Memories of Love (4 page)

He stopped at the gate to watch her
for a moment. Red-headed Molly Evans had taken Sarah’s hand for the line-up and
procession into the building.
She already
has a friend. Good for you, Sarah.
He smiled to himself as he turned to
navigate his way through the throng of parents.
The transition to New York is working. At least for Sarah. And me?
Remains to be seen.

After dropping Sarah off, he hung
around a bit, scanning the sea of moms and dads to see if there was a man with
a camera. Or even one who looked out-of-place, lurking. He chuckled to himself
at the thought that he expected the pervert to be wearing a seedy raincoat and
look scruffy and unkempt.
Highly
unlikely. Probably looks like everyone else. That’s what makes him so
dangerous.
When the crowd slowly dissipated, he saw a few familiar faces,
but none he could categorize as suspicious.

After a few days, when no suspect
turned up, he let out a breath, confident the man stalking Sarah had not
followed them to New York. Still, every day he insisted on taking her to school
himself and leaving her safely in the teacher’s care before making his way to
his law office in midtown.

In no time, the ritual trip to
school became a pleasure for Grant. Private time with Sarah was precious, as he
returned home so late every night. The morning walks became their special moments
to catch up a bit. Sarah’s lively, cheerful, yet bossy attitude charmed him. He
looked forward to their time together.

In the beginning, Grant had admitted
to himself that there were so many people milling about the school yard, it was
hard to tell if there was a stalker hiding. He had tried to remember faces, get
to know who belonged so he could spot the odd man out, the intruder with bad
intentions. Slowly, he was achieving his goal. As faces became familiar, he
eased up his vigilance.
The police were
right. Sarah is safe here.

After leaving the tony public school
playground three blocks from their apartment, Grant took a break from the
hectic pace of his life by stopping for coffee and a bagel at the local coffee
house.
Chez Java
, a small, well-designed
place, located on the corner two blocks north of his subway station, had piqued
his interest.

The aroma coming from the stylish
shop tantalized his taste buds. He pushed open the door and went in. Everyone
seemed interested in take out only so he had no trouble finding a table. He
noticed a cute young woman behind the counter. Her long, blonde hair was in a
ponytail that bounced as she moved.
Maybe
twenty-one years old?
A young man about the same age was wiping down the
space by the cash register.

Grant eavesdropped on their
conversation.

“I have an audition tonight,” the
young woman said.

“For what?” The young man moved his
wet rag over the top of the pastry case.

“An off-off Broadway play.” She
reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk. “Would you read
the script with me?”

Grant tuned out the rest of their exchange,
his unseeing eyes aimed out the window as the memory of a similar conversation
crowded everything else from his mind
.

It
was in The Coffee Cave in Washington, over seven years ago. He’d been watching
Carol Anne working in the shop every night for weeks. It was a busy place, and
she never had time to chat. She was either taking orders, serving coffee and
food, or cleaning up. Grant had been looking for a way to start a dialogue with
her for weeks.

Her
beauty had captured his attention the moment he walked in. But it was her warm
smile, big laugh, and sweet demeanor week after week that crept toward his
heart and kept him returning
.
One
night, late, he came in shortly before closing. Two women were getting the joint
bedded down for the night while Carol Anne was sitting at a table, reciting aloud
her lines from a script.

He
took a big breath then walked over to her. “Need someone to read that with
you?”

Her
big blue eyes looked up at him. He saw hope, fear, and anxiety. His heart melted.

“Would
you?”

He
sat down immediately and listened to her explain the part. She was to be the understudy
for the lead in the new play soon to open at Washington Arts In the Round. They
stayed until the shop closed. He returned every night to work with her until
the show opened. On opening night, he sat in the first row and took her out
afterwards.

They
became inseparable quickly. She was twenty-six, just scraping by financially,
and he was thirty-one, making good money as an associate attorney.

She moved into his apartment,
starting a love affair that lasted more than a year. Recalling the sweetness of
their early romance, he smiled.
Never met
a girl like her
. Enchanted from the very beginning, Grant had committed himself
to her without even realizing it.
He
chuckled at the memory of his naïveté. He had opened his heart, and she had
walked right in.

“Refill, Mister?” Grant gave his
head a shake and turned to look at the young, blonde woman standing next to him
holding a pot of coffee. “We don’t usually refill for free, but I’m making a
new pot and since you’re the only one here…”

“No, thanks,” he said, covering his
cup with his hand.
Time to get to work.
He
stood up, threw away his trash and pushed out the door, stopping for a moment
to glance back at the girl. She had joined the boy behind the counter and was
busy refilling sugar jars. He walked down the street and disappeared
underground into the subway.

* * * *

Sarah found the crowded classroom of
P.S. 15 intimidating but fascinating. The noise and the artwork hanging
everywhere stimulated her senses, drowning out her fear of the unknown, of
being the new girl. Her eyes drank in the bright colors, her ears the refrains
of songs from different classrooms echoing down the hallways.

The hustle and bustle of creative
energy, combined with the joyful noise from the ethnically mixed children
jumping rope and playing tag on the playground, made Sarah feel free. Unlike
her uptight, private school in Washington, P.S. 15 was a school where it was
okay to get dirty and okay to have friends who didn’t look exactly like you.
She loved it.

When anxiety crept around the edges,
if she sensed she didn’t belong yet or didn’t know what was expected of her, she’d
finger her necklace. It was half a small gold heart. The vertical, jagged edge splitting
a whole heart down the middle showed that another half existed. The two halves
fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

Grant told her that her birth mother
had given her the pendant to remember her by when Sarah was only two and went
to live with her dad. He said that her mom had the other half. Sarah never took
the necklace off, even for a bath. It made her feel connected to Cara and
helped soothe Sarah in tense situations.

On her first day, Molly Evans had sat
with Sarah at lunch and invited her to jump rope on the playground. Molly
became Sarah’s first and best New York friend. They had play dates at each
other’s houses. Molly’s fifteen-year-old sister, Josie, picked her up every afternoon
because their mother worked. When they went to Sarah’s house, Jane took them
home.

Today they were headed to Molly’s.
Walking up the avenue, they passed a bus waiting at the corner.

“Hey! Look!” Molly pointed.

“What?” Sarah asked.

“That picture. She looks just like
you!” Molly was pointing to the poster on the side of the large vehicle. The advertisement
touted a new Broadway show to premiere in two weeks called
Blind Love.
The picture on the bus showed a handsome man and a
beautiful woman. Both girls stopped. Molly tugged on her sister’s hand.

“What, squirt?” Josie asked,
sounding annoyed.

“Look. Doesn’t that lady look just
like Sarah?” Molly pointed to the picture.

Sarah stood transfixed. She couldn’t
move and could hardly breathe.
She does look
like me.

“Holy crap! She does,” Josie said,
her mouth hanging open.

The two sisters stood staring at the
picture then at Sarah then back again until the bus swallowed all the waiting
passengers and lumbered along its way.

“How weird is that?” Josie asked, shaking
her head. “Come on, let’s go.” She tugged on her sister’s hand. Molly, in turn,
tugged on Sarah’s. Sarah t directed her attention back to her friend. But she turned
a deaf ear to Molly’s jabbering away about school. She had more important
thoughts to ponder.
She must be my real
mom.

Josie pretended to pay attention to
Molly, who didn’t seem to care if she had an audience of listeners and kept
chattering away.

A pricking at the back of her neck
and gooseflesh on her arms alerted Sarah someone was watching her. She turned
around and spied a tall, chubby man walking a discreet distance behind them. He
stood on the corner, watching her turn and proceed down Seventy-Ninth Street,
Molly’s block. Their gazes connected for a split second before he continued up
Amsterdam Avenue. He smiled at her.

Sarah did not return his smile, but
focused her eyes on the route, peeking in his direction from time to time. Her
father had drummed into her head not to talk to or even go near strangers,
especially men. He had advised her to run if she was scared or threatened…or
even if she wasn’t. “If the man just looks creepy, get away,” her dad had said.
This man fit her daddy’s warning, so she kept her eye on him until they reached
the safety of Molly’s building.

Half a block up the street, the
girls greeted their doorman, before heading for the elevator. Once they were
safely in the apartment, Sarah went to the window to look for the creepy man.
She trained her gaze on the street, but he was gone. As her sense of comfort returned,
she let out a breath and went back to Molly’s room.

“There you are. Come on. I got some
new paper dolls,” Molly tugged on Sarah’s sleeve, and she followed her friend.

Chapter Four

Nights when Grant worked late, dinner
at the Hollings home was a lonely affair with only Jane and Sarah. Sarah helped
Jane in the kitchen, willingly, because her aunt had more patience with spills
and mistakes than Evelyn.
Evie
was more likely to
shoo the little girl out of the room when serious cooking was underway.

The spacious apartment had space in
the kitchen for a small table that accommodated four. When Grant wasn’t home,
the women ate there instead of in the dining room. Jane suspended the rules and
allowed Sarah to come to the table in her fuzzy bathrobe and slippers. Being
the permissive aunt appealed to Jane. Evelyn had strict rules that Sarah had to
follow.

This evening, they dined on frozen
chicken nuggets and Jane’s special homemade mac and cheese. Fresh carrots and
raw green peppers rounded out the meal. Jane sipped a glass of red wine while
Sarah drank milk.

“What happened in school today?” Jane
popped a nugget into her mouth.

“Not much.” Sarah toyed with her
food.
It happened after school.

“Must have been something.” Jane eyed
the girl with a touch of suspicion.

“Nope. Did you know my real mom?”
Sarah looked at Jane.

“Sort of. Met her once, briefly,
when she dropped you off.”

“Evelyn said I’m not supposed to
talk about her.” Sarah kicked her feet.

“Oh? Why not?” Jane took a mouthful
of mac and cheese.

“She said it makes her feel bad.
Besides, my mom left me here.”

“That’s true, but she was sick.”

“Why didn’t she come back for me
when she got better?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I think
she had promised to let your daddy and Evelyn raise you.”

“Oh.” Sarah stared at her plate.
“Why is daddy married to Evelyn and not my mommy?”

“You’re full of questions tonight. That’s
difficult to say, kiddo.” Jane avoided her niece’s gaze.

“What does that mean?” Sarah
persisted.

“Means I don’t know. You have to ask
your dad, pumpkin.” Jane reached over and combed her fingers through the girl’s
long, blonde hair.

“I saw her picture today.” Sarah
took a forkful of mac and cheese.

“Whose picture?”

“My mom’s. My real mom.”

“What?” Jane’s fork landed on her
plate with a clatter.

“I saw her on the bus. She sure is
beautiful.”

“On the bus?”

Sarah nodded. “She looks just like
me, so she has to be my real mom, right?”

“Riding on the bus?” Jane’s eyebrows
rose.

“No, her picture was there. With
some man.”

“Holy Hell,” Jane muttered under her
breath.

“Bad word, Aunt Jane.” Sarah wagged
her finger.

“Sorry. How do you know it was your
mother you saw?”

“’Cause Molly and Josie said she
looked just like me. They were right. So she must be my mother. I mean why would
she look like me if she wasn’t, right?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“You say
lotsa
things I don’t understand, Aunt Jane.” Sarah munched on a carrot stick.

After that conversation, Jane was
vigilant—she kept her eyes open on the street, hoping to spy the advertisement.
Every time a bus chugged by, she stopped to examine it. When she walked to the
market, the post office, or the dry cleaners, she kept an eagle eye out for the
lumbering vehicles, looking for the poster with Cara on it. She didn’t know if
she wanted to find it or dreaded finding it.

What would happen if Cara and Grant
came face to face? Would they fight? The idea of a grand “he said/she said”
battle scared Jane. Would Cara take Sarah away? Grant couldn’t reconcile with
her because he was married to Evelyn. Jane shook her head.
What a mistake that was!

It became a game she had to win, had
to discover if Cara was really in New York. Day after day she found nothing but
disappointment. Then she saw it—the poster for
Blind Love.
And there was Cara Brewster’s picture, larger than
life.

Holy
Hell, it’s really her, Carol Anne, Cara. She’s here.
Grant will flip. She’s in New York. Doesn’t know Grant’s here. This has
gone on too long. Enough is enough.
Resolved to end the Mexican standoff
between her brother and his former lover, Jane bought a newspaper and flipped
through the pages, searching for the theater listings.

* * * *

On the stage at the Irving Berlin Theater
on West Fifty-Third Street, Cara sat in a folding chair and held a paper cup
filled with sweet, hot tea. Quinn Roberts came in carrying coffee, followed by handsome
newcomer, Jake Matthews. His light brown hair and eyes, coupled with his fit
body, contributed to his growing popularity in movies.

But he was out of his element on
Broadway and looked like a deer in the headlights. Cara chuckled to herself.
Two movies, only twenty-nine years old, and
he’s on Broadway. He looks terrified.
She eyed Quinn with approval.
Too bad he’s not single anymore.
He
approached her and put out his hand.

Cara spoke first, “It’s you, me, and
Jake…no Broadway vets here. Who’s going to hold whose hand?” A glint of
mischief glowed in her eyes.

“Hell, if I wasn’t a married man,
I’d be holding yours already.” Quinn grinned.

Cara laughed. The director called
for a read-through. He gave his vision of the production and everyone asked
questions. At six o’clock, the cast was dismissed. They scattered in different
directions. Cara discovered a phone message from Grace. Skip appeared in the
wings to pick up Cara before she could call back.

“I’ve got us checked into a nice suite
in the Empire Hotel. We can stay until we find an apartment.”

“Something close to the theater, I
hope.”

“Of course. I love the West side. So
many great restaurants over here.” He grinned.

She moved away from him. “Let me
have a minute, will you?”

He nodded. “Meet you outside.”

First she returned her sister’s
call.

“I love the screenplay, darling.
It’s amazing.” Cara drifted back to the stage.

“You really think so?” Cara grinned
at the eagerness for approval in Gracie’s voice.

“Of course. You know me, brutally
honest…especially with you,
Pookie
.”

“Don’t call me that anymore. I’m
twenty-seven…too old for those childish nicknames.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it. You’ll always
be at least a little bit
pookie
to me.”

“How’s the cast? The director? The
theater?”

“We’ve only had one meeting so far,
but everyone seems eager to work. The director isn’t new, but all the actors
are. I like his vision.”

“Whose, Quinn Roberts’? Bet that’s
not all of his you like,” Grace snickered.

“Down girl. He’s a married
man…newlywed, no less. No, the director. We agree on my character.”

“Guess you’ve got to find greener
pastures. What about the second lead?”

“Too young for me. Would be perfect
for you, though.”

“Good. Pack him up and bring him
home.”

Cara laughed. “Maybe you can fly out
here and meet him?”

“We’ll see. Skip sent me a bunch of
suggested revisions. So I’m going to be very busy. He said to send the
treatment to the producer Gunther Quill. What do you think?”

“I think Skip knows what he’s
talking about. Make his changes, and send it on.”

“He said he’d pave the way for me
with Quill.”

“If he said so, then I’m sure he
will. I’m considering a movie of his.” Cara looked at her watch. “Got to run.
Skip’s waiting for dinner.”

“Forgot about the time change. Don’t
keep him waiting. He’s a bear when he’s hungry. Good luck, Sis. Love you.”

“Love you, too
pookie
…uh…Gracie.”

Cara stood on the apron of the stage
by the orchestra pit and looked out at all the empty seats. A tingle shot up
her spine as she imagined a full house on opening night.
Broadway. The big time.
She gulped as butterflies invaded her
belly.
My first time on stage without
Grant in the audience.
She sighed.

Sinking down onto a folding chair,
she thought back to her first performance, when the leading lady had had an
accident, and Cara, the understudy, was chosen to go on in her place.

A
panicky phone call to Grant inspired him to drop everything and rush to the
theater. In her dressing room before the performance, she broke down, sobbing
and flinging herself into his embrace. He was there with words of encouragement.
“
You’ve done this a thousand times. We’ve
been over it so much I could read the part myself. You’ll be great because you
have greatness in you. Play to me. I’ll be as far up front as I can get. Look
for me.”

And
he was. Third row center there had been an empty seat. When her knees begin to
shake, she looked out, her gaze zeroing in on his smiling face. He gave her the
thumbs up and suddenly there wasn’t anyone in the audience but Grant. A
sensation of calm washed through her body as she went into automatic pilot,
playing the scene and reciting the lines exactly as she had rehearsed them so
many times. Her confidence grew with each scene, and she finished to a standing
ovation. But no one clapped harder or cheered louder than Grant Hollings.

The terror of those days came back
to her in a rush. She shuddered to remember how she couldn’t eat before a
performance and sometimes threw up. She chuckled to recall how frightened and
anxious she was every night for months.
But
Grant was there to hold my hand. He won’t be here this time. I may be thirty-three,
but on opening night, I’ll be just as nervous as I was at twenty-six.
Especially without him. Wish you were here, G.

After
that first victory, they went out to celebrate until two in the morning. When
they returned home, pumped up on success and champagne, they ripped each
other’s clothes off in a frenzy of passion and lust.

Grant’s
hands and body were warm and exciting. The muscles of his chest were strong and
solid. His arms lifted her as if she were a feather and carried her into their
bedroom. He ravished her with his mouth, while his fingers brought her to a feverish
state. She clung to him, kissing and nipping his skin, wrapping herself around
him until he took her hard and fast with a wild hunger, quenching her desire, as
well as his, with pure pleasure.

Simply the memory of that passionate
night made her shiver all over again.
No
one can make love like Grant could.
She sighed, and anger at him for his
silence evaporated, replaced by a slight ache for his touch, which still
surfaced at the thought of their time together between the sheets, even after so
many years.

I
have to make this work, the way he’d want me to.
Putting aside her fears,
she resolved to work as hard as she could to make the play a success.
Wherever you are, G, I know you’ll be
rooting for me.
For a moment, as she turned to leave, she sensed his
presence in the auditorium when a puff of warm air kissed the back of her neck.
But she was simply dreaming.

“Cara! Come on, girl. I’m starved.”
Skip called, gripping his stomach and frowning.

In an instant, her reverie vanished.
She blew a kiss to the audience and exited the theater with her dear friend.

* * * *

“Daddy, can Molly sleep over on
Friday night?” Sarah posed the question as she took a bite of her broccoli.

Grant looked across the dinner table
at his sister, who shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t see why not. Jane?” He raised
his eyebrows.

“It’s okay with me. Maybe we can
make a reciprocal sleepover.”

“What’s
recipro
…whatever
you said?”

“Reciprocal. It means that one night
she sleeps over here and the next time you sleep over there.”

Sarah clapped her hands. “I’d like
that. I like her big sister, Josie. I wish I had a big sister.”

Grant chuckled. “I’m afraid it’s too
late to have a big sister. But someday you might
become
a big sister.”

“Are we having a baby, Daddy?”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide.

“No, no, pumpkin. Never mind,” he
turned his attention back to the slice of steak he had been cutting.

“Fine. I’ll call her mom and arrange
it. And we can make plans to go out, brother dear.”

Grant smiled at her. “What did you
have in mind?”

“Nothing scandalous. But we’re in
the theater capital of our country, so I thought a Broadway show would be in
order.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He reached
into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. After fishing around a bit, he
withdrew a credit card. “Here, get the best seats in the house.”

“Don’t think I won’t, either.” Jane
rose to clear the plates.

“Can I go?” Sarah piped up.

“You’ll be at Molly’s house.
Besides, Broadway shows are late at night. When you get older, I’ll take you,”
Grant said.

“Daddy, why didn’t my mother come
back for me when she got well?”

Grant stopped eating then shot a
look at his sister, who conveniently disappeared into the kitchen. “Because she
had agreed to let Evelyn and me take care of you. She travels a lot for her
work.”

Sarah’s chin quivered. “Doesn’t she
love me, Daddy?”

Grant’s eyes watered.
Does she?
“Of course she does,
sweetheart.” Sarah got up from the table and crawled into her father’s lap. He
hugged her tightly. “She loves you very much. I’m sure.”

“Then why can’t I see her?” Sarah
curled into a ball in her father’s embrace.

“She’s out of the country a lot.
Isn’t Evelyn a good mother to you?”