The Spiral Path (21 page)

N
aturally,
the day Marcus Gordon arrived everything went wrong. The truck carrying the
cameras broke down on the rutted road leading to the morning's location,
delaying shooting so much that they lost the light for the scheduled scene and
had to postpone it.

Rainey
then called for a scene planned for two days later--and found that Sharif didn't
know his lines yet. Sweating and swearing it would never happen again, he asked
for an hour and disappeared into a trailer to memorize his part. More delays.

A
complex sequence that she'd painstakingly storyboarded in advance turned out
not to work well in practice. She went into a huddle with her director of
photography, assistant director, and production designer, and they devised a
new sequence that worked beautifully. But by the time that was done, it was too
late to shoot Sharif's scene.

Marcus
had been quietly observing in the background, making use of the slack periods
by working on papers he'd brought in a voluminous briefcase. As they shared a
car back to the hotel, Rainey observed, "I think you brought us bad luck,
Marcus."

"It's
the same principle as bread always falls butter-side down--as soon as the
producer shows up, everything falls apart. Don't worry, you're only a half day
behind, and you should be able to make that up easily enough. Considering the
number of action scenes you've shot, you're doing amazingly well." He
glanced at the papers on his lap. "You're staying on budget, too, which
proves you've got some of the qualities of an effective director. Now all you
have to do is produce a great movie at the end."

Though
his comment was intended as a joke, Rainey was too frazzled to be amused. A
movie was a terribly fragile creation that could be wrecked in ways too
numerous for counting. They'd finish up in New Mexico within the next couple of
days, and if she hadn't captured the right images on film, it would be too
late.

Marcus
continued, "I want to talk to you and Kenzie half an hour after we get
back to the hotel. Just a short meeting in the production office, mostly about
some promotional ideas I'd like to kick around."

"Fine."
She guessed that Marcus wanted to see how much cooperation Kenzie would provide
for publicizing the movie when it was released. Having Kenzie on a few major
talk shows would be invaluable. Ordinarily publicity was spelled out in a
contract, but since Kenzie hated doing such things, Rainey had avoided the
subject when she worked out their initial agreement. Now Marcus had to coax his
star into a commitment. She'd have to do promo gigs herself if she wanted
The
Centurion
to do any business, even though she hated them as much as Kenzie
did.

"There's
been some bad news on the financial front."

That
caught Rainey's attention. "How bad?"

"Two
million dollars of money that was promised has fallen through."

Her
fists clenched. "That's a big chunk of my budget."

"I
think I can find at least part of that amount elsewhere, but you might want to
consider if you really need all the more expensive scenes, like the welcome at
Victoria Station when Randall returns from his captivity. Crowds of people in a
large location--that sort of thing is a nightmare to shoot, which can mean extra
time, and more money."

"I
have to do that! The welcome home shows how appalled and overwhelmed Randall is
to find himself being greeted as a hero when he feels like a disgraced
failure." She'd written that scene from memories of the suffocating panic
she'd felt when she and Kenzie were mobbed in public.

Marcus frowned. "I see your point.
Very well, see if there are a couple of smaller scenes that aren't
essential." They rolled up in front of the hotel, and he assisted her from
the car. "I'll see you in the office in half an hour."

Rainey would have loved to take a
shower, or better yet, a long bath, but the day was far from over. She headed
straight to the production office, a conference room on the ground floor of the
hotel. Val was already there sorting through Rainey's mail. She handed over a
sheaf of papers. "This report is personal business."

Scowling, Rainey dropped into a chair.
By the time she finished skimming the pages, Val had made a cup of mocha latte
and placed it by her hand, Rainey took a deep swallow, needing the combination
of sugar, caffeine, and blessed chocolate. "You'll have noticed that this
is from an investigator researching who my father might be."

"Yes, but you don't have to tell me
anything about it." The espresso machine made gurgling noises as Val
processed another shot of coffee. "All I saw was the first paragraph. I
didn't look any further."

"Such restraint must have been
painful for someone of your curiosity."

Val grinned. "Damn right it was,
but the last thing you need is more stress."

"Since you've known me forever, you
might as well hear what Mooney has to say. He doesn't have any definitive
answers--just a list of contenders for the honor of having fathered me, rated in
rough order of likelihood and with notes on which are dead and beyond DNA
testing."

Val sipped a cappuccino, delicately
licking a line of cream off her upper lip. "Are you that curious about
your father?"

"I'm not obsessed, if that's what
you mean. It's more that this is a ... a piece of unfinished business. Maybe I'll
never find out who the bastard is, and if so, fine, I've survived this long
without knowing. But I figured that if I wanted to know, I'd better get
cracking. The trail is already over thirty years old."

"Since your mother was famous,
plenty of people must remember her."

"They certainly do. According to
Mooney, he's established that Clementine's likely partners around the time I
was conceived are in the range of eight to ten."

Val winced. "She lived up to her
reputation as a hard-lovin' woman."

Rainey consulted the report. "If
the semen contributor was a one-night stand at a club or concert, he'd be
virtually impossible to trace, so Mooney sticks to potential daddies who had
something resembling a relationship with her. Two were Asian and one black, so
they're rated low probability, given my rather Celtic coloring."

She flipped to the next page.
"There were three musicians, one of them part of her backup band, a rather
mediocre bass player. She had a fling with the star of a hit cop television
show of the time. I've seen it in reruns--the guy couldn't act his way out of a
canary cage. There are rumors that she was involved with a studio executive,
and/or a recording company honcho, but Mooney hasn't any names on that.

"The highest probability listing is
for her drug supplier. They apparently consorted regularly for some months, but
he met an untimely end from lead poisoning--the kind that comes in concentrated
pellets that do bad things to one's anatomy. That happened when I was about six
months old, and if he was my father, I can only rejoice. That's all Mooney has
for now. If I want to continue, he figures he can narrow the field down to more
manageable numbers."

From Val's compassionate expression,
Rainey knew she was overdoing the brittle humor. She slid the report back into
the FedEx envelope, wondering if she really wanted to know more. Probably
not--but she did want to tie up the loose ends of her life, and this was a big
one. When the investigation was over, she could file the findings away and
forget the matter of her father.

Seeing the tawdry details of
Clementine's life made Rainey appreciate her grandparents more. They were cold,
strict, and humorless, but at least she'd never had to worry about strangers
emerging from their bedroom in the morning.

Marcus and Kenzie entered the conference
room together. Val made cappuccinos for both of the men, which gave Rainey time
to bury the past again. The stresses of a bad day of shooting were mild
compared to her early childhood memories.

Kenzie leaned against a wall,
self-contained as always, but Marcus sat down and helped himself to one of the
sandwiches Val had ordered. "I need to talk to both of you about blocking
out time for promotional appearances."

The phone rang, and Val caught it on the
first ring. After a moment of listening, she said, "It's Emmy and she says
it's really important."

"Go ahead and take the call,"
Kenzie said. "Marcus is trying to do an end run by acting as if I've already
agreed to the promotion he wants and it's merely a matter of scheduling."

"Round one to Kenzie," Marcus
said. "Shall we move on to round two?"

"Is that the one where you say I
owe my fans more public appearances, and I reply that overexposure destroys a
star's aura of mystery?"

Marcus grinned. "Okay, we'll jump
to round three."

Ignoring the banter, Rainey said,
"What's up, Emmy? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. The good news is that I
think I felt the kiddo kick this morning. The bad news..." She took a deep
breath. "I didn't call earlier because I thought maybe we could turn this
around, but after a day of fighting, I think the situation is hopeless. Jane
Stackpole is dropping out of the production."

"What!"
Rainey
dropped her half-eaten sandwich and jerked upright in her chair. "She
can't do that! Next week she's due to meet us in London."

"She can do it, and she has."

Rainey rubbed her pounding temples.
"Why? Is she ill?"

"She got a better offer--the chance
to be the love interest in a big Hollywood thriller. She almost got that role
in the initial casting, and when the star decided he hated the girl who was
first choice, they called Jane back."

"She practically kissed my feet
when I offered her the part of Sarah," Rainey said numbly. "Swore
that it was the most wonderful role she'd ever seen, and it was the opportunity
of a lifetime."

"That was then, this is now. Being
a bimbo pays better and offers more visibility," Emmy said cynically.
"If I ever meet that ungrateful, anorexic traitor in person, I'll kill
her, but in the meantime, is there someone I can call as a possible
replacement?"

Rainey gloomily thought of all the
actresses she'd considered and rejected. "I'll talk it over with Marcus
and get back to you."

When she hung up, Marcus said, "We
lost Sarah?"

"Jane Stackpole got a better offer.
Can we sue her for her back teeth?"

"Unfortunately, no. The final
contracts are still at her agent's--maybe he was stalling in the hope that this
other role would come through. Better we put our energy into finding a replacement."
Marcus glanced at Kenzie. "You know the British actresses better than I
do. Do you have any suggestions?"