Season of Passion (20 page)

Kate took a last look in the mirror as she got ready to leave the bungalow. She had been planning to order a cab, so she wouldn't get lost driving herself around L.A. But Nick's secretary had called an hour before to tell her he was sending a car for her. At six. And the desk had just called to tell her it was there. She had already phoned Felicia twice, in a panic. Talked to Tygue. Gone for a swim, washed her hair, done her nails, and changed earrings and shoes three times. She was finally set. She still felt like a tart in that dress. But a very high-priced one.

The dress bared her narrow, elegant shoulders and showed off her long, delicate neck. It had a high-necked halter, and there was very little fabric at her back, but no one would see that on the air she'd have her back against the chair. The dress nipped in carefully at the waist and then flowed gracefully away again. She had decided finally on the navy silk sandals Licia had suggested she wear with it, pearl earrings, and her hair swept up in a carefully done knot. It was the same hairdo her mother had been wearing, years ago, the last time she'd seen her, but Kate didn't remember that anymore. The hairdo just looked right to her. And other than the pearl earrings, the only jewelry she wore was her wedding band. She looked striking and understated and the mirror told her that everything worked. She hoped Nick thought so too, and then she blushed again at the thought. Not Nick as a man, just Nick as the producer of the show. But there was an overlap in her mind between Nick's functions as mentor, advisor, friend, man. It was a confusing rush of feelings for a man she'd known only since noon. But she was anxious to see him and know that she looked all right for the show. And if she didn't, she was up shit creek. She hadn't gone shopping that afternoon. She had decided to take a chance on the one suitable dress she had. If they hated it for the show, she was stuck. But Felicia said they'd love it And she was usually right.

Kate wrapped a midnight-blue shawl of web-thin crochet around her shoulders, picked up her bag, and opened the door. This is it: She couldn't get the words out of her head. This Is It. She wouldn't let herself listen to that feeling as she walked quickly to the main lobby and then down the breezeway under the awning until she stood next to the doorman at the curb.

Miss Harper? How the hell did he know? There were armies of people passing by. It was amazing. She noticed a floor-length chinchilla coat on a very old, very ugly woman, followed by three middle-aged fags, and she forced her attention back to the doorman.

Yes. I'm Miss Harper.

The car is waiting. He signaled to a limousine parked to one side, and an endlessly long chocolate-brown Mercedes sped to her feet. For me? Talk about Cinderella! She wanted to laugh but she didn't dare.

Thank you. The driver held open the door for her, having leapt out almost before the doorman could reach it, and the two uniformed men stood there as she slipped inside. Once again, she had the wild urge to poke somebody, to collapse, giggling, in the back seat But there was no one to giggle with. She was suddenly dying to see Nick and say something to him. And then she realized that she couldn't To him this was everyday. To her, it was once in a lifetime.

The car sped through unknown neighborhoods, past mansions and palm trees, and into uncharted areas of freeway she knew she would have been lost on forever, and then they reached a long, unpretentious, sand-colored building. The studio. The car stopped, the driver opened her door, and she stepped out. It was difficult not to make An Exit Difficult not to look imperious just for the hell of it But she reminded herself that Cinderella had lost the glass slipper and almost broken her ass on the stairs.

Thank you. She smiled at the driver, and was pleased that the voice still sounded like Kate's, not Miss Harper's. But she was getting to like the Miss Harper stuff. It was a riot Kaitlin Harper. The Author.

Two security guards stood just inside the door, and asked for her identification when she got inside. But before she could give it to them, a young woman with sheaves of blond hair appeared and smiled at the guards.

I'll take you up now, Miss Harper. The two guards smiled now too, one of them looking appreciatively at the blond girl's ass. She was wearing the standard pair of jeans, with Gucci shoes, and a little see-through white top. Kate felt like her mother. The girl was probably only twenty-two, but she had an air about her that Kate hadn't had for years, if ever. Maybe, way back when, a thousand years ago ' it was hard to remember.

Everything's all set in the Red Room. The girl continued to chat amiably as they took an elevator to the second floor. They could have walked just as easily, but Kate sensed immediately that would not have been the thing to do. This was a town where everything one did reflected one's status.

They emerged into an anonymous corridor, and Kate tried to glance at the photographs mounted on the walls. They were faces she had seen in major movies, in newspapers, in news reports on television, even some faces from the backs of book jackets. She wondered if one day they'd have her face up there too, and for one mad heavenly moment she wanted her face up there. Kaitlin Harper ' Ha! That's me! See! Me! I'm Kate! But the girl was already holding open a door. The inner sanctum. A ring of guards protected it outside and in, and the door opened only by key. A long white-carpeted hall now. White? How impractical. But obviously nobody gave a damn. It was beautiful. More photographs. These were more personal, and in all of them there was Jasper Case. He was an attractive man in the photographs, silver-haired and very tall. He had a certain elegance about him. And she knew from watching the show that his English accent added to the distinguished image. And he got the best interviews on television, because he was never pretentious, never vicious, always warm, thorough, interested, and he somehow managed to draw the viewer into the conversation. The man sitting at home drinking Oval tine and watching Jasper before he went to bed felt as if all Jasper's guests were sitting in his own living room and including him in the party.

Kate was still engrossed in the photographs when she heard another door open with one of the girl's magical keys, and she found herself looking into what appeared to be a guest room. It was done in dusty rose and looked very glamorous. There was a couch, several easy chairs, the now standard chaise longue, a vanity, a jungle of orchid plants, and other leafy wonders hanging from the ceiling. It was the kind of room Kate would have dreamed of as an office, instead of the grubby hole where she, and most writers, did their work.

This is your dressing room, Miss Harper. If you want to change or lie down. Whatever. When you're ready, just press the buzzer and I'll take you down to the Red Room. You will? You promise? But do I gotta? Kate liked the pink room. Who needed the Red Room?

Thank you. They were the only two words she could think of. She was too busy being overwhelmed. And when she stepped inside and the door closed, she noticed a delicate bouquet of pink roses and baby's breath, with a little card. She walked over to it, wondering if the flowers were for someone else. Surely someone more important But her name was on the envelope. She opened it with curiosity and trembling fingers. Stu maybe?

But they weren't from Stu. They were from Nick. Don't forget the dog and the weather. Nick. She laughed at the card, and sat down and looked around the room. She had nothing to do there, except gape. She felt the shawl fall away from her shoulders as she sat in one of the large comfortable chairs and let it swallow her. And then, nervously, she jumped up and looked in the full-length mirror. Did she look all right? Was the dress awful? Was she ' did she ' should she ' there was a soft knock which interrupted her glaring at herself in sheer panic

Kate? It was a man's voice, a deep one, and she suddenly smiled. She wasn't alone after all. She pulled open the door, and there he was, tall and smiling. Nicholas Waterman. He was even taller than she had remembered from lunch, but his eyes were just as she had left them, warm and kind, the eyes of a friend. How're you doing?

I'm a wreck. She beckoned him inside and shut the door like a fellow conspirator, and then she remembered the roses. Thank you for the flowers. How do I look? Everything was coming out staccato and bumpy and she wanted to lie facedown on the floor and hide. Oh, I can't stand it She sank onto the couch and almost groaned. Nick laughed.

You look beautiful. And you're fine. Just remember. The dog and the weather. Right?

Oh shut up. But then she noticed him looking at her and squinting. What is it?

Take your hair down.

Now? I'll never get it back up. She looked horrified.

That's the whole point, silly. Come on. That dress needs long hair.' He sat back on the couch next to her and waited, as she looked at him with an astonished grin.

Do you do this with everybody who comes on the show? What a disappointing thought. She hoped he didn't

Of course not. But not everybody comes on this show on the strength of her dog and the weather.

Will you stop that! She was grinning broadly now. And she had just decided again that she loved his eyes.

Take your hair down. He looked like a big brother trying to teach her a new sport. She was going to resist, but she decided to let herself be persuaded.

Okay. But I'll look a mess.

You wouldn't know how to.

You're crazy.

It was bathroom patter. He shaves while she dries. She combs her hair while he does his tie. She looked at him with a smile as her hair cascaded past her shoulders in soft, loose, gentle waves. He grinned. He had been right.

Some mess, gorgeous one. Take a look in the mirror

She did, and frowned uncertainly. I look like I just woke up. There was something he wanted to say to her, but he didn't say it. He just smiled.

You look perfect. And you have just sold your book to half the men in America. The other half are either too old or too young. But if they're awake for the show, Kate you've sold em.

You like it like this?

I love it And he loved the dress. She looked exquisite. Tall and delicate, elegant and sexy. There was a kind of naive glamour about her. She didn't know it, bat she was the kind of woman men were going to crawl over each other to get to. It was the subtlety, the hint of shyness behind the humor, the reserve mixed in with the mischief. Without thinking, he took her by the. hand. Ready? She had to pee, but she couldn't tell him. She just nodded with a smile.

Ready. She was so breathless she could hardly say it.

Then on to the Red Room.

There was champagne there, and coffee. There were sandwiches, and a plate of p+it+! de foie gras. There were magazines, aspirins, and assorted other remedies for minor ills, including several rather ferocious hangover remedies. And there were faces Kate had never expected to be in the same room with. A journalist from New York, a comedian she had heard of all her life, who had just flown in from Las Vegas to do the show, a major singing star, an actress, and a man who had spent four years in Africa writing a book about zebras. She had heard of them all, seen them all. There were no unknowns there. And then she grinned to herself. She was the unknown.

Nick introduced her to everyone and handed her the ginger ale she had asked for. At exactly a quarter to seven he left the room. The zebra man was sitting across from her, making inane conversation in his almost unintelligible Etonian accent, and the female singing star was looking Kate over.

Looks like the producer's got the hots for you, darling. Old flame or new one? Is that how you got on the show? She filed a clawlike crimson nail and then grinned over at the actress, who was her friend. There was a new face in town and they didn't like it Kate smiled at them, wishing she were dead. What the hell did you say? Fuck off? May I have your autograph? She continued to smile inanely and crossed her legs, wondering if they could see her knees shake. And then the comedian and the journalist saved her, as though they had been dropped from the sky just for that purpose. The journalist insisted that he needed her help with the p+it+!, and the comedian immediately pelted her with funny remarks, and the three of them wound up together for the duration, on the other side of the room, while the other two women seethed. But Kate didn't notice. She was too nervous, and too busy chatting. Nick had been right; every man in the room would have given his right arm to go home with her. But Kate was too worried about the show to notice the effect she was having on them.

What's it like?

Like foiling into a bed of marshmallows. The comedian looked at her with a smile. Want to try that sometime? She laughed at him and sipped her ginger ale. Oh Jesus, what if it made her burp? She put it down, and squeezed the paper napkin with her damp hands. Don't worry, baby. You're gonna love it The comedian whispered it to her gently with a warm smile. He was old enough to be her father but she could feel his hand on her knee. She wasn't sure if she was going to love it or not. And then suddenly, it was air time. A sudden current of electricity seemed to pass around the room, and everyone fell silent.

The singing star went on first. She did two songs, and left after five minutes of chatting with Jasper, who was enormously grateful that she could stop by, and knew she had a special to tape. Kate was enormously grateful when she left five minutes later. The journalist was next, and was surprisingly amusing. He was almost a regular on the show. Then the actress. The comedian. And then ' oh my God ' no! Only she and the zebra man were left, and the man at the door with the earphones on his head was beckoning to Kate. Me? Now? But I can't. But she had to.

It felt like walking into a jet stream, or off a cliff. She was numb. She couldn't hear what he was saying. And worse yet, she couldn't hear herself. She wanted to scream as she sat there, but she didn't She heard herself laughing, chatting, admitting to the appalling outfits she wore when she wrote, talking about her feelings about living in the country. Jasper's boyhood had been spent in a place that he said was much like the place she described. They talked about writing, and the discipline of the profession, and even about how funny it was to come to L.A, She found herself cracking jokes about the women she'd seen around the pool, and the droopy-assed old men squashed into their jeans and body shirts with their dangling doodads of gold around their necks. She almost made an outrageous allusion and then backed off, which made it even funnier, because the audience caught the allusion without her having to say it. She was fabulous and she was Kate. And somewhere out there, in the lights and electric lines and confusion and cameras, was Nick, making victory signs and grinning at her with pride. She had done it! And then there was the zebra man, and by then Kate was right at home, laughing and loving it, part of the jokes and the conversation. The journalist and the comedian kept aiming good lines at her, and she and Jasper looked as though they'd been dancing together for years. It was one of those shows that jelled from beginning to end, and Kate was the diamond in the night's tiara. She was still flying high when they went off the air, and Jasper kissed her on both cheeks.