Family (34 page)

Before he could respond, she flashed him a grin, turned, and headed toward the director. Her spunky walk and the way she flipped her hair showed all the attitude she was famous for.

He watched her go, then faced the valley floor again. The 284

compliment settled like wet cement in his gut. The old Daync would’ve felt smug about the reputation, glad that an A-list actress thought of him that way. Instead he felt dirty and cheap, unable to find the real thing and left only to act out love on the silver screen.

The director stood a little higher on the hill and waved for everyone’s attention. “Listen, we have one more scene to shoot before the sun sets. Let’s get moving, people. Places!” He motioned to a few of the assistants, and they immediately sprang into action. “Let’s go. Let’s get it done.”

The next hour passed quickly, and just about everything met the director’s high standards on only a handful of takes. ” Amazing.” He took his glasses off and waved them at the group. “You people are amazing.”

It was a zone, Dayne figured. One of those times when everything about his acting culminated in a mix of professionalism and intensity. He understood why it was happening this way. He had to put his energy somewhere after all.

His intensity came from his bottled-up feelings. He longed for Katy Hart, and there was nothing he could do about it. As long as he kept making films-and he was obligated to do so-his fame would increase, and the things about his life that made their relationship impossible would only get worse.

And that wasn’t all. The phone conversation with Ashley Baxter Blake was on his mind also-every day, every hour. A week had passed since they talked, and still he was no closer to a decision. Fourth of July in Bloomington sounded better than the Bahamas, but what would be the point? With the paparazzi already sniffing out information about his adoption, he’d only be giving them license to delve into the Baxters’ lives.

He walked to the food table and downed a paper cup full of water.

“Hey.” Randi came up alongside him and did the same. Her eyes held a teasing look as she jabbed him in the ribs with her ť’”

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elbow. “Don’t hold the kissing comment against me, okay?” She gave him a side hug and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s meant the world being around you these last two weeks.” Sincerity replaced the flirtatiousness in her expression.

“I mean it.”

“Thanks.” He returned the hug and moved to get more water. “No harm taken.”

“Good.” She sipped her water and gave him a side glance. “Heard from Miss Indiana lately?”

“No.” He wadded his cup into a ball and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Missing her was almost a physical hurt. “We have a lot to figure out.”

Randi nodded, thoughtful. She gestured toward the camera crew and the handful of tabloid photographers that had been granted permission to attend the shoot. “All this, you mean?”

His short laugh was almost bitter. “Yeah. She struggles with it.”

“We all do.” Randi leaned against the table. “The tabloids drove the first wedges between my husband and me, and they’ll keep driving until we wave the white flag and announce our divorce. It’s like they’re driving all of us wherever they want to take us.” She tilted her face, and the wind played in her hair. “We’re just along for the ride.”

Before Dayne could respond, the director broke free from a group of crew members and came to them. “Good news.” He had a pencil behind his ear, his trademark.

“We’ll be shooting some technical shots, working on some of the background stuff for the next few days.” He grinned. “The two of you are off until Tuesday.”

“Bummer.” She elbowed Dayne again and grinned at him. “I was looking forward to another day of onscreen kisses.”

“You’re a bad girl, Randi.” The director waved a finger at her, his eyes dancing. “That’s why I love working with you.” He winked at Dayne. “Maybe you two can get together and practice.”

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“Exactly.” Randi raised her eyebrows at Dayne, but the suggestive look in her eyes didn’t last long. “Just kidding.” She glanced at the director. “Dayne’s a good boy these days.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. She seemed more sincere than she’d been all day. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Making up for lost time.” Dayne kept his tone light. Randi was doing her best to understand him, his newfound faith, his lack of interest in anything intimate with her. He could cut her some slack here.

The break ended, and half an hour later they wrapped up for the evening. Dayne had driven his Escalade, wanting to avoid the caravan of trailers and studio vehicles. He took a shortcut near Calabasas and out to the Ventura Freeway and finally through Malibu Canyon.

Every mile he found himself asking the same questions. Where was Katy tonight, and what was she doing? What was she feeling? Was she making plans to move on, or was she miserable without him? The way he was without her. And what about the Baxters? He’d talked to his dad the other day, and neither of them had mentioned Dayne’s conversation with Ashley. Did that mean Ashley hadn’t told him? Or that the family was going to let the matter go, let Dayne keep his distance if that was really what he wanted?

He pushed a button on his dashboard, and the sunroof on his SUV slid open. A gust of fresh air filled the vehicle. He leaned back in his seat and stared at the winding road ahead of him. He knew Malibu Canyon better than any other road around Los Angeles, every straightaway and curve, every rocky outcropping where each time it rained the hillside would spill onto the pavement and close the road for a day or two. The canyon was deep and narrow, and on the other side the mountains were untouched by developers.

This stretch of roadway was one of his favorites, a great place to think, a place where paparazzi didn’t bother to chase, what 287

with the two narrow lanes and the sharp curves. Always it was a great place for sorting through and prioritizing, for thinking over life’s choices.

But tonight… tonight Dayne had only questions. He grabbed apiece of mint gum from the console, unwrapped it, and popped it between his lips. There was no one in the canyon, so he moved

faster than usual. God … what are the answers? Every day I’m tempted to get on a plane and leave all this behind. So, tell me…if i I’m supposed to let go of Katy and the Baxters, how do I convince my heart?

He paused, wanting the gentle voice, the quiet stirring in his soul, the assurance that God would help him figure things out.

At that moment his cell phone sprang to life, vibrating from where it was plugged in to the cigarette lighter. With practiced ease, he unhooked it from the cord, flipped it open, and pressed

\ it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Dayne … it’s Bob.” The connection was clear, unusual for Malibu Canyon.

“How’re you doing?”

Bob Asher, his missionary friend. The one who had known ‘ him longer than anyone. The one who had led him to Christ during a street service in Mexico City a few months back. “Your timing’s amazing, friend.”

“Good.” Bob chuckled. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was either call or lose a perfectly good night of sleep.” His tone was relaxed. “What’s going on?”

Dayne groaned. “My heart and body, man. They’re living in different time zones.”

“Hmm.” The line remained clear, even in the heart of the canyon. “I wondered about that. I went online and saw some of the tabloids. Katy Hart, she’s back in Bloomington, right?”

“Right.” Dayne pressed his lips together. He came up behind a slow delivery truck and eased off the gas. “We’ve got four days off, and all I want to do is get on the next plane to Indiana.” He

made a sound that was more frustration than laugh. “But then 288

what? All the things that have taken us in different directions would still be in place.”

“True.” The lightheartedness in Bob’s voice faded. “I had a feeling about this, once you told me about the near accident. She doesn’t want to be at the center of a tabloid spread, right?”

“No.” Dayne heard anger creep into his tone. “I don’t want her there either.

It’s not her.”

“And the Baxters?”

Dayne was at the part of the canyon where cell calls were almost impossible, but still the connection was clear. “I’ve been talking to my dad, and then one of my sisters calls. She wants me to come to Bloomington on the Fourth of July. Only all I can picture is that the lives they’re living will never be the same again if I do. All because of some curiosity we have about meeting each other.”

For a while, Bob said nothing. When he spoke, his word: were slow and measured.

“It’s more than a curiosity, Dayne.”

“I don’t know.” He worked his gum a few times. “Why do you say that?”

“Because-” Bob paused-“last time we talked you called him John.”

Dayne frowned. What was Bob talking about? He rounded a corner and saw the familiar straightaway ahead and Pacific Coast Highway beyond that. “What did I call him this time?”

“You called him Dad.”

An awareness dawned in Dayne’s heart. His friend was right He’d been thinking that way lately. A conversation with John Baxter would play in his head, and he’d think of him as a father not merely a man who had a part in bringing him into the world! His throat tightened. “See?” He forced a laugh, but only so he wouldn’t cry. “I’m more confused than even I know. More questions than answers, no matter how much I pray.”

“Okay, listen.” Bob exhaled hard. “Your director gave you four days off, right?”

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“Right.” Dayne eased his foot onto the brake and took the left turn at PCH. His house was only a mile or so south of the busy intersection.

“Matthews, you’ve got all the money in the world. Ditch the paparazzi and get on a plane to some beautiful remote beach. Do it tomorrow. Spend two days staring at the water and making a list.”

“A list?” Dayne shifted in his seat, open to the possibility.

“Yes. A list of what matters most in your life.”

“Okay.” He pictured himself taking two days on a beach to think things through.

The idea was sounding better with every heartbeat. “So I figure out what matters most and then what?”

There was a smile in Bob’s voice. “Then you spend the rest of your life going after it.”

The plans came together quickly, and Dayne was still tempted to switch gates and board a plane for the Midwest, instead of one to Mexico. But he’d found a rental house south of Cancun, a luxury three-bedroom far from the touristy areas.

He pulled out one of his disguises for the travel day-a baseball cap with straggly blond hair sticking out along the back. Kelly Parker had given it to him as a prank gift, and he’d never worn it. What was the point? It would buy him only a day or two of sanity. But if he wanted to be alone, there was no time like today to wear it.

Between that, his worn backpack, brown earthy sandals, and his oversized sunglasses, he managed to maneuver Los Angeles International Airport without being recognized. He slept most of the way to Cancun and hired a taxi to take him to a grocery store and then to his rental house.

He put away his food, and the moment he stepped out onto the beach he knew. Bob Asher was right. This was where he

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needed to be. No cell phone, no connection to the world back in Hollywood. Just God and him and his own private stretch of paradise.

He wore a loose tank top and a pair of shorts, and for the first evening-until sunset-he found a chair on the beach and read his Bible. Psalm 119 and the importance of God’s word, His truth. Then he read Matthew chapters five through seven, the entire Sermon on the Mount. With the gentle lull of the surf in the background, he suddenly felt like he was there, watching Jesus, listening to His powerful words.

Finally he read Ecclesiastes. Again he felt himself connecting. King Solomon was one of the wisest men of his day. Maybe ever. And still he pondered the fact that wealth and success and the trappings of life were meaningless.

Dayne returned to the house, ate halibut and salad, and slept hard that night.

When morning dawned-the sky the bluest ever-he woke with a purpose.

It was time to make the list.

He found his spot on the sand and set his Bible, notebook, pen, and a bottle of water on a towel beside him. For an hour he stared at the open sea. God, bring me into Your presence, fill me with Your Holy Spirit so I can know my priorities. My career, my commitments? Or the woman I love? My visibility as an actor or a relationship with the Baxters?

The longer he prayed, the more he felt God stirring his heart, changing his soul. What was fame, anyway?

A string of situations paraded across his mind, aspects of. being a celebrity that he didn’t want to dwell on. A month ago, one of his actor buddies spent an evening with a well-known millionaire heiress. They went to a movie premiere and were just leaving, just making their way to a waiting limousine when five hooded figures ran up and threw sacks of flour at them.

Tabloid photographers-always on hand-caught the entire incident on film and ran the pictures in all the tabloids later that 291

week. Police at the event caught the perpetrators and later announced that they were members of an activist group determined to make a statement about Hollywood’s use of animal fur for coats and clothing.

The heiress hadn’t been wearing anything with fur, and certainly Dayne’s actor friend hadn’t killed an animal for its coat. Still, they’d been the brunt of the attack. Together with Dayne’s stalker incident, the truth was chilling: celebrities were always potentially in danger, the same way their friends and spouses were in danger.

It was the reason so many of his friends were hiring bodyguards. One very visible couple-neighbors of Dayne’s-had two kids and another on the way. As the woman’s due date neared, the couple had hired additional bodyguards. Dayne had asked the guy about it once. “Looks like you’ve got the Raiders’ offensive line following you around.’

“You know why?”

Dayne was pretty sure he did. “You don’t want flour thrown in your face?”

“No.” His friend’s voice sounded strained. “I could take that. It’s the kids I’m worried about.”