Spotlight On Desire. Anita Bunkley

lunch now, okay?” The crowd fell back, the photographer stood. With a quick wave, Jewel made her exit and walked up a short flight of steps to the outdoor patio where Fred was waiting, BlackBerry handheld pressed to his ear, a glass of white wine nearby.

      Jewel gave Fred an airbrushed kiss before sitting.

      “Just be a sec,” he told her, index finger raised.

      “Take your time,” Jewel whispered in a breathy voice, before asking the server to bring her a Perrier water and lime. She settled into the white wrought-iron chair across from her producer and then glanced down at the street-level entry to the restaurant. People were milling around, waiting for their cars and chatting before saying goodbye.

      Scanning the crowd, she was struck by the design on the back of a man’s shirt. The swirling collage of red, blue, yellow and green came together in what looked like an eagle, wings spread. It seemed oddly familiar. The man wearing it was talking to a parking valet and gesturing with his hands. Jewel tilted forward to get a closer look, but he disappeared inside the restaurant, so she put it out of her mind.

      Some struggling actor, she decided. Hanging around the restaurant, hoping to get the attention of a director or a casting agent. She knew his type. Los Angeles was full of men and women like him—obsessed with creating a splashy impression, so they’d be noticed and, hopefully, offered a movie role. He’s probably a menswear salesman wearing a store sample, she mused, ripping her gaze from the street below just as Fred finished his call and the server placed her water on the table.

      “So, tell me. Who’s our new director? I’m so ready to get back to work.” Jewel plunged right in, taking a sip of her drink.

      Fred Warner slipped his handheld into the inside pocket of his beige linen suit and adjusted his tan silk tie. “Yeah, well, everyone is.” He sat back, lowered his chin and gave Jewel a look that lasted long enough to let his silence send a message of reassurance. Fred Warner, executive producer of The Proud and the Passionate, was fifty-two years old, two inches shy of six feet tall and startlingly corporate in both appearance and demeanor. His hair was silver, full and impeccably styled. His jewelry was real, understated and tasteful. He wore suits crafted by European designers and hand-made monogrammed shirts and insisted on being chauffeured around town in a white Bentley luxury car that reflected his status as a man with power and money.

      “The network has decided to bring in Taye Elliott. He’ll fill in as executive director to take us through May sweeps.”

      “Hmm, I don’t know him. What’s he done?” Jewel asked.

      “New to daytime but comes with good credentials,” Fred replied.

      “Yeah? Tell me more.”

      “Youngish…well, younger than Brad. Midthirties. Divorced. No kids…he made a point of informing us of that. Said he’s free to work round the clock, if we need him.”

      “Mmm-hmm. But what’s he been doing, if not daytime?” Jewel asked, eager for the professional credentials of the man she’d start working with on Monday. “Lifetime movies? Hallmark? A&E?”

      “Nope. Nothing like that.” Fred tasted his wine, a silver eyebrow arched. “Ever heard of the Terror Train series?”

      Jewel shook her head, confused. “No…they sound like teenage action/slasher flicks.”

      Fred started to reply but stopped when the waiter arrived to take their order. He glanced at Jewel, who shook her head. Suddenly, eating was the last thing on her mind.

      “We’ll order later,” Fred advised the young man, turning back to Jewel. “Basically, you’re pretty much on target. Action movies have been Taye Elliott’s forte. He did stunt double work for a lot of A-list actors…Wesley Snipes, Denzel, Will Smith.”

      “Oh, he’s black?” Jewel commented, impressed. She could count on one hand the number of African Americans behind the camera in daytime television. This guy must be pretty damn good to have been tapped for a job like this. Suddenly, she was more eager than ever to meet him.

      “Right. He doubled for Mario in that scene where he jumps off the roof of that skyscraper in The First Real War. Fantastic work. He won the award for best action movie star at the World Stunt Awards. Did you see that movie?”

      Jewel shook her head no.

      “Anyway,” Fred continued, “a few years back, Taye injured his spine in a car crash, decided to give up stunt work and try his hand at directing. Took on the Terror Train series…independently financed films that went straight to DVD.” Fred fiddled with a gold cuff link shaped like a half-moon, eyes locked on Jewel. “He did a heck of a job, impressed his producers and started making noise in circles that count.”

      Even though Jewel trusted Fred and wanted to share his enthusiasm for this unknown former stuntman turned director, an alarming sense of apprehension began to rise. Her mind jumped ahead to visions of Taye cursing at his actors, corralling them onto the set like cattle on the range and of tough-guy talk in a brusque commando style.

      “I don’t get it,” Jewel said, apprehension evident. “How can an action-hero stuntman replace a classy guy like Brad Fortune?”

      “Former stuntman,” Fred deadpanned his response, the tip of his tongue pressed to his lower lip.

      “Okay, former stuntman,” Jewel conceded, struggling to control her sense of unease, but wanting to hear the network’s rationale for going in this direction. “What am I missing, Fred? What qualifies Elliott to direct a soap opera?”

      Hand raised, Fred cautioned patience. “I hear you, Jewel, and I understand your concern, but I really do think Taye Elliott will be a good fit. He’ll bring a fresh approach to the show and, hopefully, help us lock down that young demographic that’s been slipping. Daytime drama won’t be a problem for him. He’s used to fast-paced work and story lines that use recurring characters. He’s got a good track record…comes in on time, under budget and delivers tightly controlled, effective scenes. I have to believe he can do the job. I’ve screened every movie he’s directed and I gotta say, they might be action films, but they have beautifully crafted love scenes, too. They’re huge hits with his target audience….”

      “Which is?” Jewel sullenly interrupted, too concerned with how this new director would affect her work to mask her growing irritation.

      “Youth. Viewers between eighteen and thirty. The market we’ve got to go after hard…and hold on to. We’re heading into May sweeps with ratings that have been slipping a point a week. We’re counting on Taye to reverse that trend.”

      “And I know what the problem is,” Jewel grudgingly concurred. “Down for Love’s debut in January.”

      “Exactly. DFL is kickin’ our butts, pulling all the younger viewers, and if we don’t catch up soon, we may not survive this ratings war.”

      “And you think Taye Elliott is the savior who will snatch that audience away from DFL?”

      “I do. I think he’s precisely what we need right now.” Fred sounded confident, even though a new frown line deepened on his slightly freckled forehead.

      “In theory, that sounds good, but it won’t be easy for him to step in, pick up the P & P story lines and pull off a winning sweeps finale. This is April, Fred. There’s not much time. This is gonna be rough on everyone.”

      Fred rounded his lips over obviously capped teeth and shifted forward in his seat. “I know, Jewel. That’s why I want you to meet him, get to know him before you start working together. You can help smooth out his introduction. Make him feel comfortable, all right?”

      Jewel didn’t respond, wondering if she should take Fred up on that. Certainly, she was dedicated to making P & P the top-rated daytime drama, but why stick out her neck to support a novice director? However, because the studio was firmly behind Taye, she had no choice but to agree to Fred’s request.

      Pulling in a slow breath, Jewel groped for a less-than-pessimistic