Angel Be Good (5 page)

"I told you he'd be late," whispered
Maria.

"You were right. I just couldn't believe it
of any man."

"Senor Danvers is a cold-hearted
sonoffabeach, Rachel. He's proven it time and time again. No time
for his own flesh and blood." She wiped her eyes with a gaily
colored handkerchief. "And with a boy like Nat, so sweet and so
dear. So eager to please."

"Some people just don't know when they're
blessed."

"I thought it was because he'd lost his
wife, but I've learned differently. Even when she was alive, he was
never here for either of them." She picked up a dish towel and
rubbed it angrily over the counter top, wiping at imaginary
smudges.

"I'll light a candle for the boy at Mass
tonight. The Holy Mother will help, make the Senor wake up."

Maria shook her head. "It's too late for
him. I just hope it's not too late for little Nat."

Rachel nodded sagely.

"I guess it's time to sneak in and set up
the bike. His father never said a word about a present for the boy.
Can you imagine? Said the child was too old to believe in fairy
stories like Santa." Maria made the sign of the cross.

"He is such a heathen," she added. "Wouldn't
even let the boy have a Christmas tree. I can't imagine any child
waking up Christmas morning without a gift in sight."

"Buying it was the right decision. You'll be
blessed for it," Rachel reassured her.

"The blessing will be the ray of happiness
in the boy's eyes. That's all I want, come what may." Sighing, she
wiped her hands with the dish towel, then handed it to Rachel.
"Keep him occupied, now."

Nat couldn't believe it. The bike, his
precious shiny red bike hadn't been from his father? The one with
the horn he'd loved to honk? And the streamers? Maria had given it
to him? His father had fired her not long afterwards. Now Nat knew
the reason. She'd gone against his father's wishes. At least he
hadn't known at the time.

Nat wiped his hands down his slacks, unaware
until then that his palms had been sweating. What else did Daphne
plan to show him? What other childhood myths did she plan to
debunk?

Nat would find Maria. Make it up to her
somehow. Maybe she had grandchildren that could each use a shiny
red bike? Hell, looking back on it now, he knew she couldn’t have
been handsomely paid. Not by his father.

Maybe he could send Maria’s grandkids to
college? It would amount to a smaller percentage of his income than
her gift to him. He made a note to himself on his pocket
planner.

Daphne spoke softly. "I'm so sorry, Nat. Was
your father always like that?"

There was no way he'd admit his weakness to
her. Weakness meant loss of power. He shrugged his shoulders, not
exactly lying but not denying either. "We respected each
other."

Loud laughter erupted from the TV speaker
and they both turned back to watch. It was the following day,
Christmas day, and again, Percy and his father had come to
visit.

Percy asked, "What did you get for
Christmas?"

Nat proudly showed him his bike.

He could see Percy looking around the den
for a tree or some sign of the holiday, his expression surprised
and pitying. Percy pitied him?

Then Percy checked out the bike thoroughly,
exclaiming over each feature as if it were made of gold. Nat could
see pride showing on his own face as he tooted the horn. Damn, it
hurt now to watch. He'd been such an utter fool.

And, what was worse, Percy had been
kind.

The scene faded once more, to reappear in a
blaze of Christmas lights. He saw his father sitting at a table,
staring at the tree that Nat had carefully chosen and decorated.
Hell, he'd been a teenager then.

Then, he saw himself. A fourteen-year-old in
all his awkward glory. Carefully bringing in their Christmas dinner
on a tray. A dinner he'd been so excited he'd been able to prepare
himself.

Smiling, he set down the turkey TV dinner in
front of his father and added a saucer with sliced canned cranberry
sauce as a side dish. He'd even set the table with red and green
napkins and placemats, hoping his father would be pleased by all
the work he'd gone to.

Dad took one look at the foil-encased dinner
and lifted his brows. "You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble.
We could be eating at The Maisson even now."

Nat had looked up excitedly, proud of the
preparations he'd made, only to have his face fall when he realized
his father was being sarcastic. Dad wasn't impressed. He was
disappointed. In him. As usual.

The screen froze. Nat felt as if an artery
had been torn open by watching the scene. The pain on his own face
had been so clear and obvious and he hurt now just as much as he'd
hurt then. He'd never been able to satisfy his father, no matter
how hard he'd tried. Eventually, he'd given up.

Nat wanted to strike out. Anything to stop
the pain, the longing, the need of the boy he'd been. He turned to
Daphne, wanting to hurt her as she was allowing him to hurt. "You
enjoying this? I find it rather tedious."

She looked at him with a clear gaze, those
midnight eyes boring into him and he couldn't hide the pain.
Dammit. He was weak, as weak as the boy on the TV.

The tape rolled again and he turned back to
see what would be next.

As soon as he saw the setting, Nat knew what
was coming. His jaw tightened spasmodically. Even knowing what
would happen, it was as if he were mesmerized by his own death.

The setting was Constance's apartment on
Christmas Eve. Constance with her silky red tresses and
sophisticated demeanor. Constance, who'd slipped perfectly into his
lifestyle, had amazingly agreed to marry him.

They were sipping wine and slowly decorating
her tree. A tree as artificial as she. With each shiny bulb that
went into place on the tree, Nat watched himself die a little, not
by inches but by ornaments. False things, shiny and glowing but of
no value.

"This will stop right now." The words seemed
to fight their way out of Nat's throat. A jolt of crisp anger
brought him out of his paralysis. He bolted from his chair. "I'm
not going to take another moment of this, Daphne. I know what's
coming and I won't watch."

~~~~

Chapter Three

"It doesn't matter what you want, Nat,"
replied Daphne. "The Council wants you to watch this. Could it be
that you're afraid? Maybe you'll discover you were just as much of
a jerk back then as you are now. Is that what you're worried
about?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Nat's anger
dissipated. What was he worried about? Now that he'd learned about
women, seeing it through wiser eyes would lessen the pain of the
younger, less experienced Nat. Watching this tape could be a
catharsis, a confirmation of all he held to be true and right.

Wordlessly, he regained his chair and turned
to view the TV.

The young Nat, with twenty-four years of
life behind him, gazed with admiration at Constance. He watched her
every move, proud that she was soon to be his. Two weeks earlier,
she'd agreed to wear his ring and it sparkled with her every
movement. Flickers of candlelight bounced off it, radiating prisms
of color as promising as the love light in his own eyes.

Ah, the young Nat thought he could have it
all. Money. Power. Love. He hadn't learned yet that love didn't
exist.

True love? Nonsense. The scene before him
would prove that theory. Constance.

She was lovely. Achingly so. Even with his
older eyes, he paused to admire the way she seemed to flow, the
gentle curve of her hip, the length of her neck. As if every move
were planned in advance for the greatest effect.

Every so often, she'd direct a look of warm
affection his way, like payment for love received. But the look on
his own face told it all. Young Nat believed he was in love.

Constance's doorbell buzzed. She shot Nat a
curious look before gracefully placing her wine glass on the ebony
table in front of the sofa, then smoothing her dress. Her dress
hadn't been creased, but she'd been careful of her appearance.

Smoke and mirrors.

She swung open the door. In charged the
irate husband. The husband young Nat hadn't known existed.

"Just what the hell is this?" The husband
asked Constance as he flapped a thick envelope beneath her nose. "I
leave town and you file for divorce?"

"I thought you weren't due back for another
month."

"You couldn't have forgotten I was coming
home for Christmas."

Constance shot Nat a look filled with
desperation. The young Nat came forward, not certain what was going
on, but sure there was some mistake.

"Call me tomorrow, David," Constance
replied. "This isn't a good time."

"It's exactly the right time. I want an
explanation and I want it now." David pushed past her and into the
room, for the first time laying eyes on Nat.

"Who the hell is he?"

Young Nat waited, not breathing, for her
answer.

"Nathaniel Danvers, meet David MacIntire, my
ex-husband."

"Ex?" demanded David before Nat could
answer. "Not hardly. You may have filed the papers, sweetheart, but
our marriage isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Now Constance looked more than desperate.
She shot Nat a pleading look. A look that said she'd explain
everything as soon as they were alone. A look that said David was
crazy.

Young Nat's throat had seized up. He downed
his glass of wine. "You're married? Don't you think you could have
told me?"

"I can explain it all as soon as David
leaves." She gestured toward the door to the man who was her
husband.

"I live here. I'm not leaving." He pointed
at Nat. "He is."

Nat stooped to pick up his jacket off the
sofa. "Don't worry, David. I'm going. Obviously, Constance, there
are some things you haven't exactly been honest about."

"Don't you dare leave. Just give me a minute
and David will clear out. Won't you, David?"

David ignored her. Instead, he turned to Nat
and asked, "How long have you been seeing her?"

Young Nat glanced at Constance's irate face
but thought her husband deserved an explanation, even if it was
coming from the wrong person. "About six weeks."

David turned back to Constance. "Dammit, you
didn't even wait until the sheets were cold on our bed before you
took a lover? You know how important this assignment is to my
career. I might even make partner in the firm."

David paused a moment, visibly restraining
his temper. "You've always had expensive tastes, Constance. I
thought you wanted me to advance? How the hell am I going to
explain a divorce?"

"I don't care how you do it." Her studiously
modulated accent slipped, revealing mid-western, rather than
ivy-league roots. "I'm sick of your lousy career. I'm sick of you
and I can't wait until you're completely out of my life."

She held out her left hand. "Look at this."
She wiggled the engagement ring, flaunting its five carat diamond
in her husband's face.

David grabbed her hand. "The ring I gave you
wasn't good enough?"

"Eat your heart out, dear. It's Nat's
engagement ring. I'm marrying money. More money than you'll ever
dream of with your crappy job. And there's more to come. A
housekeeper. A luscious penthouse apartment." She pulled back her
hand and marched over to Nat. "And Nat here to love me. Right,
honey?"

Nat had felt dizzy. Perhaps it was drinking
the wine too quickly. Perhaps it was the heat bubbling from the
furnace. Perhaps it was the situation. The older Nat could remember
the questions that had gone unvoiced. Constance was married? What
else had she lied to him about?

"You're a whore, Connie," stated David. "No
better than a prostitute. You'd do anything for the good things in
life." He looked at her with loathing, then redirected his gaze to
Nat.

"Watch out. She'll suck you dry, then turn
on you when a better meal ticket comes along." David stalked out,
not bothering to close the door behind him.

Nat braced himself, aware that young Nat
still hadn't gotten it yet. Still hadn't taken in the fact that
Constance was everything her husband called her and more. Still was
giving Constance the benefit of the doubt. He'd wanted to believe
in her.

"I love you, Constance. You know that."

She shot him a brilliant smile, a smile of
victory. "I love you, too. Can you believe that guy? First he
deserts me, then he's angry because I didn't wait at home for him
like a good little wifey."

"Why didn't you tell me you were married?"
He strode forward and closed the door.

"Would you have gone out with me if I
had?"

Young Nat shook his head. "No."

Constance shrugged, as if that explained
everything. "Why don't you put your jacket down and we'll talk,"
she suggested with a seductive tone, her clipped accent carefully
back in place.

Nat did as she asked and she joined him on
the sofa, sitting close enough for her leg to lean heavily into his
own, close enough for her fragrance to fill his senses.

Nat hadn't been distracted. "Why didn't you
tell me later, after we became involved?"

Picking up her wine glass, she swirled the
liquid around before answering. "I didn't think you'd ever know.
It's not as if we moved in the same circles. And if darling David
hadn't come around tonight, you never would have known. Why open up
something that would only complicate things?"

"Would you have left him if we hadn't
met?"

"Probably not." She sipped her wine. "I'll
be honest with you, Nat. If you hadn't asked me to marry you, I
wouldn't have had the papers served."

"I thought you love me?"

"I do. I was fond of David, but I felt dead
inside until I met you. At least with him, I had some security,
some social standing."