Now I'm in here and there's no getting out, she thought to herself. John squeezed her right hand reassuringly. On her other side, Sharon smiled and reached for Cassie's left hand.
"I feel like such an idiot," Cassie murmured helplessly.
"Don't," said Sharon. "I'm a little hyper, too. I've never flown before." She squeezed Cassie's fingers.
Cassie heard the piercing whine of the powerful jet engines and braced for the rattle of the pilot's voice over the intercom. These things barely scratched the surface of her consciousness, because unbearable tension was beating against the inside of her skull, throbbing with edges so jagged that she fought back a scream. She was in an airplane, locked tight inside, and they would soon leave the ground, only she couldn't, she couldn't!
"Cassandra," said John, and his dear, familiar voice penetrated the wall of her fear. He said, "Breathe just as we practiced. We're taxiing down the runway now, nice and easy, picking up speed, more speed now, everything is fine, Cassie..." And he went on and on, his voice smooth and calming, exactly as they'd planned. The plane lifted off, and they were flying, she was flying, and when she realized that they were actually airborne she turned her head and began to sob softly against John's shoulder, her tears washing away her fear and ushering in a sensation of wonderful relief.
John handed her his handkerchief. "I came prepared," he said tenderly.
A flight attendant bent over their seats. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes," said John, his gaze never leaving Cassie's face. "Yes, everything is fine."
* * *
Morgana kept checking messages on her cell phone. She alternately sipped Scotch-on-the-rocks and consulted her watch.
Where the hell were they? Their plane was an hour late. Morgana had wanted to pick them up at LAX, but John insisted over the phone last night that they could take a cab, and Cassie hadn't been there to talk to because she had been doing some last-minute drudging about in that garden of hers.
Cassie. How had John ever talked her into getting into an airplane? No mean feat, that. A few times after the accident, Morgana had reasoned with Cassie about her fear of flying, but every time she brought up the subject, Cassie looked sick. Once she'd nearly keeled over, whereupon Morgana had promptly stopped providing pep talks and sent Cassie to her own shrink, which had done no good at all.
Morgana felt sorry for Cassie. No one had worked any harder at a career than she. Not just the performing, but the songwriting, too. A shame. But then, who was to say that she, Morgana, wouldn't have reacted in the same way if she felt responsible for killing her husband and her kid?
Not that Morgana had ever understood the rationale behind Cassie's guilt. She knew that Cassie hadn't killed anybody. It was an accident. Unfortunate, but those things happen. The thing to do afterward is to get on with life.
Cassie had sent an email sent from John's computer begging her to let Rose o' Sharon stay with her until she was ready to be on her own. Since Morgana would do anything to help Cassie, she'd agreed. Now Morgana hoped she hadn't signed on to play shepherdess to a poor little lamb lost in the woods. The woods out here were hungry.
The doorbell chimed. Morgana parked her glass on a convenient table and ran to answer it.
"Morgana!"
It was Cassie at last, thank goodness, and Morgana embraced her. Behind her stood John and a redheaded girl who despite a puppyish aspect had definite possibilities. Not only that, the set of the girl's chin hinted at a large-sized proportion of grit and a whopping amount of determination.
Rose o' Sharon is no lost lamb, Morgana thought with relief. Not that one.
Sharon's awestruck inspection of Morgana's luxurious apartment amused Morgana immensely. But Sharon could wait a while. Morgana centered her attention on her friend.
"Cassie, darling, what have you done to yourself?" Morgana, thunderstruck at Cassie's appearance, twirled Cassie for inspection. Cassie wore a knee-length slim sheath with a loose cowl neck, and the gray brought out the silver in her eyes. Ostrich-pattern pumps, swinging silver earrings and a pocketbook on a glittering chain finished the ensemble. No shapeless sack dress, no bare feet, and Cassie's hair was subdued into a knot at the nape of her neck.
"I dug in the back of my closet," admitted Cassie sheepishly, swinging the purse off her shoulder. She glanced ruefully down at her legs, bare no more. "Sharon bought me a pair of panty hose in Scot's Cove."
"Bless you, child," Morgana said to Sharon, who grinned back.
"Cassie looks marvelous, doesn't she?" John surveyed Cassie's new look with pleasure. "We're going shopping tomorrow. We're buying a basic wardrobe for Sharon and a bright red dress for Cassie."
"Red? Why red?" Morgana warmed to the interaction between Cassie and John. If you went by the look of them, the love between them had grown in the weeks since Morgana had visited Flat Top Mountain. Cassie had filled out, seemed more self-assured. It had been a long time since Morgana had seen Cassie looking so happy and at peace with herself.
"I'm buying Cassie a red dress because I want to see her in something that draws attention to her beauty. I want to watch her slip her feet into a pair of expensive pumps. I want—"
"I want a glass of water," interrupted Cassie with an impish gleam in her eyes, the way Cassie used to look. Morgana was so glad to see it that she stood in the middle of the room, uncharacteristically speechless. Her eyes filled with tears, also uncharacteristic, but it happened sometimes when she was overcome with emotion.
"Morgana? Are you all right?" Cassie, all concern, crossed the room in a flash, limping still. She raised a tentative hand, fingernails gleaming with pale pink polish, to Morgana's arm.
"No," said Morgana, blinking rapidly. "But, Cassie, you are all right. And that's what counts." She drew Cassie into a heartfelt hug.
The two old friends embraced for a long time before John said, after clearing his throat, "Hey, I'd like a glass of water, too."
Cassie and Morgana separated, dried their eyes and walked arm in arm to Morgana's spacious gourmet kitchen, John and Sharon following, where they all sat down amid the copper-bottomed pans and the gleaming Cuisinart and the woven grass baskets from Mexico. At Cassie's insistence, they toasted the future with glasses of plain water.
"Next time," Cassie said thoughtfully to John as she cradled the water glass in her hands, "remind me to bring along a bottle of my famous scuppernong wine."
"Spare me, darling," groaned Morgana.
* * *
It wasn't scuppernong wine that flowed at the cocktail party Morgana gave in Sharon's honor that weekend, but there was no scarcity of more potent libations.
Morgana, striking in a long, glistening gown of purple sequins, her platinum-palomino hair flowing, introduced her latest male friend, a stalwart and bearded Viking type named—naturally—Thor. While Morgana acted as hostess, Thor stood impassively in the corner, glaring out from under bushy blond eyebrows, his arms folded across his massive chest.
"Let's get away from him," whispered John to Cassie during a lull. "I have a feeling he's waiting to slice off our heads and offer them to Odin on his shield."
"I see Kajurian," said Cassie, threading through the crowd with John in tow. "We'll say hello."
Morgana took Sharon, angelic in white, under her own capacious wing and introduced her to an army of young studs. Cassie, peering around Kajurian, who looked chipper in his new suit, made a mental note to have a serious talk with Sharon about the danger of too hastily entered man-woman involvements.
"Nice party, eh?" said Kajurian, rocking back on his heels and looking pleased.
"Not really," said Cassie.
"Cassie, you've been away too long. Soon you will be used to these gatherings again, I promise. The word's out that you're back in town. Diane Sawyer called and wants an interview. Let me tell her yes, okay?"
"I have plane reservations to go back to Flat Top Mountain next Saturday," rejoined Cassie. "I only came out to get Sharon settled with Morgana."
/> "Sharon is doing all right. The committee for the AAFA Awards is very interested in inviting her to sing at the Awards Spectacular, especially when I told them she could play the mountain dulcimer like you. And I already introduced her tonight to Jay Heitman, head honcho at World Wide Recording. He wants to talk to you, too, Cassie."
"Kajurian," said Cassie patiently. "When will you believe that I won't perform again?"
"Never. But listen, Cassie. I'm talking with a very popular entertainer—no names, you understand—but this guy wants to sing your songs on his new album. You would be astounded at who it is, Cassie."
"I'm glad somebody is interested, but I don't want to talk about it."
"But Cassie," interjected John, "I think that's wonderful."
"I guess it is," said Cassie, scanning the crowd for an escape hatch.
"You'll write more songs, won't you?" Kajurian looked worried.
"Of course she will," John said, but Cassie was saved from having to answer because at that moment Kajurian was accosted by a has-been male actor who was trying to drum up business, and this provided an opportunity for Cassie to drift quietly away, followed by John.
After fielding the prying questions of an aging actress who, in a predatory fashion, pounced upon them and loudly declared the missing Cassandra Dare found at last, Cassie and John sneaked away to stand beside a lighted easel displaying a painting, which on further inspection proved to be of a magenta cow's udder on an electric-blue background.
"Morgana has interesting taste in art," said John, squinting at the udder.
"And people," Cassie added. "Do you see anyone in this room who looks normal?"
He rolled his eyes in agreement. So far he'd met an orange-haired starlet named Duckie, a cigar-chomping motion-picture producer who looked as though he'd been sent over from central casting to play the part of a cigar-chomping motion-picture producer, and a psychic, who, compared to everyone else, seemed surprisingly ordinary.
"There's a full moon tonight. They say that brings out the crazies." John gestured at the nearby window, on the other side of which the moon hung so low that it seemed possible to reach out and touch it.
"You're stunningly beautiful tonight, Cassandra," John told her. He gazed down at her approvingly, and she was glad that he liked what he saw. She wore the red dress he'd bought her, and her hair, subdued by Morgana's hairdresser, flowed in shiny ripples down her back. She felt poised and confident. She smiled up at John, proud to be with him. He was easily the most attractive man in the room, even allowing for the Hollywood pretty boys who always turned up for Morgana's parties.
Avoiding people as much as possible, they strolled around the edges of the room, observing instead of mingling. John seemed perfectly at ease.
"Maybe we should be meeting more people," he suggested.
"Not unless you want to," said Cassie. "This room is full of folks who leave behind ordinary lives in Kalamazoo or Altoona, arrive in California, and invent themselves. I don't know how I could have survived being a part of this scene for so long."
It was a familiar one to John. As an eligible bachelor he was invited to many such parties.
At that moment John was mobbed by three nubile young women, and Cassie decided after a worried glance at the wolf pack closing in on Sharon that, instead of waiting until after the party, she needed to rescue Sharon and talk with her now.
With a look that said "Help!" John watched her go, but Cassie simply smiled and left him to muddle through as best he could.
Cassie fought off the wolves and dragged Sharon down a hall to one of the four bedrooms, opened the door and then quickly closed it again when she realized from the flash of bare rippling skin that coats weren't the only things lying on the bed.
"In here," she said, shoving Sharon into the room the two of them had shared since arriving. She collapsed gratefully on a small upholstered chair. The loud music and the crowd seemed far away from this ruffled, pastel-decorated haven with its canopied twin beds and pristine pale carpet.
"What's wrong, Cassie?" asked Sharon in concern. "Are you sick?"
Cassie waved aside her concern. She drew a deep breath. "Those men in there," she said. "They may come on too strong, Sharon. Don't let any of them turn your head."
"Or get me in the sack?"
Sharon's bluntness surprised her. "I'm sure that's what a few of them have in mind," Cassie replied.
Sharon was silent, but she turned thoughtfully to the window and drew back the sheer curtain with one graceful hand. The sky beyond was hazy with moon glow, and stars twinkled here and there. Below this concrete-and-glass tower in Century City, the L.A. metropolis sprawled, lit in all its neon glory.
"See that?" mused Sharon softly. "I never dreamed I'd be here in this fabulous place, at a party given in my honor by Morgana Friday. Or that you would be my friend, my best friend, Cassie."
Cassie started to object, but Sharon dropped the curtain.
"You've given me an opportunity so rare for somebody from Flat Top Mountain. Oh, Cassie, I wouldn't give it up for anybody. Not for any man. The only person I would give it up for is me, my own self." The stars in Sharon's eyes burned as bright as those in the sky outside.
"You won't let your head be turned by flattery?"
"Never. I won't let myself be sidetracked. I didn't at home, and I had chances. Guys liked me, but I wasn't interested at the time. I won't forget that I'm here to give my career all I've got. That's a promise, Cassie."
At that moment, after a quick rap on the door, Morgana burst into the room. "Say, what's going on in here? Something private? No? Well, come on out here, then. Mrs. Applebrenner is going to give readings." Morgana propelled both Sharon and Cassie into the hall.
"Who's Mrs. Applebrenner?" asked Cassie in bewilderment.
"The psychic. She's the latest craze. I was lucky to get her because she seldom works parties. She's at a card table in my bedroom. Cassie, you're next."
"No," said Cassie, backing away.
"She claims to be eighty percent accurate with her predictions, Cassie. She's going to tell me what she thinks about the success of my latest film."
"I certainly wish you well with it, but I have no desire to learn about my future."
"You don't?" Morgana wrinkled her forehead in puzzlement.
"If I'd known about the crash five years ago or that I was going to give up my career—but there's no point in speculating. It's over and done."
"I see," said Morgana.
"I'll go next," Sharon said into the sudden silence.
"If you don't mind, I want to find John." Cassie smiled briefly at Morgana before slipping away in the wake of a man wearing a jeweled turban.
"Where have you been?" John murmured in her ear, surprising her as he walked up behind her.
She explained briefly.
"Can we leave now? I can hardly wait to get you out of here."
"I promised Morgana we'd stay until the end, John. The party is in Sharon's honor, you know."
"I've been looking forward so much to your seeing my place," he told her, curving an arm around her waist. "I was hoping there'd be time for a walk on the beach."
John had invited Cassie to spend her remaining time in L.A. with him at his house in Malibu. She was surprised that John lived in such an exclusive area; he'd mentioned nothing previously to lead her to believe that his photography would support a Malibu life-style. When she'd commented, John had mumbled something about family money.
"The party's almost over," Cassie said reassuringly. She was looking forward to being alone with John.
After an energetic tap-dancing demonstration by a starlet who'd imbibed too much, and after a woman with hair sprayed and quivering like a chocolate mousse had spilled a whole pitcher of martinis on Morgana's white rug, the crowd began to thin. While Morgana was bidding her guests good-bye at the door, Cassie hugged Sharon and quietly gathered her possessions from the room they shared.
"Now, Sharon, follow Kajurian's
advice. He'll take good care of you. If you need to reach me, don't hesitate to call me at John's house or on his cell."
"Cassie, don't worry," Sharon replied. "I'm ready to be on my own. Really. Morgana is wonderful, and everything's cool."
At the door, Morgana leaned over and pecked John on the cheek. At Cassie she leveled a long, penetrating look.
"Be happy, Cassie," was all Morgana said after they embraced in farewell.
Be happy? Cassie reflected as she and John sped away in John's BMW, headed for Malibu. How could she not be happy when she was with John, when being with him meant loving him and learning more about him every minute?
Chapter 14
Waves rolled one by one to the shore, each one closer to John's and Cassie's toes. The tide was coming in, and soon they would have to move their blanket farther up the beach. The baking heat of the afternoon sun had made them sleepy, and they didn't want to move.
They'd been in Malibu for days, and Cassie loved John's house. It was unabashedly modern, its exterior painted gleaming white and architecturally designed to look as though it were swooping like a great sea gull to light at the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Inside, it was tastefully decorated, casual and comfortable, with a gleaming kitchen, baths with Jacuzzis, and a number of bedrooms, all angled for an ever-changing view of the ocean.
For the first time since she met John, Cassie was free of responsibilities. She was enjoying the sheer luxury of all the modern conveniences and of having unlimited time to be with him. So far, their days had been full of sharing and fun, and Cassie found herself falling more in love with John by the minute. She tried not to think about the inevitable decisions they'd both have to make before long.
"Augh," cried John suddenly when a wave outreached its companions and washed over one leg as far up as his knee.
Laughing at his disconcerted expression, Cassie scrambled to her feet. She helped John gather their soggy blanket and grabbed the bottle of suntan lotion and her sandals.
"It's time to go inside," she said. "The waves are chasing us away."
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