Starstruck (19 page)

He wrapped his chubby arms around Sam’s leg and she giggled,
picked him up and settled him on her hip. Gianni Jr. played with her necklace
and earrings, and then ran his fingers through her hair at the side of her
face.

“Hey! You gettin’ fresh with my woman? You’re a little young
for her, don’t you think?”

“No, Uncky Jess, I’m
three
. I’m a big boy!” He held
his little fingers in the air, his thumb forcing his pinky down.

“You’ve got me there, little G. And can I say, you have
excellent taste, buddy.”He kissed his nephew’s forehead and ruffled his hair,
but aimed a smirk at Sam.

His mother was still staring at her favorite paintings. It
was a good decision to give them to his parents—they treasured the artwork,
just like he knew they would. He followed her pointed gaze to the discreet
signature on the bottom right corner of each masterpiece.

“Holy shit
!
”

“Jesse! Language please,” his mother scolded.

“Sorry, Ma.” He gaped at each large frame. “I knew I
remembered your name from somewhere. No way! How
unreal
is this? God, I
bought these in Australia
years
ago. They’re of my parents’ hometown,
see?”

He pointed to a small house just down the hill from the
patio in the first painting. “That’s their place there.”

The words he’d overheard his mother say to Sam moments
before fell into place.

Yeah, what are the odds…a hundred billion to one? Maybe
more?

He remembered purchasing the artwork like it was yesterday.
He was in Sydney, just before Christmas of ’98, promoting their album at the
time. He didn’t ordinarily visit touristy places like museums or art galleries,
but he’d seen posters all over town advertising an exhibition of some
up-and-coming local artists. For reasons unknown to him, the exhibit sparked
his interest.

He hadn’t seen any paintings he cared enough about to cart
home on the plane until he’d turned to leave the old building and a small
collection caught his eye. He’d been mesmerized by the scenes of northern Italy
in particular. This set of three were like an enormous postcard from his folks’
hometown of Manarola. His parents had married in the small town in the province
of La Spezia, Liguria, when they were only eighteen and had migrated to New
Jersey when Lia was pregnant with Jesse.

He couldn’t leave Sydney without the paintings and even
intended to hang them in his own home, but by the time he’d returned to the
States he’d felt guilty. He suspected his parents would adore them even more
so, reluctantly, he parted with them on their next wedding anniversary.

“When were you in Manarola, Samantha?” Lia gently unwrapped
Gianni Jr. from her and placed him on the ground, steering him in the direction
of his mother who was calling him.

“Oh I wasn’t. These were just some paintings I did when I
was younger and needed some extra money.” Sam smiled and strolled back to their
table.

“So you painted from photographs then?”

“Ah…kind of.”

“Well,
bella
, you did a great job. They are my window
to home. Sometimes I stare into them and feel like I’m right back there.” His
mom returned to her seat and winked at his pop.

“Thank you, Lia. I’m glad you like them. I haven’t sold many
so you can imagine my surprise to see them hanging here of all places.” Sam
rubbed her belly and Jesse grinned. She’d eaten as much as he had.

“I know. Jesse searched for a long time, as I recall, but he
couldn’t find any more of your work. He didn’t even know your first name. So
why don’t you, Samantha? Sell more paintings, I mean?”

“Well, it’s having the time more than anything, really. Work
keeps me so busy these days I haven’t been able to do half the things I’d like
to. Sometimes I wonder if I should give it all up and just paint.”

“Why don’t you? If that’s what your heart wants, you
shouldn’t let anything or anyone stop you. You only live once, Sam.” His mom
refilled Sam’s wineglass.

“Yes, but with a mortgage to pay it’s a big risk. I don’t
think I’m ready for that yet. I suppose there’s always retirement.” Sam smiled,
but it didn’t touch her eyes.

Jesse’s two brothers and their families left for home,
needing to get kids off to bed. He, Sam and Rick left shortly thereafter—only a
few customers left lingering in the restaurant—but not before Sam got extra
hugs and kisses from his parents, asking her to come back soon.

Rick got his own cab while he and Sam caught another,
heading in the opposite direction.

* * * * *

Sarah stared through the front window of the restaurant from
across the road in her rental car. The small binoculars had come in mighty
handy over the past hour. It was difficult to see into the back of the
establishment without them.

She ducked down in her seat while the group of three said
their farewells before parting ways.

As Jesse helped Samantha into a cab, Sarah’s hands clenched
into fists on her lap, her fingernails drawing blood from her palms. There was
no pain.

She waited until the yellow car pulled away before starting
the engine and driving back to the Comfort Inn, stopping for a bottle of Jack
Daniel’s on the way—Jesse’s favorite drink.

There was no point in following them again. Maybe tomorrow.
Tonight she was drinking.

Ricky was so drunk when he’d arrived outside Jesse’s front
gate he’d almost fallen out of the cab. He hadn’t been aware of her sneaking
through the gates behind him and ducking into the nearby bushes surrounding the
property. She’d waited patiently as he’d stumbled past the big oak tree, and
then stopped for a moment before heading back to it. He was giggling, dimples
beaming on his flushed, intoxicated face.

The fool’s gonna climb the tree! He’ll end up breaking
his neck. Forget the tree,
stupid
! Get inside!

Sure enough, he’d climbed and fallen flat on his back. Lucky
he was so tanked. He seemed to be uninjured, apparently finding his blunder
hilarious.

Jesse had come out of the house soon after and helped his
friend inside.

She’d snuck closer when the two men trudged toward the front
door. The most beautiful laugh lines appeared on Jesse’s face when Ricky banged
his head on the side of the door frame as he went through.

As soon as the door slammed, she’d gone to work. They left
not much later. It was perfect.

By the time she was done, it was fully dark outside. She’d
woven through the gardens to the back of the property. Having such high walls
not only kept people out but also provided cover from the adjoining estates.

She’d planned her escape route well. The property directly
behind was empty, up for sale, and the previous occupants had already vacated.
She’d thought herself very clever when she’d made a rope ladder and painted it
to match the color of the big wall.

Unless a person was standing right in front of it and knew
it was there, it blended in amongst the overhanging branches of the neighboring
yard. The chance of someone seeing the ladder from Jesse’s side of the wall was
also highly unlikely. His side was covered by the greenery of tall trees and
shrubs. His garden was thick enough to easily hide the thin pieces of rope.

She’d scaled the wall and headed to her car parked behind
Jesse’s house. The mission had been a success.

Lesson number two—know your escape route.

Jesse had mentioned his parents’ restaurant while she’d
hidden below the open kitchen window. She’d known exactly where to find them.

Chapter Twelve

Sam wasn’t herself during their ride home, and as he ushered
her through his front door she confessed her head was pounding with a severe
headache. She couldn’t race up the stairs quick enough to change into warmer
clothes.

The house was freezing—usually so. He went straight into the
living room to start a fire.

He’d only just lit the kindling when a bloodcurdling scream
tore through the house. He bolted across the room and stumbled into the foyer,
tripping on the rug as Sam came barreling down the staircase in a panic.

“Sam? What’s wrong?”

She shook all over as she leapt from the last step and into
his arms. “S-s-someone’s been in your h-house.”

He gently pushed her away and darted up the stairs.

Entering his bedroom, he froze, wide-eyed. Disbelief,
confusion and anger rushed him at once. Everything that belonged to Sam was
utterly destroyed. Her clothes were shredded into streamers and confetti, her
makeup and perfumes smashed on the bathroom floor. He had to pull his shirt
over his mouth, the smell was so overpowering. Her laptop appeared to have been
thrown against the wall repeatedly. The shattered, crumpled remains lay in
pieces on the floor. Even her luggage was broken down to nothing more than
scraps and plastic.

But the thing that disturbed him most was what lay on his
bed. In the middle of the cyclonic mess was a large black bird. Its neck had
been broken and a black-handled pocket knife stuck out of its chest.

Why? Who could have done this? This is…sick!

He had experienced his share of stalkers and crazed fans,
but nothing like this. There were often times when girls had somehow gotten
past security and hidden in his dressing room, and the odd occasion where they
hid in his hotel room when he was younger, but never his house.

How the fuck did they get in?

He searched the house room by room. Only his bedroom had
been disturbed. Nothing else seemed out of place.

He went back downstairs to check the first level. When he
reached the kitchen, the back door hung slightly ajar.

I’m sure I locked it before we left.

The dining room was last. The soft white curtain blew into
the room as he entered and it hit him like a freight train. He hadn’t locked
the French doors after they’d eaten the night before. He
never
forgot
stuff like that, but having Sam in his house had been enough to completely
distract him.

He found her in the living room, beside the fire. She sat
still, staring into the flames. Maybe she was in shock.

* * * * *

Sam’s breath had caught in her throat when her eyes had
first feasted on the mess in Jesse’s bedroom. It only took her mind seconds to
register what had happened.

She should have known better. The warning signs she’d gotten
in the taxi should have alerted her, but Jesse had her in such an embrace she’d
only been concentrating on his hands, preferring to believe her symptoms just a
headache and nothing more.

The dead crow on the bed. That message was for her, not him.
That was when she’d finally gotten her breath back and screamed.

Jesse hugged her tightly as they sat beside the warm fire.

“Are you okay? Oh Sam…I’m so sorry. Don’t worry about any of
your things. I’ll replace everything, I promise. It doesn’t look like
anything’s been taken, not that that makes me feel any better. I think I’d
better call the cops and report it, and then I’m going to get security around
here notched up a gear or two. No one will get in here again.”

He dug into his pocket for his phone and she placed a hand
on his arm. “Can we just breathe for a minute first? I need to think this
through.” She rubbed her forehead.

“Headache still bothering you?” He stood. “Let me get you
something for it.”

She pulled him back to her side. “No, Jess, I’m fine. It’s
not the headache. Can we just talk please?”

“What’s there to talk about? Sam…someone broke into my
house
.
Look what they did to your stuff…in
my bedroom
!”

He was getting angry and rightly so. She understood. His
home had been violated. “Of course we need to call the police. That’s not what
I meant. Jesse, can I have a drink…something strong?”

She had to go back up to his room. She had to see the bird
again. Jumbled images had filled her mind for the short time she’d been up
there, but she’d run from them. They scared her.

Apart from the nightmare she’d had of Charli all those years
ago, she hadn’t really dealt with anything
bad
in regard to her gift.
The first image she’d received was of a person draped all in black. The
material flowed around the figure like tendrils floating under water, slowly
folding and swaying, taunting her, never allowing her to see the face behind
the fabric. More a feeling than an image, she knew how and where they had
gotten into the house, but couldn’t grasp the intention behind it.

Jesse poured them both a stiff drink of Jack on ice and
joined her on the couch. “Oh fuck, your laptop. I didn’t even think of your
work. God, Sam, I’m so—”

“Jesse, stop. I want to tell you something, but I’m not sure
where to start.” She steadied the glass on her lap, staring into the amber
liquid.

“The beginning’s usually a good place.” He rubbed her back
gently. “What is it, Sam? You can tell me anything.”

She didn’t want to simply blurt out that she saw things,
felt things, even smelled things most people didn’t. He might run a mile. She didn’t
know where he stood on the subject of psychic clairvoyance.

“Jess…I got the impression tonight that your mother is a
fairly spiritual person. Would I be right in thinking that?”

He chuckled. “She’s Italian, isn’t she? That’s like asking
if the Pope is Catholic.”

“Well, what about you? Are you spiritual?”

He frowned. “Yeah a little, I guess. I don’t attend church
regularly if that’s what you’re askin’. Why? What’s this got to do with—”

“What about psychics, mediums? What are your thoughts on
those types of people?” She was nervous and closely scrutinized his reaction.

* * * * *

“Sam, where are you goin’ with this? Right now you’re not
makin’ much sense.” He wasn’t only confused but a little concerned.

“Please, Jess, stay with me on this. I’m not crazy, okay?”
She reached for his hand and held it when he didn’t object. “You know the
paintings in your parents’ restaurant?”

He nodded.

“Jesse, I
dreamed
about that town when I was
nineteen. The only reference I have of that place is in my head. I’ve never
been
to Italy. I didn’t even know Manarola was a real place…that it had a name…until
tonight.”

“But my parents’ house…the entire village. You must have
seen a picture of it somewhere. Maybe you just don’t remember seeing it but,
Sam, you got every detail…
every detail
. Even down to the old man with
his green grocery cart on the street. You
must
have seen it somewhere
before.”

“Yeah I did see it. In my head, but nowhere else. I—I paint
a lot of things from my dreams. I always have. Pictures get stuck in my mind
and sometimes I can’t make them go away until I’ve put them on canvas. Like
when you get a song stuck in your head, you know? Even if it’s a song you hate
and you can’t stop singing it over and over again in your mind. It’s exactly
like that, but with pictures. Sometimes they mean something to me, like
instantly. But other times I have no idea why I’m being forced to acknowledge
them. All I do know is I can’t ignore them. And Jess, it’s not just dreams.
It’s other stuff too. I know it’s hard to understand, but please
try
to
believe me. That painting of mine you said you liked so much, the one with the
angel? That’s me. The girl in the bed…when I was little…and the angel is my
great-grandmother. She still visits me sometimes, but not as much as when I was
young. My nan, though, my mum’s mother. She’s another story altogether. She
never
leaves me alone.”

He stood from the couch and slowly paced in front of the
fireplace, drink still in hand but untouched. He took a sip and finally faced
her. “So…are you telling me you’re psychic?”

“I don’t know if that’s the right word for it, but yes. Most
of the women in my family on my mum’s side are…to some extent…in one way or
another.”

He tried to process everything she was saying. He couldn’t
mistake there
was
an uncanny coincidence involved around Sam and the
paintings. Hadn’t he been drawn to them as if they had sung his name? Hadn’t
the oversexed, highly erotic dreams grown more intense immediately after?

If she was being honest about never laying eyes on his
family’s ancestral village—and he believed she was—he had to admit his buying
those paintings was much more than a coincidence. He just didn’t know what it
meant.

“Don’t you think it’s strange that you, of all the people in
the world, happened to be in what must have been one of the smallest
inconsequential art showings on the face of the planet on the day my work just
happened to be on display…my one and only exhibition? You’re not only there,
but you buy three of them. Tell me. Did you buy any other paintings that trip?”

“N-no,” he mumbled. “Only yours.”

“Your mother told me you tried to find me years ago, to see
if I had any more pieces for sale.”

“Yeah I did. I was only able to track down one other
painting, but the owner wouldn’t sell. I couldn’t find you listed anywhere.” He
recalled the long, unsuccessful search he’d undertaken.

“I only entered that exhibit to help start a savings to buy
my house. What are the odds you’d be in the country at exactly the right time
and place? It was my first and only showing…ever. Not to mention my best friend
has been obsessed with you ever since I can remember. You were in my face the
whole time and I didn’t even realize it. Well how could I, really? That would
have been absurd.”

The tables turned. He collapsed onto the couch in a stupor
as she stood and paced. “When I was seventeen, Charli took me to see your show.
Tom wasn’t supposed to be there. He told me he was camping with friends for the
weekend. We’d been together for almost a year by then and I was still a virgin.
I thought he was so sweet. He never pressured me to sleep with him. Not once.
He knew I wasn’t ready.”

She stopped in front of the fireplace, her back to the
flames, cupping her glass in both hands and staring down into her drink. “But
that night he turned up during your encore. He frightened me, grabbing me from
behind. He’d never hugged me like that before, with so much force. I asked him
why he was there, why he wasn’t with his friends. He never did answer my
questions from that night.”

Lifting her head, she finally locked on to his gaze.
“Anyway, he insisted on driving me home from the concert. I felt terrible
ditching Charli, but she had her own car and Tom was just
so
insistent.
I’d never seen him like that before. He looked almost fierce, his eyes blazing.

“He fucked me in the back of his car while Jerico played on
the radio. I say fucked because it wasn’t making love. It was too quick for
that. Not exactly what I’d envisioned for my first time. If I’m brutally
honest, I knew even back then. I wasn’t thinking of Tom that night. I was
thinking of you. But my point is you’ve somehow been with me during almost
every important event in my life.

“It was your money that helped me get my house. Jesse, I
think we were meant to meet each other. There are too many coincidences for
this to be
just
a coincidence. I’m pretty sure if we really looked into
it, we’d find that around the time Tom was trying to get serious with me and
move in was the same time you were trying to track me down. Why were we on the
same flight from London? I would never have flown first class normally so I
would never have met you even then, but Daniel bumped my tickets at the last
minute. He never does that…
ever
. I called my wedding off on the first
night of November, Jesse. What date did you call off your relationship with
Becky Sampson? It was the same day, wasn’t it? I can feel it. Is that just
another coincidence?”

Too many thoughts jumbled his head. He didn’t understand
what the fuck was going on. He couldn’t think straight.

How am I supposed to remember what day I split with
Becky?

He fumbled for his phone and opened his schedule, searching
for the date he’d flown to London, the trip before he met Sam. He stared at the
diary entry for some time before he spoke again. “Ah…you’re right. It was the
first, but—”

“We share the same interests. We like the same things. To
name but a few, food, drink, music, cars… God, your Corvettes! My dead
grandmother practically ordered me to hump your brains out. I saw your family’s
hometown in a dream years before I even met you. Even painted their house,
according to you. How could I possibly know something like that? I made up my
mind to leave my ex for good,
forever
, and where are you? You’re sitting
at a bar I would never have been in otherwise, watching me as I make that
decision. Every big decision I’ve ever made has somehow revolved around you and
I never put the pieces together. I feel so
stupid
.”

She was exhausted by the time she’d gotten everything off
her chest. Jesse hadn’t moved except to answer her. She sat beside him, sliding
her hand into his. He let go and, for a moment, she thought he was going to
pull away from her entirely. Maybe call the cops to take
her
away
instead.

But he wrapped both arms around her. She tried to speak, but
he stopped her with his kiss. She melted into his arms as the tip of his tongue
parted her lips and swiped between her teeth.

He doesn’t think I’m crazy.