Free Phoenix Falling by Mary Jo Putney Page B

you got involved."
    "Well, hell, Rainey, you should have said that first. How can I turn down such an offer?" Val raised her wineglass and clinked it against Rainey's. "Here's to the movie that will change your career, and maybe mine, too."
    "I'll drink to that." Rainey swallowed a mouthful of wine, feeling happier than she had all day. The prospect of directing Centurion had just become a little more manageable.

 
     
     
    ACT II

     
    Cameras Rolling

 
     
     
    Chapter 7

     
    One of the worst parts of moviemaking was the insanely early hours required. Kenzie yawned, then swallowed another mouthful of scorching coffee. John Randall and his native cavalry rode at dawn.
    All around him, the chilly New Mexican night reverberated with the sounds of recalcitrant horses and tense riders trying to position themselves to the assistant director's satisfaction. Luckily his own mount was a placid beast, specially chosen so as not to risk breaking The Star's neck.
    Rainey, who was buzzing around like a wasp at a picnic, materialized in front of him. Dressed in jeans and the official Centurion show jacket, which was a shade of British military red that had not been chosen to go with her hair, she radiated a mixture of excitement and nerves. "Ready to go, Kenzie?"
    He nodded. "It's nice that my first scene doesn't require me to say a word. I can ease my way into the part." Rainey wore no makeup except for a little lipstick and mascara. The result was very close to the natural bedroom look he'd always liked best. Not the face of the glamorous actress, but his wife.
    The divorce would be final a week or so after they finished shooting her movie.
    She looked anxiously upward. "I hope those clouds don't move in. This is the first morning since we arrived with a decent sky."
    She was poised to dart away when he caught her shoulder. Awareness crackled between them like static electricity. "Relax, Rainey. You've got a great crew and everything that needs to be done is being done. Fussing will just put everyone on edge and increase the chance of mistakes. Have some coffee."
    "More caffeine is hardly likely to make me relax." Nonetheless, she drank deeply. They both liked coffee the same way—scalding hot, milk only. "Thanks."
    She glanced up, and for an instant they were caught in one of the unsettling flashes of intimacy that persisted even though the marriage was over. He was grateful to have the moment interrupted when Josh, his sharp-eyed assistant, rushed up with fresh coffee. Taking the cup, he asked, "Why did you choose this area to stand in for North Africa?"
    "Mostly because it fit my budget. I had some license because the military campaign in Sherbourne's novel is imaginary, though it was inspired by a real campaign in the Sudan that involved angry Arabs who wanted to drive out the Europeans. One of Queen Victoria's messier little wars."
    "The one where the noble General Gordon died at Khartoum a mere two days before a relief army arrived, I presume? One of the famous Victorian military martyrdoms, though I seem to recall that an officer who knew Gordon said the man wasn't worth the camels lost in the rescue attempt."
    She chuckled. "I never cease to be amazed at your memory. Sherbourne's novel specified a remote, desolate setting, and this canyon fits the bill." She gestured at the stark landscape. "I also needed dozens of good riders for the skirmishing between Randall's patrol and the rebels, and it's easy to hire them around here. Since they all wear scarves wrapped around their faces, we don't need real Arabs, just people who look like they were born in the saddle."
    "You got your money's worth. The dailies I saw yesterday are first-rate. Plenty of fierce, chaotic action. When it's cut together, viewers will feel like they're in the middle of the battle. My stunt double did a good job of going down fighting bravely."
    "At this stage of the story, John Randall has the courage of the unimaginative." She checked the lightening