Passion's Promise (32 page)

"Kezia, I'm so sorry. Is he ... is he ... anyone I know?"

Not on your ass, sweetheart. She almost wanted to laugh. "No, he isn't. We met in Chicago."

"I wondered about that. Is he young?"

"Young enough, but he's older than I am." She was quiet now. In a way she had told him the truth.

Sending Lucas back to prison would be like condemning him to death. Too many men hated or loved him, he was too well known, had stirred up too much. San Quentin would kill him. Someone would. If not an inmate, a guard.

"I don't know what to say." But his face said what his words couldn't. There was a ghost in his eyes. The ghost of Liane Saint Martin. "This man ... is he ... would . . . does he come to New York?" He was groping for a criterion that Kezia wouldn't leap at in fury but there were none. Where did he go to school? What does he do? Where does he live? Who is he? Kezia would have exploded at any of those questions. But he wanted to know. Had to. He owed it to her ... to himself.

"Yes, he comes to New York. He's been here with me."

"He stays in your apartment?" He suddenly remembered her saying that they had lived together. My God, how could she?

"Yes, Edward. In my apartment"

"Kezia ... is he ... is he ..." He wanted to know if this was someone decent, respectable, not some fortune hunter, or ... or "tutor," but he simply couldn't ask, and she wouldn't have let him. Edward felt as though he was on the verge of losing her forever. "Kezia. . . ."

She looked at him then with tears on her cheeks and quietly shook her head. "Edward ... I ... I can't do this today. I'm sorry." She kissed him gently on the cheek then, picked up her handbag, and slid to her feet. He didn't stop her. He couldn't. He merely watched her retreat toward the door and clenched his hands very tightly for a moment before signaling for the check.

In the bitter cold of the winter afternoon, she rode the subway to Harlem. Alejandro was the only one who could help. She was beginning to panic. She had to see him.

She walked quickly from the subway to the center, oblivious of how she looked in the long red Paris coat and the full white mink hat. She didn't give a damn how she looked. On the streets where she slalomed between garbage cans and scampering children, they looked at her as if she were a strange apparition, but the wind was bitingly cold and there was snow in the air. No one had time to be bothered.

They left her alone.

There was a girl in Alejandro's office when Kezia arrived, and they were laughing. Kezia paused in the doorway. She had knocked, but their laughter had muffled the sound.

"Al, are you busy?" It was rare that she called him by the nickname Luke used.

"I ... no ... Pilar, will you excuse me?" The girl bounced from the chair and scraped past Kezia with a look of wonderment in her eyes. Kezia looked like a vision fresh out of
Vogue,
or someone in a movie.

"I'm sorry to break in on you like this." Her eyes looked agonized beneath the white fur.

"It's all right. I was ... Kezia?"

She had crumbled into tears in front of his eyes, and now she stood there, broken, holding out both arms, her handbag askew on the floor, the last of her control dissolved.

"Kezia . . .
pobrecita . . .
babe . . . take it easy . . ."

"Oh Christ, Alejandro. ... I can't stand it!" She let herself fall into his arms and buried her face on his shoulder. "What can we do? They're going to take him back. I know it." She sniffed and pulled away to see bis eyes. "They will, won't they?"

"They might."

"You think they will too, don't you?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do, godammit Tell me! Somebody tell me the truth!"

"I don't know the truth, damn you!"

She was shouting and he was shouting still louder. The walls seemed to echo with what they had both penned up— fear and anger and frustration.

"Yeah, maybe they will take him back. But for chris-sake, lady, don't give up till they say it What are you going to do? Let yourself die now? Give him up? Destroy yourself? Wait till you hear, for chrissake, then figure it out." The room had been full of his voice and she could hear tears creeping up on him too, but she was quiet He had brought her back to her senses, to a point of control.

"Maybe you're right. I'm just so fucking scared, Alejandro. I don't know what to do to hang on anymore. ... I get this rising panic like bile in my guts."

"There's nothing you can do, except try to be reasonable and hang in. Try not to panic."

"What if we run away? Do you think that they'd find him?"

"Yes, eventually, and then they'd fcQl him on sight Besides, he'd never do that"

"I know." He came close to her again and held her in his arms. She was still wearing the coat and fur hat, and her face was streaked with mascara and tears. "The worst of it is that I don't know what to do to help him, how to make it easier for him. He's under so damn much strain."

"You can't change that. All you can do is stand by him. And take care of yourself. It's not going to help anyone if you fall apart. Remember that You can't give up your whole life for him, or your sanity. And Kezia . . . don't give up yet. Not till they say the word, if they do, and not even then."

"Yeah." She nodded tiredly at him and leaned back against the desk. "Sure."

"I didn't know you were a quitter."

"I'm not."

"Then don't act like one. Get your shit together, woman. You've got a rough road ahead, but nobody said it was the end of the road. It isn't to Luke."

"Okay, mister big mouth, I get your point." She tried to muster a smile.

"Then start acting like you ain't going to quit That big dude loves you one hell of a lot." And then he walked back to her and hugged her again. "And I love you too, little one ... I do too." Tears started to squeeze from her eyes again and she shook her head at him.

"Don't be nice to me, or I'll cry again." She laughed through her tears and he rumpled her hair.

"You're looking mighty fancy, lady. Where*ve you been? Shopping?" He had just noticed.

"No. To lunch with a friend."

"It couldn't have been heroes and Cokes from the look of ft."

"Alejandro, you're nuts." But they shared the moment of honest laughter, and he reached for his coat on the back of the door.

"I'll take you home."

"All the way downtown? Don't be silly!** But she was touched at the thought

"I've done enough here for one day. Want to play hooky with me?" He looked young as he made the offer, his eyes dancing, his smile that of a playful boy.

"As a matter of fact, that sounds just fine."

They walked away from the center arm in arm, her red coat linked with his drab army surplus jacket and hood. He gave her a squeeze and she laughed into the warm eyes. She was glad she had come up to see him. She needed him, differently but almost as much as she needed Luke.

They got off the subway at Eighty-sixth Street and stopped in one of the German coffeehouses for a cup of hot chocolate "mit schlag": great clouds of whipped cream. An oom-pah-pah band was doing its best, and outside, Christmas lights were already blinking hopefully. They said nothing of the revocation, but talked of other times. Christmas, California, his family, her father. It was funny; she had thought about her father a lot lately, and wanted to share it with someone. It was so hard to talk to Luke now; every conversational path led them back to the tangled emotional maze of the revocation.

"Something tells me you're a lot like your father, Keria. He doesn't sound all that much of a conformist either, if you scratch the surface a little."

She smiled at the melting whipped cream on her hot chocolate. "He wasn't. But he had a nice way of pulling it all off, judging from what I've been told and what I remember. I suspect he wasn't as compelled to make choices."

"Those were different times. He didn't have the same choices. That might have had something to do with it What's your trustee like?"

"Edward? He's lovely. And solidly to the bone everything he was brought up to be. And I think he's lonely as hell"

"And in love with you?"

"I don't know. I never gave it much thought. I don't think he is."

"I'll bet you're wrong." He smiled and took a swallow of the warm sweet drink, his lips frothed with the cream. "I think there's a lot you don't see, Kezia. About yourself and your effect on other people. You're naive in that sense."

"Is that so?" She smiled at him. He was nice to be with. And she had needed someone to talk to. Years ago, she had talked so well with Edward, but not now. In an odd way, Alejandro was replacing him now. It was Alejandro she had turned to, when she couldn't talk to Edward, or even Luke. Alejandro who gave her solace and fatherly advice. And then she had a funny thought. She looked up, and giggled.

"And I suppose you're in love with me too?"

"Maybe so."

"You nut" She knew he didn't mean it, and they sat back and listened to the pounding of the old-fashioned music. The restaurant was crowded but they sat apart from the noise and the movement, as isolated as the old men reading German newspapers alone at their tables.

"What are you guys doing for Christmas?"

1 don't know. You know Luke. I don't think he's made op his mind. Or if he has, he hasn't told me. Are you staying here?"

"Yeah. I wanted to go home to L.A., but I've got too much to do at the center, and the trip is expensive.

There's a facility I want to check out in San Francisco, though. Maybe next spring."

"What kind of facility?" She lit a cigarette and relaxed in her chair. The afternoon had metamorphosed into something delightful.

"They call them therapeutic communities out there. Same as the center, except the patients live in, which gives you a much better chance of success." He looked at his watch and was surprised at the time. It was just after five.

"Want to join us for dinner?"

He shook his head regretfully. "No. I'll leave you two lovebirds in peace. Besides, there's a 'little piece* of my own I want to check into, closer to home." He cackled evilly, and she chuckled.

"Havoc in Harlem? Who is she?"

"A friend of a friend. She works at a day-care center and probably has big tits, bad breath and acne."

"You've got something against big tits?" She grinned again.

"Nope. Just the other two. But it's a type. There are two or three like that who work at the center. And yeah, I'm a snob. About women." He signaled for the check.

Kezia laughed at him. "How come you don't have an old lady?" She had never asked him before.

"Either because I'm too ugly, or too mean. I'm not quite sure which."

"Bullshit. What's the real story?"

"Who knows,
hija.
Maybe my work. You were right way back when—Luke and I have a lot in common that way. The causes come first. That's hard for a woman to live with, unless she's got a heavy trip of her own. Anyway, I'm picky."

"I'll bet you are." And therein most likely lay the truth. Because he was assuredly neither ugly, nor mean.

She found him strangely attractive, and cherished the relationship that had blossomed between them. "So what's with this lady tonight?"

"Ill see." He was gently evasive, but Kezia was curious.

"How old is she?"

'Twenty-one, twenty-two. Something like that."

"I hate her already."

"You should worry." He looked up at the porcelain skin framed by the white fur hat. Her eyes stood out like sapphires.

"Yeah. But I'm staring at thirty. That's a far cry from twenty-two."

"And you're a lot better off." She thought about it for a moment and nodded. Twenty-two hadn't been very much fun. It had started to be, though, after she began writing. Before that, it was the shits. Unsure of where she was going, what she was doing, and who she wanted to be, while having to present an outward appearance of unshakable certainty and poise.

"You should have known me ten years ago, Alejandro. You would have laughed."

"You think I was better off at that age?"

"Probably. You were freer."

"Maybe, but still not very cool. Hell, ten years ago I wore a crew cut cemented into place with 'greasy kid stuff." Talk about funny! And I'll bet you weren't wearing a crew cut."

"No. A pageboy. And pearls. I was adorable. The hottest thing on the market. Come and get it, ladies and gentlemen, one untouched, unused, near-perfect heiress. She walks, she talks, she sings, she dances.

Wind her up and she plays 'God Bless America' on the harp."

"You played the harp?"

"No, dummy. But I did everything eke. I was absolutely 'mahvelouss,' but not very happy."

"So now you're happy. That's a lot to be grateful for."

"I am." Her thoughts flew back to Lucas . . . and the hearing. Alejandro watched the transitions in her eyes, and moved quickly to bring her back to the easy chatter of the last hour.

"How come you don't play the harp? Aren't heiresses supposed to?" He was all innocence.

"No, that's angels. They're the ones who play the harp."

"You mean they're not the same thing?"

She threw back her head and laughed at the thought "No, darling. They are most emphatically not the same thing. I do play the piano, though. That's a prerequisite for your heiress wings. A few play the violin, but most of us tackle the piano at an early age, and give it up by the time we're twelve. Chopin."

"I still land of wish you could play the harp."

"Up your ass, Mr. Vidal." She grinned and he feigned shock.

"Kezial And you're an heiress? How shockingl Up my . . . what?"

"You heard me, mister. Now come on, let's go home. Lucas will worry." They slipped into their coats, he left the tip on the table, and they walked out into the cold air, arm in arm. The afternoon had been well spent. She felt restored.

When they got home, Luke was waiting to the living room, bourbon in hand and with a smile on his face.

"Well, what have you two been up to?" He liked to see them together, but Kezia noticed something pinched about his eyes. Jealousy?

"We went out for a cup of hot chocolate."