Special Delivery (2 page)

Anyway, be on time, Dad. You'd be late to your own funeral, if you could.

Which, hopefully, won't be for a while, thank you very much, Jack said, thinking of the heart attack that had killed Matthew Kingston. He had died four days before, on the tennis court, and he was two years younger than Jack. Amanda had just turned fifty. The men who had been playing tennis with him had done everything possible to revive him, but they had been unable to do it. At fifty-seven, he was being mourned by his family, the entire banking community, and all those who knew him. But Jack had never liked him. He thought he was pompous, stuffy, and boring.

I'll see you there, Dad. I have to pick up Jan at her mom's. She spent the night there.

Does she need anything? A hat? A dress? I can have one of the girls pull some things for you to pick up on your way over there if you need it.

That's okay, Dad. Paul smiled at his father's voice. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was basically a decent guy, and Paul loved him. I think Amanda got them everything they needed. She's in pretty bad shape over Matt, but she's incredibly organized, even now. She's an amazing woman.

The Ice Queen, Jack said, and then regretted it instantly, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.

That's a lousy thing to say about a woman who just lost her husband.

Sorry. I wasn't thinking. But he wasn't far off the mark. She always looked and seemed totally in control, and absolutely perfect. Just looking at her always gave Jack an almost irresistible urge to mess her up and take her clothes off. The very thought of it even now somehow struck him funny as he hung up the phone, and thought about her, which was something he did very seldom.

He was sorry about her loss, and he still remembered all too well how he had felt when Dori had died, but there was something so distant and cold about Paul's mother-in-law that it made it hard to really empathize much with her. She was so goddamn unbearably perfect. And she still looked incredibly like the way she had when she was Amanda Robbins, and left the screen at twenty-four to marry Matthew Kingston. It had been a huge Hollywood and society wedding, and for years people had guessed and made bets about whether or not she'd get bored and come back into the business. But she didn't. She kept her looks, and her icy beauty, but her career was over forever. It was also easy to believe that Matthew Kingston would never have let her. He acted as though he owned her.

Jack opened the closet in his dressing room, and was glad to see he had left a dark suit in it. It wasn't one of his best, but at least it was appropriate for the occasion, although all the ties he found in the small collection he kept there for emergencies were either red, bright blue, or yellow. He quickly strode out to his outer office to find Gladdie.

Why didn't you remind me about the funeral? He scowled at her, but he wasn't really angry and she knew it. He was one of those rare people who always took responsibility for his own mistakes, which was one of the many reasons why she loved working for him. And despite his reputation for being flip and irresponsible, she actually knew him a great deal better. As an employer, he was caring, generous, reliable, and a real pleasure to work for.

I just thought you had it worked out. Did you forget? she asked with a smile, and with a sheepish grin, he nodded.

Freudian, I guess. I hate going to the funerals of men who are younger than I am. Do me a favor, Glad, run down the street to Hermes and get me a dark tie. Nothing too miserable, but just serious enough so I don't embarrass Paul. Nothing with naked women on it. She laughed at him, and grabbed her purse just as the handbag manufacturer and his assistant came in. It was going to be a very quick meeting.

Jack had ordered a hundred bags by eleven o'clock, and Gladdie was back from Hermes by then with a slate-gray tie with tiny little white geometric figures on it. It was perfect. You do good work, he said gratefully, as he put it around his neck and tied it impeccably without looking in the mirror. He was wearing a dark gray suit and a white shirt, and handmade French oxfords. And he looked incredibly handsome with sandy blond hair, warm brown eyes, and chiseled features. Do I look respectable?

I'm not sure that's a word I'd use for you ' maybe beautiful is more like it. She smiled at him, totally inured to his charms, which he always found very pleasing about her. Being with Gladdie was always very soothing. She didn't give a damn about his looks or his reputation, or his womanizing, just about his business. You look great, honest. Paul will be proud of you.

I hope so. Maybe his charming mother-in-law will even refrain from calling the vice squad when she sees me coming. God, I hate funerals. He could already feel a pall falling over him, it still reminded him of Dori. Christ, that had been awful ' the shock, and the unbearable pain of it. The sheer misery of trying to understand that she was gone forever. It had taken him years to get over it, although he had tried to fill the void with a thousand women. But there had never been another woman like her. She was so warm, so beautiful, so sexy and mischievous and appealing. She was sensational, and just thinking about her, as he rode the elevator downstairs in his somber outfit shortly before noon, genuinely depressed him. It had been twelve years since she died, and he still missed her.

Jack didn't even notice the women watching him admiringly as he left the store, and slid behind the wheel of his Ferrari. He peeled it away from the curb with immediate speed, and a roar of the powerful engine, and five minutes later he was on Santa Monica Boulevard, heading toward All Saints Episcopal Church, where they were holding the service. It was ten after noon by then, and traffic was worse than he had expected. It was a warm January afternoon in L.A., and everyone in the world seemed to be in their car and going somewhere. He was twenty minutes late when he got to All Saints and slipped quietly into a pew at the back of the church. He couldn't even imagine how many people were there. From where he was sitting it looked like seven or eight hundred, but he was sure it couldn't be that many.

He tried to catch a glimpse of his daughter, Julie, but she was lost in the crowd somewhere. And he couldn't even see Paul at the front of the church, sitting between his wife and her sister. And his view of the widow was completely obscured. All Jack could see and think about was the inexorable inevitability of the coffin, so stark and severe, a rich mahogany with brass handles, covered by a carpet of moss and tiny white orchids. It was beautiful in its own grim way, as were the rest of the flowers in the church. There were orchids everywhere, and somehow without thinking about it, Jack knew that Amanda had done it. There was the same kind of impeccable attention to detail, even at a time like this, that she had shown during their children's wedding.

But Jack quickly forgot about her, and sat lost in his own thoughts, reminded of his own mortality, during the High Episcopal service. A friend spoke, and both sons-in-law. Paul's words were brief and to the point, but very moving, and in spite of himself there were tears in Jack's eyes when he praised his son for it after the service.

That was very nice, Son, he said, sounding hoarse for a moment. You can speak at mine, when the time comes. He tried to make light of it, but Paul shook his head with a look of disgust and put an arm around his father's shoulders.

Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't say a single decent thing about you, and neither could anyone else, so don't bother.

Thanks, I'll keep it in mind. Maybe I should give up tennis.

Dad ' Paul scolded, with a quick warning look. Amanda was approaching, moving quietly through the crowd to the place where she would stand to greet a few of the mourners. And before Jack could move, he found he was looking right at her. She looked amazingly beautiful, and in spite of the years since, still very much a movie star. She was wearing a huge black hat and veil, and a very distinguished black suit, which he suspected immediately had probably been made by a French designer.

Hello, Jack, she said calmly. She seemed very much in control, yet the huge blue eyes held so much pain, that he actually felt sorry for her.

I'm sorry, Amanda. Even if he wasn't fond of her, it was easy to see how ravaged she was by the loss of her husband. There wasn't much else he could say to her, as she looked away and bowed her head for a moment, and then an instant later she moved on, and Paul went to find Jan, who was standing with her sister.

Jack stayed for another minute or two, saw no one he knew, and then decided to leave quietly without bothering his son. Paul obviously had his hands full.

And half an hour later, Jack was back in his office, but he was quiet all afternoon, thinking about them, the family that had lost the man who held them all together. Even if he hadn't liked him, one had to respect him, and feel sorry for the loved ones he had left so swiftly. And all afternoon, no matter what he did, Jack was haunted by Dori. He even took out a photograph of her, something he rarely did, but he kept one way at the back of his desk, for just such moments. And looking down at her smiling face on the beach at Saint-Tropez made him feel more bereft than ever.

Gladdie checked on him once or twice, and sensed that he wanted to be left alone. He even had her cancel his last two appointments. But even depressed, he looked great in the dark suit and the tie she had bought him. And he had no idea that, at that exact moment, in the house in Bel Air, Amanda Kingston was talking about him.

It was nice of your father to come, she said to Paul, as the last of their guests finally left them. It had been an endless afternoon for all of them, and despite her unshakable poise, even Amanda looked exhausted.

He felt very bad about Matthew. Paul said, touching her arm sympathetically, as she nodded and looked at her daughters.

Both girls were devastated by the loss of their father, and for once, they had even stopped fighting. Jan and her sister, Louise, were only slightly more than a year apart, but in every possible way they were entirely different. And they had battled with each other, night and day, ever since their childhood. But, at least for now, they had made peace in order to comfort their mother. And Paul left them alone quietly, as he went out to the kitchen to help himself to a cup of coffee. The catering staff was still there, clearing away the dishes and glasses left behind by more than three hundred people who had come to pay their respects to the Kingstons.

I can't believe he's gone, Amanda said in a whisper, standing with her back to both girls, looking out over their perfectly manicured garden.

Neither can I, Jan said, as tears rolled down her cheeks again, and Louise sighed audibly. She had loved him, but she had never gotten along with her father. She always thought he'd been harder on her than he was on Jan, and expected more of her. He had been furious with her when she had decided not to go to law school and had gotten married right out of college. But the marriage was a solid one, and in the first five years she had borne three children. But he had even had something to say about that. He thought she was having too many children. It didn't bother him at all that Jan had never had a real career, nor even wanted one, and had married a man who worked in show business and had a father who was nothing more than a Rodeo Drive merchant. Louise didn't like Paul, and made no bones about it. Her own husband was a Loeb and Loeb attorney and more suitable for a Kingston to marry.

But as Jan cried on the afternoon of the funeral, all Louise could think of was how much her father had criticized her, how difficult he had been, and how often she had wondered if he even loved her. She would have liked to say something about it, but she knew that neither her mother nor sister would understand. Her mother always hated it when she said anything critical about her father. And as far as her mother was concerned, he was already a saint now.

I want you both to remember how wonderful he was, Amanda said as she turned back to them, her chin quivering and her eyes filled with tears. She wore her blond hair straight back in a bun, and as they were both acutely aware, she was far more beautiful than they were, and always had been. She was an extraordinary beauty, and Louise always hated that about her. Her mother was almost impossible to live up to, and she had always expected both of them to be so perfect. Louise had never really understood the more human side of her, the vulnerability, the insecurities that had followed her throughout her life and lurked behind the exquisite facade. It was Jan who was much closer to their mother, which spawned the continuing resentment between both sisters. Louise had always accused Jan of being their parents' favorite, and Jan had always felt unfairly accused and couldn't see it.

I want you both to know how very, very much he loved you, Amanda continued, and then couldn't go on as she began to sob softly. She couldn't believe he was gone, couldn't believe he would never hold her in his arms again. It was her worst nightmare come true. He had been everything she depended on, and she couldn't even begin to imagine a life without him.

Oh, Mom. Jan cradled her mother in her arms like a child as her mother sobbed, and Louise quietly left the room and found Paul in the kitchen. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee.

How is she? he asked, looking concerned, and Louise shrugged, her own pain visible, but, as usual, mixed with anger. Her kids had gone home with the baby-sitter, and her husband had gone back to the office. And there was no one else but Paul to talk to, whether or not she liked him.

She's a mess. She was completely dependent on him. He told her when to get up and when to go to bed, what to do, and not do, and who she could be friends with. I don't know why she let him do that to her. It was disgusting.

Maybe that was what she needed, Paul said, looking at his wife's sister with interest. She was always so filled with anger and resentment, and he secretly wondered how happy she really was with her husband. Like all families, they all had their secret agendas and hidden undercurrents. And it always intrigued him to hear the girls talk about their mother. They each saw her differently, but the woman they knew was so different from the cool facade she presented to the world. They saw someone completely dominated and privately frightened. He wondered if that was the real reason why she had never gone back to making movies. Maybe aside from Matthew not wanting her to, she was just too afraid to do it. She'll be all right, he reassured Louise, not knowing what else to say to her, as she poured a glass of wine for herself. She showed too many of the signs of an unhappy woman.