Slightly Imperfect

by Tomlinson, Dar

"Goddammit, you're scaring me, Tori."

  "Don't do this. You promised me you wouldn't."

  "What? Love you? Love your children? Care what happens to you?"

  "You promised you would let me live my life."

  He fell back in his chair as though she had punched him, awareness dawning.

  "I love you, Coby. A part of me belongs to you and no one will ever infiltrate that—or get any part of that love. But I'm not in love with you anymore, and you don't have a hold over me." She ingested her own words, tried to find strength in them. "If you want a sibling relationship, then we agree. We can have that. I'd like to share my children with you. All of them. Not just the ones I named for you or who look like you. But Marcus, too." Their eyes met, riveted. "That's the way it's going to be or no way at all."

  She prayed the words were true, that he would believe her. She prayed for the strength of her conviction.

  "I have an appointment with your doctors before they release you. I'd like to be able to tell them you're well—that you've lost that sick obsession you had. The one I've lost. I'd like to tell them that, but I think you should know, as of this moment I'm not sure I can."

  "Maybe I should stay in the hospital," he said quietly. "Stay in that hell hole until you're convinced, Tori."

  He spoke so softly that she'd had to strain to hear above the other diners? conversation, the rattle and clank of silver against china, above the pounding of her heart in her ears. The subtle threat of rejection held sickening familiarity. "Maybe you should convince me."

  His smile never touched his eyes.

  She rose slowly, shouldered the little Chanel bag hanging on the arm of her chair. When he stood, pushing back his chair in a show of interception, she smiled sweetly to foil his keeper. After stepping close enough to kiss his cheek, she walked out of the restaurant, bleeding, wounded by his eyes digging into her rigid back.

  * * *

  Victoria sat on the side of the motel bed and stared across the room at the mirrored likeness of a blond woman holding a phone receiver against her cheek.

  "This is Zac Abriendo. At the tone, go for it."

  The mirrored image smiled. "It's Victoria... in Kerrville. I'll be back tomorrow." Having adhered to the urge to call him, she was suddenly not sure why it had been so imperative, not sure if she was sorry or relieved she had gotten his machine. "Can you have dinner with us tomorrow night? Would you... Leave me a message?" She hoped her decision not to give him the number of the motel, her room, had nothing to do with Coby. She fell into a too-lengthy silence. "Good night, Zac."

  Replacing the receiver, she stared at the woman in the mirror, wondering if she knew her or her intentions.

  She extinguished the light and sank into solitude, but then she rallied to switch the light back on and dial hurriedly. Eagerly, she waited out five rings.

  "It's the middle of the night here," Andrea clipped.

  Pre-dawn, actually. Andrea's voice, even throatier, more provocative than normal, conjured visions of sinister activity. Andrea's past revelations supported the images.

  "It's Victoria."

  "I suspected as much." A smile traveled the wires. "Is everything all right, darling?"

  "I suppose." >

  "Oh, God."

  "No," she rushed. "Everything's all right." On the surface. "I'm in Kerrville visiting Coby. I just wanted—"

  "To talk to me. You want me to reassure you about Coby. I wish I could, Victoria. Unfortunately I don't have a photogenic memory. My memory took ugly pictures, and I still recall the tawdriness of it all."

  Victoria laughed softly. "I'm so glad I called."

  "Where are the twins? And Marcus? Where is that freighter person?"

  "Zac Abriendo." His face came to mind. Dark. Beautiful. Kind.

  "That one. How far has he infiltrated the chaos of your life, love? Is he there with you now? It is bedtime, isn't it?"

  "Of course he isn't here."

  "Not 'of course' at all. I detected breathlessness when you spoke his name."

  "You imagined it." Hadn't she? "It's exactly as I told you in Portofino. We've developed a friendship built around Marcus. Zac's a wonderful—"

  "There it is again. Hushed and breathless now."

  "I was going to say Spanish mentor."

  "Of course. I have but one question. What does Coby think of this sacred platonic relationship you are having with this man who looks exactly like Tomas Cordera and is feeding all your latent ghostly longings?"

  Coby's disgust flashed in her mind's eye. "It isn't like that, Andrea. I don't even notice the resemblance now. Zac is his own person. It's wonderful to have a friend who shares my interests in Marcus and—"

  "You choose not to tell me how Coby feels about this. Your concern for my peace of mind is touching."

  And her own peace of mind was impoverished. "Goodnight, Andrea. I love you."

  "Goodnight, Victoria. I love you and your naïveté."

  * * *

  Zac had never heard Victoria's voice on the phone. "It's Victoria... in Kerrville."

  Nice. Really nice.

  "I'm coming back tomorrow." A short pause in which he could feel her thinking. "Can you have dinner with us tomorrow night? Would you... leave me a message?"

  The second, elongated pause gave him time to reason whether or not he could, or should, forego his philosophy class. And time to recall giving her his school schedule, which she had chosen to ignore.

  "Good night, Zac." A bit tentative. Hushed.

  Yeah. He'd find a make-up class somewhere along the way. He dialed her number, got her voice mail. "Hi, Victoria. Thanks for the invitation. I'm fishing tomorrow afternoon. I'll bring fresh shrimp—cooked. I hope you drive safely. Those children are attached to you."

  He was finding that increasingly easy to understand.

  * * *

  "Whose beer is Maggie drinking?"

  Zac's voice, even though dropped an octave, echoed through the empty rooms of the prototype Fischer's Landing apartment, competing with a power saw on the floor below.

  Jan looked up, smiling wryly. "Why do you ask?"

  "Right." Caught.

  "That's Ian McCumber. We've contracted with him to refurbish all the cabinets in the project."

  Zac had seen the man hand Maggie a sweating beer can, then say something funny enough to make her spew beer all over both of them. Then he blotted the stuff with the back of his fingers along her cheek while Zac's skin crawled up his spine.

  "And he works dressed like that?" He'd deal with beer on the job later.

  "It's hot in here, Zac." Jan kept smiling.

  Ian wore brief, khaki hiking-shorts, mountain boots, squashed down socks and a tank top with a Cozumel insignia. A bandanna curtailed his healthy blond hair, and Zac thought he probably spent every non-working hour lifting weights and lounging under a sun lamp. He had a gringo tan the color of Zac's mama's flan.

  This guy's aim wasn't to win a cabinet-making contest.

  "It's really hard isn't it?" Jan interjected.

  "Is he gay, too? Like Ben?"

  "Ask Maggie. She had dinner with him last night."

  "Where?"

  Jan laughed outright, then looked abashed.

  If Allie were still alive, if Zac still had a viable connection to Maggie—like marriage—he would walk right over to the guy and put a stop to it. Somehow. He had no claim to Maggie. His guts roiled.

  "I know it's hard, Zac," Jan said softly. "When Luke and I were apart those few months, and he started dating, it was awful."

  Zac turned his back on the two of them, made a play of examining a rotted windowsill. "I don't want her to make a mistake. I hope she knows this guy and what he's all about."

  "How can she know?"

  He braced himself, recognizing the tone.

  "Even the people we know best can change and let us down. Life's like rolling dice, Zaccheus."

  "Got it Jan." Silence fell and he stared out the window at the trash-stre
wn parking lot, the tranquil bay beyond. "I'll come by later this afternoon to see what got done today." He flapped his clipboard shut. "Come on, Delilah."

  She snapped to attention, wagged her stub of a tail, and nuzzled Zac's hand.

  "I'd better get Delilah out of here before I slip up and give the kill command."

  Jan hugged him. "See you, Zac."

  "Yeah."

  * * *

  Victoria opened the door and stepped back. She was in workout clothes. Leotards, aerobic shoes, a ponytail and headband. No makeup. Rail thin, but much shapelier. He was overdressed, he realized, in crisp jeans, boots, a collarless, white-linen shirt.

  "Hi, Zac."

  "Buenas tardes, señora."

  She smiled vaguely, so he handed her the iced shrimp.

  When she tiptoed to kiss his cheek, he moved his face just enough to meet her mouth. She handled it well, but he caught her as she settled back.

  "Wait." He kissed her again, lightly still, but flicking his tongue across her lips, his mouth applying the gentlest of tugs when they parted. She appeared disconcerted until he said, "I knew you'd taste like that."

  One brow shot up, and his interior quickened.

  "Good. Like Corona. Corona Extra, no less. Sopapillas and honey and angel food cake. Champagne and shrimp. All my favorite things."

  She laughed.

  "Just enough to remind me I'm hungry. How long before dinner?"

  "We'll have the shrimp, and I have champagne. Then I'll call the dining room to bring dinner up while I'm showering."

  "You really don't cook."

  "I never find time. It isn't my forté . The children are being bathed and detained while we... share a few minutes alone."

  A marked change in the wind. "Tell me about Kerrville."

  She crossed the room to an alcove carved into a mirrored wall, appointed with crystal glassware and heavy carved decanters boasting warm-hued liquids. As she poured champagne from a pre-opened bottle nestled in a silver ice bucket, Zac conceded the bar to be the most elaborate he'd ever seen. His mind's eye pictured Tomas Cordera.

  Victoria handed him a glass, clicked hers to his, and slid the iced shrimp onto a parsley- laced silver tray. Cocktail hour was evidently her forté , the result of yacht travel.

  He clicked glasses again. "To Portofino." Enjoying her smile, he reminded her, "Kerrville?"

  "I went to see Coby." She settled into a chair near his, crossed her legs, and swung one tennis shoed foot. A jaunty act not backed up by her mossy-somber eyes.

  "How is he?"

  "Even more beautiful," she murmured. "He's being released in less than a month if... all goes well."

  "What could go wrong?"

  "I could tell them he's not ready. I have a hearing with his doctors before he's released."

  "Why you?"

  "I'm the grieving party." She smiled disparagingly.

  "Is he ready for release?"

  "How much do you remember about Coby's and my relationship when Tommy died— remember from the media, I mean?"

  He remembered little, but he knew a lot. He had gone into Houston yesterday, to the newspaper that had exploited the scandal. He looked up every dead file article containing her name as well as Coby's, Cordera's, and Christian's. Now he knew more than he'd wanted to. Enough to want to know everything. "The media called it incest."

  She lowered her gaze, sucked in her breath, then forced her eyes up again, sipping champagne while he waited. Finally she said, "But knowing that, you still came to dinner."

  "Was it incest?" He held her gaze.

  "We never had sex."

  "What did you do?" Holding the champagne glass with one hand, the chair arm with the other, he watched a single tear well, slide down and land on her red leotard. "Can you tell me?"

  "You remember the picture I showed you in Portofino, of Coby and me as children?"

  He remembered. The two of them, raveled together, sleeping.

  "Coby was the child of my father's distant cousin. We were born only hours apart. Coby's father... died before he was born, and his mother—I don't really know. She couldn't keep him, but we?ve never known why. Pierce and my mother never seemed to want us to know. Coby came to live at Chandler House the day I was brought home from the hospital. Pierce adopted him, and we were always referred to at home as the twins."

  She faltered, faded out of reach for a moment, as she was capable of doing, and then rallied. "My father was a twin. Coby and I look so much alike that... . " Zac watched her take a deep breath, frown. She pressed her temples with her fingertips for a moment, hard. "When you meet him, you'll see there's a remarkable resemblance between us. I've always felt —"

  After a moment, he urged, "Felt what?"

  "I don't know. Linked with him in some way. Spiritually. The feeling started when we were Ari and Alex's age, but it never changed. Coby was my world. Pierce gave me no affection, never held me. Almost never touched me. Coby did.

  "I don't know if Pierce and Anna—My mother's name was Anna. She died when I was sixteen. I don't know if they weren't aware of the quality of Coby's and my relationship, or didn't know what to do about it. It went... unmonitored... until we were twelve when they suddenly sent Coby away to school. I went crazy."

  He watched her remember, distress pinching her flawless face.

  "I spent my life between then and the time I was twenty-three trying to get Coby back. I craved affection, physically and emotionally. Coby met those needs when we were together."

  She stopped, took a long drink, actually took a shrimp from the plate, biting and chewing like an automaton. "If Coby and I are only cousins—only very distant cousins—why were Pierce and Anna so frightened—so adamant about separating us?"

  Zac waited, feeling privileged yet feeling sick. "What happened when you were twenty-three?" he asked finally.

  "Tomas Macario Cordera," she whispered. "Everything changed."

  "How?"

  "I was a virgin. I began to live."

  He hadn't realized women put so much emphasis on sex. Something brief stirred in his groin, then settled in his heart, while Tomas Cordera lurked on the edges of the emotion.

  "Coby went crazy with the knowledge of me sleeping—He began a campaign against Tommy and Tommy began one of his own. I was in the middle, but I couldn't let Tommy go."

  Then she had married Christian. Same era, different story.

  She went for more champagne, refilled their glasses, took her time reseating the bottle and returning to her chair. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm telling you this."

  He hoped he knew.

  "You're my friend, so, I want you to understand." He saw her throat move. "I'm scared."

  "Of what?"

  "Of Coby coming home."

  "Of what he'll do, or what you will?"

  "I don't know," she whispered. "I can't deconstruct all the vagueness."

  He wondered if that had instigated the phone call from Kerrville last night.

  "Life was so crazy for so many years," she said quietly.

  "It won't happen this time."

  Something akin to hope washed over her face.

  "Just believe that."

  "I'm afraid for Ariana and Alexander. The same thing could happen to them."

  A shiver ran up his spine. "It won't. There's no mystery in their relationship."

  "But there's no male affection in Ari's life."

  A tender, touchy subject he felt unworthy of addressing. "You know what to be on guard for, though, where your parents didn't."

  Her eyes clouded, teared. She cleared her throat and sniffed, so he handed her a napkin. After blotting her nose, she touched the back of her hand to her eyes. "The twin relationship involves sacred aspects I don't want to deprive them of."

  Zac realized Victoria had an eerie concept of being a twin herself, one she both feared and cherished.

  "My years with Coby... " She managed to smile. "... aside from the confused libido syndrome, were the sweet
est of my life. What if I ruin that for Alex and Ari?"

  A distinct possibility, given her state of mind. He wanted to hold her, just as he'd wanted to in Portofino. He didn't.

  "God," she exclaimed in a whisper. "I am so scared, Zac."

  "I'll help you."

  Her smile appeared genuine. "You really are kind. And you're sweet."

  He shrugged, drained the champagne glass, popped a shrimp in his mouth. What, and where the hell, was being sweet going to get him?

  Abruptly, she switched topics. "I'm taking back the design position at my old dress company. Love Victoria."

  He nodded, sufficiently informed. Details on Love Victoria had gorged the newspaper dead files.

  "I have to go to New York for two weeks—a refresher crash-course in current design trends. I'll take the twins and Lizbett with me."

  "I'll keep Marcus."

  "Would you?" She proved inept at feigning surprise. The disingenuous nature of her dinner invitation was a disappointment, but patience could be a virtue.

  "How can you keep him, though? You have such a rigorous schedule."

  So she had noticed. "I'll take him with me during the day. Josh can watch him in the evenings while I'm in school."

  "That would be wonderful. He won't be cooped up in a hotel room, and he won't miss his Spanish lessons." By way of her eyes, jade now, he watched her mind racing. "Maybe you could start his tennis lessons."

  "You'll miss your Spanish lessons."

  "Maybe you could give me private lessons."

  He recognized that smile. Delilah had probably used it just before she sheared Samson in the Old Testament story.

  "Maybe." He raised his eyes to a noise on the stairs, half whispering, "Better head for the showers."

  Her gaze followed his.

  He rose with fervor, moving toward the staircase. "Look who's here. It's an angel with some bad hombres."

  Ariana jerked her hand from Lizbett's, lost her footing and tumbled down the last three steps. Scooping her up, Zac kissed her tears away, he and Marcus exchanging tolerant smiles while Alex tugged Zac's pant leg insistently.

  When Victoria disappeared quietly through an unexplored doorway, Zac admitted his curiosity for the intimacy beyond, and his patient determination to satisfy that interest.