Fame (31 page)

A yellow Honda Civic? Dayne squeezed his eyes shut. Where had he heard that before? He drummed his fingers on the countertop, and then it hit him. He opened his eyes. “Kelly Parker saw a yellow Honda Civic outside her home not too long ago.”

The sergeant hesitated. “Have the two of you been seeing each other?”

Dayne was used to being asked these questions by reporters and fans, and he could always be evasive. But this was serious. “Off and on. We’ve spent some time together at her house recently.”

“That’s a concern.”

The pieces were coming together. If the weird fan was threatening harm to any woman who would get in her way, then maybe she saw Kelly Parker as the competition. “So.. 2’ Dayne hated this. The phone call was ruining the atmosphere of the evening, changing it into a scene from some sort of horror flick. “You think this is the real thing?”

“We do.” The sergeant’s voice had been serious throughout the conversation. Now it was even more so. “Her language, the frequency of the notes, the idea of this yellow Honda … we don’t want to take any chances.” He paused. “Did Ms.

Parker have any other details, a description of the driver, maybe?”

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Dayne sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. “It was a woman and she…”

Suddenly he could hear Kelly telling him the details. He felt his stomach fall to his knees. “Kelly thought the woman had a knife.”

“We’ll need to contact Ms. Parker and get a report on that, just so we have the information in the file.” There was another sound of papers rustling. “It sounds like this woman’s a threat, Mr. Matthews.”

“Great.” Dayne turned off the fire beneath his stir-fry. No point keeping it warm; he wasn’t hungry anymore. “What am I supposed to do, sit here and wait for this crazy woman to show up?”

“Well, we’ll have surveillance on your home and when you’re at the studio. We’ll also have an unmarked car follow you as you come and go from the studio.”

Dayne paced to the refrigerator and back to the stove. “How long will you do that?”

“At least a few weeks. Until we catch her. If she’s delusional— and it sounds like she is—then she won’t be too worried about being caught. She’ll think she has a right to stalk you. And a right to harm whoever gets in the way.”

“Anything else?” Dayne’s stomach was in knots now.

“Yeah.” Worry colored the sergeant’s warning. “Look out for a yellow Honda Civic.”

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DAYNE WILLED HIMSELF to let the warning go.

The sergeant was smart to contact him, keep him on his toes. And extra security couldn’t hurt. But how often did a fan actually hurt someone? He thought the question over. There had been a young woman in a sitcom once who was shot by a stalker when she opened her door; that one was hard to forget. And a few other big names who’d had close calls with obsessed fans. But otherwise, police must get letters from crazy people all the time. That didn’t mean they’d climb through his window or hunt down his friends and try to kill them.

The muscles at the base of his neck started to relax. He took one of the chicken breasts, cut it into little cubes, and tossed it into the pan with the stir-fried vegetables. Then he turned the heat back on and covered the pan, Two minutes later it was hot enough to dish onto his plate.

He grabbed the magazines he’d bought and took them and his dinner to the dining-room table, the small one that sat just inside his patio door. The sun was setting, and another bank of fog

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was moving in. Fog was typical for this time of year, especially on the coast.

At least it had been burning off during the day.

The magazines were still in the bag. He took one of them out and stared at the cover. On the lower corner was something he hadn’t noticed before. A small snapshot of Kelly Parker and him, their faces close together. The caption beneath it read “Back together again?”

Dayne groaned. He flipped to the inside cover, scanned the index, and turned to the story. The two-page spread was almost entirely photos—one of the photos showed the two of them sitting in his car talking; another showed them in a full liplock; a third had the two of them heading through the darkness into her house; and a final shot showed him slipping out through her back door the next morning.

The copy read: “Dayne Matthews, perennial playboy, spends a night with hotshot actress Kelly Parker. Sources say things are steamy between the two, but Matthews denies reports of a patchup.”

“Don’t you people ever let up?” he whispered. What if Katy Hart saw the article?

She’d lose all respect for him. It might even influence her decision. He thought about that. Probably not. She wasn’t the type to read the gossip rags. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. What about Kelly? She’d already had enough of the paparazzi. If she had feelings for him—and he thought she still might—this would be salt in her wounded heart, for sure.

He tossed the magazine onto the table and focused on his dinner. This was supposed to be an easy night, dinner and the privacy of his own home. Instead he was frustrated and tense, warned about a wacko in a yellow Honda and facing the reality of the pictures in the magazine.

If they’d caught him at any other time the pictures wouldn’t matter—shots of him coming and going to Starbucks, spreads of him walking on the beach or leaving the studio. But early morning

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pictures of him leaving Kelly Parker’s house? His blood from the insanity of it.

Strange, really. But all he could think about were his parents.

parents dead these past eighteen years. They’d been so sup,ortive of his interest in drama, so sure he could use his talents for the Lord.

Dayne managed a soft, sarcastic laugh.

The idea never even crossed his mind. The Lord had gotten h of the important pieces of his life—his parents’ time, attention, and finally their lives. The last thing Dayne had considered was giving his acting talent to the Lord. Still, the idea of his parents seeing photographs of him caught the act of casual sex was something that grated on him. He “took four quick bites of the stir-fry. Never mind his parents. Everything grated on him tonight, ever since the phone call from the sergeant. He stared at his plate. The vegetables were limp and the chicken was cold. Even his dinner wasn’t working out.

He pushed his plate back and stared out the window. The fog was thicker now, settling in around the edges of his patio.

Once—not long after he visited Bloomington, Indiana—he had gone to a cupping expert, and a spiritualist in the next room :, had given him a free session on visualization, ways to clear his mind and find inner peace. The cupping was different. For hundreds of dollars a session, he would lie facedown on a table, and the therapist would push a heated drinking glass against his back, creating a vacuum. The harder she pushed, the more muscle tissue would be sucked into the hollow space.

It was supposed to cleanse his system, something like that. But the part that stayed with him was what the spiritualist had said. “If you’re looking for inner peace, you need to find something

holistic and centered. Something like Kabbalah.” Kabbalah had come up a few times.

Some of his friends in the industry were pretty taken by the idea. An older actress once explained that Kabbalah was better 266

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than Christianity because it allowed you tobecome your own god, to find a center in your being where spirituality and goodness could thrive, separate from the guilt and legalism normally

associated with religion.

Sounded good.

At least it would if it weren’t for his upbringing. Twelve years in a Christian boarding school for missionary kids had left him with the inability to think of religion separate from Jesus Christ, Right or wrong. Still, maybe there was something to this Kabbalah. If he could get over the guilt. Maybe the spiritualist was right, that finding his center, knowing his own nature better, would give him peace.

Especially on days like this.

He pushed away from the table and cleared his plate. Visualization would take too much time. He rinsed the dishes, dried his hands, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. Nothing. No call from her. Come on, Katy. Let me know what you ‘re going to do.

For a few seconds he stared at the phone, willing it to ring. Then an idea came to him. Maybe he could find the peace he needed by watching her TV movie, the pilot she’d starred in a few years ago. That would do it. He’d never finished it, and something about her—watching her, studying her—filled him with a sense that all was right with the world.

[f he were a praying man, he’d be begging God for her to decide yes about the film. But prayer wouldn’t change the mind of a woman two thousand miles away.

Only she could do that. In the meantime, he could watch her movie.

He turned off the country music, found the video, and set it up in the family room. He wanted the view to the outside, even with the fog. Sitting in his theater room alone was no way to spend a Friday night. Not with some fanatic lurking outside. He clicked the remote, and his gas fireplace sprang to life.

That was

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KA R E N KI N G S B U RY 11

nice thing about summers on Malibu Beach: the evenings still cool enough for a fire.

The movie needed to be rewound, but after a few minutes it ;..was ready to play.

He took the most comfortable chair in the ):. room and clicked the remote. The moment the credits and mu[

7.1!. sic started, he felt himself unwind again. Katy might not call, but :(ii he could still spend an evening with her.

He was fifteen minutes into the movie, right in the middle of a scene that featured Katy, when the doorbell rang. For the flickering of an instant Dayne hesitated. Was it the psycho fan? He

thought about grabbing his pepper spray, but then he stopped ., hmself.

I,’ ;::’ She wouldn’t walk I,, up to the front door and ring the bell. Not :? if she’d been stalking him all this time.

,:, He paused the movie and walked to the front door. He opened :.i:, it, and there was Kelly Parker, a shy smile playing on the corners …. “Hi.”

}ii. of her lips.

:, Dayne tried to hide his frustration. He didn’t want to 5i:: “Hi.”

,, hang out with Kelly. Not tonight and not alone in his house. He ‘;:..:,.. leaned against the door. “What’s up?”

“I was lonely. I thought I might find you here.” She gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders. “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Oh.” He forced a chuckle and opened the door wider. “Sorry.” She stepped in and closed it behind her. Before he had time to say another word, she wove her hands around his waist, leaned

up, and kissed him, a kiss that told him why she’d come. He re}’

turned the kiss, but he felt nothing stir within him. It was the way he sometimes felt when he did an on-screen kiss, Like a professional, good at what he was doing, but not even the least bit personally involved.

“Dayne?” She drew back, breathless, and searched his eyes. I “You don’t want to kiss me?”

He hooked his thumbs through her belt loops. “Of course I do.” He hated lying, but what else could he say? He had a feeling 268

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honesty wouldn’t go over real well right now. “But, hey, what’s this all about?”

She lifted her chin, confident even in light of her doubts. Her voice held a smoldering desire. “I can’t stop thinking about you, Dayne. How it was the other night.”

“Oh yeah?” He let his eyes wander down the length of her. She was a knockout, no question. So what was his problem? How come he kept comparing her to-“Anyway, I wanna know if I got the part.” She pulled him close again, keeping her head tilted back far enough to see his response. “It’s mine, right?”

Dayne laughed. “You amaze me, Kelly Parker. Just when I’m most worried about you, here you are. More cocky and sure of yourself than ever.”

“So… did I get it?” She giggled and kissed him again. But something in her eyes wasn’t quite right. Her pupils maybe, just a little too dilated. Her words were fast and sticky, like she needed a glass of water. “Tell me, Dayne, tell me. I’m dying to know.”

What was wrong with her? He resisted the urge to push her away. Instead he ran his tongue over his lower lip and studied her expression. “We’re not sure yet.

You did a great job, Kelly. We’re just waiting to see what happens.”

“Waiting?” Kelly frowned. “I’m in this business, remember, Dayne? What you mean is you offered it to the newcomer, right? Is that it?”

Dayne took a step back and leaned against the entrweay wall. “Okay, yes. We offered it to her. Mitch loved her.” He tossed up his hands. “We have no idea if she’ll take it or not. If she doesn’t, you’re next in line.”

Disappointment filled in the gentle curves of her cheeks and lips. She seemed calmer now, more herself. “Mitch loved her.. or you did?”

‘Come on, Kelly. Don’t take it personally. You know the 269

KAREN KINGSBURY

routine in this business. When it comes your way, take it. When it doesn’t, don’t take it seriously. The part fit her.”

She grinned at him. “You’re teasing me, right, Dayne? Is that it? Telling me this just to make it more exciting when I get the part, right?”

“If I said yes, I’d be lying.” He winced. “Sorry, Kelly. It was nothing you did.” Her smile faded. “Well, that’s lousy. What about my audition? ….. What about—?”

He held his finger to her lips. There it was again, the wild roller coaster of emotions. She hadn’t stayed one way more than a minute since she arrived.

“Shhhh.” This time he leaned in and kissed her, more to change the subject than anything else. When he drew back he grinned at her, willing her to relax. “The new girl might turn us down.”

“Thanks.” She rolled her eyes, but the hurt from earlier was gone. “Keep me posted, okay?”

She moved past him, set her purse on a shelf near the entryway, and headed into his family room. Dayne followed her. For a moment she stared at the image frozen on the screen—a close-up of Katy still on pause from a few minutes earlier.