Phoenix Falling (53 page)

Success had been sweet, especially when viewed from the safe distance of New Mexico, where it was easier to keep a sense of perspective. They'd decided that Cibola would be their primary home, though they kept the Broad Beach house for when they needed to be in L. A. Rainey sold her canyon home to Emmy Herman and her husband. With their baby boy, they needed more space.

Over the winter, she and Kenzie had worked out a map for the future. The ground rules were spending at least ninety-five percent of their time together, and doing only work they truly loved. Their new production company had several projects in different stages of development, and working together was an unending source of pleasure.

Dame Judith Hawick was going to direct a West End revival of Wilde's
The Ideal Husband
, and Kenzie had agreed to play the lead with Rainey as the blackmailing Mrs. Chevely. They'd bought a handsome West End town house, since in the future they would be spending more time in England.

Even better than their creative partnership was their personal life. Playing Benedick in Santa Fe had been a catalyst for Kenzie, and ever since then he'd been his best and happiest possible self. Their relationship had reached levels of intimacy and trust Rainey had never dreamed possible, since trust had never been her strong point.

Rainey's grandparents were happy, too. Though they refused her offer to fly them out for the Academy Awards, they'd promised to come when the baby was born. Virginia sounded downright giddy at the prospect of a great-grandchild.

The limo halted and it was their turn to step onto the red carpet. Kenzie helped Rainey out as the crowd roared with excitement. "You're Hollywood's darling," he said quietly. "The woman who fought to bring her vision to life, and succeeded beyond anyone's wildest dreams. It's the recipe for winning a tribe of Oscars."

"The nominations are a mark of respect, but we're not going to win many of them," she said pragmatically. "Note that I'm a
woman
who fought to bring her vision to life. It's males who actually get declared winners when they do the same."

"Good box office creates jobs, and the rank-and-file craftspeople who make up a large part of the academy love you for that." He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they proceeded into the huge theater, collecting hugs all the way.

Their aisle seats were in front of Marcus and Naomi, both of whom were beaming. She and Marcus were cautiously developing a new kind of relationship. Though it was never referred to openly, the knowledge was a warm bond between them.

Across the aisle Greg Marino sat with Val, who had flown out to California to be his date and keep him from going nuts as he waited to learn if he'd won the Oscar for best cinematography. Val looked fabulous in what appeared to be a vintage flapper dress that sparkled with black jet bugle beads and set her red hair off splendidly.

As the ceremony began, Rainey found that under her excitement was a curious sense of peace. The time she'd been up for the Best Supporting Actress Oscar, she'd wanted desperately to prove to the ghost of Clementine that it was possible to be talented and successful without self-destructing. Tonight, she had nothing to prove.

Which didn't mean that she didn't want to win, of course. She clamped her teeth tight when Sharif didn't win for Best Supporting Actor. He deserved it, dammit!

He gave her a philosophical glance from his seat. He might not have an Oscar, but his role had put him on the cover of
People
magazine, and brought piles of scripts to his door.

She shrieked when the composer of
The Centurion
music won for best score, sighed when her art director didn't win. Then it was time for cinematography.

The presenter opened the envelope. "And the Oscar for Cinematography goes to—Gregory Marino, for
The Centurion!
'

Ponytail flying, Greg leaped into the aisle and strode up to the stage wearing a smile that threatened to split his face in half.
The Centurion
gang howled their support.

He gave the usual thanks, ending with, "Most of all, I want to thank Raine Marlowe, a terrific director who knows when to let her DP have his head." Amidst laughter, he left the stage to be photographed and interviewed in the press room.

Then it was time for the adapted screenplay award, for which Rainey had been nominated. Her fingers locked around Kenzie's hand like claws, though she kept her face carefully impassive. It wouldn't do to look disappointed on camera.

When her name was announced, for a moment she was so stunned that she almost didn't believe it. But Kenzie stood and helped her from her seat, beaming as he hugged her. "Way to go, TLC! You earned this one fair and square."

With his firm hand holding hers, she climbed the wide steps to the stage, wondering dizzily how many hundreds of millions of people worldwide were watching her waddle to the podium.

Her mind blanked on the remarks she'd prepared, so she kissed the Oscar and said, "Actresses work hard to be beautiful, but what they truly love is being appreciated for their brains!"

As the audience roared, she thanked the Gordons and gave credit to George Sherbourne for writing a novel whose deeply human story still resonated in the twenty-first century. She moved through the press room as quickly as possible, wanting to get back to the audience to watch the other awards.

Rainey felt only a pang when she didn't win for best actress. She had her Oscar, and no matter what happened in the future, when the time came her obituary would read. "Academy Award-winner Raine Marlowe..."

But she truly, desperately wanted Kenzie to win for best actor. He deserved it hands down. Seeing her expression, he said quietly, "It's okay if I don't win, Rainey, and I probably won't. It's not exactly a heroic role."

"Which is exactly why you should win!" she said fiercely. "How many actors would be willing to bare their souls the way you did?'

He just smiled, but the hand clasping hers was cold. The list of finalists and clips was interminable.

Finally the presenter, the glamorous winner of the previous year's best actress award, opened the envelope and blinked near-sightedly at the slip inside. "The Academy Award for best actor goes to... to... Kenzie Scott for
The Centurion
'."

Rainey shrieked as she hugged him, but Kenzie was coolly composed as he squeezed her hand, then rose and headed to the stage. He was a popular choice, and the applause was slow to die down. His gaze went across the audience, and Rainey knew that a billion people across the world would think he was looking right at them.

When there was silence, he said reflectively, "Truly great roles don't come along very often, but John Randall is one of them.
The Centurion
is a story of survival and growth, second chances and redemption. Too many people have helped along the way to mention them all, but I must give special thanks to the memory of Charles Winfield, my mentor and my friend."

He mentioned some other names before his gaze went to Rainey. "Most of all, I must thank my wife, Raine Marlowe, who bullied me into taking this part"—laughter—"and in doing so, gave me the most profound experience of my life, and a second chance." His voice became intimate, as if they were alone together. "I love you, Rainey."

He raised the Oscar to her in a salute. Even knowing that a billion people would see her crying on camera, she couldn't control her tears. Damned hormones.

After he's been photographed and he returned to his seat, she burrowed under his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt equal parts sick, exhausted, and happy, but cuddling Kenzie was so comfortable that she half-dozed despite the strange, wired excitement that pulsed through her.

Then she heard her name. "Raine Marlowe, for
The Centurion
!"

Her head shot up and she stared at Kenzie, stunned.

"You're not dreaming. You've just won the Oscar for best director." He helped her rise, offering an intimate smile. "I am so proud of you, love."

He escorted her to the stairs and was going to retreat, but she hung onto his arm. "Come with me! I may freak out and need help."

He climbed the wide steps with her, staying out of camera range when she went to the podium. In contrast to her wild exhilaration when she won for adapted screenplay, Rainey found that this time she was eerily calm.

"This is going to be a really tough act to follow with my second movie," she quipped. "Making a movie is a job of incredible complexity that requires immense hard work by an army of dedicated people. When everything comes together, the result is magic. If I listed the names of everyone who worked to make
The Centurion
what it was, the Academy cops would come and haul me off the stage.

"But I must mention my friend Val Covington, who told me I could do this when I didn't believe I could. This rates the world's biggest hot fudge sundae, Val." She smiled toward her beaming friend. "Thanks also to Marcus and Naomi Gordon, the producers who took a chance on an untried director because they love this business as much as I do. And most of all, to Kenzie Scott, a great actor and an even better husband."

Would it be just too corny to say how much she loved him? Before she could make up her mind, a fiercely painful contraction swept through her. Dear God, it hadn't been just excitement making her feel so strange!

Dizzily she grabbed the podium as the Oscar dropped to the stage and bounced. "I think I'm going into labor," she gasped, "but I'd never write a scene like this. It's such a
cliché
!"

"You can do the rewrite later, my love." It was Kenzie's voice, Kenzie's arms sweeping her off her feet.

She clung to him as he carried her from the stage past startled, excited faces. She knew from all the pregnancy books she'd read that some women did go into labor this fast, but why her, and why now?

Because there was a God, and She had a wicked sense of humor.

The Academy had an ambulance standing by just for her. Refusing assistance, Kenzie carried her into the vehicle and gently laid her on the bed inside.

"Don't worry, TLC, this baby is a born performer, and will play its part flawlessly." He knelt beside her as the ambulance began to move. "'All the world's a stage...'"

She smiled, then crushed his hand as another contraction ripped through her.

What could be better than going forth with Shakespeare?

* * *

Even though he was wrung out as if he'd run a marathon, Kenzie couldn't take his eyes off Rainey and their brand-new, redheaded daughter. "Not only did we get the best prize of all, but your timing gave us a perfect excuse to skip all the post-Oscar parties."

Rainey chuckled. She was tired and there was smudged makeup around her eyes, but she looked beautiful and vastly content, her apricot hair tumbling over the white hospital linens. "There's no way I could have managed the parties, but I'm kind of sorry I missed seeing Marcus and Naomi accept our Oscar for best picture of the year."

"We can watch it later on YouTube." He hesitated. "Is it all right if I hold her?"

"Of course. She's half yours." Carefully Rainey handed over the baby.

Terrified that he'd break her, he cradled the infant in one arm, studying the tiny hands and dozing red face with awe. His daughter.
His daughter
.

She opened her eyes and blinked at him. His heart somersaulted. He had not known that such instant, profound, unconditional love existed. He was still terrified, but dimly he recognized that terror was a normal condition of parenthood.

He made a solemn vow that this was one baby who would be raised with the love and protection that all children deserved, and so many tragically didn't receive. Though he suspected that parenting would be the most difficult role he'd ever tackled, between them he and Rainey would do better than their own parents had.

"Have we decided which name we're going to give her?" Rainey asked drowsily.

"Faith," he said softly as he returned his daughter to his wife. "We'll call her Faith."

The End

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AN IMPERFECT PROCESS

The Starting Over Series

Book Three