The Spiral Path (4 page)

"Where
do the torture, guilt, and despair come in?"

Rainey
stood and disappeared into the locker room, returning after a moment with a
script. "You can read all about it here. The short answer is that Randall
is captured by Arab rebels in an attack where all of his men are killed. He's
beaten and abused, and is finally released, a broken man.

"Ironically,
England is looking for something to be happy about in the wreckage of a nasty
little campaign that went badly, so he's given a hero's welcome when he returns
home. As Randall is dying inside, he's lionized, presented to the queen, and
generally treated like the greatest thing since sliced bread. No one wants to
hear about what really happened, and besides, he can't bear to talk about
it."

Kenzie
felt a chill of recognition. This was a character he could understand.
"Presumably things get worse before they get better."

Rainey
lifted hand weights and started slow bicep curls. "He doesn't want to
marry Sarah because he feels tainted and unworthy, but there's so much momentum
behind their engagement that before he knows it he's standing at the altar.

"The
marriage starts disastrously, but even though Sarah is young and wildly naive,
she's not stupid, and she truly loves him. Gradually she comes to understand
what torments her husband, and her love pulls him back from the brink of
destruction. At the end, she leaves everything she's ever known to accompany
him to Australia so they can begin a new life in a place where there are fewer
rules and family expectations."

Frowning,
Kenzie gazed out the window, where a famous neighbor walked along the sand with
two golden retrievers. Though Rainey's project would be an interesting change
of pace from his usual heroics, making a movie with her would be hell, and this
particular story might cut too close to the bone. "You don't really need
me. There are plenty of actors who could do the role well."

"I
had you in mind the whole time I was writing the screenplay. John Randall has a
tremendous emotional range from arrogance to despair to hope, and I can't think
of another actor who could do it as well." Her voice turned persuasive.
"You'll get a chance to stretch acting muscles you haven't used in ages.
You've been getting restless with all of these big budget thrillers. This is
your chance to do something different, and knock a lot of critical socks
off."

His
soon-to-be-ex-wife knew how to bait a hook. She was a great fan of his work,
claiming that he made acting look so easy that it was always the people around
him who won the awards. She might be right, and while he didn't need an Oscar,
he was human enough to want to be considered good as well as successful.
"Are you playing Sarah?"

She
shuddered theatrically. "No way. She needs to be painfully young and
innocent I was never that young."

"Maybe
not in your personal life, but you could play nineteen with the right lighting
and makeup."

"I've
already got a terrific young English actress, Jane Stackpole, to play Sarah.
I'll be plenty busy directing."

"Directing
is a popular ambition."

Though
his tone was neutral, she reacted vehemently, setting down her weights and
stalking to the glass to stare out at the ocean. "When I was young, I
wanted only to act Now that I've done that for years, I want more. I want to
tell my stories my way instead of being a puppet playing out someone else's
vision. But you know how hard it is for a woman to get a chance to
direct." A tremor, instantly suppressed, sounded in her voice. "I
want to make this story, now, and to do that I need you."

The
rigid set of her shoulders showed how much it was costing her to ask for his
help. "Who else is involved?" he asked.

"Marcus
Gordon will be the executive producer."

"Impressive.
If he's on board, you shouldn't have any trouble with financing."

Her
hands clenched. "He's always had a soft spot for me, but he's a
businessman first. Even though he thinks the script is terrific and that I can
probably do a decent job of directing, he wants a bankable star like you to
ensure that the movie at least breaks even."

He
studied her slim silhouette against the window, alarm bells going off in his
head. Agreeing to this project would he a very, very bad idea. They'd rub
against each other painfully every minute of every day. The odds were high that
they'd end up in bed together again, which would mean another excruciating
separation when shooting ended. He'd be tempted to forget common sense and try
to get her back, while she'd probably want to strangle him, especially when he
was making cinematic love to the toothsome young Sarah.

But
he couldn't resist Rainey. The fierce clarity of her will had attracted him
from the moment he first saw her screen image. She had dreams and passions and
the willingness to work to achieve them.

He'd
also worked hard, achieving great success in wordly terms, but he hadn't been
building toward a goal like Rainey. He'd been running from life. He flowed
while she burned. They were complementary personalities, and together they'd
produced blistering, dangerous steam. He knew in his bones that they were
better off apart, but that didn't prevent him from missing her like an
amputated limb.

The
rationalizing part of his brain pointed out that even though making this movie
was a terrible idea, there was no risk it would change their situation, since
Rainey was resolved on divorce and nothing would change her mind. He'd be able
to do one last project with her, and in the process help her achieve her dream
of directing. If at the end he was crippled by sorrow--it wouldn't be that
different from how he felt now. "Very well. I'll make your movie."

She
whirled to face him, startled. "Without even reading the script?"

"I'm
willing to trust you and Marcus Gordon that it's good." Wryly he
paraphrased the words English judges had used when pronouncing the death
sentence: "And may God have mercy on our souls."

Rainey climbed into
her car, still dazed by Kenzie's agreement. At heart she'd been sure he'd
refuse, but once again, she'd failed to understand him. Maybe he felt he owed
her for breaking their marriage? Or maybe he just wanted a shot at an Oscar.

Whatever
his motives,
The Centurion
was in business. As the realization sank in,
she threw back her head and gave a triumphant biker babe war whoop, feeling
like herself for the first time in months.

Grinning,
she put her car into gear and set off. Time to seal the deal with Marcus
Gordon. She'd chosen her words carefully to give Kenzie the impression that
Marcus was definitely set as executive producer, but she'd been stretching the
truth to the breaking point. A sure sign she'd spent too many years in
Hollywood, where the art of the deal had been raised to heights that would make
a camel trader blush.

She
swung onto the freeway, hoping she'd reach Marcus's home on time for their
meeting. Negotiating the details of Kenzie's contract had been time-consuming,
especially since they'd continued exercising the whole time. For her, settling
everything without the intervention of Kenzie's sharp-toothed lawyer had been
too good an opportunity to pass up.

By
the time they finished, she'd been sweating and unfit for the sight of a man
from whom she wanted a lot of money. She showered in the locker room of the
gym, then swiftly redid her hair and makeup before racing out.

She
was looking forward to being a director and not having to worry every minute
about how she looked.

Bending
the speed limit, she reached the Gordon estate only a couple of minutes late.
The butler buzzed her through the gate and she parked in the shade of a stone
wall. As she entered the sprawling house, she mentally prepared herself for the
role of Successful, Confident Businesswoman and Director. Compared to her
meeting with Kenzie, this one would be easy, though equally critical.

The
butler led her out to a multilevel patio with a spectacular view over the Los
Angeles basin. As she stepped into the sunshine, Marcus rose from a poolside
dining area shaded by a bougainvillea-covered arbor. Wiry, balding, and barely
average height, he didn't look like one of Hollywood's most powerful
independent producers, unless one looked into the shrewd gray eyes.
"You're looking remarkably fine, Raine."

Recognizing
an oblique reference to her impending divorce, she hooked her arm through his
and headed to the arbor area where his wife waited. "Nothing like hard
work and clean living to keep a sparkle in the eye, Marcus."

No
trophy wife, Naomi Gordon was frankly plump and silver-haired. She and her
husband had maintained a famous partnership for almost forty years. Rainey
kissed the older woman's cheek, leathery from decades of sun-loving. "Hi,
Naomi. I hope you don't mind my letting business intrude on Sunday
brunch."

Naomi
laughed and gestured to one of the chairs. "When do we ever really get
away from business? At least you've never shoved a script under the door of the
stall when we were both in a ladies' room."

"Good
Lord, has that happened to you?"

"Seven
times. And Marcus has even more lurid tales." Naomi smiled affectionately
at her husband.

Rainey
set down her briefcase and settled into a chair as Marcus poured her a mimosa.
The tangy fresh-squeezed orange juice was delicious, but she only sipped from
the tall glass. She didn't want the champagne in the drink to fuzz her wits.

Though
Marcus Gordon could be tough as nails, he'd always gone out of his way to help
her, possibly because he'd known her mother. In his studio head days, he'd had
Clementine under contract for a movie about a self-destructive rock star when
the singer had self-destructed herself. Rainey remembered him vaguely from
then. A father himself, he'd always been kind to her. Not like some of
Clementine's visitors.

One
of Naomi's house rules was no business talk until the food had been consumed,
so conversation was casual as they ate exquisite napoleons made of sauteed
vegetables and puff pastry, followed by a heavenly fresh fruit compote.

As
the dishes were cleared away, Marcus leaned back in his chair. "Time for
your pitch. We like your script. Now what do you want from us?"

"The
money to make this movie." Rainey passed out copies of her detailed
proposal. She'd hired several very sharp people to help on the preproduction,
painstakingly working out the details of budget, locations, and shooting
schedules. "And a distributor who will market it well."

"You
don't ask much," Marcus said dryly. "Let's look at what you've
got."

Naomi
raised her brows as she skimmed through. "You've certainly done your
homework on the prep. You can start shooting as soon as you get the green
light?"

"I
hope to begin within the next few weeks."

Marcus
pursed his lips as he looked at a page. "The battle scene in New Mexico
will be expensive."

"Yes,
but it's essential to show this ugly, chaotic little war a long way from John
Randall's home, and it will cost a lot less to shoot in New Mexico than in the
Sudan. The big welcome home scene is another money shot that's needed to
demonstrate Britain at the height of her power and prosperity."

Marcus
nodded agreement and flipped to another page. "Clever to keep all of the
English location shots in one general area. That will save money. It's still a
tight budget, though, in both dollars and time."

Rainey
gave him her most confident smile. "I wouldn't propose it unless I was
sure I could make it work. I've got great people in all the key positions. They
don't have the biggest names, but they're first-class talents."

"You've
chosen well." Naomi exchanged a glance with her husband.

He
nodded slightly and turned to Rainey. "Your figures look realistic and the
script is first-class, but you don't have a leading man listed here, and I
suspect there's something else you aren't telling us."