This Heart of Mine (11 page)

The nurse was young, with a soft, sweet face. But when she tried to help Molly off with her bloody panties, Molly refused. She'd have to ease open her legs to do that.

The nurse stroked her arm. "I'll be very careful."

But in the end it didn't do any good. By the time the emergency room doctor arrived to examine her, Molly had already lost her baby.

Kevin refused to let them dismiss her until the next day, and because he was a celebrity, he got his wish. Through the window of the private room she saw a parking lot and a line of barren trees. She shut her eyes against the voices.

One of the doctors was talking to Kevin, using the deferential tone people adopted when they spoke with someone famous. "Your wife is young and healthy, Mr. Tucker. She'll need to be checked by her own physician, but I don't see any reason why the two of you won't be able to have another child."

Molly saw a reason.

Someone took her hand. She didn't know if it was a nurse, the doctor, or Kevin. She didn't care. She pulled her hand away.

"How are you feeling?" Kevin whispered.

She pretended to be asleep.

He stayed in her room for a long time. When he finally left, she rolled over and reached for the telephone.

Her head was fuzzy from the pills they'd given her, and she had to dial twice before she finally got through. When Phoebe answered, Molly started to cry. "Come get me. Please…"

Dan and Phoebe appeared in her room sometime after midnight. Molly thought Kevin had left, but he must have been sleeping in the lounge because she heard him talking to Dan.

Phoebe stroked her cheek. Fertile Phoebe, who'd given birth to four children without mishap. One of her tears dropped onto Molly's arm. "Oh, Moll… I'm so sorry."

When Phoebe left her bedside to talk to the nurse, Kevin took her place. Why wouldn't he go away? He was a stranger, and no one wanted a stranger around when her life was falling apart. Molly turned her head into the pillow.

"You didn't need to call them," he said quietly. "I would have driven you back."

"I know."

He'd been kind to her, so she made herself look at him. She saw concern in his eyes, as well as fatigue, but she couldn't see even the smallest shadow of grief.

As soon as she got back home, she tore up
Daphne Finds a Baby Rabbit
and carried it out to the trash.

The next morning the story of her marriage hit the newspapers.

Melissa the Wood Frog was Daphne's best friend. Most days she liked to dress in pearls and organdy. But every Saturday she added a shawl and pretended she was a movie star.

Daphne Gets Lost

"Our Chicago celebrity of the week spotlight turns to wealthy football heiress Molly Somerville. Unlike her flamboyant sister, Chicago Stars owner Phoebe Calebow, Molly Somerville has kept a low profile. But while no one was looking, sly Miss Molly, who dabbles at writing children's books, scooped up Chicago's most eligible bachelor, the delectable Stars quarterback Kevin Tucker. Even close friends were shocked when the couple was married in a very private ceremony at the Calebow home just last week."

The gossip reporter rearranged her plastic expression into a look of deep concern. "
But it looks like there's no happy ending for the newlyweds. Sources now report the couple suffered a miscarriage almost immediately after the wedding ceremony, and they've since separated. A spokesman for the Stars would say only that the couple was working through their troubles privately and would make no comments to the media
."

Lilly Sherman snapped off the Chicago television station, then took a deep breath. Kevin had married a spoiled Midwestern heiress. Her hands trembled as she closed the French doors that looked out over the garden of her Brentwood home, then picked up the coffee-colored pashmina shawl that lay at the foot of her bed. Somehow she had to steady herself before she reached the restaurant. Although Mallory McCoy was her best friend, this secret was Lilly's own.

She tossed the pashmina over the shoulders of her latest St. John knit, a creamy suit with gold buttons and exquisite braided trim. Then she picked up a brightly wrapped gift bag and set off for one of Beverly Hills' newest restaurants. After she'd been shown to her table, she ordered a blackberry kir. Ignoring the curious gazes of a couple at the next table, she studied the décor.

Subdued lighting glazed the oyster-white walls and illuminated the restaurant's small but fine display of original art. The carpet was aubergine, the linens crisp and white, the silver a sleek Art Deco design. A perfect place to celebrate an unwelcome birthday. Her fiftieth. Not that anyone knew. Even Mallory McCoy thought they were celebrating Lilly's forty-seventh.

Lilly hadn't been given the room's best table, but she'd grown so accustomed to playing the diva that no one would have known it. Two of the top men at ICM occupied the prime spot, and she momentarily contemplated walking over and introducing herself. They would know who she was, of course. Only a rare man didn't remember Ginger Hill from
Lace, Inc
. But nothing was less welcome in this town than an overweight former sex kitten celebrating a fiftieth birthday.

She reminded herself that she didn't look her age. Her eyes were the same brilliant green the camera had always loved, and although she wore her auburn hair shorter now, Beverly Hills' top colorist made certain it hadn't lost any of its luster. Her face was barely lined, her skin still smooth, thanks to Craig, who wouldn't let her lie in the sun when she was younger.

The twenty-five-year age difference between her husband and herself, along with Craig's good looks and his role as her manager, had invited inevitable comparisons to Ann-Margret and Roger Smith, as well as to Bo and John Derek. And it was true that Craig had been her Svengali. When she'd arrived in L.A. over thirty years ago, she hadn't even possessed a high school diploma, and he'd taught her how to dress, walk, and speak. He'd exposed her to culture and transformed her from an awkward teenager into one of the eighties' hottest sex symbols. Because of Craig, she was well read and culturally literate, with a particular passion for art.

Craig had done everything for her. Too much. Sometimes she'd felt as if she'd been swallowed up by the demanding force of his personality. Even when he was dying, he'd been dictatorial. Still, he'd truly loved her, and she only wished, at the end, that she'd been able to love him more.

She distracted herself with the paintings on the restaurant's walls. Her eyes drifted past a Julian Schnabel and a Keith Haring to take in an exquisite Liam Jenner oil. He was one of her favorite artists, and just looking at the painting calmed her.

She glanced at her watch and saw that Mallory was late as usual. During the six years they'd filmed
Lace, Inc
., Mallory had always been the last to arrive on the set. Normally Lilly didn't mind, but now it gave her too much time to think about Kevin and the fact that he'd separated from his heiress wife before the ink was dry on the wedding license. The reporter said Molly Somerville had suffered a miscarriage. Lilly wondered how Kevin had felt about that, or even if the baby had been his. Famous athletes were prime targets for unscrupulous women, including rich ones.

Mallory came dashing toward the table. She was still the same size four she'd been during their days on
Lace, Inc
., and unlike Lilly, she'd been able to keep her career alive by becoming the queen of the miniseries. Even so, Mallory didn't have Lilly's presence in person, and no one took note of her arrival. Lilly had nagged her about this countless times,
Attitude, Mallory! Walk like you're getting twenty mil a picture
.

"Sorry I'm late," Mallory chirped. "Happy, happy, you adorable person! Present later."

They exchanged social kisses just as if Mallory hadn't held Lilly in her arms more than once through the ordeal of Craig's long illness and death two years ago.

"Do you hate me for being late for your birthday dinner?"

Lilly smiled. "I know you'll be surprised to hear this, but after twenty years of friendship I've gotten used to it."

Mallory sighed. "We've been together longer than either of my marriages lasted."

"That's because I'm nicer than your ex-husbands."

Mallory laughed. The waiter appeared to take her drink order, then pressed them to try an
amuse-bouche
of rata-touille tart with goat cheese while they contemplated the menu. Lilly briefly considered the calories before she agreed to the tart. It was her birthday, after all.

"Do you miss it a lot?" Mallory inquired when the waiter left.

Lilly didn't have to ask what Mallory meant, and she shrugged. "When Craig was sick, caring for him took so much of my energy that I didn't think about sex. Since he died, there's been too much to do."
And I'm so fat I'd never let any man see my body
.

"You're so independent now. Two years ago you didn't have a clue what was in your financial portfolio, let alone know how to manage it. I can't tell you how much I admire the way you've taken charge."

"I didn't have any choice." Craig's financial planning had left her wealthy enough that she no longer needed work to support herself, only to give her life purpose. In the past year she'd had a small part as the sexy mother of the male star in a halfway decent movie. She'd been able to carry it off because she was a pro, but the whole time they were filming, she'd had to struggle against a sense of the ridiculous. For a woman of her size and age still to be playing sexpots, even aging ones, seemed somehow absurd.

She didn't like having her sense of identity wrapped up in a profession for which she no longer had a passion, but acting was all she knew, and with Craig's death she needed to keep busy or she'd think too much about the mistakes she'd made. If only she could peel away the years and go back in time to that crucial point where she'd lost her way.

The waiter returned with Mallory's drink, the
amuse-bouche
, and a lengthy explanation of the menu's many courses. After they'd made their selections, Mallory lifted her champagne flute. "To my dearest friend. Happy birthday, and I'll kill you if you don't love your present."

"Gracious as always."

Mallory laughed and pulled a flat, rectangular box from the tote she'd set at the side of her chair. The package was professionally wrapped in paisley paper tied with a burgundy bow. Lilly opened it to find an exquisite antique shawl of gold lace.

Her eyes stung with sentimental tears. "It's beautiful. Where ever did you find it?"

"A friend of a friend who deals in rare textiles. It's Spanish. Late nineteenth century."

The symbolism of the lace made it hard for her to speak, but there was something she needed to say, and she reached across the table to touch her friend's hand. "Have I ever told you how dear you are to me?"

"Ditto, sweetie. I've got a long memory. You held me together through my first divorce, through those awful years with Michael…"

"Don't forget your face-lift."

"Hey! I seem to remember a little eye job you had a few years ago."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

They exchanged smiles. Plastic surgery might seem vain to much of the world, but it was a necessity for actresses who'd built their reputations on sex appeal. Although Lilly wondered why she'd bothered with an eye job when she couldn't manage to lose even twenty pounds.

The waiter set a gold-rimmed Versace plate in front of Lilly with a tiny square of aspic containing slivers of poached lobster surrounded by a trail of saffron sauce that had been whipped into a creamy froth. Mallory's plate held a wafer-thin slice of salmon accented with capers and a few transparent slices of julienned apple. Lilly mentally compared calories.

"Stop obsessing. You worry so much about your weight that you've lost sight of how gorgeous you still are."

Lilly deflected the well-meaning lecture she'd heard before by reaching behind her chair and coming up with the gift bag. The waterfall of French ribbon she'd tied around the handles brushed her wrist as she handed it over.

Mallory's eyes lit up with delight. "It's
your
birthday, Lilly. Why are you giving me a present?"

"Coincidence. I finished it this morning, and I couldn't wait any longer."

Mallory tore at the ribbons. Lilly sipped her kir as she watched, trying not to show how much Mallory's opinion meant.

Her friend pulled out the quilted pillow. "Oh, sweetie…"

"The design might be too strange," Lilly said quickly. "It's just an experiment."

She'd taken up quilting during Craig's illness, but the traditional patterns hadn't satisfied her for long, and she'd begun to experiment with designs of her own. The pillow she'd made for Mallory had a dozen shades and patterns of blue swirling together in an intricate design, while a trail of delicate gold stars peeped out from unexpected places.

"It's not strange at all." Mallory smiled at her. "I think it's the most beautiful thing you've done so far, and I'll always treasure it."

"Really?"

"You've become an artist."

"Don't be silly. It's just something to do with my hands."

"You keep telling yourself that." Mallory grinned. "Is it coincidence that you used the colors of your favorite football team?"

Lilly hadn't even realized it. Maybe it was a coincidence.

"I've never understood how you turned into such a sports fan," Mallory said. "And not even a West Coast team."

"I like the uniforms."

Lilly managed a shrug and turned the conversation in another direction. Her thoughts, however, remained stuck.

Kevin, what have you done?

Chef Rick Bayless's cutting-edge Mexican cuisine made the Frontera Grill one of Chicago's favorite spots for lunch, and before Molly had given away her money, she'd frequently eaten here. Now she ate at this North Clark Street restaurant only when someone else was picking up the check, in this case Helen Kennedy Schott, her editor at Birdcage Press.

"… we're all very committed to the Daphne books, but we do have some concerns."

Molly knew what was coming. She'd submitted
Daphne Takes a Tumble
in mid-January, and she should have given Helen at least an idea about her next book by now. But
Daphne Finds a Baby Rabbit
had gone into the trash, and Molly had a devastating case of writer's block.

In the two months since her miscarriage she hadn't been able to write a word, not even for
Chik
. Instead, she'd kept busy with school book talks and a local tutoring program for preschoolers, forcing herself to focus on the needs of living children instead of the baby she'd lost. Unlike the adults Molly met, the children didn't care that she was the about-to-be-ex-wife of the city's most famous quarterback.

Just last week the town's favorite gossip column had once again turned the media spotlight on her:

Heiress Molly Somerville, the estranged wife of Stars Quarterback Kevin Tucker, has been keeping a low profile in the Windy City. Has it been boredom or a broken heart over her failed marriage to Mr. Football? No one has seen her at any of the city's nightspots, where Tucker still shows up with his foreign lovelies in tow.

At least the column hadn't said Molly "dabbled at writing children's books." That had stung, although lately she hadn't even been able to dabble. Every morning she told herself this would be the day she'd come up with an idea for a new Daphne book or even an article for
Chik
, and every morning she'd find herself staring at a blank piece of paper. In the meantime her financial situation was deteriorating. She desperately needed the second part of the advance payment she was due to receive for
Daphne Takes a Tumble
, but Helen still hadn't approved it.