Summer Storm by Joan Wolf Page B

Having been one of the things sacrificed, she hoped that at least to him the result was worth the price.
    She spent the early part of the afternoon in the library and then, when she thought the press must be gone, she changed her clothes and went down to the lake. The college had almost half a mile of lakefront property, with a dock, an area of lawn chairs, and a volleyball court. Mary sat down in one of the chairs and stared out at the sparkling water.
    “The press conference went very well,” said a rumbling voice in her ear, and she turned to see Alfred Block, the actor who was playing Claudius, Hamlet’s uncle. Block was a well-known actor from the Broadway stage who had never managed to break into movies. He was in his middle forties, with dark brown hair that was beginning to thin. His eyes were gray with the hint of a slant that was oddly surprising in his otherwise Anglo-Saxon face.
    “It’s over then,” she replied with a restrained smile. “I thought it would be safe for me to emerge from my hiding place.”
    “Where do you hide, Mary, when you want to escape?”
    “The library, where else?” she replied lightly, not liking the way he was looking at her. There were two young students stretched out on the dock, both wearing bathing suits and showing a lot more flesh than she was in her khaki shorts and plaid shirt. Why didn’t he go leer at them, she thought with exasperation. Alfred Block had cornered her over coffee in the recreation room last night and she had heard more about him and his career than she ever cared to know. She was afraid the man was going to make a dreadful pest of himself and was wondering how best to handle him when Kit arrived.
    “Thank God that’s over,” he announced, as he flopped down on the grass at her feet and closed his eyes.
    “Don’t let us disturb your rest,” said Mary testily.
    “I won’t,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed. She stared at him for a minute as he lay there on the grass with his feet crossed, his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed against the sun. She was suddenly intensely aware of him, of the rise and fall of his chest with his even breathing, of the beat of the pulse at the base of his tanned throat, of the latent power in the length of his lean body. . . . She took a deep breath and reached out to kick him in the ribs with her sneaker-shod foot.
    “Hey!” he yelled indignantly, and sat up.
    “I want to hear what happened at the press conference,” she said sweetly.
    “That hurt.” He rubbed his side and glared at her reproachfully.
    “You’re tough,” she answered even more sweetly. “You run along the tops of moving trains, you hang from cliffs, you punch out thugs, how can a little nudge in the side hurt you?”
    “That was more than a nudge.”He looked at her speculatively. “You’ve seen my movies.” His voice was soft, dangerously soft, and the glint in his dark eyes was more dangerous still.
    Mary was absolutely furious with herself. “Yes,” she snapped. “I’ve seen your movies.”
    “I should imagine,” put in the insinuating voice of Alfred Block, “that all the world has seen your movies, Chris. Especially that last little adventure film. How much money has it grossed?”
    The two girls who were sunning themselves on the dock had been slowly moving their way ever since Kit had arrived. Hearing Alfred’s question, one of them eagerly volunteered an answer. “I read in Variety that it may eventually be the biggest-grossing movie ever.”
    “Really?” Mary looked at the girl, glad of any excuse that would direct her attention away from Kit. “Has it done that well?”
    “Oh, yes.” The young face glowed at Kit. She was a very pretty girl, golden brown from the sun, with long, sun-bleached hair and widely spaced green eyes.
    He looked back at her with pleasure, his eyes going over the smooth expanse of tanned young skin. He turned back to Mary. “You’re going to be red as a lobster if you stay