Love After All (11 page)

“Yeah, I was in Chicago earlier. It was a bit chilly.”

“I heard that,” the man said and he looked at his watch, then at the bank of elevators. He was obviously sitting in the lobby killing time and waiting for someone to arrive.

“So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I work in broadcasting,” Jackson said.

“Television?”

“No, radio,” Jackson corrected.

“Nice, nice indeed,” he said glancing at his watch again. “Me, I'm retired. Yes, sir, worked all my life now it's my turn to just sit back and relax.”

“Sounds good.” Jackson said.

“Been doing some traveling lately,” the man added. Jackson nodded obligingly. He continued, “Read about these places all my life and thought that this was the perfect time to check them out. Las Vegas, now,
there's
a place to go.”

Jackson listened as the man continued talking about his recent travels and the extended list of places he intended to go.

 

Samantha sighed heavily. As soon as she'd agreed to meet him she hesitated. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Jackson again, it was that she did. What was she doing? She posed the question rhetorically. What comes natural, she answered instantly, exactly what Jefferson said to do.

But nothing about this was natural. There was no way she'd agree to go out with a man after meeting him just hours earlier. And even as she dressed, the usual myriad of doubts haunted her. Suddenly, the scent of fresh flowers got her attention. She'd forgotten all about them. She walked over and plucked a small envelope from one of the stems.

She opened and read the card aloud, “Welcome to L.A., Looking forward to the next few days, J. Daley.” She smiled, then leaned in and smelled the heavenly scent. All of a sudden, meeting Jackson seemed natural.

What was it about him that tempted her so?

He was attractive, certainly. There was no denying that fact. Beneath the cool exterior of his Armani business suit he was certainly built like a bronze statue with a body that had to be deliciously lickable. But it was his eyes that astonished her. Piercing and intense, they were stunning amber starbursts washed in pale green sunlight, and when he looked at her she felt her whole life exposed, but not in a bad way. It was as if he saw her for who and what she was and still wanted to be with her.

The disqualifying truth of her family always made her edgy. There always seemed to be a ticking time bomb ready to explode as soon as she met someone. The closer they got, the more anxious she became, knowing that the truth would inevitably come out and she wasn't going to lie. If they weren't in the business, they didn't understand those who were. And judgments, justified or not, were something she refused to accept. She loved her family, warts and all, and accepting her meant accepting them.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror as she styled her hair and applied a soft tint to her lips and cheeks. Act natural, she reminded herself, then grabbed her hat and purse and left the room.

A moment alone in the elevator gave her time to regroup. She took a deep breath and heard her father's words reminding her that no matter what the situation, she should always be proud of who she was and where she came from. As others cheated, lied and stole behind boardroom doors and political parties, it was his honor to give them a taste of their own medicine. He believed it, but she didn't. Two wrongs didn't make a right.

Two minutes later she walked through the lobby and saw Jackson sitting and talking with another man. She smiled, seeing him before he saw her. Out of his tailored business suit, he'd changed to a more casual polo shirt and slacks. Either way, he was still gorgeous.

He stood, seeing her as she walked over to the lobby seating. “Wow, you look fantastic,” he said as soon as she approached. His eyes lit up bright and wide. He stared at her face. She looked different since earlier that morning. Instead of her hair pulled back in a tight bun, she wore loose curls that gently danced on her shoulders. She wore hoop earrings and a simple chain around her neck. His eyes drifted down her lean body, taking in the slim firmness of her simple sundress and the strappy high-heel sandals with a matching purse. She had dark sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat in her hand.

“Thanks, so do you.”

“Come on, let's get out of here,” he said, not wanting to waste a single moment of the time they had together.

He glanced at the older gentleman he'd been talking with. They each nodded a parting salutation, and then Jackson took Samantha's hand.

“So where exactly are we going?” she asked, not moving.

He turned. “This is California, sweetheart, we're going to the beach, of course.”

“Of course,” she said as he squeezed her hand gently and whisked her away.

Moments later they were sitting in his sports convertible, a Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren, driving along the Pacific Coast Highway, the ocean on one side and the hilly knolls of Malibu canyons on the other. The low steady resonance of the engine mixed with the smooth jazz on the radio added to her enjoyment. She rested her head back on the headrest, allowing the bright sun, the salted air, the warm breeze to blow through her hair and on her face. She felt invigorated.

“So,” she began after nearly fifteen minutes of silence, “this is what Californians do on a weekday instead of grinding the stone—ride up and down the coastal highway, jamming traffic.” They slowed, hitting a patch of congested highway thickened with more traffic. They eventually came to a complete stop.

“Looks that way.”

“Impromptu parking lot?” she asked jokingly.

“Yeah, something like that,” he responded, glancing up in the rearview mirror as someone a few cars back decided that blowing his horn would make a major difference. “Why do people do that?” he asked rhetorically.

“Do what?” she asked.

“Blow the horn. Traffic isn't going to move any faster. Impatiently blowing the horn does nothing but irritate the drivers around them.”

“True,” she agreed. “I guess it makes them feel like they're doing something, you know, in control of the situation, even if it's just an illusion.”

With all the cars around him completely stopped, Jackson took a moment to look over at her. He smiled and nodded his head, obviously impressed. “That's pretty insightful of you. What do you do, drive around the city all day figuring these things out?”

“Sometimes, yeah, but that's only my part-time job. Truth is, I rather like driving in traffic. Actually, I find it peaceful.”

“Well, welcome to California, then. You're gonna love it here, so if by chance you're in the market for a new home…”

“Are you trying to sell me one?”

Jackson chuckled, and she joined in. “Nah, seriously, traffic isn't always this bad,” he said.

“So this is home for you, I gather?” she asked.

“Yes, I was born and raised right here in Los Angeles.”

“Sounds like you really love it.”

“I do,” he paused a second, then continued. “You can find anything and everything you can imagine just by going a few miles in any direction. It's beautifully diverse. Los Angeles, like most cities, is basically broken up into smaller cultural and/or economical subdivisions, but of course it's most populated right in the heart of the city.”

She glanced over at the view on the other side of the highway. “And the infamous L.A. beaches?”

“Oh, we have plenty of them. The coastline is miles and miles long. So actually there aren't just a few beaches, there are dozens and dozens.”

“So where exactly are we going?” she asked as traffic cleared and they passed a sign stating that they were north on the Pacific Coast Highway and nearing west on Interstate 10.

“A nice little spot I know just up the coast a bit more. I think you're gonna like it.” Samantha nodded as an unexpected yawn caught her off guard, and she reached up and covered her mouth. “Tired, still jet-lagged?” he asked, glancing over to her.

“A little,” she sighed then laid her head back on the comfortable leather and closed her eyes behind the dark sunglasses as she dipped her wide-brimmed hat against the wind.

“Lie back, relax, take a nap, we'll be there soon.” She nodded as they fell into an easy silence. Jackson drove and Samantha did exactly as he suggested. He glanced over to her from time to time, seeing the sweet perfection of her contented smile. She was a different woman from the person on the plane just hours earlier, and he decided that he liked this Samantha just as much.

A few more miles down the road he steered the car off the highway and through a complex of large office buildings and then through a small township where dozens of storefront restaurants and trendy boutiques lined both sides of the street. He continued farther, driving upward, as if to reach the top of a hill.

The winding turns seemed more dramatic than they actually were as he easily handled the road and maneuvered through traffic with ease. He passed a small garden plaza and drove a few more blocks, coming to another smaller collection of stores and boutiques.

Moments later, he pulled into a graveled parking lot and turned off the engine. He looked over at her. She opened her eyes, hearing that the engine had gone silent and feeling that the car had stopped. Meeting his pale eyes, she turned to him. They smiled politely. “Nice rest?” he asked.

“Yes, it was wonderful. I can't believe I dozed off like that. She looked at her watch. They'd driven over an hour and a half from Los Angeles. “Are we—” she stopped when she started looking around “—there yet?” Her mouth dropped open at the breathtaking sight in front of her. Touching the wide brim of her hat, she looked up.

The quaint building several stories high and seemingly surrounded by a barrage of blossoming orange trees looked more like someone's old grandmother's house than the restaurant and inn it professed itself to be. The antique sign out front, weathered and distressed, called it an authentic beach bungalow, but this was nothing like the one-room bungalows she'd seen on television and in the movies.

It had a wraparound porch with white high-back wooden rocking chairs neatly spaced apart, gingerbread accents and probably hundreds of thousands of colorful flowers scattered along the edging in the front yard and around the sides, giving the inn a homey, comfortable look and feel. She liked it instantly.

“What do you think of the old place?”

“It's so charming,” she said exuberantly.

Jackson got out of the car. He walked around to the side and opened the door for her. “This is the real beauty of California,” he said. She stepped out and tossed her hat in the backseat, then turned and looked up at the bright white building with the large black shutters and overflowing flower boxes.

“I like it,” she said as she walked toward the entrance gate, then stopped and took the time to look around. Jackson followed, enjoying the newness of her wonder. She started toward the narrow path leading to the front door but he stopped her.

“Wait, I want to show you something first, this way.”

He led, she followed. They walked down a slate-stone path leading through trees and bushes circling around to the side. Although the front seemed small and quaint, the building was actually quite huge and much larger than she imagined. After they passed a grouping of citrus trees they came to a narrow clearing.

“Careful, we're perched right on a hillside overlooking the surf. The cliff stops and gravity begins,” Jackson said, holding Samantha's waist and helping her climb a small mound. “This way,” he said, taking her hand. Then he moved aside as Samantha stepped forward, giving her the first unobstructed view.

It was as if they stood at the edge of the world. All she could see was the skyline in front of her. Located high on a hill, the inn overlooked the ocean as the grassy knoll came to an abrupt end at a drop of more than fifty feet and an outlay of bleached white sand and then presumably the Pacific Ocean.

“Wait, where are we?” she asked again, continuing to look around in amazement.

“Not exactly Kansas anymore, is it, Dorothy?”

She turned to him quickly, stunned by his statement. “What did you say?” she asked, her eyes wide with trepidation. Her heart suddenly skipped a beat, then did double time to catch up.

“Kansas, you know, Dorothy, the
Wizard of Oz,
” he said, hoping for some sign of recognition instead of the anxious expression on her face. “Never mind, it was a bad joke.”

Samantha relaxed, realizing Jackson's innocent joke was just a coincidence but that it had still hit too close to home. “Yeah, I know, I get it, Munchkins, Yellow Brick Road.” She half smiled, then turned back to the view. “You're right, it's definitely not Kansas.”

“Is that where you're from?” he guessed.

“It's fantastic, beautiful,” she said and began walking toward the waist-high railing to get a better look at the view. “I can't believe the view, everywhere you look. It's breathtaking.”