The Spiral Path (5 page)

Marcus
had a well-earned reputation for uncanny perception. It was time to reveal her
deal-breaker. She'd start with that, then hope that Kenzie's consent would make
it all possible. "As the director, I want final cut."

He
whistled softly. "The top directors in Hollywood fight to get that.
Explain to me why you think you deserve final cut on your very first
production."

"I
know I'm asking a lot, but I won't settle for less." She leaned forward,
her intense gaze going from one to the other. "I've got a clear vision of
what this movie should be. I don't want to make blockbusters--I want to do
small, character-driven stories that are ultimately hopeful. This kind of movie
isn't particularly fashionable, but there's a solid market for stories that
aren't all guns and gloom. Stories with heart. Think
October Sky, The
Winslow Boy, Crossing Delancey.
I want to make these kinds of movies, and I
want to do it my way, not risk being overruled by some studio executive who
thinks he knows better than I."

"Sometimes
the suits are right." Naomi's eyes were troubled.

"Saying
I want final cut doesn't mean that I won't listen to anyone else's ideas. I've
put together a team of top creative people--including you, I hope--because I
want
good input. But ultimately this is
my
movie, and I want the final
say. That's why I've kept the budget so tight--to reduce the risk."

"We're
still talking millions of dollars in production costs, and even more millions
for promotion," Marcus said. "Always assuming you can make a movie
that's fit for release."

Matching
his bluntness, Rainey said, "I can and I will. If I have to, I'll finance
this myself even though a flop means I'll have to spend years working to pay
the debt off." And that was if her career stayed healthy enough to
make the kind of money that could pay off that much debt. In the entertainment
business, there were no guarantees.

"Raine,
Raine, the first rule of moviemaking is to use other people's money, not your
own," Marcus said with a smile. "But even if you know exactly what
you want, the story hinges on having an actor who can successfully play John
Randall. You haven't listed anyone in your proposal. Who are you
considering--another relative unknown?"

"Not
at all. I got a commitment this morning, too recently for me to add his
name." With a flourish, Rainey pulled her trump card from the briefcase
and laid it on the table. "Here's a signed letter of intent from Kenzie
Scott."

Naomi
whistled as she scanned the letter. "Are you insane, child? Trying to
direct a man you're divorcing will be so crazy-making you won't be able
work."

"Kenzie
and I are both professionals." Meaning she could work even with her heart
bleeding. Ditto for Kenzie, though she suspected his heart was barely dented.
"He's perfect for this role, Naomi."

Marcus
took his turn at scanning the letter of intent. "He scratched out the
salary, and I can't quite read what he wrote in."

"Another
change for the better. Kenzie said that rather than demean himself by working
for a paltry million dollars, he'd do the picture for union scale." And a
sizable piece of any profits the film would make, of course, but it had still
been generous of him to forgo the upfront money she'd offered. He was always
such a blasted gentleman. "Doing that frees up almost a million dollars
for unexpected contingencies."

"You've
thought of everything." Marcus exchanged another wordless glance with his
wife. "All right, you've got your deal. I can find you the money--I'm
pretty sure that Universal will bite, and if they don't, another studio will.
I'll act as executive producer, and I'll even guarantee you final cut. In
return, I reserve the right to close down the production or prevent release if
costs spin out of control or the movie is a dog that would damage all of our
reputations."

"Fair
enough. You won't regret this!" Exultant, Rainey hugged first Naomi, then
Marcus. She'd gotten everything she wanted--and she prayed she didn't live to
regret it.

CHAPTER 3

B
y the time
Rainey reached home, her exhilaration had been joined by a healthy dose
of terror. Dear God, after all her hard work and planning, she was really going
to he able to make her movie the way she wanted to! This was a tremendous
opportunity--and if she blew it, she might never get another chance.

At
least she didn't have to risk her house by financing the movie herself. She'd
bought this canyon cottage with her first real money, and it was the truest
home she'd ever had. Tucked into a secluded corner of Laurel Canyon, the simple
cedar structure was fragrant from the tangy eucalyptus trees that shaded it,
and brightened by sun-baked drifts of drought-resistant flowers. She'd fallen
in love the moment she drove up.

Luckily
she'd trusted her instincts and not sold the cottage when she married Kenzie.
At heart she'd known their hasty marriage wouldn't last, so she'd rented out
her place to a charming pair of production designers who'd taken good care of
it. They'd just bought a house of their own when she left Kenzie, so she'd been
able to come home. It had been like finding refuge in the embrace of a beloved
friend.

Kenzie
hadn't been in the cottage often, so she had few memories of him here. They
were uncomfortably happy memories--she'd had no idea he knew how to make great
salads until a poignant day when he'd helped her pack her most personal
possessions--but the house had remained hers, never theirs. The Broad Beach
estate had briefly seemed like it was joint property, but no longer. In the
best civilized fashion, each of them was taking from the marriage exactly what
they'd brought in, and no more.

She
entered the living room and kicked off her high heels. The shoes rolled across
the polished oak floor, one coming to rest on the thick, richly colored Tibetan
rug splashed in front of the fieldstone fireplace. That rug figured prominently
in her memories. With his uncanny perception, Kenzie had known she was a little
sad to be leaving her loved home, so he'd seduced and made love to her with
exquisite tenderness, reminding her why she'd taken the terrifying leap of
faith into matrimony.

By
the time she reached her bedroom, she'd stripped off her Armani suit. After
hanging it in the huge closet, she paused to study the famous poster of her
mother that hung above the love seat. This was the clearest image she had,
since her childish memories were blurred by time.

Clementine
at the height of her fame had been all passion and fire, a candle burning at
both ends. Her wild mane of red hair was backlit by spotlights as she sang her
signature anthem, "Heart Over Heels," a searing confession of a woman
who fell in love too often, and always gave away more of herself than she could
afford to lose.

I'm
making it, Mama. I'm achieving success on
my
own terms without
destroying myself.
Her mother probably would have been glad to know that.
But would she have approved of the tense, wary creature her daughter had
become?

Rainey
peeled off her stockings and slipped into cutoff jeans and a black T-shirt with
a picture of the Buddha on the front. Then she flopped onto the waterbed and
reached for the phone. Who to call first? Since her personal assistant, Emmy
Herman, the world's greatest organizer, was out of touch on a sailboat with her
husband, she'd call her coconspirator in Maryland.

She
hit the autodial button. When her friend picked up on the second ring, she
said, "Val, it's me. How are things in Baltimore?"

"The
sun is shining, the weeping cherry is trailing gorgeous pink blossoms outside
my kitchen window, and
how did it go?"

Rainey
grinned. Val Covington, a friend who dated back to elementary school, had been
invaluable in developing
The Centurion.
She'd read numerous versions of
the screenplay, and though she was a lawyer, not a writer, her comments had
always been right on the mark and refreshingly un-Hollywood. Together they'd
brainstormed the practical and legal difficulties involved in producing
Rainey's dream. "You're going to get a production credit on a movie,
Val."

"Hot
damn!" Val whooped. "So you've got your deal?"

"Yep.
Marcus Gordon will be the executive producer, he agreed to let me have final
cut, and my soon-to-be-ex-husband will star."

"So
Kenzie said yes. I almost wish he hadn't, but with him involved, there's no way
you'll lose money. Congratulations, Rainey--your career as a director has
begun."

"I
still have to actually make the movie."

"You
can. You will."

Val's
warm voice carried the unconditional confidence that was supposed to be offered
by mothers. Sometimes Rainey wondered what kind of relationship she and her
mother would have had if Clementine hadn't died. Would they have been friends?
Rivals? Enemies? Would she have taken her problems to her mother and known
she'd get wise, womanly advice? Impossible to say. Clementine had been an
erratic mother. When she wasn't doing concert tours, she was sometimes devoted
and playful, other times stoned and inaccessible.