Fly With Fire (44 page)

He would have liked to think
they might have found a way to be together. The more he’d thought about Roddy’s
offer, the better he’d liked it. A whole new life. Travel. Money that, while
nowhere near equal to Mo’s would be a much better balance. He wouldn’t feel
like a hobo next to her. Not that she had judged him that way. Or had she? Was
it just sex all along? Maybe she got herself a lover in every city. No. There
was too much of the discoverer in her. She’d had some experience but she hadn’t
known true passion. Or he was a bigger fool than he thought. Could she have
fooled him completely? He’d known her for so short a time. Yet he had
discovered things about himself as well because of her. Had he ever known true
passion? Had he ever felt like his life would be nothing if he never saw a
woman again? Had his head ever been so completely filled with every look or laugh
or sigh? What was the difference between love and lust? He’d lusted plenty of
times. It usually lost its appeal pretty quickly upon fulfillment. But he had
been no lothario. He had been looking for the one. Even as he walked her down
the aisle he knew Chelsey wasn’t the one. But he’d gone through the motions for
a woman who could not be made happy. Her persistent dissatisfaction had already
taken its toll. Their divorce began as soon as he slid the ring on her finger.

Patricia. She had been more
like a sister. Their shy and inexperienced loving had been bereft of passion.
Their kisses familial. He may as well have patted her on the head when they
were done.

Mo had brought him something
that altered his view of life. They had come together out of those strange, sad
circumstances and he had found the passion he had searched for. Perhaps love
was, after all, self delusion. Maybe he had deluded himself about her. Maybe
he’d just had gotten starry eyed over an amazing and beautiful woman. Maybe he
was just star struck like some stupid kid.

Well, he’d find out. She was
through with him and he’d been an ass and handed her a convenient excuse. He
was better off. And he’d know it as soon as he stopped hurting so damned bad.
The physical pain was nothing to the blade run through his heart. He’d never
known this kind of pain. Maybe he’d be laughing about it in a month when he
realized he could not be in love with a woman he’d known for weeks. Like in the
romance novels his mom had always read. Not that he blamed her for reading
them. It was a miracle she hadn’t killed herself a lot sooner, living with the
old man. And she’d known him for years before they got married.  Married.
Been there done that. Mo married. To him. Now that’s a ridiculous thought. She
sure wasn’t the type for the domestic scene. But he wasn’t interested in June
Cleaver. She was a star. More importantly to her, an artist. Her focus was on
her work as it should be. Everything else was a distraction. And distractions
could be fatal.

Zack wondered if Mo was in
her room yet. Claude wouldn’t be wasting any time once he was out of the
picture. Perfect looking Claude with his perfect body. He’d heard he was trying
to get a date with Lourdes Garcia but he knew the French trapeze artist still
wanted Mo. Why on earth would she want someone who might not be able to use his
arm right again. He had been an interlude. He was forever blemished. Claude
would be in hot pursuit in no time.

The thought angered Zack. It
filled him with heated jealousy. He wanted to hit something. He couldn’t even
reach a pillow to throw it. He lay with his thoughts swirling in his head. He
wanted to see her. Apologize. He’d beg for her forgiveness if he hadn’t seen
the look on her face. Too late. She didn’t want him. She didn’t love him. She
had used information about his father to anger him and drive him away. She
couldn’t have hurt him any more if she’d been a hot bullet piercing his flesh.
And she had been right on target.

Mo curled up against the fat
white pillows with the envelope. Thank god Meese was off duty. Les Moore was in
the other bedroom. He was stiffly polite but at least lacked the smug demeanor
of Meese. He had the air of a college grad destined for great things who had
gone for good money in a field far beneath him. But he was smart, and he knew
his job. Zack had told her he’d been Secret Service but schedule and travel had
almost wrecked his marriage so he’d come home to Chicago. He kept a picture of
three beautiful little mocha skinned girls taped to his laptop. He wore a
Mickey Mouse watch. Zack had also told her he had been a Navy Seal. She felt
like she was in good hands but she was wondering if she wouldn’t feel more
comfortable with a woman in the other room. She knew she really wanted Zack.

She turned her attention to
the envelope. Mo opened it and slid out the contents. It looked like company
business which she didn’t usually pay attention to. It was a proposal. She
looked more closely. A plan for creating an in-house security department
unfolded itself. It all seemed reasonable as she read on.  A very good
plan. She set the first page aside.  “’Security department to be headed by
Zachary Burnham… if he accepts the position… as per Rodrigo D’Mario’s request.
Compensation and Insurance benefits… will make all security personnel
decisions…start date as soon as possible pending recovery from present
illness.’ And he accused me of keeping him in the dark. A solution to
everything. A chance to be together, work together; and he didn’t tell me. She
threw down the papers jumping up and pacing. Son of a bitch!” She wrapped her
arms around herself.

“Ms. Whitman?” Moore’s quiet
voice asked as he lightly knocked.

“I’m… I’m okay. Stubbed my
toe,” she lied. Oh so he wanted out. Fine! He could take his double standard and
shove it up his… Could it have all been a show? Could a man make love to a
woman the way he had then just cut himself off cold? Had men wondered the same
thing about her? She excelled at the cutting it off part. Her job had always
enabled her when it came to having to deal it the hurt party. Hadn’t she always
made it clear in her few brief encounters that it was short term? The job came
first. Dedication to the show paramount. She’d never said, “God, I love you!”
Liar. He lied to me too. Oh, that self righteous... She struggled for a word.
Hurt blinded her to the reality of their short acquaintance. She didn’t wonder
how he could need to consider the long term before committing her to having to
deal with him beyond the present circumstances. She just felt betrayed by a
hypocrite whose double standards were a glaring red flag. Now she knew. It was
just as well. In another week they’d be gone and she’d get over him. How did
one do that? Cling to the anger. That was the only way.

Mo turned off the light and
stared at the ceiling. Instead of clinging to her anger she put her hand out to
the empty space beside her and imagined Zack breathing there until she fell
asleep.

The next day she had to keep
reminding herself that she was angry as she looked for Zack to appear. Why
would he? He was finished and had only been cajoled to return to Greendale to
begin with. Misha grasped her ankles, his strong hands holding her securely. “I
don’t see Detective Burnham around, he okay?”

“He’s finished with this job.
Guess he’s back where he belongs.” She did a triple to Claude.

“Where is your policeman,
eh?” Claude threw her off to meet the empty trapeze thrown out by Deb.

“How’s Zack? I hope he’s
feeling better.” Deb inquired with a sympathetic tone.

Mo’s eyes flared. “Can we
concentrate on work?” Deb shrunk back. Uh oh. Mo raised her eyes to the ceiling
of the coliseum for some support. Support from that quarter evaded her.

“What you do up there, Momo?
Time for a break? Need a nap? Want me to read you a bedtime story?” Mo gritted
her teeth in tightly sealed lips. She was off the platform in a second and on
her way down the silk rope.

“Why didn’t you tell me about
the new security plan, Roddy?” His Chihuahua eyes popped wide. He nervously
smoothed a mustache.

“Company business. You no
have need to know until implement.” He started to shout a direction at
Goldstein and was cut off.

“You didn’t think I should
know you offered Zack a job? Didn’t think that affected me?” Mo’s eyes shot
flames of anger at the diminutive manager.

“How you know? Zack say he
think about it. Why tell you unless he accept? He no accept. He call today and
say no. We find someone else. Clear all up? Back to work.” Roddy shoved his
nose up toward Mo’s face having regained a sense of authority. It wasn’t good
to coddle the star in front of the company. Or let her get away with having a
tantrum.

“He called. He said ‘No’”? Mo
stood as if paralyzed but her lip quivered. “Good. What about Les Moore?
 He’s no halfwit, and he’s probably more qualified. Her tone was sharp but
her large eyes watered. “Zack Burnham is a hypocrite and a liar and you’re a
liar and all men are liars! And idiots!” She stomped off toward her dressing
room as Roddy sadly watched.

Damn him. Damn him. Why did
she feel this way? Angry. Yes she was angry at Zack and Roddy and the whole lot
of their nasty, lying, double standarded, sex. If she didn’t see Zack soon she
was going to go insane. Well, he was long gone. Maybe Cherrie Something was
nursing his wounds for him. Oh, Zack. How was he? Why had he become so angry
with her? Well she’d seen enough of that temper hadn’t she. And the notch
comment? Who was really carving the notch on their bedpost? He’d seemed so
sincere. Mo took a deep breath. Well that’s it. She’d never see him again. Their
little dream world had been crushed under reality’s brutal heel. She knew it
would be so why the surprise. She had suspended her innate realism for a taste
of unrestrained hope. If she could spit her heart out on the floor she’d squash
it underfoot if it would just stop the pain of no longer having that hope. Hell
with it. Work is all there is. How many people did she know of that were truly
happy, anyway?  Refuge? What a joke.

Enough of the pity party. She
turned toward the door. She would work and she would triumph and she would
produce her Egyptian show and he could read about it in the papers. She braced
herself for the future and went back to work.

Zack woke up before dawn with
a pillow clutched to his chest with his good arm. He’d fallen asleep with the
lamp on. In the dim light the blank ceiling was like a mirror of the blankness
he felt inside. Suddenly everything rushed in and the blank ceiling was a
screen on which he projected every minute he’d had with Mo. He felt pinned to
the bed by a weight on his chest. His breath came in gasps as he tried to
swallow the lump in his throat. He had let go emotionally and found himself in
the worst pain of his life. It made no sense. He could reason himself out of
this. He was stronger than this. When he went to move the pain in his clavicle
shot through him. It was a welcome distraction. His side ached like a choir of
sons a bitches. Nothing, nothing like the ache in his chest. He tossed the
pillow away.

He had gotten himself into
this and he would have to deal with it. He could deal with it. He managed to
rise and looked around the small single room. Gingerly he made coffee. All the
exercise he had given his wounds was making him pay. But he wasn’t bleeding.
That was something. His head was getting clearer as he thought about the next
steps to take. The clearer his head got the more his chest ached. He poured a
cup with a shaky hand.

First things first. Call Dino
to come get his ass. Call Roddy and turn down the job. Cut it off cold. It’s
what she would want. Being the ‘work comes first’ type. Being the perfection of
the body type. Sure, physical perfection was part of her business. The biggest
part. They were athletes first. Their artistry was built on that foundation. If
she couldn’t handle a man who’d been sewn together like a Frankenstein monster,
who could blame her. If she didn’t want a man who may have lost perfect
function of his body, came with the territory. He just didn’t want to believe
it, that was all.

“After what I saw last
night…” Well you saw it and it’s today’s reality and tomorrow’s and forever’s.
She was done with him. He’d been such a jerk anyway. Didn’t he deserve it for
the way he’d talked to her? Yeah, she’s gonna jump right on the cranky freak
who insults her. If only he could apologize. Not that it would change anything.
But could she at least forgive him for being a jerk when he’d been doped up and
in pain? Would she understand that he had been angry out of fear for her? He
had been lucky to have any chance at all with her. Lucky him. He knew things
couldn’t last but he had told himself, “somehow, somehow.” Then the offer from
the company. Well, she didn’t know about that. At least he hadn’t committed
himself to something he’d have to backpedal on. Roddy should offer the job to
someone more experienced anyway. Not someone his star was personally involved
with.

She was probably at the
coliseum striving for the perfection that consumed her. The old lady had
certainly pounded that into her head. Perfection. No less. He had deluded
himself that there was room for him in her life. He had been a distraction from
the get go. From grief and fear and pain. Then he’d been on a little holiday.
He’d cut that short himself the day he went with Al to bust Bull Shaughnessy.

He couldn’t regret what he’d
done. He could only regret the hope for something deeper and more permanent.
He’d never allow himself that again. Even if she came begging, he’d never let
go like that again. It hurt too damn much. Well that was easy to say, he told
himself, when he knew damn well she wasn’t going to come begging.