Authors: Stella Cameron
"I don't wanna go," Bobby said. He hooked his hands on top of Sebastian's shoulder. "Mom's gonna be on TV She said that's 'cause of you. But I don't wanna go."
"Go where?" Bliss asked.
"Somewhere new to live."
"Eggplant frappes," Venus said, swaying dreamily in a black, hooded caftan edged with gold braid. "The purple flesh heals ills. We must all heal. We must all prepare for change that may leave us bereft and cast adrift."
Sebastian frowned back at Bobby and said, "Who says you're going to need somewhere new to live?"
"Mom," Bobby told him. "She says Bliss and you will have your own home now."
"Not that I see harmony ahead in that," Venus intoned. "The gentle woman and the hawklike man. He will crush her, subjugate her. He has brought trouble in his wake. Disrupted the lives of the peaceful."
Sebastian clamped an arm firmly around Bliss's shoulders, holding her when she would have squirmed free. "Why don't you sit down, Venus," he said pleasantly. "We can all benefit from your wisdom." He put his other arm, the one that ached, around Bobby.
More footsteps came, more hesitantly, up the steps and Polly Crow's blond head came into view, followed by her sister's.
"A summit," Sebastian muttered, finally giving in to Bliss's insistent pushes against him. "The gang's all here. Let's talk."
Bliss resumed her seat beside him. Her place on his lap was promptly claimed by Bobby.
"Bliss and I are getting married," Sebastian announced, looking from face to face.
"A tragic mistake," Venus said, sinking to sit, cross-legged, on the floor. "The stars have warned me. I have warned you. I cannot do more."
"Mom!" Polly and Fab said in unison.
Venus raised her hands, allowing her flowing sleeves to drip over her hands. "Take the eggplant. We shall all need our strength for the hard times to come. All driven from our home by strangers. But we must not dwell on our own misfortunes. The happiness of these two people, no matter how brief fate allows it to be, must take precedence over the misery of the rest of us."
Bliss hung her head. Sebastian peered at her and saw the smile on her lips.
"I haven't had a chance to thank you both for helping me get the job," Polly said. "I can hardly believe it."
"You got it because you're right for it," Bliss told her. "Sebastian will tell you that."
"Thank you." She cast her mother—who couldn't see—an annoyed glare. "And I think it's wonderful you're getting married. You're going to be very happy together. We'll soon find somewhere else to live."
"Yes," Fab said. "Thank you both for everything."
Bobby felt Sebastian's stubbly beard with his fingertips. Sebastian looked at Bliss.
"You're leaving the Point?" she asked Fab.
"Cast out," Venus said. "Cast out in the wake of a dangerous force. But do not concern yourself with us, Bliss. We have been alone and desperate before. We triumphed. We will triumph again. One can only hope you will not be the one to suffer."
Sebastian chuckled, he couldn't help himself.
Bliss poked him in the ribs—his bruised ribs—with a pointed finger, and he yowled.
"Animal sounds," Venus said. "The wolves approach."
Polly and Fab, both sitting on the deck now, smiled into their laps.
"I'm not closing Hole Point," Bliss said. "I'm not selling it—ever. We'd hoped you'd all stay on."
Sebastian didn't miss the "we."
"Of course," Bliss said. "You're going to be too busy to do what you have done, Polly. You, too, Fab. But we'd figured the two of you might keep on living here and overseeing things—at least until you had to go."
Bobby sat up to study each of the adults in turn.
Venus made unintelligible noises.
"Does that mean we don't have to move?" Bobby asked. He scooted to the deck and ran to his mother. "Can we stay, Mom? Can we?"
Polly studied first Bliss, then Sebastian. "We like it here. Bobby and me."
"So do I," Fab agreed. "But you're right. We can't manage without more help—especially not once you're gone."
"I'll be in and out," Bliss told them.
"I will never dance at this wedding," Venus said, bending farther forward over her crossed legs. "My soul is heavy. Not that you would allow me to dance at your wedding. I would be a reminder of the terrible risk you take in this union."
"Mom!" Fab and Polly moaned together.
"If you had someone you could trust as a manager, would you like to stay on then?" Bliss asked.
Sebastian reached for her hand again. He couldn't bear not to touch her. "Be the same as adding a third level of management. And we intend to pour some money in here. Not change things too much, just update and do repairs that have needed doing for a long time."
"Can we?" Bobby said, dancing a barefoot tattoo. "Can we stay."
"Well?" Polly looked at Fab.
"Possibly. Just yesterday Lennox was asking what was going to happen here once Bliss and Sebastian married."
"Lennox?" Bliss spread her hands. "Lennox?"
"We talk now and then," Fab said offhandedly. "He has his good points."
Sebastian said, "Back to the question of a manager to help out around here."
"I was thinking of asking Venus if she'd like the job," Bliss said, and she wouldn't meet Sebastian's eyes. "She knows about coping with difficult situations. Not that we plan to have anymore, but you never know."
Venus grew quite still.
The twins' heads turned in their mother's direction. "Mom?"
"What's the matter," she snapped, scowling at them. "Don't you think I could manage? I've managed more taxing situations than this little community."
"No, no," Fab said. "Of course we don't think you can't manage. We just wonder if you'll agree, that's all."
"You would live here in the lodge," Bliss said.
Sebastian added, "And be available when Bobby comes home from school, of course—and when Polly is working."
"The income would be good," Bliss told Venus. "And we'd certainly like to hear any ideas you have for maximizing occupancy. And increasing efficiency."
"We could provide you with additional help in that department," Sebastian said.
"That will not be necessary." Venus rose majestically to her feet and shook out the folds of her caftan. "I know how to make this the most sought-after facility in the country."
Sebastian leaned forward. So did Bliss.
"Do tell, Mom," Polly said.
Venus swayed inside her robes. "The premier belly dancing academy in the country." She pointed a toe and extended her arms. From beneath the robe, bells tinkled. "The only residential belly dancing academy in the country."
"Sounds . . ."
"Interesting," Sebastian finished for Bliss.
"When is the wedding?" Venus asked, beginning to roll her hips. "I hope I have sufficient time to practice."
Turn the page for an exciting taste of
Stella Cameron's next book,
GUILTY PLEASURES
coming in March, 1997
from Zebra Books . . .
Don't miss Stella Cameron's previous Zebra Books titles:
PURE DELIGHTS SHEER PLEASURES
The boy who scribbled, "Least Likely to Succeed," beneath Polly Crow's high school yearbook photo had proudly signed his brilliant comment. He'd also laughed in her face when he handed back the book. Why not? After all, he had nothing to fear from a girl who came from nothing, and was going nowhere.
Polly folded her white cashmere cardigan tightly about her and breathed deeply of the stiff late summer breeze off Lake Washington. Back then she'd begun to believe Brad—she couldn't recall the other name—and his friends, were probably right. And if there'd been a least-likely-to-succeed award, she'd have won with no contest. She hadn't been eligible to win any other prizes.
But they were wrong. They were all wrong, including Polly, because she had amounted to something. And because she'd made good, someone was trying to frighten her to death.
As she liked to do at the end of each day's filming, she walked along the floating docks off the town of Kirkland's waterfront. Leggy impatiens, luminous pink, orange, purple, and white, slumped in wooden planters. Ivy geraniums faded by weeks in the sun trailed from baskets suspended on poles. Time for chrysanthemums and winter pansies.
The smell was coming-of-evening rich, sleepy-silk-sway-of water mysterious.
Polly's long cotton skirt whipped about her legs. Too bad she couldn't ignore the other, the menace she'd lived with for days.
Just some obsessive creep getting a cheap thrill from threatening a TV personality. It happened all the time.
And sometimes these freaks acted on their obsessions.
She wouldn't change her lifestyle, wouldn't start locking herself inside the condo, wouldn't tell anyone who didn't already know what was happening.
If she said aloud: "Someone leaves messages on my answering machine. No, I don't know who—he whispers. He says I only made one mistake in my life but he's forgiven that, that I used to be really good and I need him to make me good again," it would all become too real. Polly didn't want it to be real. She didn't want to voice, "I want you with me, or I want you dead." If she did, she'd have to admit she wasn't imagining the calls, imagining the worst threat of all: "I know you'll do what I want, what we both want, and get rid of anyone who stands in our way. Otherwise, I'll have to make sure you do."
Good?
Only one mistake?
Twenty-seven years old. Ex-addict. Never married. Single mother of a seven-year-old son. Daughter of a single mother.
Sam Dodge, the handsome rebel who'd wanted her because she made him look good, had taken her so low she should have been dead by now. But she hadn't died. Polly smiled at the wind, smiled at the watery sting in her eyes, smiled at the jumble of bittersweet memories.
Bobby had saved her. Of all things, rather than adding another stone to the weight dragging her down, getting pregnant at nineteen had stopped the fall.
"I ain 't gettin ' slowed down by no brat. If you wanna keep on being my woman, get rid of it," Sam had demanded when she'd told him about the pregnancy. And when she'd refused he'd said, "No account piece of trash. You '11 never amount to anything without me."
Even as she shuddered, Polly smiled. Sam had given her a choice between drink, drugs, abusive sex—and Bobby, dear,
serious Bobby. No choice. Thank God what was left of herself had made the decision so easy.
The whisperer called Bobby a mistake. That had to be what he meant, and he threatened to get rid of him.
Bobby hadn't questioned being sent to stay with Venus Crow, Polly's mother who lived in nearby Bellevue. He'd accepted the story that the show was going into a production crunch and this was a great time for him to run free at the artists' colony that had once been his home. Venus ran Hole Point, and Bobby loved the place.
Venus hadn't questioned Bobby's visit either.
Some members of the cast of Polly s Place had been with her when she got the first message. She'd laughed it off and never mentioned the continuing calls.
The uncomfortable thud of her heart made Polly open her mouth to swallow. She ought to ask for help. The police wouldn't do anything unless something happened. Her heart leapt again. Unless she was hurt in some way—or someone she loved was hurt—they'd say there was nothing to be done.
She continued walking. Rafted boats jostled at moorages. Gusts of laughter and raised voices erupted from cabins and deckhousing. The wind was enough to send most of the messers-about-in-boats below for their happy hour.
These people weren't what drew Polly this way so often.
The real reason was something else she ought to pack away in her heap of shouldn't, and never-will-be's.
But a woman could look at a man, couldn't she? Especially when that's all she would ever do—look?
She strolled to the very end of the farthest dock from shore and searched about. No sign of the big, black rubber dinghy. No sign of the man in his wet suit doing whatever he did at the end of his day. Maybe he wouldn't come so regularly as fall and winter approached.
Polly rolled her eyes at the disappointment she felt; disappointment because she might not get more chances to take furtive glances at a man she didn't know.
He'd never looked her way—not deliberately. He didn't know her and she didn't know him. She'd never even heard him speak.
Polly stopped and narrowed her eyes to focus on the distant Olympic Mountains. She'd never heard the big man with his sun-bleached hair and curiously light brown eyes say a word, even to the black cat who rode with him in his dinghy filled with diving equipment.
She knew his eyes were brown, and that they were remote— cold even. She knew because he had met her gaze occasionally. Each time their glances had crossed for no more than a few seconds. Polly always looked away first.
Her walks weren't at exactly the same time each day.
Usually the dinghy appeared. It just appeared, floated into sight from shadows around the dock. No engine noise. The engine didn't burst to life until she'd retraced her steps to the park that edged the waterfront.
As if he waited for her to come, watched while he pretended not to watch, then left once she was gone.
Rubber fenders squeaked between the rafted boats.
Mooring lines creaked.
The man had strong teeth. She'd seen them between his parted lips as he pulled a mask from his lean face. And he chewed gum. Polly had always disliked watching someone chew gum. Not this time.
Gavin Tucker, an artist who appeared on the show with Polly, said the man ran a dive shop. Gavin had also questioned the diver's reason for hanging around this section of the waterfront when his shop was a mile away. Anyway, Gavin had pointed out, the scuba lessons advertised by Room Below—the dive shop—were held in Puget Sound, not here in Lake Washington.
Ferrito. She knew his name was Ferrito, that he chewed gum, and liked cats.
Kirkland wasn't a big town and the show pulled in people from the community. Polly and the rest of the cast were friendly and open. Finding out about any of them wouldn't be so hard— including their phone number.