Summer

by Karen Kingsbury

  “I’m not sure.” Katy stared at her plate. Why hadn’t she and Dayne talked about that? “I guess we have a lot to catch up on.”

  “Don’t worry.” Stephen chuckled. “Being on a set together can still feel like you’re on opposite continents.”

  “Yes.” She stood.

  Stephen put his hands on her shoulders. “I hope you say yes, Katy. The film would definitely take your career to the next level.”

  “Thank you, Stephen.”

  He grinned at her. “I had a wonderful time tonight.” Then without warning, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips. Not the sort of kiss meant for a lover but the kind common to Europeans, the sort she’d seen passed around like handshakes in her short time in the movie business.

  In the distance, there was the rapid sound of every cameraman capturing the moment.

  Katy felt sick, and she refused to look at the far table, where the paparazzi sat. “It was very nice. Thank you.” She smiled at Stephen.

  He looped his arm through hers. “Now let’s get you home. You have more horse training in the morning.”

  Stephen meant nothing by the kiss; Katy was certain. His tone, his expression, all of it told her he saw her as a special daughter, someone he wanted to take under his wing and help along in her acting career. As they left the restaurant, Katy wasn’t worried about Stephen’s intentions or what he thought of the kiss they’d just shared.

  She was worried about the cameramen.

  The hours couldn’t pass fast enough for Dayne. Being in Los Angeles without Katy made him miss her more than he had imagined. Going to dinners with financial backers, meeting with studio executives at swanky nightclubs . . . this was his old life, the one he’d walked away from.

  His earlier meetings had gone well, but he was frustrated at the outcome of a talk with his agent an hour ago. The director of Dayne’s next film was looking at Randi Wells as the lead, since their first romantic comedy had done so well.

  “What about Katy?” Dayne had no intention of doing another film with Randi. “We’re doing great with this picture. Why not another?”

  “It won’t work, Matthews.” His agent was a good guy, but he knew the business better than anyone. “People will be intrigued by one film with you and your wife, but more than that and they’ll think you’re limiting yourself. If you can’t star with anyone but Katy Hart, then your acting career isn’t long for this world.”

  Now Dayne was sitting in one of the largest booths at the current Santa Monica hot spot, with four of the producers of his next film, the primary director and casting director, and Randi Wells.

  If Dayne didn’t know better, he’d feel the whole thing had been set up. Randi had called him three times in the last few days. Nothing felt right about her life. Her divorce was nearly final, and the kids seemed torn between her and her ex-husband. On top of that, she hadn’t found anyone who could bring perspective to her life the way Dayne had.

  “I’m not asking for anything more than friendship, Dayne,” she’d said. “I know you’re happy with Katy.”

  Randi didn’t have any idea just how happy. He tried to keep their conversations short, but now here they were, in a dimly lit nightclub at midnight, where everyone was drinking but him. He swirled what was left of his sparkling water and tried to keep his attention on the director.

  “We’re shooting in Mexico, and my vision for this film is that it’ll take romantic comedy to the next level.” He turned to Dayne. “The way your last film with Randi did.”

  “Mexico?” This was the first Dayne had heard about the location. “How many weeks?”

  “Six or eight at least.” The director looked proud of himself. “Cabo is perfect for the script.”

  Dayne felt beyond defeated. Six or eight weeks in Mexico? When would he have time for the lake house and Bloomington and the life he dreamed of having with Katy?

  “Cabo, Dayne . . . sounds perfect.” Randi gave him a look from across the table. She wore a skintight shirt and tight black pants. Her hair was a lighter shade of blonde, and she had turned heads all night. Rumor around the industry had it that Randi was running more and in better shape now that she was single.

  There was no denying the fact that Randi looked great. But her looks had no effect on Dayne but one—she made him miss Katy even more. He didn’t belong here, as the shoulder for a crying woman who had long ago made it clear how she felt about him.

  The producer was sharing his vision with the director, practically shouting over the pulsing music. It was a private club, so there were no paparazzi lurking in the corners. Still, Dayne’s meeting with Randi was bound to make it into a headline one way or another.

  And Katy needed to know about it from him, not the tabloids. Because she had nothing to worry about. He’d tried to call her before dinner, but there was no answer. She was probably out with some of the cast—something they hadn’t had much time to do with the intense schedule they’d all been following.

  Two starlets in their early twenties moved off the dance floor, breathless and adjusting their skimpy shirts. They spotted him and weaved their way over, paying no attention to the meeting in progress.

  “Dayne, where’ve you been?” The redhead was definitely drunk. She laughed as if she’d told a funny joke, and her friend steadied her so she wouldn’t fall. “I’ve been looking for you all my life.”

  Her friend had straight blonde hair. Both of them were frequently on the covers of the tabloids. “What she means is, we both have.” The actress tossed her hair over her shoulder and gave Randi a rude look.

  The studio guys were caught up in their own conversation, and Dayne was grateful. He gave the young women a guarded smile. “Maybe you didn’t hear. I got married.”

  The blonde sized up Randi. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “Get lost.” Randi flashed haughty eyes at them. The buzz around town was that the blonde had clashed with Randi a time or two before.

  “You don’t own him.” The blonde found Dayne again, and her look couldn’t have been more suggestive. “When you’re tired of the action at this table—” she pointed across the dance floor—“we’ll be over there.”

  The redhead laughed again. “You’re mine first—don’t forget!”

  “Stop.” Her blonde friend pretended to be angry. “Dayne’s a married man. Whatever that means.”

  They walked off, still laughing, holding each other up as they went.

  As Dayne watched them, a series of memories came rushing back. This was how it happened back then. One of the hot young actresses would come up and tell him hello, and by the end of the night he’d take her home. The reality suffocated him. How could he ever have lived like that?

  Beneath the table, he felt a tapping against his foot. He looked at Randi.

  She motioned to the men at the table and then mouthed, “Wanna dance?”

  Was she kidding? Dayne was starting to feel himself sweat. What was he doing here? He nodded to the glass of gin and tonic in her hands. “No more.”

  Randi pouted at him. “I’m not driving.”

  His look was intended to put an end to the subject. But instead, she lifted her glass and gave him a defiant look. She tossed her head back, and in a few quick gulps, she finished the drink. She held up her hand, and a waiter was at her side in an instant. She kept her eyes on Dayne. “Another one. Make it a double.”

  Dayne felt the situation spinning wildly out of control. Randi was drinking, and when that happened, sometimes she wouldn’t be able to leave the place without help. But who would help her?

  The studio executives were winding up their conversation, and one of the producers reached out and shook Dayne’s hand. “I think we have another winner on our hands.”

  “Randi’s committed to the film.” The director winked at her. “I think we’ll bow out and let you two brush up on your chemistry.”

  Disgust came over Dayne and rushed through his veins. He wanted to be angry at the studio guys, tell them
that they had a lot of nerve trying to start something between him and Randi. But the music was too loud to say much. Dayne leaned close. “My wife’s doing great.”

  The director’s expression went blank. “Your wife?”

  “Yeah.” Dayne put his arms up along the back of the booth and nodded. “You didn’t ask about her.”

  “Oh.” The man laughed and looked at the others. They wore expressions of mild confusion. “Your wife. You mean Katy Hart.”

  “Yes, her.” Dayne had to yell to make himself heard. “We’re doing really well.”

  The director hesitated. Then he gave a single clap. “That’s wonderful.” He nodded to his partners for approval, and they exchanged a round of equally sincere nods. “Marriage is a great thing.”

  The waiter brought Randi her drink, and she downed it almost immediately. Every time Dayne looked at her, she was watching him, doing her best to flirt with him.

  After a minute’s conversation on the virtues of marriage, the men stood and left. On the way out, one of the younger producers stopped by the table with the blonde and the redhead. He slipped the blonde a piece of paper, leaned close, and kissed her cheek. The two exchanged an intimate smile, and the group was on its way.

  The light from the disco ball at the center of the ceiling caught the producer’s wedding ring as he walked out of the club.

  Yeah, Dayne thought. Marriage is a great thing. Especially in Hollywood, where it meant almost nothing. It was as if Dayne was seeing all of it for the first time, this slice of the movie industry and its social scene. No wonder so many of his friends had opted to forgo marriage. Living together created much less paperwork when the end came—as it most always did.

  He crossed his arms and tried to stop the ache in his gut. The dream flashed again in his mind, the one where Katy had disappeared in the ocean. He wanted to rush out of the club and call her, tell her that maybe he was wrong about doing this film or any other one after it.

  This atmosphere was crazy.

  Before he could make a decision about what to do next, Randi slid around the booth to the spot next to him.

  “Listen—” he leaned close so she could hear him—“I think it’s time to go.”

  Randi’s eyes were only half open, and she looked unsteady. “You smell nice.”

  A frustrated breath came from Dayne, but it was lost in the noise of pounding music and conversation. “Randi, how many drinks did you have?”

  “These?” She held up her empty glass, and her hand swayed a few inches in either direction. “Three or four.” She set the glass down and giggled. “Or five or six.”

  The blonde and the redhead across the dance floor waved at Dayne, but he looked away. He had to get out of here. He turned to Randi, intent on getting her out of the booth somehow. “Time to go,” he shouted. He didn’t want to sound angry, but he couldn’t take another minute.

  Randi only giggled again. She reached up and put her hand on his face. “Kiss me, Dayne.” Her words were less slurred. “Kiss me like we do in the movies.”

  Panic seared through him. “Randi!” He took her hand from his face. “You’re drunk. You need to get home.”

  Dayne had a car waiting for him outside, but what about Randi? And what about the paparazzi who were bound to be out on the street? He gritted his teeth. This wasn’t fair. He couldn’t leave Randi, but he didn’t want to share space with her in a tabloid photo either. He looked around the room. There had to be someone else here, someone who could take care of her.

  The young women across the way were sliding out of their booth. Their attention was still on him, and suddenly Dayne knew. He had no choice but to get Randi out of here as quickly and carefully as possible.

  Randi was laughing, and once more she tried to touch his face. “You’re a kidder, Dayne Matthews. You know you love kissing me.”

  “Come on.” He took hold of her arm and gently pushed her toward the edge of the booth. He helped her to her feet, and she lurched badly.

  A slight cry came from her, but it mingled with her constant string of giggles. “Oops. I almost fell.” She covered her mouth and made her eyes big. “Don’t let me fall, Dayne boy.”

  The starlets realized he was leaving. The redhead blew him a kiss and gave him a sad look, as if to say maybe next time.

  Dayne could barely draw a breath. He linked arms with Randi. “Let’s go.”

  She stumbled alongside him.

  As they reached the door, the bouncer nodded at him. “She’s been like this a lot lately.”

  “Wonderful.” Dayne rolled his eyes. Why was it his responsibility? “Can I leave her with you?”

  The bouncer held up his hand. “Not here, man. Sorry.” He glanced down a hallway. “The boss don’t like drunk celebrities hanging around the front door.”

  The noise from the club was only a distant hum here by the front desk.

  Randi gave him a sad pout. “Don’t leave me, Dayne.” Her eyes pooled with tears. “You’re my only friend.”

  “Oh, brother,” Dayne mumbled under his breath. He nodded to the bouncer and moved to the front door. He would’ve paid a thousand dollars for a baseball cap and a hooded sweatshirt, anything to hide his identity. For certain the paparazzi would be waiting outside. This was a spot where they were sure to get a dozen great shots every hour.

  He opened his cell phone and called his driver. “Pull up. I need a quick exit.”

  “Will do.” The guy was older, one of the best in the business. Dayne had ridden with him before.

  Through a tinted window, he watched the limo pull up right in front of the doors of the club. “Randi.” He gave her a light shake. “Can you walk on your own? Just for a few steps?”

  “Sure.” Her tears were gone, and she looked happier. “Whatever you want.”

  “Okay.” He carefully released his hold on her arm. “Go on, Randi. Walk toward the door.”

  She took three wobbly steps and then fell to one knee. “Ah!” She cried out, and the cry became another bout of laughter. She struggled to get up. “Dayne! Help!”

  The bouncer raised one eyebrow, and his message was clear. Get her out—now.

  Dayne took hold of Randi’s arm, put it over his shoulders, and helped her to her feet. Fine. The photographers could take whatever pictures they wanted. The only person he needed to explain things to was Katy. And she would understand completely. With the condition Randi was in, he had to help her. What choice did he have?

  He walked her to the door, pushed it open with his foot, and stepped outside. Sure enough, a blast of lights hit him square on, and a dozen cameras began firing.

  At the same time, Randi seemed to catch a second wind. She balanced better than before and threw her arms around Dayne’s neck. She rubbed her nose against his. “Love you, Daynie.”

  “Nice work, Matthews,” one of the cameramen yelled. “How long you been married? Two months?”

  Dayne pushed Randi back as gently as he could. The driver was out, opening the back door of the limo, and Dayne guided her inside. Then without looking back, he slipped inside next to her.

  She put her hand on his knee and tried to flirt with him, but her eyes never quite made contact with his. “Know what I miss?”

  Dayne ignored the question. He leaned back on the headrest and shaded his eyes with his hand.

  “Where to?” The voice came over the intercom at the back of the limo.

  Dayne pushed a button and gave the driver the cross streets near Randi’s home. She lived half an hour away. Now if he could only get her to lean against the far door and fall asleep.

  Instead she rested her head against his shoulder. “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Randi . . . you’re drunk.” He pushed her a few inches away. “Go to sleep.”

  “I miss kissing you, Dayne. You and me . . .” She smiled and swayed a little. “You and me were the best.”

  Dayne was certain she would regret this in the morning. But still he had to get through the next ha
lf hour. He wasn’t worried about getting seduced. He had no interest in Randi Wells. But she was determined. He looked at her, hoping she could understand what he was about to say. “Slide over, Randi. You’re going to hate yourself for how you’re acting.”

  “It’s not an act. You’re the only one who cares about me.”

  Dayne let the comment pass. He stared out the tinted window and wondered if maybe she was right. Maybe he was the only one who cared about her. The magazines said that her ex-husband had moved on to his much younger costar, and her kids spent a lot of time with their nanny. Her father was dead, and she wasn’t speaking to her mother.

  So who really cared about Randi Wells? Who cared about a lot of those in the circle of Hollywood’s elite? Ten million fans would jump at the chance for a night with Randi, a night with any of them for that matter. But who really cared?

  A shudder passed over Dayne, and he silently thanked God for placing Katy in his life. Katy and Bob Asher and the Baxters. Otherwise he’d probably welcome the chance for a night with his friend, his former costar. And he’d be just as lonely and lost as her.

  A few minutes into the ride, Dayne saw the cars behind them. The paparazzi stationed at the club had caught up to them, staying dangerously close and weaving in and out of traffic so they wouldn’t lose his limo.

  Dayne felt his heart fall to his knees. He should’ve expected this, the paparazzi following them. And why not? A photo of him helping Randi into her house well after midnight would probably run on the front page of every magazine in a couple of weeks.

  Randi had fallen asleep, and he nudged her. “Hey . . . you’re home. Wake up.”

  She straightened slowly and blinked a few times. For a moment she looked confused, but then she must’ve recognized him because a suggestive smile lifted the corners of her lips. “Mmmm, c’mere.” She lifted her arms and was about to put them around his neck when he took hold of her wrists.

  “No, Randi.” He dug around the inside of her small purse and found her keys. Then he opened the door and stepped out. “It’s time to go in.”