Lovers and Liars (59 page)

H
e couldn’t stop remembering.

But did he even want to?

Her smile after the first time she told him she loved him, so shy and tremulous, like a child’s smile, and how he himself had responded … Funny, warm, gargantuan feelings had welled up inside him like a balloon. And he had grabbed her to him and they had rolled over and over and then they had made love …

Her laughter when the kite had flown into the tree, and his fear, his own heart in his throat choking him as she climbed after it—practically to the top—while he stood below resolved to catch her if she fell, cursing himself for letting her go after the stupid toy, her every movement terrifying him …

How she had looked doing the dishes, how they fought over politics and metaphysics with no end in sight—she believed in past lives, no matter how he tried to explain it was impossible—and how she had finally gotten furious and thrown the wet dishrag in his face and called him a triple Taurus with a dose of Capricorn thrown in. He hadn’t understood that insult, but he knew it was bad. He hadn’t asked her just what it meant, not until much later, after they had made up with much enthusiasm.

He was not a triple Taurus—because one of his signs was Gemini. She had groaned at that bit of information.

“I’ll bet the other is Leo.” She moaned in dismay.

“What’s wrong with being a Gemini?” he asked.

“I have a fatal attraction to Geminis, and they’re all two-faced playboys.”

“How do you feel about a reformed two-faced playboy?”
he asked, copping a feel. She had giggled. End of argument.

She had cried forever over that movie, and he had been amazed, holding her and comforting her until soft touching had turned into frantic affirmations of love. “I don’t ever want to lose you,” she had whispered, holding him, stroking him urgently, pulling him down, and he had felt the urgency too, the need to meld and join and dominate and soar.

Maybe it was then that he had fallen in love with her.

He wished he had never used her to get at Glassman. If he could, he would take it all back. And now he had gotten a call from Glassman himself.

“Where the fuck is she?” Glassman had demanded.

“I assume at home—I haven’t seen her since yesterday,” Jack said coolly, feeling tense and volatile at the sound of Glassman’s voice.

“She isn’t answering her phone,” Glassman said. “Look, why don’t you come down to the office and bring your lawyer. I’ve got a deal for you.”

Jack would never accept a deal from Glassman, but he was in the game and he had to play it through. “My lawyer will be in touch with you to arrange a meeting—between him and your lawyer. I’m busy.”

Glassman snorted. “Doing what, picking your nose?” He laughed and hung up.

Jack called Brent Baron. Brent, his lawyer, had the letter incriminating Glassman with everything Jack knew, but Brent hadn’t read it and didn’t know anything about what was going on. He was under instructions to open the letter and take appropriate action in the event that Jack had a serious accident or died from other than natural causes.

“I want you to find out what deal Glassman’s got cooking,” Jack said.

“Isn’t this a job for Sanderson?”

“No, Brent, it’s not.” Jack filled him in on some of the details.

Baron told him he’d take care of it and get back to him. Jack hung up, then on impulse dialed her number. Her answering
machine came on. “Hi, this is Belinda. I’m not in right now, but I’ll get back to you when I can.”
Beep
.

Jack hesitated, then hung up. They had to talk. After all, they were married. Didn’t that give him some rights? Or had he forfeited those by using her so callously? He knew he should wait a few days to let her cool down, but he was impatient and recognized it. He drove over.

Hoping she was home.

Heart thudding wildly.

Jesus, I’m a wreck, he thought, his hands white on the steering wheel.

He knew as he approached the front door that nobody was there. He knew it. But he rang anyway, after walking around the perimeter of the beach house, peering in windows. No, nobody was home. He decided to wait.

He waited two hours and finally left, wondering where the hell she was.

He came back that evening. She still wasn’t there.

He wanted to know where she was. Jack prowled around the house again until he found an unlocked window, and he slid it open and entered. He would wait all fucking night—but they were going to talk.

118

A
dam was not in the best of moods.

He had been calling Belinda all week. Either she wasn’t answering the phone or she was still out of town, and if it was the latter, she couldn’t possibly be with Ford, could she? It seemed more than possible, and he was consumed with fury.

He had told his secretary to hold all calls. He tried Belinda yet again, with the same results. Maybe he would go
over there to see for himself if she was actually back or not. His secretary buzzed. “What is it, Anne?”

“Mr. Gordon, it’s Abe Glassman. He says it’s urgent.”

“I told you to hold all calls,” Adam grated, hating having to kowtow to the inevitable—and the inevitable was Abe Glassman.

“I told him you’d just stepped away from your desk. I’ll take a message—”

“Put him through,” Adam snapped. A moment later he regretted it. Thoroughly.

“Are you a loser or a winner, boy?” Abe shouted with no preliminaries. He didn’t pause for the answer. “I pegged you for a winner, Adam, but maybe I was wrong. Have you heard the news?”

Hatred and dread alternated. “What news?”

“My daughter and Jack Ford.”

The dread grew.

“That daughter of mine married Jack Ford.”

Shock.

“You there? I thought you had her where she belonged—in your bed, making my heir. She obviously wasn’t there. What in hell happened?”

Belinda and Ford. He was remembering Majoriis’s party and how they’d come on to each other for the whole world to see. He was remembering Aspen—how she’d dumped him to leave with Ford. He thought about the two weeks that they were on location in Tucson together—had they been fucking back then? Playing him, Adam, for a fool?

“Well, the game ain’t over yet,” Abe said nastily. “I’m going to destroy that little prick—you can count on that. And when I do, Adam, you’d better be there, waiting to pick up the pieces. You got that?”

Oh, he had it, all right. “Yes.”

Glassman hung up.

Adam stared at the phone. Then he slammed the receiver as hard as he could on the cradle, cracking it. Just who did that cunt think she was? To make a fool of him? To reject him again? To destroy his chance at Glassman’s empire?

Rage, red-hot.

Hatred.

It was hard to think; all Adam could do was feel. But he forced himself to control the burning need to destroy.

And he began to plot his revenge.

119

“I
think she’s in Tahoe,” Peter Lansing said.

Jack was feeling crazed. She hadn’t come home that night. And he knew beyond a doubt she was with another guy, to get back at him. Even now, three days later, he was filled with anger and jealousy. “You haven’t found her?”

“I’m going to go up there and start looking. She took her Jeep and her dog. From what I found out, that’s a typical Tahoe pattern for her. She also took her skis.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jack said quickly.

“It could still be a few days,” Lansing told him.

“I’m coming,” Jack said stubbornly. “After all, she’s my wife.”

Lansing shrugged.

It had been four days since he had gone to Glassman, since she had told him she hated him. Four endless, endless days. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t function. He was obsessed. He had to find her, had to explain. Had to make things right. He would, too, by sheer force of will. She couldn’t resist him, not this time. And he prayed that, for once, his charm wouldn’t fail.

On the flight up to Tahoe he thought about Glassman’s deal—with no regret for refusing. Glassman had offered to release him from the North-Star contract in exchange for a Reno divorce. Baron had not asked any questions, but Jack
could see that he wanted to ask a dozen. Jack had curtly told him to refuse. Baron had.

It hadn’t even been tempting.

He had told Baron he was breaking his contract with North-Star.

Yes, he knew he would be sued, but it was time to bare all. Time to come up head-to-head against that sociopathic bastard and fight to the death. His career was over, as it now was—so what did he have to lose? The answer was easy. Belinda.

If he hadn’t lost her already.

He knew she didn’t seem to love or even like her father, but he was afraid of how she would react to this development on top of everything else: an open battle with her father. North-Star would sue him and win, Baron said; but when everything came out, the settlement might not be too bad. The settlement, however, was one thing; whether another studio would touch him was another.

Sanderson had had a stroke of genius. “We’ll turn it around, Jack,” he said.

He hadn’t understood.

“The PR. You’re the goddamn victim here—and the public loves an underdog. Maybe, with luck—lots of luck and even more careful planning—when all this is over you’ll be hot.
Hot!
Jack Ford, poor boy trying to make it big, getting trounced on by a near-mafioso again and again—Jesus, Jack, once he nearly had you killed!” His eyes were snapping in excitement.

Jack felt hope for the first time.

“And you and Belinda, Jack—a love story! After all Glassman did to you, you and his daughter fell in love. Romeo and Juliet.” He was triumphant.

“Leave her out of this,” Jack said, feeling a shaft of pain. “I mean it. She hates my guts. And I guess I don’t blame her.” If anything, he felt the same way.

“Can’t you pour on some of that old Jackson Ford charm?” Sanderson asked.

“No, Home, I can’t,” Jack snapped, furious.

“Jack,” Brent had said. “If you’ve left out anything, I
need to know it—everything there is about you, about you and the Glassmans, so I won’t be surprised by any stops he pulls out. Once this thing gets going, it’s going to be dirty and we have to be ready.”