Flawless (44 page)

“I just wondered whether it might have been a copyright issue with NPR. They can get a little edgy about editorial exclusivity.”

“Oh. I see,” said Scarlett. She was trying to concentrate, truly she was. She knew that getting the Yakutian miners’ story out there was infinitely more important than her relationship with Jake, or rather her ex-relationship…Dickhead, how could he make a fool out of her like that…

“Scarlett!” Nancy kicked her under the table. “Wake up! Did Andy show it to the BBC or not?”

“Er, no. At least, I don’t think so. He never said anything to me.” Scarlett smiled apologetically to Che Che, who smiled back, a disarming flash of ivory against his jet-black skin. “In any case, the NPR producer said it was a scheduling issue.”

“Which makes no sense at all, as they commissioned it,” said Che Che.

“Exactly,” nodded Scarlett, wondering if this was the first time Jake had done the dirty on her, or if she’d been one of many all along. “I do appreciate your help with this, or rather your friend’s help,” she said sincerely, standing up to clear away the empty plates. “I’m sorry I’m a bit distracted.”

A few minutes later, she was so absorbed in scrubbing dried noodle off one of Nancy’s chipped rose bowls that she didn’t even see Jake striding up the garden path. He was on the porch and through the screen doors before she knew he was there, never mind had a chance to lock him out.

“Hi,” said Nancy, rising to greet him with as much cordiality as she could muster. “Scarlett didn’t mention you’d be coming by. Can I offer you a glass of red?”

Jake’s eyes narrowed in confusion. Was this a trick question? But his attention soon swung back to Scarlett, who was staring intently into the sudsy water of the sink, as if suddenly fascinated by the floating remnants of Che Che’s Singapore Ho Fun (no pork).

“We need to talk,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper as he walked up behind her.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ to the wine then, shall I?” said Nancy, rolling her eyes at Che Che. Really, if she could make the effort to be polite, the least Jake could do was respond.

“No we don’t,” Scarlett hissed back. She could feel her eyes welling up with tears of anger and bit her lip hard in an effort to bite them back. “There’s nothing to say.”

“It’s not what you think,” said Jake. “There was nothing going on.”

“Please!” Scarlett spun around to face him, a picture of righteous indignation. Suddenly she didn’t care if Nancy and Che Che heard or not. They were going to find out sooner or later. “So if I’d had a hidden camera in that apartment, I wouldn’t have seen anything to upset me? Nothing at all?”

Jake hesitated. An image of Rachel straddling him, her head thrown back wantonly, popped up in his mind’s eye.

“She was a client. I was trying to make a sale,” he said, trying not to lie outright and wishing he didn’t have to have this conversation in front of an audience, especially an audience as hostile as Nancy. “Look, can we talk in your bedroom?”

“My
bedroom
? I don’t think so,” said Scarlett. He wasn’t about to charm her back into the sack that easily.

“Outside then,” pleaded Jake. He looked so desperate, and every bit as miserable as she did. It was hard not to feel a tiny bit sorry for him. “All I’m asking for is a chance to explain. You owe me that much, at least.”

“Owe you? I don’t owe you anything,” said Scarlett firmly. But she was also conscious of Nancy’s and Che Che’s eyes boring into her back. Drying her hands on a tea towel, she followed him out into the garden.

Outside there was a chill in the air, although the night was beautifully clear. Sitting down on a wooden bench at the bottom of the garden, the farthest point from the house, Scarlett leaned back against the wall and gazed heavenward. She could clearly make out the pole star and Orion’s belt. It was difficult for one’s problems to seem significant against such an awe-inspiring cosmic backdrop.

“Her name is Rachel,” said Jake, taking a deep breath and deciding to begin at the beginning. “I wasn’t expecting her to show up tonight. Haven’t laid eyes on her in almost six months, in fact. But she rang the doorbell unannounced, saying she wanted to buy something from me.”

“What?” asked Scarlett suspiciously.

“She wasn’t specific,” said Jake. Then, realizing how lame this must sound, added hastily, “There wasn’t time. She just said she’d got some cash and she wanted to do a trade. She’d only been there five minutes when you showed up.”

“Something she seemed pretty pissed off about,” said Scarlett angrily, her voice rising despite herself. “Look, Jake, I’m not stupid, OK? I obviously interrupted something.
Rachel
admitted as much over the speakerphone.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” insisted Jake, grabbing her hand and willing her to believe him. Perhaps this was karma, payback for all the times he
had
been fooling around and gotten away with it. Now here he was, innocent as a lamb, and about to lose the one girl he’d ever really cared for over nothing. If it was karma, it seemed a high price to pay. “She’s a spoiled little bitch, OK? She came on to me, I told her I wasn’t interested, and she got bitchy.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes disbelievingly. “
She
came on to
you
?”

“It’s the truth!” said Jake. “She only made out something was going on to you because she was jealous.”

Looking down at the lights of Hollywood twinkling in the valley below like a tacky, sequined carpet, Scarlett felt awash with conflicting emotions. She wanted to believe him, wanted it so desperately that she feared it must be clouding her judgment. Even if, by some miracle, he
was
telling the truth and nothing had happened—how could she know that it wasn’t simply because she’d interrupted them before he had a chance to give in?

“How old is she?” she asked, apropos of nothing.

“Nineteen,” said Jake, closing his eyes and waiting for the inevitable shit storm to hit him. But Scarlett seemed remarkably calm.

“I see. And have you slept with her in the past?”

Another long silence. Why did she have to keep asking questions that forced him either to lie or to dig his own grave?

“Yes,” he said eventually. “Last year a few times. We were never an item, though.”

“But she’s been to your apartment before, right?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Unlike me,” said Scarlett pointedly. Suddenly the tears that had been threatening to overwhelm her all evening made an appearance. “I’m tired of being your dirty little secret, Jake,” she sniffed. “You don’t act like my boyfriend in public; you don’t let me stay at your place. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to think? Are we a couple or not?”

“Of course we are. Of course we’re a couple,” said Jake. He was about to add, “I love you,” but changed his mind at the last minute, opening and closing his mouth like an accused criminal being silenced by an invisible attorney.

“So what’s it all about?” sobbed Scarlett. “Why do you have to be so…so
sly
?”

He hated to see her cry. Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms and held her. Too tired to fight anymore, Scarlett let him. But she still wanted an explanation.

Now it was Jake’s turn to look away for inspiration. What was he supposed to tell her? Clearly the truth—that he was used to having his own space; that he would need somewhere Scarlett-free to retreat to and lick his wounds once she finally realized how much better she could do than him and left him; that flirting with female customers was an integral part of his business, and he couldn’t
afford
to appear too completely attached in public—was not an option. But no suitable white lie was leaping to mind either. “Look, I know I’m not perfect,” he said eventually, skirting the issue as deftly as he could. “But I’m trying, babe, I really am. I’m trying to be what you want. Can’t you just—”

“Just what?” asked Scarlett, drying her tears.

“Wait?”

He looked so hopeful, like a little boy asking his mother for a birthday present, knowing that what he wants is too expensive.

“Be patient? And trust me? I swear to you, on my life: I did not cheat on you with Rachel.”

His face in the moonlight was so unearthly handsome, Scarlett wished she had a fraction of Che Che’s gift for sketching. With his long, straight nose, hypnotic amethyst eyes, and thick pieces of blond hair falling forward, some as far down as his cheekbones, she wondered how on earth she’d resisted him sexually for so long. Magnus seemed like the palest of pale shadows by comparison.

She believed what he said about Rachel. She didn’t know why, but it felt true. Even so, the fragility of their relationship, whatever this thing was that they had together, had been brought home to her with renewed force tonight. It was time to face some home truths:

She would never be able to escape Jake’s past. Not while they lived in LA.

Beautiful, predatory girls would continue to consider him fair game.

He would continue to flirt with them, in the name of business.

And even if he did remain faithful to her, there would be a part of him that he continued to hold back. His fetish about the apartment was almost certainly the tip of a much bigger, much more worrying iceberg. He was hers but not hers. And that might never change.

“Don’t give up on me yet,” he whispered, reading her mind. But it was the unbearable slowness of his touch as his hand stroked her inner thigh, and not his psychic powers, that had her resolve crumbling like flaky pastry.

“All right,” she sighed, opening her lips to receive his kiss. Relief that she wasn’t about to lose him mingled with the desire sweeping through her body like radiation. Her hands reached up around the back of his neck.

“Can we go inside now?” His voice was gruff and urgent between kisses. His breath felt warm against her ear, and she could feel and hear his excitement, greater even than her own.

Scarlett just about managed a nod. Clasping his hand tightly, she followed him back up the path toward the house.

But as soon as they stepped through the porch doors, she let go of him.

“What happened?”

Nancy, slumped against the wall like a rag doll, was shaking and white as a sheet. Scarlett rushed to her side and shot an accusatory glance at Che Che, until she saw the concern writ large on his face too.

“Her father just called,” he said. “Her mom’s been diagnosed with a brain tumor.”

“Inoperable,” said Nancy weakly. “They told her it was inoperable. We should have forced her to get a second opinion at Christmas. Now it’s too late.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself.” Sinking to her knees, Scarlett flung her arms around her friend. Jake and Che Che looked on awkwardly, both wanting to help but neither knowing how. “Besides, maybe there is something they can do, with radiation or whatever. Or maybe the doctor made a mistake? I mean, they’re not always infallible, right?”

“I have to go back to New York,” said Nancy, staring straight ahead like a zombie.

“We’ll go together,” said Che Che, stepping forward, relieved to have found a role at last. “I’ll cancel my exhibition. We can fly in the morning.”

“No,” said Nancy, not even looking up. “Dad won’t want anyone who isn’t family. I appreciate the offer, but I have to do this on my own.”

Scarlett was totally focused on Nancy. Only Jake saw the way Che Che recoiled, stung by her rejection. Perhaps all was not as blissful in that love affair as Scarlett made out?

“OK,” said Che Che, with a fixed rigor mortis smile. “Well, at least let me book your tickets. I’ll go online and do it right now.”

“Thanks,” said Nancy absently. In her mind she was already at her mother’s bedside. She just prayed that by the time she actually got there it wouldn’t already be too late.

E
ARLIER THAT SAME
day, in New York, Danny sat across the desk from his divorce attorney, a jovial bear of a man who rejoiced in the improbable name of Wentworth Chambers, trying to keep a lid on his despair.

“Don’t look so worried,” said Wentworth kindly. “She’s only fifteen minutes late. That’s seconds in female time. It’s kinda like dog years, only the other way around.”

Danny smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

“We can always go ahead without her, you know. It’s only a progress meeting.”

“I know,” said Danny, privately thinking how odd it was to call something a “progress” meeting when the only direction they were going was backward. “But at the end of the day this is her divorce, not mine. She should be here.”

He was well aware that all was not well with Diana. Or rather, that all was not well between Diana and him. They loved each other—that wasn’t the problem. But the combined pressure of their dire financial situation, the ongoing divorce, the pregnancy, and his family’s hostility was pushing their so-called romance to the breaking point. She’d complained the other day that it had been months since she’d seen him laugh, and she was right. He was turning into a card-carrying grump. But recently life seemed
to have transformed into one backbreaking burden after another. If he couldn’t make her happy when it was just the two of them, how on earth was he supposed to provide for a child?