by Jill Barnett
A realist never dared to dream because a lost dream felt like something of a nightmare. Living with one hope after another was crippling. Snippets of what-if crept into your days. Your mind wandered down paths not taken. Too soon your world stopped being real and you looked only for the impossibly perfect.
All the temptations of a perfect world hit Laurel when King Design won the Camino Cliff contract. On the tails of the news came a vellum invitation with a gold-lined, embossed envelope announcing a cocktail party for all the project contractors. A quick trip to the salon for foils. Shopping with Annalisa for the dress, the shoes. Now, in a classic black sheath and designer heels, Laurel felt a realist’s sense of irony as she added the perfect accessory—ridiculously expensive diamond drop earrings she’d bought after Beric had had his third affair.
“Mom?”
Laurel heard the front door close. “I’m coming.” She met Annalisa at the bottom of the stairs. “These shoes are going to kill me.”
“You needed something sexy.”
“What I’ll need is my health insurance when I face-plant somewhere. Come to think of it, these shoes cost more than my health insurance.” Laurel went into the garage and paused. “I’m walking like Anna Nicole Smith.”
“Mother.”
“I’m going to change into pumps.”
“Stop it. You look great. You walk fine. Are you really going to let four little inches keep you from looking twenty years younger?”
“You are a cruel, cruel child.” Laurel took off the shoes and got in the car. “I’m not driving in these. They’re for women who ride in limos.”
The restaurant in Laguna was beach chic, with stone columns, glass, and tumbled marble floors. They followed Private Party signs into a bar and terrace overlooking the pale sand and blue water, with the callow green shadow of Catalina on the horizon. Waiters served hors d’oeuvres and champagne from crystal trays and people milled around in groups, while men at the bar stood two deep.
A tall, good-looking young man in a custom suit left one group and joined them. “Annalisa.” Her daughter looked oddly nervous when he took her hand. He turned, a telling little moment, since he hadn’t let go of Annalisa’s hand. “You must be Laurel King. I’ve seen your work. It clinched the contract. Annalisa was right.”
Without missing a beat her daughter said, “Mom, this is Matthew Banning.”
And it was like a vampire had just sucked Laurel dry. One deep breath and she recovered enough to make small talk, to grab a glass of champagne and sip it, while in a room suddenly filled with white noise.
Annalisa explained BanCo’s connection, and Matthew Banning told her about his meeting with her daughter. The walls felt as if they were closing in, air seemingly nonexistent. She wanted to place the cold glass against her forehead, but all she could do was look into his face and see another one. This was Jud’s son.
He had very dark curly hair, nothing like the sandy blond hair of the Banning men she’d known. But with that one word—Banning—his eyes and features, the jaw, the slashes when he smiled all took her back to 1970. Laurel wondered what his mother was like. When he laughed, she remembered that sound. How odd it felt to be standing here so many years later, like someone on the outside looking in, and watch her daughter talking to Jud’s son.
When she glanced over Matthew’s shoulder she was thankful for every inch of her heels. Jud was standing in the doorway looking toward the opposite side of the room. At that moment, she was not a strong woman. She had no preparation. No time. With a plastic smile, she said, “Excuse me. I’m going outside and get some air.”
On the terrace, she turned her back to the room and gripped the railing tightly, aware of her heart pounding. She took long, deep breaths of cool, sea-washed air. The sun was slipping down the sky and wouldn’t set for about another hour. She put on her sunglasses, then sat at a table in the far corner, which was a good spot to hide. Time moved with each crash of a wave. She drank the champagne too fast and set down her empty glass. A few people walked by. She was looking out at the sea when the coolness of a shadow fell over her. Jud stood barely a foot away, discolored slightly from her dark lenses, holding an amber cocktail and a champagne. He set the champagne in front of her, and she was struck by an almost comical sense of déjà vu.
“I saw you through the glass,” he said. “And I asked myself why a beautiful woman was out here alone.” He paused, then added, “I’m Jud Banning.”
There was a beat of silence, an instant of discovery when she wanted to laugh or cry or both, because she realized that he didn’t have a clue who she was.
25
Jud pulled out a chair. “Do you mind if I sit down?” The blonde hesitated long enough for him to wonder if she was going to send him packing.
“Interesting, Jud Banning, how your pickup line hasn’t changed over the years.”
Shit. He’d slept with her. She was looking down to remove her dark glasses, and her hair hid her face. Then thirty years fell away.
“Jailbait?”
She gave a short laugh. “We have a problem. I’m not even close to jailbait age anymore.”
“You changed your hair.” He sat down and took a long drink.
“Yes.” She touched her hair in a self-conscious motion. “Quite a few years ago. After my divorce I needed a change.”
She was still lovely, softer, a little heavier in the way that gave older women lushness, the kind of figure that made you want to stay in bed. She was divorced. Another fool who had lost her. And he didn’t know what to say.
“Awkward. Isn’t it?”
“What are you doing here? This is a private party.” He sounded like a bouncer, territorial and ready to throw her out on her ear.
“I was invited. My daughter and I own a professional kitchen design company. Your son hired us for the project restaurants.”
“I don’t have a son.”
Frowning, she looked at his left hand. “I thought Matthew was your son.”
“He’s Cale’s oldest son.”
“Cale has sons?”
“Two.”
“Is he here?” She looked around.
“He’s a doctor, Laurel. A cardiothoracic surgeon.”
Her face was colorless. “You’re kidding.”
“No. He finished medical school at the top of his class.” Since she was that surprised by Cale’s profession she didn’t remember much about them. He felt betrayed. “All he ever talked about was being a doctor.”
“I remember,” she said softly enough to make him forgive her, then feel a pang of envy for his brother.
He wanted to say more, but it was one of those moments when sound grew louder, when a million things to say slipped your mind.
She stood up. “I think I should leave.”
Suddenly her image and Kelly’s melted together. She started to walk away. He grabbed her arm. “Wait, Laurel.”
Startled, she stared pointedly at his hand, then up at him. “What are you doing, Jud?” He wasn’t holding her hard, but he refused to let her run away.
“Mom?” A stunning young woman with long red hair came up to her, and Jud let go of Laurel’s arm. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“This is my daughter, Annalisa King.” Laurel stepped back out of his reach. “This is Jud Banning.”
“You’re Matthew’s uncle. It’s good to meet you.” She had vibrant coloring, the kind that turned heads, but it wasn’t her coloring that caught him off-guard. Her face was Laurel’s, soft and young, with that rare promise of a woman who would be beautiful for an entire lifetime. Laurel’s mother had looked the same when he’d stood on her doorstep and begged her to tell him where her daughter was. It struck him that Laurel was much older now than her mother had been then. So many years had passed, and still, a singular time so small on the scale of a life never lost its importance.
Annalisa grabbed her mother’s hand. “You need to come inside. The architects for the restaurant projects are waiting. They�
��re familiar with Megryl’s and Cutter’s and want to meet you.”
Laurel looked at him, then said nothing more than “Good-bye.”
Her daughter stopped a few feet away and turned. “No, Mom, wait. Mr. Banning should come, too. He certainly has an interest in King Design, in how we work and who we are.”
He caught the pleading in Laurel’s eyes and turned to her daughter. “You two go ahead. I trust Matthew to have chosen the best companies for the job. I think I’ll stay here and watch that sunset.” He gestured toward the horizon with his glass and the ice rattled like loose bones and broken skeletons.
“Good-bye, Jud.” Laurel walked away with her daughter and didn’t look back, even after they disappeared through the open glass doors.
The gulls wheeled and cawed noisily overhead and the water splashed against the rocks below the stone terrace. The sky was brilliant—red, purple, and gold—and muted everything, even what he was feeling. At that moment the sky was not much different than it had been a long time ago, from the deck of the SS Catalina. Funny that he could remember so clearly a sunset over thirty years old. He turned, leaning against the cement balustrade, and sipped his drink while he watched her through the softly tinted glass. He’d let her leave, but this was a woman he wasn’t going to let go.
Matthew Banning held her hand too long, brought her the right drink without asking, brushed against her in a crowd, then placed his hand on her bare back while he apologized, and seemed to have a devastating smile meant for only her. It was killing Annalisa. If this kind of attraction game were happening in a bar, they would go home together.
So she did her damnedest to keep her mom nearby as a deterrent, until she came out of the rest room to find him standing in the hallway, over six feet of dripping sex appeal and surefire trouble. He was talking to one of the project contractors, an opportunity for her to whip by him and get out the front door.
“Annalisa, wait. Excuse me.” He turned back to the man. “We’ll talk Monday.” Matt jogged over to her. “I’ve been looking for you. Things are winding down here. Would you like to get something to eat? I know a quiet place near here that serves a great steak.”
“I came with my mom. I was just going to meet her at the valet, but if some of the group are going out to eat, I’ll tell her.”
“Look. I’m trying to ask you out.”
“On a date,” she said flatly.
He laughed and looked away, then rubbed the back of his neck with a hand. “Yeah, on a date.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I’ve thought it was a good idea since the day you walked into my office and told me why I should hire you.”
“And now that you have, I don’t think dating is a good idea.”
“Tell me if I’m wrong, but I sensed there was something going on here. Between us.”
He was a foot away from her, but she could feel him on her skin, small pinpoints of energy, like the air during an electrical storm. “I won’t deny there is something, but your contract is the biggest we’ve ever had, and frankly, just too important. You should be happy it’s that important to me.”
“I am glad you take the job seriously, but that has nothing to do with dinner.”
“I think we both know it does. Dating at work? That’s asking for trouble.”
“We don’t exactly work together.”
“I’m not buying that argument.”
“You should. Nothing will change on the job. My private, social life is completely separate from my business.”
“Only in a perfect world, Matthew. I’m sorry.” She stepped away from him. “I can’t. My mother’s waiting. I’ll see you later.” The hallway felt a mile long, longer with him watching her walk away. A couple of the contractors had heard and were watching her walk away. Outside, the air was cool against her hot cheeks. She closed the car door and buckled up.
Her mom didn’t look at her—a bad sign—and rested her arms on the steering wheel. “Okay, young lady,” she said with perfectly bad timing. “We need to talk.”
“You have a captive audience. Fire away, Mother.” Her daughter stared out the window.
Ten feet more and Laurel stopped the car. “You drive. I’ve had champagne.” She was fine, actually, but let Annalisa drive and answer her questions, instigate an argument and try to make this her fault. They were two signals away from the restaurant before Laurel spoke. “You should have told me what you did.”
“Meeting with BanCo got us the contract. Why are we rehashing it?”
“Why are you biting my head off?”
“Because someone in there hit on me.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Just annoying. I don’t want to talk about it. Look, Mom. We’ll never get anywhere sitting around and waiting for the world to come to us. We have to fight to get ahead. We have to take risks. Would you have ever even thought to go higher than Del Mar? To even fight for the job?”
The truth hurt, spoken in such a derisive tone, and more, the idea that Annalisa thought she was so passive. It took so few words for mothers and daughters to hurt each other. And seeing herself from her child’s truth didn’t match the person Laurel thought she was. “No,” she admitted, “I wouldn’t have done it. But I don’t think I need to. Apparently I have you to do that.”
“I’m not sorry. One of us had to do something.” A truck cut them off and Annalisa hit the horn.
“It’s a lot easier to jump headlong into trouble when you don’t have a lifetime of mistakes clinging to your back.”
“Where’s the mistake? We had absolutely nothing to lose. We were either going to get the contract or not.”
There was no risk. Her daughter was right. How often had she looked for risks where there weren’t any? She had become the kind of person afraid to move forward, and—damn—where exactly had she buried herself? Laurel sat there in silence, mired in a chasm of doubt while lights from the roadside businesses and passing cars flickered inside, creating colored shadows on the windshield, the mirror, and their profiles, a kind of surreal, carnival atmosphere of a Fellini film or that confusing instant when you first wake from a dream.
By the time they turned into the colony road, you could have cut the silent air with a knife. “I’m glad you fought for us,” she said to Annalisa. “But we need to tell each other what we think, and what we’re doing. This is a business partnership. You should have told me what you did as soon as you did it instead of sending me in there tonight with no clue. I was blindsided. That’s not good business.”
Facing the Bannings without warning. A nightmare. But her daughter knew nothing about her past. Secrets were heavy black burdens weighing you down throughout life, often the very things that kept you from moving forward or looking for happiness.
Annalisa pulled into the alley behind the beach house. “I should have told you. But sometimes, well, I don’t know, it seems as if you are afraid, Mom. Not just in business, but like you’re afraid of life.” Inside the garage, she got out of the car and faced Laurel over it. “You said it took your heart surgery for you to finally leave Daddy. You started the business in spite of him, but it’s as if you’re afraid to take the next steps. Like you’re frozen in time, not moving forward or backward. I don’t mean to criticize you, really I don’t, but you’re not happy.”
“You make me happy.” Laurel took the keys.
“Even when I sneak behind your back?”
“You won’t do it again.” Laurel eased up the steps to the kitchen door still uneasy in her shoes. “I think happiness might be overrated, and certainly it’s fleeting, not exactly something to hang your future on.”
“Oh, Mom. What’s the big deal about making mistakes? You have to live.”
She looked at her daughter, so young, oozing confidence, standing on one foot in even skimpier stilettos and easily tapping the other, while glibly instructing her about risk and mistakes, about life and happiness.
Laurel spoke from t
he raw pain of experience. “Mistakes can change lives forever.”
“But change isn’t a bad thing.”
“I’d like to be young again and so self-assured.” She shook her head and laughed a little, maybe with a bit of longing. “I’d love to race into life with my arms wide open, ready for all of it, with the idea nothing bad would ever happen to me or those I’ve loved.”
“Then do it. Run. Like this . . .” Arms outstretched, Annalisa ran—actually ran—in those shoes to her car. “Night, Mom.”
Laurel watched her pull away and closed the garage door. Inside, she headed for the stairs, hit the tile floor, caught her heel, and fell flat on her face. Pain rang through her arm, chin, hip, and knee. Stunned, she lay there for a second, then started to laugh, alone, still embarrassed. But a minute later she was crying, head buried in her arms, face to the damned cold floor, sobbing. It was a while before she sat up, pulling off the stilettos while she sniffled, a silly fool.
Being unhappy was a difficult thing to admit, when you suspected the reason you were in such a miserable place was your own fault. Like someone lost in the woods, she was going in all the wrong directions. Her dreams felt so far out of reach. She’d faced one of them tonight, faced him in four-inch heels.
But four-inch heels didn’t make her any younger. She couldn’t click her four-inch heels together and find her true way home. Four inches didn’t bring her any closer to happiness. Four inches didn’t erase the past.
Seattle, 1970-1971
For those months after Laurel left Cale, left Jud, left
her mother, and left LA, her life became nothing but
lies. The lies started with the idea that the Pill was foolproof. Ninety-eight percent. Laurel was in the two percent, and pregnant. Panicked, she went back to Seattle, because once it had been home. She lied to her mother about transferring schools and found a job at a restaurant in the kitchen instead, lied about the father of the child when she couldn’t hide her pregnancy any longer. She lied to the doctor at the clinic where they treated her, lied to the adoption attorney who set up the adoption for her—told him she’d had multiple partners and didn’t know who the father was. In that time of free love, partner swapping, and communes, girls went for abortions in dirty rooms in the backs of bars and markets in Tijuana. But a girl from school once bled to death after a botched abortion, and another had to have an emergency hysterectomy.