She went through her messages and made notes. Carmen had not returned her call, but Alice had checked with the police and the FBI and security, and there had been no further threats or problems. Everything was in control. There was a message from Bram wanting to know her impression of the promoters she'd seen, and she had been pleased with them, and there were several faxes from the office, none of them important. The phone rang as she was sifting through her messages, and she picked it up without thinking.
“Steinberg,” she said distractedly, and then realized what she'd done, but the response at the other end was instant.
“Hamilton. How was your day? Sounds busy.”
“Busy enough. I spent most of it battling traffic.”
“Are you still working?” He hadn't wanted to bother her, but he wanted to hear the sound of her voice, even if she was busy. He had waited all day to hear it, and she was smiling, listening to him. He had a deep, smooth voice that sounded incredibly sexy as she sat in her hotel room.
“Not really. I was just going through my messages and faxes. It all looks pretty tame actually. How was your day?”
“Pretty good. Weissman did a good job negotiating the new contract.”
“For the movie, or the book? I'm confused, you've got too many projects.”
“Look who's talking.” He laughed. “Book number three. I'll let you negotiate the movie. Actually, I talked to him about that. He thought it was an excellent idea. He said he never suggested it before because he figured I'd be out of the movie business in no time. He thought I'd hate it, and he wasn't wrong, but it looks like I might try it again, once at least. He says you're a terrific lawyer, but I shouldn't bother you unless I mean it. He says you're very busy, and you have a lot of very important clients.” They both laughed at Andreas' warning.
“I'm impressed.” She laughed, amused by what he'd said about her clients.
“So am I, Miss Steinberg. Now how about some dinner? Do you still have the strength to eat, after making all those important deals today?”
“I didn't make a single important deal, I'll have you know. I talked to attorneys and music promoters all afternoon, and this evening I turned down a perfume for Carmen.”
“At least it's fun. How were the music guys? Pretty sleazy?”
“Probably, but they were smart actually. I liked them. They have an incredible tour planned for Bram. If he's up to it physically, I think he should do it.” He liked hearing about what she did. He liked her voice, her ideas, her interests. He had thought about her all day, he couldn't stop thinking about her in fact, and he liked everything about her. It was crazy. He scarcely knew her and suddenly she was all he could think about. And she had to admit that all through her meetings that afternoon, the thought of Jeff had made her smile, and she was constantly distracted.
“You're bad for my business life, Mr. Hamilton. These people in New York are going to think I'm a drug casualty from the West Coast. I kept forgetting what they were saying, and thinking of things you said last night. This is no way to do business.”
“No, but it's kind of a good feeling, isn't it?” he said honestly, and they both smiled. He wanted to ask her if she'd heard from Brandon, but he didn't. Instead he asked her if she'd brought warm clothes with her, some slacks, and a wool hat, and mittens.
“Why?” She couldn't imagine why he was asking, unless he was just concerned that she was warm enough, but he seemed to have something else in mind. He'd been planning it all afternoon, and he just hoped she had the right clothes with her. “I've got wool slacks, I wore them today, and a wool hat I brought, but it's pretty ugly.”
“No mittens?” he asked solicitously.
“Not in about twenty years.” She had even forgotten to bring gloves, and her hands had been frozen all day as a result every time she left a building.
“I'll bring you a pair of my mother's. Are you up for something a little offbeat, or do you want to do something fancy?” He was assuming she was still willing to have dinner with him, and she was. She'd been looking forward to it all day, and she'd been telling herself it was all right, and there was no harm in it, in spite of Brandon.
“We don't need to do anything fancy,” she said quietly. She had enough fancy doings in her life, when she went out with her clients or to award ceremonies or Hollywood dinners. She liked simple evenings. “What did you have in mind?” she asked, both excited and suspicious.
“You'll see. Dress warm, wear slacks and boots and your ugly warm hat, and I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour.”
“Is this ominous? Should I be worried? Are you spiriting me away to Connecticut or Vermont or something outrageous?” She felt like a kid going on senior sneak, or with a bunch of friends from college.
“No, but actually, I'd love to spirit you away somewhere. I didn't realize that was an option.” He chuckled, intrigued by the suggestion.
“It isn't. I've got work to do here tomorrow.”
“I figured that. Not to worry, nothing ominous. Just a little simple fun, New York style. See you in half an hour.” He hurried her off the phone, and she finished reading her messages, and even thought about calling Brandon, to get it over with, but she doubted he'd be home yet, or even back in his office. It was only four-thirty in California. And she felt mean thinking that calling him was something that had to be “gotten over with,” like taking medicine. It was odd suddenly feeling this way, but she felt faintly guilty about Jeff, although they certainly hadn't done anything to feel guilty about, and she was sure they wouldn't.
She was in the lobby right on time, in her slacks and her warm coat, and her old red ski hat. And she saw as she looked through the revolving door that it was still snowing. People were walking into the lobby and stamping their feet to get the snow off them, dusting their hair and brushing off their hats, as they stood laughing at each other, with snowflakes on their lashes. It was fun watching them, and as she looked outside, she saw a hansom carriage pull up, an enclosed old-fashioned one, like an old English carriage. It had windows and a roof, and the driver wore a top hat, and it looked wonderfully cozy. It stopped in front of the hotel, and the driver got down, as the doorman helped him hold the horses, and someone got out, and hurried inside. And as soon as he came through the revolving door, she saw that it was Jeff, wearing a ski hat much like her own and a heavy parka.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said, beaming at her, his eyes bright, his cheeks red from the cold, as he tucked her hand into his arm and handed her a pair of white angora mittens. “Put them on, it's freezing outside.”
“You're incredible,” she said, looking up at him in amazement. He'd brought the hansom carriage for her, and he helped her into it, and closed the door, and then settled a heavy fur blanket around her. The driver already had his instructions. “I can't believe this.” She was beaming at him, and very touched. She felt like a kid on her first date, as she sat next to him, snuggled under the fur blanket as he put an arm around her.
“I took your suggestion, we're going to Vermont. We should be there by next Tuesday. I hope that doesn't screw up any of your appointments,” he said delightedly.
“Not at all.” Sitting there next to him, she felt as though she would have done anything he wanted.
They headed slowly toward the park, and she put on the white angora mittens while he helped her. They were cozy and warm, and his mother's hands were about the same size as her own. She looked up at him then, and their eyes met. He was a nice man, and he had really spoiled her.
“This is wonderful, Jeff. Thank you.”
“Don't be silly,” he said, embarrassed. “I thought we should do something a little special, since it was snowing.”
They provided even more confusion to the already strangled traffic, and then finally reached the park, at Central Park South, and then headed north for a few blocks, until they reached Wollman skating rink, and the carriage stopped, as she looked out into the darkness.
“Where are we?” she asked, f
aintly nervous. But it was so cold and blustery that even the muggers couldn't have been around. The door opened and the driver helped them out, as Jeff looked at her with pleasure.
“Can you skate?”
“More or less. I haven't since Yale, and I'm no Peggy Fleming.”
“Want to give it a try?” She laughed at the thought, but it sounded like so much fun, she couldn't resist, and nodded.
“I'd love it.”
They hurried toward the rink arm in arm, and the carriage waited for them. Jeff had paid for it till midnight. He rented skates for both of them, and he helped her lace hers up, and then gave her a hand as she slid onto the ice tenuously, but she got her footing fairly quickly. And Jeff was a beautiful skater, he had been on the hockey team at Harvard. He took a quick turn just to warm up, and then came back to her, and stayed with her, and halfway into the session, she was skating pretty smoothly. It was still snowing and there was hardly anyone on the ice. They ate hot dogs to give them energy, and had three rounds of hot chocolate. She had a great time, and they were laughing and teasing like old friends by the end of the session. For her, it was a lot like being with Alan, only just a little better.
“I can't remember when I've had so much fun,” she told him when they finally sat down for a rest because her ankles were getting tired.
“I go in L.A. once in a while, but the rinks in California are pretty crummy. I went skiing in Tahoe last year, and the rink is even pretty small there. It's definitely not a western sport. It's too bad. I still enjoy it.”
“So do I.” She looked up at him happily. He looked like what her sister Sam would have called a “hunk” as he stood there, tall and virile and athletic, and his eyes always seemed to be laughing. “I'd forgotten how much fun this is,” she said happily, thanking him again, and a few minutes later he bought her a pretzel and a cup of hot coffee. It wasn't really that cold, the wind had died down, but the snow was still fairly heavy.
“The city is going to be crippled tomorrow if this keeps up. Maybe all your appointments will get canceled,” he said hopefully, and she laughed, thinking of it. She was meeting with Jason Haverton again, and she told Jeff about him.
“I really like him. He must have been a terror in his youth, but he's a nice man, so interesting and literate, and he's as sharp as ever.” She really admired him, and had enjoyed their meeting. “It's funny, things seem so much more civilized here than in California. There really is a literary world, full of ladies and gentlemen, and erudite people who behave properly and observe the traditions. But there, everyone is still a little rough around the edges. I forget it sometimes, but then you come back here and are reminded again. In California, a man like Jason Haverton couldn't exist, he'd be buffeted by the newspapers, and the tabloids would make insinuations that he was having an affair with a geriatric nurse, and he'd be getting death threats.”
“Actually, you know, Allegra, for an old guy, it might put a little excitement in his life. He might like that.”
“I'm serious,” she said. They were skating again, and he was holding her tightly, under the pretext of keeping her from falling. She didn't object, she liked it. “It's a different world, Jeff.”
“I know it is,” he said more seriously. “It must be rough on some of your clients to live so publicly with fear of death threats and constant harassment of them and their families.”
“It'll happen to you one day, it happens to everyone who makes some money and has celebrity status. It's almost automatic. You make money, you get well-known, and someone wants to kill you. It's sick. Like the Wild West. Bang, it's all over. And the tabloids aren't much fun either. They invent any lie they think will sell papers for them, and they don't give a damn who they hurt in the process.”
“You must deal with that crap all the time with the kind of clients you have. Can you do anything about it to protect them?”
“Pathetically little. I learned from my parents years ago that you have to keep a low profile, lead a clean life, and learn to ignore it. But they go after you anyway. They used to try to take pictures of us when we were kids, but my father was a real lion about that. He never let them. And he got restraining orders when he had to, to protect us. But things are a lot looser now. They have to try and kill you twice before you can get any protection. We actually had a scare on Carmen right before I left, but I talked to the police and the FBI today, and everything seems to have settled down. It scares her to death, poor thing. She calls me at four o'clock in the morning sometimes just because she heard a noise and she's frightened.”
“You must get a lot of sleep,” he said, teasing her, and she laughed. She didn't mention that Brandon hated it and complained constantly about the intrusions from her clients. It seemed unfair to complain about him to Jeff, and she didn't want to encourage Jeff unfairly, by sounding too unhappy with Brandon. They were still very much together. And by the following week, Jeff would be back in L.A., and she wouldn't be able to see him for evenings like this. Maybe they could have lunch sometime. She had already given it a lot of thought. She could introduce him to Alan, or even her parents. She knew Blaire would love him, and Simon had already met him. It was very strange thinking about him, as if she were taking him home to meet her parents.
“What were you thinking just then?” Jeff asked as he watched her face. She had such expressive eyes, and she'd been frowning. And she hesitated before she answered.
“I was thinking that I'd like to introduce you to my family, and it seemed strange somehow. I was trying to justify it to myself.”
“Do you have to, Allegra?” he said gently.
“I don't know,” she answered. “Do I?” He didn't answer her. They were standing at the far end of the skating rink, leaning against the railing for a few minutes. And as he stood there, looking down at her, with the snow falling on both of them, he simply moved closer to her and kissed her. She was so startled, she didn't move away, she just held on to him so she wouldn't fall, and then she kissed him back, as he pressed closer and closer against her. And when they finally stopped, they were both breathless.
“Oh … Jeff …” she said softly, stunned by what they'd done. She felt like a kid again, and at the same time, very much a woman.
“Allegra,” he whispered her name, and pulled her into his arms again, and she didn't fight him. And then, finally, they stopped kissing and skated again, and neither of them said a word for a few minutes. “I'm not sure if I'm supposed to apologize for that,” he said seriously, looking at her as they skated, “but I don't really want to.”
“You don't have to,” she said quietly. “I kissed you too.”
And then he looked at her squarely. “Do you feel guilty about Brandon?” He wanted to know what she felt. He was falling in love with her, he was completely taken with her, her ideas, her principles, her dreams, not to mention her beauty. He wanted to be with her and hold her and kiss her, and make love to her, and to hell with Brandon.
“I don't know,” she answered his question as honestly as she could. “I'm not sure what I feel. I know I'm supposed to feel guilty about him. I want to marry him. I have for two years. But he's so rigid, Jeff. He refuses to give anything more than what he wants, and everything he does is measured and limited, and restricted.”
“Why do you want to marry someone like that, for heaven's sake?” Jeff asked her, sounding irritated as they stopped skating again. The session was almost over, and the already sparse crowd was thinning.
“I don't know why,” she said plaintively, tired of explaining it to everyone, and trying to justify it, even to herself. “Maybe because I've been there for this long, or because I think he needs me. I think I'd be good for him. He needs to learn to give, to loosen up, to not be so afraid to love and commit….” Her eyes filled with tears as she looked at Jeff, it all sounded so stupid now, in the face of Jeff's generosity of spirit.
“And if he doesn't learn to do those things, what'll you have? What kind of marriage would that be? Probably
the same kind he had with his ex-wife, lousy. Maybe he'd always resent you for trying to force him to give something that's not in him. It sounds like that's what bothered him about the first one, and yet he hasn't even divorced her. How long is that going to go on? Two more years? Five? Ten? Why are you doing this to yourself? It's like you're punishing yourself. You deserve so much more than that, don't you see that?” It was what her own mother had said, but Jeff's voice was clearer.
“And what if you turn out to be just like him?” she said sadly, voicing her worst fear, her greatest terror. In the end, they all turned out to be like Brandon, but that was how she chose them.
“Do I remind you of him now?” he asked, and she laughed through her tears.
“No, you remind me of my father.” Simon Steinberg.
“I take that as a real compliment,” Jeff said sincerely.
“It is, and I mean it. You remind me a little bit of my brother, and Alan too,” she said, smiling wistfully at him, thinking of all the good men in her life, and not the ones frozen in their inability to give, like Brandon, and the men who had come before him.
“Have you ever tried talking to someone about this?” he asked naively, and she laughed.
The Wedding Page 13