The Spiral Path (46 page)

"This movie is less crazy-making
than most--we're clipping along at a pretty good pace." A craft service
girl passed with fresh tarts, so Greg snagged a couple. "I hope Raine
keeps directing. I'd work for her again in a New York minute."

"I've watched all the dailies, but
I'm a civilian," Val said. "Is
The Centurion
going to be as
good as it looks?"

He turned serious. "I hope so.
We've all busted our balls on this job. But a movie can be lost at any stage.
In the casting, the shooting, the editing, the mixing. So many things can go
wrong that sometimes I'm amazed any good stuff is ever released."

"No wonder directors and producers
are control freaks." She hesitated, wondering if she should ask her next
question. "Are all productions this tense at the end?"

"This one is tenser than most, but
I think it's because of the scenes that are being shot." He ate half a
tart in one bite. "Real gut-wrenchers. Plus all the press craziness. A
couple of times I've wondered if Kenzie was going to freak out, and Rainey is
looking pretty frayed, too."

Val frowned. The tabloids were having a
field day at Kenzie and Rainey's expense, with Nigel Stone dropping heavy hints
of shocking revelations to come about Kenzie's past. Cynically she wondered if
some slander was being timed to hit just as production ended.

There was also frenzied speculation on
the state of Raine and Kenzie's marriage. The Pamela person had done a good
article refuting the reconciliation story and quoting Rainey at
length--headlined "Just Good Friends"--but there had been plenty of
wild stories, including an American female wrestler claiming she was the cause
of the divorce because she was pregnant with twins by Kenzie. Rainey didn't
read any of that rubbish, but she knew it was out there, and surely it added to
her tension.

But the real source of tension was on
the set. Kenzie had already filmed several devastating scenes with Sharif that
explained why he'd returned to England emotionally traumatized, and their
climactic scene would be shot that afternoon. In the morning, he and Rainey
would tackle revelations, lovemaking, and reconciliation. Val wondered how that
would go. She couldn't imagine acting a love scene with a man who was in the
process of breaking her heart.

Relationships were hell. Why couldn't
people reproduce asexually like amoebae?

No doubt Rainey and Kenzie would act
those last scenes admirably. Professional to the core, they'd rather be carried
off in straitjackets than admit they couldn't fulfill their obligations. But
Val would be profoundly glad when this production was over so Rainey could get
away from Kenzie and start to heal.

Amoebae really had the right idea.

Bare
to the waist and artfully decorated with bruises and artificial sweat, Kenzie
paced tautly across the set, innards churning, while the lighting was adjusted.
Hell was having to choose between artistic honesty, and showing the deepest
scars of your soul to a camera. Why was he doing this?

Because of Rainey. Because of Charles.
Because the bloody show must go on.

"Pictures up, gentlemen," the
first AD called.

He entered the simulated tent, canvas on
one side and camera on the other, and let himself be tethered to a post with a
long chain. As he settled on the rug that floored the tent, Sharif watched with
dangerous intensity, deep in his character. Playing Mustafa required him to be
in control of a complex relationship that stimulated him on many levels, and he
was doing it magnificently.

In contrast, John Randall was just a
bleeding victim with a fractured sense of self. Kenzie should have demanded to
play Mustafa.

The sexual scenes had been merely hinted
at, with shots of a dark hand on pale skin, shadows moving behind canvas, and
other images that made it clear what had happened without being graphic. More
explicit were scenes of flashing debate, a rope securing a bloody, abraded
wrist, reluctant admiration, and moments of odd tenderness, including Mustafa
nursing his captive through a near fatal fever. Now all those conflicting
emotions must come to a head. Kenzie stared at his nemesis, and let himself
fall into a pit of despair.

Rainey gave the signal to start. His
long robe swirling around him, Sharif stalked across the tent toward Randall.
"For months, we have argued and fought and learned to know each other as
only two warriors can, yet still you wish to leave? Very well, I shall let you
go." His lips drew back from his teeth. "Beg for it."

Mentally and emotionally at the end of
his tether, Randall struggled to his feet and managed to say, "A British
officer doesn't beg."

"Then you will die in the
desert," Mustafa said softly, his eyes glittering with menace, "and
the wind and sand will polish your bones."

"Kill me and be done with it! Do
you think my life has any value left?" It was a cry from the heart of a
man pushed beyond his limits by physical and emotional abuse that had turned
his normal life into a hallucinatory memory.

Face twisted with anger and frustration,
the desert chief grabbed Randall's shoulder and shoved him to his knees.
"Beg, you English swine!"

"No!" Randall snatched the
dagger from the sheath at Mustafa's waist and held it to his own throat.
"Kill me if you must."

The two men stared at each other,
Randall's life weighing in the balance. Then Mustafa wrenched the weapon away
and slammed it back into the sheath. "Go then! I'll not taint my blade
with the blood of an unbeliever."

The scene ended with the camera zooming
in on Randall's haggard face, showing the victory that had come at a price so
high it was really defeat.

"Cut and print. Well done, both of
you," Rainey said in a voice pitched softly so as not to break the mood.
"Once more, and then we'll do the close-ups."

Kenzie stood, the words and emotions of
the scene churning in his mind. Love and hate. Antagonism and mercy. Disgust ...
and desire. The culmination of all the painful, difficult scenes he and Sharif
had played together. "This isn't right. It's weak."

Rainey blinked. "I thought the
scene worked pretty well, but there's always room for improvement. What do you
suggest?"

He rubbed his forehead, smearing his
makeup. Why the
hell
was he doing this? Crucified by the Muse.
"Forcing Randall to beg is ... too obvious. Too much a 1930s B-movie. There
needs to be ... more between them. More conflict, higher stakes.
Vulnerability."

"The scene is based on the book, so
the sensibility is late Victorian," Rainey agreed. "What would go
beyond that to make it work better now?"

He tried to pace, only to be jerked
short by the chain on his left wrist. He pivoted, scowling. "Randall's
ambivalence needs to be clearer. Mustafa wants to force him to recognize that
on some level he was attracted to his captor." That the upright Victorian
officer had experienced a dark, unwilling satisfaction in some of what was done
to him. "Isn't that the core of the story? That Randall can't bear to
acknowledge that he has ever been less than a one-hundred-percent pure
heterosexual, even for a few minutes?"

"That's Randall," Rainey
agreed. "How do you think it should be played?"

"Instead of making his captive beg
for freedom," Kenzie said slowly, his head throbbing, "Mustafa should
say that he'll free Randall, if ... if Randall will admit that he loves
him."

"Yes!" Sharif exclaimed.
"I love my upright, maddening English officer, I don't want to lose him. I
cannot bring myself to kill him, yet keeping him against his will would be cold
ashes in my mouth. I offer him a bargain--I will allow him to go back to his
cold northern land if just this once he admits the truth that lies between
us."

"That's brilliant, Kenzie. Edgy and
complicated and painful, just like their relationship." Rainey's gaze met
his, and it was as if she was talking about them, not the fictional characters.

He turned away. "Sharif, shall we
try this as improvisation?" He usually avoided ad-libbing since he wasn't
sure about coming up with the right words, but this character and this dilemma
he knew in his bones.

Since Sharif agreed, Rainey let them go
ahead. Instead of angry threats, Mustafa used a raw, tormented voice that
revealed more than he intended. Randall retreated as far as the chain would
allow, futilely trying to escape that agonized demand. He couldn't bear to
admit what Mustafa wanted to hear, yet if he denied this secret, loathed side
of himself, he would never be free to return to his real life.

He closed his eyes, imagining Sarah, his
touchstone, the bright angel who had moored him to sanity. For the sake of her
and his family, he would speak the words Mustafa wanted to hear. What did a
small lie matter, if it would secure his freedom?

He closed his eyes and said haltingly,
"I ... love you," speaking the words his enemy--his honored, loved, and
hated enemy--wanted to hear. He told himself his "confession" would
make no difference to who he really was.

Yet it made all the difference in the
world.

There was a hushed silence after Rainey
whispered, "Cut and print."

Then the crew broke into applause. It
was the kind of spontaneous tribute that did an actor's soul good--but not this
time. Wearily Kenzie leaned against the pole, then slid down to the carpet and
buried his face in his hands.

Crucified by the Muse.

CHAPTER 27