Blackfoot Affair (16 page)

“Yes. He’s a symphony conductor in this one.”

Jack sat next to her and folded his arms behind his head. “And how about the one where he’s a neo-Nazi married to Ingrid and Cary Grant is the government agent?”

Marisa stared at him. “
Notorious
. I thought you hated old movies.”

“I never said that. I said they were dated and corny but I’ve seen my share of them.”

“Apparently.”

“I’m a night owl. I do a lot of my writing late at night. If I get stuck I sometimes turn on the TV. That’s when they’re on, okay?”

“You would never be caught renting one, of course.”

“Of course.” He leaned forward to adjust the color knob. “I guess this one hasn’t been
^,
colorized,”’ he said, when the picture remained black and white.

“Thank God. I saw the colorized version of
Little Women
and everything and everybody in it was sepia, like those daguerreotypes from the Civil War.”

He chuckled.

“Who’s this?” he inquired, as the screen featured a close-up.

“Paul Henreid.”

“Looks familiar.”

“Ingrid’s husband in
Casablanca
,” Marisa said dryly.

He snapped his fingers. “Right!”

Marisa shot him a sidelong glance as he settled back and fixed his gaze on the screen.

“What?” he said, looking at her.

“I thought you were enduring this for my sake.”

“Well?”

“Don’t look too much like you’re enjoying yourself or I might get the wrong impression.”

He reached out suddenly and yanked her into his lap.

“Forget Paul whatever his name is. He’s dead. I’m right here and I’m alive.”

“So I see.”

He untied her blouse and eased the sleeves off her arms.

“What about the movie?” she asked.

“We’ll just have to watch it another time,” he replied, unbuttoning her slacks.

The screen flickered in the background as they made love.

* * *

In the morning Marisa woke to find herself in Jack’s bed, having no recollection of getting there. She slipped into a shirt she found lying on the dresser and padded downstairs barefoot, to find him scrambling eggs in the kitchen as the delicious smell of brewing coffee wafted around him.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, saluting her enthusiastically with a spatula.

“I thought you couldn’t cook,” she said, putting her arms around his waist from behind as he stood at the stove.

“This is the limit of my repertoire,” he replied, leaning back into her embrace.

“How did I get upstairs last night?” she asked, opening the refrigerator to discover it stocked with new items.

“How do you think? I carried you.”

“And when did you buy all this stuff?” she asked, removing a carton of cream from the refrigerator and putting it on the table.

“I got up early and went to the store.”

“You must think I have a big appetite,” she said, laughing.

“I
know
you have a big appetite, darlin’,” he answered, grinning wickedly.

“Stop making fun of me. You started me on the path to destruction,” Marisa replied.

Jack turned off the burner on the stove and carried the pan to the table. It was already set with dishes and cutlery, and a plate of toast sat in the middle of it.

Marisa selected a piece and bit into it.

“Not bad,” she said optimistically.

“Liar. I burned it.”

“Only slightly. I hate pale toast anyway.”

“You won’t get that around here, mine is always charred.” He scooped the eggs onto her plate and then sat across from her, watching as she took a sample.

“Very good,” she said brightly.

He took a bit himself.

“Not bad, if I do say so,” he agreed, digging in with relish. “So, what are we going to do today?”

“Jack, I have to work.”

“Come on, you can play hooky for one day.”

“I don’t think so,” Marisa said. “I didn’t come to Florida to socialize with you, Jackson, I came to represent a client.”

“Socialize?” he said, raising his brows. “Is that what we’ve been doing?”

“If you’re going to take a double meaning from everything I say, I’m going to stop talking to you.”

“As long as you don’t stop sleeping with me,” he said, shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

She kicked him under the table.

“Ow. You’re on a break from court now. Can’t whatever you have to do wait until tomorrow?”

Marisa hesitated, sorely tempted.

“You’re a bad influence,” she finally said.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied.

“What about you? Don’t you have writing to do?”

“It can wait.”

“We’re both going to wind up unemployed,” Marisa said gloomily, munching toast.

Jack got up and took her hand, leading her out of her chair and into his arms.

“Let’s use this time while we have the chance,” he said against her hair. “It may be difficult for us to get together in the future.”

Marisa felt a chill. What was he trying to say?

“We’ll find a way, won’t we?” she asked anxiously.

“Of course we will. But this interlude is a gift. Let’s take advantage of it.”

“All right,” Marisa said, looking up at him.

“I have an idea.”

“Somehow I thought you might.”
 

“My friend who owns the boat also has a beach house.”
      

“What is this guy, a millionaire?”

“He’s well off, yeah.”

“Why doesn’t he keep his boat at the beach?”

“You can’t dock a boat on the open ocean, it would get battered to pieces. Are you sure you live in Maine?”

“I forgot,” she said sheepishly. “So what about the beach house? And I think I should warn you that despite your recent swimming escapades, the water here is a bit too chilly for me.”

“So we won’t swim. The view is beautiful. We’ll walk on the beach, take a lunch along with us, okay?”

“Okay,” Marisa said, ducking her head against his shoulder and clutching him tightly.

It was sunny when they left the house. Twenty minutes later it was overcast, and by the time they got to the beach it was pouring rain. They trudged through the wet sand and climbed up the exterior stairs to the deck, and then Jack unlocked the sliding glass doors. They bustled through them and turned glumly to watch the rivulets of water running down the glass, obscuring the shoreline in a gray wash.

“So, this was a great idea, huh?” Jack said flatly, and Marisa laughed.

“I’m not a weatherman,” he said, shrugging. “Sue me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Marisa flung herself on him and they both tumbled onto the suede couch to the left of the door.

“Who needs sunshine?” he said.

“Not us.” They lay together and listened to the rain drumming on the roof of the A-frame house. “What does your friend do for a living?” Marisa asked. “This place reeks of money.”

“Actually, he doesn’t do much. I think he inherited most of it. His father invented something and it’s kept them all in the chips for about fifty years.”

“What did his father invent?”

“Some kind of aquarium cover.”

Marisa sat up, staring down at him. “An aquarium cover?” she said incredulously.

“I’m serious. It allows the fish to breathe, or be fed through it, or something. Pet stores and zoos use it. I’m telling you, the thing was a big hit.”

Marisa started to giggle, and then laughed out loud. “The house the fish feeder built,” she said, gesturing to the walls.

“This ain’t the half of it, honey. You haven’t seen the family house in Jacksonville, the co-op in New York, or the flat in Paris.”

“How did you meet this guy?”

“School,” he said, offhandedly.

“Oh. The prep school where you didn’t fit in too well.”

“That’s the one.”

“And he befriended you.”

“How do you know it wasn’t the other way around?”

“Well, he would have felt secure in that environment, so it stands to reason he’d be the one sticking up for you. Am I right?”

“You know a lot about human nature, don’t you?” he said, pulling her down next to him again.

Marisa shrugged, embarrassed.

“You’re right,” Jack said. “He did help me a lot. He was my roommate in college too. It was his wife you saw me with in the hotel dining room that night we...”

“Made fools of ourselves?” Marisa suggested.

He grinned. “You were jealous, weren’t you? When you thought she was my date.”

“I was not,” Marisa said indignantly, snuggling into his side and sighing contentedly.

“Tell the truth.”

“Maybe a little.”

He chuckled.

“Aren’t you pleased with yourself? That’s exactly what you were trying to accomplish, right?”

“I was having dinner with a friend, give me a break!”

“You knew what I would think, and that’s precisely what you wanted me to think. You could at least be honest about it.”

He threw his head back and closed his eyes. “Oh, all right, all right. I was trying to make you jealous. Are you happy now?”

“Very childish of you, Jackson.”

“Yes, I know. But effective. I knew you needed a little push in the right direction and I supplied it.”

“You knew?”

“I hoped.”

“That’s better.” Marisa rolled over and looked at the ceiling. “What are all those little caps up there?” she asked, pointing.

“Recessed lighting.”

“Please. I may not be the editor of
Architectural Digest
, but I’ve seen recessed lighting. That’s not it.”

“I’m serious. You press one of those white buttons over there on the wall and all the little caps open up, and lights emerge on aluminum stalks, like in a science fiction movie.”

Marisa propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“Try it,” he said.

Marisa jumped up and ran to the panel he had indicated. She pressed the top button and the floor length drapes swooshed closed across the glass doors.

“Wrong button,” Jack said from the couch, unnecessarily.

She pressed the second button and a television set emerged from the wall next to the fireplace.

“It’s the third one down on the left,” Jack said, in a tone of exaggerated patience.

Marisa located the right button and all the ceiling caps receded simultaneously with a low whirring sound.

“Look at that,” she said in amazement. “Does your friend have an aversion to track lighting?”

“His father doesn’t like to see lamps during the daytime when he doesn’t need them.”

“Eccentric millionaires,” Marisa sighed. “What does the rest of this place look like?”

“I will be happy to provide a tour,” Jack said, standing and throwing his arms wide.

Marisa scurried to fall into step beside him.

“On your right,” he said, in the ringing tones of a museum guide, “you will find the space age kitchen, complete with trash compactor, double stainless steel sink, and walk-in refrigerator.”

“Who needs a walk-in refrigerator? Is somebody studying forensic medicine?”

“Don’t interrupt the guide,” Jack said.

“Sorry.”
 

“Pantry,” Jack said, gesturing with one hand, “and laundry room,” he added, gesturing with the other.

“Very impressive.”

Jack walked across the glazed tile floor to indicate the dining room, which featured a pegged pine floor, a dazzling art deco chandelier, and a hand knotted rug which looked as if it were loomed the day before it settled on the gleaming boards.

“Just a trifle nouveau riche, don’t you think, Jackson?” Marisa asked, sniffing.

“I don’t know about the nouveau, but definitely riche.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the living room they had just vacated. “And you saw the rest in there, the matched skin couches and chairs, the Mexican marble cocktail tables, the natural stone fireplace, the Jackson Pollock on the wall.”

“I have only one question,” Marisa said.

“Yes?”

“Where’s the bedroom?”

He crooked his finger. “Follow me.”

The open spiral staircase led to a second floor loft and a series of guest rooms down the hall. There was another fireplace on the exterior wall of the loft and a second deck overlooking the ocean.

“Nice digs,” she commented.

“It’s okay, if you like luxury,” Jack replied.

The loft was furnished with a vintage Shaker set with a peg post king bed, bleached pine end tables and a standing armoire. The bathroom leading off it had a Jacuzzi tub and an oversized shower stall with a frosted glass enclosure.