That had been five days ago, and Fleur hadn’t tried to call him since.
She latched her suitcase. “If you don’t want to live here, Belinda, you should move. You’re a rich woman, and you can live wherever you want. I offered to go apartment shopping with you, but you put me off.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Let’s go tomorrow.”
“Too late. My plane takes off at three o’clock.” But not for New York, as Belinda thought.
“Baby!” Belinda said with a wail, “I’m not used to being alone.”
Knowing her mother, Fleur doubted she’d be on her own for very long. “You’re stronger than you think.” Both of us are, she thought.
Tears filled Belinda’s eyes. “I can’t believe you’re deserting me. After everything I’ve done for you.”
Fleur planted a swift kiss on her mother’s cheek. “You’ll be fine.”
On the way to the airport, the limousine stalled in traffic. Fleur studied the shop windows until a Cityrama bus blocked her view. The limousine crawled forward another thirty feet, swung in front of the bus, and she found herself gazing into Jake’s face on a billboard advertising Disturbance at Blood River. The flat brim of his hat shaded his eyes, his cheeks were grizzled, and he had a cheroot clamped in the corner of his mouth. Bird Dog Caliber—a man without weakness, a man who didn’t need anybody. What had made her think that she could finally civilize him?
She closed her eyes. She had a business to run, and she couldn’t afford to be away any longer, but she needed a few days—just a few days alone—before she went back. She needed to be in a place where no one could find her, a place where she could stop spending her days waiting for a phone call that would never come. She’d healed from heartbreak before. She could do it again.
She’d do it on Mykonos.
The white stucco cottage sat in an olive grove not far from a deserted beach. She toasted herself in the sun, took long, barefoot walks along the ocean, and told herself time would heal her wounds. But she felt numb and color-blind. On Mykonos—where the whites were so white they hurt the eyes, and the turquoise of the Aegean so bright it redefined the hue—everything had faded to gray. She didn’t feel hunger when she forgot to eat, or pain when she stepped on a sharp rock. She walked along the ocean—saw that her hair was blowing—but she couldn’t feel the breeze touch her skin, and she wondered if the terrible numbness would ever go away.
At night, tortured memories of making love with Jake awakened her. His lips on her breasts…the feel of him stretching her, pulsing…If he’d loved her as she loved him, he’d have known she could never betray him. This was what she’d been afraid of all along. This was the reason she’d put him off when he’d suggested marriage. She hadn’t trusted him to love her enough, and she’d been right. He hadn’t loved her enough to stand strong.
By the third day, she knew Mykonos held no magical healing powers. She’d neglected her business too long, and she had to return to New York. Still, she lingered another two days before she made herself call David and tell him when she was returning.
She was numb and grief-stricken, but she wasn’t broken.
By the time she got off the plane at Kennedy, it had begun to snow. Her wool slacks itched her thighs where they were peeling from the sun, and her stomach was queasy from two hours of turbulence over the Atlantic. The snow made getting a cab more arduous than usual, and the one she finally found had a broken heater. It was well after midnight before she slipped the bolt on her door and let herself into her living room.
The house was damp and nearly as cold as the cab. Dropping her suitcase, she pushed up the thermostat and then kicked off her shoes. With her coat still on, she walked down to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and tossed in two Alka-Seltzers. As the tablets fizzed, the cold from the brick floor seeped through her stockings. She was getting into bed, turning up her electric blanket, and not moving until morning. First, though, she’d take the hottest shower she could stand.
She waited until she was in the bathroom before she pulled off her coat and her clothes. After she pinned her hair on top of her head, she slid open the shower doors and let the hot water wash over her. In six hours she would force herself to get up and run in the park, no matter how bad she felt. This time she wouldn’t crumble. She’d go through the motions one day at a time until, finally, the pain would be bearable.
When she’d dried off, she pulled a beige satin nightgown from a hook next to the shower. She’d forgotten to turn on her electric blanket, so she slipped into the matching robe. The temperature change from Mykonos was too drastic. Even though she’d just gotten out of the shower, she was already cold. The sheets were going to feel like ice.
She pushed open the bathroom door and fumbled to tie the sash of her robe. Odd. She thought she’d flipped the light on before she’d come into the bedroom. God, it was freezing. The windows were rattling from the blizzard kicking up outside. Why hadn’t the furnace turned—
She screamed.
“Stay right where you are, lady, and don’t move.”
A whimper caught in her throat.
He sat on the far side of the room with only his face visible in the patch of light from the open bathroom door. His mouth barely moved. “You do what I say and nobody gets hurt.”
She stumbled backward toward the bathroom. He lifted his arm, and she found herself looking down the long, silver barrel of a gun. “That’s far enough,” he said.
Her heart jumped into her throat. “Please…”
“Let go.”
At first she didn’t understand what he meant. Then she realized he was talking about her robe sash. Quickly she dropped it.
“Now the robe.”
She didn’t move.
He lifted the gun so that it was aimed at her chest.
“You’re crazy,” she gasped. “You’re—”
The hammer clicked. “Take it off.”
Her hands flew to the front of the robe. She opened it and slipped her arms out. The fabric made a soft, hissing sound as it dropped to the floor.
He lifted the barrel ever so slightly. “Let your hair down.”
“Sweet Jesus…” Her hands fumbled with the pins, and as her hair came down, drops of water splattered on her bare shoulders.
“That’s nice. Real pretty. Now the gown.”
“Don’t…” she pleaded.
“Pull down the straps slow. One at a time.”
She slipped down the first strap and then stopped.
“Go on.” He made a sharp gesture with the gun. “Do what I tell you.”
“No.”
He sat up straighter. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“Don’t push me, Teacher Lady.”
Fleur clamped her arms over her chest.
Shit, Jake thought. Now what was he supposed to do?
“Just hold me for a minute, okay?” she said.
He set the pearl-handled Colt on the table next to the bed and walked over to where she was standing. Her skin was like ice. He opened his parka and put it around her, then cuddled her against his flannel shirt. “You’re no fun.”
She gave a choked sob.
“Hey, are you crying?” She nodded against his jaw. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I guess my timing wasn’t too good.”
She shook her head, too dazed to figure out how he knew about Butch Cassidy and her fantasy.
“It seemed like a good idea,” he said, “especially when I couldn’t decide what to say when I saw you.”
She spoke against his flannel shirt. “Bird Dog can’t resolve this for us. We have to settle it ourselves.”
He tilted up her chin. “You’ve got to learn to separate fantasy from reality. Bird Dog’s a movie character. I like playing him—he gives me a chance to get rid of my aggressions—but he’s not me. I’m the one who’s afraid of horses, remember?”
She stared up at him.
“Come on, you?
??re freezing.” He led her over to the bed and pulled back the covers. In a daze, she settled between the cold sheets. He quickly divested himself of his parka and boots. Still wearing his shirt and jeans, he slid in next to her. “The pilot must be out on your furnace,” he said. “It’s colder than hell in here.”
She reached over to flick on the light. “Why wouldn’t you take my calls? I went crazy. I thought…”
“I know what you thought.” He settled his weight on his forearm and looked down at her. His face twisted. “I’m sorry, Flower. The press was everywhere, and all the old stuff came back to grab me.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t think straight. I let you down.”
“When did you figure out it was Alexi?”
“I’d give anything to say I knew it right away.” He gazed blindly across the room. “But I’m an old pro at trying to blame you for things I can’t handle. It was a week before my head cleared enough to figure that out.”
“A week?” Just about the time she left for Mykonos.
He brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth and whispered, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
He looked so tortured, she couldn’t stand it, so she glared at him. “Darned right you will. Starting with diamonds.”
His voice caught. “As many as you want.”
She bit his thumb.
He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. “I still can’t figure out how he managed to do it. That manuscript was never out of my sight.”
Now she was the one who looked away. “Yes, it was. The night I read it. You went outside, remember? I was alone with that manuscript for hours.”
“Don’t be a brat.” He caught her chin and turned it toward him. Then he kissed her again. Her heart swelled. Even though he didn’t understand how it could be otherwise, he knew she hadn’t betrayed him. He was taking her loyalty on faith.
She cupped that tough, stubborn jaw. “Someone got into the house and photographed the manuscript while we were walking along the ocean that first day. I found the negatives after he died.”
“You found them?” His head came up. “What did you do with them?”
“Burned them, of course.”
“Damn.” He looked annoyed.
She couldn’t believe it. She came up on her elbows. “Damn?”
“I wish you’d talked to me first,” he muttered. “That’s all.”
She couldn’t help it. She pulled the comforter over her head and screamed.
For a moment there was silence. Finally he tugged at the comforter. When he got as far as her nose, he peered down at her. “It’s going to mean a lot of rewriting, that’s all.” His bottom lip looked as sulky as ever.
She nodded toward the Colt. “Is that thing loaded?”
“Of course not.”
“Too bad.”
The windowpanes rattled. He moved the gun out of reach. “Your various friends started calling me after the tabloid article appeared. When they realized how screwed up I was, all hell broke loose. Kissy flew back from her honeymoon. God, that woman can cuss. Simon threatened to go to the newspapers and tell everyone I was gay. Michel hit me.” Fleur looked at him sharply, and he threw up his hands. “I didn’t hit him back. Honest to God.” He sank back under the covers with her. “Even some cretin named Barry Noy got hold of me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“God is my witness.” He stroked her hair. “Do you have any idea how many people love you?”
Her eyes filled with tears. He kept talking and stroking her hair. “I was pretty ragged by the time Belinda found me three days ago. She has a way about her, that mother of yours. She looked at me with those blue eyes and told me I was the most exciting star in Hollywood and that I was throwing away the only woman in the world who was good enough for me.” He shook his head. “But listen to this, Flower. Not one—not one of those interfering sons of bitches had any idea where I could find you!” He shuddered. “Until David Bennis called me yesterday, I thought this time I’d lost you for good. Mykonos! Who the hell goes to Mykonos? If you ever run away from me like that again—”
“Me!”
He crushed her to his chest so hard she thought her ribs would crack. “I’m so sorry, babe. I love you so much. You mean everything to me. When that story broke, everybody was trying to get to me. Peel off my skin. Pick at my bones.” He kissed away a tear that had escaped from the corner of her eyes. “Then the letters started to arrive. They came from all over the country. Guys who’d been in ’Nam and couldn’t get it out of their souls. Teachers, bankers, garbagemen, a lot of guys who couldn’t hold on to a job. Some of them are still having nightmares. Others said ’Nam was the best time of their lives, and they’d do it all over again. Guys told me about broken marriages and good marriages, about their kids. A few of the letters said I was ‘perpetuating the myth of the crazed Vietnam vet.’ But we weren’t crazed. We were just a bunch of kids who’d seen too much. As I read those letters, I finally understood I’d written something the whole country needs to see. I’m going to publish my book, Flower, and I’m going to include those letters.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not living in the shadows anymore. I want to walk in the sun. But I can’t do that without you.”
She put her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in his neck. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
“Enough to start talking about station wagons and a two-career marriage?”
“And kids,” she said without hesitation. “I want babies. Lots and lots of babies.”
He grinned the crooked-tooth grin that drove her crazy and slid his hand up under her nightgown. “Want to start now?” He didn’t wait for an answer but settled his mouth over hers. After a few moments, he drew back. “Flower?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I’m not enjoying this kiss.”
“S-sorry.” She tried to force her teeth to stop chattering, but it was no use. “I’m just s-so cold. I can see my breath in the air!”
He groaned and pulled back the covers. “Come on. You’ll have to hold the flashlight for me.”
With his parka draped over her satin gown and her feet encased in wool sweat socks, she followed him to the basement. While he knelt on the concrete to light the pilot, she stuck her free hand under his shirt. “Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“After the house heats up—”
“Hold that flashlight steady, will you? I almost have it.”
“After the house heats up, what would you think about—I mean, would you think it was silly if—”
“There, that’s got it.” He shook out the match and straightened up. “What were you saying?”
“What?”
“You were saying something. Would I mind if—”
She swallowed. “Nothing. I forget.”
“Liar.” He slipped his hands inside the parka and around her waist so he could draw her against him. “Don’t you know there’s nothing I’d rather do?” His lips caught her earlobe, then traveled across her cheek until he could whisper against her mouth. “You’ll have to put your hair back up again with those pins. That was my favorite part.”
As it turned out, Jake found other parts he liked even better…
When it was over, the room was warm, and they were sated. They kicked away all the covers and dozed. Fleur finally stirred from the cozy comfort of his chest. “Next time I get to hold the gun,” she said as she eased back into her pillow.
He nipped her bare shoulder. “Nobody holds a gun on Bird Dog.”
“Is that so?” She cocked her finger and pointed it as his chest.
“Wow. That’s a fast draw you have there.”
“Fastest draw in the Big Apple.” She blew on her finger. “Seems like Bird Dog’s going to have to adjust his thinking.”
Jake rubbed his thumb against the corner of her mouth. “Seems like Bird Dog already has.”
He smiled, and she smiled back. Snow tapped at the w
indowpane. The furnace hissed. They gazed at each other with perfect trust.
Epilogue
The young man’s body formed a perfect arc as he dived into the turquoise water of the pool behind Belinda’s Bel Air home. His name was Darian Boothe—the final “e” had been her idea—and when he came to the surface, she blew him a kiss. “Wonderful, darling. I love watching you.”
He gave her a smile that she suspected might not be totally sincere. As he pulled himself out of the water, his biceps knotted, and his tiny red nylon Speedo rode up into the crack of his rear. She hoped the network would buy his pilot. If they didn’t, he’d be miserable, and she’d have to expend too much energy trying to cheer him up. On the other hand, if they did buy it, he’d move out and forget about her, but it wouldn’t be difficult to find another handsome young actor who needed her help.
She moved her legs farther apart so the sun could reach the insides of her oiled thighs, and pulled her sunglasses back over her eyes. She was tired. It hadn’t been easy to fall back asleep after Jake’s phone call last night telling her the twins had been born.
She’d known Fleur was having twins ever since the sonogram, so it wasn’t a surprise, but Belinda couldn’t imagine getting used to being a grandmother of three. Fleur and Jake had been married for three years. Three years and three children. It was embarrassing. And they didn’t plan to stop there. Her beautiful daughter had turned into a broodmare.
Only to herself did Belinda admit that Fleur had turned into something of a disappointment. Her daughter sent thoughtful gifts and called several times a week, but she didn’t really listen to Belinda anymore. Belinda tried to be fair. With the opening of Fleur’s West Coast office last year, not even the most dedicated skeptic could say that she hadn’t turned her agency into a huge success. And she had been photographed for Vogue wearing Michel’s gorgeous new line of maternity clothes. But it was clear to Belinda, if no one else, that Fleur wasn’t living up to her potential. All that beauty gone to waste…God knew, she didn’t need it to sit behind a desk. Then, on weekends, she and Jake buried themselves at that godforsaken farmhouse in Connecticut instead of staying in Manhattan where they could be the brightest, most sought-after couple in town.