Authors: Danielle Steel
"Very pretty. Something new?"
"Yes. Luke got it for me in San Francisco." Something pinched in his face again. Bitterness. Anger.
"I see." There was no further comment, and Kezia finished her drink while Edward sipped his champagne.
"How is the writing these days?"
"It'll do. I haven't written anything I like in a while. And yes, Edward, I know. But looking at me like that won't change a damn thing. I know all about it" She was suddenly sick of the constant arch in his brows.
"That's right, darling, I'm not writing as well as I should. I've lost twelve pounds since you last saw me, I lock myself up at home because I'm terrified of reporters, and I look ten years older. I know all about it.
We both know I've had a rough time. And we both know why, so stop looking so fucking shocked and disapproving. It's really a dead bore."
"Kezial"
"Yes, Edward?"
He realized then from the look in her eyes that she had had more to drink than he'd thought. He was so stunned that he half turned in his seat and eyed her intensely.
"Okay, darling, what now? Is my mascara on crooked?"
"You're drunk." His voice was barely a whisper.
"Yes, I am," she whispered back with a bitter little smile. "And I'm going to get drunker. How's that for a fun day?" He sat back in his seat with a sigh, searching for the right words to say, and then he saw her. The reporter from
Women's Wear Daily,
eyeing them from across the room. "Damn."
"Is that all you can say, love? I'm turning myself into an alcoholic and all you can think of is 'damn'?" She was playing with him now, evilly, meanly, but she couldn't help herself. She was shocked when she felt his grip on her arm. "Kezia, that woman from
Women's Wear
is over there and if you do anything, anything to catch her attention or antagonize her, I'll ... you'll regret it" Kezia laughed a deep-throated laugh and kissed his cheek. She thought it was funny, and Edward felt the sinking feeling of events slipping away from him, out of control. She wanted to bait everyone; she didn't want to "come home."
She didn't even know where home was. And she was worse than Liane had ever been. So much more brazen, so much stronger, tougher, more willful . . . and so much more beautiful He had never loved her more than now, at this instant, and all he wanted to do was shake her, or slap her. And then make love to her. Right in the middle of La Grenouille if he had to. The ideas suddenly running through his mind shocked him, and he shook his head as though to clear it As he did, he felt Kezia patting his hand.
"Don't be afraid of silly old Sally, Edward, she won't bite you. She just wants a story." He found himself wondering if they should leave now, before they had lunch. But that might make a scene too. He felt trapped.
"Kezia. ..." He was almost trembling with fear, and all he could do was take her hand in his, look into her eyes and pray that she'd behave herself and not create a scene. "Please." Kezia saw the pain in his eyes, and it was like scalding oil on her soul. She didn't want to see his feelings, not now. She couldn't handle her own, let alone his.
"All right, Edward. All right." She looked away, her voice subdued again, and noticed the
WWD
reporter making little notes on a pad. But there would be no further story. Only that they had been seen. She was not going to make trouble. They'd all had enough. "I'm sorry." She said it with the sigh of a child, leaning back against the banquette, as relief swept over Edward. It made him feel tender again.
"Kezia, why can't I help you?"
"Because nobody can." There were tears trembling on her lashes. "Just try to accept that there isn't a hell of a lot you can do for me right now. The present is what it is, and the past happened, and the future . . . well, I don't see it too clearly right now. Maybe that's the trouble." She often found herself wondering now if this was what Tiffany had felt. As though someone had stolen the future. They had left her the large emerald ring and the pearls, but no future. It was hard to explain it to Edward. He was always so certain of everything. It made him seem far away too.
"Do you regret the past, Kezia?" But he looked up with horror at the reaction in her eyes. He had said the wrong thing again. Lord, it was hard to talk to the girl. Crucifixion over lunch.
"If you are referring to Lucas, Edward, of course I don't regret it. He's the only decent thing that's happened to me in the last ten or twenty, or maybe even thirty years. What I regret is the revocation.
There's nothing I can do about it now. There's nothing anyone can do. You can't appeal a revocation of parole. It's totally pointless."
"I see. I didn't realize you were still that involved in this . . . this problem. I thought that after . . ."
She cut him off, with a look of extreme aggravation.
"You thought wrong. And just so you don't die of the shock if you see it in the papers, I'm going back out there shortly."
"What in God's name for?" He was speaking to her
sotto voce
so no one would hear, but Kezia was speaking in her normal voice.
"To visit him, obviously. And I told you, I don't want to discuss it. And do you know something, Edward? I'm finding this entire subject inappropriate with you, and this lunch unbearably boring. As a matter of fact, darling, I think I've about had it." Her voice was rising to an unpleasant timbre, and Edward could feel himself squirm inside the starch in his collar. He was hating every minute of it. She drained her glass, looked around the room for a minute, and then looked back at him strangely.
"Kezia, are you all right? You looked rather pale for a moment." He looked terribly worried.
"No, really, I'm fine."
"Shall I have them get you a cab?"
"Yes, maybe I ought to go. To tell you the truth, it's a hell of a strain. That bitch from
Women's Wear
has been watching us since we sat down, and all of a sudden I feel like the whole goddamn place is watching me to see what kind of shape I'm in. It's all I can do not to stand up and tell them all to go fuck themselves."
Edward blanched. "No, Kezia. I don't think you ought
to
do that."
"Oh hell, darling, why not? For a laugh?"
She was playing with him again, and so cruelly. Why? Why did she have to do that to him? Didn't she know that he cared? That it tore him apart to see her this way . . . that he was not made merely of white shirts and dark suits . . . that someone lived inside the elegant tailoring, a heart ... a body ... a man. Tears burned his eyes and there was a grufiness in his voice as he quietly stood and took Kezia's arm. He looked different now, and she sensed it too. The games were over.
"Kezia, you're leaving now." She could hardly hear his words, but she could have read his tone from across the room. She was being dismissed like a naughty child.
"Are you very angry?" She whispered it to him as he helped her into her mink. She was frightened now.
She had only wanted to play . . . wanted to ... hurt. They both knew it.
"No. Only very sorry. For you." He guided her toward the door, keeping a firm grip on her elbow. She was going to have no chance to misbehave between the table and the door. The fun was over. And she felt oddly submissive at his side. He cast a few frosty smiles left and right as they made their way out. He didn't want anyone to think there was trouble, and Kezia looked dreadful.
They stood for a moment at the cloakroom while he waited for the girl to retrieve his coat and homburg.
"Edward, I ..." She had started to cry now and held tightly to his arm.
"Kezia, not here." Enough was enough. He couldn't bear ft anymore.
She swept the tears away with one hand gloved in black suede, and tried out a wintry smile.
"Where are you going from here? Home to lie down, I hope." And get hold of yourself. He didn't say it, but it was in his eyes, as he settled the homburg into place.
"Actually, I was going to show up at the Arthritis Ball meeting today. But I don't know if I'm up to it."
"I don't think you are."
"Yes. But I haven't been there in so long." And now there's Tiffany's place to fill as the local socialite lush. . . . Motherfucking old bags. Oh God, what if she said . . . what if ... what if. ... She felt a rush of heat follow the wave of pale green and wondered if she was going to faint or throw up. That would make a story for
WWD.
Edward took charge of her elbow again and led her out to the street The cold air seemed to restore her.
She took a deep breath and felt better.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to watch you do this to yourself? And for ... for . . ." Her eyes sought his but he couldn't stop himself anymore. "For nothing. For that . . . that no one. Kezia, for God's sake, stop now. Write to him, tell him you don't want to see him again. Tell him. . . ."
Her words stopped him cold. "Are you telling me this is a choice?" She stood still, watching him.
"What do you mean?" He felt ice trickle slowly down his back.
"You know exactly what I mean. Is this a choice, Edward? Your friendship or his love?"
No, little girl, my love or his. But he couldn't say that to her.
"Because if that's what you're saying . . . then I'm saying goodbye." She held out her arm before he could answer and stopped a cab that was passing. It came to a screeching halt just beyond the canopy.
"No, Kezia, I ..."
"See you soon, darling." She pecked at his cheek before he could regain his composure and slipped quickly into the cab. Before he knew it she was gone. Gone. ". . . then I'm saying goodbye." How could she? And so heartlessly, without any emotion in her eyes.
But what he didn't know was that she couldn't give up Luke. Not for anyone. Not even for him. Luke was her route to escape from the world that had haunted her. Luke had shown her the way out; now she had to stick with him. She couldn't turn back. Not even for Edward. And alone in the cab, she wanted to die. She had done it. She had killed him. Killed Edward. It was like killing her father . . . like killing Tiffany again. Why did someone always have to get mutilated, Kezia wondered as she drove uptown, fighting back sobs. And why Edward? Why him? He only had her, and she knew it. But maybe it had to be. She couldn't leave Luke, and if it was a question of loyalty . . . Edward could take it. He was so sturdy. He would always weather what had to be borne. He was good about those things. He understood.
Kezia did not know that he would spend the rest of the day walking, looking into faces, looking at women, and thinking of her.
The cab drew up outside the Fifth Avenue address Kezia had given. She was right on time for the meeting. The committee would be beginning to gather. She thought of their faces as she paid the driver the fare. . . . All those faces . . . and mink coats . . . and sapphires . . . and emeralds ... and . . . she felt a wave of panic sweep over her. The lunch with Edward had left her drained, and she didn't feel able to cope. She paused for a moment before going inside the building. And then she knew. She couldn't go hi.
The prying eyes at La Grenouille had been bad enough. But at least they had to keep then1distance. The women on the committee didn't, and they'd be all over her in an instant, with snide questions and sneering asides. And of course they had all seen the newspaper photographs of her collapsing in court, and read every word of the story. It was simply too much to handle.
The snow crunched beneath her feet as she walked to the corner to hail another cab and go home. She wanted to flee. She had unthinkingly walked back into the insanity of her life before Luke. And even for a day it unnerved her. From cab to cab, from luncheon to meeting to nowhere to nothing to drink to drank to drunk. She wondered what in God's name she was doing.
It was snowing and she was hatless and without boots, but she pulled the mink coat tightly around her and sank her gloved hands into her pockets. It was only a twelve-block walk to her house, and she needed the air.
She trudged all the way home, her suede shoes soaking wet on her feet, her hair damp, and when she got home her cheeks were aflame and her legs felt icy and numb, but she felt alive and sober again. She had pulled her hair from its knot and let it fall around her shoulders, gathering a mantilla of snow.
The doorman rushed to her side with his half-broken umbrella as he saw her loom from the snow and darkness, and she laughed as he approached.
"No, no, Thomas. I'm fine!" She felt like a child again, and the sodden shoes didn't matter at all. It was the sort of performance that would have won her days of scolding as a child. Totie might even have reported her to Edward for something like that But Totie was a thing of the past now, as was Edward.
She had seen that today. She could walk fat the snow all night now if she wanted. It didn't really matter.
Nothing did. Except Luke.
But at least the buzzing sound had left her head, her shoulders didn't feel quite so heavy, her spirit felt clean. Even the drinks had been washed away by the cold and the snow.
The doorbell rang just as she peeled off her stockings and stuck her cold feet under the hot water tap in the tub. They tingled and hurt and turned red. She debated answering the door, and decided rapidly not to. It was obviously just the elevator man with a package; had it been a visitor they would have called from downstairs for permission to send someone up. But the bell was persistent, and finally she dried her feet in one of the big monogrammed towels, and ran to the door. "Yes? Who is it?" "Cesar Chavez."
"Who?"
"It's Alejandro, yon dummy.' She pulled open the door. "Good lord, you look like Frosty the Snowman. Did you walk?"
"All the way." He looked terribly pleased with himself. "I think I love New York after all. When it snows anyway. Isn't it great?"
She nodded with a broad smile of agreement "Come on in."
"I was hoping you'd say that. They rang from downstairs for ages, but you didn't answer. The guy said you were home, and I must have looked honest or cold, because he let me come up."
"I had the water running in the tub." She looked down at her bare feet which were now almost purple from the return of circulation after the shock of the tub. "I walked home too. It felt great."