A Summer Without Horses Read Online Free

a way, he was being nice, but in another way, it was a sort of a putdown, making the waiter think I was some sort of ignoramus.
    “I’ll have the
escargots
to start and then the
venaison
for my main course,” I said. I knew perfectly well I’d just ordered snails and deer, two things I don’t much like to eat, especially when I’m not hungry, but I felt this wild urge to show Chris that I knew how to read a menu, and, even more important, how to pronounce the French properly.
    I didn’t have much time to think about how I’d eatwhat I’d ordered because that’s when the reporter showed up. Both Skye and Chris knew who she was. Krysti sat up straighter when she heard her name, Nancy Lamport. Even I sort of recognized it. She’s a major Hollywood reporter. Everybody reads her daily column and she can make or break a movie—or a star—with a stroke of her word processor. The fact that she’d come to our table meant that Skye’s movie might get some coverage. Whether it was good or bad largely depended on what happened in the next five minutes.
    “Now, don’t tell me how wonderful your movie is,” Ms. Lamport began, cutting off Chris before he could launch into a big speech. “I can get that from your publicity department. Tell me what you’re doing that’s going to make it a smash hit.”
    Chris wasted no time. “As you know, the movie is about two brothers who become lost in the wilderness. I think the essence of the film lies in the feelings of desolation, isolation, and loss. To convey this to the movie-going public, it must come from within. I have techniques I developed with my acting coach, Igor Novolovsky. One, for example, involves climbing into my shower stall, nude.”
    How else would you get into the shower? I wondered. But there was more. I listened, now truly understanding Skye’s problem with this guy. Phony didn’t begin to cover the subject.
    “I’ve had the glass door painted black so I am totallyisolated. I turn on the water, to an unbearably cold temperature. I am alone, utterly alone. I feel it to my core. Then the tears come, mingling with the cold water. When I can bear it no more, I scream. The isolation is complete and when I perform for the camera, I draw on that.”
    Ms. Lamport was writing as fast as she could. I guess she didn’t want to miss a word. I had the feeling that when it came out in print, it would have the effect of making Chris look like a very serious performer instead of the big phony he was.
    When the reporter’s pencil stopped, she looked at Skye. “And how do you spend your time when you’re not actually on the set?” she asked. “Do you have techniques, too?”
    He was still stunned by what Chris had said. “Nothing like that,” Skye began, nearly stammering.
    I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. Skye had said he needed Saddle Club help, so he got it.
    “He doesn’t have to,” I said. “Everyone who has ever seen Skye on a screen knows that he’s a wonderful actor, don’t you agree?”
    Ms. Lamport agreed. At least she nodded.
    “And besides, he’s too busy with the other things he does.”
    “Sports and things like that?” she asked me.
    “Some, but Skye would never let anything interfere with the work he does at the Dade Children’s Hospital.”
    “Really?” Now she seemed interested. “Tell me about it.”
    Skye did. He told her everything he’d told me and she wrote it all down. When Chris tried to mention that he’d helped out at a homeless shelter once, she practically ignored him. I remembered the story, too. There had been a big celebrity “do” for a shelter in Beverly Hills—where homeless means you only rent. Nobody was impressed by Chris’s big heart.
    Ms. Lamport stayed at our table for quite a while, talking with Skye about the upcoming fund-raising auction at Dade and about his work with the kids there. Skye’s face lit up as he told her about one little boy who had taken his first steps into Skye’s arms and how