"Then they started talking about me. The guys were ribbing Brett about me, saying I was his little puppy dog, that I was at his beck and call. I wanted to leave, but we'd brought all my stuff in from my car because of the concert, and it was stacked in a corner. Anyway, San Diego was a three-hour drive away." Remembered anxiety tightened her voice and Ty kissed her hair gently.
"Anyway, it got worse," she continued. She'd closed her eyes, miserably hoping they would stop so that she could pretend it hadn't happened. Instead, they'd gotten drunker. "The more beer they had, the meaner they got, especially Brett. He told them he'd only brought me along because he wanted the concert ticket, that he'd only slept with me before Christmas because Drew had locked him out of their room." The night that she'd been giddy and overwhelmed with love. Trish remembered how it had felt to finally kiss him, the knowledge that they'd spanned the gap. And it hadn't mattered that the sex had been awkward and uncomfortable because it had been with him, because she was in love with him, and she'd have done anything for him.
But he'd only done it to have a place to sleep.
"Drew was a nice guy and kept trying to stop him. And Brett was saying things about how I'd been in bed…" She couldn't make herself say them aloud. Like a dead fish he'd said. Gave a blow job like she'd never seen a cock before. His barbs had drawn steadily louder laughter, even as Trish had twisted in silent humiliation. "And then he said that he was tired of dealing with me."
He'd flirted with her because it had amused him. He'd gone to the concert with her merely to get a ticket. And he was talking now, cruelly and publicly, because he wanted her gone.
She had gotten up, then, face burning, to grab her purse and walk out the door. They'd tried to stop her, she recalled, but she'd ignored them all and driven into the night. It hadn't just been shattered love, it had been the embarrassment, being publicly used and publicly ridiculed. It was life as it had always been—not pretty enough, not sexy enough, not adept enough.
Not good enough.
She'd wept and roved the network of L.A. freeways before exhaustion got the better of her. Only then, at 2:00 a.m. had she realized that she had nowhere to go. She didn't have the money for a hotel. Driving home wasn't an option—it would practically be morning by the time she reached San Diego, and how would she explain what she was doing there?
Finally, in desperation she'd driven up Interstate 5 to a truck stop north of L.A., and locking her doors, half panicked, she'd dozed until morning. It had taken all of her strength, but she'd driven back to Drew's, loaded up her car without a word, and returned to the dorms.
And swore never to put her heart in the hands of another.
Ty was silent for a long time after she'd finished. "You know he was an idiot, right?" he said finally. "It wasn't you."
Trish moved her shoulders. "I didn't have anything to compare it to. Things like that happen, they're pretty hard to forget. Anyway, that next semester I met the rest of the gang in the Supper Club. I live vicariously through them."
"I hope the next guy got him out of your mind."
She was silent a moment before answering. "It probably doesn't sound like that big a deal, but you can't imagine what it was like to sit there and hear all those things. I'd been crazy about this guy, and hearing him brag about how he'd used me, hearing him ridicule me? I walked out of there never wanting to have a thing to do with any guy ever again."
Ty tightened his arms around her. "It can be different now," he said softly.
"It's hard to believe that. It sticks with you."
"How about if you just believe in me?" he asked. The afternoon had faded as they'd talked and her face was shadowed now and hard to read. What would it take to break past the old hurts? he wondered.
A person who'd had a normal dating life would have chalked the whole thing up to a bad experience, but someone without any basis for comparison? And what about the comments she'd made about growing up as the ugly duckling? That might have explained the dull clothing, the instinct to hide. "You're incredible. I've never met anyone like you." He turned her face to his and kissed her gently. "Trust me, Trish. I won't hurt you."
"You can't guarantee that," she said bleakly. "No one can."
"What can I do?"
She leaned her forehead against his. "Just be with me, Ty," she murmured. "Just be with me now."
This time things weren't going to get out of hand, Ty thought. This time they were going to go slow and easy. This time he was going to give to her.
To give to them both.
Soft kisses, slow strokes, touches that said "believe in me." When he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom, it wasn't for drama's sake, it was because it seemed right to cradle her in his arms, to take care of her. How it would end, he couldn't know, but he could control the now. He could make her feel treasured.
Her body was long and lovely in the late-afternoon light. When she moved to satisfy him, he pressed her back against the white sheets. "Not tonight," he whispered. "This is for you."
And dreamily, she let him take her up. In the morning, she might be embarrassed that she'd opened up the dark places in her soul to him; tonight, he could only be grateful that she was letting him wipe it all away with gentleness, treating her as though she were rare and precious.
Even when he brought her to her peak, it was tender. And when he slipped inside her and began moving, the journey was as important as the destination.
* * *
Ty woke, blinking in the darkness. Trish was a warm bundle beside him, one of her arms carelessly thrown across his chest in sleep.
If he'd had a chance, he'd have throttled the idiot from college, but he knew that wouldn't really have done it. That jerk had just reinforced everything she'd grown up feeling. It was her bad luck that it had happened as it had, that instead of finding someone honest who'd make her feel good about herself, she'd gotten hooked on the one person who would hammer the point home even more strongly.
The strange dynamic with Amber made a lot more sense, too. Among his own sisters, the pecking order was clear and established. He'd assumed that that was part of what was in place. Now, he realized, it was about much more. Amber was busily keeping Trish in the place she'd always been, in the place that made Amber most comfortable—the place that would allow her to feel superior.
The problem was that Trish was letting her do it. Sure, she stood up for herself a little, but she didn't lay down the law. It wasn't his to do, though, and he doubted talking about it would help. It was a path she had to find on her own.
She'd been taught not to expect anything. It frustrated him, but it explained a lot. His own track record made him easy for her to dismiss. Certainly, a year before when he'd emerged, shell-shocked, from his last relationship, he'd expected to take more time figuring things out.
Sometimes life ran contrary to your expectations.
He pulled Trish closer in the dark and kissed her forehead. Sometimes, he thought, and he smiled.
* * *
14
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Trish opened her eyes, registering the fact that she was in her own bedroom at the same time as she felt the warmth of Ty's arms around her. And she thought back to the night before and squirmed mentally. What had she been thinking, telling him about Brett, telling him about being the overweight outcast in high school? Someone as beautiful as Ty wouldn't understand not fitting in. All she'd done was brand Loser on her forehead. She wanted to slap herself.
Instead, she wriggled to the edge of the bed. Ty held on to her at first, releasing her with a murmur and rolling over to slide back into sleep. She crept to her closet and pulled out clothing. Then she slipped out the bedroom door, closing it behind her.
She didn't really relax, though, until she was dressed and stepping into the morning air. The sun was showing through the translucent cloud cover, hinting that the overcast would burn off into a sunny day. It was unseasonably warm for October. Of course, northerners probably considered the depths
of L.A. winters to be always unseasonably warm, as far as that was concerned.
She crossed Sixth Street to reach the park. Sidewalks wound over the broad lawns, playground equipment sat on tanbark. The County Museum of Art was closed, which was fine with her. She wasn't in a mood to be enclosed anywhere.
Forget about art, the La Brea tar pits before her were probably a better fit for her state of mind. A concrete ramp led up to a viewing area that overlooked one of the oily pools of tar. The curators had added fiberglass animals to help visitors understand what had happened at the pits thousands of years before.
A mastodon sagged in the pool, up to its fiberglass shoulders in tar, its trunk flung up in alarm. She knew how it felt. She, too, had stumbled into something that was deeper and stronger than she'd ever expected, and now she was out of her depth.
She put her head down against the metal railing, rolling her forehead back and forth. Small chance she could expect him to forget what she'd told him, but perhaps she could ignore it and go on.
She could pretend until pretending wasn't necessary any more.
* * *
Ty woke alone, reaching out to find the bed beside him empty and cool. With a yawn, he rose, not bothering with clothing. "Trish?" The apartment was small; it didn't take long to figure out she was gone. It didn't surprise him; what surprised him was the surge of frustration and disappointment. He'd thought they'd made progress the night before. Clearly, it wasn't enough.
Every time he thought he was getting closer to breaking down her walls, he'd blink and find them stronger than ever. Maybe he was a fool to keep beating his head against them, but some part of him was convinced that eventually he'd pull them down. Patience, he told himself as he dressed. She needed patience and time. Maybe then she'd come around.
He roamed around the apartment, seeking clues. Her purse was still in evidence, so wherever she'd gone, she hadn't driven. Her jacket had disappeared, so she probably hadn't just gone to the workout center. Beyond that, he hadn't any idea where she might be.
Ty moved restlessly around the living room. Passiveness didn't come naturally to him, but neither did foolishness. If he went wandering around outside, she might return while he was gone and they'd be no better off than before. Instead of looking for her, perhaps he'd be better off having a cup of coffee or reading.
Or, he thought, picking up the binder-clipped stack of paper from the coffee table, he could look at her script.
He settled down to read, and didn't notice the time pass. Had she realized how much of herself she'd put into the script? he wondered. How much of Callie's yearning and fears were just elements of Trish? She'd told him some things about herself the night before; reading her script told him more.
He stared into space for a moment. Through the picture window he could tell where the first fitful beams of sunlight were finally shining through the overcast. A sunny day… Thoughtfully, he punched numbers into his cell phone and spoke briefly to the person on the other end, then lapsed back into reading.
Finally, the sound of the key in the lock made him glance up. Trish stood in the doorway. For a moment, he just looked at her, studying the tension in her frame, the strain in her face.
"Hi." She shut the door behind her.
"Having a nice morning?"
"I went for a walk."
The clock showed nearly ten; he'd been up for two hours and she'd been long gone. "I scrounged for some coffee. I hope you don't mind."
Trish gave him a guilty look. "I'm sorry I took so long. I guess I should have left you a note."
"I've been keeping myself entertained." Ty studied her reaction to his reading material. Nerves, he noticed, but no anger.
She stood, ill at ease, and finally walked over to perch on the couch by him. "So what did you think?"
"It's good. Really good."
"Seriously?" She made eye contact with him for the first time. "Don't say it just to be nice."
"I'm never nice," he said severely, then leaned in to kiss her thoroughly.
She was dazey-eyed when he released her. No better time, he decided. "I want to show the script to a couple of people. I want to play Michael."
It took a minute to sink in, then the shock hit. "Michael? But he's … he's…"
"Not an action hero?"
"Yes. No. I mean, it's not the kind of thing you do."
"That's precisely why I should do it. I'm sick of playing the same character in different clothes all the time."
"It's just that I've always imagined it as an Indie production, not something that a person like you would star in."
It stopped him for a minute. "I'm going to take that as a reference to my asking price rather than a knock on my acting skills." He didn't want it to be, he so didn't want it to be, because he wanted her to believe in him.
Because he already, in that brief span of time, longed to be Michael.
Ty weighed the script in his hand. "Besides, the person I'm thinking of showing this to is a buddy who directs Indie films. We're trying to get a production company together."
She frowned. "Don't do me any favors."
"Trust me," Ty said, "I'm not. We're considering a number of scripts. I'm just adding yours to the bottom of the list. Anyway, we've got to get funding or nothing goes forward."
Mollified, she subsided.
"So does that mean you'll let me take this and make a copy?"
She considered. "Don't you have an assistant to do that for you?"
"You're right," he said in amusement. "I do."
Trish stared at him, trying to take it all in. Getting her script made into a film was the stuff dreams were made of. And yet, she felt a little as she imagined a mother might feel at sending a child off to her first day of kindergarten: a wish to see her offspring sprout its wings and fly and a yearning to keep it safely to herself. There was no glory in safety, though. "I'll make a copy tomorrow morning. You can show it to whoever you like."
"Great." He kissed her. "Now let's take a shower and get going."
"Where to?"
"You'll see."
* * *
Whatever she's expected, it hadn't been this. She hadn't expected him to drive for over an hour. She hadn't expected him to head northeast into the Antelope Valley and toward the heart of the desert.
Even in October, it was warm, and the clouds thinned as they drove until the sun came out and she was glad of her dark glasses. Gradually, the landscape emptied out, turning sere and bleached. Creosote bushes and sage grew in tufts off the road; high above flew a white spot that might have been a plane.
Her first clue to where they were going came when he pulled off the highway near Palmdale and passed a white sign off the road that said Desert Soarers. The complex just past it proved to be a small airstrip, with a collection of Beechcrafts and Cessnas sitting on the tarmac apron.
"Wake up, we're here." He got out of the car. She heard a clunk as the trunk opened.
"What is this?"
Ty pulled on a royal blue sweatshirt that made his eyes glow. "A present." He walked around to where she stood next to the car and kissed her. "Happy Sunday. You said you'd always wanted to be a bird."
On the apron in front of them sat a small blue Cessna—and strung up to it by a cable, a wasp-waisted glider, white as a gull. Trish's eyes went round. Did it really take so little? he wondered.
"You're taking me up in a glider?"
"I looked into plastic surgery to graft wings onto you, but I couldn't find anyone who would hollow out your bones on short notice."
Something tightened in her chest. "I can't believe you even remembered that I said that."
"We actors are taught to pay attention to detail," he said as Trish gave him an enthusiastic kiss. "Particularly when it pays dividends."
She laughed and ran over to the glider, Ty following behind. The aircraft's body was sleek and smooth, its long, graceful wings dwarfing those of the Cessna, which looked like a Shetland pony next to a thoroughbred by co
mparison.
A mechanic in coveralls, his graying hair caught back in a ponytail, looked up from checking the fuel in the Cessna. "Ramsay, when are you going to spring for a motor glider and stop wearing me out towing you?"
"Hoyt, you don't know what to do with yourself when you're not in the air," Ty said good naturedly. "Besides, it ain't soaring if it's got an engine, even if you do turn the damned thing off."
"I like a man who's a purist." Hoyt winked at her. "So, you going to introduce me to your lady friend?"
"Hoyt Trotter, Trish Dawson. If Hoyt doesn't know it about a plane, it's not worth knowing," Ty said to her.
Hoyt wiped his hand on his leg and held it out to shake. "A pleasure. You ever been up in one of these babies before?"
"No, but I'm looking forward to it."
"Watch out or you'll get hooked. Next best thing to having wings." A warm gust of wind sent sand scattering over the tarmac. "You've got a good day for it," he said with a nod.
Ty helped her find the steps to get into the cockpit. The seat wrapped around her snugly. With the Plexiglas dome, Trish felt like some sort of astronaut.
Ty slipped into the seat ahead of her and excitement jittered in her stomach. The Cessna started to roll. A smooth acceleration, a tilt, and in a breathless second they were airborne.
Trish watched the ground fall away. She could hear the roar of the Cessna's engine, but the glider followed smoothly. To the north, the Tehatchapi Mountains were shrouded in haze, as were the San Gabriels; to the east, the desert stretched away into emptiness.
"I didn't know you flew," she said, surprised at how well her voice carried in the cockpit.
"I don't. It's called soaring."
She gave an instant laugh. "So once we cut loose, we coast back to the airfield?"
"Nope. Once we cut loose, the fun's just starting."
The altimeter number ratcheted up. Below them, the desert spread out, fading to bluish haze at the margins.
"Okay, you ready?"
An unholy excitement spun in her stomach. One minute they were attached to the minute vibrations of the Cessna. The next, Ty had released the tow cable and they were floating free. Hoyt dipped his wings and cut away below them, leaving them alone. The engine noise faded away, leaving an eerie silence augmented only by the whisper of the glider's canopy through the air.
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