Sunrise (27 page)

“Okay, let’s run it from the top.” Katy stood and motioned for the actors to take their places.

Fifteen young boys, including Connor, found their spots on the stage, the places where they were supposed to be sleeping. Patrick took the box of treasures and stared into it. He twiddled his fingers in a perfect Faginesque manner. But as he tiptoed downstage past the sleeping boys, he took a big breath, and without warning, his nose plopped into the box.

Dayne covered his mouth to hide a snort of laughter, and a chorus of giggles rose from boys onstage.

Katy took a deep breath and pulled her yellow notepad close.
Fix the nose
, she wrote.

Patrick didn’t miss a beat. In the next few seconds, as he was sifting through the jewels and treasures in the box, he picked up the clay nose piece and deftly squished it back into place.

The move put Dayne over the edge. He dropped his head between his knees and fell into a round of laughter that was contagious throughout the room. Katy put her arm around Dayne’s shaking shoulders and announced, “Take five everyone.” She lowered her face near Dayne’s. “Maybe Fagin doesn’t need a big nose.”

“Or maybe . . .” Dayne looked up, trying to catch his breath. “Maybe he could find the nose in the treasure box and slap it on as part of the scene.”

“Very funny.” She raked her fingers through her hair. “Rhonda, ask Bethany if we can find another kind of modeling clay.”

Rhonda was giggling too. She hurried off to find Bethany, and after a few minutes the laughter died down and they were ready to begin again. One of the numbers they worked on was “I’d Do Anything,” in which the Artful Dodger—played by Connor—teasingly offered to give anything, do anything for the love of Nancy, played by Bailey Flanigan, who was performing brilliantly.

Katy figured she knew why. Bailey seemed better at home lately, less moody. She and Jenny were spending more time together, and Bailey appeared to have found a friend in Cody Coleman. For his part, Cody was continuing with his alcohol classes and staying close to home. All of it gave Bailey the chance to focus on her character. For that reason, even with weeks to go until opening night, the number was wonderful.

After the kids left the theater, after Rhonda and Bethany had packed their things and gone home, and after the parents had picked up their kids, Dayne gathered props and Katy sat at the director’s table looking over the notes from the day.

The bridge would elevate part of the scene, because with seventy kids, people couldn’t see the action upstage. Lighting would have to find a spot bright enough to highlight Dodger when he sang to Nancy; otherwise the audience would have to work too hard to figure out which one of Fagin’s gang was doing the singing.

Katy stopped halfway down her page of notes as something caught her eye. She looked up, and Dayne was standing as far downstage as possible, his hand outstretched toward her, a plastic long-stem rose in his mouth. With a dramatic flair, he removed the rose and held it to her. “M’lady . . . could I interest you in a dance?” His English accent was impeccable. “Please, m’lady.”

Katy’s heart melted, and she put her pen down. “Why, Dodger, you make a right fancy gentleman, you do!” She stood and curtsied, then walked to the edge of the stage, where she took hold of his hand.

In a single move, Dayne whisked her onto the stage. Then he dropped to one knee and stretched his arms out to either side. Maintaining the accent and with a voice that filled the room, he began to sing. “‘I’d do anything, for you, dear, anything . . .’”

Katy fanned herself, playing her part for all it was worth, caught in the moment, relishing it.

Dayne sang clear and strong, his eyes never leaving hers. “‘For you mean everything to me. I know that I’d go anywhere . . .’”

As Dayne sang the rest of the song, Katy grinned at him, impressed by the strength of his acting and enjoying the feel of being onstage with him. She thought about his next movie. Maybe auditioning for the part opposite him would be a wonderful idea after all. The time of their lives.

As the song wound down, Dayne fell to one knee again. “‘I’d do anything . . . anything for you!’”

She pulled him to his feet and flung her arms around his neck. “I love you! And you can play Dodger any day.”

“Mmmm.” He pressed his cheek to hers. “Only if you’re Nancy.”

Katy laughed, and it occurred to her that in the coming weeks, some of Dayne Matthews’ finest moments wouldn’t be on a silver screen for the whole world to see.

They’d be right here, on a simple wooden stage in Bloomington, Indiana.

On the private flight to Los Angeles, in the Town Car that picked them up, while they checked Katy in at the Hyatt, and all the way to his Malibu house, Dayne wrestled with what they were about to do. Giving in to the paparazzi, offering themselves on a platter to the very people who had nearly killed him. The idea still seemed crazy.

Only Katy’s calm reassurance kept him from grabbing the keys to the convertible BMW in his Malibu garage—the one he rarely drove—and taking Katy for a three-hour drive up the coast instead. His Escalade had been totaled in the car accident, and now he had the 4Runner in Bloomington. He still wanted to buy another SUV for the weeks when he’d be working in Southern California, but that would have to wait. This trip was about making the announcement and getting Katy in front of the director.

It was warm and beautiful in Los Angeles. At nearly seventy degrees, it was a far cry from the snow and ice they’d left behind in Bloomington. They stopped at a Malibu deli, and Katy ran in for sandwiches, which they ate on Dayne’s back deck. The paparazzi hadn’t yet realized he was back in town, so they could sit outside and look at the ocean without worrying about someone taking their picture.

“How’re you doing?” Katy put her hand on his knee and smiled at him. “The meeting’s in an hour.”

“Trying not to think about it.” He set his sandwich down and stared at a pair of seagulls dipping low over the water. “I guess I just want to be back at the lake house or singing to you onstage at the theater.” He turned to her. “You know?”

“I do.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “I feel the same, but . . . what other choice do we have?” Her tone was gentle. “Much longer and they certainly would’ve found you helping run scenes for CKT. They’d hound us until they knew the truth.”

Dayne gritted his teeth and looked at the blue Pacific again. She was right. He was who he was, and there was nothing either of them could do to change the fact. The hope was that once the information was public, the press would leave them alone, be less concerned about what happened next. Happy couples weren’t of great interest to the paparazzi, right? Wasn’t that the idea?

He sighed and reached for her hand. “I wish I could keep you to myself, keep this . . . this amazing thing we share just for us. So the whole world wouldn’t need a front-row seat. Are you sure you really want this, Katy? this life I lead?”

“Look what we’ve had for the last nearly two months. There’ll be times like that—” she gazed out at the beach—“and times like this. And, yes, I’ll take all of it.” She leaned close and framed his face with her hands. “I’m ready for what lies ahead. They can take all the pictures they want, as long as I have you.”

Her words reassured him. He relaxed his jaw and smiled. “You’re incredible; have I told you that?”

“Only twice today.” Katy giggled. “Come on—we better get going.”

They drove to the magazine office with the convertible top up. No point catching the attention of any photographers until they absolutely had to.

From the moment they met the reporter, Dayne felt uneasy. This was supposed to be the time when he felt most in control. No more running from the paparazzi; instead they were taking the story to the press. Giving them what they wanted in the sound bites and exact answers that he and Katy wanted to give.

But Dayne couldn’t shake the bad feeling.

He sat next to Katy, the two of them holding hands. They had practiced their responses, and the interview went off like a well-rehearsed movie scene. Yes, Dayne met Katy at the Bloomington Community Theater, where she taught children’s theater, and yes, it was love at first sight. Yes, he’d gone to Bloomington to meet his birth mother, who was dying of cancer, and no, he hadn’t met any other members of his birth family on that trip. Yes, in the years since then he’d gotten to know all of the Baxters, and yes, he had a good relationship with all of them—even Luke.

When the reporter asked Dayne to discuss the conflicts between him and Luke early on, Dayne smiled and shook his head. “We never had any conflicts.”

Willingly and purposefully, Dayne and Katy gave their answers, steering the interview away from any bit of controversy and focusing instead on the beauty of their love story, the thrill of their engagement.

Then the reporter directed a host of questions toward the timing and location of the wedding.

“We’re really not sure,” Dayne said with a straight face. “We’ve talked about a lot of options, but we’re looking at a date sometime before I start my next movie.”

The reporter had done her homework. She pushed harder, suggesting specific dates that lined up just before the new film dates for the movie.

Dayne laughed and shrugged. “We’re really not sure.”

The reporter gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him. But the interview was such a coup that she didn’t dare sour the moment. She smiled and moved on to Katy’s dress. “Is it picked out?

“Yes, but it’s a surprise,” Katy told her.

“What about flowers?”

Dayne grinned. He gestured in a wide-ranging motion. “White roses everywhere.”

Dayne and Katy had decided that giving the reporter a handful of honest answers about the details of their wedding wouldn’t hurt anything. The biggest secret was the date, and that was something they were entitled to keep to themselves. Even so, they weren’t being dishonest by saying they didn’t have an exact answer about it. If the press got wind of their tentative date, it would change. Wilma Waters was in charge of that part.

Again the reporter asked about the bigger details. “Do you have a location booked? Somewhere special we should know about?”

Dayne sank back into the sofa and smiled at Katy and then at the reporter. “We’ll be married when the cameras roll in May. The rest will come together in time.”

The reporter let it go. Next was the question they were certain she would ask eventually. “You’re both Christians. Is that right?”

“Yes.” The answer was obvious when it came to Katy. That had publicly been part of who she was since the trial, when her identity was revealed.

“You too?” The reporter looked at Dayne. “Didn’t I read that somewhere?”

“Absolutely.” Dayne gave a firm nod. This was what he had been looking forward to—the idea that if they cooperated with the press, then God could use their story, their relationship, to bring other people closer to Him. People like Dayne with colorful and imperfect pasts.

“So does that mean you’re waiting until you’re married?” The reporter’s eyes twinkled as if she was most curious about this bit of information. It didn’t take a detective to know that Dayne had violated this command of God’s several times over. Once Katy and Dayne went public about their intentions, the paparazzi would love to find out that the two of them had somehow slipped up.

Dayne took the lead once more. “Katy’s a virgin.” It was something they had agreed would be a great example for young girls, a detail Katy was willing to share. Dayne pursed his lips, his tone serious. “I’ve had a lot of changes in my life, given myself back to God after many years away. Waiting until we’re married is important to both of us.”

The reporter seemed surprised and a little suspicious of this. She asked half a dozen more questions on the topic until she apparently gave up trying to find something fraudulent about their story. She turned her attention to Katy. “You were in a pilot movie several years back, and you read for a part in Dayne’s movie
Dream On
. Is acting something you’re considering in the future?”

They’d gone over this topic as well. Katy smiled and leaned a little closer to Dayne. “I’d consider it. We haven’t made any decisions for sure one way or the other.”

The interview lasted two hours and included a photo shoot. It was a cover story, no doubt, and the angle was clear from the questions that had been asked during their time with the reporter. Dayne Matthews was in love and marrying the small-town drama instructor, the one who had been his mystery woman.

When it was over, when they’d taken the last photograph and quickly found their way downstairs toward the back door of the building, twenty-some people were waiting for them. People they’d passed in the halls or who had gotten wind that an interview was taking place upstairs at the magazine’s offices. Most of them had slips of paper and pens, which they handed Katy and Dayne with a chorus of requests for autographs.

A redheaded woman cried out, “Is Katy your girlfriend now, Dayne?”

Dayne felt his frustration grow. He hadn’t had to deal with this since the accident. After his stint at the physical therapy center, he’d made an announcement with his agent that he had recovered and would continue to make movies. But then he’d gone off to Bloomington for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and other than the few minutes at the Indiana University basketball game, he’d been away from scenes like this one.

But next to him, Katy gave him a tentative smile. “Yes—” she directed her answer at the redhead—“we’re dating.” The look in her eyes clearly asked his permission to give in to these people, to meet their requests.

“Yep, she’s pretty special.” Dayne gave a slight nod as he reached for a piece of paper. After he’d signed it, he waved to the others. “Hi, folks.” He used his movie voice, one that was clear and a little deeper than usual. “Another beautiful day in Los Angeles!”

After nearly fifteen minutes, Dayne finished signing autographs, though a group of women was speeding off the elevator in their direction. Dayne took Katy’s arm and hurried her out the back door and to his car. When they were locked inside and Dayne had driven them halfway through the parking lot, he turned to her. “I’m not sure if I can do this, Katy.”

She looked flushed from rushing. “Were there paparazzi somewhere? in the building?”

“No.” He reached the street and turned right onto Wilshire. “There were more people coming from the elevator.” He didn’t want to take his feelings out on her. “Don’t you see? It never ends. You try to be nice, but then the next wave of people wants the same thing. We could stand there all day, and someone would still miss out or think we were rude for leaving early.”

Katy looked over her shoulder. “They’re running out into the parking lot.”

“Of course they are.” He exhaled hard. “Look, I want this to work, the idea of cooperating with the press, of being available when we’re in Los Angeles.” The uneasiness was back, worse than ever. “I’m just not sure.”

Katy bit her lip, and for a moment she said nothing. Then she turned to him, and there was uncertainty in her expression as well. “I guess I don’t see any other way. I mean—” she gestured toward the busy traffic all around them—“we can’t run from photographers every time we come to LA.”

“Which is why the magazine article seemed like a good idea to me, too. But being there . . . telling even a little of our private lives and knowing it’ll be splashed across the front cover of
Celebrity Life
magazine gave me moments in that office when I wanted to scream.”

She took his hand and eased her fingers between his. “I could feel that from you.”

“What if we’re wrong?” Dayne gripped the steering wheel with his other hand and stared straight ahead. “What if the paparazzi think we’ve given them open season on our lives?”

“For a time that’ll be true. All the magazines will replay the story. But after that they’ll leave us alone, Dayne. Because there’s no more mystery, nothing to find out.”

Dayne nodded, but doubts plagued him, thick and dense like June fog on Malibu Beach. “They’ll want the date and location. They’ll send people to Bloomington if it means getting the information.”

“Which is why we have Wilma Waters.” Katy sounded tired. “Please, Dayne. We have to try this. If it means smiling for the camera, I can do that. But I can’t have them chase you again.” Her voice cracked, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t live in fear about that. Paste my life in a magazine for the whole world to see. Fine.” She glanced at him, and there were tears on her cheeks. “But I can’t lose you.”

Suddenly her motives for laying open their lives were as clear as the Indiana air. They were at a stoplight, and he stared at her, loving her. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “That’s it? That’s why you want to be available?”

“Yes.” She sniffed, and the terror she must’ve felt when he was in a coma shone clearly from her eyes. “This is your life—paparazzi and press and cameras and magazines. Either you work with them or they’ll chase you. We know that.”

Dayne didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The lump in his throat was too thick. It didn’t matter how he felt, whether he was uneasy about being an open book for the press and having his love life laid out for the entire world to see. Katy needed this, because she needed him. When it came to meeting the paparazzi’s demands, nothing else mattered to her.

Katy had sat by and watched while he nearly died; he couldn’t put her through that again—not for the sake of making desperate attempts at privacy. Privacy that had never really been possible anyway.

The light turned green, and he drove until the next red. Then he turned to her and took hold of her other hand too. “I promise you, Katy, with every breath inside me, I’ll work with the press from now on. If they chase me, I’ll pull over and smile and wave. I won’t let myself be in that kind of danger again.”