Authors: Danielle Steel
"Yes. Come home. Immediately."
"I won't. Anything else?"
"I don't know what it will take to bring you to your senses, Kezia, but I suggest you make an effort to become rational as quickly as possible. You may regret this for a lifetime."
"I will, but not for the reasons you think, Edward."
"You have no idea how something like this can jeopardize . . ." His voice trailed off unhappily. For a moment he hadnt been speaking to Kezia, but to the ghost of her mother, and they both knew it. Now Kezia was certain. Now she knew why he had told her about her mother and the tutor. Now she knew it all.
"Jeopardize what? My 'position'? My 'consequence,' as Aunt Hil would say? Jeopardize my chances of finding a husband? You think I give a damn about all that now? I care about Luke, Edward. I care about Lucas Johns. I love him!" She was shouting again.
Three thousand miles away, silent tears were sliding down Edward's face. "Let me know if there's anything I can do for you."
It was the voice of her attorney, her trustee, her guardian. Not her friend. Something had finally snapped.
The gap between them was broadening to a frightening degree, for both of them.
"I will." They exchanged no goodbye and Edward severed the connection. Kezia sat for a long moment holding the dead phone in her hands, while Alejandro watched her.
Tears of farewell slid down her cheeks. That had been two in two days. In one way or another, she had lost the only two men she had ever loved, since her father. Three lost men in a lifetime. She knew that somehow she had just lost Edward. She had betrayed him. What he had sought most to prevent had finally come.
Edward, sitting in his office, knew it too. He walked solemnly to the door, locked it carefully, walked back to his desk, and Sicked the switch on his intercom, informing his secretary in the driest of tones that he did not want to be disturbed until further notice. Then, having carefully put aside the mail on his desk, he lay his head down on his arms and broke into heart-rending sobs. He had lost her ... lost them both . . . and to such unworthy men. As he lay there he wondered why the only two women he had ever loved had such a brutal flaw in their characters . . . the tutor . . . and now this . . . this . . . jailbird . . . this nobody! He found himself shouting the word, and then, surprised at himself, he stopped crying, lifted his head, sat back in his chair, and stared at his view. There were times when he simply did not understand.
No one played by the rules anymore. Not even Kezia, and he had taught her himself. He shook his head slowly, blew his nose twice, and went back to his desk to look over the mail.
Jack Simpson was sympathetic when he called her. But Kezia's agent didn't help matters by feeling guilty for introducing her to Luke. She assured him that he'd given her the best gift of her life, but the tears in her voice didn't console either of them.
Alejandro tried to coax her into a walk, but she wouldn't move, and sat in the hotel room with the shades drawn, smoking, drinking tea, coffee, water, scotch, scarcely eating, just thinking, her eyes filling with tears, her hands shaking and frail. She was afraid to go out now, afraid of the press and afraid of missing a phone call from Luke.
"Maybe he'll call."
"Kezia, he can't call from county jail. They won't let him."
"Maybe they will."
It was pointless to argue with her; it was almost as though she didn't hear. And whatever she heard, she didn't listen to. The only sounds that penetrated were her own inner voices, and the echoes of Luke.
It was midnight before Alejandro finally got her to bed.
"What are you doing?" She could see his outline in the chair in the corner. Her voice sounded strangely old.
"I thought I'd just sit here for a while. Will it keep you from sleeping?" She wanted to reach out
in
the darkness and touch his hand. She couldn't find the words again, all she could do was shake her head and cry. It had been an unbearable day, not as tense as the previous day, but more wearing. The endless pressure of pain.
He heard the muffled sobs in the pillow and came closer to sit on the edge of the bed. "Kezia, don't." He stroked her hah-, her arm, her hand, as her body shook with sobs. She was keening for Luke. "Oh baby . . . little girl, why did this happen to you?" She was so unprepared, so unused to anything she could not control, and she had seen nothing like this. There were tears in his own eyes again, but she couldn't see them.
"It didn't happen to me, Alejandro. It happened to him." The voice was bitter and tired through her tears.
He stroked her hah* for what seemed like hours, and at last she fell asleep. He smoothed the covers around her, and touched her cheek ever so gently. She looked young again as she slept; the anger had left her thin face. The bitterness of what can happen to a life out in the big, bad, ugly world had come as a shock to her. She was learning the hard way, with her heart, and her guts.
He heard her knock gently on his door, and raised his head from the pillow. Sleep had taken a long tune to come to him the night before, and now it was only five after six.
"Who is it?"
"Me. Kezia."
"Is anything wrong?"
"I just thought maybe we should get up." Today was the day she was going to see Lucas. Alejandro smiled tiredly as he got up to open the door, pulling on his pants as he went.
"Kezia, you're crazy. Why don't you go back to sleep for a while?" She was standing there in a blue flannel nightgown and her white satin robe, her feet bare, her hair loose and long and dark. Her eyes looked alive again in the much too pale face.
"I can't sleep and I'm hungry. Did I wake you?"
"No, no, of course not. I always get up at six. In fact, I've been up since four." He looked at her chidingly and she laughed.
"Okay, okay. I get the message. Is it too early to get you some coffee, and me some tea?"
"Sweetheart, this ain't the Fairmont. Do you really want to get moving that bad?"
She nodded. "How soon can I see him?"
"I don't think they let you visit till eleven or twelve." Christ, they could have had another four hours of sleep. Alejandro silently mourned the lost hours. He was half dead.
"Well, we're up now. We might as well stay up."
"Wonderful. That's just what I wanted to hear. Kezia, if I didn't love you so much, and if your old man weren't such a fucking giant, I think right about now I'd kick your ass."
She smiled delightedly at him. "I love you too."
He grinned at her, sat down, and lit a cigarette. She already had one in her hand, and he saw that the hand was still shaking, but aside from that and the pale, pointed look of her face, she looked better.
Some sparkle had come back to her eyes, a hint of life and the old Kezia. The girl was a fighter for sure.
He vanished into the bathroom and came out with combed hair, brushed teeth, and a clean shut.
"My, don't you look pretty." She was wide awake and full of teasing this morning. It was a far cry from the condition she'd been in the morning before. At least that was a relief.
"You're just looking for trouble this morning, aren't you? Hasn't anyone ever told you not to bug a man before his first cup of coffee?"
"Pobrecito!"
He flipped her the finger and she laughed at him.
"And now that you've dragged me out of my warm bed, I suppose you're going to take two hours to dress." He waved at the nightgown and robe.
"Make that five minutes."
She was as good as her word. She was moving very quickly this morning, like a kid waiting for her first trip to the circus, up at dawn, nervous, jumpy, and already tired by breakfast. And they still had five hours to kill before they could see Luke.
Alejandro's thoughts drifted constantly to Luke now. How was he taking it? Was he all right? What was he thinking? Was he already back to the jailhouse jiving, the cold indifference of lost hopes, or was he still Luke? And if he had already reverted to what he'd once been, how big a shock would it be for Kezia? And how would she adjust to the visit? Alejandro knew it only too well, but he knew that she didn't. Visiting through a thick glass window, speaking on a static-ridden phone, with Luke wearing a filthy rumpled orange overall that would barely reach to his elbows and knees. He would be living in a cell with half a dozen other men, eating beans and stale bread and an imitation of meat, drinking coffee grinds and shitting with no toilet paper. It was one hell of a place to take Kezia, visiting with pimps and hookers and thieves and distraught mothers and hippie girls who would bring ragged children in their arms or on then- backs. There would be noise and stench and agony. How much could she take? How far into this world would Luke lead her? And now it was on
his
back. It was Alejandro's baby. Taking care of Kezia.
There was a knock on his door that broke into his thoughts. Kezia again. Dressed and ready to go.
"Boy, you sure look gloomy as hell."
His thoughts must have showed. "Morning is not my best hour. I can't say the same for you, though. You look pretty sharp for tea at a truck stop." She was, as usual, expensively dressed. And there was a brittle cheeriness about her which was beginning to make him nervous. What if she cracked?
"Shouldn't we call a cab?" They had dispensed with the limousine when they checked into the Ritz, again with an oversized tip to buy the chauffeur's silence.
"We can walk. I know a place a few blocks away."
They headed south in the damp air, and crept down the steep hills hand in hand.
"It's really such a beautiful city, isn't it, Al? Maybe
we
can go for a walk later today."
He hoped not. He hoped Luke would tell her to get her ass on a plane to New York. By the end of the week, Luke would be back in Quentin, and there was no point in her staying for that. She couldn't visit him until she got clearance anyway, and that could take weeks. And sooner or later, she'd have to go home. Better sooner than later.
The truck stop was full but not crowded, the room was warm, and the jukebox was already alive. The aroma of coffee mingled with the odor of tired men, cigarette smoke and cigars. She was the only woman in the place, but invited only a few uninterested glances.
Alejandro made her order breakfast, and she made a face. He was unyielding. Two fried eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast
"For chrissake, Alejandro. I don't eat that much for dinner."
"And you look it. Skinny upper-class broad."
"Now don't be a snob." She ate one piece of bacon, and played with the toast. The untouched eggs stared up at her like two jaundiced eyes.
"You're not eating."
"I'm not hungry."
"And you're smoking too much."
"Yes, Daddy. Anything else?"
"Up yours, lady. Listen, you'd better take care of yourself, or I'll squeal to the boss."
"You'd teU Lucas?"
"If I have to." A flicker of worry flashed through her eyes.
"Listen, Alejandro, seriously. ..."
"Yes?" He laughed at the way she was beginning to squirm.
"I'm serious. Don't upset Luke about anything. If he saw it, that hideous picture in the paper will be bad enough."
Alejandro nodded, sobered, no longer teasing. They had both seen the small item on page three of the
Chronicle
that morning: Miss Saint Martin had not yet returned to New York; it was assumed that she was "hiding" somewhere in the city. There was even some speculation about whether she had been hospitalized for nervous collapse. She had certainly looked well on her way to it in the pictures. But they also suggested that if she were in town, she'd probably show up on a visiting day to see Luke, "unless Miss Kezia Saint Martin has pulled strings for private visiting privileges with Mr. Johns."
"Gee, I never thought of that."
"Want to give it a try? It may spare you some hassles with the press. It seems pretty clear they'll be watching for you on visiting days."
"So let them. I'll go on the same day as everyone else, and visit just like everyone else does."
Alejandro nodded. The remaining hours until visiting began to grind by. It seemed like weeks before it was a quarter to twelve.
"Ready to go?" She nodded and picked up her handbag. "Kezia, you're amazing." She looked like an extremely pretty young woman without a care in the world. The makeup helped, but it was the way she carried herself, the mask she had slipped into place.
"Thank you, sir." She looked tense but beautiful, and totally different from the sobbing woman he'd held in his arms in the City Hall corridor two days before. She was every inch a lady, and every ounce in control.
Only the tremor of her hands gave her away. If it weren't for that, she would have looked completely unruffled. Alejandro mused as he watched her. So that's what it was, the hallmark of class, to never show what you feel, as though you've never known a moment of sorrow. Just comb your hair, put it back in an elegant little knot, powder your nose, smack a smile on your face, and speak in a low subdued voice.
Remember to say "thank you" and "please" and smile at the doorman. The mark of good breeding. Like a show dog, or a well-trained horse.
"Are you coming, Alejandro?" She was in a hurry to leave the hotel.
"Christ, woman, I can hardly keep my mind straight, and you stand there like you're going to a tea party.
How do you do it?"
"Practice. It's a way of life."
"It can't be healthy."
"It's not. That's why half the people I grew up with are now alcoholics. The others live on pills, and in a few years a whole bunch of them will drop dead from heart attacks. Some of them have already managed to die." A vision of Tiffany flashed through her mind. "You cover up all your life, and one day you explode."
"What about you?" He was following her down the hotel's ill-lighted stairs.
"I'm okay. I let off steam with my writing. And I can be myself with Luke . . . and now you."
"No one else?"
"Not till now."
"That's no way to live.**
"You know, Alejandro," she said, when she had climbed into the cab, "the trouble with pretending all the time is that eventually you forget who you are, and what you feel. You become die image."