Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life) (4 page)

Johanna glanced over at the heap in the corner. The new dress with its accompanying patterned stockings and high heels were all tangled into a ball and lying on the plush rug like a toy that had garnered disfavor.

Johanna tested the waters. “Jocelyn, I didn’t mean to sound cruel.” Easily, she sat down on the edge of the bed. She watched Jocelyn pull back a fraction of an inch in an act of defiance.

“Then why did you?”

Johanna folded her hands in her lap. She had always been honest with Jocelyn. She cared too much to be anything else. “Because being a parent sometimes means you have to be.”

Jocelyn sat up, tucking her legs under her. “Daddy never is.”

“No,” Johanna echoed, “Daddy never is. But Daddy doesn’t always know what’s best for you, honey.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s so busy with other things and he doesn’t want you to be mad at him, so he says yes a lot.”

Jocelyn tilted her head, her hair spilling over her shoulder. “And you want me to be mad at you?”

“No, baby, I don’t.” Johanna moved to put her arm around Jocelyn. Jocelyn stiffened. The argument wasn’t over yet and Johanna knew that Jocelyn wasn’t through trying to win.

“Let me hold you, Jocey. I need to hold you.”

Tentatively, the girl moved forward, wanting the contact as well, even though she feared the battle lost.

Johanna laid her cheek against the top of her daughter’s head as she put her arm around her.

“Sometimes, you’ve got to accept ‘no,’ got to accept waiting for things. If you have everything right away, then there’s nothing to reach out for, nothing to look forward to.” She stroked her daughter’s head. “It’ll all happen for you someday, Jocelyn, I promise. But don’t rush it. Make memories, honey, make lots and lots of memories at each stage of your life.” She raised her head and looked into the eyes that mirrored Harry’s so well. “It helps during the bad times.”

“Well, okay.” Jocelyn’s voice was low and grudging, but the stiffness in her young body had disappeared as she leaned into her mother.

“And you can keep the dress.”

Jocelyn sat up. “I can?” The eyes grew bright again.

“You can.” Johanna grinned. “You’ll grow into it.”

“But it fits me now.”

Johanna laughed fondly and ran her hand along Jocelyn’s cheek. “You’ll grow into it, trust me.” She rose and crossed to the window. Far below, people were milling about, living lives, being happy. She envied them. Turning, she leaned her hands behind her on the window sill. “I feel like an ice cream soda.”

“Strawberry?” Jocelyn asked hopefully.

It was their favorite. “What else is there?”

Johanna put out her hand to her daughter. Jocelyn bounced off the bed, the argument and the dress temporarily forgotten. For the moment she was twelve once more, and the lines of communication had opened. Johanna knew they would shut down again, and again, but as long as there was a wedge, she’d make use of it.

For now, she would enjoy the afternoon and several hundred forbidden calories with the only person who meant anything to her.

Chapter Four

Harry didn’t come back to the hotel that evening.

Johanna waited up for him until past midnight, wanting to talk, wanting to bridge the widening chasm that was separating them, making them strangers. She was more than eager to do whatever it took to get them back together. Fair means or foul, she didn’t care. She was determined to use anything at her disposal. All she cared about was that they become a family again. She was willing to overlook how badly he had treated her, how awful he had made her life, if only he’d make an effort to gain some self-control, to become the man he once was.

She wanted the pain that haunted her to be a thing of the past.

As the minutes slipped into hours, Johanna began to pace restlessly about the suite. She hated waiting. She had rehearsed what she was going to say to Harry over and over again. But now, her initial confidence was fading with the passing time. She’d tried to discuss their problems with him before and had gotten nowhere. What made her think she’d succeed this time?

It was late and she had given up hope. Jocelyn had fallen asleep on the couch and had to be roused in order to be put to bed. Megan retired shortly after that, at eleven. The young woman hadn’t bothered trying to hide her hurt over Harry’s absence.

Poor little fool, she probably thinks Harry’s world rises and sets around her,
Johanna thought. Harry would have told her that, told her endless lies that she would cling to. Johanna felt oddly sympathetic for the woman who had betrayed her trust. She was young and naive and not the first who had gotten herself entangled, however briefly, with the larger than life Harold T. Whitney.
And not the last
, Johanna thought ruefully.

Yet she could forgive him that, forgive him a great deal more if only he would make amends, come back, just be the Harry she knew and loved.

Moving slowly, she crossed to the window and drew the drapes, shutting out the dark night with its oppressive shadows. But Harry didn’t think there was anything wrong with the way he was, Johanna thought sadly. It was everyone else who was changing, who was different.

How in God’s name did she begin to untangle that and make it right?

The colorful silk kimono opened and closed about her long, slender legs as she roamed the suite, unable to find a place for herself. Harold had rented half the floor when he and his entourage descended upon London and on the famed suburban Pinewood Studios where he would direct his newest movie. Somehow it seemed appropriately titled New Faces, Old Lies. That was the story of their lives lately. It was hard to keep track of the truth these days.

When she had stood packing in her blue and gray bedroom in Beverly Hills, she’d told herself this trip was going to be different. She was getting good at lying to herself, she thought sadly. Pinewood was best known for its James Bond pictures; and Harold, what was he best known for these days? His debauchery? His penchant for blaming others? His past history of blockbuster movies that refused to repeat itself?

“Stop it.”

Johanna massaged her temples. She had another headache. She was driving herself crazy analyzing and reanalyzing her situation. There was nothing to go over. It was all very simple, she told herself. She wanted to talk to Harry, to offer a truce, to do whatever needed doing to hold the family together and make it work again. That was why she had trailed along to London when she would have been happier staying in the States. Foolishly, she had hoped, prayed that something akin to an epiphany would happen to Harold. Something that would bring him back to his senses, make him see that he was destroying the best part of his life. Not his film career but his wife and his daughter. Lives were so much more precious than things, than careers. She wished he could understand that. She’d leave the mansions, the jewels and the furs without so much as a backward glance. At one time she had reveled in them, but then they became a symbol of how far she had come-how far away from Harry she was.

Harry was now notorious for his womanizing. Some of them lasted longer than others, but most of the women were just bodies to be sought in the night. His mistress more than any other was Success and the whimsical muse had turned her back on Harry, hurling him into the black depths of despair and wedding him to drugs in his search for a catalyst to bring back the glory of his past.

But she still loved him, or the Harry she felt existed trapped beneath the stranger he had become.

Where was he?

She bit her lip as she looked at the clock. It was past one. Her hand hovered over the phone before she made up her mind. Finally, in frustration, she called Paul. Her guilt at waking him didn’t wipe out her need to know where Harry was this time.

You’re becoming a masochist
.

She heard the phone being scraped off the receiver on the other end and dropped before she heard a groggy voice mumble, “Hello?”

“Paul, it’s Johanna.” She swallowed. This was humiliating, even with a friend as good as Paul. “Do you know where Harry is?”

Paul picked up the clock on his night stand and struggled to focus in on the
 
dark red numbers. He had dropped into bed an hour ago, exhausted. Sleep had taken hold of him in a vise-like grip immediately and had blotted out everything else. It took a minute to pull himself into the present.

“He was at the studio when I left.”

“Working?”

There was a pause. “Yeah.”

Even though she expected it, her heart sank anyway. “Paul, you never could lie well.”

He laughed awkwardly as he cursed Harold silently. If he had married Johanna first, life would have been a great deal different for her. “You’d think I’d have learned after all these years.”

“What’s her name?”

Paul sat up in bed, awake now. He ran a hand over his disheveled hair. “I honestly don’t know.”

She sat down on the sofa, feeling oddly numb.

“I didn’t mean to bother you.” Her voice trailed off.

He heard the pain in her voice and fervently wished there was something he could do. “Johanna, why do you stay?”

She shrugged helplessly, even though he wasn’t there to see. “Because I love him.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

He couldn’t understand. Harry treated her abominably. He would have left a long time ago if he had been in her place. “Why?”

“Why’s the sky blue?”

“This isn’t philosophy, Johanna. This is your life.” He shifted, pulling the sheet around his waist. “You deserve better.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I do. And he used to be better. A lot better.”

“I remember.”

“Maybe what I’m waiting for, staying for, is because,” her voice became thick as she fought back tears, “I keep hoping he’ll be like that again. That this is just some sort of madness he’s going through. It’s as if he had a personality transplant.”

“Cocaine does that to you.”

“Don’t patronize me, Paul. I know drugs do that, but he doesn’t have to do drugs.” She ran a hand over her mouth and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m not myself lately.”

“You have cause.”

She smiled. Good old Paul, always in her corner. “Maybe when this picture is over—“

He couldn’t let her nurture an illusion. It was best if she just faced the truth. “It’s not going to be over.”

“What?”

“Johanna, the movie’s a mess. He can’t seem to get it together anymore.”

“Then help him,” she begged. “You’ve always managed to help him before.”

It was too late for that. “I can’t play Svengali to his Trilby any longer, Johanna. I’m worn out. Burnt out. He fired me today.”

“He’s always firing you, Paul. It doesn’t mean anything, you know that.”

“Maybe.” He paused, wondering how he could phrase this. Now that he had done it, he was free. But letting Johanna know was the hardest part. He knew it would be. Paul had planned to stop by her suite in the morning to
 
tell her. Now that she had called, there was no putting it off. “Johanna, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“What?” Her hand tightened on the phone. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving for the U.S. For my own sanity. It’s all settled. I’m booked on flight number 59. Come with me,” he coaxed suddenly, seriously.

“Why Paul,” amusement came from somewhere, but she had no idea where, “is this an indecent proposal?”

“I only wish.” He laughed as he reached for the pack of cigarettes by his bed. “But I’m a monogamous kind of guy.” He shook out a cigarette. It fell on his bedspread as he leaned over for a match. He lit it and inhaled deeply. The smoke felt hot going into his lungs. It didn’t help.

“And kind.”

“That too, on occasion.”

“On every occasion with me. I’ll miss you.” Without Paul, there was no one to turn to, besides Arlene and Arlene was little more than an acquaintance. Suddenly, the room felt colder, lonelier than it had a moment before. Johanna felt like the last person left alive on a raft adrift in the ocean.

“Yeah, me too.” The whole business left a bad taste in his mouth. “Sure you don’t want to come home?”

More than anything. “Harry’s my home, Paul. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know. Too bad he doesn’t know it. You’re one hell of a girl, Johanna.”

“Promise you’ll tell me that when I call you in the middle of the night again.”

“Promise.”

She didn’t want to go. It was as if she was breaking the last link she had to the real world. “Need a ride to the airport tomorrow?” She looked at the clock on the stand. It said one-thirty. “Today,” she corrected herself.

“Greg’s taking me. But thanks.”

He thought about staying, but he wasn’t accomplishing any good and Denise had called, telling him she missed him. It was time to go, to move on. He had stayed at the funeral too long, he thought.

“Take care of yourself, Johanna.”

“Always. ‘Bye.”

She rose and ran her hands up and down the sleeves of her kimono. The chill she felt refused to leave her. She had leaned on Paul and now he was going. Maybe it was an omen. Maybe she should leave too.

But she couldn’t leave. Without Paul, Harry’d be lost. He had come to depend on the man heavily, even though he never admitted it. She forgot about Harry’s infidelity, forgave him without even thinking about it and made up her mind to come to the studio tomorrow.

If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, then Mohammed had damn well better come to the mountain. She had gone through too much to stand on ceremony. And pride was for people who had something to lose. She no longer had. Besides, it was their anniversary. The smile that twisted her lips was a sad one.

Just six miles north of Heathrow airport, Pinewood Studio sat like a fairy princess dropped in the middle of a forest. It was known as the largest studio in Europe and Johanna could well agree as she drove through the grounds, trying to find her way to the big white sound stage where once the epic movie Cleopatra had been filmed. Her nerve-wracking drive from the hotel had left her in a poor mood to confront Harry. But she hadn’t come this far just to turn around and go home.