Everyone Has to Work at It

Fathers and sons had been clashing for as long as there had been families. In a household where the father ruled, his word was final. That arrangement could last for years without anyone questioning who was in charge.

Then he grew older, and the responsibility had to pass to the next generation. The handover was rarely easy. A son established his own authority by rejecting his father's, even if years later he might admit that the older man had often been right.

Much of it came down to parenting. An ideal father knew when to criticize and when to encourage, how to guide a child's curiosity without damaging his self-respect. He neither indulged the boy nor left him entirely to himself. It was a difficult balance, one almost no real father could maintain perfectly. Far more simply wanted to make another version of themselves. The way the child walked, ate, dressed, and thought should bear their imprint. That was how they knew something of them would live on.

Children, unfortunately, were separate people. Once they began to develop a sense of themselves, resistance was inevitable. A son might succeed in breaking away and build a life of his own. Or he might become obedient to the point that he would never consider taking a different path from his father's.

The latter could lead in several directions. Without someone to tell him what to do, he might spend years feeling lost. At worst, all that suppressed resistance could emerge in something extreme.

For Adrian, those years explained much of the compulsive anxiety he'd once endured. Consider the fathers he'd had in his two lives: one struggled to put things into words; the other disliked showing emotion. Both were stern, and neither offered much praise. Before a child began openly rebelling, he desperately wanted his father's approval. A father who understood that could use it to help him understand himself.

Neither of Adrian's fathers had managed it. The first hadn't known enough about raising a child; the second hadn't had the time. Both believed strict discipline produced capable adults. As Adrian had once complained to his mother, praise was almost unheard of. Whatever he'd done, the first response was to ask why he hadn't done it differently, never to tell him he'd done well.

His father in his previous life had used harsher methods too. For a long time, Adrian had felt he had to anticipate every detail of whatever he did. If someone interrupted to point out a fault, anxiety took over. He tried to build rules around himself that would keep him from being hurt, but he couldn't make everyone else follow them. Money wouldn't solve that either.

Fortunately, the family and circumstances of this life were different. He had some maturity of his own and had thought carefully about the past. Though he still clashed with his father, he'd largely found his balance with help from his mother, sister, and closest friends. Now he was playing a man with compulsions of his own. He hadn't wanted to return to those memories. After several failed attempts to reach the scene another way, he'd finally let them back in.

Those vivid memories had given him the details he needed for the performance. They had also left him disoriented long after the take ended. He didn't dwell on that. If anything, he was pleased. He'd played the scene well, understood Hughes a little better, and moved closer to creating a memorable character.

That was a good thing. Good things could turn bad, though, and Adrian hadn't noticed the danger. Other, more pressing matters were helping to distract him.

A key turned in a lock. A woman came in, followed by a man, both laughing quietly. Before either turned on the lights, they embraced and kissed. The door closed behind them as they moved farther into the room, until he held her against the wall.

"Don't... not here..." she said.

He ignored her objection.

Her brief resistance got her nowhere. She stopped trying to pull away. "You always do this..."

The complaint went unfinished.

Later, they lay together on the sofa, exhausted. The lights were still off, their eyes catching what little light reached the room.

"I've just realized there's a scene in the script rather like this," Cate said quietly.

"Is there? How did I miss it?" Adrian asked, still close beside her.

"After the scene we filmed today. Howard takes... Kate home in the plane, and then..." She sighed and turned away from him.

"If you'd like, I could take you flying too," he said coaxingly. "I've been learning lately. I'm getting quite good at it."

"Yes. I know you would." She took hold of the arm around her waist, trying to move it so she could sit up.

"Don't. Let me hold you a little longer. I only get a few days a month like this." His voice made it a request, but his arm pulled her back without giving her a choice.

Cate sighed again and turned to look at him. "You're becoming more like Hughes all the time."

"Really? In what way? Looks? Style? Talent?" he asked shamelessly.

"Nerve!" she said. Then she sighed. "I know there's no answer, but sometimes I still wonder how I ever got tangled up with you."

Before he could reply, she went on. "The script is good, I'll give them that. Men and women, male instinct... A shame Katharine Hepburn died a little over two months ago. I had so little time with the complete script. Otherwise, I'd have liked to visit her."

"I'm afraid you couldn't have, darling, even if she were still alive. She hadn't been seeing outsiders for years." Adrian shrugged, though his gaze shifted uneasily.

"I know..." Cate looked at him and suddenly smiled. "Well, there's one difference at last. I think Hughes would have said, 'Forget her. Does it matter?'"

"No, darling Cate. I think he'd have said the same thing I did." Adrian shook his head. "With a woman he liked, in... well, circumstances like these, keeping her happy would be what mattered."

"Yes. Keep her happy, and then you can do whatever you please, can't you?" Cate said. "You certainly haven't lost interest. You're alike there. Should I credit your preparation, or are all men like you, Adrian?"

"Well..." He cleared his throat. "Is there a third answer?"

"Don't think I didn't notice. Two days ago, she only stopped to say hello. But I remember how long you spent looking at her." There was an edge in Cate's voice.

"Who?" Then he caught her look and understood. "Oh, you mean Kate. I only looked."

"I know that look. You're interested in her, aren't you? Is it every woman named Kate?"

"You spell it differently," he offered weakly.

"It sounds the same!" Cate insisted.

Adrian could only give a rueful smile. She meant Kate Beckinsale, the English actress playing Ava Gardner, the other star who would become deeply involved with Hughes.

She was certainly beautiful. Her fine features almost rivaled Charlize's, and Adrian found her attractive. She appeared only briefly in the hotel-party material: a greeting to Hughes, a few words, then she was gone, while he was still seeing Katharine. That had brought Beckinsale to the set for just one afternoon. Adrian had exchanged a few words with her and looked a little longer than he needed to. He hadn't expected Cate to notice all of it.

He smiled again and leaned toward her. "I'm delighted, Cate. You're jealous."

It didn't please her. Instead, she stiffened and looked uncomfortable.

For a moment, Adrian was puzzled. Then he understood, and his smile turned rueful again. Certain things still stood between them. Whether he was making a joke or trying to be affectionate, he had to be careful not to touch them.

"By the way..." He had to change the subject, and there was something he'd been meaning to ask. "I asked you before, but you never answered. Has something been worrying you lately?"

"Why?" Cate had recovered herself, but now she looked puzzled.

"You seem thinner. Your cheeks have gone hollow. It doesn't suit you, especially with that bright red lipstick. You don't look like yourself."

"Really?" She frowned.

"Really." He nodded. "Never mind Galadriel or Elizabeth. Even Kate Wheeler looked better."

"You didn't know?" Cate smiled at last, looking rather pleased with herself. "That's what Katharine Hepburn looked like. The thin cheeks, those sharp contours. I lost weight to get her right."

She gave his chest a firm tap. "Don't think you're the only one who gives everything for a role!"