Losing Control (2 page)

TWO

“So, who is he anyway?” Fawn asked,
trying not to seem too interested.

Stephanie was rifling the fridge,
came out with a big package of salad greens, some rotisserie chicken and a loaf
of Italian bread.

“His name is Taury Trahern. I’m sure
you remember his granddad Leo who lived there until he passed away about seven
years ago?”

“Oh, sure.
I’ve seen all his grandkids down
there at some point. But I don’t recall that one.”

“Well, he’s kind of young; probably
just filled out enough to be intriguing in the last year or two.”

“How young is he?”

“Not too young, if you know what I
mean. He’s your age, actually … twenty two, or that’s what he told me.”

“You’ve talked to him then?”

“Um hum. And believe me, he’s even
nicer close up. The bluest eyes I have ever seen, and that smile…” she sighed.
“He moved in recently so he could restore the beach house. Apparently old Leo
left it in sore shape when he died. I like Taury. Most rich kids are too busy
spending the inheritance on Maseratis and European junkets or becoming infamous
on reality shows. They wouldn’t care about what happens to some old beach
house. He’s quite a catch, wouldn’t you say?”

“For some wealthy society girl sure.
But why waste time talking about
him, Steph, unless you’re going to make a play for him?”

“No, not me.
I’m strung up in Tom Cedar’s racket,
and loving every minute of it!”

“The tennis player?
I had no idea.”

“Oh, it only happened about a month
ago. Met him at a charity tournament here in town; I swear it was lust at first
sight!”

“I thought that was supposed to be
love at first sight?”

“These days you take it as you get
it, Fawn. True love is a fairy tale.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, did you have true love with
Richard?”

“Hardly.”

“Why’d you marry him then?
Must have been lust.”

“Wasn’t that,
either.
Honestly, we never had much of a connection. I did what I thought he wanted me
to do. I was a zombie, Steph.”

“Poor Fawn. You need a good man.
There are a few around, you know.”

“Like Tom Cedar, I suppose?”

“Um hum. He knows exactly where to
hit the ball on my court, if you get my drift.”

They both laughed then dug into their
lunch.

After Stephanie left, Fawn walked
quietly about the house, taking a mental inventory of what each room needed to
make it more hers, and less Connie’s. She planned no serious changes, maybe a
rearrangement here, or some new wallpaper there. The floors were all pine,
clean and sturdy, no need for any alterations. The walls in every room were
white plaster; she didn’t intend to paint them. They made a great neutral backdrop
for fresh, bright-colored curtains and artwork. The bungalow had two bedrooms,
each with its own bath, a living room, hallway, and an eat-in kitchen.

Fawn adored the kitchen with its
1930s white cabinets, crystal drawer pulls, beaded glass china storage and
1950s chrome and red breakfast table with matching chairs. The only thing she
might change in there was the tile countertop. It hadn’t fared well over the
years, but Connie had been reluctant to replace it – her beloved Beau Sullivan
installed it himself when he built the property for her. Now there was true
love.

Handsome former athlete Beau Sullivan
had been a film producer at Warner Brothers. When he and Constance Carroll met
on a 1950s movie set their eyes locked, their souls entwined, and that was it.
No more films for her – she lost all interest in anything but being with Beau.
And he quit producing, built the
Malibu
property as an early retirement home
and then he actually retired, at the age of forty. They lived a sublimely
carefree life for the next twenty years. His investments covered most expenses,
which were really minimal, thanks to her skills as a gardener and his as a
carpenter. But of course, nothing good lasts forever – Beau died suddenly one
April morning. A heart attack, so the doctor said. Connie was devastated, but
her
New
England
upbringing had prepared her to be strong and unfailing in a time of
tragedy. She eventually found Emmy de Sica and made her a companion more than a
servant. Life went on, with the memories a little easier to bear once she was
out of the beach house.

“At least maybe you’re with him now,
Connie love,” Fawn whispered as she stared at a photograph of the couple, taken
on a honeymoon in
Niagara Falls
. “Sometimes I think
it’s
better my way. I’d rather get over a bad marriage than
have to deal with losing a piece of my soul.”

She felt something brush her bare
leg, looked down to see Garbo blinking up at her.
Harlow
sidled up next to Fawn’s other leg.
They’d never come near her before. It was almost like they were consoling her.
She sat down on the hard floor, began to pet them both. Harlow curled up in her
lap, purred like a car engine.

Fawn spent the rest of the day and
most of the evening going through Connie’s photo albums, smiling at some
pictures, wiping tears away when she glimpsed others. She puzzled over her
mother June’s expression in several scenes. She’d been born a year after Connie
married Beau, and should have been a happier looking child growing up in such
loving surroundings. But she always seemed miserable, sending dark, jealous
glances at her parents. Fawn remembered once, when in a fit of teenage angst,
she blurted out that June never loved her. And her mother had said an odd thing
– that she’d never known love so how could she give it? When Fawn had calmed
down enough to question her words, June blew it off as nothing, merely things a
person would say in the heat of anger.

Still, Fawn pondered what she had
meant. Had Connie and Beau loved each other too much? Was their love so intense
it allowed no room for giving their only child a portion of it? If that was
true, she felt sorry for her mother; had the urge to call her but it was late.
Maybe in the morning; but right then she was tired, and decided to head on to
bed.

As she was closing the white-flowered
curtains in the bedroom, she noticed movement on the beach. The brilliant
moonlight was showering the sand, illuminating a head of blond hair on a dark
figure. It was that boy.
That Taury Trahern.
He was
walking down to the shore. He glanced
round,
looking
for observers then stepped out of his shorts and dived nude into the glistening
water.

Fawn felt a sudden tightening in her
body. She imagined herself sneaking down to join him, shedding her cut-offs and
her tank top, along with some major inhibitions, and sliding into the cool,
salty drink. Why he had captured her imagination she couldn’t say but he had,
and there was only one way to satisfy the aching between her thighs.

She put the cats up for the night in
the craft room then locked the doors and turned out the lights.

Once in bed she slid a hand down her
panties and let herself wallow in a wonderful dream where the still faceless blond
moved over her like a dark, sinful snake, caressing her breasts and kissing
them, kneading her hips and thighs and licking at her all over. It usually took
her awhile to achieve any kind of release but this time it was instant.
Shocked, she tried to calm the waves, but they rose again and again until she
felt tears come to her eyes.

Finally she removed her hand and got
up to wash then slipped on a pair of short red polka dot pajamas.

Before she returned to bed she peered
out the French doors. The boy was standing on the beach. It looked like – but
no, he couldn’t be staring at her house. She cowered in a dark corner, watching
his every move. He entered his home and a light came on. Fawn stared at his
silhouette as it went from window to window, feeling like some perverted fool
as she tried to catch a solid glimpse of his face. But he was too far away.

She sighed and climbed into bed.
Sleep did not come easily. Visions of past sorrows, arguments, conversations,
wracked her brain. A fierce headache drove her out of bed and into the
bathroom. She found her dependable pain reliever, downed a couple with a sip of
water then she made her way through the dark hall to the back French doors.

The night air was cool but it felt
good. She breathed in the saltiness of it, and the fragrances of the myriad
flowers that decorated the yard. It was like heaven being there. To think she
could live there for the rest of her life was unbelievable. She should be
happy. She thought she was. But those dreams – most of them were about Richard.
Things he’d said, lies he’d told. Why did they haunt her now? She was through
with all that, through with him.

The pain killers weren’t kicking in
as they usually did. Fawn was restless, needed a distraction. She slipped
inside, grabbed some flip flops and threw a denim jacket over her pajamas. Then
she clutched the house keys and her cell phone, and sprang out the doors and
down a well-worn path to the beach.

The moon was still blindingly bright.
She could see every step before her, felt safe in making a trek along the
shore. A dog barked; she jumped but realized he was locked behind the closed
glass door of a crisp white beach house. It was a very modern structure, not
her taste at all – too linear, too cold, like an office building or a hospital.
She took her time, examining each house on down the line, deciding whether she
liked this one or hated that one. The distraction worked – her headache
subsided. She was calm again.

On the return trip Fawn tried to
ignore the Trahern house – she had deliberately walked in the opposite
direction but now as she neared the path it was impossible not to look at it.
The lights were out; surely the boy was asleep. She stopped, dared to admire
the design of it – her grandfather’s design. He should have been an architect.
It was the most pleasing combination of styles, symmetrical yet quirky,
sophisticated but with a humor about it. Of course it was a bit run-down; even
by moonlight she could tell that.

She found herself feeling a bit
envious of Taury Trahern. It would be great fun renovating a treasured old
house; especially one that had meant so much to her family.

She gathered her courage, decided to
walk around the side yard, to get a better look at the shape of the house.

“It’s kind of late for sight seeing,
isn’t it?” a male voice asked. Fawn nearly hopped out of her skin. She turned,
saw a dark figure coming towards her; a figure with bright blond hair.

THREE

As he came closer Fawn squinted,
trying to see his face, but it was too shadowy in the pathway.

“I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t
mean to trespass. I took a walk and was just going back home.”

“Oh, you’re Connie’s granddaughter?”

“Yes. I didn’t realize you knew her.”

“Sure. I used to see her and Emmy on
the beach when I was a kid. Sometimes I’d walk with them. My sister did, too.
They were a couple of classy ladies.”

“You’re right, they were.”

His voice was nice, smooth and rather
sensuous. She thought of her earlier fantasy, and her heart caught in her
throat. Thank goodness he couldn’t see her!

“Would you like to come in for a
minute? I’m restless tonight, tried to sleep but I guess I’ve got too much on
my mind.”

“Me, too.
I thought I’d be able to sleep
really well by the sea. I always did before.” She hesitated about his offer,
but her curiosity got the better of her. She had to see his face, or burst!
“I’ll come in, but I can’t stay long. It is really late.”

He nodded, pointed her towards the
back entry, which was accessed through a lovely screened-in porch. They entered
the kitchen; he switched on a light and turned towards her.

You’d think she was looking at a
movie star the way her heart jumped. He was utterly beautiful – soft, deep set
blue eyes, a lean, slightly pointy nose, a strong, dimpled chin, and his mouth
– well, it was full enough to nibble on but not so big that it could swallow
her, even though she kind of wished it would. That tight feeling in her insides
started again.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I guess I’m more tired than I
thought. I’d better get on home.”