Authors: Danielle Steel
"Back-talker. Get your ass to bed now, or you'll be too tired to show me the town tomorrow."
"Can you spend the day?"
"I plan to, unless you have something better to do." He had never thought to ask her.
"Nope. I'm free as a bird. G'night, Lucas." She turned quickly in a flurry of pink silk then, and he watched her go, wanting to reach out and stop her. And then it was out, before he could swallow the words.
"Kezia!" His voice was soft but urgent.
"Yes?" She turned with a look of surprise on her face.
"I love you."
She stood very still, and neither of them moved. He lay twisted on the couch, watching her face. And she looked awed by his words.
"I ... you're very special to me, Luke. I ..."
"Are you afraid?"
She nodded, lowering her eyes. "A little."
"You don't have to be, Kezia. I love you. I won't hurt you. I've never known a woman like you."
She wanted to tell him that she had never known a man like him, but somehow she couldn't. She couldn't say anything. She could only stand there, wishing for his arms, and not knowing how to find them.
It was Lucas who went to her, quietly, wrapping himself in the sheet she'd used for his bed. He walked slowly toward her and put his arms around her, holding her close.
"Everything's okay, babe. Everything's just fine."
"It is, isn't it?" She gazed up at him with a sunny look on her face. This was different from anything she had known. It mattered, it was serious, and to the core of her soul he knew who she was.
"Lucas . . ."
"Yeah, Mama?"
"I love you. I ... love . . . you. ..." He swept her up in his arms then, gently, easily, and carried her back to her room in the dark. And as he set her down, she looked up at him and smiled. It was the smile of a woman, mischievous, mysterious, and tender. "You know something funny, Luke? I've never made love in my own bedroom before."
"I'm glad."
"So am I." Their voices had sunk to whispers.
Her shyness fell away from her as she held out her arms to him, and he carefully pulled the pink silk nightgown down past her shoulders. She unraveled the sheet from his waist. His hands spent the dawn learning her body, and at last she fell asleep in his arms, as the sky was turning pale gray.
"Good morning, my love. What do yon want to do today?" She grinned at him with her chin on his chest.
"Oh, you know, the usual . . . tennis, bridge, whatever we're supposed to do on Park Avenue."
"Up your nose."
"My nose? Why my nose?"
"I love your nose. It's gorgeous."
"You're crazy. Stark staring cuckoo, Miss Saint Martin. Maybe that's why I love you."
"Are you sure you love me?" She was playing a game that women only play when they're sure.
"Absolutely certain."
"How do you know?" She ran a finger along his neck pensively and then let it float down his chest.
"Because my left heel itches. My mother told me I'd know it was true love when my left heel itched. It itches. So you must be the one."
"Crazy nut." He silenced her with a kiss, and she tucked herself into his arms, and they lay side by side, enjoying the morning.
"You're beautiful, Kezia."
"So are you." He had a lean, powerful body that rippled with healthy muscles, covered by the smoothest of skin. She bit gently at his nipple, and he swatted her small white behind.
"Where'd you get the expensive-looking tan?"
"Marbella, of course. And in the South of France. In seclusion.'"
"You're shitting me." He looked vastly amused.
"I shit you not. The papers said I was 'in seclusion.' Actually I went off on my own on a boat I hired in the Adriatic, and just before Marbella I did some research for a story in North Africa. That was terrificl"
Her eyes shone with the memory.
"You sure do get around."
"Yup. I did a lot of work this summer too. Gee, Luke, wouldn't it be neat if we could go to Europe together sometime? I mean the good places like Dakar and Marrakech, Camargue in France, and Brittany, and Yugoslavia. Maybe Scotland too." She looked up at him dreamily and nibbled his ear.
"Sounds delightful, but unfortunately it'll never happen. Not for a while anyway."
"Why not?"
"Can't. My parole."
"What a bore."
He threw back his head and laughed, pulling her away from his ear carefully, and looking for her lips with his mouth. They kissed hungrily and long, and when it was over he chuckled again.
"You're right, my parole is a bore. I wonder what they'd say if I told them that."
"Let's tell them and find out."
"I have a sneaking suspicion you would."
She grinned wickedly at him and he pulled the sheet from her body to look at her again.
"You know what I love?"
"My bellybutton?"
"Better than your big mouth anyway. At least it's quiet. No, be serious for a minute. . . ."
"I'll try."
"Shut up."
"I love you."
"Oooh, woman, don't you ever stop talking?" He kissed her fiercely and tugged at a lock of her hair.
"I haven't had anyone to talk to in so long, never like this ... it just feels so good I can't stop."
"I know what you mean." He ran a hand gently up the inside of her thigh with a passionate look in his eyes.
"What were you going to tell me?" She lay watching him matter-of-factly.
"Sweetheart, your timing is lousy. I was about to ravish your body again."
"No, you weren't. You were going to tell me something." She looked almost angelic.
"Don't be a tease. And I was going to tell you something before you interrupted me. What I was going to say is that it's incredible how last week I didn't even know you, and three days ago you appeared at one of my speeches, and two days ago I told you the story of my life. By yesterday, I had fallen to love with you. And now here we are. I didn't think things like this happened."
"They don't But I know what you mean. I feel like I've known you forever."
That's what I mean. Feels like we've been hanging out together for years. And I love it"
"Have you ever felt like this before?"
"Women! What an impertinent question. But for your information, no, I have not. One thing's for damn sure, I've never fallen head over heels in love in three days before... and never with an hen-ess."
He grinned at her and lit a cigar. Kezia reflected gleefully that her mother would have died. A cigar in the bedroom? Before breakfast? Good lord.
"Lucas, you know what you've got?"
"Bad breath?"
"Aside from that You've got style."
"What kind of style?"
"Gorgeous style, sexy style, courageous style, ballsy style . . . I think I'm crazy about you."
"Crazy, for sure. About me, in that case I'm damn lucky."
"So am I. Oh Lucas, I'm so glad you're here. Imagine if I hadn't given you my phone number!" The thought appalled her.
"I'd have found you anyway." He sounded totally confident
"How?"
"I'd have found a way. Bloodhounds, if I'd had to. I wasn't about to let you slip out of my life in one breath. I couldn't keep my eyes off you all night at that first speech. I couldn't figure out if you were the writer who was coming to interview me." It was delicious sharing the secrets of thek first feelings, and Kezia was smiling as she hadn't in years.
"You scared me that first morning."
"Did I? Jesus, and I tried so hard not to. I was probably ten times as scared as you were."
"But you didn't look H. And you looked at me so pointedly, I kept thinking that you could see whatever I thought"
"I wish to hell I could have. It was all I could do not to jump up and grab you."
"Masher." She rolled closer to him, and they kissed again. "You taste of cigar."
"Want me to go brush my teeth?"
"Later." He smiled and rolled onto his stomach, the pink nightgown still tangled near his feet. He kissed her again and held her close in his arms, his body slowly taking hold of hers, his feet pressing her legs wide apart.
"Okay, lady, you said you'd show me the town." He sat naked in one of the blue velvet chairs, smoking his second cigar of the day, and drinking his first beer. They had just finished breakfast. And she looked at him and started to laugh.
"Lucas, you look impossible."
"I do not. I look extremely possible. And I feel better than hell. I told you, babe, no class."
*You're wrong."
"About what?"
"Having no class. Class is a question of dignity, and pride, and caring, and you happen to have lots of all three. I'm related to an absolute horde of people who have no class at all. And I met some people in SoHo who had tons of it. It's a very strange thing."
"It must be." He didn't seem to care one way or the other. "So what are we doing today? Besides making love."
"Hmm . . . all right, I'll show you the town."
And she did. She arranged for a limousine, and they toured"Wall Street and the Village, drove up the East River Drive and crossed Forty-second Street to Broadway, pausing at the Stage Delicatessen for cream cheese and bagels. Then they followed their route north to Central Park and swooped past the Plaza, where they stopped for a drink at the Oak Room. Back down Fifth, and up Madison past all the boutiques, and all the way uptown again, where they halted the chauffeur at the Metropolitan Museum and got out and walked in the park. It was six o'clock when they wound up at the Stanhope for drinks, fighting the pigeons for peanuts at the sidewalk cafe.
"You give a good tour, Kezia. Hey, I just thought of something. Want to meet one of my friends?"
"Here?" She looked surprised.
"No, not here, silly girl. Uptown. In Harlem."
"Sounds interesting." She looked at him with a long, slow smile. The idea intrigued her.
"He's a beautiful guy. Nicest dude I know. I think you'd like him."
"I probably would." They exchanged a sweet sunny look which reflected the warmth of the day.
"It wouldn't be too cool to go up in the limo though, would it?"
He shook his head in answer, and picked up the check. "We can send Jeeves home, and catch a cab up."
"Bullshit to that."
"You want to go in the limo?" He hadn't counted on that. Certainly not for a trip up to Harlem, but maybe she didn't know how to travel any other way.
"Of course not, you dummy. We can go up on the subway. It's faster, and smarter. A lot more discreet."
"Well, listen to her. 'Discreet* You mean you take the subway?" He stood up and looked down at her face as they laughed. She was full of surprises.
"How do you think I used to go down to SoHo? By jet?"
"Your own private Lear, I would think."
"But of course. Come on, Romeo, let's get rid of Jeeves, and go for a walk." The chauffeur tipped his hat and was instantly gone, and they strolled leisurely toward the subway, where they descended into the bowels of the world, bought tokens, and shared pretzels and a Coke.
They reached the 125th Street station, and Luke held her hand as they climbed the stairs to the street
"It's just a few blocks."
"Come to think of it, Luke, are you sure hell be home?"
"Nope. We're going to the place where he works, and I'm sure that he'll be there. You can hardly drag him out of the damn place to feed him."
Luke seemed broader suddenly as they walked along, and more sure of himself than he had appeared all day. His shoulders seemed to spread, his walk almost rolled, while his eyes kept careful watch on passersby. He was wearing his familiar tweed jacket and she was in jeans. But this was still Harlem. A long way from home. For her. To him, it appeared to be something he knew. He was wary, but only he knew of what
"You know something, Lucas? You walk differently here."
"You'd better believe it. Brings back memories of Q."
"San Quentin?" He nodded and they turned a corner, as Lucas looked up at a building and stopped.
"Well, baby, this is it." They were standing in front of a decaying brownstone with a half-burnt-away sign:
Armistice House.
But it didn't look to Kezia as though it had been much of a truce.
He let go her hand and put an arm around her shoulders as they walked up the stairs. Two raucous teen-age black boys and a Puerto Rican girl came roaring out of the door, laughing and shrieking, the girl running away from the boys, but not very hard. Kezia smiled and looked up at Luke.
"So what's so different up here?"
Luke didn't smile back. "Junkies, pushers, hookers, pimps, street fights, shankings. Same stuff that goes on anywhere in town, in any town in the world these days . . . except the neighborhood you live in. And don't get any fancy ideas. If you decide that you- like Alejandro, don't come up here to visit after I'm gone. Give him a call, and he can come to see you. This isn't your world."
"But it's yours?" She was almost annoyed at the speech. She was a big girl. She had survived before Luke. Though admittedly not in the middle of Harlem. "And this is your world, I suppose?" she repeated.
He didn't look like he fit any better than she did. Well, not much better.
"Used to be. But not anymore. I can deal with it though. You can't. It's as simple as that." He held the door open for her and his tone of voice told her he meant business.
The corridor, lined with faded posters, smelled of stale urine and fresh grass. Graffiti doubled as artwork between the posters, the glass shades around light bulbs had been broken, and paper flowers hung limply from fire extinguishers. A tired sign said "Welcome to Armistice House! We love you!" And someone had crossed out the "love" and written "fuck."
Luke wove his way up a narrow staircase, keeping one hand in Kezia's, but the tenseness was leaving him now. The once-upon-a-time street fighter had come for a visit. A social call. She laughed, suddenly reminded of the legends of the Old West.
"What's so funny, Mama?" He looked at her from his great height as she came up the stairs behind him, light on her feet, smiling and happy.
"You are, Marshal Dillon. Sometimes you're an absolute riot."