Lovers and Liars

by Brenda Joyce

  “Thank you,” Jack said, rushing in ahead of the nurse.

  Belinda looked terribly vulnerable and injured lying in the hospital bed with her swollen, discolored face and the tape over her nose. He took her hand. She opened her eyes.

  “Hi,” he said with a faint smile. “Ready to go home?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Jack squeezed her hand reassuringly. She looked up at him with hurt in her eyes. He wanted to take that hurt away. He didn’t know how.

  Getting discharged was another matter. There were more forms to fill out, and he did his best—it was stunning how little he knew about his wife. Then he called a cab and went back to Emergency for Belinda. She was half sleeping, still under sedation. In the cab she sat stiffly against his side, so stiffly he thought it must hurt, while he kept his arm around her and periodically stroked her shoulder reassuringly. She stared out the window.

  When they reached her house he helped her into the massive Victorian bed. “What can I do?” he asked.

  She looked at him and held out her arms. He sat down and she wrapped them around him, hard. His own arms came up to hold her tightly. “I love you,” he said unsteadily. “So much.”

  He was shocked when her lips found his and took them aggressively and hard. He tried to protest. But she grabbed his hair, almost hurting him, and attacked again, open-mouthed, desperate. She thrust her tongue past his lips. Her teeth caught his. It should have been passion, but it wasn’t. Jack knew the difference. It was a physical onslaught, hard and demanding, and he didn’t understand what she was doing. He was confused.

  She moved her head away. He saw her eyes, wide and surprisingly lucid—not passion-fogged. She pulled off her shirt. “Make love to me, Jack. Now.” She attacked him again.

  Was this right? He wasn’t aroused. She wasn’t aroused either, and he knew it. All he wanted was to hold and comfort her, soothe her. But she was a madwoman, pulling him down, her hands like claws on his back, kissing him painfully. For once in his life he had no erection. “Belinda.”

  “Damn you!” she cried with a choked sob. “Damn you! You don’t want me!” She rolled onto her side away from him.

  “Honey,” he said. “That’s not true.” He touched her shoulder, she yanked it away. “Belinda, I’m afraid to hurt you—to hurt our baby.”

  He heard a sob. Her shoulders shook. From behind he wrapped his arms around her. “This is what you need now. Cry. Cry it all out.”

  She cried. She rolled to face him and burrowed against him and cried. Her sounds were animallike, not human. He stroked her. Caressed her. Whispered endearments. Told her how much he loved her. The crying and shaking gradually ceased. He kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair. “I love you.” He kissed her ear. She was very still and very warm against his body.

  He kissed her temple, stroked her back. He kissed her bruises one by one, as if to heal them. She lifted her face, eyes closed, lips parted. He kissed them too, gently, tenderly, prodding slowly with his tongue. She clutched his head. He clutched her. And he felt her desire rise just as he felt his.

  “I love you,” he said, holding her tightly.

  She said, “Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  He looked down, his gaze tender. Hers was bewildered.

  “He raped me.”

  “I know,” he said tightly.

  “He raped me.”

  “I know.”

  126

  Fortunately Jack never had the chance to kill Adam Gordon.

  Gordon was arrested that night.

  While Belinda was sleeping Jack phoned Abe Glassman, who had just gotten back from Las Vegas. “What do you want, Ford?” Glassman sneered.

  “Your daughter—my wife—was beaten and raped this morning.”

  There was a stunned pause. “Who did it?”

  “Adam Gordon.”

  There was another pause. “You sure?”

  “Belinda says so.”

  “I want to talk to her.”

  “She’s asleep, and Glassman, she needs to sleep.”

  “She okay?”

  “Facial bruises. A broken nose. Torn anal tissues.”

  Another silence.

  “Just thought you’d want to know,” Jack said. And hung up.

  Adam was held without bail.

  Two weeks later, in the ensuing publicity about his perverted sexual habits, he lost his job.

  Exactly five weeks after the rape he was found in his apartment, a gun in his hand, his face blown away.

  Suicide, the police said.

  It probably was.

  127

  A hundred ways to die.

  Will Hayward sat in the rental car and watched Abe Glassman stride out of his Westwood, California, apartment building and slip into the waiting limo. It slowly cruised away.

  Will turned on the ignition and followed.

  128

  “How are you feeling today?” Jack asked tenderly the morning after the rape. He held a tray in his hands.

  “Sore,” she said, sitting up against the pillows. “I must look awful.”

  “Honey, your face is bruised. It’ll take time to heal.” He came forward.

  “I smell my favorite.”

  “Made by your favorite guy,” he quipped, setting the tray across her legs. She was clad in his shirt. Last night she had wanted to wear it.

  “Thank you,” she said somewhat shyly. She ate ravenously, and he thought it was a good sign. After she had finished he removed the tray, and she got up and went into the bathroom. Jack heard the shower. He went in to help. She sent him away. “My legs and arms are fine.”

  “Sorry,” he said contritely.

  Afterward she came out in his shirt and climbed back into bed. Jack had done the dishes, and he came back in to sit beside her. “What can I do?”

  “Not much.” She smiled slightly. “My face aches. So does my butt. I don’t want to take any more pain-killers. They make me too tired.”

  “Don’t be a hero.”

  She looked at him. “You were a hero last night.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  She looked at her hands on the lacy quilt. “You were there when I needed you. I’ll always be grateful.” She raised her eyes to his.

  “I want more than your gratitude,” he said quietly.

  She stared.

  “I want your love again, Belinda.”

  “You never lost it.”

  He took her hands, exhilarated. Then he kissed her, gently. “I wish I’d come sooner.” He touched the shell of her ear. “Belinda, I want to explain about the porn.”

  “Oh.”

  He looked away.

  “Jack? I thought the picture in Playgirl was hot.”

  He saw that she was smiling slightly. His relief was vast. “Thank you. I was afraid you’d think badly of me.”

  “Jack, if you were a paid porn star, I wouldn’t care. That was before me. What really pisses me off—can’t you guess?”

  He was afraid. “No. What?”

  “My fucking father.”

  At his questioning silence she said, “He’s attacking you. I guess I knew what you said in Tahoe was the truth. But I have so damn much pride, and you did use me to get at him, so I wasn’t ready to listen. And not only is he attacking you he’s messing with me—and he couldn’t care less. He makes me so damn mad I could kill him. Jack, you’re my husband. We’re a team. And we have to fight fire with fire. If we win, we win together. And if we go down, well, we go down together too.”

  He hugged her hard. “Your support means more than I can tell you. Do you know North-Star is suing me for breach of contract?”

  “Yes. You told me. I’m proud of you for being so brave, taking on Abe like that, especially after what he did to you.”

  “It’s going to get dirty.” He looked at her. “I’m prepared to go all the way with this. If my entire past comes up, so be it—but I’ll take your father through the muck with me.”

  �
�Fine,” Belinda said. “You have no choice. We have no choice.”

  “Belinda, I don’t want you involved. He’s your father.”

  Belinda touched his face. “Jack, I am involved. One day I’m going to tell you the awful things he’s done to me over the years—to manipulate me, to make me bend to his will. And do you know what the most recent was? Adam Gordon.”

  “What?”

  “Adam told me that he and my father had planned on his marrying me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Abe has been after me to marry and produce a son for him ever since I was twenty-one. But he wanted to choose the groom. And he chose Adam.”

  Jack’s jaw clenched. “Belinda, he doesn’t know you’re pregnant, does he?”

  “No.”

  Jack’s eyes were blazing. “Now I have a family to fight for. Abe wouldn’t hurt a child, would he?”

  “No, he wouldn’t, not physically. He meant what he said, though—our child won’t get a cent from his estate.”

  “I couldn’t care less.” Their gazes locked. “When were you going to tell me?”

  She took a breath. “I was afraid to, Jack. Before our wedding I was afraid to, afraid you’d think I was trying to manipulate you. And afterward, I was getting ready to tell you when I heard the tape. Then I was so mad I decided I’d never tell you.”

  He was staring. “Before the wedding? How could you have known before the wedding?”

  “Jack.” She touched his hand. “The first night we spent together, in Aspen—I never used any birth control.”

  He blinked.

  “Are you angry?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I just forgot. Except, I’m too smart to forget something like that, and we both know it. I did it deliberately. I wanted to get pregnant. With your baby. Because I love you.”

  For a moment he didn’t move; then he took her in his arms. “Do you know how good you’ve just made me feel?” He kissed her. “Belinda, no matter what happens—even if my career as an actor is over—what’s important is that we’re together.”

  She smiled.

  “Besides, my secret dream was always to be a writer.”

  She hit him.

  129

  He saw it coming.

  And froze.

  It was a big green blur that suddenly took on distinct lines. It had been moving slowly, but now it seemed to take on speed. A green sedan. He watched and thought, Jesus Christ, that car’s going to hit me!

  From somewhere behind him Abe heard Mary scream.

  There was impact.

  Agony.

  Then nothing.

  130

  Belinda was awakened by the phone. Ignoring it, she turned over, imprisoned by Jack’s strong arms and hard warm body. She snuggled against him as the phone stopped ringing, her answering machine picking up the message. Jack moved in his sleep, a nice healthy hard-on pressing against her thigh. She kissed his neck and stroked circles around it, fully awake now, exploding with love and arousal, the most potent combination in the world. He grunted.

  She nibbled his earlobe, then traced the shell with her tongue. She felt the moment of his awakening and laughed, looking into his wide green eyes. He smiled then, sleepily, his hands closing around her waist, rolling onto his back and taking her astride him. “I love you,” he whispered, closing his eyes, sighing.

  “Wake up and make love to me,” she demanded, rubbing herself on his belly, already wet.

  “Umm,” he said, “you make love to me.”

  She was about to grab him and guide him in when the phone rang again. She frowned, wondering if it was the same caller.

  “Tease!” Jack said softly, his hands finding her buttocks, rubbing himself against her mons.

  “No, Jack, I think it’s important,” she said, reaching for the phone.

  “Is the honeymoon already over?” Jack asked, one hand sliding from her buttock to her thigh, then back up and between her legs.

  “Yes,” Belinda said. “Hello? Mom!”

  Nancy was barely comprehensible. “It’s Abe. There’s been an accident. He’s at Lewis Memorial. Oh, Belinda—he was hit by a car.”

  “I’ll meet you there,” Belinda said, hanging up and leaping off the bed. Grabbing jeans and hopping into them.

  “What is it?” Jack said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  Belinda zipped the fly, grabbing a black turtleneck. “Abe was hit by a car.” She pulled it on. “I have to go to the hospital. Mom’s frantic.”

  Jack was standing, pulling on white jeans. “How serious?”

  “I don’t know.” She pulled on knee-highs and stuck her feet into cowboy boots. “What are you doing?”

  Jack was tucking in a shirt. He looked at her. “I’m coming with you.”

  She stood. “You don’t have to.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “I’m coming.”

  131

  “How is he?”

  “Oh, Belinda,” Nancy cried, pale and red-eyed, “he’s had a concussion and a broken leg and they won’t let me see him.”

  Belinda found her mother in her arms and held her awkwardly. “What happened, Mom?”

  “It was a hit-and-run.” Nancy trembled. “He’s not a young man anymore, Belinda.”

  “But he’s okay,” Belinda said soothingly.

  Jack approached with a cup of coffee. Nancy turned and saw him, her eyes widening in fury. “What’s he doing here!”

  “Would you like a cup of coffee, Nancy?” Jack asked quietly.

  “Get him out of here!”

  “No, Nancy.”

  Nancy whipped around at her daughter’s firm, low tone. “Belinda, how could you have married him! Don’t you understand? He’ll destroy you and your life—the way he did me and my life!”

  “No I won’t, Nancy,” Jack said, putting the container down. “I happen to love your daughter. She’s the most important thing in this world to me. I almost threw it all away for revenge against your husband. But I didn’t—and she forgave me and took me back.”

  “You ruined my life!” Nancy hissed. “And now, for some reason, you’re after Belinda!”

  Anger darkened Jack’s face. “Untrue, Nancy. It’s time we set the record straight. You’re not the first married woman to have an affair and get caught. But don’t go blaming your megalomaniacal husband’s actions on me—not when Abe had me worked over with brass knuckles. I almost died. When you were in the hospital, so was I. Only I was there for six months, and at first it was touch and go.”

  “Oh, God!” Nancy said.

  “Abe ruined your life, Nancy, not me,” Jack said. “It’s time you put the blame where it belonged.”

  “Mom,” Belinda said, “I know you’ve hated Jack for a long time. I’m asking you to try and reach a truce—for my sake. And for our child’s sake.”

  Nancy stared.

  “You’re going to have a grandchild,” Jack said softly.

  Nancy sat down. She started to weep.

  And Mary Spazzio walked in.

  132

  “What are you doing here?” Belinda was incredulous.

  Mary tossed her mane of hair. “I have every right to be here,” she said, hands in her Montana jacket. Her glance wasn’t on Belinda but on Nancy, sitting and blowing her nose. “Is that her?”

  Belinda followed her gaze. “That’s my mother.”

  Mary frowned. So that was Abe Glassman’s wife. She did an elaborate inventory. Ferragamo shoes, Chanel bag and suit, a couple of emeralds. Mary lifted her chin with disdain. “How is he?”

  “Who?” Belinda asked blankly.

  “Abe.”

  “Abe? How do you know Abe?”

  Mary grinned. “I guess you could say we’re friends.” She sauntered away, well aware that Belinda was watching her with amazement. She strolled right over to Nancy.

  Nancy looked up, wiping her pink swol
len nose with a Kleenex. She wasn’t sure she could make it through this day. Abe hurt, the victim of some crazy driver. Belinda and Jack married, Belinda pregnant. Pregnant! Her insides were twisted into a tight knot, while at the same time she had this recurring image in her head—a tiny blond toddler dressed in white lace and pink ribbons running across Nancy’s foyer, shouting, “Grandma, Grandma!” Her granddaughter.

  Then there was the shocking revelation that Jack had been too injured to come to her when she had miscarried. And he had cared. He had said so. It hadn’t all been lies.

  She looked up at the pretty, voluptuous brunette in the purple Montana suit. The girl was smirking. Nancy wondered what she wanted and who she was. “Are you a friend of Belinda’s?” She had seen them talking together.

  “I’m a friend of Abe’s”

  Nancy stared, and of course, not being a fool, she knew.

  Mary’s smirk grew. She had just decided she was going to become the next Mrs. Glassman. It was definitely no contest. Abe would dump this old broad in a second—she had no doubts.

  Nancy looked Mary over carefully and sighed. Another just-out-of-the-cradle bimbo, bovine and mindless. Would Abe ever grow up? And when had she stopped caring about his carnal escapades? “It’s nice to meet you,” she said politely.

  Mary gaped, then looked angry.

  Nancy did not feel threatened in the least.

  133

  “What’s he doing here?” Abe roared.

  Belinda and Jack stood side by side facing the bed. Nancy was at Abe’s head, trying to calm him. “Abe, please, don’t upset yourself.”

  “That little prick walks in here with my daughter, and you tell me not to get upset!” Abe shouted. “He has some nerve!”

  “Stop it, Abe,” Belinda said, aware of an immense role reversal occurring. She was suddenly the adult, and Abe the child with the tantrum. “Jack is my husband. He’s here because I’m here.”

  Abe fell back against the pillows, red-faced and out of breath. “After what he did to you, doll, we can have this annulled in no time!”