Heartthrob (17 page)

“David, here’s another clue in the incredible Kate mystery. She has pencils with her name on ’em. What’s your take on
that
?” He paused, listening for a moment, then again directed his conversation to Kate. “He says, in his esteemed professional opinion, it probably means that you have a close personal relationship with a six-year-old.”

“She’s seven,” Kate said. “But close enough. My niece, Kerrie, gave me those for Christmas.”

“Did you hear that?” Jericho said into the phone. “Uh-huh … He says the fact that you actually use ’em is extremely telling. He says I should—” He stopped himself. “No way. He’s insane. In a sad twist of fate, the psychologist has finally lost his mind.”

He laughed again, and Kate had to look away. She could resist Jericho Beaumont, it was true, but this was
Jericho Beaumont set on heavy stun. She longed for a pair of protective goggles.

“Yeah, why
did
you call?” he asked his friend. At least she thought this David was a friend. Although Jericho’s lighthearted, best-friend–style banter could be just another act. God knows he’d stopped well short of telling the truth as to why she was in his trailer at this time of night.

Kate tried to focus on the cameraman’s report.

Jericho laughed. “No kidding!” He tugged at the papers Kate was holding. “Hey, David and his wife, Alison, are going to have another baby in … when’s the date?” He paused. “In October. Man, that’s great news!”

He stood up, flipping the phone cord back over her head as he pulled it to the little sink and refrigerator. It made it, but just barely. Kate scrunched back into the corner of the booth to avoid being bumped by the cord.

She tried not to watch the muscles in Jericho’s back as he stood at the tiny counter and fixed himself something to eat. She tried not to pay any attention at all to his legs. God, he had nice legs.

He was
not
Laramie.
Not Laramie.

But he looked just like Laramie, smiled just like Laramie. And the way he’d apologized to Susie McCoy—that was something Laramie might’ve done.

He was mostly silent now, letting David talk. From what Kate could glean from the few words he spoke, David and his wife had been trying to have a second child for quite a number of years. Jericho asked about Alison, asked about a project David was running at the state penitentiary—apparently Alison wasn’t thrilled to have him up there counseling prisoners three times a week, but at least a funding grant he’d applied for had come in.

Finally the conversation ended. Jericho turned to hang up the phone, and Kate glued her gaze back onto her papers.

“Want some salad?” He was off the phone, and there was only one person he could be talking to.

“No thanks.” She answered automatically, but then did a double take. Did he say … “
Salad
?”

Sure enough, the man who’d once been known as the unofficial spokesperson for the Hostess Twinkie had fixed a large bowl of garden greens for himself. As she watched, he added dressing and, picking up the bowl, leaned back against the counter and began to eat.

“Yeah, my late-night snack used to be pure sugar,” he said between mouthfuls of lettuce. “Back in the bad old days.”

“I remember. I read somewhere that your movie contracts included demands for name-brand junk food. In astonishing quantities.”

Jericho rolled his eyes. “I learned about nutrition in rehab. Most alcoholics—and recovering alcoholics—suffer sugar imbalances. Lots of ’em—us—are hypoglycemic, and I’m no exception. Hypoglycemics crave sugar. You should’ve seen me—I used to eat an entire half gallon of ice cream in one sitting. Complete overload. I sucked down anything sweet that crossed my path. I always carried M&M’s. And alcohol. Alcohol turns straight to sugar in your system, you know.”

“I didn’t.”

“While I was in rehab, I was put on this low-sugar diet. I had small meals—things like salads, with high vegetable content. Small amounts, served often. Not just three times a day but maybe even six or seven.

“Nowadays, I don’t eat ice cream. I stay away from all kinds of sugar and high starches that turn to sugar easily. And I’ve stuck with the lots-of-small-meals concept—I think it really works. It seems to help curb my craving for sugar—and for alcohol.”

Kate couldn’t keep the question in. “Do you still crave alcohol?”

Jericho was quiet for a long moment. Then he laughed ruefully. “Hell, I don’t know how to answer that. I guess
since you’re my producer you might get scared if I answered it truthfully, so maybe we should just change the subject. Or maybe I should lie and say no. Nope, not me. No, ma’am, I don’t crave a drink. Not anymore. I’m completely beyond that.” He looked up at her. “How’d I do?”

Kate shook her head.

“Yeah.” He stabbed more salad onto his fork. “That’s a tough one to swallow. You know, if you weren’t my producer, I’d tell you that for some people, the craving never goes away. It’s always back there, lurking, day after day. And if I
really
wanted to scare you to death, I might even tell you that there hasn’t been one single day in the past five years, four months, and twenty-two days, that I haven’t wished for a drink. And that’s why some very smart person made up that slogan, one day at a time. See, instead of saying that I’ve got to stay sober another five years—which sounds pretty impossible—all I have to do is make it through today. Hell, all I have to do is get through the next few hours without taking a drink. And then I have to get through the
next
few hours until another day is done. I can handle a few hours, and even if I can’t, I know I can handle a few minutes. And when you add all those minutes and hours together, presto change-o, what do you know? They become five years, four months, and twenty-two days. And you’ve got yourself a real life instead of a blur of binges and hangovers.”

He ate more of his salad before looking up at her again. “So. Now you know. Kind of makes you want to call for ol’ Bob and his handcuffs, huh?”

He was trying to make a joke out of it, but she could see some of the vulnerability he used for playing Laramie in his eyes. But this time it was real. He’d opted to tell her the truth, and Kate knew that it was a truth some people would disapprove of.

It was funny, actually. Jericho covered himself with his movie star persona to bluff his way through life, thinking
his laid-back, friendly, good-old-boy self-confidence and control would make others perceive him to be strong. Yet when he admitted he was weak, when he bypassed the glitter and theatrics and tossed the naked, ugly truth out onto the floor, whether it was telling her this now, or admitting to Susie McCoy that he’d been wrong,
that
was when he showed his real strength.

Kate could only imagine the courage it must’ve taken him to get through … what had he said? Five years, four months, and twenty-two days.

Calling back Bob Hollander was the last thing she wanted to do. What she really wanted was to give him a hug.

But Kate had no doubt in her mind that he would take that absolutely the wrong way.

Instead she cleared her throat and let a little of Frau Steinbreaker slip into her voice—but only because he was expecting her to. “You know, I’ve done my research, and frankly, if you’d told me you
didn’t
crave alcohol,
then
I would’ve been worried.

“I’ve heard that recovering alcoholics often are vulnerable at the five-year mark of their sobriety,” she continued. “If people are going to slip, they’re more likely to do it then.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that, too.” Jericho shrugged. “But I’m doing fine.”

“You’re not really into AA, are you?” she asked. “Some people I know go to meetings all the time.”

He shrugged again. “I was in the program while I was in rehab, of course, and then for the first year and a half after I got out. But it takes a lot of time, and there’s so many rules and … I found I did just as well white-knuckling it—you know, staying clean on my own.”

“That sounds pretty risky.”

He nodded. “Yeah. But I make a point to know when the local meetings are. If I feel like I need some help, I stop in.”

Jericho smiled, but it was Laramie’s smile, and for several dizzying moments, Kate experienced the odd sensation of looking into the eyes of a man that she’d created. Her perfect man. Broken, but beginning to heal, battered, but not completely defeated. Strong enough to reach up from the pits of despair and grab hold of a thread of hope.

Her heart flipped, and she had to look away.

“Don’t you ever change into comfortable clothes at night?” he asked. She could feel him still watching her. “It’s after ten, and you’re still wearing work clothes.”

Kate purposely didn’t look up. “That’s because I’m still working.”

Jericho laughed ruefully. “O-kay. So much for pretending that we’re actually enjoying each other’s company.”

He turned toward the sink, and as she watched beneath lowered lashes, he washed his salad bowl and the fork, and set them in the dish drain to dry. He stood there for a moment, until she glanced up again.

“Do you have a lot left to do?” He added apologetically, “because I didn’t get a whole hell of a lot of sleep last night, and I’ve got maybe three minutes left in me before I crash.”

Kate swept up her papers, evened off the edges, and put them in her briefcase. “I’ve been done for a while,” she admitted, gathering up her purse and the gym bag into which she’d stuffed pajamas, her toothbrush, and clothes for the next morning. “Do you need to bring anything over with you?”

“No, I’m all set.” It was freaky—this stilted, too-politeness that they’d suddenly fallen into. They were going to go into the other trailer now, and sleep in virtually the same room. It was unavoidably uncomfortable, and they were both playing it as if it were completely normal.

But then, Jericho neatly broke the odd mood. “Unless …” he said. “You’ve got the condoms in your bag, right?”

Kate dropped her keys.

He laughed at the look on her face. “Just kidding.”

“Very funny.” She turned off the light to hide the color that was rising in her cheeks.

Kate followed him out of the trailer. The night was like a blanket, solid and damp and hot after the air-conditioned coolness inside.

“You’ve got to admit, there’s something about this that feels, well … really naughty.”

Kate laughed nervously. “Naughty. Now, there’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“But it kind of fits, doesn’t it? You don’t happen to sleepwalk, do you?” He stood back to let her go up the steps to the other trailer.

“Nope.”

“Too bad.”

Finally she got the key into the lock and the door open. She gestured for Jericho to go inside first.

“Do you snore? Hollander snored. First time I heard it, I thought someone was using a chain saw outside the trailer.”

It seemed impossible, and Kate knew Jericho would never admit it, but he was nervous, too.

She locked the door behind her and turned on the light. “I don’t snore,” she told him. “Of course, it’s been years since I’ve slept in the same room with …” She cut herself off. God, why was she telling him that?

“Really?” Too late. “Years?”

She turned toward him briskly. “Why don’t you use the bathroom first?”

Jed lay in the dark, just listening as Kate got ready for bed. She turned off the light before she opened the bathroom door, and he heard her move quietly through the other room, heard the rustle of sheets as she climbed into bed.

And then there was silence.

One minute became two, and he tried not to think about her, lying there, mere yards away from him, wearing … what? Definitely not an oversized T-shirt. She wasn’t the type. And it was too hot for flannel pajamas. That left … some kind of cotton nightie? Or maybe a transparent baby-doll with a matching G-string … yeah, right. Dream on.

He tried to think about something else, and found himself focusing on the way he and Kate had had to wait outside the other trailer tonight as Nate and Ethan searched it. After they’d stopped at the Grill and he’d apologized to Susie, he’d come back to find
that
magic.

It was damned unsettling to have all of his belongings and clothing constantly rifled through. Nothing was ever in the same position. Everything he owned was handled and examined. It set his teeth on edge.

But thinking about it wasn’t going to help him fall asleep. His thoughts of Kate weren’t going to put him to sleep, either, but at least they weren’t unpleasant.

He tried to picture exactly how she was lying, out there in the other room. As nine minutes became ten, Jed couldn’t stand it another second. “Kate. Are you awake?”

He heard her shift slightly. “No.”

“Do you sleep on your back or on your side?”

Silence. It stretched on far too long. But then she laughed and asked incredulously, “Why?”

“I’m curious.”

“Did you ask Bob that, when he was sleeping in here with you?”

Jed laughed. “Not a chance. I just lay here and prayed that he wouldn’t start dreaming he was back in ’Nam, sleepwalk, mistake me for one of the VC, and slice me into little pieces.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I
did
ask him if he was gay. That didn’t go over too well.”

She was trying her damnedest not to laugh. “I thought you were exhausted, Beaumont.”

“I am. I’m just …” What? Restless? If he told her he was restless, she would interpret it to mean horny. Of course, he was that, too. “I stayed with my brother Tom back when I first came to California, and he always had three or four people camped out in his living room. I’m not sure if they just didn’t feel like going home at night, or if they had nowhere else to go—not that it mattered to Tom. But I had to stake out the couch early or I’d end up on the floor. His friends were all talented conversationalists, and sometimes the discussions would go on until three or four in the morning.”

“Tom was your brother who died of AIDS?”

Just like that, Jed lost the urge to talk. “You do your research, don’t you?” he said. Tom’s death still made him feel sick. Not over the fact that he’d died—he’d been ill for years, and it seemed inevitable that sooner or later he’d lose the fight. But when Tom died, it had been more than two months since Jed had last gone to see him. He’d cared more for his own stupid reputation, and purposely stayed away.