The Carlton Club (22 page)

“People expect a lot in San Francisco.”

“It’s different,” she said. “And you know it.”

“I know. It’s a difference that I love.”

“And I don’t. I would suffocate here, Ross. I would be afraid to leave my glamorous penthouse apartment, and I would feel like a trapped bird if I didn’t leave. I could never call a taxi or order a dinner at a restaurant.”

“Everything would be provided for you, Janet. You wouldn’t have to do anything,” he said, watching the fear in her face. He had never seen fear before. Only calm and confidence and serenity.

I don’t want you to be afraid, Janet, he thought.

“That’s not living, Ross. I would hate it. I don’t want to be a fragile creature shuttled from one gilded cage to the other. Of course it could be done, but I would hate it. I would suffocate.”

“Janet, you are a strong successful woman,” Ross said, trying a new tactic. He didn’t want her to be afraid, but he wanted her to move to New York.

“I can’t live here,” Janet repeated firmly.

“Is it because of Mark?” Ross asked, knowing that he had no right to.

“Mark? No,” Janet said softly. “I told you. You just can’t transplant a Nebraska country girl to New York City. At least not this one.”

“Janet, you will win the Tony if you do this show on Broadway. Don’t you want that?”

Janet shrugged.

“Don’t you want everyone to know that you’re the best?” he asked.

“The best,” she said almost to herself. “No. Being the best has never mattered to me. I sing because I love to sing. I want you and Arthur to win the Tony, but you can do that without me.”

“I don’t understand you. You knock yourself out for each performance. You work like a maniac. You’re a perfectionist whether you admit it or not, and now you say you don’t want to be the best. After all that hard work, you throw away a career opportunity that most other women would kill for?”

Ross was almost shouting. It was so frustrating. He didn’t understand her and he wanted to. Needed to. She was making such a critical decision—a wrong decision—and he didn’t know why.

Janet retreated to a blue silk chair in the corner of the suite. She said nothing, but the tears began anew, and the look of fear returned.

Ross stared at her helplessly, realizing again how little he knew about Janet. He knew her better as Joanna. Strong, beautiful, fearless Joanna. Ross was enchanted by Joanna, by the way Janet played Joanna. Ross was a little in love with Joanna.

But Joanna didn’t exist. Only Janet. A woman he didn’t know. She had the most beautiful voice he had ever heard and remarkable eyes that told him nothing. Her sensuous mouth smiled easily. She could own New York but wouldn’t even give it a chance.

Janet, a woman who had been in love once. Ross had seen it in her eyes when she saw Mark after the performance on opening night. Ross had seen the love and sadness in her eyes. And in Mark’s. Ross hadn’t told Kathleen about that. There was no point. Ross had seen something else in their eyes: It was over for both of them but there were memories.

Who are you? Ross wondered. Joanna. Janet. Mark’s ex-love. No one’s lover.

“You’re staring at me,” Janet whispered finally.

“I’m trying to figure you out. What makes you tick.”

“Music,” Janet answered quickly, preferring conversation to Ross’s probing stare.

“Not enough to stay here.”

“If New York was the only place in the world that I could sing, I would stay,” she said slowly.

“What if Arthur and I put the word out? Blackball you.”

Janet frowned briefly then smiled.

“You wouldn’t do that,” she said simply.

“I wouldn’t?” he asked.

“No. You are a fair man.”

How do you know? he wondered, pleased. Of course he would do nothing to hurt her, whoever she was.

“What are you going to do?”

“I can see what community theaters are doing in the Bay Area. I don’t even need to be paid for a while. You gave me so much money,” she said quietly.

Gave is right, Ross thought. She refused to get an agent, to negotiate. She told him to pay her whatever seemed fair. He paid her a lot. It was fair.

“I don’t suppose you’d want to hire me?” she asked carefully.

“For what?”

“For whatever you’re doing this season. What are you doing?” she asked. She had been so involved with
Joanna
and so worried about the move to New York that she hadn’t even asked.

“
Peter Pan
. The world is ready for a revival.”

“With a female lead?”

“No. I might have considered you, but I’ve already cast Peter.” Ross had cast the lead before he left for New York. Auditions for the other parts would take place during his absence. He would return to select, from the pre-auditioned finalists, in September. “He’s a little older than the traditional Peter. He’ll play Peter as a young adult. Beautiful tenor.”

Janet nodded.

“Have you cast the entire company?”

“Janet. You are a major star. There are no major female roles in
Peter Pan
. I can’t really see you performing in the company, can you?”

“Yes. Ross, I don’t have to be the star.”

“Do you want a drink?” he asked, walking to the fully stocked bar in the suite, stalling for time, his imaginative, innovative mind beginning to whir. How could he use Janet in
Peter Pan
? It would have to be a whole new production. Probably contemporary. He had already cast a slightly older Peter. Maybe a real love story? A romance between Peter and Wendy?

“No, thank you. Ross, have you already cast Wendy?”

“No,” he said. Janet could play Wendy. Wendy and Peter could really fall in love. They could write a few new songs for Wendy. Love duets for Wendy and Peter. It could work. It would be risky, but it could be done. He had taken chances with
Joanna
, and it had paid off. Largely because of Janet. And she had been the biggest risk. Janet could play Wendy. Janet could create a lovely, romantic Wendy. “I haven’t cast Wendy yet.”

“Do you mind if I audition?”

Ross stared at her.

“Audition?” he repeated blankly. He was already thinking of ideas for the production.

“For Wendy. May I audition for Wendy?”

“Do you want Wendy? Even if she’s a new modern Wendy who falls in love with Peter?”

“Yes!”

“OK.”

“OK? I can audition?”

“OK. You’re Wendy. I’ll call Zach in San Francisco right now. We’ll meet there a week from today,” Ross said, almost talking to himself. He was mentally planning major productions in two cities. Because of Janet, the one in New York had just become more complicated, and because of her, the one in San Francisco had just become more exciting. “I have to stay here and start the search for a new Joanna. Janet, let’s have lunch together tomorrow. To discuss Wendy.”

“Oh. All right,” she said hesitantly.

“Something wrong?”

“No. No. It’s just that I was going to leave first thing in the morning to visit my family in Lincoln.”

“Don’t you want to stay in New York as a tourist now that pressure is off?”

“No.”

“Will you have breakfast with me? Before you go? I just need to make sure this all makes sense in the morning? OK? Eight o’clock? You can catch a noon flight.”

“Yes, fine,” Janet said, standing up as she noticed that Ross was moving toward the door. “I’ll see you then. And Ross?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“Don’t mention it,” he said as he left. He had to make some phone calls. He had to let Arthur know the bad news and to let Zach know what, the more Ross thought about it, might just be the best news of the season.

Leslie didn’t reach James until the day after he called. The first night she called too late. She left a message on the answering machine. The next evening he was still in his office when she called. He answered the phone.

“Hello.”

“James?”

“Leslie.”

“I was afraid I’d get your answering machine again.”

“I’m expecting some calls. I haven’t switched it over.”

“What’s O’Keefe, Tucker and Stevenson?”

“Architectural firm.”

“You’re an architect?”

“I am. And you’re a doctor. And a television star.”

“That’s how you knew where I was?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Leslie said and then fell silent. The memories of James flooded back at the sound of his voice. Why was he calling her after all these years?

“How is he?” James asked.

“Who?”

“The other resident. The one who was shot.”

“Fine. He’s fine,” she said. After a moment of silence she asked, “How are you?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Fine.”

“Leslie, I’d like to see you. And to explain to you about the letter.”

“The letter?”

“The one you wrote to me a million years ago. I didn’t read it right away. I didn’t even realize that you had sent it until ten months later. It’s a little late to thank you for it but thank you anyway.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can you have lunch with me? Or dinner?”

“Lunch is hard. I can’t get away. Dinner would be nice,” Leslie said. Nice? A
nice
dinner with James? Dinner with
nice
James? Leslie’s mind whirled.

“When?”

“It would be safest to plan for September, after I leave San Francisco General Hospital and go to University Hospital. Anything can happen here. Sometimes I don’t get away until late. It’s a little more predictable at University.”

“Do you have your schedule?”

“Yes,” Leslie said, looking at the pocket calendar provided by a pharmaceutical company. She had circled the on call days in red.

“Better make it after Labor Day,” James said.

Leslie got the impression James was consulting his own calendar.

“OK. Let’s see. I’m on call on the tenth so that’s out. On the eleventh I’ll be recovering from the tenth. How about the twelfth?” Leslie asked idly, trying to think why she had written the number twenty-seven on the twelfth.

“That’s your birthday,” he said quietly, wondering what he was doing. Leslie didn’t have plans for her birthday. She must be uninvolved. But he wasn’t.

“You’re right,” she said laughing. That’s what the twenty-seven meant.

“Are you free?”

“Yes,” she said. There was something in his voice that made her ask, “Are you?”

“That night, yes,” he said, hesitant. “My wife is working that night. She’s a flight attendant.”

“Cheryl?” Leslie asked quickly.

“Who? No,” he said remembering. “No. No one you know. You aren’t married?”

“No.”

“So I’ll pick you up at seven,” James said quickly before he changed his mind.

Leslie gave him her address and telephone number.

“You know the shot of you with your hair damp wearing that blue, V necked scrub dress?”

“I never saw the pictures.”

“Well, you looked exactly the way you looked at the lake that day. After you’d gone swimming in the ice-cold water. Remember?”

“I remember,” Leslie said. How could I ever forget that day? Or that night?

“I don’t think either of us should go,” Kathleen said, gently touching his pale white temples with her barely tan fingers.

Usually by this time in August, her skin was golden brown, but not this year. She had spent every daylight minute of the past three weeks at the hospital with Mark, and now, finally, he was home. His hematocrit was twenty-seven, just over half of its normal value, and he was pale and weak; but he was home. She could take care of him all day and all night.

He caught her hand with his and pulled it to his lips.

“You’re the maid of honor,” he said as he kissed her hand and smiled at her. “And I want to go.”

Mark didn’t care about going to Betsey’s and Jeff’s wedding. In fact, he worried about his ability to do it. He was so weak. Just walking around his tiny apartment—it was so much bigger than his hospital room—left him breathless and damp and wobbly.

He didn’t care about the wedding, but he wanted to be with Kathleen.

“You—we both—can change our minds anytime,” she said firmly. Betsey could get married perfectly well without her. She wouldn’t leave Mark home alone.

“Anytime in the next few hours?” he teased.

“It is only four hours from now, isn’t it?” Kathleen gasped, glancing at her watch. “I wonder how Betsey is doing.”

“She’s probably worried that you won’t be there. So, call her and tell her that we’re coming.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m positive,” Mark said confidently. It would be good for him to get out. He could, would, make it. Besides, weddings were happy, joyous occasions.

“Dearly beloved.”

The congregation remained seated during the vows. Mark was relieved. He wouldn’t have to worry so much about his weakness. He could concentrate on the ceremony and watch Kathleen and listen to the vows.

“Do you, Jeff, take Betsey . . .”

Do you, Mark, take Janet.

Janet. Emotion swept through him as he remembered her eyes, brimming with love and joy and happiness, on their wedding day. They had been so sure, so confident, as they had made those promises of forever.

“For better, for worse.”

He and Janet hadn’t made it through
worse
, and it was his fault. He hadn’t let her help him. He hadn’t shared the worst with her, even though he had made the pledge. He hadn’t known. She had known. She had seen his torment. She had tried to tell him, to help him, to love him. But he hadn’t believed her.

He had broken the pledge. And now it was he who had been given the second chance.

Kathleen. She stood a few feet away from Betsey and Jeff, smiling thoughtfully as she watched her dear friends exchange die vows. Mark gazed at her lovely profile, his mind spinning. Could he avoid the mistakes he had made with Janet? Could he, would he, share everything with her? Could they live and love through the best and the worst?

As Mark stared at her, lost in thought, wondering, hoping, remembering, Kathleen turned her head to find him. Her glistening eyes, emotional and full of love, met his.

As if giving him an answer.

Yes. We can do it. For better, for worse.

“And forsaking all others as long as you both shall live.”

I do.

I do.

Janet called Leslie three days before her birthday.

“Do you have plans for your birthday, Leslie?”

“I’m having dinner with a, uh, friend from high school.”

“Oh.”

“How’s
Peter
Pan?”
Leslie asked, quickly changing the subject. She did not want to dwell on her date with James. More than once in the past few weeks, she had picked up the phone to cancel it, but she hadn’t been able to dial.

“Fantastic. The man who plays Peter, whose name is Peter by the way, is terrific. The new Wendy is going to be a wonderful part for me.

We’re still in the brainstorming phase. Ross keeps coming up with something even better, more innovative. He is so talented.”

“You like him,” Leslie observed. Since her return from New York and Lincoln, Janet spoke of Ross often. Her voice softened a little when she did.

“I respect him, Leslie. He’s very talented. He was so generous about my decision not to go to New York,” she said thoughtfully. “I made such a fool of myself in front of him when we were there.”

“Without missing a beat he hired you to play Wendy,” Leslie observed.

“I’m good box office, Les. In addition to being a creative talent, Ross is also a very shrewd businessman. Our relationship is strictly business,” Janet said emphatically. Because it was true.

“As you like it!” Leslie teased.

“Cute. Listen, do you want to do a late birthday celebration next week? Dinner somewhere?

“Sure. Let’s.”

James arrived promptly at seven.

“Hi,” Leslie whispered, barely able to breathe.

James looked different. Older. More handsome. His green eyes seemed wiser and there were a few strands of white in his dark black hair. Older. Wiser. Even better than her memories.

“Leslie. You haven’t changed,” he said. Beautiful, sensual Leslie.

Leslie smiled a soft confident smile.

But she
has
changed, James thought. Inside. She has become a woman with womanly desires and knowledge and confidence.

Leslie was older and wiser, too.

“You look good, James,” Leslie said. Very, very good.

“So do you.”

James took her to a popular Italian restaurant in North Beach with notoriously excellent food and slow service. They both ordered iced tea instead of cocktails.

“Happy Birthday,” James said as he raised his glass of iced tea.

“This is a nice way to spend it. It’s nice to see you,” Leslie said.
Nice
.
Except that you are
married.
She needed to hear about it. She needed to put an end to the fantasies once and for all. “Tell me everything. From that mortifying night, for me anyway, at the Seattle Center to O’Keefe, Tucker and Stevenson, architects.”

“How about you telling me? From frolicking teenager to doctor and heroine. You go first.”

“OK. It’s quick and easy. I did just what everyone expected me to do: four years at Radcliffe; then back to Seattle to the University of Washington School of Medicine for four years; then to San Francisco as an intern and now a resident.” Leslie paused. Then she smiled and said, “Your turn.”

“Never married?”

“Very close once. But fortunately we realized the impending mistake in time. We were in medical school together. Classmates. We thought we loved each other until it came time to apply for our residencies. He wanted to do surgery at Harvard, and I wanted to come here. Neither of us cared enough to compromise. Scary, huh?”

“An old theme,” James said. She had chosen what she wanted to do over someone to be with once before. “
Then
you said it was because you were too young.”

“And you said that if it was the right person I would make the commitment no matter how young I was.”

“I said that?”

“Something wise like that.” Leslie paused. Should she tell him the rest, the entire truth? Why not? “When you said it, I knew that I could have made the commitment for you. I could have given up Radcliffe for you.”

James looked at his iced tea and frowned. Then he looked at her.

“Really?”

Leslie nodded.

“It wouldn’t have worked,” he said flatly.

Leslie smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just telling you how I felt. Then.”

James reached in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it. Leslie watched the smoke swirl in his eyes as the cigarette hung casually from his lips.

Sometimes when she was particularly tired or annoyed, Leslie would actually level a glacial gaze at a smoker and send a clear message of righteous indignation and censure.

Now she looked at James and thought, He is so handsome, so sexy when he smokes.

She shook her head, smiling. James noticed.

“What?”

“Oh, just a little internal paradox I’m trying to resolve.”

“About my smoking?”

“Yup.”

“I won’t,” he said, starting to stamp out his cigarette.

“No. That’s OK. Here’s the paradox. I spend a lot of my life taking care of people who have irreversibly damaged, not to mention
killed
, themselves with cigarettes. Occasionally I even rant and rave about it. I’ve seen so many autopsies of patients, smokers, with blackened lungs and widespread lung cancer.”

“I’m putting out my cigarette,” James said pleasantly as he pressed it into the ashtray.

“But here’s the rub. You look so good when you smoke. Most people don’t, but you do. You always have. I like to watch you smoke.”

“You want me to light up?”

“No,” she said softly, seriously. “Because it’s
my
indulgence and
your
lungs. And your life. The
better
part of me, the part that cares about you and not the thrill of watching you smoke, wishes you would never
ever
smoke another cigarette.”

James looked at her for a long moment. Finally the intensity of his gaze was too great. Leslie looked away.

“So tell me about you,” she said. “Starting with Cheryl.”