Countess Dracula by Guy Adams Page A

forced a scream out of her despite her attempts to stay quiet. Her youthful looks were gone, replaced with a face even older than she had possessed before. Only by a few years, perhaps: the odd extra line here and there, an extra puffiness beneath the eyes.
    Slowly the pain on her skin faded away, leaving one that reached altogether deeper.
    She got dressed and ran, terrified and dejected, for home.

SECOND REEL: THE BRIGHTEST STAR
    NEWSPAPER HEADLINES SPIN TOWARDS THE SCREEN, THE FAST SPIRALS HALTING AS THEY PRESENT THEMSELVES ON A DIAGONAL. THERE IS A FANFARE OF THE BRASS SECTION:
    ‘THE QUEEN OF HOLLYWOOD RETURNS’ shouts one.
    ‘BEAUTY AT THE BALLROOM’ cries another.
    ‘GLITZ AND GLAMOUR AT GABRIZZI’S’ announces a third.
    PHOTOS COME THICK AND FAST TO ACCOMPANY THE HEADLINES. IN EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM ELIZABETH CAN BE SEEN TO SPARKLE EVEN THROUGH THE GRAINY NEWSPRINT. SHE IS BACK AND THE WORLD HAS NOTICED.
    HENRY WOKE TO second-hand sunshine glinting off the mirror at the foot of his bed and shining right in his face. With a growl he got out of bed and yanked the curtain half closed to cut off the beam. Then he noticed he was alone.
    ‘Stood up?’ he mumbled.
    He wouldn’t normally have minded. After all, it had been no more than a bit of fun following a night of drinking and dancing – hadn’t he sneaked away with the dawn after a few of those in his time? Still, he had liked Elizabeth, and for more than just her beauty. There had been a sadness to her, an old wisdom that had made her seem both weary and yet determined. In a world where the beauty he was introduced to gave clear signs of there being nothing beneath the surface it had made a refreshing change. He had been determined to dig a little, see what he might find.
    The phone rang.
    ‘Henry, my boy!’ shouted his manager, as if he was stumbling upon his protégé in a crowded room rather than calling him direct on the phone. ‘I hear you were painting the town red last night?’
    ‘I went out,’ Henry admitted. ‘That OK?’
    ‘Hell, yes! We want people talking about you. Go out, dance the night away and end up in bed with the most beautiful woman you can find. If she’s famous all the better.’
    ‘Well … now you come to mention it …’
    ‘That’s my boy! Listen, hold that thought – you can tell me all about it at breakfast. You eaten?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Neither have I and it’s driving me wild. What’s the point in mornings unless you fill them with breakfasts? I’ll pick you up in half an hour.’
    Henry decided to wait out front. He was happy to get out of a room that was stale with old cigarette smoke and sex. It felt as though his hangover had infected the furnishings.
    Outside there was a strong Hollywood sun and a breeze that was taking the edge off the heat. A world away from the dull skies that used to loom over his old life in New York. Here you looked up and wondered if you were seeing eternity. These were the kind of skies you dreamed of flying in.
    The car pulled up and Fabio opened the door. ‘What the hell you doing out here? They kick you out?’
    ‘Just getting some air.’
    ‘That stuff’s bad for you. Let’s drench it in maple syrup.’
    They drove to a little cafe that Fabio claimed ‘served the best damned eggs in town’. (Though Henry was at a loss as to how an egg could be that varied – surely it was either cooked or it wasn’t?)
    They took a table near the window. ‘You don’t get anywhere in this town by hiding,’ said Fabio. ‘Let them walk past and see the next brightest star that’s going to light up the screen.’
    ‘Anyone offered anything?’ Henry asked, because to him you could only be a star if you’d appeared in a film.
    ‘Give it time, I’m not even considering offers just yet. We want people to wonder if they can even get you. Leave them hanging, let them panic that the other studio sent a better script, offered a bigger package.’
    Henry shrugged. Fabio seemed to know