Glitter Baby (35 page)

Eventually he grew still. As she gazed down at the face of the man who had shaped her life, a pair of tears perfectly balanced themselves on the bottom lashes of her incomparable hyacinth-blue eyes. “Good-bye, my darling.”

Jake felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him. A basketball whizzed past his arm and bounced into the empty bleachers, but he couldn’t move. Even the noises of the game going on behind him faded away. Cold seeped through the sweat-drenched jersey into his bones, and he struggled for breath.

“Jake, I’m sorry.” His secretary stood with him at the side of the court, her face pale, her forehead knitted with concern. “I—I knew you’d want to see it right away. The phones are ringing off the wall. We’ll have to issue a statement—”

He crushed the newspaper in his fist and pushed past her. He headed for the scarred wooden door. The sound of his breathing echoed off the chipped plaster walls of the L.A. gym as he fled down the steps to the empty locker room. He shoved his legs into his jeans over his shorts, grabbed a shirt, and raced from the old brick building where he’d played basketball on and off for ten years. As the door slammed behind him, he knew he’d never be back.

The Jag’s tires squealed as he peeled out of the parking lot into the street. He’d buy up all the newspapers. Every copy. He’d send planes all over the country to every store, every newsstand in the universe. He’d buy them and burn them and—

A fire engine shrieked in the distance. He remembered the day he’d come home and found Liz. Then he’d been able to fight. He’d smashed his fist into that bastard’s face
until his knuckles bled. He remembered the way Liz’s arms had felt as she fell to her knees and clutched his legs, wrapping her arms around them like a movie poster from
A Hatful of Rain.
She’d cried and begged him to forgive her while that poor bastard lay on the linoleum floor with his pants around his ankles and his nose pushed to the side of his face. When Liz had betrayed him, he’d had a target for his rage.

Sweat dripped into his eyes. He blinked it away. He’d written the book for Fleur, spilled out his guts…

He clutched the steering wheel and tasted gunmetal in the back of his mouth. The taste of fear. Cold metal fear.

Belinda gazed at
the suitcase that lay open on Fleur’s bed as if she’d never before seen one. “You can’t leave me now, baby. I need you.”

Fleur struggled to hold herself together. Only a few more hours, and she’d be away from this house forever. Only a few more hours, and she could lick her wounds in private. “The funeral was a week ago,” she said, “and you’re doing just fine.”

Belinda lit another cigarette.

The burden of dealing with Alexi’s death had fallen entirely on Fleur’s shoulders. A massive stroke, the doctor had said. One of Alexi’s assistants had found him lying on the library floor next to the front window. He’d apparently collapsed not long after she’d left him, and Fleur couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been standing there watching her when it happened. His death left her feeling neither triumph nor grief, only the knowledge that a powerful force had disappeared from her life.

Michel wouldn’t fly over for the funeral. “I can’t do it,” he’d told her during one of their daily phone calls. “I know it’s not fair to you, but I can’t pretend to mourn him, and
I can’t handle Belinda looking at me with those calf eyes now that people know my name.”

Fleur decided it was for the best. She needed all her energy to deal with the arrangements, and the added tension of Michel and Belinda’s strained relationship would only make things more difficult.

Belinda blew a thin ribbon of smoke. “You know all this legal nonsense makes my head spin. I can’t cope.”

“You won’t have to. I told you that. David Bennis is going to work with Alexi’s staff. He’ll be able to handle everything from New York.”

Making Alexi’s assistants understand they were now taking orders from her had been one more challenge she’d faced and won. But she still had to deal with Belinda’s neediness and the way her own stomach lurched every time she received a phone call.

“I want you to handle my business affairs, not some stranger.” Fleur didn’t respond, and Belinda’s mouth formed the same pout she’d launched in her daughter’s direction a dozen times over the past week when she didn’t get her way. “I hate this house. I can’t spend the night here.”

“Then move to a hotel.”

“You’re cold, Fleur. You’ve gotten very cold with me. And I don’t like the way you’ve shut me out. All these stories about Jake in Vietnam…I had to read about it in the newspaper. I’m sure you’ve talked to him, but you won’t tell me a thing.”

Fleur hadn’t talked to him. Jake refused to take her calls. A fresh stab of pain pierced her heart as she remembered the efficient voice of his secretary on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, Miss Savagar, but I don’t know where he is…No, he hasn’t left any messages for you.”

Fleur had tried both his house in California and his place in New York to no avail. She’d contacted his secretary again, and this time she’d met open hostility. “Haven’t you done enough harm? He’s being hounded by reporters.
Why don’t you get the message? He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

That had been five days ago, and Fleur hadn’t tried to call him since.

She latched her suitcase. “If you don’t want to live here, Belinda, you should move. You’re a rich woman, and you can live wherever you want. I offered to go apartment shopping with you, but you put me off.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go tomorrow.”

“Too late. My plane takes off at three o’clock.” But not for New York, as Belinda thought.

“Baby!” Belinda said with a wail, “I’m not used to being alone.”

Knowing her mother, Fleur doubted she’d be on her own for very long. “You’re stronger than you think.”
Both of us are
, she thought.

Tears filled Belinda’s eyes. “I can’t believe you’re deserting me. After everything I’ve done for you.”

Fleur planted a swift kiss on her mother’s cheek. “You’ll be fine.”

On the way to the airport, the limousine stalled in traffic. Fleur studied the shop windows until a Cityrama bus blocked her view. The limousine crawled forward another thirty feet, swung in front of the bus, and she found herself gazing into Jake’s face on a billboard advertising
Disturbance at Blood River.
The flat brim of his hat shaded his eyes, his cheeks were grizzled, and he had a cheroot clamped in the corner of his mouth. Bird Dog Caliber—a man without weakness, a man who didn’t need anybody. What had made her think that she could finally civilize him?

She closed her eyes. She had a business to run, and she couldn’t afford to be away any longer, but she needed a few days—just a few days alone—before she went back. She
needed to be in a place where no one could find her, a place where she could stop spending her days waiting for a phone call that would never come. She’d healed from heartbreak before. She could do it again.

She’d do it on Mykonos.

The white stucco cottage sat in an olive grove not far from a deserted beach. She toasted herself in the sun, took long, barefoot walks along the ocean, and told herself time would heal her wounds. But she felt numb and color-blind. On Mykonos—where the whites were so white they hurt the eyes, and the turquoise of the Aegean so bright it redefined the hue—everything had faded to gray. She didn’t feel hunger when she forgot to eat, or pain when she stepped on a sharp rock. She walked along the ocean—saw that her hair was blowing—but she couldn’t feel the breeze touch her skin, and she wondered if the terrible numbness would ever go away.

At night, tortured memories of making love with Jake awakened her. His lips on her breasts…the feel of him stretching her, pulsing…If he’d loved her as she loved him, he’d have known she could never betray him. This was what she’d been afraid of all along. This was the reason she’d put him off when he’d suggested marriage. She hadn’t trusted him to love her enough, and she’d been right. He hadn’t loved her enough to stand strong.

By the third day, she knew Mykonos held no magical healing powers. She’d neglected her business too long, and she had to return to New York. Still, she lingered another two days before she made herself call David and tell him when she was returning.

She was numb and grief-stricken, but she wasn’t broken.

By the time she got off the plane at Kennedy, it had begun to snow. Her wool slacks itched her thighs where they were
peeling from the sun, and her stomach was queasy from two hours of turbulence over the Atlantic. The snow made getting a cab more arduous than usual, and the one she finally found had a broken heater. It was well after midnight before she slipped the bolt on her door and let herself into her living room.

The house was damp and nearly as cold as the cab. Dropping her suitcase, she pushed up the thermostat and then kicked off her shoes. With her coat still on, she walked down to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and tossed in two Alka-Seltzers. As the tablets fizzed, the cold from the brick floor seeped through her stockings. She was getting into bed, turning up her electric blanket, and not moving until morning. First, though, she’d take the hottest shower she could stand.

She waited until she was in the bathroom before she pulled off her coat and her clothes. After she pinned her hair on top of her head, she slid open the shower doors and let the hot water wash over her. In six hours she would force herself to get up and run in the park, no matter how bad she felt. This time she wouldn’t crumble. She’d go through the motions one day at a time until, finally, the pain would be bearable.

When she’d dried off, she pulled a beige satin nightgown from a hook next to the shower. She’d forgotten to turn on her electric blanket, so she slipped into the matching robe. The temperature change from Mykonos was too drastic. Even though she’d just gotten out of the shower, she was already cold. The sheets were going to feel like ice.

She pushed open the bathroom door and fumbled to tie the sash of her robe. Odd. She thought she’d flipped the light on before she’d come into the bedroom. God, it was freezing. The windows were rattling from the blizzard kicking up outside. Why hadn’t the furnace turned—

She screamed.

“Stay right where you are, lady, and don’t move.”

A whimper caught in her throat.

He sat on the far side of the room with only his face visible in the patch of light from the open bathroom door. His mouth barely moved. “You do what I say and nobody gets hurt.”

She stumbled backward toward the bathroom. He lifted his arm, and she found herself looking down the long, silver barrel of a gun. “That’s far enough,” he said.

Her heart jumped into her throat. “Please…”

“Let go.”

At first she didn’t understand what he meant. Then she realized he was talking about her robe sash. Quickly she dropped it.

“Now the robe.”

She didn’t move.

He lifted the gun so that it was aimed at her chest.

“You’re crazy,” she gasped. “You’re—”

The hammer clicked. “Take it off.”

Her hands flew to the front of the robe. She opened it and slipped her arms out. The fabric made a soft, hissing sound as it dropped to the floor.

He lifted the barrel ever so slightly. “Let your hair down.”

“Sweet Jesus…” Her hands fumbled with the pins, and as her hair came down, drops of water splattered on her bare shoulders.

“That’s nice. Real pretty. Now the gown.”

“Don’t…” she pleaded.

“Pull down the straps slow. One at a time.”

She slipped down the first strap and then stopped.

“Go on.” He made a sharp gesture with the gun. “Do what I tell you.”

“No.”

He sat up straighter. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Don’t push me, Teacher Lady.”

Fleur clamped her arms over her chest.

Shit
, Jake thought. Now what was he supposed to do?

“Just hold me for a minute, okay?” she said.

He set the pearl-handled Colt on the table next to the bed and walked over to where she was standing. Her skin was like ice. He opened his parka and put it around her, then cuddled her against his flannel shirt. “You’re no fun.”

She gave a choked sob.

“Hey, are you crying?” She nodded against his jaw. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I guess my timing wasn’t too good.”

She shook her head, too dazed to figure out how he knew about
Butch Cassidy
and her fantasy.

“It seemed like a good idea,” he said, “especially when I couldn’t decide what to say when I saw you.”

She spoke against his flannel shirt. “Bird Dog can’t resolve this for us. We have to settle it ourselves.”

He tilted up her chin. “You’ve got to learn to separate fantasy from reality. Bird Dog’s a movie character. I like playing him—he gives me a chance to get rid of my aggressions—but he’s not me. I’m the one who’s afraid of horses, remember?”

She stared up at him.

“Come on, you’re freezing.” He led her over to the bed and pulled back the covers. In a daze, she settled between the cold sheets. He quickly divested himself of his parka and boots. Still wearing his shirt and jeans, he slid in next to her. “The pilot must be out on your furnace,” he said. “It’s colder than hell in here.”

She reached over to flick on the light. “Why wouldn’t you take my calls? I went crazy. I thought…”

“I know what you thought.” He settled his weight on his forearm and looked down at her. His face twisted. “I’m sorry, Flower. The press was everywhere, and all the old
stuff came back to grab me.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t think straight. I let you down.”

“When did you figure out it was Alexi?”

“I’d give anything to say I knew it right away.” He gazed blindly across the room. “But I’m an old pro at trying to blame you for things I can’t handle. It was a week before my head cleared enough to figure that out.”

“A week?” Just about the time she left for Mykonos.

He brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth and whispered, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

He looked so tortured, she couldn’t stand it, so she glared at him. “Darned right you will. Starting with diamonds.”

His voice caught. “As many as you want.”

She bit his thumb.

He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. “I still can’t figure out how he managed to do it. That manuscript was never out of my sight.”

Now she was the one who looked away. “Yes, it was. The night I read it. You went outside, remember? I was alone with that manuscript for hours.”

“Don’t be a brat.” He caught her chin and turned it toward him. Then he kissed her again. Her heart swelled. Even though he didn’t understand how it could be otherwise, he knew she hadn’t betrayed him. He was taking her loyalty on faith.

She cupped that tough, stubborn jaw. “Someone got into the house and photographed the manuscript while we were walking along the ocean that first day. I found the negatives after he died.”

“You found them?” His head came up. “What did you do with them?”

“Burned them, of course.”

“Damn.” He looked annoyed.

She couldn’t believe it. She came up on her elbows. “Damn?”

“I wish you’d talked to me first,” he muttered. “That’s all.”

She couldn’t help it. She pulled the comforter over her head and screamed.

For a moment there was silence. Finally he tugged at the comforter. When he got as far as her nose, he peered down at her. “It’s going to mean a lot of rewriting, that’s all.” His bottom lip looked as sulky as ever.

She nodded toward the Colt. “Is that thing loaded?”

“Of course not.”

“Too bad.”

The windowpanes rattled. He moved the gun out of reach. “Your various friends started calling me after the tabloid article appeared. When they realized how screwed up I was, all hell broke loose. Kissy flew back from her honeymoon. God, that woman can cuss. Simon threatened to go to the newspapers and tell everyone I was gay. Michel hit me.” Fleur looked at him sharply, and he threw up his hands. “I didn’t hit him back. Honest to God.” He sank back under the covers with her. “Even some cretin named Barry Noy got hold of me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“God is my witness.” He stroked her hair. “Do you have any idea how many people love you?”