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.
After he's been photographed and he returned to his seat, she burrowed under his arm and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt equal parts sick, exhausted, and happy, but cuddling Kenzie 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 wild 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 cliché!"
"You can do the rewrite later, my love." 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?
* * *
Even though he was wrung out as if he'd run a marathon, Kenzie couldn't take his eyes off Rainey and their brand-new, redheaded daughter. "Not only did we get the best prize of all, but your timing gave us a perfect excuse to skip all the post-Oscar parties."
Rainey chuckled. She was tired and there was smudged makeup around her eyes, but she looked beautiful and vastly content, her apricot hair tumbling over the white hospital linens. "There's no way I could have managed the parties, but I'm kind of sorry I missed seeing Marcus and Naomi accept our Oscar for best picture of the year."
"We can watch it later on YouTube." He hesitated. "Is it all right if I hold her?"
"Of course. She's half yours." Carefully Rainey handed over the baby.
Terrified that he'd break her, he cradled the infant in one arm, studying the tiny hands and dozing red face with awe. His daughter. His daughter.
She opened her eyes and blinked at him. His heart somersaulted. He had not known that such instant, profound, unconditional love existed. He was still terrified, but dimly he recognized that terror was a normal condition of parenthood.
He made a solemn vow that this was one baby who would be raised with the love and protection that all children deserved, and so many tragically didn't receive. Though he suspected that parenting would be the most difficult role he'd ever tackled, between them he and Rainey would do better than their own parents had.
"Have we decided which name we're going to give her?" Rainey asked drowsily.
"Faith," he said softly as he returned his daughter to his wife. "We'll call her Faith."
The End
Want more from Mary Jo Putney?
Page forward for an excerpt from
AN IMPERFECT PROCESS
The Starting Over Series
Book Three
Excerpt from
An Imperfect Process
The Starting Over Series
Book Three
by
Mary Jo Putney
New York Times Bestselling Author
Corporate lawyer Val Covington has just received an unexpected windfall, and she’s seriously considering getting off the gerbil wheel of a corporate law firm and setting up her own office where she can practice "do gooder law." At a friend’s suggestion, she visits a rehabbed church that is available for rent to see if it might be suitable for an office. There she meets Rob Smith, the owner who fixed the church up, who is unexpectedly appealing. But does she really want to leave her safe rut?
Rob watched the burgundy-colored Lexus turn south on Old Harford Road, wondering if she had bought the car to match her hair. Even with a schoolmarm hairstyle and her sexy little body disguised in a severely cut navy suit, Val Covington crackled with physical and mental energy. She must be hell on heels in a courtroom.
How long was it since he had been so aware of a woman? Years. Four years, three months, and seven days, to be exact. He was glad that she appreciated the church's uniqueness, but it was just as well she wasn't interested in renting. If she were that near, she would be a temptation.
Yet he couldn't resist going up to his apartment and plugging "Val Covington" into a search engine. He got plenty of hits, mostly in the Daily Record, Baltimore's business and legal newspaper. She had won some high- profile cases and was a newly ma
de partner at a top city law firm. Having met the lady, he wasn't surprised.
Nor was he surprised that she was considering her own office. Not only were corporate law firm jobs murderously demanding, but no amount of dressing the part could quite hide the maverick gleam in her eyes. He hoped she did decide to go out on her own and rip some fat-cat throats.
Preferably in a neighborhood far from this one.
* * *
Luckily Kendra wasn't at her desk when Val returned, since she would notice her boss's distracted mood. Safely in her office, Val closed the door and tried to concentrate on the most urgent of the briefs she had to write.
Usually work focused her mind, but not today. She gave up in exasperation and closed the file after fifteen futile minutes. Digging out her calculator, she began playing with figures, estimating expenses and cash flow if she opened her own office.
Making her best guess on the costs, it appeared that even after paying humongous taxes, the Centurion windfall would give her enough money to pay for start-up costs, then subsidize the business until it was established and could pay for itself.
And amazingly, that was based on a forty-hour work week. What a luxury that would be! She should be able to divide her time between paying clients and pro bono work and make enough for mortgage money, cat food, and her retirement fund. Having her own office meant she wouldn't be able to do the intellectually challenging work that required a team of lawyers, but working more closely with clients and their needs would compensate for that.
Her pulse quickened at the knowledge that she could really do this if she wanted to. Her hesitation came not from economics, but fear. The insecurities of her childhood had left her with a craving for logic and order, which was one reason the law appealed to her. Despite her frustrations with Crouse, Resnick, it was a known quantity, and lucrative. Abandoning that to become her own boss would be exciting but unpredictable, and she did not love for her life to be unpredictable.
Of course, there was a whole range of possibilities between staying at Crouse, Resnick and starting her own office. She could go to work for a corporation, or enter the government sector, which would be less demanding and still provide a steady, comfortable income. That kind of change would be safe and relatively easy.
And yet, when she had entered the old church sanctuary, she'd experienced such a sense of lightness. Exhilaration, even.
She stepped into her small washroom and stared into the mirror, knowing she was at a crossroads. One direction was familiar, safe, and exhausting. The other was unknown, enticing, and damned scary.
The mirror reflected back her lawyer costume: dark tailored suit; a discreet, tasteful gold chain around her neck and matching gold earrings; hair secured in a sleek knot at her nape. This was how she had gone to work every day for years. The image was very different from how she looked on her own time.
She jerked out her hairpins, then wet her fingers and ran them through her hair to restore the natural bounce of the energetic red mass. Little Orphan Annie on a bad hair day was how she described herself. These red curls had been the bane of her childhood. The bright, carroty color had made her stand out in a crowd no matter how much she wanted to blend in with the other girls. With age the color had darkened to a less violent shade, but even so, she was doomed to go through life looking like a short barmaid who needed to lose a few pounds.
But she didn't have to go through life wearing tailored suits. The choice was up to her. If she wanted a new life, it was time to take a few cautious steps in that direction.
If only it were possible to fast forward through change and go directly to the next secure niche....
An Imperfect Process
The Starting Over Series
Book Three
by
Mary Jo Putney
~
To purchase
An Imperfect Process
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Mary Jo Putney's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/MaryJoPutney
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Page forward and continue your journey with an excerpt from
STIRRING THE EMBERS
The Starting Over Series
Book One
Excerpt from
Stirring the Embers
The Starting Over Series
Book One
by
Mary Jo Putney
New York Times Bestselling Author
Twenty-five years ago
A piercing wail shattered the dawn air. The waiting crowd, safely restrained behind barriers, began to buzz with anticipation. In the command post, Kate Corsi danced excitedly from foot to foot. "Now, Papa?"
Sam Corsi laughed. "Not yet, Katie. That's just the two-minute warning siren."
She tried to stand still, but two minutes seemed like forever. She'd always known that her father's business was blowing up buildings, had even seen movies of his work. But this was different, her very first live shot. She tugged restlessly at the ribbon that held back her blond hair. "Can I push the button?"
"If you're good, someday I'll let you set off the blast, but not this time." Sam Corsi ruffled her brother's dark hair. "Someday the business will be Tom's, and he has to learn what it's like to control so much power."
Tom put one arm around Kate in an apologetic hug. "Your turn will come, short stuff."
The countdown by Luther Hairston was progressing. When he saw Kate watching, he closed one dark eye in a wink without stopping his steady counting.
"All right, Tom," Sam Corsi ordered. "Put your finger on that button and wait for me to say 'now!' Don't push it before I tell you to."
Looking a little sick, Tom set his finger on the button. But Kate knew he wouldn't make a mistake. He was the smartest big brother in the world.
Seven, six, five, four, three, two....
"Now!" her father barked.
Tom pushed so hard his fingertip whitened. Nothing happened, and for a terrible moment Kate's heart stopped.
Then machine-gun sharp bangs rattled from the tall building across the street, and clouds of dust rolled from the empty windows in the lower floors. Next came deep, deep booms that shook the bones. Walls pitched inward and the huge structure slowly collapsed into its base. Kate shrieked with joy.
Her father swooped her up to his shoulder for a better view. "Take a good look, Katie. This is Phoenix Demolition at work, and we're the best!"
Kate bounced in his arms. "Someday I'll blow up buildings, too."
Sam chuckled. "Demolition is no place for girls. Tom will run the company. If you ask nicely, maybe he'll let you work in the office."
"The times are changing, Sam," Luther said. "That lively little girl of yours might make a fine PDI engineer when she grows up."
"No daughter of mine is ever going to work demolition."
Kate sniffed. Papa was stubborn, but so was she. She'd make him let her into the business.
Because Katherine Carroll Corsi wanted to blow up buildings.
Stirring the Embers
The Starting Over Series
Book One
by
Mary Jo Putney
~
To purchase
Stirring the Embers
from your favorite eBook Retailer,
visit Mary Jo Putney's eBook Discovery Author Page
www.ebookdiscovery.com/MaryJoPutney
~
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Page forward and complete your journey
with an excerpt from
A HOLIDAY FLING
The Starting Over Series
A Novella
Excerpt from
A Holiday Fling
The Starting Over Series
A Novella
by
Mary Jo Putney
New York Times Bestselling Author
A Note from
My full-length novel Phoenix Falling had a couple of appealing secondary characters who were single and a little lonely, so they immediately popped into my mind when I decided to do a contemporary Christmas story for this collection. Greg Marino and Jenny Lyme are both in show business, and they're both genuinely nice people who love their work. But he's American and she's English, he's behind the camera while she's in front, and when their paths had crossed a dozen years before, their careers swiftly took them away from each other. Can this time be different?
The cell phone played the first few notes of "Fur Elise." Wondering if a commercial had come looking for him, he answered, suppressing another yawn. "H'lo."
"Greg—is that you?"
Not his manager. The female voice was deliciously British and familiar, but surely it couldn't be... "Yep, it's me. Sorry if I'm slow, but who is this?" With his luck, she was probably a high-class aluminum siding saleswoman.
"Jenny Lyme."
"Jenny!" He came awake fast, amazed that his caller really was Jenny. As if he could have forgotten her. Trying not to sound like a slavering idiot, he said, "Nice to hear from you. Are you in Los Angeles? If you are, let me take you out to lunch."
Smart, witty, and down to earth, Jenny was the kind of actor who made up for the prima donnas. She was also drop-dead gorgeous—a brunette stunner who stood out even in a business where beautiful women were a dime a dozen.
Strange things could happen on a movie set, and Greg's brief fling with Jenny was proof. Ordinarily their relationship would never have gone beyond casual chat, but she had been weeping her heart out over an actor boyfriend who'd thrown her over in favor of a high-profile affair with a famous French actress twenty years his senior.
Phoenix Falling Page 36
