“By screwing another woman when you tell me you're with your children? What kind of shit is that?”
“It's my life, it's my business, they're my kids. All you ever wanted was to horn in on everything, and be a part of it. I never wanted that, and you knew it.”
“No, I didn't,” she said plaintively. “I never understood that. And maybe you should have explained it, before it came to this, and we both wasted two years of our lives.”
“I didn't waste anything,” he said smugly. “I did exactly what I wanted.”
“Get out of my house,” she said as she looked at him, and she truly meant it. “You're a miserable human being, you're a liar and a cheat, and I've been carrying your emotional deadweight for the last two years. You don't give anything to anybody, not to me, or your friends, or the people you meet, or even those you pretend to care about. You don't even give anything to your kids. You're so worried that someone's going to get under your skin, or make you feel something, or ask for a commitment. You're a pathetic excuse for a human being. Now get out of my house.”
He hesitated for just an instant, glancing toward her bedroom, and she stood up and walked to the front door and held it open for him. “You heard me. Get out. I mean it.”
“I believe some of my clothes are still in your bedroom, Allegra.”
“I'll mail them to you. Good-bye.” She stood there and waited and, looking as though he would have liked to strangle her, he brushed past her, without a kiss or an apology, a last look back, a twinge of regret, or even a good-bye. He was completely heartless, and the things he had said to her had cut right through her heart. She had heard all of them, about how he had never been faithful to her, and he had always done what he wanted. He had been selfish and cold, and all the warmth and patience in the world wouldn't have drawn him out. And the worst thing she had heard were the words he hadn't said, the fact that he hadn't loved her. But everything else he had said added up to that. Dr. Green had been right. And Allegra stood there wondering how she could have been so stupid.
She sat down and thought about it for a long time after he left, and then finally she started to cry. He was what she had said to him, a miserable, selfish human being, but she had still been telling herself for two years that they loved each other, and it hurt terribly to have been so wrong about him. She didn't even dare call Dr. Green for comfort. She didn't want to hear how she had made the same mistake again, nor hear her mother say that it was a blessing he was gone. She knew now that she was better off without him, but it still hurt terribly to realize that she had been so ill-used and so misled by him. He hadn't given a damn about her, and he had pretty much admitted it, as he sat there, smoking on her couch and destroying what was left of her feelings. She wanted to tell someone that she didn't believe it, that it was unfair, that he was a sonofabitch, but there was no one to tell. She was all alone. It was the way she had been when she met him, rejected, alone, jilted by her last lover. She thought she had learned since then, but apparently not. That was the worst part. There was no hiding from the truth now.
She lay on her bed for a long time after he left, thinking about him, telling herself that she was better off, and remembering how she had felt in his room at the Fairmont. But still, as she looked at a photograph of them in Santa Barbara the year before, when things had been going so well, and she thought she was so in love with him, she felt a sense of loss beyond measure.
She wondered if he would call her again, if he would ever tell her how sorry he was, how unfair he'd been. But she had already been there twice before, and no one ever did that. They just disappeared after breaking your heart, and moved on to do it to someone else. She had just watched two years of her life walk out the door with Brandon Edwards.
And it took all the strength she had later that night to get up and turn the lights off. As she did, she stood looking at the view, and thinking about him. She knew she could have called Jeff, and told him she was free, but she didn't want to do that. She needed time to mourn Brandon. However inadequate he may have been, or disliked by her family, she had still loved him.
CHAPTER 9
When Allegra went to work on Monday after her trip to New York, she looked as though she'd been through the wringer. She seemed tired and pale, and Alice commented that she looked tired and thinner.
“What happened to you?” she asked discreetly, and Allegra shrugged. It was still very painful. She kept thinking of what a fool she had been, and how long he must have been cheating on her. She felt like a total moron. As she worked throughout the day, she began to realize that her pride was hurt, but she wasn't so sure how devastated she was, or even how much she had loved him. That was the odd thing about it. She was sad, but she wasn't all that sorry it was over. In a way, it was a relief that it had ended. For the last week in New York, she'd been questioning her relationship with him, and she had started to see the things that other people talked about, the distance, the aloofness, the lack of intimacy, the fact that he was never there for her, which was no longer a surprise, if he had ten other girlfriends, or even one. She would never know now how many there were, or how serious they may have been. But knowing there had been any at all not only made her feel angry, but foolish.
But by midday, she was so busy with the work that had piled up on her desk that she was no longer thinking about Brandon. Bram loved the tour she and the promoters had organized. And Malachi had called from rehab, and said he wanted money, and at his wife's request she had refused him.
“Sorry, Mai. Ask me again in thirty days after you detox, and we'll talk about it.”
“Who the hell are you working for?” he asked in a fury, and she smiled, scribbling notes for her next meeting.
“I'm working for you. You need to do this.” She told him about his tour too, and it distracted him for a little while before he went for his massage and biofeedback. “I wish I had time for things like that,” she told Alice, gulping a yogurt and a cup of coffee as she went over a contract for a movie deal that had just come in for Carmen. It was fabulous, and she was going to be thrilled with it. It was a film for a very major star, and after it, she would be one for a lifetime. But when Allegra dialed Carmen's number she got the answering machine. “Where the hell is she?” Allegra muttered. She had tried all the numbers she had for her but nothing answered. Allegra tried to remember other names Carmen had given her, of friends, or of her grandmother in Portland. She had never disappeared that way before, and usually she called Allegra half a dozen times a day, with the most minute problems. This was extremely unusual behavior for Carmen Connors. It-seemed as though absolutely no one could find her.
There had only been one story about her in Chatter after the Golden Globes, with a picture of Allegra on Alan's arm as they got out of the car, and Carmen just behind them. The story suggested that Allegra was only a beard for them, and that there was a big romance brewing between Alan Carr and Carmen Connors. The funny thing was that, for once, they were ahead of the story.
Reading it made Allegra think of a message she'd gotten on her home machine while she was in New York, with a phone number that had sounded familiar. She dug through her briefcase for her appointment book. She had written the number, along with several others, on a piece of paper, and stuck it in there. She flipped through it for a few minutes, and finally she found it. She had missed it entirely, and as she looked at it, she recognized the number. It was Alan's number in Malibu. Carmen was staying there, and Allegra remembered he had offered her the house, and Allegra smiled to herself as she dialed the number, and Alan answered.
She had called him herself at his house in Beverly Hills over the weekend and he hadn't been there. She hadn't even thought of calling him in Malibu because he so seldom went there. And she had been incredibly stupid not to figure out that he was probably still there with Carmen.
“Hi, there,” she said innocently, as though she were just calling him for no particular reason.
“Don't give me that,” he said,
laughing at her. He knew her too well. “The answer is, it's none of your business.”
“What's the question?” she asked, laughing at him. He sounded happy and even silly, and she could hear someone talking and giggling in the background, and she was sure it was Carmen.
“The question is where have I been all week. And the answer is ‘none of your business.’”
“Let me guess. In Malibu, with a certain Golden Globe winner this year. Am I getting warm?”
“You're positively boiling. She called and left you my number anyway, so you're not that great a detective. You had a clue.”
“Yeah, and I was too dumb to figure it out. I thought the number sounded familiar, but I didn't get it till just now. So how's life on the beach?” It was good hearing his voice again. She had wanted to tell him about Brandon, but she didn't feel like talking about it now, and definitely not in front of Carmen. She didn't like sharing her personal problems with her clients. Alan was different. They'd been bosom buddies since they were children.
“Life is pretty good.” He was beaming. “Pretty damn good.” As he said it, he leaned over and kissed Carmen.
“Aren't you supposed to be working?” Allegra had lost track of him. His agent at CAA had done his last contract.
“Not for another month or two. I'm still waiting for final word on this picture.”
“Well, I've got a great one for Carmen, maybe she'll beat you to it.” Although she wouldn't start rehearsing till June, if she took it.
“Where's it shooting?” He tried to sound nonchalant about it, but Allegra knew he had a vested interest.
“Right here in L.A., unlike yours,” she added. His movies always seemed to be shot in god-awful, remote places. His next one was going to be shooting in Switzerland, but he'd recently been offered another one for Mexico, Chile, and Alaska. It was a great adventure film, but it was going to be a lot of work, and very rugged. His last one had been shot in the jungles of Thailand, and two of the stuntmen had been killed. Maybe now, with Carmen around, she'd at least get him to stop doing his own stunt work. “Does Carmen know where you're going on the next one?”
“I already told her. She said she'll come with me.” At least Switzerland was civilized, unlike most of the countries he worked in.
“Maybe you'll finish in time to watch her do this one.” It was really going to be a great movie, and Allegra was excited for her, which was why she had called her. “Can I talk to her?”
“That's it? Fifteen years of friendship, a date for the Golden Globes, and now you're through with me like an old hankie.”
“Not exactly,” she laughed at him, feeling better than she had all day. She still felt an odd combination of sad and stupid over Brandon, but there was something about having dealt with it and confronted him that made her feel stronger. She was tempted to tell Alan, but she wasn't ready to do it. It would take time to admit to the world that he'd made a fool of her and she'd found him out. But at least she'd ended it. That was something.
“How was New York? Make any great deals there?”
“Some. It was fun. There was lots of snow.” And skating. And kissing.
“Snow's not much fun in New York.” He couldn't understand why she sounded so cheerful about it.
“Actually, I went skating.”
“You did? Uh-oh, there must be something going on. Did you have an affair with that old author you said you were going to see? What's his name? Dickens? Tolstoy?”
“Jason Haverton. He was terrific. And no, I did not have an affair with him, you irreverent idiot, though I liked him a lot, and he probably would have been willing.”
“Old guys will do anything for sex, Al. You should know that by now.”
“Are you doing research firsthand these days? Is that it?”
“Nasty, nasty. It's not nice to be rude to your high school sweetheart.”
“You're no one's sweetheart anymore, you know, except maybe Carmen's.” Not to mention several million women around the world. But they were such old friends, it was easy for her to ignore it. “Are you ever going to let me talk to her, or do I have to put up with this bullshit all afternoon?” She was laughing at him; he was impossible, but she loved him.
“I'll ask her if she wants to speak to you. And by the way, when are we going to see you?” He made it sound as though they were married, and Allegra thought it was sweet as she listened.
“Maybe this weekend, if I don't have anything else to do,” which she now knew she didn't.
“I said see ‘you,’ that was singular, not plural, as in including the dead one.”
“Don't be rude about Brandon,” she said, more out of habit than feeling. She would have liked to be very rude about him, but she wasn't ready to tell Alan.
“I'm never rude about the dead. Try to get rid of him before we go out to dinner. Or maybe we'll stay here. I'll let you talk to the boss about it,” he said, handing Carmen the phone as he kissed her. And at Allegra's end, there was a long silence as she waited.
“Hi,” Carmen said finally, sounding bouncy and happy. She had had a great nine days in total seclusion with Alan. Several people in the colony had recognized her as she walked down the beach, but no one had bothered her. There were people there who were even more famous than she was. They were used to seeing celebrities on the beach then. They saw Nicholson and Streisand and Nick Nolte almost every day, and Cher, and Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. Carmen Connors was among her own kind in Malibu with Alan, and the security was terrific. “I missed you,” Carmen said, but she'd been busy.
“I missed you too. New York was crazy, but I loved it. Guess what I've got for you though?” Allegra was so excited she felt like a kid as she dangled it in front of Carmen.
“I don't know. The perfume? Did you talk to them in New York?”
“I did. It sounds awful. You'd hate it, and you'd have to spend months in department stores selling it. Forget it. Noooo …” she said tantalizingly. “How about a big, new, juicy movie, with a part that will win you the Academy Award or I'll eat my briefcase.”
“Wow! Who's in it?”
“You are.” And she named five other stars, who took Carmen's breath away. “And how about three million dollars for starring in it, for the winner of this year's Golden Globe Award? How does that sound?”
“I'm dying!” Carmen screamed, and ran to tell Alan, and then she came back again to talk to Allegra. “I can't believe it.”
“You deserve it,” Allegra reassured her, wondering why it was that she thought everyone in her life deserved something wonderful, from relationships to movies, and she never seemed to feel that she deserved as much herself. It was an interesting question. “I'd like you to come in and talk to the producers about it,” Allegra told her gently.
“Sure. When?”
“You tell me what's good for you, and I'll set it up.” She glanced at her calendar. “How about Thursday?”
“Wow! Can Alan come?”
“If he'd like to.”
At Carmen's end, Alan was nodding. “He said he would … and Allie,” she hesitated, but it was important to her now, “maybe next time, Alan and I could do a picture together.” Oh, God, thought Allegra. It was going to be one of those deals. They weren't always easy. And America's females, not to mention females the world over, weren't going to love having it rubbed in their faces that their favorite sex symbol was as good as married, and to a girl who looked like Carmen.
“We'll talk about it. Those things aren't quite so simple, but it can be done. Eventually. If you're both serious about it.” What she didn't want was to set something up for a cool seven or eight million dollars for both of them, or maybe ten total since it was Alan, and then have them break up, and either refuse to make the picture, or worse, kill it. Those headaches she didn't need. “Let's wait awhile.”
“I know. You think we'll break up,” Carmen said wisely. “We won't. I'm sure of that. He's the most incredible man I've ever known,” she said, lowering her voice
conspiratorially to Allie. “I can't live without him.”
“How are the threats these days? Quiet again?”
“Completely.” But she also hadn't gone anywhere, and after she won the Golden Globe, surprisingly, even the tabloids had left her alone. “I feel so safe here,” Carmen explained to her, and Allegra smiled. Who wouldn't, with Alan? Her sister Sam was right, he was a hunk, and such a nice one.
“I'm happy for you two,” Allegra said sincerely.
“Thanks, Allie. It's all thanks to you. Will you come to dinner and celebrate with us this weekend?”
“I'd love to.”
“Come on Saturday. On Sunday, Alan likes to go bowling.”
“Why don't I come on Sunday then? I'd love to beat him.”
“Then we'll go bowling on Saturday if you want. But come to dinner then.”
“Who's cooking?” she teased, and Carmen giggled.
“We both are. He's teaching me. And Allie …” She laughed excitedly again. Her life was just beginning. “Thanks for the movie.”
“Thank the producers, don't thank me. They called me. I really think you'll like it.”
“I love it.”
“See you Saturday. Unless we meet with the producers first. Call me if you need anything in the meantime.” But Alan seemed to be taking care of everything these days. She had only called once all week, and even then left a very ordinary message. Things were settling down, which was just as well. Allegra needed a little time to herself, to lick her wounds and figure out what had really happened.
And by the end of the week, all she had done was work, and see her clients. Carmen and Alan had come in on Thursday, and the deal for her new movie was as good as signed. And that afternoon, she went to Dr. Green, and braced herself for a beating. But she was pleasantly surprised. Dr. Green was proud of the way she had handled things, and her only reproach was that Allegra hadn't called her.
“Why didn't you call and talk to me over the weekend? It must have been very difficult for you, after you went to San Francisco, and before you saw Brandon on Sunday.”
The Wedding Page 18