Close Relations

by Lynsey Stevens

  ‘She was the sister of one of our engineers.’ He was gazing into the distance. ‘Her record took off and she couldn’t handle the razzmatazz. She began with alcohol and then got into drugs.’

  ‘Drugs?’ Georgia stared at him incredulously. ‘Don’t you think that’s going a bit far? I wouldn’t know the first thing about the drug scene or where to find it.’

  ‘It could find you, Georgia. I saw it happen to young Ginny.’

  ‘This isn’t Crime City, Jarrod. And give me more credit than that. Drugs would be no resort as far as I’m concerned, no matter how far down I fell.’

  And I’ve already fallen down about as far as I can go, she added to herself. I fell right down when you pushed me, Jarrod Maclean. But I got up unaided.

  ‘I’m sure young Ginny thought that way too. It was unbelievable, watching the change in her. As I said, I saw it firsthand.’

  ‘Very close at hand by the sound of it.’ Georgia’s lips thinned, goaded by the thought of Jarrod and this unknown young American.

  Jarrod’s head went up and she felt his body stiffen. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked quietly.

  She shrugged. ‘Just that you seem to have had a close relationship with this girl.’

  ‘I worked with her brother.’

  Georgia shrugged again.

  ‘She was just a kid. Eighteen or so.’

  I was only seventeen when I fell for you, Jarrod. Or have you so very conveniently forgotten? Georgia’s eyes met, held and told his, and his lips tightened.

  ‘I met Ginny socially through her brother, that’s all’

  Georgia continued to gaze at him, unaware of the accusation in her eyes, and Jarrod swore, running a hand through his hair. One lock fell forward onto his brow, thoroughly distracting Georgia, making her want to reach out, smooth it back, feel the silken texture once again.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Georgia, why am I trying to explain this to you?’ he asked, clipping the words out.

  ‘Why, indeed?’ She was inciting him with uncharacteristic spite, his words pushing her, driving her, while part of her shrank inside with horror at her behaviour.

  ‘Look, I’m just trying to illustrate a point I’m making about the music scene, and whether I took the girl to bed or not doesn’t enter into it’

  ‘And did you?’

  He gazed at her stormily. ‘Did I what?’ he voiced unnecessarily.

  ‘Take her to bed.’ Georgia persisted through suddenly dry, inflexible lips. My God! Why had she asked him that? Where was her pride?

  ‘Would it make any difference if I had?’ he bit out angrily.

  Georgia’s gaze fell, her lashes shielding the agony his words evoked, pain she knew would be reflected in their dark depths. Not to you, Jarrod. But all the world to me, her heart cried out inside her.

  Jarrod sighed loudly and muttered an imprecation. ‘My relationship with Ginny is totally irrelevant. And this conversation’s beginning to get to me. All I wanted to say, Georgia, was that this dream of Lockie’s may not be what you want to do with your life.’

  ‘Aren’t you surmising rather a lot, Jarrod? How would you know what I want to do with my life?’

  ‘I just know you, Georgia, and—’

  ‘You know me?’ Georgia broke in on him with a sharp, exaggerated laugh and he frowned. ‘Do you know me, Jarrod? Or do you only think you do? And know in what context?’ she added suggestively, wanting to provoke him but perversely feeling no sense of success when a slight flush coloured the line of his cheekbones. She could tell she was getting to him but just what was she achieving?

  ‘You never used to be like this, Georgia.’ His voice was soft, a little uneven.

  Bring this conversation to an end, she warned herself. She had to finish it now, before her inflaming words betrayed her, but she couldn’t do it, and she suspected she had somehow lost control of herself. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Bitter. Hostile.’

  Oh, Jarrod. Her broken heart yearned to scream at him, wound him, lay his feelings as bare as he’d exposed hers. Yes, she was bitter. And she knew she was hostile. But she was still hurting. Because of him. Yet, after all this time, after all he’d done, when he was cut, she bled.

  ‘Perhaps it’s old age.’ A wave of weary resignation washed the conflict out of her. ‘And a little cynicism. We all change with life’s experiences, don’t we? So there’s no need for you to concern yourself, Jarrod. I shan’t fall by the wayside like your little girlfriend in the States.’

  ‘Ginny wasn’t my girlfriend-’ He stopped and swore under his breath, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his body tense with emotion.

  Anger, Georgia recognised. But there was something else—something that drew a spontaneous, involuntary response deep inside her-and she was unable to prevent herself moving back in her seat.

  ‘So you said.’

  ‘And you never used to be a bitch, Georgia.’

  ‘Maybe that’s something else experience has taught me,’ she got out, and at his expression her hand came up between them as though to ward him off. ‘All right. This Ginny was your girl-space-friend.’ Georgia’s body was pressing back against the seat as she forced herself as far away from the totally disturbing nearness of his hard body as the close confines of the car would allow.

  Then, to her horror, of its own accord, her hand fell to rest on his shirt front, the feel of the body-warmed material beneath her fingers burning, searing. Yet she was incapable of drawing away, sybaritic fascination seemingly outweighing the pain of touching him again. And she couldn’t breathe. Her lungs refused to draw breath. Her heartbeats thundered, surging in her ears in a deafening crescendo.

  For what seemed to Georgia like a lifetime they sat like that, neither moving, held in some unseen emotional thrall, until Jarrod’s own hand came up to cover hers. For a split second his fingertips were a caress, pure and agonising, before she snatched her hand away from his and clutched her fingers together in her lap.

  ‘Georgia.’

  The word was torn from him and she tried to tell herself that she should be glad she’d finally succeeded in pushing him to the edge, that she should rejoice. But she could only quiver inside with fear-fear that she was playing too close to the fire, that her emotions were tinder-dry and just one spark might unleash the embers of the passion they had once shared.

  She heard the breath he’d been holding whistle softly through his teeth and knew his eyes were boring down on the top of her bent head. With a muttered oath he reached out and flicked on the ignition, the roar of the engine rasping on Georgia’s still sensitive nerve-endings.

  ‘We’d better get a move on,’ he said flatly. ‘You have a show to do.’

  They rejoined the traffic flow, completing the remainder of their journey in a heavy, totally unnerving silence. As they pulled into the car park Lockie’s van was still resting lopsidedly on its flat tyre and they barely had time to climb from the car before Morgan came running towards them.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re here, Georgia. Lockie’s been beside himself waiting for you. I think he thought Jarrod had run off with you.’ She turned to Jarrod with a cheeky grin, her eyes flashing flirtatiously.

  ‘We go on in less than half an hour,’ Georgia reminded them shortly, and began walking towards the entertainers’ entrance.

  ‘You don’t say!’ Morgan exclaimed sarcastically. ‘And there’s no time to waste, Georgia. At your age you’ll need every minute to put on your make-up.’ She turned back to Jarrod. ‘Anyone would think she was the rock of ages the way she goes on.’

  They walked along a short passageway until Morgan stopped.

  ‘Go on through there, Jarrod.’ She directed him, unaware of the band of tension that arced between the other two. ‘They’ve saved us a table in front. I’ll join you when I’ve helped Georgia with her costume.’

  With one sombre glance at Georgia Jarrod left them, and with no little difficulty Georgia forced the portentous scene in the car from
her mind.

  In a daze she struggled out of her suit jacket and skirt and into the emerald-green costume that Mandy usually wore.

  ‘How’s the top?’ Morgan asked as Georgia’s nervous fingers fumbled with the buttons. ‘I tried to let it out as far as I could, like you said.’

  Georgia straightened the emerald-green satin shirt and the row of white fringing shimmered from the long fitting sleeves. ‘It’s not exactly made to measure, is it?’ She grimaced, wondering if she had the nerve to leave the small dressing room wearing it.

  Morgan gave an irritated sigh. ‘Well, you are a little more well endowed than Mandy, Georgia. Just don’t make any sud den movements, like throwing your arms wide. Otherwise we could be trampled under foot as the guys in the audience stampede for the stage.’

  ‘Morgan, please.’ Georgia groaned, smoothing the blouse over her midriff. The matching skirt hugged her hips and could have been made for her, but the top was another story. The soft, sleek material clung to the rounded fullness of her breasts a little too snugly for Georgia’s liking. She glanced at her reflection in the long mirror behind the door and decided that that was a mistake.

  Hurriedly she applied a little make-up-dark mascara to emphasise her long lashes, blusher to highlight her cheekbones and bring some colour to her pale face, and a soft lipgloss following the curve of her full lips. The face looking back at her made her feel that she was looking at someone she hadn’t seen for a long, long time.

  It made her realise just how little attention she’d been giving her appearance over the last four years. Oh, she had always been neat and tidy, but the Georgia Grayson who gazed at her from the mirror was so alive somehow. Her eyes sparkled. Her lips trembled slightly. And her dark hair, unconfined at her nape, fell in soft waves to her shoulders.

  She drew a steadying breath, drawing her attention to the figure-hugging blouse once more. The loose, subdued clothes she wore to work barely hinted at the fullness of her breasts, her narrow waist.

  ‘Oh, Morgan, I can’t wear this.’

  ‘Rubbish! You look sensational, Georgia. You’ll have all the guys drooling. In fact-’ Morgan put her head on the side, regarding her sister ‘-it always amazes me that you haven’t got a whole tribe of men knocking down the door.’

  Georgia winced. ‘If that’s a compliment, thanks. But sorry, I’m not interested,’ she added wryly.

  ‘Pigs you’re not interested. Gee! You’re such a pain, Georgia.’ Morgan struck a pose in the doorway. ‘Sometimes I could shake you. Anyone would think you were fifty. Talk about a crusty old maid locked up in a bookshop.’

  Georgia flushed. Crusty, maybe. But old maid? No, she couldn’t in all honesty lay claim to that description. ‘Please don’t talk like that, Morgan. I find it offensive,’ she chastised her. ‘Why must you always be so personal?’

  ‘I just say what I think. I’m honest’

  ‘There’s a fine line between honesty and rudeness.’

  ‘Oh, spare me, big sister. And sometimes the truth hurts. Do you know who you remind me of?’ Morgan challenged. ‘Aunt Isabel. All cool and icy and withdrawn. You never have any fun. What do you do with your time? Go to work. Study. And you never laugh. It must be like wearing a strait-laced corset. You’re forever telling me what to do but at least I’m living; I’m getting out and tasting life.’

  Tasting life. Georgia took the words like a blow. If Morgan only knew. Georgia had tasted all of life she wanted to sample. Perhaps she had sated herself on it, for it had left her sick to her stomach.

  Morgan let out an exasperated breath. ‘OK. I’m sorry. But you don’t always bring out the best in me, Georgia, and I guess this isn’t the time and place. We should get out there.’

  Georgia stifled a slightly hysterical cross between a groan and a giggle. ‘I’m a fool for letting Lockie talk me into this,’ she muttered, rubbing her cold hands together.

  ‘There’s no need to be nervous,’ Morgan said, her tone a little less antagonistic. ‘The rehearsal last night went great If you sing half as well tonight you’ll be an instant success.’

  ‘I wish,’ Georgia murmured.

  Morgan grinned and went to leave her. She paused and turned back to her sister. ‘Oh, and Georgia, don’t worry.’ She indicated the emerald-green blouse. ‘Dolly Parton’s record may have been rocked slightly but it still stands.’

  Before Georgia could comment Morgan had disappeared and the music began. Georgia bit her lip and moaned. Country Blues was playing its introductory number, a fast instrumental. After that the boys would do a short set of John Denver numbers and then Lockie was going to introduce Georgia. It was time for her to go into the wings and await her cue.

  Cool. Icy. Humourless. Withdrawn. An old maid afraid to face life. Had Morgan really said all that? The young girl didn’t know how cruel she had been in her ignorance. Only four short years ago all those adjectives would have been the exact opposite of Georgia Grayson.

  Jarrod’s face swam before her, his eyes dark with a heavy sensuality that had matched her own…Just four short years ago.

  The rumble of applause vibrated, the sound deafening to Georgia as she stood waiting, her heart in her mouth. The audience had appreciated the opening songs. Now Lockie was introducing the individual members of the band. In moments she would have to go out on stage. In front of the sea of faces. Including Jarrod.

  He disapproved of her singing tonight. Yet he had no right to that criticism. No rights over her at all. She straightened her spine and then remembered the buttons on her shirt. She fingered them nervously.

  ‘So please welcome the pretty face of Country Blues. Georgia Grayson.’ Lockie’s voice over the microphone sank into her consciousness and Georgia stepped shakily forward, making her rubbery legs carry her onto the stage.

  The heat of the lights hit her and she almost gasped. The audience was cheering, wolf-whistles rising above the general clapping as the band struck up Georgia’s opening number. Grab them with a fast, jazzy one, Lockie had said, then we’ll slay them with a tear-jerker.

  Trying not to single out anyone in particular in the crowd of dimly lit faces below, Georgia took the mike from its stand. But of course her eyes found Jarrod immediately. She had always had built-in radar where he was concerned.

  He sat back in his seat, arms folded, unsmiling.

  Did he think she would fail? Well, she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself or the boys. She could sing and she’d show Jarrod Maclean just how talented she was.

  By the time she was halfway through the song she knew the audience was with her and the feeling elated her, carried her on, gave her a heady power. She shot Lockie a quick glance and he beamed at her, his eyes saying, I told you so!

  Now for the change of pace. She led into the romantic, almost melancholy lyrics and her eyes returned of their own accord to Jarrod. He was sitting forward now, a tension in him, and she felt his eyes burning on her.

  The catch in her voice was real, and the throb of unrequited love was a web she spun. The listeners felt it slip around each one of them but at that moment Georgia saw only one dark head, one craggy face. Only one. It had always been that way for her. She had loved him once. So very much. Before she’d learned the truth about him.

  She could see quite clearly in that moment of vivid recall the living room at the Maclean house. She had been at the Macleans’ that evening as usual and she and Jarrod had sat watching television together. Uncle Peter had been away on business and even the slightly disapproving presence of Aunt Isabel hadn’t been able to dim Georgia’s happiness just being with Jarrod.

  At about nine-thirty Aunt Isabel had pointedly made supper-coffee and her famous shortbread-and she’d reminded Jarrod he had to be up early to collect his father from the airport.

  Georgia could see him now as he turned to her, smiling crookedly at his stepmother’s pointed comments.

  ‘Come on, I’ll walk you home.’

  ‘It would be quicker to take the car,’ her aunt
put in drily. ‘It’s late enough as it is.’

  ‘Oh, no. It’s not so late,’ Georgia said quickly, clutching at the opportunity to have Jarrod to herself. ‘And it’s such a lovely moonlit night I intended to walk home anyway.’ She glanced imploringly at Jarrod and he smiled.

  ‘OK. Let’s go.’ He slipped his arm around Georgia’s shoulder. “I won’t be long, Isabel, but you go on to bed. I have my key.’

  They walked together in silence, Jarrod’s arm now lightly around her waist, and a wild, inexplicable joy raced along Georgia’s veins as his long body brushed hers as they moved. And she could feel with burning intensity the imprint of his fingers through her thin cotton top.

  ‘Just look at that moon, Jarrod.’ Her heart swelled and she knew the moon’s beauty had little to do with it.

  ‘You can almost discern colours by it,’ he replied. ‘No fear of falling in a ditch; it’s just about daylight.’

  Georgia swallowed. Did Jarrod feel the fire where they touched? How she wished she lived miles further away so that these moments could be prolonged.

  They came to the fork in the track and Georgia stopped when he went to veer to the right.

  ‘Let’s go over the creek and up the hill’ It was shorter, through the bush and away from the road, but, to Georgia, so much more romantic. ‘I’ll bet the view in the moonlight is unreal.’

  ‘Georgia, I’ve told you that the bridge isn’t safe. The timber’s rotting, it’s so old.’

  ‘I know. But we’ll be careful. Come on, Jarrod. Please?’

  He sighed exasperatedly and shook his head. ‘I never seem to be able to refuse you anything, do I? You flash those big brown eyes at me and I’m putty in your hands.’

  ‘Really?’ Georgia chuckled. ‘Now I know that deep dark secret of yours my life’s complete.’

  Jarrod kissed the tip of her nose and wrapped an arm about her waist again as they walked on along the well-moonlit track. And Georgia felt a rush of pure happiness. Her life was complete. She had Jarrod’s love and everything was wonderful.