Loving (25 page)

"Do you still have the ring?" She knew he meant the big diamond, and she nodded with huge eyes.

"Of course, Ivo. I don't wear it. But I have it. I keep it in my vault at the bank."

"Good. Don't ever let anyone have that. You keep that for you. It's worth a small fortune now, and you nearer know if you'll need it." And then suddenly he remembered that he hadn't yet gotten her address or her new name. She gave it to him quickly, and then she giggled.

"They call me Betty Fields. Betty Fields." But Ivo didn't look amused as he watched her.

"It doesn't suit you."

And then in embarrassment, "I know."

"Will you write as Bettina Daniels?"

She nodded and it was obvious that he approved. And then he pulled her into his arms again and said nothing. He only held her, and for a moment she clung to him. It was Bettina who finally broke the silence. "Ivo ... thank you.... "

His eyes were oddly bright when he looked down at her. "Take good care of yourself, little one. You'll be hearing from me." She nodded and he kissed her gently on the forehead, and she left him in the lobby, watching her go. He watched her until she had disappeared in the crowds outside the building, and at last with a small sigh he turned. How much she had changed in the five years he hadn't seen her. And how strong a hold this man must have on her to make her deny her other life, herself, and her old world. But Ivo wasn't going to let her disappear again so easily. On his way up in the elevator he took out a small black leather notepad and made several notes.

"How's it coming, Betty?" Mary smiled at her as she wandered slowly out into the yard. It was a warm, sunny April day.

"Not bad. How about you?"

"About the same." They exchanged a grin, and slowly began to walk. Mary was once again hugely pregnant, but she always looked peaceful and happy like that. Despite the jokes and her pretense at complaining, being pregnant was something she didn't really mind. "How long do you think it's going to take you to finish?" Only Mary and Ivo knew about the play. It was going well now.

Bettina squinted in the sunlight, thinking back on her afternoon's work. "Maybe another two weeks. Maybe three."

"That's all?" Mary looked impressed. Bettina had been at it for almost six months. "You might even beat me to it after all." The baby wasn't due until the end of the month.

"Whoever produces first owes the other a lunch."

Mary grinned broadly. "You're on." They rambled on about the children then, and a little while later Alexander and Mary's two eldest came home. Bettina wandered slowly in after Alexander, confident that she had concealed all the pages of her work. But half an hour later she walked into her bedroom and found Alexander staring seriously down at her play.

"What's that, Mommy?"

"Something I've been doing." She tried to sound noncommittal. She didn't want him to tell John.

"But what is it?"

She hesitated for a long time. "It's a story."

"Like for kids?"

And then she sighed gently. "No. Like for grownups."

"Like a book?" His eyes widened in new respect, but she shook her head again with a gentle smile.

"No, sweetheart. And to tell you the truth, it's kind of a surprise for Daddy, so I don't want you to tell him. Think you could do that? Just for me?" She eyed him hopefully and he nodded.

"Sure." And then he disappeared into his bedroom and she thought to herself that one day she would have to tell him about his grandfather. He had a right to know that he was related to a man like Justin Daniels. Even people who hadn't liked him had admitted that he was a great man. And his books were so lovely. Lately Bettina had read many of them again in the evening whenever John was working. She concealed them from him. As she did the calls she got from Ivo now, from time to time. He only wanted to know how she was doing. And she assured him that she was working and everything was fine. He already had an agent anxious to receive her first draft when she was finished, and the last time she had spoken to him she had promised that it would be soon. But it happened even sooner than she expected. And suddenly, a week after she had talked to Mary, she realized that the play lay completed in her hands. She stared at it for a long moment, her hair ruffled, her face smudged with pencil, and with a broad grin. She had done it after all! She had never been so proud in her life. Her pride wasn't even matched by Mary, who gave birth to a baby boy the next day, easily as always.

After carefully rereading the play four more times, Bettina put it in the mail to Ivo.

"How is it?" He sounded as excited as she felt.

"Wonderful! I love it!"

"Good. Then I'm sure I will too." He was going to send it to her agent.

A week later the agent called her and told her it needed more work.

"What does that mean?" She asked Ivo when she called to cry on his shoulder.

"Just what the man said. He told you where you should correct it. And it can't be news for you. You remember Justin doing his rewrites. It's not such a big deal. You didn't expect to have it right the first time, did you?" But he could tell from the disappointment in her voice that she did.

"Of course."

"Well, you waited almost thirty-two years to write it, now you can give it another six months." But she didn't have to. She had the corrections the agent wanted in three. She mailed it back to him over the Fourth of July weekend and two days later he was on the phone. Victory! She had done it! She had written a fabulous, wonderful, spellbinding play. She melted at the sound of his adjectives and lay on her bed for an hour, grinning at the far wall.

"What are you looking so happy about, Betty?" John came in from a game of tennis and looked at her with a smile.

She sat up on their bed and smiled at him, running a hand through his shining ebony hair. "I have a surprise for you, darling." She had had it bound for him when she'd had a copy made for the agent, but she had saved it until she heard if the play was any good.

"What is it?" He sounded intrigued as she walked across the room.

"Something I made for you." She grinned at him over her shoulder, not unlike Alexander when he brought something home from school.

With a look of curiosity in his eyes, John followed her as she reached rapidly into a drawer, and then turned to him, with a large book, bound in blue.

"What is this?" He opened it slowly, and then stopped as though he had been slapped when he saw her name. He turned to look at her angrily, snapping the thin volume closed. "Is this supposed to be funny?"

"Hardly." She looked at him and felt her legs tremble. "It represents nine months of work."

"What is it?"

"It's a play."

"Couldn't you have found something better to do with your time, Betty? The women's auxiliary at the hospital needs a chairman, your son likes going to the beach with you, I can think of a dozen things you could have done with yourself instead of that."

"Why?" It was the first time she had challenged him.

He laughed derisively at her. "This thing is probably drivel." And then in a sudden burst of fury, he threw it at her. "Don't give me this trash!" And then, without saying anything further, he slammed the bedroom door and hurried down the stairs, and a moment later she heard him slam out of the house. From their bedroom window she watched him drive away and wondered what he was going to do now. Probably drive for a while, or go for a walk somewhere, and then he'd come home and they wouldn't discuss it ever again. He'd never read it, never mention it. The subject would be taboo. But what if she sold it, she wondered, then what would happen? What would he do? Depressingly she realized that she'd probably never have to face that possibility, but it was still nice to dream.

Right after the Labor Day weekend Alexander went back to school. The neighborhood was suddenly oddly quiet. At least Mary had the baby, but Bettina had nothing to do. True to her silent prediction, John had never again mentioned her play, and the edition she had had bound for him in blue leather had been stuck back in her drawer for two months. He had never seen the dedication to Alexander and him. It had been two months since Bettina had sent it to the agent, and Ivo said it might take months before there was any news. But what news was there going to be? That someone had bought it? That there were a dozen backers? That the show was ready to go into production any day? She grinned at the unlikelihood of any of that happening and went down to the kitchen and put the dishes in the machine. From her kitchen window she could see Mary putting the baby in the carriage and she smiled to herself as she watched. Maybe Mary had the right idea. Because now that her play was written Bettina wondered what she was going to do with herself. As she put the last of the dishes mournfully in the dishwasher, she heard the phone ring.

"Hello?"

"Bettina?"

"Yes." She smiled happily out the window. It was Ivo. "I haven't heard from you in weeks." She felt dishonest talking to him now and never telling John, but there was no harm in it and she knew that. There were some things she decided that she had a right to do without telling him. And what could she tell John anyway? That Ivo was calling to discuss her play?

"I just got back from the South of France. And Norton was going to call you." Her heart skipped a beat. Norton Hess was his agent and now, of course, hers. "But I told him that I wanted to call you myself."

"What about?" She tried to sound nonchalant as she sat down on a chair.

But at his end Ivo was grinning. "What do you think it's about, little one? The weather in California?" She chuckled and so did he. "Not exactly, darling. As a matter of fact"--he drawled out the words and she almost groaned--"it's about your brilliant little play."

"And?"

"Not so impatient!"

"Ivo! Come on!"

"All right, all right. Norton has what looks like an army of backers. Some fluke happened and there's apparently an available theater and it sounds almost impossible but they're talking about opening in late November or early December.... " He was laughing happily. "Need I say more? Norton wants you to come to New York on the next plane. You can discuss it all with him when you arrive."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am. Never more so."

"Oh, Ivo. ..." In all her writing and hoping and praying she had never really anticipated this. "What am I going to do now?" She didn't know if she should laugh or cry. But Ivo understood immediately.

"You mean about your husband?"

"Yes. What'll I tell him?"

"That you wrote a play, there's a producer on Broadway who's interested, and with any luck at all it's going to be a smash."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious."

"How soon do I really have to come?"

"The sooner the better. Norton will talk to you after I do, I'm sure. I just wanted the pleasure of breaking the news. But the fact is we're talking about an almost impossible opening date here, I gather. The only reason it's possible is because something happened to free this one theater, and your piece requires almost no costumes and scenery, so it only becomes a question of the financial backing, casting, and rehearsing. But the longer you drag your feet out there, the longer it will take to open here. How about coming tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" She looked stunned. "To New York?" She hadn't been there in five and a half years. There was a long moment of silence on the phone while Ivo let her digest it.

"It's up to you, little one. But you'd better pull yourself together right now."

"I'll talk to John tonight, and I'll discuss it with Norton tomorrow."

But Norton was not as gentle as Ivo. He called her half an hour later and insisted that she take the redeye that night. "I can't, that's ridiculous. I have a husband and a small child. I have to make arrangements, I have to.... " He had finally settled on her arriving the next day, but that meant she had to reach John and tell him as soon as she could. She thought about going to see him at his office, but eventually she decided to wait until he came home. She wore something pretty, gave him a drink, and put Alexander to bed as soon as she could.

"What's on your mind, pretty lady?" He eyed her with interest and they both smiled, but Bettina's face grew rapidly serious as she put down her drink.

"There's something I have to discuss with you, darling. And no matter what you may think of it, I want you to know that I love you." She faltered for a moment as she looked at him, dreading having to tell him about the play. "Because I do love you very, very much. And this has nothing to do with loving you, it has to do with me."

"And what does all this mean? Let me guess." He was in a teasing mood tonight. "You want to bleach your hair blond."

But she shook her head somberly. "No, John, it's about my play."

"Is that what it is? What about it?" His face was instantly tense.

She couldn't tell him that Ivo had sent it to an agent, because she hadn't told him that she had seen Ivo again. "I sent it to an agent."

"When?"

"Last July. No, actually before that, and he asked me to make some corrections and I did."

"Why?"

She closed her eyes for a minute, and then she looked at him. "Because I want to sell it, John. It's just ... it's something I've always wanted to do. I had to. For myself, for my father. And in a funny way for you and Alexander too."

"Bullshit! All you have to do for me and Alexander is be here for us, in this house."

"Is that all you want from me?" She looked at him with enormous sad eyes.

"Yes, it is. You think that's a respectable profession, Madam Playwright? Well, it isn't. Just look at your father, the illustrious novelist. Do you think he was a respectable man?"

"He was a genius." She was quick to defend him. "He may not have been what you call 'respectable,' but he was brilliant and interesting, and he left contributions that millions have enjoyed."

"And what did he leave you, sweetheart? His lecherous old friend? His buddy? That old fart who married you when you were nineteen?"