If I Can't Have You (42 page)

Charlie’s head sank into his hands. “I’ve lived through those moments every day for sixty years. Better that I should remember them than Janet. She didn’t know what she was doing. She doesn’t remember any of it now, either. It’s as if telling me
erased it all from her mind. She’s never repeated a word of this to anyone—not to her parents, not to the doctors. No one. She doesn’t remember a thing about that night. Please, don’t ask her about it.”

“There’s no reason to,” Trevor said. “You’ve told us all we need to know.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said. “I’m sorry for what I did to your father. I’m sorry for you, for Carole, for...” His words trailed off, and he stared at his trembling hands, which clutched the top of his cane.

“I tried to care for her for a while, but I couldn’t. She wasn’t violent. She just sat and stared straight ahead, looking at nothing. I talked to her parents, and they had her committed. She’s been here ever since.”

He wiped a tear from his cheek. “She’s been my life, you know. She’s dying, and I’m not going to have her much longer.” He drew in a shaky breath. “When she’s gone, you can tell the police. I’ll even go with you. But please, wait till she’s gone.”

“We’re not going to the police,” Trevor said, fighting back tears. “You’ve served enough time already.”

Trevor heard footsteps on the brick pathway and turned around.

“Excuse me, Mr. Beck,” a nurse interrupted. “Miss Julian’s calling for Mr. Montgomery. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’ll be right there,” Charlie said, then turned to Trevor.

“Do you mind going up?” Charlie asked. “I know you don’t owe her anything, but she’s old and dying. I know she loves me. She’s told me that in so many ways over the years, but she still calls your father’s name.”

“Of course I’ll go,” Trevor said, holding his hand out to Adriana. “Then we’ll leave the two of you alone. I promise.”

They went to Janet’s room and Charlie neared the bed. “How are you feeling, dearest.”

“Tired.” Her word came out amidst a raspy breath. “Is Trevor with you? I need to see him again.”

Charlie turned to Trevor and Adriana. “I’ll wait outside. Don’t stay for more than a few minutes. Please.”

Trevor closed the door behind Charlie and went toward the bed. He had no reason to comfort Janet. She’d killed a
Carole Sinclair
. She’d been responsible for ruining his life. But when he remembered the sweet young woman who’d been his friend, who’d loved him so desperately, he felt a strong sense of compassion. He should despise her, but he couldn’t
.

Slowly he reached out and touched Janet’s cold, wrinkled cheek.

Cloudy eyes looked up at him.

“I’m so sorry for what happened. You must hate me terribly,” she said.

Charlie said she didn’t remember. Had the memory of that night suddenly come back to her? Could he give her absolution for what she’d done?

He looked at Adriana, at the gentle smile on her face, and he knew the answer. Janet had set in motion unbelievable events that changed the lives of so many people—especially his. If she hadn’t, he never would have met the only woman he had ever loved, the only woman he ever would love.

“I don’t hate you, Janet.”

She smiled sweetly, and a trace of the young woman he’d known long ago shone on her face. “I knew you’d come back someday. I knew it.”

She gasped for breath, clutching the edge of her blankets. She was dying, and Trevor wanted to forget and forgive her for the horror that had happened. He tried to remember the good times they’d
had together, and the fact that he’d enjoyed working with her.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t always there for you, Janet,” he said. “You were my friend, and you know what else? You were the prettiest, sweetest lady on the set.”

He smiled when he saw that old familiar twinkle in her eye.

“You told me that once,” she said, “but I didn’t believe you. I thought you said that to all the girls.”

“I always mean what I say, Janet.”

“You were always such a nice man. My Charlie’s a nice man, too. Did you see my roses?” Janet asked. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?

“The prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“Let me give you one,” Janet said. “Here. Take it. Please.” She opened her hand and inside Trevor saw a crushed and withered red rosebud.

He’d seen prettier things, like the woman standing across from him, but he reached out to take the bud from Janet’s hand.

“I always prayed you’d return to me,” Janet said, grasping his fingers as he took the rose. “Always. Every night I’d wish for it. Come back to me. Please. Come to me. That’s what I wished.”

An instant of panic ripped through Trevor’s body as he heard Janet’s words. They were the same words Adria
n
a had whispered when she stood over the Poseidon Pool.

But they weren’t beside a pool now. Nothing could happen.

Nothing.

He tried to pull his fingers away from Janet’s but couldn’t. He was too weak.

Oh, God. No!

His head felt light. Dizzy. A great roaring sound filled his head.

“Come back to me,” Janet continued to beg. “Please. Come to me.”

Adriana screamed. “Don’t go, Trevor. Please. Don’t leave me.”

But all he heard were whispers, the faint sound of a woman’s scream, and...

“Please, Trevor! Don’t leave me!”

Adriana reached out for him, to fingers and hands that stretched toward her, but there was no substance, no skin or bones or warmth. Only a fading vision.

“Please,” she begged, but just as suddenly as he’d come into her life, he was gone

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her lips trembled while she stared at the emptiness across from her, at the spot where just a moment before the only man she’d ever loved—the only man she would ever love—had stood.

Closing her eyes, she prayed. “Come back to me, Trevor. Please. Come back to me.”

When she opened her eyes, the place where he’d stood was just as empty.

He was gone.

She slumped into the chair beside Janet’s bed, wrapped her arms around her stomach, and wept.

“I love you, Trevor,” she whispered, hoping he’d hear her words, no matter where he was. “I love you.”

Loneliness engulfed her. Then she remembered his smoldering eyes, his movie-idol smile, his tender
kisses, and his passion. And, from deep in her heart, she heard his voice. “I love you, Adriana. Forever.”

Suddenly she was filled with hope. “Come back to me, Trevor.” she prayed. “Soon.”

Wiping the tears from her cheeks and eyes, she thought about Janet, lying so helpless in her bed. Had she seen what had happened? Did she understand? Did she feel the horror and loss?

Adriana reached out to comfort her, but the bed was vacant, the pillows fluffed, and a crumbled red rose was scattered over the perfectly smooth covers.

Adriana spun around. Where had Janet gone?

“Charlie,” she cried, but the door didn’t open. She heard no human sound, only a deafening roar. Pain pulsed through her head. A wave of nausea clutched at her stomach. The room twisted and turned about her, as if she was on an out of control merry-go-round. She wanted to get off, but her legs wouldn’t move.

The lights dimmed, brightened, and dimmed again, then suddenly everything went black.

oOo

July 3, 1938

The Trocadero reeked of elegance. Champagne flowed. Gold
lamé
shimmered on the sleek bodies of a dozen stars and starlets. Diamonds glistened, and men and women swayed gracefully to the melodic strains of Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, and George Gershwin.

The dreaded night had finally arrived.

“Dear God,” Trevor silently prayed. “Help me to make it all end differently.”

He stood in a far corner of the ballroom, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his black tuxedo trousers, and observed the familiar scene unfolding before him.

Jack Warner strolled amongst his guests, patting backs, shaking hands, and kissing the women. Carole Sinclair—still alive, still a ravishing, platinum beauty—swept from man to man, laughing off the crude comments of her ex-husband, who’d just been escorted out of the nightclub by two burly doormen.

Janet Julian—no longer wrinkled, no longer scarred by the murder she’d committed—stood in a crowd of people but didn’t appear to be listening to a word anyone spoke. Instead, the pretty brunette, a picture of sweetness in a froth of pale pink ruffles, searched the room until her eyes lit on Trevor, and she smiled.

Feeling an overwhelming compassion for his friend, he smiled back. A bright light flashed, and Trevor turned his attention to the man who’d just snapped Janet’s picture. Charlie Beck—no longer stooped, no longer walking with a cane—whispered something into Janet’s ear. She giggled lightly, and fondly touched Charlie’s cheek before he walked away, moving almost invisibly through the throng, shooting photos of luminaries who set the screen ablaze. Bette Davis was there. Olivia de Havilland, and Carole Lombard. Gable, Bogart, and Grant. Errol Flynn, too—his old friend, his drinking buddy.

Trevor soaked up their magnetic presence, trying to remember each unique movement, each distinctive facial gesture, bits and pieces of his past to carry with him to another lifetime if, God willing, he were given the chance to go back.

Oh, Adriana. If only you could be here with me.

For one entire year he’d wished for her to come to him. He’d kissed roses and tossed them into the Poseidon Pool at Sparta, he’d walked down to the beach and prayed that she’d magically appear, and he’d lain in bed at night and touched the pillow where her head should be resting, her pale blond
hair feathered about her like a halo. But still she didn’t come.

Did she have any memory of their time together? he wondered. Or had she forgotten him, like he’d forgotten her—in the beginning?

He remembered that first moment back in his own time. He’d felt dizzy, numb. Nausea had weakened him, and a woman’s screams pounded through his head. He’d stumbled across the hardwood floor and sat down on the edge of an empty bed, pressing his fingers to his temples while he tried to get his bearings. Slowly it all came back to him. He was in Janet’s room at Magnolia Acres. She’d had a breakdown, but she was going home in a day or two, and he wanted to tell her that he’d gotten her a part in his next movie—as his wife in
Break the Night.

He’d remembered everything about his past—but he had no memories of his future.

He remembered Janet breezing into the room, a pretty young thing who looked as if she hadn’t a care in the world. A year of rest had been the perfect antidote for her worried mind. She’d smiled sweetly at him, and then a slow, questioning frown furrowed her brow. “Is something wrong, Trevor,” she’d asked. “You look so odd, as if... oh, I don’t know. You look different somehow. Happier, I think.”

Happier?
He was. The pain of a lonely childhood no longer haunted him. The devastating rejection by his parents seemed nothing more than a vague memory of a time best forgotten. The urge for a drink was gone—and he had no idea why.

It took a few days, but slowly the memories began to return with just a few subtle reminders: a tall, slender woman with hair
the color of corn silk
wisping across her face seemed oddly familiar, yet they’d never met; a storefront mannequin dressed in a flowing white gown with ropes of pearls around its neck
brought back a hazy memory of a beautiful woman adjusting his tie; dancing with an uninhibited friend under a crystal chandelier at the Biltmore made him yearn for someone timid and shy.

He couldn’t understand any of it. All of those things were only vague reminders of an indistinct memory.

But the wonder of his future—the life he’d once lived—came back to him with an unexpected jolt when he said “I do” before a make-believe minister on the set of
Break the Night.
Suddenly the face of his costar, Janet Julian, became the face of an angel—a beautiful woman who’d comforted him when he was distressed, who’d cried for him when he’d told her of his childhood—who’d loved him, without question.