Mitch was sitting at his desk, looking at something on his computer screen. His eyes lifted as Dayne walked into the room. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Dayne sank into the leather love seat on the right side of the office. “Everything lined up for the location shoot?”
“Yep.” He clicked his mouse a few times and spun his chair in Dayne’s direction. “Reservations are in order, and we’ve got the outdoor areas covered with local police assistance. Which wasn’t easy since we moved the schedule up a month.” He gripped the arms of his chair. “Yes, we’re all set in Bloomington, Indiana.” His grin was more than a little sarcastic. “Just the way you wanted it.”
Dayne tipped the brim of his baseball cap. “Much obliged.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Mitch lowered his chin and pointed at Dayne. “Mind yourself, Matthews. I have a funny feeling about this shoot.”
“You know what it is, Mitch?” Dayne stood, crossed the room, and grabbed a fast-food wrapper from his director’s desk. “Indigestion. Cut back on the cheeseburgers and relax a little.” He leaned closer. “The location’s perfect.”
“Fine.” Mitch motioned to the chair across from him. “Have a seat. You didn’t come here to talk about my eating habits.”
“True.” Dayne chuckled, took a step back, and sat down. He waited a beat, his eyes locked on Mitch’s. “Okay, this is it. I’m going to Bloomington a few days early.”
“A few days?”
“I’m heading out Thursday. Just to look around.”
Mitch wasn’t buying it. He had an eyebrow raised. “What’s to see? Come on—be straight with me.”
“You want the truth?” Dayne felt the smile leave his face. Maybe it was time to open up a little with Mitch. . . . “I need a few days to myself, okay?”
“I’m listening.”
Dayne anchored his forearms on his knees and stared out the window at the Hollywood hills. “I’m thinking about getting into Kabbalah.”
“Madonna’s church?” There was no condemnation in the director’s tone. “I’ve heard good things about it.”
“It isn’t a church.” He’d read half the book. Now he searched for a way to sum it up. “It’s a mind-set, I guess. Avoiding negative thoughts, finding the god within yourself, that sort of thing.”
“Hmmm.” Mitch took a pencil from a holder near the edge of his desk and rolled it between his fingers. “You need Bloomington for that?”
Dayne clasped his hands and stared at the floor between his feet. “Things are stale with Kelly.” He looked up. “I don’t want it to affect the film.”
“Stale?” Mitch tapped the pencil on one of the files spread out in front of him. Fine lines appeared near the corners of his eyes. “Bad timing for stale, Matthews.”
“I know.” He pursed his lips and exhaled. “I think a week apart would be good for us.”
“Wasn’t she in New York the other day?”
“Yep.” He sat up straighter and squinted. “It felt good as gold having the time to myself. I need more, that’s all.” He shook his head. “I’m worried about the chemistry.”
Mitch stuck the pencil behind his ear. “You two sizzle on the screen. You always have.”
“Yeah . . . before we lived together.” He hated talking about Kelly this way, but it was the truth. He’d asked her to move in with him because Katy Hart was gone from his life for good, and that left him with no one but starlets who understood his place in the public eye and everything that went with it. Even attacks by crazy fans. He forced a lighter expression. “Don’t worry about it, Mitch. We’ll be fine.”
“Dream On’s a love story.” The director set his elbows on his desk and let his shoulders fall forward. “I’ll be looking for a lot better than fine. So you’re going alone, leaving Thursday?”
“Right. Kelly has things to do here. She’ll come with the rest of you next Monday.”
Mitch studied him for half a minute. Then he took the pencil from behind his ear and pointed it at Dayne. “It’s the girl, isn’t it? That’s why you’re going early.”
“It’s not the girl.” The words came easily, but Dayne wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince—Mitch or himself. “She has her own life. I probably won’t see her the whole time I’m there.”
“That’s a big probably.” Mitch leaned back and kicked one leg up over his other knee. His eyes didn’t leave Dayne’s for a moment. “Stay away from her.”
“I said I wasn’t going to see her.” His voice was louder than before. He hated this, hated how everything he did was scrutinized and commented on. “What’s the big deal?”
“The two of you are tied up in an attempted murder case—that’s what.” Mitch stood and slipped his hands into the pockets of his Dockers. He stayed behind his desk and paced a few steps in either direction. “We’ve done a brilliant job keeping her name out of the tabloids. Brilliant.” Mitch threw his hands up and let out a frustrated sound. “The bloodthirsty paparazzi would have a circus if they got their hands on the real story.”
“What real story?” Dayne wasn’t backing down. No one would make the connection between a small-town drama instructor and the mystery girl from the incident on the beach in July.
Mitch leaned onto his desk, his arms locked at the elbow, and glared at him. “You know how it goes: ‘Dayne Matthews’ Mystery Girl Found! Hollywood star takes live-in leading lady on location to hook up with small-town secret lover.’” He hit his hand against the desk, his tone frustrated. “I can’t have that, Dayne. The story is the movie. The fact that you’re sleeping with Kelly Parker only makes it better. Real love hits the screen—that’s the story.”
Dayne felt the fight leave him. Mitch had a point. With the pending trial, it would be impossible to keep Katy Hart’s name out of the tabloids. But clearly he would be the bigger story, as long as the two of them stayed friends, nothing more. The trial was set for May, eight months away. The defense won extra time to prepare for the insane woman’s mental evaluations. He pressed his palm against his forehead. All he wanted was a chance to see Katy again. One more time. Did that have to be such a big story, so newsworthy? Was everything he did bound to make headlines?
Dayne dropped his hands to his lap and shrugged. “I’ll stay away from her, Mitch. Is that what you want me to tell you?” He stood and walked to the window. A thin layer of brown smog hung over the dry brush on the hillsides. Whoever said LA was the prettiest place on earth didn’t travel much. He turned and looked at his director again. “Okay? I’ll stay away.”
“You better.” Mitch nodded toward the door. “Go have your time away, Matthews. I’ll see you there next Tuesday morning, nine o’clock, in the hotel lobby. We’ll have a meeting; then we’ll caravan to the location spot, check it out, and make plans for Wednesday’s shoot.” He paused. “Maybe that Kabbalah would be good for you.” He grinned, his usual sign that the air was clear and all was okay between them. He sat back down and looked at his computer screen again. “You know, take care of all those hostilities you have.”
Dayne laughed. “Maybe so.” He turned to leave.
Before he was out the door, Mitch said, “Hey, Matthews.”
Dayne stopped and faced him once more. “Yeah?”
“I know you, okay?”
“So?” Dayne leaned against the doorframe.
“So keep under the radar. Be smarter than the tabs.”
There was a look in the director’s eyes, a knowing that said the man wasn’t convinced about Dayne’s promise. That’s what he loved about working with Mitch. He demanded a lot, but when it came down to it, the guy understood he couldn’t control every aspect of his life.
Dayne winked at him. “You got it.” He snagged his cap from his head and waved it once. “See you next week.”
Less than an hour later, when he walked through the door of his Malibu house, he saw Kelly sitting on the deck in a bikini, reading. She rose and came through the patio door. “Hi.” Her swimsuit covered almost nothing, and as she
stood there with her hair spilling over her tan shoulders, she looked irresistible. She set the book down on the counter. “How was your meeting?”
“Good.” He stuffed his keys in his pocket and let his eyes travel slowly down the length of her. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks,” she said in a cutesy, confident tone. “You too.”
“Hey . . .” He put his hands on her hips and kissed her. “I’m leaving a few days early for Bloomington.”
She grew slowly rigid and took a step back. “By yourself?”
“Yeah. I need a few days to clear my head before filming starts.”
Kelly picked up the book she’d been reading and held it up for him to see. “What about all the Kabbalah talk? I wanted to go to the service with you this weekend.”
“We’ll go when we get back.” He took a glass from the cupboard, set it on the counter, and snagged the jug of carrot juice from the fridge. This was the part he didn’t like about Kelly. Why’d she have to ask so many questions?
“Okay, then I’ll go with you.” She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped a foot from him. Her tone softened. “Maybe we could both use the time away.”
Dayne ignored her. He poured the juice and returned the jug to the fridge. “Look.” This time he kept his distance. Her body wasn’t the distraction it had just been. “I need the time to get ready for the film. It’s something I always do. A little time by myself to get in the right mind-set, make sure I’m on top of my game.”
“Fine, Dayne.” She slammed the book back down and crossed her arms. “I’ll stop hinting around.” Her expression was dark, angry, and insecure. This was the Kelly Parker he’d seen more often, not the girl with the flirty tone from a few minutes ago. “You want to see her. That’s why you’re going.”
“Who?” The question was an automatic response, and right away Dayne knew it was the wrong one. They both knew who lived in Bloomington. He took a long drink of the carrot juice, his eyes still on hers.
“You know who.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm. “Katy Hart. The sweet, small-town girl who should’ve gotten the part in Dream On. Her, Dayne, remember?”
He took a step closer. “I can’t help it if she lives there. I haven’t talked to her since she went back.” This was ridiculous. He’d just had the same talk with his director. He didn’t have the energy for another one. He drank the rest of his juice, set his glass down near the sink, and hesitated only a moment as he walked past Kelly. He softened his expression. “Look, this isn’t about us. It’s about the film. I just need time, that’s all.”
“Really?” She was all little girl now. Her hand caught his elbow. “You’d tell me . . . right, Dayne? If your feelings for me changed?”
What was it the Kabbalah book said about times like this? Be honest . . . there was freedom in honesty; wasn’t that it? He opened his mouth to tell her that she’d hit it on the head, that, sure enough, that’s exactly what had happened. He’d lost feelings for her. But instead he said, “Of course I’d tell you.” Then he kissed her, hating the way his body still responded to her. After a minute, he pulled back and gave her the slightest grin. “See? Everything’s fine.”
“Well, then . . .” She pressed herself against him and traced her finger down the side of his face onto his chin. “Wanna take a nap?”
He shot a quick look at the clock on the microwave. It was almost eleven. “Actually, I better get my jog in.” He caught her finger and kissed it, slow in a way that held promise for later. “Maybe we’ll turn in early tonight.”
She laughed, and he went to get his running shoes. He hadn’t planned on jogging, but he didn’t want to climb into bed with Kelly either. A jog would clear his head, help him understand what he was doing, usually without too much interference from fans or paparazzi. It was a Monday morning, after all. Most of the tourists went home when summer ended, and he knew how to disguise himself like other beachgoers. Especially when he was jogging.
He slipped on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and adjusted his North Carolina baseball cap. He also wore a pair of sunglasses. If he kept up his pace, almost no one would have time to decide whether he was or wasn’t Dayne Matthews. And if the photo hounds snapped a picture of him running on the beach, so be it.
The sun was warm on his shoulders as he trudged down the sandy slope to the shore. He kept his head low, another trick he’d learned over the years. The beach was clear, just a few fishermen sitting on the distant pier. Dayne kicked into gear, his stride steady. He was fifty yards out when his mind began to clear.
What was he doing, telling Mitch and Kelly all he needed was a little time away when all he could think about was Katy Hart, seeing her again and catching up with her? Had she found someone in Bloomington by now? Did she ever think about him and how close they’d come to working together? And how was her kids’ theater troupe doing?
His feet pounded out a muted rhythm on the sand, and Mitch’s words came back to him. The director was right. What tabloid wouldn’t have a feeding frenzy over the idea of Dayne’s meeting again with the woman who’d been with him at Paradise Cove when the attack happened?
At this point the rags only knew that Dayne had been having a meeting with an unknown woman, someone he was considering for the lead role opposite him in Dream On, when a fan wielding a knife jumped out and threatened to kill the young actress.
The story wasn’t about Katy—Mitch was right on. She wouldn’t become interesting unless the paparazzi became convinced that some sort of relationship had developed between her and Dayne. Of course, they could reach that conclusion merely by seeing Dayne with her again.
A seagull swooped low in front of him, squawking, as it headed over the gentle surf. Dayne kept running. If the magazines figured out his interest, the swarm of stories would affect the film. He wiped a layer of sweat off his forehead. Mitch thought the media attention would hurt the movie. How could the public buy into a love story between Dayne and Kelly if their real-life relationship wasn’t even real?
Dayne picked up his pace. Ahead on the beach, a couple sat on a blanket, too caught up in each other to notice him. The pier was still half a mile ahead, so he kept running.
Mitch was wrong about the publicity. The old adage was still true when it came to getting media attention. Any ink was good ink. So what if they linked him to Katy, right in the middle of filming a movie with the girl he was living with? All that talk was bound to make people more interested in seeing the film.
No, it wouldn’t hurt the movie, and it wouldn’t hurt him. He’d ridden out the gossip on a dozen young actresses. Anything they could say about Katy Hart would never affect his place in the public eye, his stature in Hollywood. The only person it would hurt for sure was her.
Katy Hart.
She was a private girl, someone whose life didn’t involve daily scrutiny or public commentary. The paparazzi would catch him talking to her and they’d start speculating: Does Dayne Matthews have a new love interest? Who is she? What’s happening between the two of them? What does Kelly Parker think?
The stories would come in a barrage, several each week, splashed across every magazine in the genre. That kind of attention could ruin Katy’s place in the kids’ theater company. He reached the halfway mark, just before the pier, and slowed to a stop. The T-shirt was too hot for the run back, so he pulled it over his shoulders, careful not to knock off his baseball cap.
As he did, he heard a distant voice shout, “Dayne Matthews! That’s Dayne Matthews!”
He didn’t turn around, but he caught a glimpse. The voice came from a teenage girl standing between two adults near the Malibu Beach public parking lot. Straggling tourists, no doubt. The girl wasn’t about to run after him, and the few fishermen making their way to and from the pier didn’t pay any mind to a screaming out-of-towner. Even if there was a movie star on the beach.
Dayne tucked the T-shirt partway into his shorts and began jogging in the opposite direction. After a few minutes he felt
his shoulders relax. The girl hadn’t caused a chase to develop, and he’d been right. She wasn’t following him. He gazed out at the crystal blue water as he ran.
The kindest thing he could do for Katy was to stay home next weekend and hit the Kabbalah service with Kelly. This was his life, here in Malibu. The life Katy lived in Bloomington was something he’d never know anything about. Looking her up now wouldn’t change that.
He had less energy today, less spring in his step. Maybe there was more to it than Katy Hart. Maybe she was only part of it. As he finished his run and trudged back up the sand to the steps of his beachfront deck, he remembered something. Mitch and Kelly didn’t know all the reasons he had for going to Bloomington. And he would go, no matter what. He would go on Thursday even if no one understood.
He would take Mitch’s advice and stay low, under the paparazzi radar, making sure he was smarter than last time. The photographers wouldn’t be expecting him there until Monday, the day the rest of the cast and crew flew in for the shoot. Even then there wouldn’t be as many media hounds as there were in Hollywood. It was just a two-week location trip.
He would go because even if he didn’t see Katy again, he could be near the people who were never far from his thoughts. The people whom he’d seen that afternoon in the Bloomington hospital parking lot. Even if not one of them knew who he was. Those were the people Mitch and Kelly knew nothing about. His father and brother, his sisters and nieces and nephews. His family.
The Baxter family.
Ashley Baxter Blake found out about the accident over the weekend when her father called and asked her to pray. All day Sunday she’d wanted to go and visit the two families, see what she could do to help. But she resisted. They would have other people there, people closer to them.
Now, though, it was early Monday afternoon, and she couldn’t paint or read or run errands without seeing for herself how the Strykers and Hanovers were doing. She had worked with Mrs. Hanover on the sets committee for Tom Sawyer, and Sarah Jo Stryker had found a special place in her heart once dress rehearsals began the week before the play.
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