The Spiral Path (50 page)

K
enzie
arrived at the wrap party a little late, as tired as if he'd hiked across Death
Valley in high summer. Actually, that would have been less draining than
spending a good part of the day in bed with his estranged but infinitely
desirable wife. Wearing minimal clothing, emoting madly, and with a camera and
crew watching every move.

Crossing directly to the open bar, he
ordered a double shot of single malt whisky. He hadn't been drunk in decades
and wouldn't be tonight, but he figured he was entitled to one really good,
stiff drink. Hell, he was entitled to have a bottle of champagne cracked across
his head as if he were a bloody battleship. He'd actually made it through
Rainey's wretched movie.

After a deep, scorching swallow of
whisky, he turned and leaned back on the bar. The wrap party was being held in
a function room attached to an old London pub. The spacious, high-ceilinged
room was decorated like a gorgeous medieval banquet hall, complete with smiling
waiters and waitresses in colorful period costume. It was a handsome place for
a celebration, and the Americans in particular loved it. Rainey had used her
tight budget for
The Centurion
well, not wasting a penny, but not
stinting when it came to making her colleagues feel appreciated.

He took a slower sip of whisky. Wrap
parties were always bittersweet. For the duration of a production, cast and
crew were like the crew of a ship, sometimes at each other's throats but bound
together by their mutual mission. He'd been in the business long enough so that
there were always familiar faces from the past, and people he'd see again in
the future, but each production was unique. Never again would exactly the same
group come together to make a movie.

Still, by the end of shooting there was
often a desire to have the blasted thing over with, especially if the
production had been plagued with problems. Kenzie had worked on one film where
the director had been changed twice, insanely expensive mechanical props had
refused to work, the weather had been killingly hot and humid, and the leading
lady was a screaming, coke-snorting hysteric. All that plus a scene-stealing
dog eager to bite everyone but its handler. He'd certainly celebrated the end
of that one.

Given the strain of working with Rainey,
this should have rated as a production he wouldn't miss, yet in most ways, it
had been a good experience. First-rate people had done their best, with minimal
interference from egos. Moviemaking at its best.

The script supervisor approached, a
wicked light in her eyes, and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. "I've
been wanting to do that for weeks."

He grinned and patted her ample rump.
"I'm glad you finally let your inner tiger loose, Helen."

She moved off, laughing. He glanced
around the room and spotted Rainey in the middle of a knot of people. With her
hair loose around her shoulders and garbed in a flowing green gown, she looked
like the ingenue, not a tough, determined producer and director who'd worked
tirelessly to bring her story to life. He hoped she was feeling pride in what
she'd achieved.

Tomorrow she'd be gone for good.

He began to circulate, speaking to
everyone at least briefly. Doable with a cast and crew of about seventy-five.
Small by Hollywood standards.

He suspected that his reputation for
being courteous and down-to-earth had taken a beating on this production. There
had been days on end when he'd barely been able to manage civility. No one
seemed to hold that against him, though. Arrogance would have been resented,
but he'd been so obviously stressed that his coworkers had been downright
protective.

Halfway around the gilded hall, he'd
finished his drink and was considering going for another when a pretty
redheaded waitress approached. "Excuse me, Mr. Scott, I know I shouldn't
do this, but when I heard you'd be here ... well, my little boy would really like
to meet you." She glanced around. "Would you mind awfully coming to
the cloakroom to meet him? Only for a minute. It would mean ever so much to
Evan."

"Of course I don't mind." He
followed her from the hall and down a short passage to the empty cloakroom.
Evan was about eleven, with great blue eyes, his mother's red hair, and a thin
body confined to a wheelchair.

As the child's face lit up, Kenzie
dropped to one knee so their faces were level. "Hi, Evan. You know who I
am. I gather you like the cinema?"

"Oh,
yes!
You're my favorite
actor, sir, and
Sky Quest
is my favorite movie, especially the final
scene when you have to battle both the villain and your own dark twin."
His words tumbled over each other as he delivered a detailed analysis that
would have done credit to a film school student.

When the boy paused for breath, his
mother said firmly, "That's enough now, lad. Mr. Scott will be wanting to
get back to his friends."

"I'm in no rush," Kenzie said.
"Why not get back to work and return in ten or fifteen minutes?"

She gave him a smile that brightened the
room, and complied. By the time she came back, Kenzie and Evan had discussed
Sky
Quest, The Scarlet Pimpernel,
and were well into
Lethal Force.
Kenzie
signed a movie poster Evan had brought, then shook hands and said good-bye.

As he and the boy's mother returned to
the hall, she said softly, "I don't know how to thank you enough, Mr.
Scott. For the first year after Evan's accident, movies were the only thing
that made him smile. Meeting you is a dream come true."

"It was my pleasure. He's a fine
boy, with a mind like a steel whip." And how lucky he was to have a mother
like this one. "Don't discourage him if he wants to work in the film
industry someday. There are jobs that can be done from a wheelchair."

Her eyes widened. "Really,
sir?"

"Really." If Kenzie could make
it in show business, a boy as clever as Evan could. "He has the passion.
Skills can be learned."

A man who looked like the hall's
supervisor stepped up, glowering. His gaze on the waitress, he said ominously,
"Come along, Mrs. Jones. You know our rules."

Suspecting she was on the verge of being
fired, Kenzie said to the supervisor, "Sorry, was I out of line? I heard
that Mrs. Jones has a son who's a cinema fan, and asked if I could meet him. We
had a fine time. I'm sorry that I took her from her work."

The supervisor's expression changed.
"You asked to meet the lad, Mr. Scott?"

"Yes. I find it very useful to keep
in touch with my fans." He gave a full-wattage movie star smile. "I'm
dreadfully sorry to have interfered with your staff. It isn't easy to create an
event like this and make it seem effortless."

"Got that right, mate."
As the supervisor began detailing the difficulties of running a catering
operation, Mrs. Jones gave Kenzie a swift, grateful glance before slipping away
to help replenish the buffet tables along one wall. After listening intently to
the supervisor, Kenzie signed an autograph for the man's wife, then excused
himself and returned to circulation.

He was close to finishing his task of
talking to everyone when Josh arrived at the party, late and harried.
"This was just faxed in from California, Kenzie." He drew out a
folded paper. "I thought you should see it right away."

Wondering what could be so important,
Kenzie looked at the paper. At first glance the letter was a chaotic,
indecipherable jumble of letters, a sure sign of fatigue.

He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing
his mind to slow down and concentrate, then tried again. The letterhead was his
lawyer's. A word at a time, he started on the text. When he reached the end, he
read through the letter again. The words remained the same. "Good
God," he said blankly. "Rainey has withdrawn the divorce?"

"So it seems."

Kenzie's mental circuits melted under a
clash of mixed emotions. Shock. Anger. Grief. Fear. "Don't tell anyone
about this."

Josh looked offended. "Of course I
won't."

"Sorry." Expression grim, he
went in search of Rainey. He found her locked in a long, wordless hug with
Rabbit, the hirsute sound man. There was a lot of hugging at wrap parties.

When Rainey disentangled herself from
Rabbit--named for his uncanny sensitivity to sounds--Kenzie asked tersely,
"May I have a moment?"

Rainey stiffened and looked as if she
wanted to bolt. "Of course."

Rabbit gave Kenzie's arm a friendly
punch and ambled off toward the buffet. Taking Rainey's elbow, Kenzie steered
her away from the food and the casual circular dining tables. "Josh just
gave me the most remarkable fax from my lawyer. What the hell kind of mind game
are you playing? Or is this some peculiar kind of joke?"

"Neither. It's just what it looks
like--I dropped the suit."

His temples began to throb as if he'd
drunk five shots of whisky. "Producing movies is an expensive hobby. Did
you decide you wanted some of my money after all? Dividing my last three years
of income by community property would certainly finance your next movie or
two."

"You
bastard!"
She
jerked her arm free. "What have I ever said to make you think I want your
damned money?"

Nothing. In fact, when she'd first
filed, he'd had his lawyer offer her a substantial cash settlement. She'd
flatly refused to take anything from him. Well on his way to a rare migraine,
he said wearily, "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

"More like unforgivable."

"That, too. I'm ... not good with
surprises." Another dyslexic coping mechanism was to plan and organize as
much as possible. Surprises that scrambled his hard-earned strategies were
never welcome.

"I'm not fond of surprises
myself," she said more moderately. "The sign of a control
freak."

"Why did you change your mind,
Rainey? Surely you can't want to stay married."

Her gaze went across the room to the
glittering ice peacock that presided over the salads. She had the starkly
beautiful profile of an exhausted angel. "The honest truth is that living
inside Sarah Masterson's skin made me realize how ... how heedless I was to race
back from Crete and immediately file for divorce. I didn't spend a single second
considering whether I was doing the right thing. Since I don't like seeing
myself as thoughtless, I canceled the lawsuit. Don't worry, this doesn't change
anything. You've made it clear that you don't want to be married, so go ahead
and file your own petition. I won't contest it."

He stared at her, baffled and off
balance. He'd counted on her determination to end the marriage. God knew that
he deserved to be left. "I ... don't know what to say."

She sighed, her gaze coming back to him.
"This isn't the time or place to talk. After we're both back in California
and have caught up on our sleep, we can sort this out with a phone call. Most
of the legal work has already been done, so a new petition should go through
very quickly."

The reasons to divorce hadn't changed.
She'd just laid the burden of it on him. Diabolical, even though that hadn't
been her intention. "Whatever you want, Rainey."

"What a pity I don't really know
what I want."

Not daring to wonder what that might
mean, he said, "Are you going to the memorial service tomorrow?" When
she nodded, he continued, "Shall we go together?"

Accepting his olive branch, she said,
"That would be nice. I wouldn't want to miss it." Very erect, her
soft gown rippling like spring water, she turned and walked to the buffet,
where she was welcomed with another long hug, this time from Laurie, the line
producer.

So he was going to have to get the
divorce. It would be easier to gnaw his arm off like a fox caught in a trap.