Breaking the Rules

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  “Yes, I do, and I’ll say it again. You will still take your problems with you wherever you live.”

  “No, I won’t. I’ll be leaving Geo and Jason behind. Two problems dealt with! I’ll only have my career to worry about.” He suddenly started to cough, jumped up, excused himself, and hurried out of the kitchen.

  M stared after him, frowning. Although she had been surprised when he confided he was bisexual, she was neither troubled by the revelation nor judgmental. But she was worried about Dax’s health. He looked genuinely ill to her. A moment later he was back, blowing his nose on a tissue.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, sitting down again.

  “You’ve got a really nasty cold, you know.” She stood up, went to one of the cabinets, took out a bottle of Tylenol, and gave it to him. “Take some of these, and drink your tea.”

  “Yes, Mom,” he said, grinning at her, and took three of the pills. “Well, thank God it’s stopped raining at last,” he murmured, staring out the window. “So, tell me, M, should I go to L.A. or not?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that, not really,” she responded quietly. “I suppose it might be easier out there, to get an acting job, I mean. On the other hand, I keep hearing that actors are two a penny in Hollywood, and that all of them are gorgeous and talented, male and female alike.” She gave him a probing stare and finished. “Maybe you’re just running away from Geo and Jason. Do you think that might be it?”

  “Not at all. I’m only thinking about my future . . . in films. And you know I’ve been to so many auditions, looking for parts, trying to get an acting job, long before we met at the Blane Agency when you first came to New York.”

  “Then think about this move just a little longer. Give it a few weeks, try to find something here in New York, an acting job in television or maybe in the theater. And as for Geo, tell her it’s over if it really is. She’s a big girl, she’ll understand, and anyway, you said she’d sort of lost interest in you. As for Jason, you have only two choices. You can stay with him. Or tell him good-bye as well. So that you can concentrate on your career.”

  Dax gaped at her for a long moment, then began to laugh hilariously, ending up coughing into his tissue. When he had settled down, he said, with a knowing grin, “If nothing else, you’re certainly outspoken, tell a guy what you really think.”

  “Do I? And what do I think?”

  “That I’m full of b.s.”

  “No, you’re wrong. I don’t think badly of you, Dax, honestly. But my sister always says I have a way of getting to the heart of the matter. And that’s what I’ve done with you—” She broke off as the phone rang, and leaning over, she picked it up. “Hello?” After a moment listening, she went on, “That’s fine, and you’ll be staying there all weekend?” There was another pause as M listened again, and she silently mouthed, “It’s Geo. Do you want to speak to her?”

  Dax shook his head vehemently.

  M said, “Okay, Geo, I’ll do that, and I’ll be here all weekend. I’ll see you on Monday. Bye.” Placing the receiver in the cradle, she explained, “Geo’s at her sister’s in New Jersey. For the weekend, as you’ve no doubt guessed.”

  “I’m right, you know, she is cooling it with me.”

  “And you’ve done the same, you’ve even moved on a step or two, wouldn’t you say?”

  He nodded, knowing she had called it correctly.

  “I’m thinking of making a big soup, a healthy French soup,” M announced. “Do you want to stay for supper?”

  “What’s a big French soup?”

  “You know, with vegetables and pieces of chicken . . . one of those soups that’s always on the hob in French kitchens.” She smiled at him cheekily. “I’m a good cook, you know.”

  “I’m sure. I’d love to stay for supper. And perhaps we can talk some more.”

  M groaned. “Just as long as we don’t talk about your problems.”

  “Absolutely not. Anyway, you’ve solved them for me, M. You got right to the heart of the matter, as apparently you always do.”

  Two

  He had known her for only a few weeks, but he trusted her, and his trust was implicit. Dax had never experienced this feeling with anyone before, and he had quickly come to understand that M was a very special person, one who had strolled into his life unexpectedly and had a tremendous impact on him.

  It was neither romantic nor sexual. Although she was beautiful, she was just not his type: too tall and dark, and just a little too exotic to suit him. He had always had a predilection for blue-eyed blondes who were petite, and he did not mind at all if they weren’t very bright. He preferred them to be a bit dumb, actually.

  M, on the other hand, was extremely intelligent, practical, and straightforward. She fairly took his breath away with her incredible honesty. It seemed to him that M thought more like a man than a woman, got straight to the point in a flash. There were no holds barred, she just spit out what she had to say. Well, she had said that herself, that her elder sister believed she got right to the heart of the matter.

  Dax knew where he stood with her, and he liked that. She didn’t seem to have any agenda, except for wanting to be a model, and there was no deviousness in her. Too many people he knew played both ends against the middle and some ended up being treacherous.

  Now, as he watched her preparing the soup for them, he couldn’t help thinking that she moved with the lightness and grace of a dancer. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “You must be a dancer, M, the way you move.”

  M swung to face him, a smile lighting up her dark eyes. “I am a dancer, Dax, but not a professional one. I took a few lessons when I was little, then got more interested in sports. But I do think I have the spirit and soul of a dancer. . . . I just love it. I prefer dancing to exercising, and running ruins the hips, so I dance all the time. When I’m alone.”

  She turned back to the countertop, began pouring cartons of College Inn chicken broth into a large pot, adding chicken, carrots, potatoes, onions, and parsnips she had prepared, reached for the jar of herbes de Provence, threw a handful into the soup along with some bay leaves. “There, that should do it,” she murmured, turning on the gas. “All I have to do now is chop a few sticks of celery,” and she reached for this, began to cut off the leaves as well as the hard stem at the other end.

  “There seems to be no limit to your talents,” Dax said, still watching her. “It strikes me that you’re a good cook; certainly you look as if you know what you’re doing.”

  Her cheeky grin flashed. “I know how to cook a few dishes, but I don’t have a huge repertoire. I can almost prepare this chicken-in-the-pot with my eyes closed, and I’m even better at it since I came to New York. I always make it on Friday evening, and it lasts me all weekend, Dax.”

  “You are practical, aren’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” she agreed and threw the celery into the pot. “Do you cook?”

  “Not me, no,” he said and sat back in the chair, sipping the second mug of scalding hot tea she had pressed on him a short while ago.

  His light gray eyes rested on her as she cleaned the countertops, put the lid on the pot, lowered the gas, carried dirty items over to the sink. She intrigued him, and mystified him sometimes.

  Leaning against the sink, the wet sponge in her hand, M said, “What does Dax stand for? It’s unusual.”

  “Derek Alan Kenneth Small. That’s what it is. Ugh!” He made a face and explained, “At school the kids called me Daks, because I told them to, and when I got older and went to college, I changed the spelling. I thought Dax was more . . . sophisticated.” He grinned. “Are we all dumb at times?”

  “I guess so. But you know, I like it. Dax, I mean. It sort of suits you, and your personality. Not to mention your blond good looks. Matinee-idol looks, I might add.”

  “My mother always told me I resembled Leslie Howard.” Placing the mug on the table, he murmured, “If you know who he was.”

  “Do you think I’m an i
gnoramus, for heaven’s sake! Of course I know who he was. He played Ashley Wilkes in Gone With the Wind. And guess what? Since I’m Marie Marsden, they called me M and M at school. How about that?”

  Dax chuckled and then stood up. “I think my clothes must be dry by now. I’d better go and get dressed. See you in a minute.”

  In Dax’s absence, M set the table for supper, tasted the broth, added a few extra shakes of pepper, and lowered the heat under the pot. Then she went into the little entrance foyer and down the corridor which led to Geo’s studio at the back of the old brownstone.

  On the phone earlier, Geo had asked her to check that all the blinds were pulled down and also to make sure the air conditioner was on low. When M walked into the vaulted studio, she saw that the room was properly shaded and cool: the paintings stacked here and there against the walls were well protected from the daylight. She glanced at the thermostat; Geo had turned it to low earlier, but perhaps she had forgotten.

  Moving forward, M stood in the center of the floor for a moment, thinking what a perfect studio this was. There were three windows, all of them large; a skylight had been installed at one end, where a portion of the room jutted out into the backyard. No wonder Geo loved this place so much and painted so well here. M had been captivated by Geo’s paintings when she first saw them, and she admired her talent. Geo had an uncanny way of capturing light on canvas, as only a few artists could.

  M thought suddenly of an extraordinary painting she knew intimately since it was a family heirloom. It was a breathtaking picture by the great J. M. W. Turner, the late eighteenth-century, early nineteenth-century artist. His forte had been capturing light on canvas, and nobody had ever excelled this master, perhaps no one ever would.

  M unlocked the back door and stepped out into the yard. There was a wrought-iron seat, two chairs, and a small table on the tiny flagged patio, and beyond, a minuscule lawn and some flowering shrubs. M took a deep breath, sniffed the air. The rain had stopped, and it had cooled off; the stifling heat of the afternoon was fortunately diminished. Returning to the patio, she sat down on the wrought-iron seat thinking that this verdant patch in the middle of Manhattan was like a miniature oasis that truly pleased the senses.

  A moment later, a rush of sadness engulfed her as she thought of her mother’s garden in England. Closing her eyes, she saw it in her mind’s eye, saw all of its wondrous glory, walked along its winding paths. And for a few moments she was transported back to her most favorite place on this earth, the place that was always in her heart, would always be embedded there, the place where she had been her happiest. Go back home, go back straightaway, a small voice whispered in her head. You’ve nothing to fear.

  A second later M heard Dax’s feet clattering across the terra-cotta floor of the studio. She roused herself from her reverie, brushed a hand over her eyes, blinking back tears that had momentarily blinded her.

  Dax did not appear to notice anything amiss as he came to a standstill in front of her and said, “My clothes were dry, and I had a quick shower in Geo’s bathroom before I got dressed. I feel much better, and my cold seems to have gone.”

  “I hope so,” M answered, wondering whether he ought to be using Geo’s shower, then decided she must clean it later. She didn’t want to go into a lot of explanations about Dax’s presence here this afternoon. Who knew what kind of relationship he and Geo now had?

  He went on, “Geo’s lucky to have this backyard, even though it’s the size of a postage stamp. And the studio is awesome, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is, and you would be really awesome if you went back to the kitchen and poured us both a glass of wine. I bought a bottle of Sancerre the other day, and it’s in the fridge. You can’t miss my bottle, it’s got a big red M on the label.”

  “At your service,” he said, grinning, and went back into the brownstone.

  Leaning back against the wrought-iron seat, M closed her eyes once more and pictured her room at home, full of all the things she treasured, and she mentally walked through her parents’ house, opening doors, peeking inside other rooms. Inwardly she smiled; how she loved her family home. . . . One day she would go there again . . . in a year or two . . . when she was sure it was safe . . . when she knew for a certainty that no one could harm her. . . .

  “Here I am!” Dax exclaimed, handing her the wineglass and sitting down next to her.

  “Thanks,” M said and touched her glass to his. “Down the hatch.”

  He chuckled, looked at her, and chuckled again.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “It’s such a masculine toast. My father always says that.”

  “So?” She gazed at him, her eyes narrowing. “What are you getting at?”

  “Nothing really, it just struck me it’s a man’s toast, that’s all.”

  Finally, M gave him the benefit of a wide smile. “I suppose I picked it up at home. . . . Like your father, mine often uses those words, too.”

  Dax took a long swallow of the wine and said, “I know you don’t want to hear my problems, but there’s just one thing I’d like to say . . . okay?”

  “Shoot,” she responded and sipped her wine.

  “I’d like you to explain why you’re so against my going out to L.A. I mean, what do you have against Hollywood?”

  “I don’t have anything against it, nor am I against you going, actually. I was just trying to point out that moving to another city doesn’t solve problems. Not for anyone. Because the problems are inside the person . . . a new city won’t change a thing, Dax. Anyway, I was always led to believe that Hollywood was a bit . . . well, overcrowded, especially with young talent.”

  “I hear you, and you’re right, M. But I haven’t been able to get acting work here, and I do want to be an actor. . . . I’ve been acting since I was a kid, you know. I thought I ought to go out to the Coast and give it a try, take my chances.”

  “I understand. I suppose if you don’t go, you might end up regretting it.”

  “Does that mean I have your blessing, M?”

  “Not really. Because I do think you should try again to get a job here. But I understand why you want to go to the Coast.”

  “Thanks for saying that. And listen, it will remove me from the scene here. . . . I think I’d like to make myself scarce, if only for a few months.”

  M nodded, pursed her lips together, and then said softly, “I’ll miss you, Dax.”

  He was an observant young man, and he noticed the sadness flickering in her eyes. Reaching out, he put an arm around her, pulled her closer, and held her tightly against him. “I’ll stay in touch. And you know what, I’ll miss you, too, babe.” He turned her face to his and kissed her on the cheek. “We can call each other, text all the time.”

  “Yes, I know,” she murmured, and putting a brave face on it, she went on, “I think we’d better go in. The soup must be ready by now, and I don’t want it to burn.”

  “What do you think is wrong with us, Dax?” M asked a little later, sitting back in the chair, eyeing her friend across the kitchen table.

  Frowning, he said, “What exactly do you mean?” As he spoke he put down his soupspoon, and with his head to one side, threw her a quizzical look.

  “Not being able to get work. Look, you’ve been trying hard to find an acting job, and I’m striving to be a model, but no one seems interested in us, do they?”

  “True enough, but it has more to do with the time of year than anything else, at least as far as modeling is concerned. And let’s face it, you’ve only been in New York two months. Things are bound to pick up in the fall. As for me, I just explained why I’m seriously considering going to the West Coast. I want a change of scenery, new contacts, and I do think there are opportunities there.”

  M nodded, picked up her spoon, and finished the soup. For a moment her mind focused on her elder brother, who had often taken her under his wing and tried to guide her in many ways. He had once said that looks and talent weren’t always enough, that
other factors frequently came into play in a successful career. Such vital things as timing, being in the right place at the right time, and most important, having Lady Luck on one’s side. Although M disagreed with her brother about certain things, she was well aware he was wise and scrupulously honest. He told it the way it was, and she trusted him.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Dax said, peering at her.

  After a small silence, M responded. “I haven’t seen you act, but I’m assuming you can, and you’re certainly good-looking, and you photograph well. But you’ve got to really want it, to be an actor, I mean. It’s got to be the most important thing in your life, and you must have immense drive, discipline, and determination. And total dedication. There are a lot of good-looking, talented young men out there, and you’ve just got to want it more, be better than they are. If you’re going to succeed, that is.”

  He leaned forward. “But that is the way I feel, and I am very dedicated and determined, M, honestly. I just need one break.”

  “I know that. Sometimes it’s just a question of being in the right place at the right time, and of course, there’s another vital element involved—”

  “What’s that?” he asked, cutting in.

  “Luck. You’ve got to have Lady Luck on your side.”

  He grimaced. “So far she hasn’t been anywhere in sight.”

  “Listen, go to Hollywood, Dax! Do it! Don’t listen to me and other naysayers. Take a chance, go out there and make it. I’m certainly behind you. Forget what I said about it being crowded with good-looking, young talent. . . . Go and compete, and I wish you lots of luck!” She laughed. “Just don’t forget me, will you? You’re the only friend I have in the whole of America.”

  “How could I ever forget you? You’re an original, M.”