The Spiral Path

by Mary Jo Putney

  * * *

  CHAPTER 6

  On the way to Val's house, Rainey used her cell phone to call Dr. Darrell Jackson in New York. Luckily, he was home and answered his private line. When she heard his deep voice, she said, "Hi, Darrell. It's Raine Marlowe. How are Sarah and the kids?"

  "Raine! Great to hear from you. They're fine. Bobby's grown six inches since you saw him last. How's my favorite actress?"

  "I'm afraid I have a big favor to ask."

  "If I can do it, you've got it." His voice softened. "I'll never forget how you came to visit my mother. She died with a smile on her face because of you."

  "That smile was because she was so proud of her children and grandchildren." Angie Jackson had worked hard as a domestic to raise her children. All had gone to college on scholarships with her encouragement. She'd deserved to live until she was ninety, pampered by her adoring family, but fate hadn't been kind.

  Angie had been dying when Darrell contacted Rainey's office and said that Raine Marlowe was his mother's favorite actress, and would she consider visiting? Since Rainey was shooting a movie in New York City, it had been easy to fulfill the request. Her first visit had been from altruism. The half dozen other visits she'd made had been because it was impossible not to love Angie Jackson. If only William and Virginia Marlowe had possessed a tenth of Angie's warmth.

  "What's your problem, Raine?"

  Tersely she described her grandfather's injuries and the aneurysm. "I don't know if you'll be able to help, but maybe what's inoperable to the average, garden variety brain surgeon is something you can pull off."

  "I'm not God, but if you have the CAT scans sent up, I'll take a look."

  "Thanks. If you can't help, nobody can."

  "You didn't listen when I said I'm not God. We'll see."

  After signing off, Rainey called Emmy in California to make arrangements to get the CAT scans from Baltimore to the neurosurgeon. How had she survived before the invention of the cell phone?

  She leaned back in the seat, drained. The ringing of the phone jerked her up again. Retracting her prior kindly thoughts about cell phones, she opened it. "Hello?"

  "How are you doing?" Kenzie asked. "I had to call Emmy, and she told me about your grandfather's accident. I'm sorry. Hard for him, and very bad timing for you."

  As always, his rich, beautifully modulated voice soothed her. "I don't know quite why I'm here in Baltimore, given that he always wished I'd disappear."

  "No matter how difficult your relationship with your grandparents, you're connected to them, and connections are what keep us anchored in life."

  "True. Plus my friend Val--you've met her, the sexy redhead--guilted me into making the trip. I'm glad I came, actually. I was just at the hospital, and my grandmother and I had the closest thing we've ever had to a real conversation. That was worth flying cross-country for."

  "Indeed."

  Was that wistfulness in his voice? Kenzie had a hundred colorful tales about his father, the colonel, or perhaps the viscount, and his mother, who'd been debutante of the year, or maybe a big game huntress in Kenya. But if he had any real relatives, Rainey had never met them. He was a man without a past. It was something they had in common--she had only half a past herself.

  "Sometimes I wonder about my father, and what family I have on that side," she said slowly. "I probably have cousins, maybe even half-brothers and -sisters. Would I like any of them if we met? If I needed a bone marrow transplant, would one of them be a match? But I don't know. I'll never know."

  "Have you ever thought of hiring a private investigator to find your father?"

  She stared out the window of the car at the dark streets, still familiar more than a dozen years after she'd left. "I doubt that even my mother knew who he was. She lived one of those very liberated '70s rock-and-roll lifestyles. There must be plenty of candidates for the sperm donor who absentmindedly created me." Had her mother been glad to have a baby? Rainey didn't know that, either.

  "She may have had several lovers around the time you were conceived, but the number is finite. Five? Ten? Twenty? Not beyond investigation. If you find a likely candidate--well, these days DNA testing can verify who a father is."

  "I never thought about searching." Knowing her mother's promiscuity, seeking her father had seemed like a waste of time. Kenzie was right, though--the number of candidates couldn't be that large. Even if she found her father, it would be unrealistic to expect a warm embrace from a man who probably didn't know she existed. And yet... "I'd probably regret it if I tried."

  "At least you might be able to satisfy your curiosity."

  Deciding she'd think about it, she switched the subject to business. "Are you set to start shooting?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be," he said without enthusiasm.

  "Do the script changes I made help any?"

  "A little."

  If only he cared about this movie. He was too much a professional to give a bad performance, but he might give one that was without heart, and that would be almost as bad. Well, it was a director's job to coax, threaten, bully, or do whatever was necessary to get the best possible performance from her actors. By the end of Centurion, she'd know how good a director she was. "I'll see you next week in New Mexico, then."

  "Maybe I'll come down a day or two before you start shooting my part. We've wrapped on my currently untitled opus."

  Ad Kenzie hated not being busy. "If you decide to come early, just let me or Emmy know so we'll have your suite ready."

  He thanked her and signed off. It had been thoughtful of him to call. How could a man so sensitive in many ways be such an unacceptable husband?

  Foolish question. She'd known from the beginning the marriage wouldn't last. The mistake was hers for saying yes when he asked her to marry him. They should have stayed with a grand affair, then gone their separate ways with only a pang or two.

  But maybe he had a point about trying to identify her father. Her marriage was over, she was embarking on a new venture that could change her career. She'd even had a real conversation with her grandmother. Maybe it was time to see if she could find her father. The trail was cold after so many years, but it would only get colder. If she was successful--well, as Kenzie said, at least she'd satisfy her curiosity.

  The car pulled up in front of Val's attractive old brick row-house near Johns Hopkins University. It was a peaceful neighborhood of mature trees and carefully tended yards. Welcoming. Seconds after ringing the bell, she was being greeted with a rib-crunching hug. "I'm so glad to see you," Val said warmly. "How are you feeling?"

  "Tired." Rainey slung an arm around her friend's shoulders and they entered the house. "Since you're wearing a navy suit and your hair is forcibly restrained, I assume you just got home."

  "I walked in the back door about thirty seconds before you rang the bell." Val peeled off her tailored jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair, then yanked out some pins and freed her hair into a curling red frenzy. "What will it be--wine or ice cream?"

  "Ice cream, with as many extra calories as you can pile on."

  "I'll make you the Sinner's Special." Val shook her head. "How does an ice-cream addict like you stay so slender?"

  "Remember that I was unfashionably skinny when I was a kid--all bones and eyes. I just got lucky that skinny is now trendy."

  "Slim, yes. Skinny, no." Val disappeared into her kitchen.

  As Rainey sat down, her black cat jumped onto her lap and began to purr. As she scratched the sleek, furry head, her nerves began to unknot. A cat was better than a psychotherapist.

  Coffee ice cream, hot fudge, nuts, and whipped cream helped even more as she described her visit to the hospital. "Here's hoping Darrell Jackson can help my grandfather. I wouldn't miss him much if he dies, but Gram certainly would."

  "To success, or a miracle, whichever is required." Val savored a spoonful of ice cream and fudge sauce. "Was Mrs. Marlowe impressed that you're on a first-name basis with one of the most famous bra
in surgeons in America?"

  "We didn't get into that." Rainey doubted that Virginia Marlowe would have been impressed even if her granddaughter was the famous neurosurgeon. "How are things going for you?"

  Val turned sideways in her overstuffed chair so that her legs draped over one arm. Petite and curvy, she looked more like someone who should be jumping out of a cake than a razor-brained lawyer. "Same old, same old. I'm getting pretty tired of celibacy, but I haven't seen anyone to tempt me from it in months."

  "This is sounding serious."

  Val closed her eyes, her levity dropping away to reveal bleak unhappiness. "It is, Rainey. I've begun to think I'm incapable of having a healthy, normal relationship."

  "That can't be true, Val. You're warm, smart, funny, and kind. You have plenty of friends who value you deeply. You just haven't found the right man."

  "Therein lies the problem," Val said self-mockingly. "My judgment about men is terrible. I meet a guy who seems different--nice, devoted, interested in a relationship--and sure as God made little yellow canaries, he'll turn out to be an alcoholic, or in love with his ex-wife, or a compulsive Don Juan, or some other kind of loser."

  Rainey had heard enough about Val's boyfriends over the years to know that was true. "I wish I could say something useful, but my own track record is nothing great."

  "Better than mine." Val stroked the calico cat that had joined her in the chair. "Actually, celibacy does have its points. It's nice not to have my emotions roller-coastering all the time, and with two cats, I don't have to sleep alone."

  They drifted into easy conversation as they'd done regularly for the past quarter of a century. In the months since Rainey's separation, they'd talked even more than usual, because Val had the time, the willingness, and the understanding Rainey had needed. It would have been harder to talk with Kate Corsi, who'd been bubbling with happiness since her remarriage the year before.

  They progressed from ice cream to chardonnay and were deep in a discussion about aromatherapy when Rainey's cell phone rang. She wrinkled her nose as she pulled it from her pocket. "I suppose I'd better answer this. Hello?"

  "Hi, Raine." It was Emmy. "There's good news and bad news. What's your preference?"

  She frowned at the tension in Emmy's voice. "Start with the good news."

  "The CAT scans for your grandfather are on their way to New York by special courier. Dr. Jackson should be able to study them first thing in the morning."

  "Definitely good. What's the bad news?"

  Emmy took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant again; I've made it to the fourth month--but my doctor says I can't go on location with you. The work is too strenuous. I might lose this one, too, if I don't take it really, really easy."

  Rainey bit back an oath. Emmy was her right hand, and she'd been counting on her help during the shooting. But Emmy had already miscarried twice, and she and her husband wanted this child desperately. Putting enthusiasm into her voice, she said, "That's wonderful news! Since you're four months along, I'm sure this baby will make it to term, but of course you can't take any risks."

  Emmy's voice caught. "I'm sorry to let you down, Rainey. We weren't going to try again until after Centurion was shot, but well, things happen."

  Rainey felt a powerful, unworthy stab of envy. How marvelous it would be to have a loving husband who wanted children. Well, Emmy deserved that. "Location work is brutal. Your doctor is right to put it off limits. I can find another assistant, even though she won't be as good as you."

  "I can still handle the Los Angeles office. Will that help?"

  "That will be wonderful, as long as you don't work too hard. Maybe we can have calls and mail forwarded to your place so you can work at home and get as much rest as you need."

  "That would be great." Emmy sniffled back tears. "Damn, ever since I got pregnant I'm crying all the time. Thanks for being so understanding, Rainey. I was almost afraid to tell you."

  "Babies come before business. Give David a hug and my heartiest congratulations." Rainey sighed as she said good-bye and shut down her phone.

  "I gather that Emmy is pregnant and grounded?" Val asked.

  Rainey nodded. "Wonderful for her, of course, but terrible timing from my point of view. I was counting on her to watch my back while we're shooting. At least she'll still be running the business office, but now I have to find a good location assistant."

  "You've overcome far worse obstacles than losing an assistant." Val refreshed the wine in their glasses. "Have some more chardonnay to mitigate the shock. Or does this call for a second round of fudge sauce?"

  "Things aren't quite that bad." Rainey gazed at her friend through the balloon of her wineglass. Nice to have Val to commiserate with her.

  Wait, a minute, Val. The idea was absurd--or maybe a stroke of genius. "Will you take Emmy's place, Val?"

  "Me!" Val's voice rose to a squeak. "That's absurd. I'm a lawyer, not a moviemaker. There must be herds of personal assistants who'd jump at the chance to work with you. People with production experience."

  Warm with wine and excitement, Rainey swung her feet from the sofa to the floor and leaned forward earnestly. "Don't underestimate your experience. You've visited me on plenty of movie sets, you've been my sounding board while I prepped Centurion, and you're one of the best organized people I've ever met."

  "I've got a job here! I can't just flit off."

  "It's only a couple of months. Didn't you say earlier that you have a ton of unused vacation and sick time?" Rainey grinned wickedly. "Time to fish or cut bait, Valentine. You're always complaining about how much you hate being a lawyer. Or have you outgrown your famous impulsiveness?"

  "I hope not, but ... but what about my cats?" Val clutched the calico so close that it meowed and slithered from her lap.

  "That's really feeble. Leave them with Kate and Donovan--they adore cats and wouldn't mind a couple more for a few weeks. I think you'd be terrific at the production end of moviemaking. In fact, you already are--I'd never have gotten through the prep as quickly without your help."

  Val ran a hand through her hair, standing the red curls on end. "This is a rotten trick, Rainey. You're handing me a golden opportunity, and if I don't take it, I'll forever lose the right to complain about my job."

  "This is pure selfishness, not a golden opportunity. I'd just really like to have you there." Rainey's teasing faded. "Making this movie with Kenzie will probably be the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm going to need someone who doesn't think of me as the boss who must be placated to her face and cursed behind her back. I need a friend."

  After a silence, Val said, "Since you put it that way--it's a deal. But if I'm awful at assisting, for heaven's sake hire someone who knows what she's doing, and I'll just hang out and be available if you need someone to vent to."

  "You won't blow it. This will be fun, Val, you'll see. A lot of work, but fun." Rainey smiled mischievously. "I guarantee you'll meet a lot of fascinating, maddening men who are totally ineligible and would make you miserable if you got involved."

  "Well, hell, Rainey, you should have said that first. How can I turn down such an offer?" Val raised her wineglass and clinked it against Rainey's. "Here's to the movie that will change your career, and maybe mine, too."

  "I'll drink to that." Rainey swallowed a mouthful of wine, feeling happier than she had all day. The prospect of directing Centurion had just become a little more manageable.

  * * *

  ACT II

  Cameras Rolling

  * * *

  * * *

  CHAPTER 7

  One of the worst parts of moviemaking was the insanely early hours required. Kenzie yawned, then swallowed another mouthful of scorching coffee. John Randall and his native cavalry rode at dawn.

  All around him, the chilly New Mexican night reverberated with the sounds of recalcitrant horses and tense riders trying to position themselves to the assistant director's satisfaction. Luckily his own mount was a placid beast, specially chosen so as
not to risk breaking The Star's neck.

  Rainey, who was buzzing around like a wasp at a picnic, materialized in front of him. Dressed in jeans and the official Centurion show jacket, which was a shade of British military red that had not been chosen to go with her hair, she radiated a mixture of excitement and nerves. "Ready to go, Kenzie?"

  He nodded. "It's nice that my first scene doesn't require me to say a word. I can ease my way into the part." Rainey wore no makeup except for a little lipstick and mascara. The result was very close to the natural bedroom look he'd always liked best. Not the face of the glamorous actress, but his wife.

  The divorce would be final a week or so after they finished shooting her movie.

  She looked anxiously upward. "I hope those clouds don't move in. This is the first morning since we arrived with a decent sky."

  She was poised to dart away when he caught her shoulder. Awareness crackled between them like static electricity. "Relax, Rainey. You've got a great crew and everything that needs to be done is being done. Fussing will just put everyone on edge and increase the chance of mistakes. Have some coffee."

  "More caffeine is hardly likely to make me relax." Nonetheless, she drank deeply. They both liked coffee the same way--scalding hot, milk only. "Thanks."

  She glanced up, and for an instant they were caught in one of the unsettling flashes of intimacy that persisted even though the marriage was over. He was grateful to have the moment interrupted when Josh, his sharp-eyed assistant, rushed up with fresh coffee. Taking the cup, he asked, "Why did you choose this area to stand in for North Africa?"

  "Mostly because it fit my budget I had some license because the military campaign in Sherbourne's novel is imaginary, though it was inspired by a real campaign in the Sudan that involved angry Arabs who wanted to drive out the Europeans. One of Queen Victoria's messier little wars."