Sweetest Desires (A Sweetest Day Romance) (25 page)

Chapter 33

Natalie’s brother Vincent had just
bought an expensive new house in Los Angeles, and Natalie and Stephen had flown to California to attend his open house. Katharine had accepted Natalie’s invitation to join them, but when Stephen had asked Carson to attend while he was in L.A. on assignment, he’d begged off, using work as an excuse.

At precisely seven o’clock, the band on the newly constructed platform struck a loud chord, the dancing stopped, and Vincent stepped up to the m
icrophone. He had a long, thin face, bad posture, and an unconventional approach to business. “Ladies and gentlemen—and agents,” he added, getting a laugh. “I want to welcome all you beautiful people to my new home. And if you think it looks like a few million bucks, believe me, you’re right.” The crowd laughed again.

“I say ‘my’ home,” Vincent went on, “because I’m a conceited geek. It’s also my wife’s home. My beautiful wife, Alaina . . . . Alaina, darling, where are you? There she is! C’mon up, darling. I want to show you off. Can you imagine a beautiful, classy woman like this marrying a clown like me? That’s the only thing that worries me about her. She’s got rotten taste in men.”

She flashed him her most dazzling smile as she stepped onto the stage. “I beg your pardon,” Alaina said, laughing as she came up to hug him. “I have great taste in men.” Her white chiffon dress fit snuggly around her willowy hips. She wore her hair in a pageboy but without the bangs, and kept silky and sleek by expensive wash and sets, touch-up treatments, and monthly trims.

“Seriously, folks,” Vincent said. “We all work in a business where love is a product—make a love story, make a coupla million, right? Well, I’m here to tell you that I believe in love stories because I’m li
ving one. Alaina, darling, I love you. And if that’s not enough for you, Alaina, you’ve got half the house and half the pool.” Another laugh. He kissed her on the lips as the two hundred guests applauded.

When he pulled back from their embrace, he continued, “You know something? She’s smart too. She’s the best script reader in Hollywood, and she doesn’t charge me to do it. And you know what she told me when she read my new script? She said, ‘Vince, you’ve got a blockbuster.’”

Alaina managed a game smile. “Well,” she said, “Let’s say I told you that it was a change of pace for you.”

“Sure it’s a change of pace! I know it! Who wants to do the same thing all the time? You get stale! So I’m taking this festive occasion to announce to both my friends”—a laugh—“and my two hundred enemies”—a lighter laugh—“that my next movie won’t be a comedy. My production company is ta
king on a romantic tragedy, the greatest romantic tragedy in the history of movies—and, according to my CPA, the greatest tragedy in the history of my bank account.” Still more laughter. “Maybe he’s right; who knows? It’s a gamble. Life is a gamble. But I’ve got faith in this movie. Or should I say what my sister, Natalie, would say, ‘I’ve got faith in God’ that this movie’ll be successful.”

Natalie’s eyes met Katharine’s. Both were gri
nning with approval.

“I’m making the greatest love story of all time,” Vincent bragged in his Muhammad Ali imperson
ation, his fists posed in a boxer’s stance. “It’s called
What She Did for Love
.” He returned to his usual self. “It’s the story of a woman who, in order to save her marriage, underwent breast and butt enlargements to fulfill her husband’s fantasies. It will tell the whole thing: the suffering, the sacrifices, the lies, corruption—we’ll get in a lot of racy scenes. The budget for the production—listen to this, you won’t believe it—is only fifteen million dollars! And that includes some top-rated actors.”

The half dozen reporters invited by Vincent’s publicity man were busy taking notes.

“And,” continued Vincent, who was obviously having the time of his life, “do I need to tell you that I’ve signed the greatest director in film to make this motion picture? Do I need to tell you who he is? Who else but the director of that brilliant epic,
Flesh
. . . St. Clair Miller! Miller, where are you? C’mon up.”

A short, paunchy, red-faced man in a tight-fitting double-breasted white suit made his way through the applauding crowd to the band platform where Vi
ncent and Alaina embraced him.

“Mill,” Vincent said, “tell them in two words what you think of
What She Did for Love
. Maybe three words. Words are cheap, unless you’re talking to writers.” Another laugh.

“
What She Did
,” said the pompous little man, “will be a work of genius.”

“There. You’ve got it!” exclaimed Vincent. “If a genius tells you it’s a work of genius, it’s got to be a work of genius, right? But, Miller, my man, that was more than three words—some genius you are.”

Laughter.

* * *

Katharine’s mouth flew opened. Baffled, she’d hoped she’d heard him wrong.
No . . . Natalie would never do that to me
, she thought. She sat in stunned silence, unable to believe her ears
.
Vincent was actually telling the story of her and Carson’s ordeal. He knew every detail of what she’d done for the love of Carson. And the only way he could’ve known was . . . Natalie.
How could she?
Katharine thought.
How could she take my personal life and set it out on the big screen for the whole world to see?

She turned to face Natalie, who sat only a few chairs away. “Kat, I’m sorry, Natalie mouthed. “I didn’t know.”

Katharine turned and ran away from the courtyard, making her way through the crowd to the terrace.

“What is it, darling?” Alaina asked. She had seen Katharine leaving the courtyard and followed her into the house.

“The sun and the loud music have given me a headache.” The headache part was true. “Do you mind if I lie down for a few minutes?”

“Of course not. Do you want an aspirin?”

“I have some, thanks. Can you tell me which room?”

“Upstairs. The second door on the right.”

“I’ll be down in a while.” Katharine tried to smile. “Your party’s a hit and your home is simply divine.”

“Thanks, darling.” Alaina gave Katharine the Hollywood smooch—air kissing both cheeks.

Katharine moved slowly up the spiral staircase. The Casa del Alaina, as Vincent humorously described their home, had thick walls that kept it comfortably cool, and while Katharine marveled at the near-constant sunshine in California, she was glad to get out of it for a while. She made it to the bedroom, placed a towel over the pillow, took two aspirin and lain down to doze away her headache.

Tears soaked into the towel as her thought of Vincent’s announcement twirled in her brain. Finally, drifting away, she fell into one of her ballerina dreams that usually brought her comfort.

Chapter 34

Half an hour later, the
sound of music awakened Katharine. Not the band on the platform, though she could hear them in the distance playing a tune to the Electric Slide. She envisioned a string of people gliding to the line dance, all in sync and on beat.

This particular music was coming from dow
nstairs—beautiful and dreamy. She sat up and checked her watch. Her headache was still lingering, but she was ready to rejoin the party. She went to the bathroom to check her face, squirted breath freshener into her mouth, and then left the bedroom and started down the stairs. The piano music was enchanting, limpidly beautiful.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she crossed the hardwood floor of the entrance hall to look into the two-story living room. The Latin architecture of Vi
ncent and Alaina’s new house seemed right for southern California—and the living room with its great bay window overlooking the pool, its Latin-style furniture, its big spiral staircase, and its elaborately carved wooden balcony over the main entrance—was a reasonable facsimile of a
Latin
mission—or, maybe a movie set of a Latin mission. At the end of the room was a full Steinway played by an unfamiliar man. No one else was in the room. When he saw Katharine, he stopped playing.

“Please, don’t stop,” she said, coming into the room. “That was so beautiful. What was it?”

“’Lilbita,’” he responded.

“Is Lilbita an Italian composer or the title of the composition? I’ve never heard it before—not that I know much about music. My father was a gifted pianist.” She lowered her eyelids and blushed, suspecting she’d been too chatty.

He remained silent for a moment, watching her. “Actually, Lilbita is my term for a
lil bit of
this and a
lil bit of
that.” He had a deep voice like Stephen’s.

“Forgive my prattling,” she replied, coming up to the piano. “I’m Katharine O’Connor, a friend of Vincent’s sister, Natalie.” A sour rush replaced the minty taste of the breath freshener. It was difficult to say “Natalie” and “friend” in the same sentence.

He stood, took her hand and kissed it. “Drew,” he said. “Andrew Dexter. I’m delighted to meet you.”

He was a good-looking man, with a strong, friendly face and a smooth, raisin-colored comple
xion. She liked his eyes, which seemed to twinkle with humor.

“You play very well,” she said. “Do you have any favorites?”

“I like mood music.” He sat back down at the piano and struck a minor chord. “Tragedy!” he proclaimed hammily. Then he shifted to the William Tell Overture. “The chase! Excitement!” He segued to soft, classical music, and his face became dreamy. “Passion! Romance! The great love scene!” He stopped, looked at her, and laughed. “Beethoven would get sick to his stomach. He was lucky to have died before movies were invented—especially the silent ones.”

“I take it you don’t like movies?”

“Actually, movies bore me. They’re fairytales. Why would I want to watch a man on a screen kissing the heroine of the story? I’d rather kiss her myself.” He grinned, offering a weak impersonation of Groucho Marx’s famous eyebrow trick. “Personally, I’d rather read a political memoir, which is what I generally do.”

She didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“Actually, I’m Vince’s music man—for his past four pictures, that is. They go by so quickly that I’m sure you haven’t noticed the score is composed by”—he cleared his throat—“yours truly.” He bowed his head slightly.

Katharine thought him charming.

He stood and stuck his hands in his pockets. He was at least six feet four inches tall, and she thought he could stand to gain about twenty pounds.

“I could tell you a lot more about my music if you’d have dinner with me.” His eyes went to the ring on her finger. “Oh, so it’s Mrs. O’Connor. Well, there goes dinner.”

She said nothing, but she’d been delighted by the invitation. It boosted her confidence. Yet, on the other hand, she was disappointed by the retraction.

“And may I ask who is your husband?”

Judging from his twisted smile, Katharine assumed he figured it had to be someone in pictures. “A writer back in Georgia.”

“Of course. A writer. I’ve should’ve known.”

“No. You misunderstand. Not a screenwriter. A sportswriter.”

He’d heard what she said, but it wasn’t i
mportant. He studied her face. “You’re very beautiful, Mrs. O’Connor. Your sportswriter husband is a lucky man.” He paused, taking his hands from his pockets. “Well, I need to go. It’s been delightful talking with you.”

He took her hand again and kissed it. As she watched him cross the room, she saw Carson stan
ding in the entryway, staring at the two of them with his arms crossed. His face was bunched up in an angry scowl.

Katharine was pleasantly surprised to see him and even happier to see his jealousy. She decided to feed into it.

“Drew,” she called out.

He stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“I, uh,” she began, feeling rather foolish. She reached out her hands to him and spoke in a low voice to keep Carson from hearing. “Uh, California is nice. It’s different. And it’s been fun. Vincent’s sister adores it out here.” She couldn’t bring herself to speak Natalie’s name aloud again.

”Uh, yes,” he said with uncertainty. “California’s quite a place.”

“Thank you so much for the lovely music,” Katharine said. “I really enjoyed meeting you.”

He gazed into her eyes and lifted both her hands to his lips, kissing them softly. “Let me assure you . . . the pleasure was all mine.”

As Drew turned to leave a second time, Katharine looked toward the entryway again. Carson was gone.

She sat down on the piano bench, half-wishing she’d accepted Drew’s dinner invitation and half-ashamed of using him as a decoy. She drifted into a daydream in which the elegant room around her seemed like the set of an old movie.

Soft music plays in the background. Carson enters and takes Katharine in his arms. “You’re beautiful,” he says, kissing her.

She steps back and slaps him with all her strength.

“What’s that all about?” He holds his stinging cheek, staring at her.

“That’s for CJ and Bethany!” she exclaims. She marches across the room, takes a handkerchief from the end table, and lightly taps beneath her eyes. Carson watches her.

She turns to him, angry tears in her eyes. Exhaling, she says, “Carson, I love you. You’re my husband, the father of my children, and a brilliant sportswriter. I suppose I’ve known all along that with all the beautiful women you meet in your business, it was inevitable that you’d cheat on me. All right, you’ve done it. It hurts deeply—very deeply—but you’ve done it. I can’t do anything about it now. I want you to tell me. I want you to be honest with me about your cheating. I know that sounds crazy, but the one thing I won’t stand for is lies.”

“You want a list?” he bursts out. “Should I write you a list? Let’s see.” He strokes his chin and looks at the ceiling. “On Monday, I slept with what’s her name. On Tuesday, with what’s her face—”

“I don’t want a list,” she says bitterly. “Don’t be stupid. This isn’t a game. I just want to know—“She breaks off, sinking into a chair, and starts to cry. “Sleep with whoever you want but just keep them out of my sight. I don’t want to know about it.”

“First you want to know and then you don’t want to know. Which is it?”

“Why are you torturing me like this?” she says, weeping into the hankie.

Repentant, Carson takes her in his arms again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, kissing her wet eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you see? I love you, and I’m afraid I’ll lose you completely. Oh, Carson, I think I can eventually accept your flirting—I guess it comes with the territory of being a famous sportswriter—but I couldn’t stand thinking you were in love with another woman. Can you understand that?”

“I’ll never love anyone but you,” he says, kis
sing her. “Never. No one but you.” He feels the stiffness in her shoulders and breaks their embrace.

“Okay, I confess that I slept with Cindy, but would I be normal if I didn’t? Do you want a hu
sband who’s not normal? But does that mean I love her? No! I love you, my wife, my darling, and I’ll love you till the day I die. Believe me, my darling. You must believe me.”

She looks at his face, and, despite her insecur
ities, she starts to laugh. “Oh, Carson, you could talk your way into a cabinet position of President John Calvin Coolidge.” She takes his face in her hands and kisses him. “I adore you,” she says, smiling. “I adore you so much.”

Natalie’s voice interrupted her fantasy, and she blinked herself into full consciousness.

“I’m so, so sorry, Kat. I had no idea that Vince would even consider doing a film based on your life, let alone make a public announcement about it.”

“Why would you discuss my private life with your brother?” Katharine responded angrily. “I thought you were my friend. You’ve heard the sa
ying, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,’ haven’t you?” Her voice shook with righteous indignation. “I thought that idea applied to our friendship as well.”

“Please, Kat,” Natalie pleaded.

“That’s what I get for thinking.” She whispered it under her breath but loud enough for Natalie to hear.

“It was just casual conversation between Vince and me. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Casual,” Katharine scoffed. “I sincerely doubt you and Vincent had nothing better to talk about than Carson and me. You two are in the business of making movies, and—”

“He’s in the business of making movies,” Natalie corrected emphatically. “I’m just his low-powered studio exec.”

Katharine said nothing, refusing to accept her excuses.

“Please, Kat!” Natalie continued to plead. “I never mentioned your name. You have to believe me.”

Katharine remained silent, refusing her the courtesy of a civil response.

Natalie’s tone grew desperate. “Honestly, I had no idea. Do you think if I had known Vince was going to make such an announcement, I would’ve invited you here?” her voice rose. “Think about it! Do you?”

Before her mind could process what she was doing, Katharine jumped from the bench and slapped Natalie, hard. The slap startled her as much as it did Natalie. In her entire life, she’d never struck anyone. She wouldn’t have thought she was capable of it. If the palm of her hand hadn’t been smarting so badly, she wouldn’t have believed she’d really slapped Natalie now.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Natalie said through straight, thin lips that barely moved. For a moment, her eyes blazed and her fists clenched. Then she u
nclenched them, rubbing her cheek. “Okay. Now we’re even. Feel better?” She took a steadying breath before she softened the pitch in her voice to say, “Look, Kat, let’s just—”

Without answering, Katharine turned and ha
stened out of the room.