The Spiral Path (71 page)

R
ainey
shifted restlessly in the backseat of the limousine. It had been weeks
since she'd been able to get comfortable anywhere, and tonight she was as
twitchy as a bored two-year-old.

"Are you sure you're up to
this?" Kenzie gave her the worried glance of a man about to become a
first-time father. She rather missed the beard, but he did look gorgeous in a
tuxedo.

"Pass up the Academy Awards
ceremony when my movie is up for nine Oscars?" she said with a grin.
"This is never going to happen again." She glanced down at her
flowing black evening gown, trimmed with black sequins and designed to take
advantage of her cleavage, which was pretty impressive at the moment. "No
way will I miss it even if I do look like a high-fashion version of the
Goodyear blimp."

He took her hand. "You look
beautiful." A charming lie, since it had taken massive efforts to get
Rainey up to looks - pretty - good - for - a - woman - in - her - ninth -
month.

She relaxed into the leather upholstery,
thinking about the amazing months since
The Centurion
had opened. The
gods had smiled, and the movie became a critical and popular hit. Reviewers
raved about the wrenching, nuanced portrayal of trauma and healing, the
luminous cinematography, and what a wonderful alternative the film was to the
holiday crop of high-tech, big-budget thrillers.

Success had been sweet, especially when
viewed from the safe distance of New Mexico, where it was easier to keep a
sense of perspective. They'd decided that Cibola would be their primary home,
though they kept the Broad Beach house for when they needed to be in L.A.
Rainey sold her canyon home to Emmy Herman and her husband. With their baby
boy, they needed more space.

Over the winter, she and Kenzie had
worked out a map for the future. The ground rules were spending at least
ninety-five percent of their time together, and doing only work they truly
loved. Their new production company had several projects in different stages of
development, and working together was an unending source of pleasure.

Dame Judith Hawick was going to direct a
West End revival of Wilde's
The Ideal Husband,
and Kenzie had agreed to
play the lead with Rainey as the blackmailing Mrs. Chevely. They'd bought a
handsome West End town house, since in the future they would be spending more
time in England.

Even better than their creative
partnership was their personal life. Playing Benedick in Santa Fe had been a
catalyst for Kenzie, and ever since then he'd been his best and happiest
possible self. Their relationship had reached levels of intimacy and trust
Rainey had never dreamed possible, since trust had never been her strong point.

Rainey's grandparents were happy, too.
Though they refused her offer to fly them out for the Academy Awards, they'd
promised to come when the baby was born. Virginia sounded downright giddy at
the prospect of a great-grandchild.

The limo halted, and it was their turn
to step onto the red carpet. Kenzie helped Rainey out as the crowd roared with
excitement. "You're Hollywood's darling," he said quietly. "The
woman who fought to bring her vision to life, and succeeded beyond anyone's
wildest dreams. It's the recipe for winning a tribe of Oscars."

"The nominations are a mark of
respect, but we're not going to win many of them," she said pragmatically.
"Note that I'm a
woman
who fought to bring her vision to life. It's
males who actually get declared winners when they do the same."

"Good box office creates jobs, and
the rank-and-file crafts-people who make up a large part of the academy love
you for that." He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they
proceeded into the huge theater, collecting hugs all the way.

Their aisle seats were in front of
Marcus and Naomi, both of whom were beaming. She and Marcus were cautiously
developing a new kind of relationship. Though it was never referred to openly,
the knowledge was a warm bond between them.

Across the aisle Greg Marino sat with
Val, who had flown out to California to be his date and keep him from going
nuts as he waited to learn if he'd won the Oscar for best cinematography. Val
looked fabulous in what appeared to be a vintage flapper dress that sparkled
with black jet bugle beads and set her red hair off splendidly.

As the ceremony began, Rainey found that
under her excitement was a curious sense of peace. The time she'd been up for
the Best Supporting Actress Oscar, she'd wanted desperately to prove to the
ghost of Clementine that it was possible to be talented and successful without
self-destructing. Tonight, she had nothing to prove.

Which didn't mean that she didn't want
to win, of course. She clamped her teeth tight when Sharif didn't win for Best
Supporting Actor. He deserved it, dammit! He gave her a philosophical glance
from his seat. He might not have an Oscar, but his role had put him on the cover
of
People
magazine, and brought piles of scripts to his door.

She shrieked when the composer of the
Centurion
music won for best score, sighed when her art director didn't win. Then it
was time for cinematography. The presenter opened the envelope. "And the
Oscar for Cinematography goes to--Gregory Marino, for
The Centurion!"

Ponytail flying, Greg leaped into the
aisle and strode up to the stage wearing a smile that threatened to split his
face in half.
The Centurion
gang howled their support. He gave the usual
thanks, ending with, "Most of all, I want to thank Raine Marlowe, a
terrific director who knows when to let her DP have his head." Amidst
laughter, he left the stage to be photographed and interviewed in the press
room.

Then it was time for the adapted
screenplay award, for which Rainey had been nominated. Her fingers locked
around Kenzie's hand like claws, though she kept her face carefully impassive.
It wouldn't do to look disappointed on camera.

When her name was announced, for a
moment she was so stunned that she almost didn't believe it. But Kenzie stood
and helped her from her seat, beaming as he hugged her. "Way to go, TLC!
You earned this one fair and square."

With his firm hand holding hers, she
climbed the wide steps to the stage, wondering dizzily how many hundreds of
millions of people worldwide were watching her waddle to the podium. Her mind
blanked on the remarks she'd prepared, so she kissed the Oscar and said,
"Actresses work hard to be beautiful, but what they truly love is being appreciated
for their brains!"

As the audience roared, she thanked the
Gordons and gave credit to George Sherbourne for writing a novel whose deeply
human story still resonated in the twenty-first century. She moved through the
press room as quickly as possible, wanting to get back to the audience to watch
the other awards.

Rainey felt only a pang when she didn't
win for best actress. She had her Oscar, and no matter what happened in the
future, when the time came her obituary would read "Academy Award--winner
Raine Marlowe..."

But she truly, desperately wanted Kenzie
to win for best actor. He deserved it hands down. Seeing her expression, he
said quietly. "It's okay if I don't win, Rainey, and I probably won't.
It's not exactly a heroic role."

"Which is exactly why you should
win!" she said fiercely. "How many actors would be willing to bare
their souls the way you did?"

He just smiled, but the hand clasping
hers was cold. The list of finalists and clips was interminable. Finally the
presenter, the glamorous winner of the previous year's best actress award,
opened the envelope and blinked near-sightedly at the slip inside. "The
Academy Award for best actor goes to ... to ... Kenzie Scott for
The
Centurion!"

Rainey shrieked as she hugged him, but
Kenzie was coolly composed as he squeezed her hand, then rose and headed to the
stage. He was a popular choice, and the applause was slow to die down. His gaze
went across the audience, and Rainey knew that a billion people across the
world would think he was looking right at them.

When there was silence, he said
reflectively, "Truly great roles don't come along very often, but John
Randall is one of them.
The Centurion
is a story of survival and growth,
second chances and redemption. Too many people have helped along the way to
mention them all, but I must give special thanks to the memory of Charles
Winfield, my mentor and my friend."

He mentioned some other names before his
gaze went to Rainey. "Most of all, I must thank my wife, Raine Marlowe,
who bullied me into taking this part"--laughter--"and in doing so, gave
me the most profound experience of my life, and a second chance." His
voice became intimate, as if they were alone together. "I love you,
Rainey." He raised the Oscar to her in a salute.

Even knowing that a billion people would
see her crying on camera, she couldn't control her tears. Damned hormones.

When he returned to his seat, she put
her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt equal parts
sick, exhausted, and happy, but having Kenzie's arm around her was so
comfortable that she half-dozed despite the strange, wired excitement that
pulsed through her.

Then she heard her name. "Raine
Marlowe, for
The Centurion!"

Her head shot up and she stared at
Kenzie, stunned.

"You're not dreaming--you've just
won the Oscar for best director." He helped her rise, offering an intimate
smile. "I am so proud of you, love."

He escorted her to the stairs and was
going to retreat, but she hung onto his arm. "Come with me! I may freak
out and need help."

He climbed the wide steps with her,
staying out of camera range when she went to the podium. In contrast to her
exhilaration when she won for adapted screenplay, Rainey found that this time
she was eerily calm.

"This is going to be a really tough
act to follow with my second movie," she quipped. "Making a movie is
a job of incredible complexity that requires immense hard work by an army of
dedicated people. When everything comes together, the result is magic. If I
listed the names of everyone who worked to make
The Centurion
what it
was, the Academy cops would come and haul me off the stage.

"But I must mention my friend Val
Covington, who told me I could do this when I didn't believe I could. This
rates the world's biggest hot fudge sundae, Val." She smiled toward her
beaming friend. "Thanks also to Marcus and Naomi Gordon, the producers who
took a chance on an untried director because they love this business as much as
I do. And most of all, to Kenzie Scott, a great actor, and an even better
husband."

Would it be just too corny to say how
much she loved him? Before she could make up her mind, a fiercely painful
contraction swept through her. Dear God, it hadn't been just excitement making
her feel so strange! Dizzily she grabbed the podium as the Oscar dropped to the
stage and bounced. "I think I'm going into labor," she gasped,
"but I'd never write a scene like this. It's such a
cliche!"

"You can do the rewrite
later." It was Kenzie's voice, Kenzie's arms sweeping her off her feet.
She clung to him as he carried her from the stage past startled, excited faces.
She knew from all the pregnancy books she'd read that some women did go into
labor this fast, but why her, and why
now?

Because there was a God, and She had a
wicked sense of humor.

The Academy had an ambulance standing by
just for her. Refusing assistance, Kenzie carried her into the vehicle and
gently laid her on the bed inside. "Don't worry, TLC, this baby is a born
performer, and will play its part flawlessly." He knelt beside her as the
ambulance began to move. "'All the world's a stage...'"

She smiled, then crushed his hand as
another contraction ripped through her.

What could be better than going forth
with Shakespeare?