by Nora Roberts
Cautiously, she shifted. When her thigh muscles shrieked in chorus, she didn’t quite hold back the whimper. The men across from her flicked a glance over the tops of their magazines, dismissed her, then went back to reading. To take her mind off her multiple aches, she speculated about them.
A couple of actors hoping for representation by one of the big guns? No, she decided. Actors would never go looking for a publicity manager together. Not even if they were lovers.
It wasn’t fair to label them gay because they weren’t drooling over Dolly Bacall. Maybe they were loyal and faithful family men who never looked at women other than their wives.
And maybe she was sitting across from two dead guys.
An IRS team waiting to audit Drake’s books, she decided. Much closer to the mark. The men had the cool, unsympathetic, and ruthless looks she expected from IRS agents—or Mafia hit men. Did they have calculators or .32s tucked beneath those trim black jackets?
That had her grinning for a moment, until one of them looked over and caught her studying them. Julia had reason to hope her own books were in good order.
A glance at her watch showed her she’d already been waiting ten minutes. The double white doors with Drake’s name prominently displayed were firmly closed. Staring at them, she wondered what was keeping him.
Inside his overdecorated ecru and emerald office, as spiffy and obsessively trendy as the reception area, Drake kept his trembling hands linked on the glossy surface of his desk. He looked as though his body had shrunk to the size of a child, dwarfed by the custom-made leather executive chair.
Behind him was a window with its view of L.A. from high up in Century City. It always pleased him that at any whim, he could see in a glance the panorama the producers of LA. Law had made famous.
He kept his back to it now, his eyes downcast. He hadn’t slept the night before until jittery panic had sent him hunting up a couple of Valium and the brandy bottle.
“I’ve come to you personally,” Delrickio was saying, “because I feel we have a relationship.” When Drake merely nodded, Delrickio’s lips tightened, only briefly, in disgust. “You understand what would happen now if I did not have this personal connection with you?”
Because he felt this demanded an answer, Drake wet his lips. “Yes.”
“Business can be influenced by friendship only to a point. We are at that point. Last night you were unlucky. I can sympathize, friend to friend. But as a businessman, my priority must be my own profit and loss. You, Drake, are costing me money.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.” Drake’s emotions threatened to surface again, swam in his eyes. “Up until the last five minutes …”
“That is neither here nor there. Your judgment was poor, and your time is up.” Delrickio rarely raised his voice and didn’t do so now. His words boomed and echoed in Drake’s head, nonetheless. “What do you intend to do?”
“I—I can get you another ten thousand in two, maybe three weeks.”
His eyes masked by the downsweep of his lashes, Delrickio took out a roll of peppermint Life Savers, thumbed one free, and laid it on his tongue. “That’s far from satisfactory. I expect the rest of the payment in one week.” He paused, waggling his finger. “No, because we are friends, in ten days’ time.”
“Ninety thousand in ten days?” Drake reached for the Waterford carafe on his desk, but his hands shook too badly for him to pour. “That’s impossible.”
Delrickio’s face remained impassive. “When a man owes a debt, a man pays. Or takes the consequences. A man who doesn’t pay his debts may find himself becoming clumsy—so clumsy he slams his hand in a door and crushes his fingers. Or he may become so distracted by his obligations that he is careless when he shaves—so that he slices his face … or his throat. In the end he may become so disheartened that he will throw himself out of a window.” Delrickio glanced at the wide pane at Drake’s back. “Like that one.”
Drake’s Adam’s apple pressed against the square knot in his tie when he swallowed the ball of fear in his throat. His voice came out like the whine of air from a leaky balloon. “I need more time.”
Delrickio sighed like a disappointed father who had just been shown a poor report card. “You ask me for a favor, and yet you haven’t granted me the one I asked you.”
“She wouldn’t tell me anything.” Drake reached for a handful of sugared almonds from the Raku bowl on his desk. “You know how unreasonable Eve can be.”
“Indeed I do. But there must be a way.”
“I tried pumping the writer.” Drake caught the faint glimmer of light at the end of a dark tunnel, and sprinted. “In fact, I’m working on bringing her around. She’s in the outer office right now.”
“So.” Delrickio’s brow lifted, the only sign of interest.
“I’ve got her pegged,” Drake hurried on, taking the journey in frantic leaps and bounds. “You know, the lonely career-type who needs a little romance. Two weeks, and she’ll be eating out of my hand. Everything Eve tells her, I’ll know.”
Delrickio’s lips curved slightly as his finger brushed his mustache. “You have a reputation with the ladies. In my youth I enjoyed one myself.” When he rose, Drake could all but feel the wave of relief slick down his clammy skin. “Three weeks, paisan. If you bring me useful information, we will arrange a longer-term loan. And to show your good faith, ten thousand in one week. Cash.”
“But—”
“It’s a very good deal, Drake.” Delrickio moved to the door, turned. “Believe me, you would not get such consideration from others. Don’t disappoint me,” he added, brushing at his cuff. “It would be a shame if your hand was so unsteady while you shaved that you damaged your face.”
When he stepped out, Julia saw a distinguished man of perhaps sixty. He had the sleek, glossy look of wealth and power heightened by dramatic good looks that had aged to distinction. The two other men rose. The man exiting Drake’s office bowed slightly to Julia showing her by the look in his eyes that he had not forgotten what it was to appreciate a young, attractive woman.
She smiled—the gesture from him was so courtly and old-fashioned. Then he moved off, flanked by the two silent men.
Another five minutes passed before the receptionist answered her buzzer and showed Julia into Drake’s office.
He was struggling to recover. He hadn’t dared another Valium, but had gone into the adjoining bath and vomited up most of the terror. After splashing water on his face, a quick swishing of Scope around his sour-tasting mouth, and smoothing his hair and suit, he greeted Julia with the Hollywood handshake, a buss on the cheek.
“So sorry to keep you waiting,” he began. “What can I get you? Coffee? Perrier? Juice?”
“Nothing, I’m fine.”
“Make yourself comfortable and we’ll chat.” He glanced at his watch, wanting her to see that he was a busy man with a lot on his plate. “How are you settling in with Eve?”
“Very well, actually. I had a session with Fritz this morning.”
“Fritz?” He went blank for a minute, then sneered. “Oh, yes, the exercise queen. Poor darling.”
“I enjoyed it. And him,” she said her voiced cool.
“I’m sure you’re a trooper. Tell me, how’s the book going?”
“I think we can be optimistic.”
“Oh, you’ve got a best-seller, no doubt about it. Eve tells a fascinating story—though I’d have to wonder if her memory wouldn’t be slanted. Still, the old girl’s one in a million.”
Julia was dead sure Eve would pop him right in the caps if he referred to her as “the old girl” to her face. “Are you speaking as her nephew or her press agent?”
He chuckled as his fingers snuck into the almonds. “Both, absolutely. I won’t hesitate to say that having Eve Benedict for an aunt has added spice to my life. Having her for a client has iced the cake.”
Julia didn’t bother to comment on the mixed metaphors. Something, or someone, had Drake shaking in his alligator
shoes. The distinguished-looking man with the silver hair and courtly manners? she wondered. Not her business—unless it pertained to Eve. She filed the question away.
“Why don’t you start by telling me about your aunt? We’ll get to your client later.” She took out her recorder, lifting a brow until he nodded his permission. When her notebook was balanced on her knee, she smiled. Drew was scooping up almonds into one hand, then plucking them out of his palm one at a time, popping them into his mouth like bullets. Pop, crunch, gulp. She wondered if he ever missed a step and swallowed one whole. The idea forced her to look away a moment on the pretext of cuing the tape. “Your mother is Eve’s older sister, correct?”
“That’s right. There were three Berenski girls. Ada, Betty, and Lucille. Of course, Betty was already Eve Benedict by the time I was born. She was an established star, a legend even. She was certainly a legend back in Omaha.”
“Did she come back home for visits?”
“Only twice that I remember. Once when I was about five.” He licked the light dusting of sugar off his fingers and hoped he looked properly pained. It was a sure bet a single mother with a young son would sympathize with what he was about to say. “You see, my father deserted us. It crushed my mother, as you can imagine. I was too young to understand then. I just wondered why my father didn’t come home.”
“I’m sorry.” She did sympathize. “That must have been very difficult.”
“It was incredibly painful. Something I doubt I’ve ever completely gotten over.” Drake hadn’t given the old man a passing thought in more than twenty years. Taking out a monogrammed handkerchief, he dried off his fingers. “He simply walked out and never came back. For years I blamed myself. Perhaps I still do.” He paused as if to regain his composure, turning his head slightly to profile and gazing broodingly out of the plate glass that shielded him from the morning’s smog. Nothing, he was certain, got to a woman quicker than a sob story told bravely. “Eve came, though to be honest she and my mother never saw eye to eye. She was very kind in her no-nonsense way, and made certain we always had enough. My mother eventually took a part-time job in a department store, but it was Eve’s contribution that kept a decent roof over our heads. She saw to it I got an education.”
Though Julia wasn’t fooled by the little show he was putting on for her benefit, she was interested in the story. “You said they didn’t see eye to eye. What do you mean?”
“Well, I can’t say what happened when they were girls. I get the impression that all three sisters competed for their father’s attention. He was away quite a bit. Some sort of salesman. From what my mother has said, they often lived hand to mouth, and Eve was never content. It could have been more basic than that,” he said with a smile. “I’ve seen pictures of them, all three of them together when they were young. I don’t imagine it was easy for three beautiful women to live under the same roof.”
Julia blinked and nearly lost her train of thought. Did the man have any idea how much he glinted? she wondered. The gold band on his Rolex, the gleam of his caps, the mousse in his hair.
“I—ah.” She glanced hurriedly down at her notes, unaware that he preened, certain her attraction to him was distracting her. “So Eve left.”
“Yes, and the rest is history. My mother married. I’ve heard gossip that my father had been in love with Eve. My mother wasn’t particularly young when she married, and I believe there were many years of struggle before she finally became pregnant. Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” he asked as he rose to go to the neatly stocked bar at the side of the room.
“No, nothing. But please, go ahead.”
“Well then, in any case. I turned out to be the one and only.” As he spoke he poured sparkling water over ice. He would have preferred a drink, but felt sure Julia would disapprove of such habits before lunch. As he sipped, he angled his head, treating her to his other profile. “Lucille devoted her life to traveling. I think she even lived in a commune for a few years. Very sixties. She was killed in a railway accident in Bangledesh or Borneo or some out of the way place, about ten years ago, I guess.” He passed over his aunt’s life and death with barely a shrug.
Julia scribbled a note. “I take it you weren’t close?”
“To Aunt Lucille?” He started to laugh this off, then disguised it with a cough. “I don’t think I saw her more than three or four times in my life.” He didn’t add that she had always brought him some fascinating toy or book. Or that she had died with little more than the clothes on her back and pocket change. No inheritance for Drake, no fond memories of Lucille. “She never seemed—well, particularly real to me, if you know what I mean.”
Julia softened a bit. It wasn’t fair to judge the man as callous because he lacked affection for an aunt he barely knew. Or because he was a preening peacock with an overindulged sense of his own sexual attraction. “I suppose I do. Your family was scattered.”
“Yes. My mother kept the small farm she’d bought with my father, and Eve …”
“What was it like for you, meeting her for the first time?”
“She was always larger than life.” He perched on the edge of the desk to enjoy the view of Julia’s legs. Exploiting her would be anything but a painful experience. And, to be fair, he intended to see she enjoyed herself as well. “Beautiful, of course, but with that quality so few women have. Innate sensuality, I suppose. Even a child could see it, if not recognize it. I believe at that time she was married to Anthony Kincade. She arrived with mountains of luggage, red lips, red nails, what was surely a Dior suit and the ubiquitous cigarette perched in her fingers. She was, in a word, fabulous.”
He sipped, surprised at how vivid the memory was. “I recall one scene right before she left. Arguing with my mother in the kitchen of the farmhouse. There Eve was, puffing smoke and pacing over the cracked linoleum while my mother sat at the table, red-eyed and furious.
“For chrissake, Ada, you’ve put on thirty pounds. It’s no wonder Eddie ran off with some tacky little waitress.”
Ada’s dissatisfied mouth thinned. Her skin looked like day-old porridge. “There’ll be no taking of the Lord’s name in my house.”
“And little of anything else unless you pull yourself together.”
“I’m a woman without a husband, all but penniless, with a boy to raise.”
Eve waved her cigarette so that smoke zigzagged in the air. “You know very well money won’t be a problem. And there are women all over the world without husbands. Sometimes all to the good.” She plunked her palms down on the wooden table, the cigarette jutting through her fingers. “Listen to me, Ada. Mama’s gone, Daddy’s gone. Lucille too. Even that lazy shit you married’s gone. They’re not coming back.”
“I won’t have you speak about my husband—”
“Oh, shut up.” Eve rammed a fist onto the table so the little plastic rooster and hen salt and pepper shakers rattled and fell. “He isn’t worth you defending, and by God he isn’t worth your tears. What you’ve been given is a new chance, a fresh start. We’re out of the fucking fifties, Ada. We’re going to have a president who’s not in his dotage in the White House come January. Women are going to start trading in their aprons. There’s a change in the air, Ada. Can’t you taste it? It’s coming.”
“Had no business electing a Catholic, a papist. It’s a national disgrace is what it is.” Her chin jutted out. “Anyways, what’s it got to do with me?”
Eve only closed her eyes, knowing Ada would never taste the change, savor the cool, fresh flavor of it, not through her own bitterness. “Clean house, Ada,” she murmured. “Bring the boy and come back to California with me.”
“Why in God’s green earth would I do that?”
“Because we’re sisters. Sell this godforsaken place, move to a place where you can get a decent job, have a social life, where the boy can have a life.”
“Your kind of life.” Ada sneered, her red-rimmed eyes filled with resentment and envy. “Posing on the screen half nak
ed so’s anyone with change jingling in their pocket can watch. Marrying and divorcing on your whim, and giving yourself to any man who winks at you. I’ll keep my boy here, thank you very much, where he can grow up with decent values and under God’s plan.”
“Do what you want,” Eve said wearily. “Though why you’d think God would plan for you to be a bitter, dried-up woman before you’re forty is beyond me. I’ll send you money for the boy. It’s up to you what you do with it.”
“Of course she took the money,” Drake went on. “Spouting off about wickedness, godlessness, and so on while she cashed the check.” He shrugged, too used to the taste of bitterness on his tongue to notice as it spread. “As far as I know, Eve still sends her a check every month.”
It disturbed Julia that she sensed no gratitude. She wondered if Drake realized how very much he was his mother’s son. “If you’d had such little contact with her while you grew up, how did you come to work for her?”
“The summer I graduated from high school, I hitchhiked to L.A. with thirty-seven dollars in my pocket.” He grinned, and for the first time Julia thought she could see a trace of his aunt’s charm. “It took me nearly a week to get ahold of her once I got here. It was quite an adventure for me. She picked me up herself in this little dive in East L.A. Walked in to this greasy taco joint wearing a drop-dead dress and stilletto heels that could impale a man through the heart. I’d caught her on her way out to some party. She crooked her finger at me, turned around, and walked out. I was after her like a shot. She didn’t ask me a single question on the way back to her house. When we got there, she told me to take a bath and to shave off the excuse for a beard I was wearing. And Travers served me the best meal I’d had in my life.”
Something stirred inside him with the memory—a fondness he’d all but forgotten under the layers of ambition and greed.
“And your mother?”
The stirring died away. “Eve dealt with her. I never asked. She put me to work with the gardener, then shoved me into college. I apprenticed with Kenneth Stokley, her assistant at the time. Nina came along just before Eve and Kenneth had a falling-out. When she decided I had potential, Eve put me on as her press agent.”