Now & Forever 3 - Blind love (6 page)

“What did you do in New York?”

“I was in charge of security at The Hideaway, a high class
nightclub.”

“What business are you in here?”

“It’s a business I thought I might be able to interest you
in.”

“Look, if you’re a pimp, you’re barking up the wrong tree.
I’m not a prostitute and I’m not a whore,” she said, yanking her hand away from
him and tucking her handbag over her shoulder, preparing to leave.

Rex held up his palm to her. “Nothing like that.”

She sat back in her seat and put her purse down.

“I’m in the secrets business. Everybody has secrets. With
your work, you meet plenty of people with secrets. I’ll bet most of the guys
who buy you drinks tell you all kinds of things…things you can use to make
money.”

“Most of the guys who buy me drinks are trying to get into my
pants, usually by telling me how their wife doesn’t understand their needs.”
She sniffed.

“Even that can be used to make money. So they proposition
you?”

“Yeah and I’m not about to sleep with them for money.” She
shouldered her bag.

“I’ll bet they would pay to keep it secret that they
propositioned you.”

“Blackmail?” She stopped and sat back.

“Insurance. Insurance you won’t tell their wives.” Rex’s face
cracked a small smile.

“I’m not going to jam up some poor sucker who’s only trying
to get laid.”

“You wouldn’t. All you do is tell me. I make contact.”

“Yeah?”

“You get the secrets and give them to me with a name, and I do
the rest. You collect a commission and walk away. Very easy money.” His smile
broadened.

“There is no such thing as easy money. But this…I don’t have
to do anything? Just give you the information?” She placed her elbows on the
table and leaned forward.

“Not every customer is going to have a secret worth money,
but only a few good ones about people who can pay and we’re in business.”

Deena grinned her approval.

“I could sure use some extra money,” she admitted. “I could
get some new clothes. How much would I get?”

“How about forty percent to you and sixty percent to me
because I’m taking all the risk,” he said.

“Sounds fair to me.” She nodded her agreement.

“If you could get me a job there in security…” Rex prodded.

“You wanna be the bouncer?”

“I’ve got experience.”

“Right. Benny’s been the bouncer ever since I started dancing
there. But he’s a drunk and often doesn’t show up.”

“I’m reliable. Even as a bouncer I can pick up some tidbits.
Why don’t you recommend me to the owner?”

“And what would be in it for me to do that?” Again she
narrowed her eyes at him.

“How about a finder’s fee?”

“What’s that?”

“How about I pay you…right now…for your help getting me the
bouncer’s job.”

“How much?” Deena asked.

Rex reached into his pocket and peeled off some bills.

“Does two hundred dollars make you happy?”

“Hell, yeah.” Deena’s eyes lit up. She took the money and put
it in her purse.

“I’ll talk to Ray tomorrow. He’s the manager.”

“Good,” Rex said, picking up her hand. He kissed the back of
her hand and moved his chair nearer to her.

“How about we seal this with a kiss?” he suggested.

She looked at him before moving closer. Rex reached out for
her and took her face in his hands, like he’d seen handsome actors do in the
movies. He kissed her, lightly at first, then parted her lips and took
possession of her mouth. Deena didn’t resist him, but she didn’t help him
either.

“Now you can take me back to The Tee Shirt, I gotta get my
car,” she said, drawing back from him.

Rex liked kissing her. He smiled.

“Time for you to go home and collapse in bed…alone,” he said,
picking up the check. He dropped some bills on the table and put his hand on
the small of Deena’s back as he followed her out.

“I don’t always collapse alone. It depends…”

“On what?”

“Maybe on what kind of kisser a guy is.”

“Do I qualify?”

“You might,” she said, getting into his car. Rex closed her
door and went around to his side. It looked like he would be scoring on all
fronts soon. He smiled. Life in Willow Falls was going to be pleasurable and
profitable.

Chapter Four

After breakfast, Peter set the GPS system with Bianca’s
address, put the car in gear and began the end of a journey started eight years
ago. Bianca lived about sixty miles away. After a short phone conversation,
she’d invited him for lunch. Peter’s stomach was in a knot but he had to have
closure…had to know why she left him. He thought she returned his love, was it
a lie? He made good time on the highway and pulled up to a gated community.
After being cleared, he drove to her home, a modern house, beautiful, but cold
and uninviting. He walked up and rang the bell.

Bianca answered the door in a white bikini with a short white
terry robe open in front, setting off her black hair perfectly. She looked
older but still incredibly beautiful. Her body had filled out a bit since her
modeling days, which was an improvement in Peter’s eyes. Her hair was short and
stylish, her nails polished, figure perfect and her lips barely tinted. She
flashed him a warm smile.

“Peter! Come in…you look fantastic!” She stepped aside to let
him in.

Bianca looked him up and down unconsciously running her
tongue over her lower lip.

“No more the skinny intellectual kid.”

They walked through the massive living room decorated in
black and white with lots of chrome, out to the patio where a small table was
set elegantly with two places. Peter could see the shimmering turquoise of a
swimming pool beyond the patio.

“I hope you brought your bathing suit.”

“I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter. You don’t need a suit. Nothing I haven’t
seen before.”

“I’m not in the habit of skinny dipping with married women.”

“Just kidding. Iced tea?” A becoming blush tinted her cheeks
belying her words. She turned away from him after handing him a glass.

He welcomed the tall frosty glass and drank deeply to wet his
dry throat. Bianca coming on to him confused and embarrassed him. Did she
expect them to take up where they left off?

“So what have you been doing with yourself, Peter?”

“I’m on tenure track at Vaal University in South Africa. I’m
in the U.S. to teach at Kensington State for a year.”

“I’m glad you’ve made a success of teaching. No wedding ring,
are you married?”

He shook his head.

“What a shame. Some deserving young woman is missing out.”

“Bianca, can we talk about what happened?” Peter leaned
forward and the glass down on a small side table.

“It was so long ago, Peter…sure, why not,” she said, crossing
her long legs and smiling at him.

“Why did you leave?”

“I moved on. We had a very satisfying affair. What did you
think?”

“I thought we were in love.”

“Love? No. Lust, yes.”

“It was love for me,” he said, lowering his gaze to the
elegant ceramic tile on the patio floor.

“Did I break your heart? Oh my God. Is that why you’re here?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over them.

“I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I never would’ve considered
marrying a college professor. My husband, Henry, owns and runs a financial
services firm. He makes millions. I’ve always wanted this lifestyle.” She sat
back in her chair.

“You never said so.”

“I wasn’t totally honest with you. You were so sweet to me
and such a passionate lover. It was fun.”

“Fun? That’s all it was to you?”

“I wouldn’t have married you even if I didn’t have the
European fashion show.”

“So the show was an excuse?”

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I’ve always wanted
more…security.” She shrugged.

“What you have here?” He glanced at the big house and the
pool.

She nodded.

“Do you have love too?”

Bianca shifted in her seat. “There are all kinds of love,
Peter, not only the idealistic type of puppy love you have in your early
twenties. I love Henry and the way he takes care of me. We have a child, a
two-year-old boy. Henry provides very handsomely for him. I grew up poor. I
vowed I’d never force a child of mine to endure the same hardships.”

Bianca always gave off the air of being wealthy. She was
stylish, beautiful, poised and confident
.
So it was all an act to attract a wealthy husband
.

“Are you happy?”

“I have everything I want,” Bianca said, moving her gaze away
from him. “What about you, Peter? What are you looking for?”

“Love. Real love,” he said, staring straight into her eyes.

“I hope you find it. You’re so sweet…” She brushed his hair
out of his eyes.

“I’m no longer the ‘sweet’ boy who fell in love with you.” He
grabbed her hand.

“What are you?” She dropped her hand.

“A man tired of pursuing…I think I should go.” He stood up
and tugged on his shirt collar.

“Stay! We haven’t even begun to catch up.”

“I’m not interested in swapping stories about vacations,
great restaurants, friends we’ve made and dropped along the way. I came to find
something out and I got it. It’s time to go,” he said, moving toward the door.

“What did you come here to find out?” Bianca stood up.

“I came to find out the real reason you wouldn’t marry me.”

“Now you know. And?”

“I can see you weren’t the woman I thought you were. Perhaps
it was better you dumped me before we made each other miserable. You did me a
favor.”

She stepped back as if she had been slapped across the face.

“That was uncalled for,” she breathed.

“Sorry if it was harsh, but you asked.” Peter moved to the
front door.

“But we had fun. Perhaps we could have fun again…” She
followed him.

“You’re joking, right? What about Henry? I don’t want to have
sex with a married woman and pretend it’s love. You have what you want. I have to
get what I want. Thank you for lunch,” Peter said, pulling the door open. “Time
for me to move on.”

“I’m sorry to end things like this,” she said, as a hungry
look swept across her face.

“It’s okay. I’m free now.”

“You sure do look great. I’m sure you’ll attract your Miss
Right before long,” Bianca said, desire and regret in her eyes.

She took Peter by the lapel of his jacket and kissed him
slowly. He kissed her back. Then they broke.

“We still have the magic, Peter,” Bianca said, her eyes
closed.

“Go have your magic with Henry.”

* * * *

Peter drove home from Bianca’s house in a daze. All this time
she was his gold standard, his ideal, the one he compared all women
against…others who always came up wanting. But today, Bianca’s image crumbled
like stale bread.

He had never known her. He loved an image, an illusion. Peter
was devastated. He got home about five thirty to find his father in the living
room.

“Where were you?” Sam asked.

“To see Bianca.”

“And?”

“Nothing. Never was, never will be.”

He pulled out the sheet music for
Liebesträume No. 3
by Franz Liszt, sat down at the piano, and
played it for the first time in eight years.

Peter, totally immersed in the music, noticed, out of the
corner of his eye, a young woman, standing nearby. A quick glance told him
there were tears streaming down her face.

“Keith,” she sighed.

When Peter finished he took a deep breath, closed the lid on
the piano and put his head in his hands, blinking back tears. The young woman
reached out, feeling for a chair. She knocked into a lamp, almost sending it
tumbling over, lost her balance and fell to the floor. The sound drew Peter’s
attention. He rushed to her side.

“Are you hurt?” He helped the sobbing girl up. Sam reached
out to stop Peter from touching her, but Lara didn’t shrink from Peter. She
shook her head. Peter took her in his arms and held her. She buried her face in
his chest, trying to catch her breath.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“Keith. Our song,” she choked out.

Peter helped her into a chair.

Lara was wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Peter stared baldly at
her face, neck and thighs. The bruises were obviously old, turning different
colors before they disappeared, but they were still evident. He stared, unable
to look away.

“Thank you. Who is the other man here?” she asked, her light
brown eyes vacant.

With the realization she was blind and the sound of her voice,
came the understanding she was the bitch from next door. Peter froze.

“This is my son, Peter. Peter, Lara Stewart. She lives next
door.”

“He’s staring at me, isn’t he?” she asked, turning to where
she last heard Sam’s voice.

“Guilty as charged. Sorry. What was that all about?”

“The
Liebesträume No. 3
?
Keith, my partner in the Metropolitan Ballet…that was our song. We danced a
duet to it for five years. He was my best friend. Last year, he died of AIDS,”
she said, “I haven’t heard that lovely piece since.”

“I haven’t played it in…a long time.”

“You played it beautifully,” she said, standing up. “I’m so
sorry I burst into your house…very rude of me. I must go, Fran will be in a
snit if I’m late for dinner. Sam, could you please direct me to our front
porch?”

“Of course,” Sam said, pushing to his feet.

“Wait. I’m sorry, Peter, for being so nasty about your
playing. Please keep playing. I promise I won’t scream at you anymore. I miss
having classical music in my life. Especially the
Liebesträume
,” she said, smiling.