The Long Road Home (6 page)

“Why?”

Clarisse shrugged, masking her resentment behind a wall of indifference. “I thought you liked that type of scene. The parties, the beautiful women.”

She didn’t like to remember those occasions when she had been jealous of John’s popularity with other models. Nearly every woman he worked with adored him. And why wouldn’t they? After all, he was an attractive heterosexual male, and his appreciation for the opposite sex showed in his work.

John’s jaw grew rigid. “Where did you get a stupid idea like that? I loathed that
scene
. I’ve never been into snorting and shooting up. The whole atmosphere was unhealthy and artificial. That’s why I left.”

“And that’s why you’re dating someone who looks like a model.”

“I hate it when you turn your nose up like that. And as for going out with her—it’s none of your business. What do you care? You gave up that right when you walked out on me.” His lips twisted into a nasty curl. “All right. Fine. If you really want to know...she’s great in bed. She’s got beautiful long legs, and she knows what to do with them. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

She clutched the magazine, almost shredding the pages from their binding. “You’re disgusting.”

“Is that why you broke up with me? Because I’m disgusting?” He left his chair and loomed over her.

Clarisse drew further into her chair, her neck bending over the plastic backrest. A nervous laugh escaped past her lips. “Of course not!”

“Then why?” What looked like pain flashed in his eyes.

“I… Because—” Clarisse scrambled for a valid reason. “I needed to get away. The pressure from everyone and everything was becoming too much. I couldn’t handle it—”

“Are you saying you had a nervous breakdown?” John’s voice softened, seemed even hesitant.

Clarisse shifted in her chair. “I don’t know if that’s the right word.”

A mechanic dressed in greasy coveralls appeared around the corner of the waiting room. “Your Explorer’s ready.”

Clarisse wanted to correct John and tell him she didn’t have a nervous breakdown, but the thought of seeing the hate in his eyes stilled her tongue.

He stepped back. She eased her neck into a normal position and felt the tension seep from her shoulders.

While he paid the bill, she changed from her stained shirt into a cream blouse, and they drove back to the mall. They entered the foyer of the restaurant where they were to meet Vivian. After surveying the lounge, Clarisse peered past the lushly potted plants into the dining area. The soft chime of silverware on china and murmur of voices floated toward her. She quickly scanned over the plush, forest green carpet and white linen tables. There was no sign of the redhead.

John’s lips thinned in irritation. “How about we go ahead with dinner? There’s no telling how long she’ll be.”

Clarisse glanced at her watch. It was already past seven. Her stomach growled a protest. “I’m not about to argue.”

They were led to a table near the corner of the room. Between them, a candle glowed and flickered, casting John’s features in sinister shadow. He looked dark, dangerous and far too handsome, Clarisse concluded in dismay, snapping her menu open and concentrating on the items available. She decided on the chicken potpie, corn bread and salad, while he ordered the same.

After the waiter brought them their meal, John bit into his pie and closed his eyes in apparent appreciation. “Damn I was hungry.” Opening his eyes, he grinned. The action softened his features and made him appear more approachable. “I’m already starting to feel better.”

Clarisse tasted a forkful of pastry and stew and nearly moaned aloud. It was like heaven. “I guess we were both hungry.”

“I see you’re no longer eating like a bird.”

Relaxing against her chair, she met his teasing smile with one of her own. “I don’t have to worry about those extra ten pounds the camera puts on anymore.”

“So, now that you don’t have to worry about your weight, what have you been doing?”

“I’ve been looking into starting my own business. Actually, it’s not really a business. More of a hobby.”

“And?”

“I just bought a house. I’ve checked the zoning and the city to see about starting a no-kill shelter for animals. It’s something I’ve been mulling over for a number of years.”

“I’m surprised.”

Clarisse stiffened. “Why? Not what some ex-model would do?”

“It’s just that I never knew you had a soft spot for animals.” He shrugged and took a drink of iced water.

“We really never had an opportunity to get to know each other very well, did we?”

John’s lips thinned, and anger hardened his eyes to impenetrable granite. Carefully, he placed his glass back on the table. “You never gave us an
opportunity
.”

“Don’t!”

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the corners of his lids with shaky fingers. When his hand dropped to the table, he regarded her with dark gray, expressionless eyes.

Clarisse straightened. She couldn’t begin to guess what thoughts raced through his mind.

“You’re right,” John murmured, just as Clarisse wondered whether or not he was going to answer. “There’s no point digging up something that’s dead.”

“Hi, guys!” Vivian whirled into the empty seat at their table, vibrant red hair and expensive perfume floating around her. The packages she carried thumped onto the carpet by her chair. “Can you believe I actually found something in this town? I had my doubts. But after scouring racks and racks I found just the thing to send John’s blood pressure sky high.” Vivian smiled intimately at him and ran a finger along his forearm. “I’ll try it on for you tonight with a couple other little items I know you’ll just love.”

The smile on Clarisse’s face congealed. While she turned back to a meal that no longer seemed appetizing, Vivian ordered a salad and shifted the conversation to mundane topics of fashion and the New York scene. After a few minutes, Clarisse’s mind wandered, and Vivian’s words turned into a long, continuous monologue of gibberish.

****

They arrived at the hotel later that evening. She wearily followed Vivian and John across the lobby’s gray marble flooring, then sank into a pink floral chair, while John talked to the man at the desk. Sighing, Clarisse settled deeper into the chair. The thick cushions felt divine.

“What do you mean?”

On hearing the anger in John’s voice, Clarisse sat up and turned.

“I don’t have you down for two rooms,” the desk clerk replied. “There’s just the one suite.”

“You’re going to have to change it.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” John’s voice lowered menacingly. He gripped the oak counter, towering over the slighter man.

“I’m sorry, but there’s an annual dentist’s conference along with a science fiction convention. I don’t have another room available.”

“Where’s your manager?”

Clarisse cringed, almost feeling sorry for the clerk.

A dull flush crept under the man’s skin. “I am the manager.” The man plucked nervously on his tie. “The room you have on reservation has a sleeper sofa in the living area that’s completely separate from the bedroom. There’s a connecting door. It’s private.”

John swore savagely and pivoted on his heel. He strode over to the two women. “I think you’ve already heard about the problem we’ve got.”

“This is not happening!” Vivian threw up her hands in disgust.

For the first time, Clarisse found herself agreeing with the redhead. Her eyes were gritty and tired, her leg felt like someone else’s appendage, and the pain pills she had taken during the day had stopped working. She craved a bed with cool, clean sheets and an overstuffed pillow.

John shoved his fingers through his hair. “We could leave and chance finding something else in the city, but the way our luck has been today, we might want to stick it out here.”

“That’s fine,” Clarisse forced herself to say. “I’ll take the sofa. You won’t even know I’m around.”

She turned away and blinked back tears. She found the idea of staying in the same room with her ex-lover and his girlfriend repugnant. But what could she do under the circumstances? Sleep in the Explorer? That would look extremely odd. No, she would be an adult about this.

Straightening her slim shoulders, Clarisse swung back around. Arms crossed, Vivian stood staring at the wall with cold, glittering eyes.

“What about you, Vivian? Can you live with sharing a room?” John arched a questioning brow. When Vivian remained silent, he frowned in exasperation and turned back to the counter.

“I’ll get the bags,” John said, the key to their room in one hand. “Clarisse, I don’t think you’re in any condition to carry anything heavy. You’re still favoring that leg. Just tell me which ones you need. That goes for you too, Vivian.”

John caught up to them at the elevators. The doors slid open on the fifth floor and he led the way.

“This whole trip is turning into a nightmare,” Vivian fumed as they trudged down the hall.

“I don’t want to hear it,” John threw over his shoulder. “We’re all tired. The last thing we need right now is a fight.”

He opened the door with the card key and stepped aside for both women. Clarisse followed Vivian in. In the first room, a brightly stripped peach and green bedspread covered a king-sized bed, while against the facing wall, a television and ice bucket rested atop a dresser. The doorway immediately on the right led to the bathroom, and a glass partition and French door separated this room from the living area. A curtain, the same pattern as the bedspread, covered three-quarters of the partition.

Clarisse opened the French door and stepped into what would be her room. She turned on a light hanging above a writing table, illuminating the living area in muted shades of peach and green. A second television rested on a low bureau across from a matching striped sofa.

She turned at the sound of her bags dropping to the floor. John stood by the French door watching her with dark impenetrable eyes. For a moment neither of them moved. Deep lines of fatigue bracketed his mouth, and his longish black hair lay disheveled around his square face.

He walked further into the room. “Here, let me give you a hand with the bed.”

Bed
. For some stupid reason the word disturbed Clarisse.

She shook the feeling off as she pulled the cushions from the sofa and John drew the hide-a-bed from inside the frame. The mattress stood between them, huge, with a life of its own, almost like a living, breathing being.

This was ridiculous.

“Hey John? Can you help me here?” Vivian called.

“Goodnight.” John searched Clarisse’s face, opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it. He shut the door softly behind him.

Clarisse slid trembling fingers through the strands of her hair, pulling one rebel lock behind an ear. She rubbed the nape of her neck. Her skin felt damp and clammy. She hated the confusion and uncertainty he instigated whenever he entered the same room. He was so male, so vibrant, so... A shiver raced up her spin, and she hugged herself against the sudden chill.

She drew the curtain across the French door, changed into her nightgown, and draped her housecoat over the chair. She hovered in the middle of the room, thinking of venturing into John and Vivian’s room to use the bathroom. Unconsciously, her hand skimmed over her hip and thigh. She decided to stay put. She could handle being a little uncomfortable.

Clarisse slipped between the sheets and lay listening. Her ears strained to hear the least little noise from the adjacent room. After a minute, a door closed. Then nothing. Obviously the glass was like impenetrable steel, she mused with a mixture of relief and frustration. Grumbling aloud, she rolled over and snuggled deeper into the covers.

Time and exhaustion forced her lids closed, and sleep overpowered all thought. Colors swirled, abstract and meaningless, but soon they took shape, sharpened and focused into the interior of a single engine plane.

Seat belt snug around her middle, Clarisse smiled over at the pilot. The aircraft glided down toward Heathrow. The runway appeared, growing larger with each second.

A roar ripped into the interior of the plane. Something crunched. The engine died, and for a second the plane stood poised, silent and deadly, then dipped and dove, careening wildly toward the ground. The plane slammed into asphalt. Clarisse catapulted forward, cutting the seat belt into her stomach. The airplane whirled like a crazed dervish, then crumbled on one side. Metal screamed, ripped apart, crashing into itself and onto Clarisse. Something smashed against her. Intense pain tore into her leg.

“Clarisse. Clarisse,” someone called.

A silent scream locked in her throat, Clarisse jerked to a sitting position. Air. She gulped and managed to fill her lungs with oxygen. Terror gripped her mind. She buried her head into someone’s wide shoulder.

“It hurts. It hurts,” she whimpered. “Please stop the pain!” Sweat coated her back and brow.

Shuddering, Clarisse came out of the dream. Slowly, she became aware of her surroundings, of John’s naked chest, of one of his hands stroking her back and another brushing her wet hair from her neck and shoulders. Her chilled body grew warm. The heat of his skin against her flattened breasts penetrated the thin material of her nightgown.