The assistant director yelled his name, and Dayne was grateful for the reason to walk away. He resisted the urge to wipe Randi’s kiss from his mouth. “Coming.” He turned from Randi and jogged up the sandy slope. The movie had only two kiss scenes, and this was the first. Dayne didn’t want them in the movie, but this was a compromise from what the script had originally called for when Dayne was first linked to the picture. He’d won the battle on no between-the-sheets action, nothing with less clothing than the scene they’d just shot.
But still . . . he felt cheap and dirty and guilty. He’d never hated being an actor more than he did right now. He pictured his wife, so many thousands of miles away, and he missed her so badly he could hardly draw a breath. God, please let me reach her. I need to talk to her.
As he finished his prayer, the director announced a thirty-minute lunch break, and assignments were given for where the principals needed to be next. Dayne was thrilled. He did the math and knew it was evening in London. Still time to call Katy. He talked with the assistant director about wardrobe changes for the next set of scenes. Randi was busy on the other side of the set, though more than once Dayne saw her glance his way. Her relentless attempts to lure him were making him angry. She continued even though he’d done everything possible to let her know he wasn’t interested.
He was in love with his wife. Period.
When he finished with the assistant director, he headed for his gear bag, changed from his wet T-shirt into a dry one, and then jogged farther up the beach toward the catering table. Just as he reached the food line, the refrains of the Robin Hood theme came from deep inside his bag. The song was the one he’d sung for Katy at their wedding—“(Everything I Do) I Do It for You”—and Dayne had set it as his ring tone before leaving Los Angeles a few weeks ago.
His heart soared as he unzipped his bag and grabbed his phone. In a hurry, he held it to his ear. He could already hear her voice. “Hello?”
“Hey, friend . . . it’s Bob.”
Dayne felt the disappointment grate against his soul. I need to talk to Katy . . . especially after a scene like that one. “Just a minute.” He snagged one of the baseball caps from his bag, worked it low over his eyes, and took the nearest chair. When he was several yards from the catering area, he dropped down and exhaled hard. “Hey, Bob. Caught me at a good time. We’re on a break.”
For a few seconds Bob was silent, and Dayne wondered if the connection had been lost. “Bob . . . you there?”
“Yeah, I just . . . I wanted to call as soon as I could.”
Dayne hadn’t noticed before, but Bob seemed more serious than usual, the way his boyhood friend almost never sounded. Then Dayne remembered. He was supposed to call Bob last week and he forgot. Bob and his wife were missionaries in Mexico City, and they’d invited Dayne to come for dinner. So far neither of their schedules had allowed them the time. That must be what this was about. “Hey, about our visit . . . I might have a free day next week, Tuesday or Wednesday.”
“That’s . . . not why I called.” Bob’s tone was strained, almost abrupt.
The sand felt warm against Dayne’s feet, and he stared out at the gulf. “Okay.” He pulled the bill of his cap down lower still, squinting against the sun. The air was warm and gentle against his skin. “Why’d you call?”
“You must’ve seen it by now, right?”
A flicker of alarm flashed through his mind. “Seen what?”
Bob let out a low groan. “The cover of the tabloids. The ones that hit this morning. I saw them on the Internet.” There was an uncomfortable pause. “What are you doing? How could you let her—?”
“Bob!” The beach beneath Dayne’s feet felt like quicksand, sucking him into a place so deep he might never escape. He covered his other ear with his free hand. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Paparazzi followed you to the shoot. You have to know that.”
“Of course. They come and go, but that’s it. There’s not much to shoot, really.”
“Dayne . . . whatever’s happening with you and Randi, you can tell me the truth. You need to talk about it.” Bob paused. “Before you lose everything.” His tone suggested that maybe Dayne already had lost everything.
Dayne pinched his temples with his thumb and index finger. “Buddy, call me crazy, but I’m being honest here.” He didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “Tell me what you saw.”
Bob drew a slow breath. “You and Randi, full embrace, locked in a lovers’ kind of kiss if ever there was one. I called a friend back home and had him check. The picture takes up almost the entire cover of every tabloid.”
Dayne had to stand so he could force his lungs to breathe. He took off his baseball cap and worked to keep from yelling. “That’s impossible. We just finished shooting our first kiss scene.” He looked behind him; a few people milling near the food table seemed to be listening. He slapped the hat back into place and stormed off toward an empty stretch of beach.
“The picture’s pretty clear.” Bob’s tone was just short of accusatory. “No one else around, poor lighting. Definitely not a movie scene.”
“It wasn’t me!” He clenched his jaw and tightened his fist. “You believe me, right? I’m telling the truth here.” His mind raced, and his stomach tightened into a knot. How could this happen? He’d done everything possible to keep his distance from Randi. He covered his face with his free hand. “I can’t believe this.”
Bob waited, clearly wanting some sort of explanation. “I’m looking at the picture right now. The headline says you were caught red-handed.”
“No . . . this isn’t happening.” Dayne wanted to scream or lay into the person responsible for this. His mind raced, turning circles around itself and making him so dizzy he could barely stand. “Tell me this . . . how do you know it’s me?” It was the only thing Dayne could think to say. No matter what Bob was looking at, the picture wasn’t him and Randi. It couldn’t have been.
Bob hesitated. “Well, you’re wearing a white T-shirt and a blue baseball cap. Says something about Baja on it.”
Dayne jerked the hat from his head again and stared at it. The same hat he was wearing right now. He flung it toward the water and paced farther from the set. He clenched his teeth so tight he could hardly get the words out. “The whole cast and crew got those hats.”
“The front page picture isn’t the only one. There are others—you and Randi standing together, laughing, sitting near each other.” Bob sounded confused, but at least his tone didn’t sound as doubtful.
“Yeah.” Dayne laughed, but there was nothing funny in the sound of it. “Are we playing Frisbee in one of them?”
“Uh . . .” Bob paused. “Yeah, you are. Definitely.”
“Of course we are.” He paced the other direction, back toward the catering area. “Those are from the set. Scenes from the movie.”
“Wait, I think . . . yes, it says that in small print beneath those pictures. ‘Dayne and Randi carry heat from the film into real life.’ That’s what it says, friend. The problem is, in each one you’re wearing the same shirt and baseball cap.”
“The scenes we’re working on happen all in one afternoon at the beach. Of course I’m in the same shirt and baseball cap.” Dayne kept his tone in check. The news was horrific, the worst since he and Katy had started dating. But the facts weren’t Bob’s fault.
“No, Dayne, not the same in the shots from the filming. The same there and on the front cover, in the shot with you kissing—”
“It wasn’t me!” He shouted this time. “I’m sorry, but please. You have to believe me. I haven’t kissed her, not until today.” He wanted to run toward the sea, jump in, and swim until he reached someplace sane and normal, a place where the truth was told and tabloids didn’t exist. He stopped pacing and faced the water. “I promise; I’m telling the truth.”
Bob hesitated. “I don’t understand it . . . but I believe you.” He made a slow sound, as if he was breathing out through gritted
teeth. “Man, you need to talk to Katy.”
Dayne pictured his wife somewhere on a set in London and getting the news. Worse, maybe seeing the tabloids for herself. He walked a few feet to a palm tree and leaned against the rough trunk. If he had to work this hard to convince Bob, how would Katy take the news? “I hate this.”
For a minute his friend said nothing. Again Dayne wasn’t sure if they’d lost their connection. But then Bob continued. “Think, buddy. Who else could it be? Someone on the set who looks like you, maybe? A body double?”
Yeah, that was it. Dayne felt the smallest sliver of hope. “Right . . . exactly. Like I said, we all got those hats.” He stood and paced toward the water again. “And everyone’s wearing T-shirts. It’s the beach, after all.”
“So give it thought.” There was the sound of a magazine’s pages being turned. “Actually, you can’t really make out your full face in the cover photo. The profile looks like you, the build, the hair color.”
“But it has to be someone else.” Dayne felt worn-out, defeated. He still had half a day of shooting left, but he felt like telling the director he was through. Forget the movie and everything else about Hollywood. He wanted to be on the next flight to England. The impossibility of his situation rose before him like the most treacherous of mountains. “Bob, I need to go. Thanks for calling.”
“I’m glad it isn’t you. I really thought . . .”
“Wow.” Dayne kept the bitterness from his tone, but there was no hiding his hurt. “You really thought I’d come here and have an affair with Randi Wells?”
“You’re human, Dayne.” Bob sounded kinder than before, more understanding. “Any of us could fall. That’s why we need a Savior. I just . . . wanted you to know I was here for you . . . if that had been you on the front cover.”
The depth of Bob’s friendship eased Dayne’s hurt. How great a friend Bob Asher was. He hadn’t called to condemn or belittle but to stand next to Dayne, if indeed he was in the process of the biggest fall of his life. And Bob was right. People fell. “Well, this time I’m still standing. But thanks for being there.”
After the call was over, Dayne kept his distance from the others, his heart thudding against his chest. Should he call Katy and try to catch her before she saw the picture? Or had she already seen it?
He was about to dial her number when he heard the director’s voice. “Places, everyone . . . break’s over!”
Dayne swallowed hard and stuffed his emotions deep inside him. His anger and betrayal by the media, his hurt and frustration and fear, all of it would have to wait until after the day’s filming. They had a schedule to keep, and even a few hours of missed time wouldn’t be tolerated by the director.
He returned to his gear bag and dropped the phone inside. As he strode across the sand for his next scene—an argument between him and the actor playing Randi’s mother—he scanned the cast and crew. Who had done this to him? Who had slipped off with Randi for a clandestine make-out session and let him take the fall? He pondered the idea all afternoon between takes. He was sitting alone on the sand when he realized the guy—whoever he was—wasn’t the real problem. Randi was the one sneaking off with a guy who somehow was a dead ringer for—
Dayne grabbed a quick breath. He ran his fingers through his hair and tried to remember how to exhale. All afternoon he’d gone through the list of men on the set, but none of them had his look, his exact build.
None of them except the one person he had never considered until now. A guy who looked just like him. Dayne had hoped that when he figured out who was really in the picture, his heart would settle into a normal rhythm and the pain inside him would ease. But now, as the pieces fell into place and the truth consumed him, Dayne’s pain didn’t ease.
It doubled.
It was the day before Halloween, and all Katy could think about was that back home—if CKT had still been together—tonight would’ve been the group’s annual fall festival. The kids gathered every October 30 and staged a carnival on the theater grounds. CKT members would wear friendly costumes from a previous show and have game booths where kids could win candy.
The event never raised much money, but it gave the CKT kids another reason to get together, a place to bond. Katy checked the clock tacked up on one of the set pieces. Fifteen minutes before the afternoon shooting was set to begin. It was only seven o’clock in Bloomington, but Jenny Flanigan would be awake.
Katy took out her cell phone and found Jenny’s number on her speed dial. She completed the call and waited.
Jenny answered on the third ring, her tone upbeat. “Katy, I can’t believe it’s you!”
“Hi.” Tears stung at the corners of Katy’s eyes. She felt like she’d entered another world here in London. Life at home seemed forever away. “I had to call. It’s the thirtieth.”
“I know.” Disappointment crept into Jenny’s voice. “Bailey and Connor were talking about it last night. The first year in a long time without a CKT fall festival.”
Katy felt a lump in her throat. “How are they . . . Bailey and Connor?”
“They miss it; I won’t lie.” Jenny sounded compassionate. “But they understand this is what you want. And they don’t have a theater even if you were here.” She sighed. “It’s just one of those hard seasons in life. They’re still asking God for a miracle.”
The picture made Katy even sadder. Her two favorite teenagers, begging God for a miracle that could never happen. “What about the others—the Shaffers and Picks and Larsons? . . . Are people talking about CKT?”
“They are. A bunch of them met at our house a few days ago because Bailey and Connor invited them. The goal—like every time the kids get together—was to think of a way to stop the developers from tearing down the theater.” Jenny didn’t seem very optimistic. “In the end they mostly sang praise songs and prayed, asking God to bring CKT back, however He might make it happen.”
Katy felt her sadness worsen. “I miss it so much. If I could come home right now, I’d step in front of the wrecking ball and beg the developers to change their minds.”
“Land is valuable downtown.” Jenny made a slightly defeated sound. “The old theater’s probably worth twice what they bought it for.”
A tear fell onto Katy’s jeans, and she dabbed at her eyes. “What else? Anything in the tabloids?”
“I’m impressed.” Jenny’s tone grew lighter. “You’re actually staying away from them. Well, good for you.”
“I take it you aren’t reading them either?”
“Definitely not. If I want the truth, I’ll talk to you. Besides, it’s not healthy for the kids to get caught up in the whole celebrity-crazed world of the tabloids.”
“No, probably not.” Katy peered across the asphalt to the place where Stephen Petrel was busy handing out directions, setting up the next scene. “Listen, I don’t have long. I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. A year ago . . .” Her emotions swelled, and she couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I know. . . . You didn’t picture things going like this.” Jenny had always known just what to say. Her friendship was one more thing Katy missed about Bloomington.
She struggled to find her voice. “I never wanted the kids to lose CKT.”
“Pray for them.” Jenny’s tone was filled with a smile. “They asked me to ask you. Bailey has a sense about this whole thing. That if everyone’s praying, maybe they’ll find a solution, a way to keep the group together.”
“I’ll pray.” Katy bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying. “Tell them I love them.”
When the call ended, Katy spotted Ian Walters, her costar, heading over to join her. Katy tucked her phone into her bag and sat up straighter. “Hi.” She found a friendly smile. She wasn’t in the habit of sharing her personal life with Ian, and now wasn’t any time to start.
Keeping things on a surface level with other men had been Jenny’s idea. “Guard your heart,” her friend had told her. With all that was at stake in Katy’s marriage, s
he had welcomed the advice.
Ian took the chair across from her. He had a paper plate with a sandwich and three cookies. He held one up. “Hungry?”
“No.” She smiled again. Her heart was breaking from missing her theater kids. She was hardly hungry. She kept her tone light. “Thanks anyway.”
“You look pensive.” Ian slid his chair closer so their feet were nearly touching.
Katy felt self-conscious for a few seconds, until she remembered that there were no paparazzi on the set today. She could have her feet a few inches from her costar’s without anyone assuming she was having an affair. She kept the walls in her heart firmly in place. “Just missing home.”
“Mmmm.” His eyes flirted with her. “Not me. I rather like being here across the pond with America’s number one sweetheart.”
“Yes, well . . .” Katy grinned at him. She tucked her feet beneath her chair. “My husband appreciates your brotherly kindness.”
Ian rolled his eyes in mock disappointment. “Yeah, yeah . . . tell him I’m happy to oblige.”
“Sis?”
He did an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Sis.”
This was the relationship Katy and Ian had found together on set. Yes, they had chemistry, and when they needed to, they could ramp it up a few notches. But the film wasn’t a passionate love story. It was the story of a woman battling depression and her husband’s quest to help her. The brotherly kindness thing worked both offscreen and on.
They were talking about the scenes that had to be shot yet today when Katy caught Stephen Petrel in what looked like a deep conversation with his assistant director. A few times, Stephen glanced over his shoulder to where Katy and Ian were sitting.
“There you go again.” Ian was playing with her. “Too distracted to have a real conversation with me.”
Katy shook her head. “Sorry. It’s just . . . Stephen. He looks upset.”
“Stephen’s always upset.” Ian chuckled. “The guy’s such a perfectionist. I’m surprised he ever finishes a film.”