Fame (17 page)

and it came back whenever it willed. The worried lines on their faces as they clung to each other, obviously concerned about their mother, dying inside the hospital.

It was senseless to think about Elizabeth and the other Baxters. As senseless as it was to think about Katy Hart. His world and theirs were far too different, the distance between them too great to span, and it was up to him to keep it that way. For now, anyway. If Katy took the part, if she received national acclaim for her

role the way he figured she would, then she would gain passage into his world.

And maybe they would find something together.

But not now, not Monday when she came into town for her second audition.

He scraped the sauteed mushrooms into the half-cooked egg whites and stirred the mixture. Most of the time the issues his friends had with fame didn’t bother him. Who cared what the rags printed? People must lead pretty dull lives to hang on every word in the trash magazines. He could sleep at night without wondering whether a photographer was perched outside in a 134

tree or waiting for him in his driveway. They were harmless, more a nuisance than anything else.

But when he weighed into the mix what he’d lost with the Baxters, the issues became much more complicated.

The eggs were cooked, and he spooned them onto a plate. He poured a glass of orange juice, fresh squeezed from the juice shop across the street. It was his favorite breakfast, compliments of his well-paid housekeeper. She knew what he liked, and she kept the place stocked.

The eggs were good, just the way he liked them. But throughout his meal he continued to see their faces, the Baxters’ and Katy Hart’s. Maybe it was the music—the soft, melodic sounds like the credits from a sad movie. He was about to get up and switch to something more upbeat when his phone rang.

He snatched it on his way to the stereo system. “Hello?” “Dayne, it’s me.

Kelly.” Her voice was strained, quiet and desperate at the same time. “I think someone just tried to break into my house.”

“What?” Dayne turned back, took his plate, and headed for the kitchen. “Kelly, call the police. Right now.”

“No.., I mean, I think they’re gone. I think it just happened. They tried to break in but then they left because I was here and maybe now they—”

“Whoa, Kelly. Slow. You’re not making sense.” He leaned against his patio door and squinted into the fog. A chill ran down his arms. “Tell me what happened.”

“I heard someone tapping on my window, and I ran into the room and looked and there was a lady.” She was talking slower now, her words still breathy and filled with fear. “Dayne, I think she had a knife in her hand.”

“Hey..” Dayne felt his heart lurch into double speed. “Kelly, I’m serious. Call the police.”

“No, wait. So I watched her, and all of a sudden she turned and ran to her car and drove away.”

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KAREN KINGSBURY

His forehead was cold against the glass, and he stood straighter. What sort of freak would do that to Kelly Parker? He

sed on what Kelly had said. “What kind of car? Did you get the plate?”

“No, but I saw the car. It had four doors. I’m pretty sure it was an old Honda Civic. A yellow Civic.”

“And you’re sure it’s gone?”

“Yes. I saw it drive away.

“Okay.” Dayne crooked his arm up over his head and pressed it against the window. “Let’s think this through. Maybe someone was looking for a house, and they stumbled on yours by accident.”

“I don’t know.” Kelly sounded like she was shaking. “Maybe it was a photographer. It just scared me. You know, broad daylight and everything.”

Dayne clenched his jaw. Photographers again. He had prided himself on not letting them get him down. He loved acting too much to be bothered by the paparazzi. Even with what happened in Bloomington, he didn’t see the lack of privacy as a

prison but rather a price. A price that had to be paid by everyone at the top of the entertainment industry.

Prisons were places from which you couldn’t escape. Papairrazzi? Give up acting for a couple of years and they’d vanish like fireflies at sunrise, right? Wasn’t that what he’d always told himself? Celebrity was a choice, wasn’t it?

But now, with Kelly Parker petrified on the other end of the line, Dayne wasn’t so sure. “Want me to come?”

“Please, Dayne. I can’t leave; I’m too afraid.” She sniffed twice. “Besides, I want to talk to you about something else.”

Dayne made the drive to Kelly’s house without being followed. If the paparazzi knew his pattern, they knew he usually didn’t leave his house until well after three o’clock on Saturdays. It was still morning, so they were probably bothering someone

else. Kelly Parker, by the sounds of it.

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Dayne wrestled with himself as he climbed out of his Escalade and moved fast up the walkway. Whatever Kelly had to ask him, he hoped it didn’t involve the other night. He’d been wrong to stay over, wrong to sleep with her. If her head wasn’t so messed up, it would be one thing. But she hadn’t been well for a while, Being with her that way was bound to confuse her.

She opened the door, pulled him inside, and fell into his arms. “Dayne, I hate this.” She drew back, her cheeks tearstained. “This isn’t me—hiding inside, afraid of my own shadow. I used to walk around my neighborhood at night by myself.”

He’d been thinking about what to tell her, and now he didn’t hesitate. He led her by the hand into her living room and sat her down on her couch. He took the seat next to her, gripped her knee, and looked straight in her eyes. “You need help, Kelly. This—” he looked around the room—”staying trapped inside like this isn’t normal.” For a moment the anger he’d felt earlier rose to the surface again, “You can’t let them get to you like this.”

She hung her head, her shoulders slumped. “I know I shouldn’t read the tabs, but then someone calls or I see it when I’m out and I know what they’re saying.” Her eyes met his. “This week it’s my arms.” She motioned to the wall of windows opposite them. “Someone shot me pointing at something, and now I’ve got flabby arms.”

Dayne winced. He’d seen the picture a few days earlier and laughed at it. Kelly Parker with flabby arms? It was ludicrous. But somehow the photogs had found six pictures of female celebrities whose arms appeared less than perfect. The headline read “Uh-Oh… Flabby Arms! Who’s Flabby and Who’s Not?”

“It’s ridiculous. I saw it.” He ran his hand from her shoulder to her wrist.

“Your arms are perfect, baby. You know that.”

“Pictures don’t lie.” Kelly shook her head, “First I have cellulite, then a lesbian lover, and now flabby arms. Sort of kills the appetite, you know?”

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He studied Kelly and realized she was thinner than she’d been a few months ago.

“You’re eating, right?” There were always a Hollywood women starving themselves, handling the pres-of looking perfect by letting their weight drop to dangerous lows. A ripple of fear stirred the waters in his soul. “Tell me ..:you’re eating, Kelly.”

She shrugged. “I eat enough.” She hugged herself and kept her eyes downcast. “I wouldn’t mind a tabloid saying something about me looking too thin. It would beat the cellulite and flabby arms stories.”

“You are thin.” He took hold of her chin and lifted it gently so that their eyes locked. Don’t get messed up in all that starving stuff. I mean it, Kelly.

Promise me.’

She hesitated long enough to indicate a problem. But then he felt her nod against his hand. “Okay.” Her fingers met his and hand down from her jaw. But instead of letting go, she wove her fingers between his. “I feel better with you here.”

” “Good.” He settled back against the sofa. “You wanted to talk about something else?” “Yes.” For the first time in weeks, her eyes showed some life. chance at the part in Dream On. The lead female.”

Dayne felt his heart lurch. That was Katy’s part; it belonged to “Tory Temblin?”

“Yep.” She gave him a shy smile. “I can play her, Dayne. I hear talk you’re having trouble filling the part.” She paused. “Call me in and try me.”

“You, huh?” He gave her a lazy grin. This was no time to mend Middle America.

“What makes you think a knockout like you could play a plain girl from the country?”

“You and me.” She lifted his fingertips to her lips and kissed them one at a time, slow and sensual, arousing feelings far beyond his fingers. Her eyes never left his. “On-screen chemistry, of course.”

“Okay.” He swallowed, regaining his composure. “I’ll give 138

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you that.” He uttered a soft chuckle. “But you’re elegant and glamorous, Kelly.”

He shifted toward her and leaned in. “You’re a wonderful actress, but… I don’t know.., we’re looking for a newcomer.”

“Sounds like a challenge.” Even in her meek, fearful condition, Kelly’s expression was humorous, her trademark confidence back again. “Let me read for it, Dayne. Come on.”

Her smile melted his heart. What if Mitch was right? What if Katy was offered the part and refused it? He still had a film to cast, a movie to make in the next few months. “Okay. Come in Tuesday morning.” He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. The interview was more because he felt sorry for her than anything else. That and the possibility that Katy might not work out. “Eight o’clock, okay?”

“Why?” Her tone was lighter than before, her eyes playing with him. “Is Miss Newcomer having her audition at nine?”

Katy’s face came to mind, but Dayne hid the way his heart reacted to it. Instead he gave Kelly an appreciative nod. “Very good.” He wagged his finger at her. “At least you’re first.”

Their talk shifted to the lives of friends they had in common, how well certain actresses were doing, and how they were able to ignore the paparazzi, take in stride the country’s obsession with celebrity.

After an hour, Dayne looked at his watch. “I have a few things to do around the house.” He touched her cheek, his eyes lingering on hers. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her expression changed, and something that came close to shame filled her face. She glanced down the hallway toward her bedroom. “You could stay awhile if you want.”

Her message was clear. After the way they’d come together the last time he was at her house, it felt natural to him, too, that they might wind up sharing more than a conversation.

“Not this time, okay?” He worked his fingers up along the side of her face and into her hair. “Remember our promise?” His 139

KAREN KINGSBURY

voice was thick, tinged with a desire that he refused to obey. He kept his tone steady. “The promise we made the other night?” “Yes. Nothing complicated.” Kelly brought her lips together in a tight line and let her gaze fall to her lap. When she looked up again, a handful of emotions flashed in her eyes. Regret and rejection, doubt and discouragement. “I don’t want complicated, i! Dayne.” She raised one shoulder. “Sometimes I just want you to hold me.”

Dayne stood and held his arms out to her. C mere, you.”

Tears shone in Kelly’s eyes as she rose and put her arms around his waist. Again her nearness moved him, but that was

A physical attraction. In his heart he felt nothing more than for Kelly Parker. When he pulled back, he smiled at nd kissed the tip of her nose. “Go take a shower, baby. Then your friends and go out tonight. If the chasers take pictures, and have fun, anyway.”

He thought she might pull him close again, maybe try to kiss But she had more self-respect than that. She simply gave another hug and pulled away. “Thanks for coming, Dayne.” She crossed her arms tight against her waist.

“See you Tuesday.”

she paused. “And tell Miss Newcomer she doesn’t stand a chance this time. I want the part too bad.”

That last part of the conversation played again in his mind as he drove home.

What about Miss Newcomer? Would Katy Hart take the role? Would she take it? He thought about Kelly Parker, frightened she didn’t want to leave her own house. What if that happened to Katy?

It was a possibility he hadn’t considered before, and he was thinking about it as he drove down Pacific Coast Highway his house. Nearly all the fog had burned off, and the day was warming up. He was only a dozen yards away when he slowed down and studied the driveway next to his. Parked there was an old car with a woman at the wheel—a woman staring straight at his house.

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That much didn’t surprise him. People were always staring, hoping he’d look out the window or open the garage door or suddenly show up. But most of them had cameras. He squinted, trying to make out more details as he eased his car into the center turn lane. The woman had her hands on the top of the steering wheel.

If she had a camera, she wasn’t holding it.

At that moment, she looked over her shoulder and saw him. In a sudden rush, she backed straight into oncoming traffic, and a FedEx truck swerved to miss her.

Then she straightened her car and zoomed away. She definitely wasn’t working for the rags if she chose to run when she saw him.

But that was only one aspect that troubled Dayne as he turned left, hit the door opener, and drove his car into the garage. The other detail was enough to make his blood run cold—the make and color of the woman’s car.

It was a fourdoor, yellow Honda Civic.

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KATY COULD HARDLY concentrate on the play.

Her conversation with Dayne Matthews had taken place just twelve hours earlier, and already her entire world seemed to be spinning out of control. Before the morning practice, Rhonda brought her news that a disagreement had come up between the house committee and the souvenir committee.

“The parents were about to duke it out when I got here.” Rhonda was sitting next to Katy in the first pew, where they kept their table and directed practice.

Katy frowned. “They’re adults, for heaven’s sake.” She took hold of her yellow notepad and began writing and talking to herself at the same time, “Rule Number 18: Don’t let parents arrive at practice early to discuss committee issues.”

“Exactly.” Rhonda reached for a script and flipped it open. “House wants to be able to seat the lobby of the theater with folding chairs—in case we sell out.