Falling Star (32 page)

"The
what
?"

"The Duck Mating Theory," Ruth repeated
matter-of-factly. "Very common in those of the male persuasion.
They decide it's time to get married, for whatever reason, whether
they hit a certain age or their best buddy gets married or
whatever, and then boom! They get engaged to whoever they're dating
at the time, whether she's no better or no worse than any of her
predecessors."

"That's crazy!"

"That's men." Ruth paused to order a gin and
tonic from a cruising waiter. Natalie decided instantly to go for
another glass of champagne. "I thought this might happen when you
told me Geoff made senior partner. And he's in his late thirties,
right?"

"37."

Ruth nodded. "Fits the profile. Oh"—she
arched her bows—"there he is now."

Natalie's gaze slid to a commotion at the
party's edge, where Geoff had made an entrance with a tall, slim
blonde in a white suit. Natalie caught her breath.
God, no.
She's even more beautiful than in that damn head shot.

Natalie stared, mesmerized, as the couple
accepted congratulations from the group gathered around them. She
could hear Geoff's boisterous laugh, see Janet's beaming face. A
few men slapped Geoff s back. Natalie watched as Geoff's colleagues
appraised Janet with appreciative eyes.

Natalie was crushed, as she'd known she would
be. Inanely she'd held out hope that somehow the eight-by-ten had
been a stroke of celluloid luck and Janet wouldn't be gorgeous. But
every woman Geoff dated was stunning. It was absurd to think the
woman he'd marry wouldn't be a knockout.

He's like a news director
, she
thought, deflated.
The younger and prettier, the better.

"I'd say I called it," Ruth observed in a low
murmur, "though I'd put her at about thirty. Older than I would
have expected. I give Geoff credit for that. Still"—Ruth narrowed
her eyes appraisingly—"she looks like a Breck girl. One of those
sweet types men typically go for. Not ornery like us."

"Speak for yourself!"

Ruth shrugged. "Okay, you're only ornery at
work. I'm ornery constantly. I have yet to find the man who
appreciates that. Shall we go say hello?"

Ruth propelled Natalie by the elbow across
the Oriental carpets. The path opened before them and before
Natalie could prepare herself she was face-to-face with the Happy
Couple. The tall, dazzling, all-of-life-before-them Happy Couple.
For a moment she was flummoxed. Then she gathered herself and
forced out her free hand to Janet, who was looking at her with big
blue expectant eyes.

"It's a real pleasure to meet you," Natalie
heard herself say. She hesitated. She couldn't very well say,
I've heard so much about you
. "I'm so delighted for you,"
she managed, though that was hardly true.
Why in the world is
this happening?
was more like it. "I'm Natalie Daniels, one of
Geoff s clients," she added.

"One of Geoff's favorite clients!" Janet
grasped her hand. "I'm thrilled to finally meet you. Geoff has told
me so much about you."

Did he tell you we made love?
Natalie
quashed the thought as she watched Janet look up at Geoff
teasingly, giving him a happy possessive look, a look that spoke of
private conversations, conversations in bed, conversations in which
they talked of everything and nothing, talked casually of Natalie
Daniels, Geoff's client. Geoff's client, Natalie Daniels. Someone
not nearly so important in Geoff s universe as his fiancee, Janet.
. .

I don't even remember her last name.

Natalie tried to meet Geoff's eyes but he was
looking above her head across the reception area, laughing at
something or someone. Then he was moving on. Already someone else
had stolen his attention.

She stood paralyzed next to Ruth as the
bustle moved beyond them. "I'm ready to leave now," she declared
abruptly. She threw back her champagne and set the empty flute on
the mahogany reception desk.

"What?" Ruth's eyes flew open. "They just got
here!" Then she gazed at Natalie a moment more. "Fine. Let's blow
this pop stand."

Natalie moved swiftly toward the door and
beyond to the bank of elevators. As she waited impatiently,
rummaging in her small black purse for her valet ticket, she could
hear behind her Geoff s distinctive laughter and Janet's
accompanying giggle.

He won't miss me. He won't even notice I'm
gone.

Finally an elevator arrived. Natalie entered,
Ruth a bulwark beside her. By the time the doors closed to spirit
them away, Natalie could see through the glass walls of Dewey,
Climer's reception area that senior partner Geoff Marner had his
arm around his beaming bride-to-be. And was bending his head to
place the gentlest of kisses on her smiling upturned mouth.

Saturday, August 17, 8:18 AM

Geoff unloaded his surfing gear from his Jeep
and stowed it in its designated corner of the garage. What a
stunning day. Southern California at its glorious best, blindingly
bright and invigorating, promising dry heat and endless sunshine.
Not one of those summer mornings that dawns with a dreary marine
layer that lingers for hours like a boorish guest. Beneath his wet
suit his muscles ached pleasantly; his skin still stung from sea
air and salt. Ahead of him stretched nothing but free time.

He punched a button to lower the garage door
and leaped the few concrete steps to the interior door. Once inside
he heard the blender running, no doubt Janet concocting one of her
post-run protein drinks.

"I'm in here!" she called.

He joined her in the kitchen, nuzzling up
behind her. She was aglow in a shaft of sunlight, wearing a thin
white tee and very short running shorts, smelling slightly of
sweat. He raised his hands to cup her small breasts, naked under
the cotton, and immediately felt himself grow hard. "Um"—he rubbed
against her—"upstairs."

She giggled. "I can't believe you want to.
I'm so gross." Then she turned to kiss him on the nose. "But maybe
I'll indulge you if you promise me something."

"Anything."

"That we register today."

He rested his forearms on her shoulders and
kissed her forehead, where her blond hair was downy and white like
a baby's. "Register?" God, was she soft. "Register for what?"

"Wedding gifts, silly."

He wasn't computing, nor trying to. "Why
would we register for wedding gifts?"

"You have to ask?" She pulled away, still
smiling but looking genuinely puzzled, which jolted him out of his
reverie. "It's easier for everybody if we register." She swiveled
to face the blender, giving him her back and jabbing the PULVERIZE
button. "We won't get what we don't want. And people will know what
to buy. Nobody's flailing around."

He strode to the coffeepot and pulled open a
drawer for a filter. "But we've already got two households' worth
of stuff. I was even thinking we should tell people not to do
gifts."

"Not do gifts?" She looked astounded now.
"Who doesn't do gifts? As it is I've been planning to get rid of
most of my stuff and surely you have as well?"

She asked it like it was a question but it
certainly didn't sound like one. Carefully Geoff measured coffee
beans into the grinder. Maybe that was because there was only one
right answer?

She put her hands on her hips. "You must
understand that I want to stamp our house with my own style?"

Another nonquestion question, and one he
found fairly irritating. "I hadn't thought about it," he snapped,
his surfing high rapidly getting obliterated. He started the
grinder and raised his voice over the din. "Anyway, we can't
register till we've set a date."

"That's another thing." Immediately she
waltzed over to the kitchen wall calendar.

He stared at her in astonishment. "What's the
rush? We just got engaged."

She lifted a page, then another, staring at
October. Then she dropped the pages and turned to face him, hands
on hips. "What do you think, spring or fall?"

"Next fall?"

"This fall."

"Then spring," he countered instantly.

"Then May." She cracked a sudden smile, as
though glimpsing some distant happy scene. "I've always dreamed of
a spring wedding."

Geoff flipped the grinder and slapped its
base to loosen the ground coffee. "I must say, I don't get how you
could 'always dream' of something like this. We just got
engaged."

"It has nothing to do with you!" She was
restored to sweetness and light now, her voice teasing. She
returned to the blender to pour its foamy peach-colored contents
into a tall glass. "A woman dreams of her wedding day from the time
she's a little girl. You're the least important part."

"How reassuring." This entire conversation
annoyed him in a way he couldn't quite identify. Since when had
Janet been obsessed with trivialities? Insisting on registering for
wedding gifts because it was "the done thing"? Maybe it was the
weirdness that took over a woman once she got engaged. More than
one buddy had warned him of it, but Geoff hadn't believed he'd
witness the phenomenon in Janet.

She was halfway out of the kitchen when she
called back over her shoulder, "So let's get out of here by
nine-thirty."

"You still want to register today?"

"Of course!" She turned at the kitchen door
and faced him down. "Besides, the sooner we get that done, the
sooner we can plan the trip to Sydney."

He halted, his finger poised at the
coffeepot's ON/OFF switch. "We're going to Sydney?"

"Unless you want to fly your entire family
out here." She made it sound painfully obvious. "We should meet,
don't you think?"

He stopped himself from telling her that his
family had no clue he was engaged. Or had even so much as heard the
name Janet Roswell.

Janet turned to race upstairs, not bothering
to wait for his answer.
Well, why should she?
he thought.
She knows she's won.

Geoff stood alone in his kitchen and pressed
the coffeepot's ON switch. It bloomed the same bright red as a stop
sign.

*

"You're not going to believe the latest,"
Natalie heard Berta Powers predict over the phone bright and early
Tuesday morning.

Natalie clutched at the receiver and shot up
in bed, instinctively fortifying herself against bad news. Her free
hand pulled the duvet tighter around her body, her negligee doing
little to ward off the chill created both by the early-morning air
wafting through the open window and the irritation in her
attorney's voice. "What won't I believe?"

"Do you remember that I subpoenaed Heartbeat
Studios for all the paperwork relating to Miles's sitcom deal? So
we could get the nitty-gritty on the three-million-dollar
payment?"

"Right."

"Well, I got the boxes from the studio late
yesterday. A dozen of them."

"A dozen boxes? How could there be that much
paperwork? His sitcom isn't even on the air yet."

"Natalie, they sent such a pile of crap.
Including documents from twenty years ago when his first sitcom was
on."

Heartbeat Studios had also produced that
sitcom, Natalie knew, the one Miles had done with Jerry Cohen.

"They sent duplicates of all kinds of stuff,"
Berta went on. "It'll take forever to sort through and probably get
us nowhere."

Natalie fell back against her pillows. "Why
would the studio do that?"

"Because its loyalty is to Miles. And they
have no reason to make it easy for us."

"So what do we do now?"

Berta sighed. "I read them the riot act and
subpoena them again. But there's no guarantee they'll be more
forthcoming next time."

Natalie stared at the ceiling, pine beams
crossing the white expanse like rough-hewn stripes. "And you still
haven't gotten anything useful from subpoenaing Miles's former
attorney?"

"No. He still insists he has no recollection
of a prenuptial agreement between you and Miles."

"How can that be? I don't get it. Can't
lawyers be disbarred for flat-out lying about this sort of
thing?"

"Natalie, you'd be amazed how often lawyers
risk their licenses. And it's always possible that Miles paid the
guy off to shut him up. I've seen it before. And if Miles did it in
cash, then of course there's no paper trail."

Natalie was silent. There sure as hell was no
paper trail. Her prenup might as well have been written in sand at
low tide.

"I'll subpoena the studio again and keep you
posted."

"Thanks, Berta." Natalie replaced the
receiver.
There has to be a way to get hold of documentation on
Miles's sitcom deal. But how?

Some odd compulsion propelled her out of bed,
into old gray sweat clothes, and into her car. Given her late work
hours, she was rarely awake that hour of the morning. But this was
a wonderful day to be rousted so early, chilly and clear.

She pointed the Mercedes west on Mulholland
Drive, following its narrow winding curves in what had to be the
least direct route to the coast. It wasn't until she was clear of
the hills and heading north on Pacific Coast Highway that she
admitted to herself where she was going.

A few miles farther, she spied Miles's
beachfront house. She rolled the Mercedes onto PCH's graveled right
shoulder and stared across the busy street at the property. It
looked quiet. Two cars, Miles's red Porshe and a black 323i, sat in
the driveway. Natalie shook her head, disgusted. Suzy's Beemer, no
doubt.

What do I think I'm doing here, anyway?
Planning to break in? Find the sitcom documentation and abscond
with it?

As she was pondering just what she did intend
to do, a woman dressed in a light blue sweat suit, with the hood up
and sunglasses on, emerged from the house and approached the
Beemer. Natalie shook her head in disgust. Suzy. So much for her
and Miles being broken up. The woman opened the trunk and tossed in
a duffel bag, then shook the hood down from her head and plumped
her brunette hair.