The Spiral Path (54 page)

"It was ... more complicated than
that. Trevor was a professor of literature, a Shakespeare specialist with an
international reputation. We never had a physical relationship--instead, he'd
pay for my time and watch me while he quoted poetry and masturbated. My role
was to look enthusiastic and ardent."

Rainey kept her composure despite the
weirdness of what he was saying. "Was that better than having him touch
you?"

"A little. It made it possible for
us to live under the same roof. He told people I was a distant cousin with no
other relatives, so he'd taken me in. He and Charles were former lovers who'd
stayed friends. Trevor was comfortably off but not rich, so it was Charles who
paid for the surgery. He had the kind of offhand generosity that didn't think
twice about spending tens of thousands of pounds for procedures that weren't
covered by the National Health."

Rainey pressed her hand to her mouth.
"Surgery?"

"The German had been very thorough.
The broken bones of my face needed to be rebuilt, which is how I became the
unutterably handsome Kenzie Scott." Bitterly he touched the faint,
perfectly sculpted cleft in his chin, brushed one of his high, dramatic
cheekbones. "The basic shape and structure didn't change, but they were
enhanced. This beautiful face the camera loves, the subject of countless
gushing journalistic words, isn't mine. It's as much a lie as everything else
in my life."

"No wonder you have no
vanity," she whispered.

"How can I be vain about something
that isn't mine?" The stranger's face had been his mask, and his shield
against the world. People saw the chiseled, too-handsome-to-be-real features,
not the hollow core.

"Did ... did Trevor make you continue
to act out for his sexual fantasies?"

"Luckily, he was wise and kind
enough to realize how destructive that would be. Besides, even more than a
lover, he wanted a son. Someone to love and be loved by." It was another
role the young Jamie had learned well. And if simple filial love had been
impossible, there had been genuine affection and profound gratitude. "He
took care of me, and in return, I kept the secret of his pedophilia, since that
would have disgusted most of his friends."

"Secrets and lies." She closed
her eyes for a moment. "Did you lead a normal life after you recovered, or
was it too late for that?"

"There has never been anything
'normal' about my life." He finished his second scotch. "Trevor was
appalled to learn he'd taken in an illiterate, but he was an educator, and
realized fairly soon that I was dyslexic. One of his academic friends was a
pioneer in the study of learning disabilities, so between them they created a
private tutoring program that helped me overcome my weaknesses and learn to use
my strengths."

Trevor and Charles had been part of a
circle of aging, highly cultured gay men. All had grown up in the days when
homosexuals stayed deep in the closet, and they preferred to stay there even
when society became more tolerant. The plastic surgeon, one of the best in
Britain, had been part of the same circle. They'd delighted in giving their
battered boy a perfect face. They'd probably thought they were doing him a
favor.

Living quietly at the edge of Trevor's
life, listening to the talk of clever, well-educated men, young Jamie had
learned how to behave. "I ended up with a patchy but decent education, and
the ability to fake being well-bred. Trevor died just before I turned eighteen.
Charles Winfield had been encouraging me to study acting. He pulled some
strings to get me an audition to RADA. I was admitted, and with a little
fudging of the records, Kenzie Scott was born."

"How did you manage that?"

He shrugged. "One of Trevor's
friends was high up in the government security establishment, and I presume he
knew where to find the best forgers. I'm not sure exactly what he did, but I
ended up with a passport in the name Kenzie Scott, and RADA got records that
satisfied the bureaucrats."

"What an incredible story."
Her brow furrowed. "That's why you think no one could connect you to your
past--because you didn't grow up with the usual paper trail, and your appearance
had altered enough so that no one who knew you as a child prostitute would
recognize you now?"

"Exactly. Nigel Stone, known as
Ned, knew me then. A pity my eyes are a distinctive color. If they'd been
generic blue, he'd never have figured it out."

"So there is a connection with
Stone! Was he another hustler?"

Kenzie thought back to the first time
he'd seen that sneering face. "He was the son of Rock, my mother's
pimp."

"Rock--Stone. I see." Looking
ill, Rainey asked, "Did his father force his own son into prostitution,
too?"

"No, even Rock wasn't that
depraved. Or maybe he thought his son wasn't attractive enough to be worth
selling. Ned lived with his mother, who was a couple of steps up the social
scale, but sometimes Rock would use him to run errands--collecting money, delivering
drugs, things like that. Ned was several years older than I, and mean to the
bone. I think he felt some weird kind of sibling rivalry because he thought his
father cared more for me than him, the real son. He might have been right--I was
more valuable. Luckily, we saw each other very seldom, because he did his best
to make my life miserable when he had the chance."

"And once he guessed that Kenzie
Scott was the boy he'd hated, he tried to destroy you," she whispered.

"Not just tried." He closed
his eyes, contemplating the shattered remnants of his life.
"Succeeded."

CHAPTER 32

"
B
ut
he hasn't," Rainey said, wanting to erase some of the bleakness
from Kenzie's face. "While you were sleeping, I talked to Barb Rifkin and
Marcus Gordon, and they're already taking steps to quash Nigel Stone's story.
No one seems to believe there's a word of truth in it."

"And yet there is. Ironic, isn't
it?" He set aside his empty glass and rose to pace the small cabin, his
balance unaffected by the amount of whisky he'd put away. "No matter how
well they succeed, this kind of stain always lingers."

He stopped by a vase of flowers secured
in the center of a small table, his fingers drifting over the petals.
"Movie stars are creatures spun from dreams and fantasy. Reality means
nothing compared to how people think of us--and they'll never think of me the
same way."

She thought, aching, of the horrors he'd
experienced. What incredible resilience he possessed, to have built a
successful life after such a ruinous childhood. "Even if the stories
linger, you have nothing to apologize for. You were a
child.
No one can
blame you for what you were forced to do."

"So the world can see me as a
victim? Charming. I think I'd rather be considered a sinner."

Kenzie played heroes. Sometimes his
characters were larger than life, other times they were ordinary men who rose
to the occasion and triumphed against terrible odds, but never were they
helpless victims. That's why he'd had so much trouble playing John Randall.
"I wish I'd known," Rainey said. "I'd never, ever have asked you
to star in
The Centurion."

"My life as a pedophile's plaything
isn't a subject one raises voluntarily. Even now, I couldn't speak of this if I
weren't three-quarters drunk." He pulled a daisy from the vase and studied
it intently. "But I thought you deserve to know, and I trust you not to
tell anyone else."

"As you wish." She swallowed,
trying to ease her dry throat. "But maybe you should consider talking to
someone else, like a really good therapist. Secrets fester."

"Acting
is
therapy. To be
any good at all, an actor must know himself well. Even the most neurotic of our
breed have a deep understanding of what makes them tick." He was pacing
again, the smooth, athletic movements masking his inner turmoil. "I know
what happened to me, and the ways I've been permanently warped by my
experiences. I doubt a therapist can tell me anything I haven't already thought
of."

"Therapy isn't talking for the sake
of talking. The whole point is to find a way to heal the pain."

"Did you ask a therapist to help
sort out your problem childhood?"

"You've got me there," she
admitted. "There were times when I considered therapy. I know people who
have benefited greatly by it. But for me, it seemed best to work through my
problems in my own way."

"You've done a good job of it.
You're functioning, sane, especially by Tinseltown standards, and doing what
you love, so I'd say your instincts were sound."