Let Me Count The Ways (26 page)

I forced myself to sit down. Not as easy as you might think, since what I really wanted to do was pick the chair up and hurl it across the room. She
thought
she could have loved me? She couldn’t even be positive about a
maybe
? Perfect. I shook my head. “Yeah, I think I could have loved you too.” Then I closed my eyes, so I wouldn’t have to see her leave.

Maybe I should have gone after her. Maybe I should have apologized or tried to explain. Part of me wanted to, but I didn’t. I didn’t have the strength for another confrontation right now and I figured we’d already inflicted enough damage on each other for one day.

Claire

I didn’t go into work at all on Tuesday. I went to the beach instead. I ate breakfast on the pier, took a long walk in the sand, stared at the waves and the gulls and thought about the course my life had taken in the past few years.

I’d been putting on a hell of a performance, if I did say so myself. To the outside observer, I sure looked like someone who had her act together. And, in one sense, I guess I did. I was proud of the business I’d started. Proud of the new direction I’d taken. But my successes were mostly on the surface. Underneath, I was still a mess.

I could have loved you...

But I hadn’t wanted that, had I? After my last marriage ended, I’d crept away to lick my wounds like a whipped pup. Lonely, afraid I’d always be alone, but not willing to risk the pain another heartbreak would cause, I’d never even noticed how wounded, how guarded, how distant I’d let myself become. When I’d picked Mike up that night at the gallery, it was at least partly because I thought he’d be safe. I’d thought an affair with him would be simple, uncomplicated, undemanding. I never thought I’d fall in love. And I certainly never imagined I’d want to. It had taken me a little too long to realize I’d been wrong on both counts.

If nothing else, this morning had been a wake-up call, a cosmic billboard with light-up letters three stories high that spelled out the message,
is this really how you want to end up?
Did I really want to continue being so fearful? Keeping everyone around me at arm’s length, afraid to get close, afraid to be touched, to be seen, to be loved?

I could have loved you
...

How badly had I screwed this up? That was the real question, and one to which I didn’t know the answer. I’d taken a hit this morning--no question. We’d both said things that we couldn’t take back. But had the blow been fatal? It was my own fault if it was.

I’d been letting my fears get the best of me these past few weeks. I could have had something good with Mike; instead, I’d pushed and pushed and pushed him away until he’d finally pushed back. How could I blame him for that? This morning, he’d pushed me right out the door and maybe out of his life as well.

At least I’d learned something from the experience. I suppose that’s what counts, right? When I got back to town, the first thing I did was to go and see a realtor. By Wednesday afternoon, I’d made an offer on a sweet little bungalow just off Mulholland, small but quaint, with a garden full of flowers and a view of The Valley. I was through running. I was done hiding. It felt good to take control of my life again, to commit to something, to make a stand. It was time. Some might have said it was way past time but I guess there are some lessons that just take a really long while to learn.

I spent most of Thursday holed up in my office shopping for furniture online. I was even considering adopting a pet. A Maltese perhaps, or a Bichon Frise. Not that I’d ever thought of myself as being all that much of a dog person but warm brown eyes and unconditional love were at the top of my wish list, at present, and a dog seemed the surest way to get them.

Anyone who saw me would have thought I was coping, and I was. Sort of. But I was hurting too. I missed Mike. It had only been two days, but it felt so much longer. Probably because I had no real idea when I’d see him again.

I could have loved you
...

Unfortunately, I’d only been half-right when I’d told Mike that. There was really no ‘could have’ about it. Not on my end. Maybe not on his end either? I could only hope that was the case. And, like Scarlett O’Hara had done after Rhett walked out on her, I promised myself that I’d think of a way to get him back... if not tomorrow then sometime in the not-too-distant future.

How hard could it be? The man had apparently spent years collecting copies of every movie I’d ever made. And while that scared the shit out of me on one level, on another level, wasn’t the hope of inspiring that kind of adulation what drove people to perform in the first place?

I was at my computer Thursday afternoon, looking at pictures of a charming French provincial canopy bed that I thought would go well with the darling Louis Seize chaise I’d already picked out, when the door to my office swung open. I glanced up, breath catching in surprise. “Mike.” I felt my heart immediately pick up speed as he breezed in with a small smile and a nod in my direction.

“Hello, Claire.”

“Wh--what are you doing here?” My voice, dull with surprise, sounded horribly ungracious, even to my own ears.

There was the slightest check in his stride. “What do you mean? It’s Thursday, isn’t it?”

I nodded. “I know. It’s just... I wasn’t expecting to see you today.” I’d expected him to send someone else--with an excuse, perhaps, about how he’d had to take time off to deal with his house. Or maybe I’d get a phone call from his secretary, asking me to messenger my records to the office.

“You weren’t?” Setting his briefcase down carefully on top of his desk, Mike turned and faced me. “How come? Same as always. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?”

Same as always. Right. My words to him on Saturday. Was he using them now to mock me? Unable to meet his eyes, I studied the surface of my desk. “I know, but...”

“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?”

“Yes,” I breathed, grateful to him for making it easy. “Yes, actually, I have.”

“I see.” There was a heavy pause and then, “Would you like me to leave?”

“Would I--? What?” My gaze flew to his face. He looked grim. “No! What are you talking about?” Knees shaking, I got to my feet. Why, I don’t know. What did I think I was going to do? Throw myself in front of the door? Refuse to let him go? “Of course I don’t want you to leave, Mike. Why would you say that?”

And then it was his gaze sliding away from my face. I watched the muscles in his jaw bunch.

“Mike?”

He shrugged. “I just thought maybe you were a little uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable?” I frowned. “With... you? Why would I...”

“With my film collection, Claire.”

“Oh.” As his warm, brown eyes met mine once more, I felt my cheeks flood with heat.

“And, before you ask again, yes. I’ve watched some of them quite a few times.”

“I figured you must have,” I said, smiling tightly, inviting him to smile along with me. He didn’t of course. I don’t know why I thought he would. “I was surprised, Mike, that’s all. It wasn’t what I was expecting.”

He nodded. “Well, that certainly seems to be the theme for the week, doesn’t it? You weren’t expecting that, you weren’t expecting me today...”

“I wasn’t expecting
you
at all.”

“So what was it you changed your mind about?” he asked, adding, when I frowned in confusion. “Less than two minutes ago. I asked you if you’d changed your mind and you...”

“Oh.” I shook my head. It’s so hard, sometimes, to find the right words to say. Life really ought to come with a script. “Everything? What I thought I wanted. From you. From this.” I shrugged. “You were right. Being ‘friends with benefits’ really doesn’t work for us, does it?”

He was silent for so long I felt my conviction falter. Maybe he’d changed his mind too. Maybe that’s all he wanted now. Or maybe he didn’t even want that anymore. Finally, “So what are you saying, Claire? Do you want more from me now, or less?”

I felt a shaky smile stretch my lips. “More?”

Mike’s expression didn’t change. He gazed at me searchingly, saying nothing.

“Please?” I added in a voice as shaky as my smile.

Mike shook his head. “I can never tell if you’re acting or if you really mean it.”

“I know.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that one either, was it? ‘
Were you just faking it, Claire? Was any of it real--or just part of your act?’
And it hurt--just like it always did. But not as much as it hurt to admit the truth. Nothing was as painful or frightening as telling him what I’d never told anyone else: “Sometimes I’m not always sure about that myself.”

A little of the tension left Mike’s frame. “I guess I can understand that. I guess it’s not so different than trying to figure out the way I feel about you. Admiring fan, perverted stalker--maybe there’s not as much of a difference between the two as I’d like to believe. Maybe you can’t really draw a line between them?”

I nodded, even though I was pretty sure you
could
; actually, pretty sure you
had to
draw a line between the two. But I’d already done that, in this case, hadn’t I? I smiled. “Maybe, sometimes, the line just gets a little blurry?” For him, maybe. Not for me. But the fact that he was worried about it at all told me I didn’t have to be. That told me everything I needed to know. “I really would like another chance to try again, Mike. I think... I think we could be good together.”

For another moment we both just stared at each other. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.”

An instant later, I was in his arms. I braced my hands on his chest to hold him away; needing to look into his face first, into his eyes; needing to see if they still held that look, the one I’d feared I’d never see there again. They did.

“Mike...” Sliding my arms around his neck, I melted against him, sighing in blissful relief as his mouth claimed mine.

“How much more, Claire?” he asked between kisses. “How much more than friends do you want us to be?”

“A lot more,” I replied, hoping he wouldn’t ask me to be more specific--it was still too soon for that. “I’m sorry I’ve made things so difficult, Mike. It’s just that I’ve been so afraid, so certain that I’d lose you once you knew.”

He shook his head. “You should have trusted me.”

I sighed. “How could I? I’ve been hurt so many times I barely trust myself anymore. And Tuesday... you were so cold, so distant. I didn’t know what to think.”

“Well, I was angry,” he protested. “I was hurt, I was upset about my house. You weren’t really seeing me at my best, you know.”

“Not your best?” I felt my eyes widen. “Is that all you can think to say about it? You made me think you’d never want to see me again. I thought I’d blown it with you.”

“Then you need to listen better. I told you my feelings hadn’t changed. Besides, you weren’t winning many points for tact either, you know.” He looked at me for a moment and then he shrugged. “So, fine. Now you know the worst thing about me. I can be a real jerk when I’m angry. And I know the worst thing about you, too--right?”

I shook my head. “Yeah, well, you know something, Mike? Right now, my worst isn’t looking all that bad.”

He chuckled softly. “I never thought so. As it happens, seeing you at your ‘worst’ has given me a lot of enjoyment over the years.”

Heat flared in my cheeks and, for a moment, I was speechless. “Excuse me?”

“Well, what did you think? That I was watching those movies just for the locations? I wasn’t.”

“No, really? I’m shocked.” The wicked gleam in his eyes sent the blood flooding to several other places now, besides my cheeks. “You’re not going to expect me to re-enact all your favorite scenes for you, are you?”

“Some of them maybe,” he replied hopefully. “But I think I’ll have to draw the line at threesomes.”

“Michael!” I stared at him in surprise. “I’m sorry--
threesomes
?”

“Hey, you’re the one who mentioned the cab driver.”

“I don’t even believe you’re bringing that up again! And after the way you threw it in my face the other day?”

He sighed. “Did I not mention I was angry? And, anyway, I don’t think it’s fair to use Tuesday as our standard of reference for behavior.”

“You’re right.” I nodded. And then I reached up and ran my hands along his beard, just because I could. “So how is this all going to work out anyway?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” he murmured in reply.

I stared at him. “That’s not the kind of reassurance I was hoping for.”

He shrugged. “You want reassurance? Try this. Nothing’s going to change the way I feel about you, Claire, so you can stop thinking you’re gonna get rid of me so easily. I’m willing to try it any way you want until we get it right and if either of us decides to walk away, I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be me. Especially not over something as completely trivial as some movie you might have made or the fact that you’ve been married nine times or...”

“Six!” I corrected. “It was
six
times--not
nine
. Who gets married nine times, Mike? That’s just...”

“Whatever.” He shrugged impatiently. “It’s just a number.”

“You’re an accountant,” I reminded him. “You’re supposed to be good with numbers.”

“Yeah, but what I’m really good at is keeping things in perspective.”

I looked at him. He rolled his eyes.

“Most of the time, okay? When I’m not angry or hurt, when my house hasn’t just burned down. And, besides, you’re a fine one to talk.”

I nodded agreement. “I know, I know.”

“You’re what’s important to me, Claire. Just you. And as for all the rest--how many movies you’ve been in, how many times you’ve been married, how old you are--none of that matters. It’s just numbers; the only thing they’re good for is counting.”

He pulled me close again then, and I let him. Sighing contentedly, I rested my head against his chest feeling very grateful, very happy. Maybe I didn’t need to get a dog after all. “But, what’s all this about my age, Mike? You don’t know how old I am.”