Chapter One Hundred Eighty Six

The eruption of thunderous applause and whistles ended instantly when Roger jerked a furious look toward the crowd of onlookers. His eyes scanned the crew watching him and Catherine.

"The show is over," he barked to them, then turned back to Catherine with an ominous glower in his eyes as he wiped jelly from his face. "And so is this shoot."

Before Catherine could respond Mark Hunter shouted, "Everybody take twenty." He strolled over to Roger, then added to the crew, "Don't be late getting back so we can keep this schedule from total derailment."

Clay's tone to Mark was firm. "Nice try, but no thanks."

Catherine held Roger's gaze, livid that she'd accepted he'd act like a human being for the sake of the shoot. He had fired her from Clay's video and it had rankled him since that Clay not only reamed him for it and overruled him on it, but that Clay had married Catherine. Especially since Catherine, once Roger's love obsession, had rejected every date invitation Roger had ever extended to her. With Clay also having the upper hand on the commercial shoot, it was only a matter of time before Roger exploded. It had happened sooner than later, a surprise to no one.

Clay took the smashed donut from Catherine's hand, gave Roger an even, expressionless look and jammed the donut into Roger's shirt pocket. Taking Catherine's hand in his, he said, "Come on, get changed and we're out of here."

"Wait," Mark called to Clay and Catherine as they started down the hall.

Catherine glanced to where Eric and Junior, each with one arm around Roger's shoulder and talking softly to him, led him toward a corner. Roger wisely made no protest, just walked quietly with the two burly men flanking him.

Clay didn't move and his hand on Catherine's shoulder directed her to do the same. Mark hurried to them instead and threw disgusted looks toward where Roger stared at the floor while Eric and Junior talked in a low tone. Eric's face was less than an inch from Roger's, but Roger didn't look up.

Mark sighed and drew his gaze to Catherine's. "There's nothing I can say that will excuse the inexcusable, which Roger's behavior is, clearly. All I can do is promise you it will not happen again."

"Not good enough," Clay said flatly. "Whatever the penalty is for pulling out of this...well, I understand it was a legal agreement so I have no problem covering it. But I'll not allow Catherine to be put through the wringer by that...that..."

"Your kids will pay the penalty," Mark reminded him. "This benefits them."

Clay's voice was stone cold. "We didn't cause this." His angry breathing quickened. "You talked me into doing this, Mark, assured me that Roger the jackass wouldn't do to Catherine...well, exactly what he's been doing."

Mark's eyes hardened. "Roger is going to apologize. Privately, to you and to Catherine, and also to the crew. He's ignored that he can be fired at your request."

Catherine spoke up with, "Roger is the multi-Clio winner, not us. He's not the one over a barrel to let the other run rampant. He knows Clay can have him fired, but he also knows how badly you need him. As far as Roger's concerned, his is the stronger hand." She sighed. "And he's right. You need him more than you need us."

Clay's tone was light. "And on that note we'll say goodbye." His hands on Catherine's shoulders turned her toward the dressing room.

"Wait," Mark called and again they stopped. "Roger," he said in one of the coldest tones Catherine had ever heard any person use. "Here. Now."

Roger looked none too happy as he took his time strolling to where the Krispy Kreme executive waited for him, but a short, nervous look over his shoulder gave away that he was more than a little relieved to escape Eric and Junior's attention.

Roger threw Catherine a superior look and stopped in front of Mark Hunter. His imperious, "What?", rang throughout the empty sound stage.

Mark's gaze locked Roger's but he called, "Clay and Catherine, would you please, as a favor to me, come over here?"

Catherine looked at Clay, saw the "forget it" in his green eyes. She took Clay's hand and with a small, gentle jerk, led him toward Mark.

Roger ignored Clay but his gaze brushed Catherine's form in an up-and-down gesture of dismissal before he turned back to where Mark Hunter still watched him. Mark gestured for Eric and Junior to remain where they were.

"Apologize," Mark instructed.

Roger snorted, turned on his heel and started to leave.

Mark's ice cold, "You're fired," stopped Roger in his tracks.

Roger spun, his lip curling in a sneer, his gaze on Catherine. "Well, I guess you finally got what you wanted, didn't you?"

Catherine pulled her hand free from Clay's and smacked his hand away when he grabbed her arm to stop her. Within seconds she stood in front of Roger, her blue gaze locked with his.

She barely noticed Clay was instantly at her elbow.

"What I wanted?" she seethed. "All you've ever done, since the first video shoot we shared, was to go out of your way to harrass me. Other than refuse to date you, which I'd do all over again, I've never done anything to deserve this treatment from you. You're the worst kind of jerk, Roger. You're a jerk by choice."

"How dare you talk to me like that?" he shouted. "Do you know who I am? How respected I am within this industry? You're nothing but..." he stopped and clamped his mouth closed.

Catherine's gaze stayed on Roger, but she put a fast, restraining hand on Clay's arm. Her voice softened. "You know, Roger, I never told you how grateful I am to you."

Suspicion filled Roger's eyes.

"I know," she conceded, "that you were embarrassed by some of the ways I refused your dinner dates, and I suppose that last time I didn't really have to announce it over the p.a. system and tell you to stop hounding me."

Fury replaced suspicion in Roger's eyes.

"But," Catherine continued. "It was because of you that Clay and I got together and we're both grateful for that."

Sarcasm drenched, "I'm sooooo delighted by your happiness."

"Roger," she continued. "I'm willing to put it behind us. Are you?"

Catherine extended her hand to Roger. He stared her down.

Mark Hunter had silently joined the group and added, "You've got one chance and you're lucky she's offering it. If you want this chance you'll not only shake her hand, but you'll apologize to her and to Clay, then to the crew when they return. Abuse of any sort will not be tolerated."

Roger gave no ground. "And if I refuse?"

Mark smiled. "The commercial will continue. Without you." His sigh was not one of sympathy, but more one of warning. "This is a small industry, Roger, but with one of the quickest, widest grapevines in the world."

Roger's cold stare moved, in turn, from Mark to Clay and then finally settled on Catherine. There was no mistaking it was against his will, but he extended his hand to Catherine and they exchanged a brief shake. He then extended his hand to Clay.

Clay refused. "For...get it."

"Now apologize," Mark instructed.

Roger drew and expelled several angry breaths, then blurted to Catherine. "I'm sorry. Sorry if I caused any inconvenience or discomfort to you or to Clay." He spun on Mark. "Satisfied?"

Mark shook his head in disbelief. "Inconvenience or discomfort? You're kidding, right? Try, I'm a jackass."

Catherine intervened with, "No, it's okay. I know how hard it was for Roger and his super ego to get out even that little bit of self-blame." She leveled a look at Roger. "As soon as you apologize to the crew for your bullying we'll continue."

Catherine saw Clay and Mark exchange looks. Mark was pleased and relieved. Clay was neither and Catherine knew that their later conversation would be a heated, very pointed one. But there was no way Clay's "kids" would pay the penalty if she could prevent it, and that meant including the award-winning director.

Chapter One Hundred Eighty Seven

The shoot did not resume twenty minutes later.

Under Mark Hunter's cold eye, Roger offered a haughty, "My previous statements will not be repeated," to the crew, then marched down the corridor to his office in a semi-controlled tantrum.

Clay was outraged by Roger's refusal to overtly admit he'd done anything out of line, but Catherine squeezed his hand and whispered, "Let it go, Clay. This will be completely over in a little while and we can forget Roger..for a few months, anyway."

Clay's jaw clamped in anger as he stared at Roger's door, but Catherine's second squeeze of his fingers enlisted an unwilling nod of assent from him.

Along with the rest of the crew, Clay and Catherine had milled around chatting about everything except Roger and the volatile situation. Junior and Eric were given a tour by the crew, shown how subtle lighting and scenery easily morphed a California soundstage into a Georgia field at sunrise.

Mark Hunter had left for a scheduled meeting, but had first visited Roger behind the closed office door. No voices were heard, loud or otherwise, but when Mark came out he stopped to tell Clay there would be no further trouble.

Catherine, still wearing her faded and torn Scarlett dress, accompanied Clay to wardrobe and makeup, teasing him each step of the way as he was transformed from Clay Aiken, pop star, into Rhett Butler, the ultimate symbol of masculinity. White linen suit with ruffled shirt. Black string tie. Black boots.

Catherine said nothing while the hairdresser tried, but failed, to tame Clay's hair into a neatly combed semblance.

Finally the hairdresser gave up and said, "Your fans love your hair more than they love Rhett Butler. I think Clay as Rhett, looking like Clay, will serve better."

Catherine studied Clay's face. "You know, Clay," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe you should play Scarlett and let me play Rhett. Scarlett had green eyes like you. Rhett's eyes were black."

Clay snatched the fake Rhett moustache from the long vanity and grabbed Catherine in a seductive embrace. His left hand held her tightly to him, but his right hand held the moustache above his lip and he lowered his face to hers.

He wiggled his eyebrows as the makeup girl laughed, but his twinkling gaze never left Catherine, his North Carolina accent now a heavy Georgia drawl. "Ah, Scarlett, my dear sweet, charming southern belle, these eyes were black as coal, but they've turned green with envy at the many men who adore you..."

From the open doorway came Roger's, "Puh...lease! My gag reflexes can't take anymore. On the set, please. Now."

Clay drew and expelled an irritated breath, then said quietly to Catherine, "Oh, I'd like to make him gag, all right..."

Catherine giggled and gave Clay a quick kiss. "Then let's use that image to get us through this, okay?"

She took his hand and led him from the room and down the long corridor to the set, giving him a smile every few steps.

But Clay felt the tension shoot from her hand into his.

God help that obnoxious man if he said the wrong thing again.

Eric met them halfway down the hall, shoving his cell phone into his shirt pocket as he told Catherine, "I have to leave."

Clearly disappointed, Catherine said, "Is everything okay?"

Eric nodded. "Yeah, but you never called Alyah back, did you?"

Catherine blinked. "Oh, shoot! I forgot!"

Clay looked from one to the other. "Who's Alyah?"

Eric answered with, "One of the girls from the fashion show. I promised to meet with her today." He turned to Catherine. "Do you mind?"

Catherine shook her head. "No. And, please tell her I'm sorry." She kissed Eric's cheek. "I have no excuse. I just forgot, and I know it was really important."

Eric flashed a smile. "I'll tell her."

Roger's voice boomed down the hallway from the set, "Time is money, people!"

Eric shot a look toward the set, told them, "Good luck, though that's not the half of what you'll need with that guy," and hurried away and outside.

Clay held out his elbow to Catherine. "Shall we, Scarlett?"

Catherine giggled, took his arm and together they walked onto the set.

Chapter One Hundred Eighty Eight

Roger was not in his director's chair, but was inside the split-rail fence that surrounded a ravaged field of dirt. The vast area ranged from uneven clumps of dirt to small hills formed when human and animal scavengers searched the barren field for even a root of food. Withered sprigs of leaves and rotted remains of foraged food were scattered in the distance. Dirt flung onto even the upper regions of his light brown boots said Roger had been checking everything possible in this scene aspect and was now in full directorial mode.

Roger gestured to Catherine to come into the field and Clay was taken aback by the complete demeanor change in the man. An award-winning director who was now almost literally knee-deep in his work had displaced the jerk of a human being.

A plain white screen ran the entire length of the wall, its brightness stark contrast to the dark dirt.

Roger gestured to Catherine to come closer to him. Catherine tossed a nervous look back to Clay and he answered with a subtle thumbs up. She smiled and walked to Roger.

"All right," he told her. "We blocked with your stand-in and there's the mark," he told her, pointing to an almost invisible dot in the dirt. "Go there," he instructed, "and turn so that you're..." he stopped when Catherine had only taken three steps.

"What is that on your feet?" he demanded.

Catherine looked blank, then stammered, "Sh..shoes." She lifted one foot to show Roger that she had on thin slippers, ripped and hole-strewn, the type Scarlett O'Hara would have worn. "Wardrobe said these were the proper period."

"Take them off," Roger stated.

It was all Clay could do to remain silent.

Bewildered, Catherine said, "I beg your pardon?"

"Take. Them. Off." Roger sighed. "This scene does not require shoes. It does, however, require that the actress..." he stopped, then added in mock sarcasm, "that would be you, dear...has an understanding of the poverty Scarlett experienced."

Catherine blinked twice, then asked lightly, "Isn't this about a donut?"

"Take them off," Roger repeated. "I am the director. You are the directee. Do what I tell you and maybe, just maybe, we can struggle through this ordeal and produce a quality result."

Clay watched Catherine bite back a reply and remove her shoes, and he choked back a laugh at her expression when her feet sank into the dirt.

Catherine cleared her throat when she tossed the shoes over the fence to the wardrobe girl. "Why is the dirt deep?" she asked Roger.

Clay nearly lost it when he looked at Catherine's face. She clearly did not appreciate the dirt squishing between her toes.

Though Roger's words didn't call Catherine dumb, his tone did. "If you've ever planted a garden you're aware it's not above ground. Even cucumber roots like to be covered, in case you didn't know."

"I did know," Catherine said defensively. "It's just..."

"No," Roger cut her off. "It's just nothing. I'm in charge here, and I will not continue to remind you which of us is the expert. Now, please, drop to your knees."

"What for?" she asked.

Roger threw his hands in the air, then slammed them onto his hips. "Did you even read the script?"

"Of course I did!" she countered angrily. "But it's one line. How involved..."

Clay saw the steam shoot from Roger's ears, but to Clay's surprise, Roger kept his cool.

"Catherine," Roger said quietly. "Drop to your knees and lower your head."

Clay thought Catherine would refuse, especially since she was already peeved about the dirt between her toes. But she did it.

Roger walked away without a backward glance, yelling, "Lighting, bring up that sunrise!"

Instantly, the white screen was transformed into a glorious sky, a ball of crimson sun blazing against an azure sky, an array of white and dark clouds battling for prominence in the glorious daybreak.

Clay and everyone else gasped. Catherine was a magnificent silhouette against the Georgia sky, and on the monitor, he watched as the director ordered the camera shot to begin where Catherine's knees impacted the dirt, then the camera's lens slowly worked its way up her body, imprinting her form against azure and crimson.

Roger held his hands up, evaluating what, Clay had no idea, but he seemed to like what he saw and nodded. "Okay, Catherine don't move. Clay, get into..." Roger looked at Clay and scowled. "Where's your moustache?"

Clay's hand shot to his upper lip. "I must have dropped it," he said, and headed toward the dressing room. "I'll get it."

"Don't hurry on our account," Roger yelled after him sarcastically. "It's not like this shoot is costing a pretty penny or anything."

Clay raced to the dressing room and grabbed one of the clipped black moustache's from the vanity. The head of makeup raced in behind him, dabbed it into place with special glue and Clay ran back to the set.

Roger had gone back to directing Catherine's actions and favored Clay with no more than an annoyed look.

"Okay, Catherine, raise slowly to your feet...gracefully if you're able," Roger told her, studying each move and stopping and restarting her six different times. "Move a half-step back...one more...you need to raise so that your head aligns directly with the sun...a little left...you do know your right from your left, don't you, dear?...okay, that's better...no...no...a little more...there."

Clay didn't know what was going through Catherine's head as Roger made one rude comment after another, but he saw the magic that the camera's eye projected onto the screen. As much as it pained Clay to admit it, Roger did indeed know exactly how to create an award-winning commercial. Just from what he'd seen so far, Clay predicted a win for everyone involved, on every level.

"Okay, now, Clay, go to your position and do the walk-through you rehearsed. Catch your mark and stay on it until you've passed Catherine."

Catherine stood still and Clay saw the fire in her eyes. "Doesn't Clay have to take off his shoes?"

"No," Roger said in dismissal and went back to aligning Clay's walk and directing how Clay would pass Catherine and how high Catherine's hand needed to be.

"I'll give you a bubble bath and personal pedicure later," Clay whispered to Catherine as he made his first pass and swiped at her hand.

"Quiet," Roger ordered. "Say nothing until it's time for your line."

Finally satisfied with the physical movements, Roger told Clay, "Go back to your mark. Wait for my signal to take that first step, but when you do, continue with a natural stride as though you've been walking for a long time...not like you've just stepped into this scene."

Clay said nothing and retreated to his mark, watching as Roger took his seat in the elevated, motorized director's chair and called for silence on the set.

At Roger's command, Catherine dropped back to her knees, her face to the ground. A call of "Lighting!" dimmed the set to the point of darkness, with nothing illuminated but Catherine against the rising crimson sun. The entire soundstage was still and Clay knew the soundtrack would be added later.

Roger's voice had softened and cut through the quiet soundstage to Catherine. "Listen to me, Catherine and react according to what I'm saying...to the words...to the emotions...to your heart. It's been a long, dangerous trip to get back to Tara, to your home. What would you find when you reached here? Are you homeless? In your heart, you're homeless. Even though you believed yourself homeless, you came all this way to be reunited with your mother."

Clay's heart jerked as he saw Catherine's face raise to the sun, saw her confusion. His heart went from jerking to pounding. From the look on Catherine's face, something was wrong. He'd never seen such bewilderment in her eyes, such hurt on her face. And then he knew.

Roger continued quietly with, "That's very good emotion, Catherine. Your family. Your home. Nothing is as you expected to find it. Your home...your family...it's all gone...your mother has died...you're hungry...there's no food...no one to take care of you..."

Catherine rose completely to her feet, her frantic gaze searching for Clay. He was already on his way to her.

Tears framed her voice and she turned to Roger, demanding, "Did he tell you to say that?"

Clay grabbed her arms. "Catherine, no," he said softly and pulled her tightly against him.

But Catherine stepped back from him, her voice rising and very near hysteria. "Did you tell him to say that, Clay? How could you do this to me?"

Chapter One Hundred Eighty Nine

Roger's loud, ice cold "CUT!" sliced the air.

Clay's gaze riveted on Catherine's, stunned at the accusation in her eyes. "Listen to me..." he whispered.

Catherine jerked away from the hands that had taken hers. "You told him to say those things, didn't you?" she accused. "This was your way of getting me so upset about any coincidences with Nadia and Billy and me and Eric that I'd drop out of the fashion show." Her voice rose with a demanded, "Isn't it?"

Roger stomped to where they stood, his clipboard slapping his thigh as he walked. "This had better be good," he warned Catherine.

Clay turned a green-ice look to Roger, his voice hard as stone. "Leave her alone."

"Now, look here..." Roger started heatedly.

Realizing he was only making it worse, Clay held up a hand. "Give us a minute," he said quietly. "There's been a misunderstanding is all."

Roger glowered. "This crew isn't being paid to twiddle their thumbs during her tantrum or her misunderstanding. Either she pulls it together or I'll get someone who will. A professional," he emphasized to Catherine. "One who understands the value of other people's investment of time and money."

"A minute, that's all I ask," Clay repeated evenly.

Roger held Clay's gaze and Clay was sure he would refuse, but to Clay's surprise Roger gave a curt nod and returned to his director's chair. Clay was sharply aware of the dead silence that filled the soundstage, that all eyes were on him and Catherine, the two of them still illuminated by nothing more than the artificially projected Georgia sunrise.

Despite Catherine's struggle he retook her hands and forced her to look at him. His voice was low and he made sure he kept it low enough that no one but Catherine could hear his words.

"Don't look anywhere but in my eyes," he said softly, relieved when she finally did. His hands rubbed and soothed hers with their warmth. "I know you don't really believe I'd do anything like that to you. All Roger did was relay to you the exact internal makeup of this scene. You've seen the movie and you know how Scarlett felt at this point, how all her pent-up emotions came pouring out in this field. That's all Roger was trying to bring out in you."

Tears glistened in Catherine's eyes and relief surged through Clay when she nodded. "Catherine," he added tenderly. "We'll deal with this, talk this out. It's way past the time for it. But right now...this is your call. If you feel you can't, or don't want to continue, we're out of here. It's entirely your decision and I'm staunchly in your corner, no matter what you decide."

Catherine melted into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder, her face buried in his neck. Clay's arms tightened around her and he raised his gaze to Roger and opened his mouth to speak the words that would enrage the director who impatiently watched them.

Catherine stepped away from Clay. "I'm okay," she said quietly to him. "I can't explain what happened, why I reacted as I did, but...I'd like to continue."

Clay searched her eyes. "Are you sure?" He glanced at Roger, then back to Catherine. "You know he'll make it much more difficult for you now."

Catherine's smile was weak. "I know." She raised her chin. "And, yes, I'm sure."

Clay winked at Catherine and gave her a playful chuck on the chin. "You're one tough broad, Scarlett," he offered in a slow Georgia drawl. With his gaze still on Catherine's, Clay called to Roger, "We're ready."

"How delightful," Roger answered, his syrupy tone dripping sarcasm. "Now, Clay, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, would you be so kind and gracious as to allow wardrobe to exchange your filthy clothes for clean ones?"

Clay glanced down at his white linen suit, now dirt-smeared from his encounter with Catherine's clothes. "Hey," he called lightly to Roger as he removed his jacket, "you told her to kneel in the dirt. All I did was hug my wife."

"And a beautiful sight it was," Roger mocked. "Go with wardrobe," he ordered flatly, "and get those dirt-smeared pants off, too."

Clay gave a stern look of ignore him to Catherine and hurried down the hall behind the wardrobe mistress.

Clay stepped behind a portable curtain, kicked off his boots and tugged off his pants, tossing them to the floor and grabbing the fresh linen pants the wardrobe woman threw to him.

He had put the pants on and was pulling the boots on when the wardrobe woman's nervous words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"I hope the reporter that just left isn't unkind to your wife."

Chapter One Hundred Ninety

With one boot on and one boot off, Clay raced from the room and back to the soundstage, making a beeline for Junior.

He didn't look at Catherine and ignored Roger's shouted, "What are you doing? We're waiting."

Junior saw Clay coming and strode to meet him, his face reflecting the seriousness Clay knew was in his own eyes. He pulled Junior to the side and after ensuring no one could overhear, said, "Someone just left that I'm told is a reporter. Find him or her, find out for what paper they work and get whatever notes, tapes or anything else that include what just happened here. Understand?"

Junior pushed the steel door to the outside open so fast that Clay wondered if he'd heard all of what he'd told him.

Clay turned to see everyone staring at him. Roger offered a snide, curt, "Problem with the boots, Clay? One fits and one doesn't?"

Clay grinned at him and gave a silent high-five to Catherine with his eyes. "No," he answered. "I wasn't sure if you'd changed your mind about me being barefoot so I figured I'd get a 'foot up' on the situation."

"You're a riot, Aiken," Roger informed him. "Now if it isn't too much of an imposition, I'd like you fully dressed and on-scene." He leaned back into his elevated seat and scowled at Clay. "This should have wrapped an hour ago. If it isn't finished today there's only one other day available before I leave for Italy."

Catherine smiled at Roger and as Clay hurried toward his dressing room he grinned ear-to-ear at her innocent-sounding, "Oh, did your wife call?" He could imagine Roger's reaction to the reminder of inventing a phony wife for sympathy. He heard no response and when he'd retrieved his jacket, had his moustache repaired and now wore two boots he returned to the waiting set and to his mark.

On Roger's cue, Catherine dropped to the dirt on her knees.

She lost her balance and landed face first.

Cut! while Scarlett was repaired by makeup.

Annnnnd...Action!

Catherine dropped to her knees again, then went into a sneezing fit.

Cut!

Catherine started nonstop hiccups.

Cut!

Catherine ran through her part to perfection. Impressed by her unexpected acting ability, Clay applauded.

Cut!

It wasn't until Catherine was halfway through her scene and she began to giggle and looked at Clay that Clay realized he'd been whistling. Roger's glower and pointed question of, "Are we boring you?", confirmed it.

"I'm sorry," Clay said, then turned a contrite smile to the crew. "We're new to this and Catherine and I appreciate how professional you all are, not to mention how patient you've all been with our goof-ups and mistakes."

"PLACES!" Roger shouted, but when the crew turned away, all of them had smiles of one degree or another and several gave Clay and Catherine a 'thumbs-up' signal of support.

The next run-through was perfect.

Lit by the fantastic Georgia daybreak and seemingly beneath the vast azure sky, 'Scarlett' dropped to her knees clutching her stomach. Her fingers dug deep into the dirt that represented red Georgia clay and her face contorted in anguish and intense emotional pain.

Camera one...pan in...that's good...now...wide view, slowly come up from ground level and silhouette Scarlett against that red sun...

'Scarlett' dropped her head as though defeated, then slowly raised her head toward the sky, sobbing as emotions rolled over her. She looked down, then her frantic fingers dug mercilessly in the dirt, in a frenzied search for even a morsel of food for her starved body.

Camera two...pan out...fade...camera one...profile Scarlett against the sky...move higher...I don't want to see the ground in this shot...nothing below her waist until the cue...

The box, cleverly concealed beneath the dirt, had a hidden spring that Catherine, now on Roger's cue, very unobtrusively touched with her left hand. The lid slid back to reveal the prize while Catherine's right hand rested on the low dirt mound that concealed the box from view.

Camera two...move in for the face...I want to be able to see the salt in those teardrops...pan out...not so fast...not so fast...that's better...ease up as the sun first hits that face...okay...cue Scarlett...

Catherine grasped the donut from the box and literally struggled to her feet, her face streaked with tears, smeared with dirt as her blue gaze sought the rays of the the promising new day.

She wiped her filthy right hand across her sweaty face, pushing back strands of the black wig from her forehead and with her left hand symbolically raised the donut high into the air.

Her body appeared ravaged, her stance weak, but her voice rang with unyielding strength. "As God is my witness...as God is my witness...I'll never go hungry again..."

Without breaking stride, Clay walked by and snatched the donut from her hand, his voice pure happiness as he took a bite and called back over his shoulder to a stunned Scarlett O'Hara, "Thanks, Scarlett! I knew there was one left!"

With that, Clay slipped, lost his footing and landed butt-first in the dirt.

Cut!

Chapter One Hundred Ninety One

Roger leaped from his chair, shouting, "Cut! Cut Cut Cut Cut!" as he headed for Clay and Catherine. Catherine had gone into gales of laughter and Clay grinned sheepishly from where he sat in the dirt.

"You two," Roger spewed, as though hopeful that could make them disappear, "are the most unprofessional...people...I've ever had the displeasure to direct."

"Is that right?" Clay asked coldly as he rose to his feet.

"Yes, that is right," Roger answered. "Both of your acting abilities are nonexistent. But, and I'm sure this will delight those fans of yours, Clay, your love of playful inanity is intact, forefront and ridiculous."

Catherine gently touched Roger's arm. "Don't hold back, Roger," she urged. "What do you really think?"

Clay roared with laughter but Roger roared in outrage.

"That's it," he screamed and pointed from one to the other. "I have wasted this entire day on a simple commercial that would have finished hours earlier if it weren't for the two of you. You have wasted Krispy Kreme's money and my time." He quieted, but his chest heaved as he locked hard gazes with Clay. "You have one more chance. I have just enough time now to make a scheduled interview," he said, glancing at his watch, "and only one day free in which to fit in this shoot." He offered Catherine a cold look and even colder smile. "The additional day was to film Clay's commercial with your brother, though if all had gone well today," he added pointedly, "both shoots would be in the can."

Clay said nothing and signaled Junior, who'd returned just in time to hear Roger's tirade, to remain silent.

Roger stared from Clay to Catherine, then his gaze settled back on Clay. "Expect a call telling you the date and time of the shoot. And for God's sake," he snapped icily, "this time be prepared."

Roger turned on his heel to leave and nearly collided with a seething Junior.

Though Junior's tone stayed even, his eyes were steel. "Excuse me," he said, stopping Roger as Roger attempted to brush past him.

"What is it?" Roger demanded.

"Well, frankly, you said Clay and Catherine have no acting ability."

Roger snorted, "Obvious to anyone watching."

Junior smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I disagree. They were nice to you. They deserve an Oscar for the acting ability that requires."

"Get out of my way," Roger snarled and stormed out the soundstage door to the parking lot.

Junior let out a low whistle as he walked to Clay and Catherine. "That is one angry dude."

Clay shrugged. "Forget him. I'll make a call and deal with it later tonight. What did you find out about that reporter?"

Junior looked very unhappy and gave a side glance to Catherine, then spoke to Clay. "No go. I found him all right, but he wasn't interested in forking anything over or making any deals with me. But that's not the bad news."

Clay put his arm around Catherine and squeezed, then whispered in her ear, "I'm sure it isn't anything we can't handle."

Junior's face said otherwise. "Sorry, Clay. The guy was a television reporter for Insider Gossip, one of those rag news magazine half-hour evening shows."

"Oh," Clay said, then took a good look at the worry in Junior's eyes. "Okay, Junior, let's have it. What's the rest?"

"Insider Gossip is interviewing Roger. Tonight."

***

Clay and Catherine sat in front of their television, neither talking, waiting for Roger's Insider Gossip segment. Catherine's butterflies had dictated she skip dinner, so she had paced, walked Raleigh, then paced some more.

Clay watched her with more than a little concern. Catherine's mind had finally started melding happenings and events and he knew that even if it was only subconsciously, her mind now recognized the similarities of her and Eric and Nadia and Billy. What would happen if Roger shot off his mouth on national tv?

Finally Roger was introduced by host John Speed, an ex B-actor who never made the grade and who now reveled in exposing any and all dirt of those who had made the A-list.

Clay pulled Catherine closer and said, "No matter what happens here, we can handle Roger and his rantings, right?" When Catherine didn't answer he squeezed her again and firmly repeated, "Right?"

Her nod held no conviction and Clay saw fear in her eyes. She turned to Clay and burst out, "Oh, God, Clay, what if he says I had a tantrum? What if he makes it look bad for you?"

Clay shook his head and drew, then blew out a breath. Leave it to Catherine to be concerned for him, with no thought what damage Roger could do to her.

"Let's wait and see what happens, okay?" he said softly, and settled back with her to watch Roger's interview.

To Clay's overwhelming relief, Roger concentrated on himself, praising himself, his accomplishments, his awards, his ability, even how in demand he'd become, at home and overseas.

Then it was over.

Clay exhaled a very relieved breath. "See?" he teased, kissing the top of Catherine's head. "He's so wrapped up in himself the world doesn't exist."

Words from the television dragged his attention back to it. John Speed introduced a drop-dead gorgeous young woman named Bambi with a new show segment called "Grapevine", with the latest industry gossip. Bambi, John announced proudly, was also his wife of six months.

"Hi everyone, and welcome to Grapevine," Bambi said cheerfully. "With so much interest in the Krispy Kreme commercial series, we thought we'd take you behind the scenes of today's shoot."

Clay's heart thudded to his feet. Catherine said nothing.

"The set is beautiful, and, of course, you know the commercial scheduled to be shot today features pop superstar Clay Aiken as Rhett Butler and his beautiful wife, Catherine, as the spoiled, temperamental Scarlett O'Hara."

Bambi offered a conspiratorial wink to the camera. "Insiders reported that the portrayal of Scarlett O'Hara was right on target. Unfortunately, it wasn't acting and these same insiders reveal that today's shoot had to be scrapped, at a cost of hundreds of thousands of dollars to Krispy Kreme, because Scarlett went from one tantrum to another, tantrums that her husband defended." Bambi leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Just between you and me, Clay, you might want to think twice about including an unstable diva in your professional life."