Phoenix Falling (37 page)

Shaking, she buried her face in her hands. She thought of loyalty as one of her virtues. She'd been loyal to her friends, her principles, to people that had helped her when she needed it. But she hadn't shown much loyalty to Kenzie. She'd been determined to preserve her pride, and her fragile heart.

Her jumbled thoughts calmed as a decision emerged. Maybe Kenzie was incapable of real intimacy. Maybe she was, too. But she would not be the one to break their marriage.

As of this night, this moment, she was finally making a commitment.

Footsteps passing by paused, and a deep voice asked, "Are you all right. miss?"

She looked up into the concerned face of a policeman. Wiping her eyes, she said, "I've been better, but I'm okay. Really."

He nodded and continued on his way. Rainey glanced at her watch. Eight hours time difference between London and Los Angeles, so it was still business hours there.

She found her cell phone and pushed the autodial code for her lawyer. She was put through immediately. The lawyer greeted her warmly. "Good timing, Rainey. The paperwork is finally done, so the divorce can be finalized when you return to California."

"That's why I'm calling, Ann. Pull the plug on it. I've changed my mind."

The lawyer caught her breath. "You and Kenzie have reconciled? That's great! At least, I hope it is."

"No, we haven't reconciled." Rainey sighed. "I don't think we will, either. But for various complicated reasons, I've decided to knock the ball into Kenzie's court. If he wants a divorce, he'll have to be the one to get it."

She would be passively cooperative, exactly as he had been. Would he immediately file for divorce? Would he take her gesture as an olive branch, and try to resolve their differences? Or would he let matters drift, with them separate but still married?

It would be interesting to find out, in a macabre sort of way.

Chapter 29

Kenzie 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 ingénue, 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 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."

"Damn you!" 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," she said bleakly. "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."