Night Vision (8 page)

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Authors: Ellen Hart

BOOK: Night Vision
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“Hey, thanks,” he said, lowering himself onto the wicker chair across from her. “This is great.” He held the cold can to his forehead for a moment, then poured the liquid over the ice. “Oh, crap.”
“What?” Joanna was studying him over the rim of her beer glass.
“I forgot to bring the drawings and the notes I made.”
“You made drawings?”
“When I broke for lunch, I got out my pad and pencil and walked around the property. This is a terrific setting, up on the hill like this.”
For the next few minutes he went through the property, from the front to the back. He detailed the kinds of native California plants he wanted to use. He asked her a few questions, then said he thought she should plant for color and fragrance. He thought that the hill should be terraced, and that one section should be turned into a wildflower garden. “It would be a retreat for you, a place to center yourself and reflect.”
“And … what would I reflect on?” she asked.
“How to stay sane in the midst of chaos.”
“You think this is chaos?”
“Hollywood is—the lifestyle you're forced to live out here.”
“Maybe I like chaos.”
“Sure, I wouldn't doubt it. Chaos is freedom. Total freedom, in fact, but no meaning.”
She set her beer down and leaned forward. “Who the hell
are
you?”
“Your gardener.”
“You talk to me about flowers and meaning all at the same time. Hey, are you some kind of Jesus freak? Or a fundamentalist who's about to tell me I'm headed for hellfire?”
“No,” he said, laughing. “I'm not even sure you could call me a Christian. See, I don't want to just believe in something because some minister says it's true from a pulpit, I want it to really
be
true.”
“And what do you believe in?”
He sipped his drink, thought a few seconds, then said, “Redemption. Love. Second chances.”
“You think you need a second chance?”
“No, I think you do.”
Nobody had ever talked to her like that before. She had the odd sense that he could see inside her, down deep where she really lived. It was a place she rarely visited these days.
“So what do you think?” he asked.
Everything he said seemed to catch her off guard. “About what?”
“My landscape ideas.”
“Oh,” she said, picking the beer up again. When she'd invited him to come up to the house after he was done working, she'd imagined that the conversation would eventually lead to the bedroom. Apparently, she'd been wrong. He wasn't putting any moves on her at all, and again, that confused her. He didn't act like a normal guy. And then it struck her. Sure, he had to be gay.
She nodded, setting down her glass and pushing it away.
“You look amused. Did I say something funny?”
“No, I just figured you out.”
“You did?” He grinned at her like the Cheshire cat. This particular look did have more than a hint of arrogance in it. “Okay, let's hear it.”
She toyed with the beads on her camisole. “You're gay.”
The smile evaporated. “I'm
what
? What the hell gave you that idea?”
“You're not gay?” she said weakly.
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her hard with those eerie light blue eyes. After a minute, he said, “Ah, I get it. You're worried because I haven't made a pass at you.”
“I'm not
worried,
” she countered. She wished she hadn't sounded quite so defensive.
“Does every man you meet have to be attracted to you?”
“No, of course not.”
“But most are. They're not only attracted to your beauty but to your fame.”
“Well, yeah, something like that.”
“You've talked to me for a while, maybe got to know me a little. You think I'm just like every other guy?”
She blinked. “No, actually, I don't.”
“You know, Joanna, I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I know on the outside your life looks pretty incredible—American dream–type great. A lot of women probably wish they were you and a lot of men no doubt wish they could make love to you. I'm just guessing here, but I'll bet it doesn't look quite so rosy from the inside. Any woman who thinks I'm going to sleep with her before I even know who the hell she is has a very low opinion of herself—and of me. You might want to take a hard look at your values, Joanna, unless you checked them next to some casting couch. I'm sure you had lots of dreams growing up. Is this the life you really wanted?”
“How dare you talk to me like that. You don't even know me!”
He finished his Coke and stood. “If I'm not fired, I'll be back on Thursday. I can show you my drawings then, if you still want to see them.” With that, he nodded and headed back down the terrace steps.
Dazed, Joanna sat and stared after him. She had no idea what had just happened.
 
Two nights later, Joanna stood on the deck overlooking her back garden and stared up at the immense vault of blue Pacific sky. She loved standing exactly in this spot, her hands curled around the wrought-iron railing, the soft evening breeze ruffling her hair. But she felt lonely tonight. David and
Diego had driven up to Santa Barbara earlier in the day to visit friends. They wouldn't be back for several days.
The irony of her situation wasn't lost on her. Millions of people around the world would kill to spend an evening with the famous, the talented, the gorgeous—drumroll—
Joanna Kasimir,
and yet here she was, alone and miserable. She was a Goliath who could be felled with a single stone.
Around ten, after soaking in the tub for an hour, she drifted back out to the balcony. She didn't feel like watching any more TV. She wasn't interested in the book she'd started. She'd called a couple of ex-boyfriends, but neither of them was home. That's when she got the idea to take a swim.
As she glanced down to see if she needed to turn on the spa lights around the pool, she was surprised to see someone doing laps.
“What the—” She squinted into the darkness. “Good Lord,” she said under her breath. “It's
him.
”
Feeling furious beyond belief, she raced back through the house and down the stairs. As far as she was concerned, she never wanted to see Gordon again. She'd thought about calling her local garden center to ask—no,
demand
—that they remove him and send someone new to care for her property, but she'd never gotten around to it.
Crossing the patio, Joanna's fury ramped up several more notches. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Using her pool like he owned the place! Maybe he was a psychopath and she should be afraid of him. But he seemed so normal that she discarded that idea almost as quickly as it entered her mind.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she yelled from the flagstone path. She flipped on the light switch. Soft lights illuminated the pool area. “Oh, God,” she groaned. He was naked again. And he was smiling at her, treading water near the diving board. “Get the hell out of there
now
or I'll call the police.”
He swam over to the edge, propped his arms on the ledge. “I'm sorry if I scared you.”
“You don't scare me, you infuriate me.”
He waited until she'd stormed through the gate before he said, “I know this may seem a little forward.”
“Forward doesn't begin to cover it, pal.”
“But I thought if I came up to the house, rang the front bell, that you wouldn't talk to me.”
“You got that right.”
He ran a hand over his wet hair. “I brought the drawings I made. Actually, I've done a bunch more since we talked.”
“And I should care
why
?”
“Don't be like that, Joanna. I've never been anything but straight with you. If you don't like me, that's fine. I can live with it. But at least give the drawings a look. My work is very important to me. I'd like to make this place something you can be proud of—a home where you can relax and rejuvenate. If you don't like my ideas, I'll leave. You'll never see me again, I promise.”
Light glinted off the muscles in his arms. She was appalled that she found him attractive, but apparently her hormones were on autopilot. She stared at him for a long moment, then said, “I'm bored.” It was the truth.
“You're
what
?” He broke into a grin, then disappeared beneath the water. A moment later, he roared up, laughing.
“What's so funny about being bored?”
“Nothing, Jo. Nothing at all.”
Nobody called her Jo except family and friends. He was neither. But for some reason, she didn't mind. “Oh, all right. Get dressed and bring you drawings up to the house.”
“You got any of that Coke left?”
“Let's look at the drawings first.”
“You're a hard taskmaster.”
“And you're full of shit.”
The smile faded. “I'm not, Jo. I'm the real thing.”
She had no idea what he meant by that, and had no desire to find out. Turning away quickly because he was already halfway out of the water, she walked back up to the house. The entire way she repeated to herself, “Understanding Gordon Luberman is
not
necessary. Keep it simple.” She'd take a look at his stuff. If it was any good, she might agree to it. If not, he'd be long gone before
Saturday Night Live
came on.
They sat together on the couch in the living room for the next twenty minutes with his drawings spread out on the coffee table. He had on a clean white Oxford shirt and jeans. His feet were bare. He smelled like the outdoors, clean and fresh, though mixed with a light scent of chlorine. When he talked about flowers and shrubs, about the trees he wanted to plant, and especially when he
described the wildflower garden he wanted to create for her, his eyes glowed and his brow furrowed in concentration. He seemed completely unaware of how handsome he was, how graceful his movements were. She'd never met anyone quite like him before.
“So what do you think?” he asked, standing and gathering the drawings together.
“I like it.”
“Which idea specifically?”
“All of them.”
He rolled up the drawings, then slipped a rubber band around them. “You're serious?”
“Why wouldn't I be?”
Sitting down next to her, he turned to face her, looking deep into her eyes.
She felt uncomfortable by the searching nature of his gaze, but not so uncomfortable that she looked away.
“You're amazing, Joanna. You're like a jewel in a junkyard.”
“Gee, what a flattering image.”
“It hurts me to see you so unhappy.”
“What the hell gave you that impression?”
“Come with me.” He took her hand and pulled her out to the patio. Standing behind her, he said, “Look up at the sky. What do you see?”
She decided to play along. “Darkness. A few stars.”
“Right. There are only a few we can see when we're in the city—the really bright ones.”
“And you're about to compare me to a bright star. Not very original.”
“No. I'm telling you that
that's
what you need. Something really bright to navigate your life by. Sailors used the stars for centuries to travel the open seas. On a clear night, they could be anywhere in the world and know where they were simply by looking up.”

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