Hot Streak

CHAPTER 50

W hen Carey arrived on location in the late morning, he immediately went to the trailer and rummaged through the file drawers. Five minutes later, he called in Allen from the final scenes being set up in the meadow near the lake.

After a brief exchange of amenities, Carey said, “I'm tossing another mess into your lap, Allen. Call and tell our lawyers they're going to be busy in the next few weeks. I just tore up my contract with Allied International to direct that film in Australia.”

Allen sat down hard, taking off his baseball cap in an unconscious gesture of shock. His horrified glance was no surprise to Carey. “You can't,” he exclaimed as vehemently as his breathless lungs would allow.

“I already did,” Carey replied with a much-too-cheerful demeanor for a man who may have committed financial suicide.

“You're ruining yourself,” Allen pronounced, his mind racing through the possible loss of income totaling millions, on top of Carey's determination to make this immigrant movie that may or may not make money, not to mention the losses suffered during the weeks he was gone on his murderous mission.

“Christ, Allen,” Carey responded, “I don't need all this. I lead a simple life. I know how to run my own camera.”

“Jesus, you're not some long-haired juvenile director with a creative dream, Carey, You're incorporated ten times over now.” And you don't lead a simple life, he thought, unless royal prerogatives had reached the masses when he wasn't looking. “You've a wife and daughter to think about, or soon will have,” he added in an attempt to reach the starry-eyed man he'd known as a hard-headed pragmatist for eight long years.

“And another child on the way.”

Allen's eyes bulged out. “That kid really is yours.”

It stopped Carey for a moment-Allen's inherent disbelief-even after all the weeks of legal maneuvering to put Pooh in his will. “Both kids are really mine,” he said very simply.

“Good God, then, Carey, think of them. If you renege on that contract-” Allen exhaled violently at the thought of all the dire consequences.

“I'm not exactly penniless, Allen. I think I'll survive. You're better off not going in for these big productions, anyway.”

He was sounding more and more like the barefoot man Allen had first met at Cannes long ago. “Shit, Carey, don't go native on me. This is more millions than-”

“I'm not impressed, Allen,” Carey interrupted. “If you recall,” he went on very quietly, “those millions and some of the people behind those millions were the reason I left Hollywood in the first place.”

Now that sounded exactly like the barefoot man at Cannes. And that integrity was what had always appealed to Allen. You could count on the man. Always. Ever loyal, Allen sighed deeply and gave up. “You're sure?”

“Sure as hell. If I don't have Molly, there aren't enough millions in the world to make me happy. Clear?”

“As crystal.” Allen smiled then. “Who the hell would ever think you'd find the end of the rainbow way the hell up here.”

“It's where I lost it in the first place. Why shouldn't I find it here?”

“And all those women around the world waiting their turn?”

Carey laughed, a pleasant sound full of pleasure, without regret. “They're all yours, Allen. Be my guest. My Honeybear is all I need.”

On the term of endearment, Allen's glance swiveled to the small honey-colored teddy bear mounted in a delicate bell jar which had always held a place of honor on Carey's desk. “For her?” he asked. “That was hers?”

Carey nodded.

“And Golden Bear Productions?”

Carey shrugged. “What else?”

“Holy Christ, would the gossip columnists have a field day with that,” Allen teased. “You, the guy who didn't believe in romance. Only amour.”

Carey smiled. “If you dare, Allen,” he said, humor weaving like children's laughter through his voice, “I'll find you, no matter where you hide.”

“Bloody hell,” Allen exclaimed, “under that man-of-iron will beats the mushy heart of a romantic.”

“More to the point, a mushy heart that just had me tear up my contract. So call the lawyers.”

“Okay, Carey. What the hell? My broker can learn to live a little cheaper.”

Picking up the torn scraps of contract, Carey said, “Put these in a box, will you, Allen. And have it gift-wrapped. Wedding paper, I think.”

“That's a thirty-million-dollar gift, you damned fool.”

“She's worth every penny of it.”