“Good.” Jon took her arm with a grim nod toward Sal. “Let’s call it a day then, Sal.” On the point of entering the hotel he added, “Two more guards,” and Sal nodded, opening his phone once again.
chapter 14
Once they were inside their suite he called Joshua, anxiously watched by Naomi. Hearing his young, clear voice and the impetuous tone in it, tugged at his heart, so much that he used any excuse to talk to him. Joshua’s impatient, off-handed reply that yes, he had just returned from school and his grandmother was making dinner, and no, he had not gone anywhere else, made him breathe a little easier. “Take care,” he told his son, and handed the phone to Naomi, who sat down on the couch and kicked off her sandals. She seemed to have forgotten he was in the room at all, chatting with Joshua, pulling out the pins that held up her hair. Barefoot, her hand full of pins, she reclined onto the cushions to ask him about the girl he had met the other day, yes, the one he had taken out for lunch, and where had they gone? Oh, Syrian, what an exciting choice, and she laughed at his reply. The black satin slipped on her thighs when she pulled up her legs to massage her toes as she ended her conversation with Joshua.
His wife, his son. Jon was certain he would never let anything change that, ever again: no other woman, no stalker, and least of all her father.
Naomi looked up at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” Jon did not feel like talking about it. “Nothing at all. I like your dress. It’s totally outrageous, and I love it. You were the loveliest woman at that party tonight.”
She shrugged. “Easy. I was the youngest. Your fans are getting old.”
Nodding slowly, Jon dropped his jacket and loosened the tie. “Get in bed. I’ll show you old. You don’t think there’ll be any sleep tonight, do you?”
But when he came back from the shower she lay curled up under the sheet, shivering, her lips gray and her face bloodless.
“I’m so tired, Jon.” Her voice was barely audible, it was so low and brittle.
All thoughts of wild, sweet moments were blown away, seeing her like that, seeing once again that she was not well by a long shot, no matter how much they tried to ignore it. Carefully he slipped into bed beside her and drew her into his arms, startled by how cold she was despite the warm summer night, and how weak. Her fingers gripping his wrist were shaky, nearly lifeless.
“I’m just tired,” she repeated when he asked, scared now, if she needed a doctor. “I just need sleep.” And added, snuggling up against him, “Could you hold me? You’re so warm.”
Jon held her against his chest, listening to her breathing, feeling her heartbeat, feeling her gradually relax and go soft with slumber as outside the birds started their early-morning song and the sun crept over the mountains.
“Here,” Jon said.
Naomi leaned against the white-washed wall. “I know.”
She was back in jeans and one of the white shirts, her hair in a braid, and she looked just as she had back then, all traces of the bitter, exhausting night gone.
“This was the spot where you told me you would not be in my bed that night.” Jon, standing before her, rested his hand against the bricks, right next to her shoulder. “You told me that was not the way things worked, and you let me stand here with all my need for you, a little thing of nineteen telling me off.”
“You deserved it.”
The moment was so much like a déjà vu, he caught his breath. “Stop saying things like that. You drive me crazy. I’m trying to re-create a romantic moment, back with you here after all these years, and you say nearly the same things you did then. Can’t I just live in my memories for a minute?”
“You don’t have to.” Her blouse slipped and revealed her shoulder when she moved to kiss him. “I recall quite vividly waking up in your bed this morning. Stop wallowing.”
His eyes sparkled at her. “Yeah, that was good. That was how I wanted it when we stood here for the first time. I dreamed of finding you beside me when I woke up, just like today: so warm and sweet, your hair tousled, and you curled up against me, mine. My selkie, finally caught.”
“Jon.” No more than a whisper, barely audible over the noise of the loudspeakers from the stage where the band was still rehearsing.
“I want this tour over so badly.” The playful mood gone, he wrapped his arms around her. “What a stupid idea this was; there’s hardly any time for us to be alone. I want to regain what we had, the happy times, the carefree and easy days before…before.” He broke off, his lips on her hair, her breath on his throat.
There was no answer, but she did not pull away and did not stiffen. He could feel her hands on his back, her fingers exploring the contours of his muscles, tracing a line down his spine.
“Careful,” Jon growled, “no teasing. Bad timing, my sweet, very bad timing. Or are you thinking of that dressing room table again? Ah, you are one crazy chick, Naomi.”
She laughed softly.
They could hear Sal’s voice from the end of the hallway calling something toward the stage, and Jon let her go, running his fingers through his hair. “All right then, let’s check out the dressing room.”
She had not come in the last time. He recalled only too well how she had stopped outside the door and shook her head at him, offering no explanation, and how he had nodded unwillingly, afraid she would leave for good if he didn’t prevent it.
“But I have to change” had been his plea, “and get ready for the show. What do I do if you’re gone when I come back out?”
And he remembered her cool shrug and the simple statement, “You’ll just have to wait and find out, right?”
No one, no girl, had ever treated him like that before, not since he had become famous and adored. They had all offered to entertain him in any way possible, had allowed him to use them in the hope of being the one, the woman he would take back home. She, Naomi, had turned away outside the door and, walking away, tossed at him, “I’ll find someone to keep me company while they fuss over you. No worries.” He had watched her wave to Sean, who had waited for her to catch up and, her arm through his, had vanished into the hospitality area and out of his sight.
This time, though, she did not hesitate and when he threw her a doubtful glance, said, “What? I’m your wife, I’m entitled to be here with you.”
He loved the way she sat on the table, her back to the large, illuminated mirror, and examined the makeup tools, once more fiddling with the silly eyeliner. Today she swiveled around and applied it to herself, blinking at her image.
“This is good stuff,” she declared. “No wonder your eyes look so sultry and dark on stage. I’m stealing it!”
Jon laughed. “No you’re not. I’m not sure there’s another one.”
With a pout, she hid the pencil behind her back when he tried to take it from her. “Those fans of yours are not supposed to swoon at you anyway. You can’t have prettier eyes than I have.”
“You’re impossible.” But he smiled, seeing her in good spirits, seeing her laugh. “Do you feel up to another long night, baby? You could rest at the hotel, and…” Again he had been about to offer her an early return to New York, to their house in LA, even Halmar, anywhere but here on the road, but stopped when she shook her head.
“Here, and now, Jon. Stop trying to send me away or I’ll start thinking you have someone else you want to meet, and you want to get me out of the way. Do you? Do you have someone else hidden away, a young, blond thing, someone with…” Naomi choked on her own words. Slowly, deliberately, she put the eyeliner back in its spot next to the powder and slipped from the table in an attempt to get past him and leave, but Jon blocked her way.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his tone harsh with hurt. “This has to stop, and now. I know what you were going to say, Naomi. You were going
to go into the baby thing again, right?”
“Yes, but not intentionally.” Her fists were balled at her sides. “I didn’t mean to say that! It just happened; it just popped out!”
“Hell yeah, it just popped out; but it could only pop because it was in your head, right? That thought is stuck in there, and no matter what I say you’re not going to let go of it; I just know it!” He was, Jon realized, nearly shouting, her words had cut that deep. “I’m not going to leave you for another woman; you’ve got to accept that. If you are looking for a way to get rid of me, well, I’ll tell you; you don’t need all that female crap talk. Just tell me and be done with it, but for crying out loud, stop torturing me with this baby talk!”
Softly, silently, the tears spilled over her lashes and dropped on her cheeks, where she wiped them away with the back of her hand.
From the hallway they could hear laughter and voices, the background noises of an approaching show, Sal’s and Art’s among them, coming closer. Jon cast a furtive glance at his watch. One hour, and he had not yet showered, not changed; and beside the press and the fans, he would have to welcome the mayor and his blond Pauline. He took a couple of calming breaths. “I don’t have time for another drama now. If you want to leave, go. I’m out of arguments.”
“But I never meant to say anything!” She threw her hands up, exasperated. “You’re trying to send me back to bed or the hospital or wherever all the time! It’s you who wants to get rid of me!”
“That’s just not true!” Jon’s head was spinning. He couldn’t figure out why they were suddenly back in one of their bitter discussions when only moments before they had been flirting and joking.
“I know I’m an invalid,” she tossed at him. “I know I’m useless now, weak, and…useless.” The fight went out of her. “Useless. That’s what I am, yes. Like a broken cup, that’s how I feel.” Sad, her eyes tired, she looked up at him. “And you, Jon, you’re trying to hold together the pieces, but it’s not working. I’m just damaged goods.”
“I want to slap you for saying that. You deserve to be slapped for calling yourself damaged and useless.” He turned away from her and began taking off his shirt to get ready for the stage. “I’m not even going to try and talk sensibly to you now. You are not useless, and you are not damaged.” Furious, he tossed the shirt into the corner of the room. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? You’re throwing your life away. Yeah, you were badly hurt, and in a totally senseless way. But Naomi—” he gripped her shoulders, ready to shake her—“you’re alive. You’re cared for and loved, you are on your own two feet, and you have enough life in you to give me hell. I love you. I love you more than anything or anyone else, and yet it’s not good enough for you.”
“But that’s so not true!” She tried to free herself, but he did not allow it. “I’m a burden now, Jon, and our life is not going at all the way it should! We should be happy, and we should have another baby, and you should not have to worry all the time about my health.”
Defeated, Jon sat down in the chair in front of the dressing table, her hands in his so that she had to perch on the corner of the table again. “Yes,” he said, “you are right. Your health is a burden. I worry about you all the time, but not for the reasons you name. I worry because I want you with me, and I can see how you walk on the edge of life, how you sometimes even step away from it, as if you’re testing how death might feel. Seeing you in those black, weak moments scares me more than I can say. I want to fight them, drive them out of you, only I don’t know how.” The exhaustion and defeat crept up his shoulders and settled behind his eyes.
“I can’t follow you there, Naomi. I’m not ready to head into the abyss. And I’ll do my damnedest to keep you from falling in too. You belong here, on this side of the wall, with the living. With me.”
For a moment there was silence. She did not pull away but looked down at their hands, at the watch on his wrist, the time ticking away, running from them.
“But I don’t want to die.” It came out so softly that Jon glanced up. “I don’t want to die, Jon. All I want is to be with you. Only…” She leaned forward to brush her fingers through his hair and gently stroke his temples. “Only, I want to give you everything, because you deserve that, you’re entitled to it, and I can’t. And that makes me so sad.”
“Stupid chick.” Jon, his arms around her hips, buried his face against her breasts. “When will you realize I have everything I want? When will you realize I don’t want anything else, nothing, not a thing, only you? Please?” He felt her hands on his face, a cool, gentle touch, and he looked up. Her eyes were large and dark in her pale face, her mouth the loveliest shape he could imagine. “Don’t you know what a miracle you are? You’re as beautiful as the dawn, and the only writer I want to work with. You’re the one woman I want to make love to all the time, who can turn me around with a simple glance. You are my treasure, my beloved, and I can’t bear to see all this pain and darkness in you.” He felt drained, out of words, overwhelmed by sorrow.
“As beautiful as the dawn?” Naomi asked thoughtfully.
Jon smiled sadly. “Yes. Dazzling, like a sunrise on a clear day, like light skipping over water. A perfect rose.”
There was a knock on the door. It was Ralph, asking if he could come in. Jon didn’t bother to answer, intent on Naomi, waiting for her response.
“You are so perfect,” she said gently, still caressing his cheeks. “You are the man every woman wants, dreams of; you are my dream. You do everything right, and you always say the right things. I can never wait to be in your arms. I love you beyond words; you are the only one. I want to give you all the happiness and joy life can give, Jon. It’s what I want most, to see you content.”
Her words were like the key to the chain of dread around his heart. “Come here.” He pulled her down to straddle his knees, bodies touching, her arms around him.
“What would you do if I walked out on you, Naomi? If I left you? How would you live then?”
Her lips opened in shock; Jon could feel a shiver running through her.
“Nothing.” It sounded like a dying breeze. “There would be nothing. Life would end. How can you ask?”
“Because…” Those lips were so close, so tantalizing, and Jon wanted to kiss them and stop talking. “Because you keep offering that to me. And now think again and ask yourself how that makes me feel. I don’t want to be without you either.”
At last she softened against him and allowed the kiss.
chapter 15
Jon took the eyeliner from the table, saying she would not get it again and, hey, maybe he wouldn’t even use it himself anymore and to hell with the good looks onstage; he didn’t care one way or the other anyway.
“Then give it to me,” Naomi said, and held out her hand; but he shook his head and tossed it into the trash.
“No. You’ll get stupid ideas again, and I’m done with these scenes. Go buy your own.”
Ralph had wrapped a towel around Jon’s neck to get him ready, while Naomi sat on the table and Sal lounged in the doorway, smoking a cigarette and telling them how things looked outside.
“I don’t get it,” Naomi interrupted his stream. “Why do you have to wear makeup onstage. I understand why it has to be done for the camera, but for the stage? I’ve always wondered.”
They all stared at her, distracted from their tasks, until Ralph told her how the spotlights made everyone pale and how the distance blurred features, making it necessary to enhance a face, even a male one. She shrugged. It looked fake, even unreal.
Jon grinned at her from his chair, his teeth white and shiny against the powdered skin. “Even the girls in the last row want me to look good for them, sweetheart. It’s not for you. It’s for my other lovers.”
She had used his dressing room to change into an eleg
ant dress and matching high heels, both in an understated cream, explaining that she would not sit beside the stage dressed like a teenager. She had worn that outfit just for him and his sentimental memories. But she would not present herself to old friends and the Geneva audience as if he could not afford to take her shopping.
“Those discussions have to stop,” he had told her, watching her pin up her hair and put on lipstick. “I’m completely worn-out, as drained as a dishrag, and I have to go on and perform in an hour. Can’t you please stop wanting to leave or die or anything like that? Can’t we just live day by day, enjoy what we have, and love each other?”
She had promised she would try, but it had sounded brittle, half-hearted, and he hadn’t pushed any further.
“Your other lovers,” Naomi now repeated softly, “yes. But they don’t know you the way I do. They don’t know the sloppy weekend you.”
Strangely, with these words Jon felt a yearning rise in him, pulling, nearly hurting, for the quiet of the Malibu garden and the clutter of his studio, the sun on the dark wood of their bedroom floor, and even the coffee maker in the kitchen. Never before on one of his tours had he felt anything like homesickness, but here it was: he wanted to be back there, and right now. He wanted to wander through the cedar grove, through the gate in the fence out onto the beach, wanted to sleep in his own bed with the sound of the Pacific in his ears and breathe in the jasmine scent from the bushes below the window. They had been traveling for three weeks, had given only a handful of concerts, and yet he was tired of it.
From somewhere down below his heart, from a spot right at its tip, Jon could sense a familiar tugging. He knew it only too well. Once, in a drunken, maudlin moment, he had told Art about it. It was, he had said, as if a tiny hand reached into his body, an unseen and very strong hand from another dimension; and it was there to pull all the melodies out of him, right out of his heartstrings, blood and everything attached. The only strange thing about it was that it did not hurt, and it did not make him weaker. Rather it was as if, by taking them from him, it had lightened his soul. Yes, by ripping the music from him, the same hand poured light into his soul. And Art had stared at him over the rim of his glass and asked if he had eaten some magic mushrooms; he had never before sounded so delusional.
Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) Page 14