Fame Page 3

  But what about the wheelchair? Was there a birth defect or an accident that put the child there? Whatever it was, the rags would find out and gleefully splash it across a centerfold given the chance.

  Dayne stood and filled his lungs with the damp, salty air. He leaned his forearms on the railing and stared far out to sea this time. What were the Baxters doing now? No doubt they were still grieving the loss of Elizabeth. The private detective his agent used had found out the information almost immediately. Elizabeth Baxter died of breast cancer just hours after he had visited her briefly.

  Down the beach a way, a young couple was holding hands and flying a bright yellow-striped kite. Dayne studied them, the way they easily kept their faces out in the open. Did they know how wonderful it was, being out of the limelight? Or did they long for fame the way so many did in Los Angeles?

  He shifted his eyes upward. At least he’d found Elizabeth before she died. The conversation they’d shared was enough to answer his hardest questions—who was his birth mother and why did she give him up.

  Elizabeth had loved him and longed for him. She had searched for him at one time and wondered about him all of her married life. In her dying days, her single prayer had been to find him, hold him once more the way she’d held him as a newborn, and tell him she loved him.

  Those bits of truth were enough.

  As for the others, his biological father and siblings, he’d made the right choice by leaving them alone. Dayne leaned hard against the railing. He’d only seen them for a handful of minutes as they walked from the hospital to their cars. They looked like nice people, loving and close. The sort of family he would’ve been proud to call his own.

  But he could hardly land on their doorstep announcing the fact that he was their parents’ firstborn. The paparazzi would capture the moment from the bushes for their next cover story. No, he could never contact the Baxters, never tell them the truth about who he was. They deserved their privacy. Dayne narrowed his eyes. He could see the headlines: “Dayne Matthews’ Secret Family Revealed.” He couldn’t let that happen.

  Even if he spent the rest of his life thinking about them.

  He took his cell phone from the table, slipped back inside the house, and closed the screen door. Suddenly he knew how he was going to find the girl, the one from the Bloomington theater. He dialed his agent’s number.

  “Matthews, how you doing?”

  “Great.” Dayne didn’t pause long. “Hey, I need a favor.”

  “Oh yeah?” There was an edge to his agent’s voice, but it was a humorous one. “Mitch Henry tells me you need an actress.”

  “That too.” Dayne managed a weak laugh. “That’s the favor. I need you to find an actress in Bloomington.”

  “Matthews.” The humor was gone. “Not Bloomington. I thought we agreed.”

  “No, this isn’t about my family. It’s about a girl, an actress I saw there. At the community theater.”

  Silence shouted at him from the other end. Then he heard his agent draw a long breath. “You saw a play at the community theater when you were in Bloomington?”

  “Yes. Well, no.” Dayne walked the length of his kitchen and stopped near the sink. The view from the window was the same as the one from the deck. “I mean, the girl wasn’t in the play; she was the director.”

  “The director?”

  “Yeah. She’s perfect. Everything the part calls for.” Dayne felt a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

  “How do you know she can act?” His agent sounded tired.

  “Call it a hunch.” Dayne took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water. “Come on, man; do it for me. She’s perfect; I’m telling you.”

  “I have a question.” There was resignation in his agent’s voice. “You didn’t sleep with her, right?”

  “Come on!” Dayne threw his free hand in the air. “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers, friend.”

  “Okay, but did you?”

  “Of course not.” Dayne pictured the girl, the way she’d looked onstage surrounded by kids. “I never even talked to her.”

  “Great.” His agent let loose a long sigh. “So I send the investigator to Bloomington to find a girl who’s perfect for the part, even though you’re not sure she can act and you’ve never spoken to her.”

  “Right.” Dayne felt himself relax. His agent liked toying with him, but in the end he’d do whatever was asked of him. It was why Dayne had stayed with him for so long.

  “Do you have anything else? A name? Something?”

  Dayne didn’t hesitate. Her name had been on his tongue all afternoon. “Her name’s Hart. Katy Hart.”

  More than a hundred kids and their parents were lined up at the door of Bloomington Community Church—Christian Kids Theater’s practice facility—when Katy Hart pulled her faded red two-door Nissan into the parking lot for the second time that Monday afternoon.

  The first time had been half an hour earlier. That time, she’d driven the speed limit, casually noting the thunderheads in the distance as she passed through the downtown area and pulled into the parking lot ten minutes early, the way she’d planned. Not until she was at the church door did she realize she didn’t have the key.

  That set off a race back through Bloomington and into Clear Creek, where she lived with the Flanigan family. A frantic search through her bedroom finally turned up the key, but now she was fifteen minutes late, and if the line waiting outside was any indication, she needed to move fast.

  Auditions for Tom Sawyer were set to start at 4 p.m.

  Katy and her creative team had just three hours to get the kids through the audition process and another hour to make a decision about who would get called back for a second audition. At eight o’clock the church staff needed the building for a meeting, and she’d promised that everyone from Christian Kids Theater would be out by then.

  Katy bit her lip, grabbed her canvas bag, and darted out of the car. As long as CKT didn’t have a permanent home, schedules like the one they had today were part of life. At least Bloomington Community Church was willing to open their doors every Monday and Thursday and twice on the weekends so CKT could hold classes and practices. A facility of their own would’ve been nice, but Katy didn’t dwell on the fact. She picked up her pace. I’m thankful, God. Really, I am.

  The minute they saw her, the kids began waving and grinning. “Katy . . . Katy!”

  She ran along the line to the side door and spouted apologies as she opened it. A burst of stuffy hot air met her. Katy frowned and stared up at the dark ceiling. The church staff had promised to leave on the air conditioner. She’d have to check it once the registration started.

  Katy hit the light switch as the parent volunteers hurried to a few tables set up in the lobby. The children moved in behind them.

  “You know the routine.” Katy waved at the kids, calming their voices long enough to be heard. “Have a photograph of yourself and your tryout form completed and signed by your parents. Get in line and someone will give you a number. Anyone without a photograph can line up in front of—” Katy peered around a group of kids to see which parent was manning the Polaroid camera—“Mrs. Jennings. I’ll take the first ten in five minutes inside the sanctuary.”

  Three people would join her on the panel. Rhonda Sanders, the choreographer and Katy’s closest friend, and Al and Nancy Helmes, a couple whose passion for music and helping kids made them pillars of the CKT community. Al and Nancy would act as music directors for Tom Sawyer, and they’d be in on the audition process as well. The couple had an amazing love for each other and for their eight children—three of whom were part of CKT.

  Once in a while Katy would catch the couple, their heads bowed in prayer before a meal or eyes locked on each other even in a room of people, and she’d wonder. Would she ever have that sort of love? A love that rolled up its sleeves and worked together, played together, and raised a family together, all while looking happier and more enamored with each other al
l the time?

  Katy hoped so.

  She gave a few more directions to the moms working the check-in table, and then she spotted Cara Helmes, one of Al and Nancy’s daughters.

  “Hi, Katy! Another audition!” Cara grinned, her eyes dancing the way they always did.

  “Best one yet!” Katy gave the girl a hug. “I’ll see you down there.”

  Cara nodded and headed down the aisle with her parents toward her spot in the second row, where she would sit ready and waiting for the auditions to begin. Cara was twenty-two and had Down syndrome. She had an open invitation to attend any of CKT’s performances or auditions, something she looked forward to more than anything in her life. Cara was quick with a hug or a smile for the kids. No matter how poor a practice they might have, Cara would clap as if it were a Tony Award–winning performance. She never had a bad thing to say about anyone, and the kids and families of CKT loved her. Katy and Rhonda had agreed that in some ways Cara was CKT’s guardian angel.

  “Katy, Katy . . .” A chorus of frantic voices brought Katy back to the urgency of the moment. She looked down and saw three fourth-grade girls. One of them was out of breath. “I forgot my music!” Tears welled in her eyes. “My mom wants to know if there’s time to go back and get it.”

  Katy put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Calm down—everything’s okay.” She smiled. “You have plenty of time.”

  More kids called for her attention, and one after another she addressed their needs. Yes, they needed a photo in order to try out. No, they couldn’t sing without accompaniment. Yes, they could sing a song from church.

  Normally she would chat with the kids, ask them about school and their families. But today would be all business. CKT might be a children’s theater troupe, but it was Katy’s passion, her purpose. Tom Sawyer could be their best show ever. Yes, it was CKT’s first production of the summer. Never mind the stuffy church or the long lines or the fact that she was late or even the threatening thunderstorms that could very easily knock out the electricity. This audition would be as professional as the others. Katy held her bag tight to her side and headed for the double doors leading to the sanctuary.

  “More kids than ever.” Heath Hudson came up alongside her and handed her two pencils. Heath was a twenty-seven-year-old salesman with an uncanny ability to run a soundboard and a strong fascination for theater. The talk among CKT families was that he had a fascination for Katy too. “You look hot.”

  “Oh.” Katy stopped short and looked at Heath. “Is that a compliment?”

  “Uh . . .” He was only an inch taller than her, so she could see his forehead was damp with sweat. “Not hot that way, but . . . well . . . I mean, you are hot that way, of course, but . . .”

  “I’m teasing.” Katy stifled a laugh. She had every reason to like Heath Hudson. They’d gone to the movies a few times, and kids were always giggling and winking at them whenever they were together. But she couldn’t quite convince her heart. She took the pencils, then patted Heath on the shoulder. “It’s okay. I know what you mean. I am hot; we’re all hot.” She gestured toward the ceiling. “The air-conditioning isn’t working.” She wrinkled her nose and took a step back. “Maybe you could check that for me, Heath. Whadya say?”

  “Sure thing.” Heath straightened and cleared his throat, more composed. “I’m on my way.”

  She was halfway down the center aisle toward the front of the church when the rest of her creative team caught up with her. Nancy Helmes started with the updates while they were still walking. “Adam Franklin threw up in the lobby.”

  “What?” Katy set her things down on the first pew and stared at Nancy. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” Nancy moved to the piano a few feet away and opened the lid. “His father said he’s been nervous all day. Ate a burger and fries for lunch and, well . . .”

  Her husband, Al, made a face. “It wasn’t pretty.”

  Rhonda opened a card table and set it in front of the first pew. “Sarah Jo Stryker’s here too. Her mother says they barely made it. Straight from a commercial audition in Indianapolis.” Rhonda raised an eyebrow. “She pulled me aside and asked me if we knew what we were getting with Sarah Jo.”

  “Huh?” Katy let her hands fall to her sides. “What did she mean?”

  “She told me Sarah Jo was going to be a star one day. We’re lucky to get her while she’s young and inexpensive.”

  Katy exhaled hard and set her yellow notepad and pencils on the card table. Most CKT families were levelheaded people, thrilled with a chance to have found a drama troupe where moral standards were high and faith was at the foundation of all they did. Teamwork was stressed, and after eight weeks of practice and rehearsal, everyone involved felt equally important on opening night.

  But in the year since the group’s start in Bloomington, every now and then someone would miss the point. They’d come thinking CKT was a launching pad to something bigger, better. Something paid. Katy hadn’t met Sarah Jo or her mother, but her phone calls with the woman had told her there was trouble ahead.

  Katy blinked. “She really said that?”

  “Yep.” Rhonda glanced at her watch. “I think she’s in the fourth group.”

  What were people thinking? “If she talks to you again, tell Mrs. Stryker—” Katy grabbed her notepad and a pencil and pretended to write something down—“I’ve got it noted about Sarah Jo and how lucky we are.” She paused. “The rules are the same as always, by the way. In an audition like this, props and elaborate dance steps only take away from the singer. The kids know that.”

  A clap of thunder shook the building, and Katy turned toward the back of the room. Krissie Schick, the CKT area coordinator, was there waiting for the signal. “Ready?”

  Katy took a deep breath and nodded to Nancy, Al, and Rhonda. They were all seated at the table. A few feet away, one of the moms was at the CD player, seated and holding a stopwatch. Katy looked back at Krissie. “Send them in.”

  In a flurry of motion, dozens of parents and kids with numbers pinned to their shirts hurried into the sanctuary and immediately took their seats and quieted themselves. Rules were that anyone could watch auditions, but people could only come and go between the groups of ten. The first group of children auditioning for parts separated themselves from the spectators and took the front row adjacent to where Katy was seated.

  Another clap of thunder filled the auditorium. Katy held her pencil tight. The temperature was still smoldering inside, and she glanced over her shoulder for Heath. If he’d found the air conditioner, it wasn’t working. Maybe rain would cool things down.

  Katy looked at the assortment of kids seated in the first row. “Number one?”

  Tim Reed stood, walked to the mom at the CD player, and gave her his music. There were a few seconds while he explained to the woman in hushed tones which song he was singing. Then he took the center of the stage, faced Katy, and smiled. “Hi, my name’s Tim Reed. I’m sixteen years old, and I’ll be singing ‘King of New York’ from Newsies.”

  Katy nodded and sat back.

  Tim Reed was one of the nicest kids she’d ever met. In past plays, he was the first to help the younger boys with their makeup, first to clean up the greenroom, and quick to pull out his guitar and sing praise songs with the rest of the cast between Saturday shows. He was homeschooled and had recently earned Eagle rank from the Boy Scouts. On top of that he had a natural ability to sing and act. Tim had played Charlie Brown in CKT’s first production and had earned a lead part in every play since.

  Katy smiled as the music began. This one would be easy.

  The song built and grew, and Tim nailed it, hitting the highs just right and letting his vibrato show on the lows. Each person auditioning would have one minute before his or her music would be cut. Tim finished at just under, thanked the panel, and returned to his seat.

  Katy pulled her notepad closer and wrote: Tim Reed—Tom Sawyer?

  Next up was a rail-thin boy with short, wavy ha
ir making his first attempt at a CKT production. He had a life preserver around his waist and a green swimming mask on his face. In his hand was a yellow rubber duck. After he set up his music and took the stage, he nodded to Katy.

  She sucked the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. “Go ahead.”

  “Okay.” His voice was nasally because of the mask. He pulled himself up some. “Hi. I’m Eric Wade. I’m twelve years old and—”

  “Eric?” Katy shook her head. The boy might as well have been underwater for how garbled he sounded. “Do you have a cold?”

  “No.” His shoulders fell a little.

  “Then take off the mask, honey. We can’t understand you.”

  Eric slipped the mask off and dropped it to the floor. “Is that better?”

  “Yes. Let’s try it again.”

  It was no surprise that Eric’s song was “Rubber Duckie.” He sang it while feigning first a freestyle stroke and then a backstroke up and down the length of the stage. It was impossible to tell whether he was on key or not. Katy could only guess what the rest of her creative team was writing.

  She jotted down Eric Wade—maybe next time.

  The stream of kids continued until the first ten were finished. Katy stood and stretched and spoke loud enough for everyone in the sanctuary to hear her. “We’ll take two minutes, and then we’ll need the next ten.”

  During the break, Heath found her. “Good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

  Katy folded her arms and angled her head. Audition days were always like this. “The good.”

  “Okay, I found the air-conditioning controls and turned it on.” Heath puffed out his chest. His breath had the faint smell of garlic and onions. “Because your wish is my command.”

  “Wow. How’d I get so lucky?” A weak laugh sounded from Katy’s lips. “The bad?”

  “The bad news is it’ll probably take an hour to cool down, and right now it’s hailing outside.”