "My
steel is all you shall kiss!" She essays a lunge at her
opponent and
misses, nearly skewering a lobby-sized poster of Derek Vyvyan
as "The
Pirate Prince."
Derek recoils as if struck with a
mortal wound. "Careful, darling.
That's my best side. In glorious Technicolor."
Laura shrugs a bit sheepishly and
points the weapon in a more harmless
direction. "Sorry."
"A lady should never apologize."
Out of breath, the actor props himself
on his sword, leaning rather heavily. "Where were we?"
He shouts to the
wings. "A cue! A cue! My kingdom for a cue!"
Laura decides it's time to ring down
the curtain. "We really should be
getting to the location. They've been waiting three hours now."
"No, no, no, my love, your next
line is 'No pirate will ever have my
heart!'"
"And you say?" she prompts.
Derek stands there, darkly puzzling.
"Why in blazes can I remember your
lines and not mine? How deuced convenient is that?"
Before Laura can answer he rails,
eyes cast heavenward. "An actor is
but a mere plaything of the gods. Alack. Alas." He recovers
himself,
re-hanging his sword on the wall. "And what a lass you are.
My girl,
you've nearly exhausted me. And I've had six wives!"
Laura seizes an opening. "And
I'm sure they insist on seeing you
gainfully employed."
"Oh, bother. Then we shall have
to hurry. One more parry. One more -
thrust." Now swordless, he presses himself bodily against
her and
waggles both eyebrows.
Vyvyan's gin-soaked breath singes
Laura's sinuses. "I think you've had
enough for one day." She scurries under him.
"Wouldn't have missed it for the world. What a quick study you are!"
"I have been watching the late
show more often. Thanks for the fencing
lesson."
Vyvyan strikes a contemplative pose.
"Y'know, with the proper lighting,
you could rival any of my ladies fair."
"Really?" Shyly, Laura toys
with her sword, then hangs it across
Derek's, a bit embarrassed to find herself not entirely immune
to his
brand of flattery.
"Your hair, streaked with sunlight. Your lips red as flame -"
Suddenly a skeptic, Laura folds her arms. "That's from 'Camelot'."
Vyvyan shrugs disarmingly. "Never could carry a tune."
***
Steele and Derek enter Vyvyan's apartment.
"I feel positively invigorated!"
Derek declares. "A brush with death
really gets your adrenaline pumping. Ah ha! Sort of like…a
perfect…Rob
Roy! Rob Roy, Rob Roy - that reminds me . . ." He angles
toward the
bar.
Steele is upset by his attitude.
"Why didn't you get out of the way,
old boy?!"
"Ah, well, don't . . . bandy
this about, it could be very embarrassing.
But just for an instant down there, I thought I was on a film
set and I
was waiting for the director to yell, 'Cut!'"
His arms crossed over his chest, Steele
looks skeptical. Vyvyvan
studies him for a long moment. "Y'know, Steele, you cut
a rather
dashing figure yourself. Pity you weren't around in my salad
days. You
would have been cast in a second. Could've given Rathbone a run
for his
money."
"Really?" Steele relaxes
his arms and shrugs self-consciously,
momentarily taken off guard.
"Definitely." Vyvyan smiles
nostalgically and heads for the swords
mounted on the wall. He stops short. "Between takes of
'Young Raleigh'
old Basil used to regale us with tales from the set of 'Captain
Blood'."
Now Steele is unabashedly impressed.
"The greatest swashbuckler ever
made?" he gushes. "Errol Flynn, Olivia DeHavilland,
Basil Rathbone and
a stable full of Warner Brothers contract players?"
"Why, yes. Quite the fan I take
it? He told some hair-raising yarns
about Flynn and his, uh, lifestyle choices, shall we say?"
Steele is still star struck. "That must have been quite an experience."
"He inspired me to keep the spirit
alive. I fought to get into every
costumer I could, and when I hit it big with 'The Pirate Prince',
Basil
sent me a telegram of congratulations." He assesses Steele
again, deep
in thought. "Would you like to see a rare treasure of mine?"
Unsure what is behind the lingering
look, Steele is tentative. "I
suppose."
Derek crosses the room and disappears
behind a carved wooden screen in
the corner. He emerges a moment later, triumphantly displaying
an
oversized cotton shirt. "Rathbone's blouse from his swordfight
on the
beach with Flynn." He waves it like a flag in front of Steele.
"He
sent it to me right after the premiere of 'The Pirate Prince'.
Quite a
gift, don't you think?"
Steele reaches out and fingers the
fabric reverently. Vyvyan turns the
collar outward to reveal the Warner Brothers inventory tag. Sensing
Steele's vulnerability, Vyvyan realizes the moment is right.
"Let's do the scene, my boy. I'm sure you know it!"
Steele snaps out of his reverie.
"Of course. Although I'm hardly in
Rathbone's class with a sword."
"We'll make it up as we go along.
After all, we haven't got much in the
way of sand and surf." He tosses the shirt to Steele. "Why
don't you
put this on, to get in the mood?"
Steele looks at him as if he's just
been handed the Shroud of Turin. "I
couldn't possibly…."
"Poppycock, boy! It's mine, and
Rathbone wanted me to have it. He's
probably smiling down on us right now."
"I really shouldn't." Steele tries to hand it back to Derek.
"You'd do it for Randolph Scott."
Steele pauses as if he has just heard
a heavenly choir, but it shakes
off. "Fencing was hardly his forte."
"All right then. Gilbert Roland?"
Steele raises an eyebrow.
"Ronald Colman? Louis Hayward? Sink me! I'm running out of actors."
Steele thinks for a moment more, than
shrugs off his coat and tosses it
over the back of the sofa. Unselfconsciously he sheds his tie
and shirt
as Derek watches him intently. When Steele extends his arms to
pull on
Rathbone's shirt, Derek staggers back involuntarily.
Leaving two buttons undone, Steele
tucks the shirt in and plucks at the
sleeves. The V of the opening extends to his sternum. Derek
runs one
hand lightly up Steele's arm. He smiles broadly at Vyvyan, who
quickly
turns away.
Vyvyan tosses him a sword, and Steele
slices the air experimentally,
getting accustomed to the balance. Derek does the same before
striking
the en garde position with a flourish.
"Shall we pick it up with Rathbone's line? "
Steele searches his memory. "You'll not take her while I live."
Vyvyan shouts, "Then I'll take
her when you're dead." He launches
himself at Steele, both of them flailing away. Steele backpedals
around
the sofa and musters up his best French laugh.
Vyvyan continues, "With two breaches
in our articles committed by you,
you should be marooned. It's what I intended for you in the end.
But….but…."
Steele feeds him the rest. "But
if you prefer it this way, you
muckrake, faith I'll be humorin' ya!"
"Yes, yes, that's it! Good job,
my boy!" Steele rounds the coffee table
and runs up the stairs. Derek has to pause in his pursuit, catching
his
breath.
Steele chides him. "C'mon, Derek,
it's just a rock." Vyvyan takes a
deep breath and climbs the stairs, attacking with renewed vigor.
Steele
defends himself as best possible until they are hilt to hilt.
Derek forces Steele back against the
wall, and leans up against him.
"You could rival Flynn any day."
Steele is taken aback, unsure if he
should push Vyvyan away. "I thought
I was Rathbone."
Derek ignores him, pressing on. "You
have the ebony mane of a Tyrone
Power."
Steele squirms uncomfortably, trying
to break free without hurting
Vyvyan.
Derek leans harder, too close, his
face inches from Steele's. "Gable's
eyes. As stainless blue as the seas of Antium."
Steele has had enough and shoves Derek
away, catching him before he
stumbles down the stairs. "Gable's eyes were brown,"
he says quietly.
Unsettled, he forces his way past and turns to place his sword
on the
bar.
Derek descends the stairs and drops
heavily into an armchair, defeated.
"Can't say I didn't try," he mutters.
Steele stares at him, perplexity turning
to anger. "What was that all
about?"
Derek looks away. "Time spent
around free-wheeling chaps like Flynn and
Cary Grant and the like makes one ever in pursuit, my boy."
He glances
up at him. "And ever hopeful."
Steele is silent, still trying to
fathom why Vyvyan thought his advances
would be reciprocated.
"I've never been in their league,
in any category." He sighs. "I never
will be. All that talk about King Lear, that was just to keep
up
appearances. Being a semi-serious actor, I'm supposed to loathe
and
despise those commercials whilst looking for something in which
I can
exhibit my - acting prowess and show my talent. But, alas, I'm
no
longer equipped to play King Lear - or anything else that lasts
for
longer than thirty seconds. My booze soaked brain simply cannot
recall
the lines. I find it very difficult to remember: Chef Gaston's
Instant
Gourmet Dinner."
Steele sits on the nearby ottoman
and takes Vyvyan's dangling sword from
his hand. "I don't know which frightens me more. Dying
- or losing
those commercials."
"I know, Derek. I know."
***
Laura is devouring a plateful of Mexican
take-out. "There's nothing like
a TV dinner sprayed with carnuba wax to give you a hunger -- for
something else."
"Yes, well, appetites do have
a way of surfacing when one least expects
them."
She glances at Steele's untouched plate. "You seem to have lost yours."
"I suppose." He looks away with a distracted air.
"I'm glad we can cross Derek
Vyvyan off our list of suspects. I hate to
sound star struck, but I'm beginning to see what you see in him."
Steele digs in to his taco.
"It's funny, Mr. Steele. At times,
I can almost believe he's one of his
own characters: the Pirate Prince, or the Passionate Troubadour.
To hear
him tell it, he's romanced half of Hollywood."
Steele swallows a bite a bit suddenly. "The question is, which half?"
Laura burbles on, oblivious. "I
wonder. Is there anyone he hasn't
seduced?"
"I think we should save that one for his memoirs."
Laura's eyes were alight with curiosity.
"If he ever decided to kiss and
tell …"
Steele chews on this possibility for
a fraught moment, then manages to
ask, "Don't you think this pre-occupation with Derek's amours
is a bit,
well, sordid?"
Laura shrugs lightly. "For a
man who's left a trail of broken hearts
over several continents, I think you protest too much, Mr. Steele."
"Really, Laura. I'm not in the
same league with Derek Vyvyan." Steele
chews and swallows emphatically. "Much as he'd like to think
so."
Not sure where this is going, Laura
shoots him a look. "Pardon my
pre-occupations, but did something happen between you two?"
Steele makes a strenuous effort at
nonchalance. "Just a bit of play
acting. Nothing more."
"I never thought play acting
could be such a jolt to your equilibrium.
More like an honest noon-to-five day's work."
"Yes, well, we all have our limits,"
Steele replies evasively, shoveling
copious amounts of salad into his mouth.
Laura studies him. "You seem
awfully --- disenchanted. All of a sudden.
And bent on keeping your mouth full during this conversation."
Steele manages to swallow. "Laura, it's a trifling matter. Believe me."
"Then you won't mind discussing it." Laura smiles sweetly.
"Actually, I do mind, but you
have this habit of never letting things
go."
"I'm twisted that way. So. Let's have it."
Cornered, Steele springs up and begins
to pace. "'Let's have it'," he
begins. "Well, it was a -- miscue, of sorts."
"A miscue?"
Striding across the carpet, Steele
recounts it all in a rush. "You see,
after Derek's close brush with death he became strangely, ah,
invigorated. Insisted on re-enacting a scene from 'Captain Blood'.
Flynn
and Rathbone, the swordfight on the beach."
"Re-living past glories does seem to be a habit with him."
Steele stops and frowns as if something
about that depresses him. "He
even gave me a part of Rathbone's actual costume to wear. Levasseur's
pirate blouse. Of course I was hugely flattered by the gesture."
Laura didn't doubt it. "I can imagine."
"We dueled our way through the
dialogue, swords clashing, me feeding him
lines here and there. Vyvyan followed me up a staircase -- the
next
thing I knew we were hilt to hilt, he pressed me up against the
wall
and, um --"
Steele's narrative falters and Laura
prompts, a bit uneasily. "Hilt to
hilt?"
"The old lush is this close,"
says Steele, measuring millimeters between
his fingers. "Breathing yesterday's Scotch down my neck.
If he'd had
both hands free -- well -- let's just say that the damned pirate's
intentions were even more dishonorable than they were with Ellen
Dru in
'Young Raleigh'."
As Steele tries to recover his dignity,
Laura blurts, "You mean Derek
Vyvyan made a pass at you?"
Steele flushes crimson. "In a
word. Started banging on -- ah, going on,
that is -- about his favorite leading men. Rather inaccurately,
as it
were, but I got the gist of it."
Laura shakes her head, nonplussed. "I never expected this."
Steele tries to be philosophical.
"Well, one doesn't go looking for this
sort of thing, but it happens."
"It's just that --" Laura
gestures with her hands, then comes out with
it. "Derek made a pass at me, too."
Steele stares in horror. "Good
lord. The man's insatiable." Worst case
scenarios begin to strike him. "What sort of pass?"
Laura shrugs it off. "Kind of
an instant replay. Just substitute leading
ladies for leading men."
"Derek's line in seduction sounds
a bit shopworn." Despite her
reassurances, he's still worried. "How physical did the --
bloody twit
get? Did you resist?"
Laura throws the question in his face. "Did you?"
"Of course I -"
"Ditto."
"Ah." Deciding to change
the subject, Steele goes back to his chair and
sits down. "Glad we've cleared that up."
Laura looks across at him with a smirk.
"Are you sure? But speak the
word and I shall defend your honor!"
"Laura, do you have to find this so amusing?"
Companionably, Laura touches his shoulder.
"Poor Mr. Steele. So
irresistible to either sex."
Steele muses for a long moment. "Laura.
Do you think I gave Vyvyan some
-- vague signal? Some sign, perhaps unconsciously?"
Laura considers this. "Well .
. . you do spend a lot of time on looking
good, Mr. Steele. Not to mention a lot of the agency's money."
"Laura, there are only certain
lengths to which I'll go to prove my
masculinity. Wearing off the rack suits isn't one of them."
"Wouldn't have it any other way,
actually." Laura eyes hold his. "Don't
bother losing sleep over Derek Vyvyan. He simply mistook your
admiration
of him for -- something else."
"Bless you, Miss Holt."
Laura gets up, decision in her step.
"Where are you going?"
She leans over and runs a proprietorial
finger down his chest. "To tell
the vivid Mr. Vyvyan to keep his hands off the merchandise."
"Laura, I really wish you wouldn't -"
She silences him with a kiss. No stage kiss, but the real thing.
All thoughts of Derek Vyvyan vanish.
"Merchandise, eh? So you're done
shopping?"
"You're getting to be an expensive
habit." Laura's lips tease his
earlobe. "I might have to pay in installments."
Steele grins at that and pulls her
close. "Or perhaps a convenient
layaway plan."
"Not so fast --"
"On the contrary, I'm thinking long-term."
"Hold that thought, Mr. Steele."
***
Laura arrives at the bar. She watches
Derek for a moment before striding
over and slapping him on the back, causing him to choke on his
drink.
"I think you've had one too many.
First your 'leading lady' and now your
'leading man'. Where do you find the time?"
Derek turns and squints at her, bleary-eyed
and puzzled. "Speaking of
leads, I'm not sure I follow. If you'll refresh my memory while
I
refresh my Scotch -"
Laura assails him. "You made
a pass at Mr. Steele. You embarrassed him,
and frankly," she sniffs, "you disappointed me."
"Ah. Yes, well, I'm sorry about
that. I didn't mean to imply you were my
-- second choice."
"Second choice!" Laura can't
believe what she's hearing. "Of all the
vain, presumptuous -- that's not what this is all about!"
Derek blathers tipsily on. "Old
habit. Tend to hedge my bets. My love
life has always been rather -- ecumenical. A true artist appreciates
beauty in all its forms."
Laura's sarcasm knows no bounds. "Doubles
your chance of a date on a
Friday night."
"Just so. If memory serves, I
might have tried a little something on
with Steele. Or rather he did. Looked smashing in it, too. Rathbone's
costume fit like it was made for him."
"Ha! I think you were spending
more time trying to get Mr. Steele out of
his clothes than in."
Derek surrenders the point with an
elaborate sigh. "If only he'd known
me in my prime! When I was young! Firm buttocked! And firm --"
Laura's hands rush to cover her eyes
and ears. "Spare us the inventory.
Mr. Steele is not interested!"
Her vociferous protests intrude on
his reverie. "And if he were, how,
precisely, should that concern you?"
"It's a long story but -- Mr.
Steele and I are not just business
associates. We're a bit more, well -- personally involved."
Derek is brought up short. "Now,
that does surprise me. I hadn't the
foggiest. You certainly do a bang-up job not showing it."
Laura tries to explain it all. "Well,
we can hardly go around pawing
each other in public, now can we? I mean how would it look to
our
clients?"
"Like you'd come to your senses,
I imagine. Lord knows, I couldn't keep
my hands off him. Are you sure he's off the market? What a tragic
waste!"
"I can assure you, Mr. Vyvyan,"
Laura affirms, flushing slightly. "Mr.
Steele is not -- wasted!"
"My girl, I certainly hope not."
Vyvyan drains the last of his drink and
motions for another. "I'm not sure you quite realize what
manner of man
you have there."
As ever when it comes to Steele, Laura's
curiosity is aroused. "What do
you mean?"
"Like so many caught up in the
magic of the cinema, your Mr. Steele is a
dyed-in-the-wool romantic."
A pang of worry slips past her defenses.
"Our lives have hardly been the
stuff that movies are made of lately. We haven't had time for
anything
but cases."
"That will never do! 'Amor vincit
omnia'! Love must conquer all. Even
if, as I surmise, one may not be quite ready to speak the lines,
the
hope must spring eternal. Be waiting in the wings, as it were."
Laura is skeptical. "It sounds
lovely. But real life has a way of
turning the tables."
"Life is only as real as you
make it." Derek gestures grandly. "You must
seize the moment. Steal away for a weekend in Paris. Or a sun-kissed
embrace on Arabian sands - "
"Those possibilities seem a bit remote right now."
"Then, my lovely, you must improvise.
Nothing is more fatal to a romance
than the dull, dry air of routine."
"You make it sound awfully simple."
"On the contrary, setting the
stage for an enchanted evening can be
fiendishly difficult without a script, though I've managed a few
times."
"You know, beneath that rakish
armor, Derek Vyvyan, I think you're a
traditionalist at heart."
Vyvyan downs another drink then confesses,
"You've cut me to the quick,
but it's true. Despite numerous amours without benefit of clergy
I
married six times on hope."
"Not such a bad way to start a relationship."
"Take my advice, Miss Holt. Don't
let it all end badly. I've always
despised being alone. It's why I find an audience so reassuring."
In sympathy, Laura touches his shoulder.
"Don't worry, Derek. We're
still here."
"Yes, well, as long there are
convenience foods I trust I'll never be
lonely."
***
The reception area is dark as Laura
leads Steele into his office. He
follows her gaze, finding the desk set with china, flowers, and
candles.
"What is this?" Steele asks as Laura watches him. "I
thought we were
going to just grab a quick bite while we finished our paperwork."
"Why, Mr. Steele," she says,
"We must never, never allow our work to
interfere with other, more - pleasurable pursuits." She
dramatically
removes a chafing dish cover. "Which would you prefer?
Chef Gaston's
Beef Bourguignonne? Or Veal Fricassee?"
"I never thought I'd say this,
Laura, but you've almost made them look
edible."
Laura smiles as she prepares his plate.
"It's all in the
presentation." She moves around the desk and produces a
bucket of iced
champagne. "Something to wash it down with?"
Steele smiles broadly. "A Pommery
Cuvee Louise? For such an ordinary
repast?" He sets to work on the wire mesh.
"No repast is ordinary with you,
Mr. Steele." She steals a kiss as the
cork flies. "Dig in. There's more where that came from."
Steele eyes her cautiously as he pours. "There is?"
"Our grateful clients gave us a year's supply."
Steele takes a fortifying swallow
from his glass. "I hope they sent a
large check to make up for it." Flirtatiously, he edges closer,
slipping
an arm around her waist. "Can't we skip straight to dessert?"
Laura flashes a teasing grin. "In
a jiffy, Mr. Steele. It comes in a
handy foil pouch."
Steele is dubious. "Laura, I'm all for instant gratification but -"
Laura seconds the motion; her lips
meet his in a champagne flavored
kiss. "You were saying?"
Steele hasn't a clue. "Whatever it was, it'll keep."