“Melina,” Alain replied, “I’m afraid you really don’t understand me. It is Jane I am going to marry. I love her deeply. She has changed me … entirely.”
“Is that so?” Melina laughed. “Just like that, huh? One kiss, and whoosh, the frog turns into a prince? Oh, Alain, you know, you’re right—I don’t believe you!”
“And quite honestly,” Alain said, “I don’t give a damn what you believe. I just think it’s time we settled a few things between us. I want to make absolutely certain that you understand that I can’t have you … you mustn’t ever let Jane know that we…”
“Screwed each other?” Melina cried. “Why? What the hell was wrong with that? It was a clear-cut business deal, wasn’t it? We both got what we wanted from each other. Is Janie so pure, so innocent, that she wouldn’t see it for what it was? Surely our lovely Jane would never confuse what you and I did as something that passed for love.”
“Please, Melina,” Alain cut in, lowering his voice. “I didn’t come here to argue. I came to settle our … account. To come to some accommodation with you.”
“You came to buy me off,” Melina scoffed. “What’s the deal? How much?”
“No, no,” Alan muttered. “I’m not offering you money, dammit. I’m just hoping to reassure you that as long as Janie and you work together, you’ll always have my support. That you needn’t worry. Nothing in that sense will change.”
“I see,” Melina replied softly. There was a moment of silence, and then Janie heard Melina’s footsteps on the floor above as she strode across the room. Melina often paced from desk to window when something was on her mind, and Janie saw her all too clearly in her mind’s eye: arms tightly folded below her chest, back erect, head cocked to one side as she stared down at the street below. Janie imagined Alain watching Melina, saw his cool, dark eyes take in the trim curve of Melina’s hips and thighs … and Janie’s heart went cold.
“Melina … I’m sorry,” Alain said. “I tried never to pretend with you. We had our fun … but I was always looking for someone like Jane. Surely you knew that, didn’t you?”
Melina didn’t respond immediately, then Janie could hear her swinging abruptly toward Alain and demanding, “Just what the fuck is her allure, may I ask? I mean, am I so awfully bad, Alain? I’m a decent lay, right? And I built this damned place from scratch. Okay, so I had to call in a few markers along the way. But that’s life, Alain, that’s the real world. I was willing to get a little dirty for a brief time so that in the long run I could have a clean, safe life … with everything I always wanted. So, yes, I hustled. Somebody had to. You didn’t think your sweet little Janie was out there busting her butt, do you? She was always back here mooning over her drawing board, her goddamn head in the clouds.”
“She’s never known about us, has she?” Alain demanded.
“Christ, of course not!” Melina retorted furiously. “What, do you think, I’m a fool? I know something about the little priss, too, you know. I know about girls like her … ’cause I always longed to be one: born with a fucking silver spoon in her mouth. Hey, why not act pure as the driven snow? There’s no need for someone like Jane to get her hands mussed up.”
“So, you always knew she was rich? You certainly didn’t let on to me about that.”
“Of course I knew,” Melina replied coolly. “I make a point of knowing as much as I can about people. It has a way of coming in handy. But information like that isn’t much good, Alain, if everybody has it. Janie obviously wanted to keep her big bucks a secret. So, fine. I was willing to play along, pretend I only wanted her around for her goddamn talent. Hell’s bells, I’m smart enough to figure out she’d run the other way—and fast—if she ever thought I’d want her for the dough. But I always knew that if we ever really got in a crunch, I could count on her to kick in.”
Melina paused for a second, then added with force, “Jesus! Isn’t it just like the rich to get richer! Of course you two would find each other! Of course you’d fall in love. You’re the same fucking type, after all—rich, educated, high class. Everything…” Melina’s voice broke. “Everything I’ll never be.”
“Please, Melina,” Alain said, his voice deep with concern. “Please don’t.” Janie could hear his sure, swift stride across the floor above and made out his words, now much lower and gentler, “Please, mon cheri, don’t cry. You are a very special woman: strong and smart and very sexy.”
“For all the good it’s done me,” Melina whimpered, her voice muffled, no doubt, Janie thought, by Alain’s embrace.
“Of course it’s done you good,” Alain asserted. “You use everything you’ve got, Melina. You’re a … dynamo. I’ll never forget that first morning…”
“When I came by the Plaza?” Melina said. “We did have our good times, didn’t we, Alain? It wasn’t all that bad, was it? I know I can be very wicked … but, sometimes, Alain, don’t you miss me? Just a bit?”
“Yes, of course,” Alain assured her. “Now, please, Melina … don’t … I can’t…”
“I’ve just been so lonely,” Melina purred. “I’ve missed you so. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve dreamt of … ah … there, you see? A part of you still misses me, too!”
“No, Melina!” Alain retorted, his voice rough.
“Just once more, Alain,” Melina whispered, “for old times’ sake. Who will ever know? I want you so much … please, darling, please. Just feel me, Alain … I’m so ready … please…”
“Melina, no,” Alain murmured, but Janie knew better. With her fingers still frozen around the handle of the portfolio, her heart at a standstill, she heard Alain gasp, “Oh, Melina, yes … oh, that’s right … yes … you do that so well … yes … oh, please…”
The next thing Janie was conscious of hearing was the portfolio crashing to the floor, followed by her own footsteps running across the room and into the reception area. She pressed for the elevator, but when it didn’t open immediately, she ran to the stairwell, and started down the iron steps. The landings were garishly lit, the stairs in poor repair. With her heels clanking against the beveled metal, she ran—downward and around, down and around—the nightmarishly long flights. Above her, she heard voices. Just as she pushed open the door on the first floor, she heard Alain call her name.
“Jane … Jane … come back.”
But she was already gone, running down the sidewalk toward … she did not know where. She only knew that she had to escape, that she had to keep running.
Melina watched her from the upper window: a beautiful, redheaded woman—clearly distraught—running blindly into the oncoming rain. And Melina turned away, careful to hide her triumphant smile.
Chapter 38
“How’s the weather?” Zach asked as he stood with the phone to his ear, staring out at the dark, slick street. It had been raining all evening: a cold, unlovely rain that reminded him more of early March than late June.
“Just beautiful, Zach,” Elise told him. “Sunny, dry—you’d love it. Why don’t you fly out for the weekend? We could meet in L.A.—do a whole Southern California number—and have you back behind your big, important desk by Monday morning.”
“Love to, Elise,” Zach told her with a sigh, “but you know I’m just swamped right now. This Kitchenware pitch is taking up every working second of my time.”
“You care more about a bunch of goddamned frying pans,” Elise complained, “than you do about us.”
“Don’t start in on me,” Zach warned, his grip tightening on the receiver. “You know perfectly well that’s not so. I just have a very different kind of job than you. Sometimes it takes one hundred percent of my attention and time. Other times I’ve nothing to do.”
“Not since I’ve known you,” Elise corrected him. “You’re always swamped, Zach. Always overloaded. Always on the verge of pitching—and winning—the biggest account yet. Don’t you ever get tired of it? Don’t you ever just want to chuck it all and escape?”
“You’ve been saying that for a long time, Zach,” Elise replied, trying to keep the whine out of her voice. She knew Zach hated to be pushed, but so often it was the only way to get him to move. If he had his way, Elise had concluded, he would sit in his office twenty-four hours a day, brilliantly working himself into an early grave. It thrilled her that he was so smart and successful. She carried with her everywhere a recent Ad Age cover article titled “The Incredible, Unstoppable Zachary Dorn.” She loved to stare at the photo they’d featured of him: his longish hair wild, his tie askew, the wonderfully sexy smile lighting his unshaven face. But she was worried about him too. It wasn’t just that he worked too hard. It seemed the only time he was truly happy was when he was working. Elise was bright enough to realize he didn’t love her, but she kept hoping it was because he never really gave himself the time to fall in love. She kept telling herself that if only she could get him to concentrate on her—for more than the half hour of lovemaking he usually allotted for himself each night they were together—he’d see what he was missing. But he always found some excuse to work instead.
“You’ve been saying that we’d go away together, Zach,” Elise continued against her better judgment, “for half a goddamned year now. I’m tired of all your empty promises! I’m tired of waiting. Please, please, Zach … when are we going to finally…?”
“Not now, Elise,” Zach cut in wearily. He knew that if he heard her voice droning on much longer, he’d hang up on her, and then there’d be hell to pay. He kept telling himself that if he gave her enough time he’d start to really love her. The trouble was, the opposite seemed to happen when they spent more than a night or two together. He usually couldn’t wait for her flight schedule to get her the hell out of his bed.
“Listen, I guess I’m just too tired right now, Elise,” Zach added with a sigh. “Let’s pick up the discussion tomorrow night. You’ll be in San Francisco then, right? Call me when you get in. Fly safely. And keep those wings dry. Right. You too. ’Night.”
Zach put down the phone and yawned, staring dully out the window at the rain. The trees across the street, edging the small park around the Museum of Natural History, were being whipped by the strong wind. A branch fell and was swept down the sidewalk. He realized that he had already stopped thinking about Elise. She hardly existed for him when she wasn’t right there in the room, demanding his attention. But then that had been the way it was with most women in his life. No, with every woman in his life, except one. And if it hadn’t been for Janie, he would never have realized what it was like to really be with another person. To care. To want to protect. Oh, why not just say it? Zach told himself, running his hands through his hair, to love someone. There was no other word for the all-encompassing malaise that had attacked Zach. He was sick with love.
It was then that he saw her, being practically blown down the street by the force of the wind. She was a tall, slim, redheaded woman, soaked to the skin, her hair like a wild bright flame in the darkness. His heart leapt because she looked—from this distance, of course—so much like Janie. But then, he saw women who looked like Janie everywhere these days. He forced himself to turn from the window, cross to the couch, and pick up the book he had been reading before Elise’s phone call.
The front door buzzer sounded. Zach put the book down and walked down the hall to the intercom.
“Yes? Who is it?” Zach asked before he remembered that the damn thing was broken. All he heard in reply was a blare of static. What the hell, he thought, pressing the buzzer, maybe it was Walter. He opened his door and waited. The arrow on the elevator turned green, and he heard the doors swish shut below.
When she first walked out of the elevator and turned in his direction, he thought perhaps he was finally losing it. Seeing things.
“Janie?” he asked, truly uncertain whether the dripping wet figure beside the elevator was real or a figment of his imagination.
“Oh, Zach!” she cried. “I’m so sorry to bother you. I just didn’t know where else to go…”
“You’re soaked through,” he said, not knowing what he was saying. “You’re shivering. Get in here, you idiot.” She started to walk slowly toward him, then she started to run, and before either knew what was happening, Zach was pulling her into his arms.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said lamely, kissing her wet hair. She smelled of lilacs and damp clothes. He wanted to cry, too, just for the pure joy of holding her again. “It’s going to be okay, Janie. It’s okay.”
“You … don’t … even know…” Janie sobbed, her arms tight around his chest, “what it is.”
He closed the door behind them and, with his arm around her shoulders, led them down the hall to the living room.
“You have a strange habit,” Zach told her as he leaned over to turn off one of the brighter table lamps, “of arriving on my doorstep soaked to the skin.” Even in the softer light, he could see that she had been crying hard. Her eyes were red and slightly swollen. Her lips looked bruised. He found himself longing to lean over and kiss them, and then go out and do serious damage to whoever it was had hurt her so. Instead, he turned away, asking in a voice that he hoped sounded light and only vaguely interested, “What’s up, Janie? I don’t think you’ve come all this way to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“Zach,” Janie said, trying to control her tears.
“That’s me.”
“Zach … I…” She broke down again, and Zach went down the hall to the bathroom and came back with a fistful of tissues.
“We’ve established who I am,” Zach said, handing her the tissues. “Now perhaps we should move on to … just what it is you want.”
“Zach.” Janie breathed deeply and then finally said, “Would you ever consider taking me back?”
He had always thought it was just a turn of phrase, but at that moment Zach realized that one’s heart could actually stop. He felt a thump—and a skid—and then a rush of joy as it thudded into action again. He told himself to take his time. Think his words through. Zach, who always knew what to say, was suddenly uncertain just how to tell her. Okay, he told himself, just keep it simple.
“Yes,” he said.
“And Michael?” she added. “Would he feel the same way?”
“Oh,” Zach replied. The agency. She was asking if they would take her back—not him. This was not about love. First he felt stupid … then angry … then just sad. He went over to the window and looked out at the empty, rainswept street.
“Hey, listen,” he said after a moment, “before we get into how Michael and I would feel—why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling? Whatever’s going on with you, I wouldn’t mind a full report. Okay?”
“Okay.” Janie nodded, and blew her nose.
“You look like something the cat refused to drag in,” Zach observed, glancing back at her. “You want some tea? Something dry to change into?”
“Well…” She hesitated, and it took Zach only a second to realize why.
“I’m not going to jump you, for chrissakes,” he added, walking back toward her.
“Zach, I didn’t think that,” Janie responded, meeting his gaze. But they both knew she did. And they also both sensed the electrical current—the wild, needful charge—that raced between them. “Really, I didn’t. And, sure, tea would be just great.”
“Right,” he said tersely, starting toward the kitchen.
“And if you have a towel,” Janie called after him, “I could dry my hair.”
“Linen closet down the hall,” he told her without turning, “on the right.”
As Zach pulled together tea things in the kitchen, he swore to himself that he was
going to have to watch his goddamn step. The worst thing he could do to her right now was to make a fool of himself—and let her see how much he cared. But, Christ, it was hard! It was terrifying, how strongly he was drawn to her. It felt wrong to be in the same room with her and not be touching her. By the time he’d arranged a steaming pot of orange pekoe tea, cups, milk, and sugar on a tray, he felt he’d pulled himself sufficiently together to face Janie once again.
But then he walked back into the living room and saw that she had dried and brushed out her hair and done something to her eyes and lips that made him want to mess them up again. She looked newly washed—fresh and glistening—and he felt his resolve wavering. He put the tray down in front of her on the coffee table and collapsed in an overstuffed armchair a safe distance away.
“So,” Zach said when she sat with her hands crossed, staring at him. The tea tray remained untouched between them. “What’s new?”
“I don’t know how to start.”
“Beginning’s a good place,” Zach replied. “Most things start there.”
“I always knew Melina was tough,” Janie said, looking down at her hands. “Self-reliant, determined. And, you see, I respected that, Zach. I wanted to be more like that myself.”
“Right,” Zach said, encouraging her. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I used to listen to her talk about her ambitions,” Janie went on. “You know: making it on her own, doing it on her own terms. And it sounded exactly like what I wanted to do.”
Changes of Heart Page 30