"Of course we are," Helen said. "But don't ever let him hit you. If he does, you go, all right?"

"Oh, Helen, really—"

"Promise me."

"I promise."

She hugged them close.

"I miss you."

"We miss you too."

The campaign Herb Kanter and the Paramount publicity people had devised for The Forsaken was almost as arduous as making the picture itself. The release was scheduled for the end of February, with premieres planned for Hollywood and New York City. And Herb was determined to fill every available moment until then making sure the whole world got to know about the studio's sensational new star Diane Reed.

The day after she put Molly and Helen on the train to San Francisco, Diane began a marathon routine of interviews and photo shoots. These generally took place at the studio or in a suite Herb rented for the purpose at the Beverly Hills Hotel. For journalists from the more influential newspapers or magazines, a lunch would be arranged at the Brown Derby or the Bistro. The subject that cropped up more than any other was Diane's on-screen, off-screen relationship with Ray Montane. The questions became relentlessly familiar.

So how did you two meet? Was it love at first sight? What was it like doing the love scenes together?

But she was a skilled performer and always answered as if for the first time. She would flatter the journalists' perspicacity, give that sweet, self-deprecating smile or that little frown while she paused in fake reflection. Modest, professional, sometimes, if appropriate, even a little coquettish, she liked to leave the impression that their incisive skills had coaxed far more from her than she'd intended.

Much more difficult were the interviews she and Ray did together. They would sit side by side on the couch and pretend to all the world that life was bliss and their love undying. Sometimes, in the middle of an interview, Ray—so sweet and caring and gentle that it made her want to gag—would take her hand or put his arm around her or lean in and kiss her on the cheek. And the moment the journalist and the publicist had left the room and it was just the two of them, he would erupt.

"Am I invisible or what? The little prick didn't ask me a goddamn thing. Tell me, Diane, how has stardom affected you? Do you have a message for all your fans back home in England? Well, fuck him."

Diane, with Molly's exhortation to work at it echoing in her head, would take a deep breath and kiss and console him. If the press sometimes seemed a little more interested in her than in him, she said sweetly, it was only because she was new. He was already a star. Everybody—the whole world, for heaven's sake—knew about Ray Montane.

On the last Sunday in October Cal Matthieson phoned to say goodbye. He was about to leave for Montana for the final time. Diane drove Tommy up to the ranch and, as soon as she saw the place, wished she hadn't. The bulldozers had torn everything apart. All but a few of the trees had gone. The foundations for hundreds of homes were already laid, the hillside carved into a dirt geometry of streets and sewer ditches. Cal's house stood condemned in an ocean of dried mud, its contents already loaded into the truck that stood by the front porch.

There wasn't much to be said and Tommy said nothing. His eyes kept wandering away to where the corrals had once stood and where now the last of the rails lay charred and smoldering on a bonfire. The smoke drifted away across the hillside like the aftermath of some lost and pointless war.

Cal handed her a piece of paper on which he'd written his address in Montana and the phone number. He told her to call if there was ever anything she needed and made them promise they'd come visit. They were welcome to stay any time, he said, for as long as they liked.

"You know, Tom, that little pony of yours is already getting grouchy on me. You'd better come ride him soon or he'll be heading down here to find you."

Tommy smiled bravely, then looked away. Cal looked at Diane.

"How're things?"

"Good," she said brightly. "Better."

She could tell he didn't believe her.

"I hear the movie turned out real good."

"So they say. We haven't seen it yet."

There was a long silence. She wanted to throw her arms around him, hold him, tell him what she felt for him, that she couldn't bear the idea of his going. But of course it wasn't possible. Tommy was biting his lip.

"I think we'd better go now," she said quietly. "Are you leaving today?"

"Yep. Just a couple of things to clear up and I'll be heading off."

"Well." She swallowed. "Go safely."

"You too."