"If that many people are sick, they should cancel the performance."
"The show must go on," she said piously.
"Rubbish! Sometimes the show shouldn't go on, and this is one of those times."
Her expression turned serious. "This is really important to Dame Judith, Kenzie. It's her first time directing in this country, and she's frantic for it to go well. She almost cried with relief when I said we could fill in." Rainey's changeable eyes were pleading. "I owe her one for acting in The Centurion at a price I could afford. That's my obligation, not yours, but you know the part, and you're available. Please—will you do it?"
Mouth dry, he said, "I haven't done live theater in over ten years."
"You don't have to be great, just competent. The audience will be so blown away at having Kenzie Scott step in that they'll be very forgiving."
"Shakespeare is usually presented in an edited form, and we don't have her script."
"Dame Judith e-mailed me the file. It's printing out now. You can drive while we run lines, and I tell you where the variations are. If we leave in the next half hour, we should reach Santa Fe in time for a fast run-through with the rest of the cast."
She'd thought of everything. He closed his eyes, struggling with fear. "I don't think I can do this, Rainey. I'm not at all sure I'll ever be able to face a camera again. Live theater is a hundred times more terrifying."
Her hand came over his where it rested on the tabletop. "I know this will be hard for you, but even though you feel stripped to the bone and vulnerable, no one but me knows about your past," she said quietly. "This is a good chance for you to decide if you want to continue acting, Kenzie. The stakes are a lot lower than on a big-budget movie, and you'll be helping Dame Judith out at the same time."
He'd loved live theater when he was at RADA, but that was a long time ago. Now the thought of standing in front of hundreds of staring eyes made him want to lock himself into Cibola and never come out.
But Rainey was right, dammit. He needed to find out if he was still an actor. More than that, he owed Dame Judith for standing up for him after Nigel Stone's ambush. "I can't really say no, can I?"
"Not really." Her smile was tremulous. "I'm scared, too, Kenzie, but I think we can do this."
"Your faith exceeds mine." He regarded the salad. Appetite had vanished, but it was going to be a long, long day. He picked up a fork and began to eat.
* * *
Dame Judith greeted them with extravagant hugs. "Thank the heavens you're here! Today has been a nightmare." She frowned at Kenzie. "Would you consider shaving off the beard?"
"No, I would not," he said firmly. The heavier his disguise, the happier he'd be.
"I suppose there's no reason why Benedick shouldn't have a beard." Taking each of them by one arm, Dame Judith marched them to the back of the theater. "First we'll let the wardrobe mistress have at you, since she'll need time for alterations. It shouldn't be hard to costume Rainey, but some improvising will be required for you, Kenzie. My regular Benedick was rather smaller."
The controlled chaos that always marked an opening night was multiplied by the food poisoning disaster. Cast and stage crew members, most very young, buzzed in all directions. Adding two Hollywood stars to the mix brought the brew near the explosion point. On the whole, Kenzie was glad for the confusion. It distracted him from his own rampaging nerves.
After the wardrobe mistress swiftly devised costumes for Kenzie and Rainey, they walked through the play. It was less a rehearsal than an attempt to work out blocking and stage business. The newly recruited friar kept tripping over the hem of his robe, while the very young Hero's deathlike swoon after being repudiated at the altar led her to fall off the stage, luckily landing on a well-upholstered musician.
The third time the stately but inexperienced Don Pedro, Prince of Arragon, ran into another performer, Dame Judith caught the man's gaze and said in a blood-chilling tone, "The basic rule is remember your lines and don't fall over the furniture. Do you think you can manage that tonight?" Blushing beet-red, Don Pedro promised to do better—and promptly backed up into a large wine jug, which fell over with a hollow boom.
When the run-through ended, Dame Judith said with a sigh, "If Shakespeare weren't dead, this production would put him in his tomb."
Rainey said encouragingly, "A bad final rehearsal is a good omen for the actual good performance."
"Except when it isn't," Dame Judith said dourly. "I've booked the two of you a room at a charming bed-and-breakfast around the comer, but there isn't time for you to go there to rest before the performance. Since space is rather tight, would you mind sharing the largest dressing room?"
"Not at all," Rainey said. "Just point us in the right direction."
A junior assistant stage manager took them to the dressing room, which was reasonably furnished and had a shower. When they were alone, Rainey flopped full-length on the sofa. "You were right—my hormones have made me mad," she said dramatically. "We'll be lucky to leave Santa Fe alive."
He sat at the end of the sofa and draped her legs over his lap. After removing her shoes, he began massaging her feet. As she moaned with pleasure, he said, "Do you have the energy to make it through the play tonight?"
"I'll be fine." She grinned. "Actually, I'm having a wonderful time. It's been years since my playhouse days and I'm frightened half out of my wits, but there are no real consequences for failure. I can do terribly and still get credit for being a good sport."
The consequences were higher for him, and they both knew it. Even if he made it through the evening without disgracing himself, this might be the last performance he ever gave. Acting had sustained him for years, but he was no longer the same man. Luckily, he could get through tonight's performance with skill, even if passion was missing. Dame Judith and the people who paid their hard-earned money for tickets deserved at least a competent performance.
None of his rationalizations prevented his muscles from knotting.
Rainey sat up and swung over to straddle his lap, her long skirt pooling around her. Cupping his face between her hands, she said, "I have a really good idea for dealing with opening night jitters." In case he didn't get the idea, she wriggled against him.
He had to laugh. Catching her around the hips, he asked, "Are you sure this is good for you?"
She leaned forward and kissed him, her lips warm. "I really do like your beard. It's so lovely and male. As to your question, one of the books on pregnancy I read said that basically, there are two kinds of people when it comes to sex during pregnancy: those who like sex more, and those who like it less. I've figured out that I'm the former type. How about you?"
"I certainly find you sexy." He slid his hands under her skirt, caressing her thighs. "Good grief, when did you abandon your underwear?"
"Advance planning." She kissed him again, doing interesting things with her tongue. "I figure we have half an hour before we need to shower and do costumes and makeup."
"Less if we shower together." He began moving against her.
"Excellent improvisation," she murmured.
Rainey was right. This was a terrific way to deal with opening night jitters.
* * *
There was an absolute aloneness before stepping on stage. Kenzie waited in the wings, and wished he'd had the sense to refuse Rainey's pleas. If he wasn't so close to being physically ill, he might have walked out of the theater.
Onstage, Rainey as Beatrice, Dame Judith in a false beard as Leonato, young Hero, and a Messenger were tossing the opening lines back and forth. Dame Judith was marvelous, of course, her trained voice pitched to a convincing tenor.
Rainey, a consummate pro, gave her opening line perfectly, her question about Benedick's survival betraying how much she cared for him even though their prior affair had come to nothing. Flanked by experts, Hero gulped, and spoke well.
Then it was time for Kenzie to enter with the Prince of Arragon and three of the other main male players. As he stepped o
ut, he felt the pressure of all those eyes staring from the darkness. Dame Judith had announced to the audience before the performance that food poisoning had required numerous substitutions. She hadn't mentioned any names, promising to introduce her performers at the end of the play.
The audience began murmuring, and he saw people looking from him to Rainey and back again. A piercing whisper said, "It's Raine Marlowe and Kenzie Scott!"
The murmuring intensified, completely paralyzing poor Don Pedro. Under his breath, Kenzie prompted, "'Good Signior Leonato, you are come to meet your trouble: The fashion of the world is to avoid cost, and you encounter it.' "
After a panicky glance at Kenzie, the prince managed to croak out his line. Leonato responded, and suddenly the play began to fall into place.
Kenzie had always loved Benedick, who hid his feelings behind banter, and the role fit like a well-worn glove. Rainey tossed her first teasing dart at Benedick, Beatrice doing a preemptive strike. At the same time she was his wife, who'd had as much trouble trusting as the character she played.
As the play unfolded, slow joy began to move through him. He'd forgotten the electric intensity of a live performance, the excitement of being fueled by the emotions of the people who watched so raptly. What actors and audience created tonight would never be repeated in quite the same way. This night was unique and intimate, immediate in a way that film could never match.
Inspired by Kenzie, Rainey, and Dame Judith, the rest of the cast members surpassed themselves. Kenzie wanted to laugh out loud at the sheer pleasure of performing. This was what he'd been born for, but had forgotten amidst the pressures of Hollywood fame, the unnatural stop-and-go nature of filming.
Beatrice, like Rainey, must be won by a man who was her match. At the end, when Benedick had accepted his fate and proclaimed, "Strike up, pipers!" Kenzie caught Rainey around the waist and swept her high in the air, holding her over his head like a dancer.
Time slowed while he revolved in a circle, looking up into Rainey's laughing face as her gauzy skirts floated around her slender figure. "Thanks for making me do this, Rainbow," he whispered.
As thunderous applause threatened to blow the windows from the playhouse, she gave a smile more intimate than a kiss. "You're welcome, my love."
There was no exhilaration quite like that of taking bows in front of an audience giving a standing ovation. The clamor was beginning to subside when Kenzie stepped forward and raised one hand for silence.
When the crowd quieted, he said in his most resonant voice, "Thank you for being here tonight, and reminding me why I became an actor." He caught Dame Judith's hand and pulled her forward. "Thanks also to Dame Judith, one of the grandest ladies the British theater has ever known, who took a chance on bringing in two Hollywood hacks for tonight's performance."
As the audience rumbled with laughter, he drew Rainey forward, tucking her in front of him with her back against his chest. Her apricot hair was trailing wisps and her cheeks were flushed with exertion.
"Most of all, I want to give thanks to Raine Marlowe." He joined their left hands and raised them so the gold of their wedding bands flashed in the bright lights. "My wife, now and forever."
Tenderly he kissed her hand. His gesture brought down the house again.
Charles Winfield would have been proud of him.
Epilogue
Rainey shifted restlessly in the back seat 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 unbelievably 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. The multiple layers were 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 craftspeople 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..."
Phoenix Falling Page 35
