It Stings So Sweet

by Stephanie Draven

  “A little late for that. Tell me.”

  Leo shrugs in the way people do when they don’t want you to know just how important something really is to them. “I mean to build a war memorial for aviators in Elysian Park.”

  “And what’s Big Teddy got to do with it? Won’t he lend you the money?”

  Leo bristles like I’ve questioned his manhood. “I’ve got a nickel or two of my own to rub together, you know.”

  “And you want to spend it on a memorial?”

  “That’s right. But the city council won’t approve it—and Teddy Morgan isn’t keen to persuade them in my favor.”

  Without a fat cat to back you, you can’t do anything in this town, so I say, “That’s the end of it then.”

  “The devil it is,” Leo says with a look of fierce determination. It relieves me to see that he’s as passionate about his other ambitions as he is about seducing me. “I’ll get it done if it takes me the rest of my life … which admittedly, might not be that long, given what I do.”

  “You say that so lightly. Aren’t you scared? To die, I mean?”

  “When Germans aren’t shooting at me, I feel a lot better about my chances.”

  I find that I can’t eat even a bite of my dessert. I just stare at it. “Terrible thing … the war … you must have stories.”

  Seeing that I haven’t touched my plate, Leo snags a bite off it. “None of my stories are easy to tell.”

  “I’d like to hear one anyway.”

  “Ask me just before I’m about to go up into the air. I’ll brag about all the Germans I shot down, ready to tell anyone who will listen that I’m the best goddamned pilot in the country. And I’ll mean it. I’ll believe it. It’s the only way I’ll be able to take to the skies. But tonight? I’m prouder of the fact I got your clothes off than I am of anything I did at war.”

  I’ve lived my whole life doing and saying outrageous things to distract anybody from ever asking me anything serious about my life; I recognize evasion when I see it. Leo Vanderberg may have come home from the war without any visible scars, but I’m willing to bet he’s got them on the inside. As if to confirm it, Leo keeps talking. “Besides, my stories aren’t all that important. It’s the story of American aviation that’s worth telling. The story of all the other pilots who weren’t lucky enough to come home. Who gave their lives not just for the war, but for progress. Airplanes are going to change the whole world, Clara. I’m a part of that.”

  “I salute you on behalf of a grateful world,” I say, like a smart-mouthed kid. “It’s awfully dangerous.”

  He shrugs. “I’ve had a few crashes. Only planes, though. I’ve been fixing cars, building cars, designing cars, and driving cars all my life. The faster the better. Never crashed a car. But I’ve gone down in a plane more than once and had the broken bones to prove it.”

  “Good god. All I’ve gotta do for money is vamp around on a set. Your parents must be nervous as cats.”

  “They both died when I was still a kid.”

  My hand goes to my cheek. “Oh … oh, I’m so sorry …”

  “It’s alright. It was a long time ago. My mother died of a fever before I was old enough to remember her, and my father dropped dead plowing the field on our family farm. It taught me not to worry about dying. You never know when your time’s up. You can go just like that.” He snaps to emphasize his point. “Never had any family needing me to come back home, so if there’s a man alive who ought to risk his life for his country, you’re looking at him.”

  It’s a curious thing to hear from an even more curious man. “So how does the orphaned son of a Dutch farmer become a pilot?”

  He shrugs. “Even as a kid, I was always taking things apart and putting them back together again just to see how they worked. Loved machines. Wires. Electricity. Had my own set of tools even before my father died. When he passed, I sold the family farm so I could become an engineer. Self-taught. Took a correspondence course then went to work for a motor company before the war. When I was called up for service, I knew how to fix the planes so I got to fly.”

  He says it all matter-of-factly, but there are layers of emotion in his story that his flat delivery can’t hide. I’m not like him; I’ve never had a hankering to figure out how something worked—at least not until now. I find that I want to know all the hidden gears that are turning in his head. All the things he isn’t saying. But before I can think of the right question, he leads the conversation in another direction. “What about you, Clara? Who waits for you to come back home at night?”

  I stir more sugar into my coffee, because it’s never sweet enough for me until it makes my teeth hurt. “Just my Pops. He ran out when I was growing up. Hadn’t seen him until about three years ago when he heard I had money and showed up on my doorstep. I had a speech all prepared; I was ready to blister his ears but good. Yet, somehow, when I saw him again, we fell into each other’s arms and cried like a couple of fool kids.”

  Leo looks astonished.

  “I bet you think I’m a sap, don’t you?” I ask.

  “Actually, I think you’re the cat’s meow …”

  “You think I’m a pushover.”

  He grins as if I’m just too adorable for words.

  I know that look and decide to warn him. “Don’t get attached, Ace. Remember, I have a roving eye.”

  “I’m not afraid of competition.” He reaches for a silver cigarette box in his pocket, flips it open, and offers one to me. When I decline, he takes one for himself.

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

  He lights up, then leans back and stretches his arm along the top of the booth. “Clara, I want to see you again tomorrow night.”

  “Why wait? There’s still a few hours left before daylight. You can take me home to bed and finish what you started, Ace.”

  He looks as if he’s considering the idea. “I’d love to, but first I need to know how to get your engine going.”

  “Oh, you’ve already got me hitting on all six cylinders.”

  Smiling, he taps the barest hint of ash off the end of his cigarette. “Let me take you to dinner somewhere swanky. This is a courtship after all.”

  “It’s a little late to pretend your intentions are honorable.”

  “What makes you so sure they aren’t? You’re a grown woman. I’m a grown man. We’ve both got each other straight—there’s no pretense to it. You don’t get more honorable than that.”

  CHAPTER

  Five

  When I miss my cue the third time, the director of the sword-and-sandal epic calls the shoot for the day. As the handlers begin pulling the makeshift chariots off-set, I escape to my dressing room and my costar Brooke Gordon follows me. “What’s gotten into you, Clara?”

  Not Leo Vanderberg, I think. Not yet. And it’s driving me to such distraction I can’t concentrate on a thing. I shrug, yanking off the Roman sandals and rubbing my ankle where the strap dug in. “Just tired, I guess.”

  Brooke is playing the wife of an emperor, her blond hair piled on top of her head into an impossible shape. She collapses into a seat to wipe the perspiration from her face. “God, I hate Hollywood. It’s so unbearably hot. I’m still too young for hot flashes, aren’t I? It was always cooler making films in New York.”

  “Sure,” I murmur. I’m also weary from the heat. The camera lights. And whatever fever it is that Leo Vanderberg has put into my blood.

  “So who is he?” Brooke asks, fanning herself. “I’ve heard a dozen different rumors.”

  Remembering the hard-bodied aviator whose hands seem to have left burning traces all over my skin, I bite my lower lip. I may be a movie star but Leo’s famous enough in his own right that it’ll be all over town the moment I admit it. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Given the look on your face, he must be worth it.”

  “Oh, I certainly hope so,” I whisper.

  “Clara! Are you saying that you haven’t had him yet?”

  Brooke has
made more movies than any actress I know, and taken almost as many lovers, so I tell myself that it’s safe to confide in her. A slow smile spreads across my face and I’m unable to keep the desire out of my voice. “Not yet, but there’s something about him. Something so …”

  “Rich?” Brooke asks, jiggling her wrist to show off the shiny jeweled bracelet that I’d mistaken as part of her costume. “You can’t possibly let yourself sigh like that over a man who can’t shower you in jewels.”

  As always, my attention is caught by everything that glitters. “He says he’s got a nickel or two to rub together, but I doubt it’s serious money.”

  “And yet, you’re going to throw over Big Teddy Morgan for him? Be careful, Clara, or you’ll turn into a sentimental little fool.”

  No one has ever accused me of that before … “So where did you get the bracelet?”

  She slips the bracelet off her wrist so that I can try it on. “Isn’t it pretty? I don’t want to tell you what I had to do for it, but I probably ought to get used to swallowing my pride … among other things.”

  I slide the gold over my forearm, adoring the way it warms to my skin. “That bad?”

  She gives a sigh. “This is my last film. My voice won’t work in the talkies. It’s too low. And I’m too old to play the waifs and damsels in distress now.”

  “I think your voice is smooth as velvet.”

  Brooke turns to the mirror and starts taking the pins out of her hair. “Which is better for the bedroom than the talkies. What else are girls like us to do when our looks start fading? If you were smart, you’d be sweet to Big Teddy Morgan and consider it an investment in your retirement. When rich men make offers to girls like us, we have to take them or else we’ll end up staring at padded walls in our old age.”

  I’m silent as the grave.

  Brooke’s hands drop from her hair and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Clara. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  I give her a pretty smile without meeting her eyes. “Don’t be silly, Brooke. Everything’s jake.”

  “No it’s not. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said it. I just forget that you’re not like me. I don’t know the first thing about cameras or making movies. I’m not talented like you.”

  “Sure you are.”

  Brooke chuckles. “You’re a good little liar, kiddo. And listen, if you don’t want Big Teddy Morgan anymore, I wouldn’t mind taking him off your hands.”

  “It’s a free country,” I reply.

  “You’re a sweet kid, Clara. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different.”

  I don’t feel sweet or like a kid that night at the supper club. Not even when Leo presents me with another bouquet of fragrant flowers and tells me that I look lovely. I feel wild and reckless and I keep wondering if I’m making some horrible mistake, like those girls in the movies who always end up tied to train tracks.

  Like an oncoming engine car, Leo is interrogating me before we’re even in our seats. “How’d Teddy Morgan take it?”

  “He was surprisingly decent about it,” I say, both relieved and a little saddened.

  “Did you tell him about me?”

  I wait for the coat-check girl to take my fur wrap, then say, “No. I didn’t want to provoke him.”

  Leo pulls out my seat for me. When I slide into it, I shiver at the feel of his knuckles as they graze my spine. “He’s bound to find out. Someone’s likely to see us together in the next few weeks.”

  “The next few weeks? My goodness, you’re optimistic, Leo. Do you really think our affair will last that long?”

  Leo smirks. “I think I can keep you stimulated and entertained at least that long.”

  “Truly? Because I’m beginning to think you’re all talk and no cider.”

  He laughs and orders a fine meal for us both, something French that I can’t pronounce, but it sounds rich and decadent rolling off his tongue. I think he’s forgotten my taunt, but when the white-coated waiter leaves, Leo says, “So you think I’m all talk …”

  The dangerous way he curls his lips around those words sends a flush down my neck. Nevertheless, I opt for bravado. “I haven’t seen much evidence to the contrary.”

  “Oh, haven’t you?” he asks, taking a sip of water. “If I’ve left you with the impression that it’s safe to challenge me, then we’re starting the evening off on the wrong note … something that can be remedied easily enough. I’d like you to remove your knickers. Unless of course, you’re not wearing any.”

  I jerk my head up. “What?”

  “You heard me. Go on … this is a quiet corner of the restaurant. You have a white table linen to hide behind. Nobody’s going to know about it but you. So wriggle out of your drawers and hand them to me.”

  A thrill goes through me at the thought of doing something so wanton. “Why would I?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’m going to come round to your side of the table and yank them off for you.”

  My breath catches. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Do I look like the kind of man who would lie about such a thing?” Leo’s fiery gaze is filled with daring. When I don’t answer, he begins to rise to his feet and I’m half-convinced he’s going to reach across the table and pull my dress off if I don’t do as he says. Why that should make me burn hotter with arousal, I can’t say.

  “Alright, I’ll do it.” I say, wriggling, adjusting my dress until the cool air hits my bare hips and thighs.

  “Atta girl,” Leo says, sitting back down again.

  I pull my drawers down over my knees. As I settle back down in the chair, feeling vulnerable and exposed, I have to make myself look at him. It’s not that I don’t want to. I do. I want to see myself, all wanton and lustful, reflected in his eyes. But his attention is so intense that it’s a little bit like staring into the sun.

  He turns his palm up on the table, expectantly.

  Glancing about to be sure no one is looking, I slide the undergarment over the table to him. Leo rubs the silky fabric between his thumb and forefinger before tucking it neatly into his jacket. “Thank you, Clara.”

  “What are you going to do with them?”

  He leans back in his chair. “I’m going to add them to my collection of things that once were yours and now belong to me. After all, it’s not the only thing I’m going to take from you tonight.”

  “Oh …” It’s my eagerness that makes me blush.

  “But first, we’re going to enjoy a meal together.”

  He’s half right. He enjoys his dinner, cutting into squab with a hearty appetite, but I can’t seem to eat more than a few morsels. I’m burning with a different kind of hunger. One that consumes all my other appetites and leaves me picking at my plate like a dainty damsel.

  “Try this,” Leo insists, holding a forkful of something in a rich buttery sauce. He feeds it to me. My lips part for him, then our eyes meet and I can think of nothing but teasing his shaft with my tongue. The same memory seems to occur to him because he groans. “Good god, Clara … that heart-shaped mouth, those big brown eyes. How does anyone resist you?”

  “They don’t,” I say, then swallow the bite whole.

  “Do you have the key to your rented studio with you?”

  “Of course, but I can think of more intimate places for us to go …”

  “Tempting, but if sex was all I wanted, I’d take you to the cloakroom and put you up against a wall.”

  Oh, I wish he would. Instead, he pushes his plate back, then draws his chair closer to mine so he can whisper into my ear. “Take the key from your pocketbook and set it on the table.”

  I’ve no idea what new game he’s devised, but I’ve enjoyed all the other ones, so I do as he says.

  Then the metal key rests heavily on the table between us, like scintillating possibility.

  He strokes my arm in approval. “However do you get your skin to be so soft, Clara?”

  “I soak in baths of donkey’s milk. Or didn’t you see that movie?”

&
nbsp; Leo’s very close to me now and he doesn’t withdraw when the waiter comes to take our plates. He’s so brazen that he takes a cube of ice from his water glass, and runs it slowly over the overheated curve of my shoulder. I shiver at the chill and the waiter averts his eyes, quickly finishing his work at the table until we are left alone. Me and Leo and the trail of kisses he now lays on top of my chilled shoulder. “Mmmm,” he murmurs at the taste of my skin, and the whisper of his stubble against my bare arm is nearly my undoing. “I’d like to bathe you.”

  “I’d rather you did something else to me,” I say, trying not to slide off my chair.

  “All in good time. You see, I like to talk, but I’m not all talk. It’s just that you’ve got me in a bind.”

  “Oh?” I ask casually, as if I weren’t thoroughly rattled. I’m grateful that our table is in the corner and that we might appear, to the casual observer, to have turned our attention to the man playing at the piano.

  The bill cannot come quickly enough.

  Leo’s hand drifts under the table, sliding beneath the beaded fringe of my dress in an attempt to coax my thighs apart. “You see, I’m wondering who I should invite to watch your stag film. I’ve a few candidates in mind. Maybe you’d like to help me choose.”

  I gasp, nearly leaping from my chair. “No!”

  Leo traps me between the table, the wall, and his arm. He’s cut off my retreat as if he planned this assault in advance. “No, you don’t want to help me choose?”

  “No, I don’t want you to show it to anyone!”

  “Sure you do,” he whispers into my hair. “That’s why you wanted me to keep it.”

  I didn’t know what I was saying. I was too dizzy on drink and desire. “I didn’t mean any of it!”

  He doesn’t waver. “You meant it, Clara.”

  My stomach clenches. “Well, I’ve changed my mind. I want the film. I paid the price you asked—”

  “That was a one-time offer. I told you that you could take it or leave it. You left it. And with good reason. Just the idea I might show that film to someone else made your knees buckle. Now that you know I’m actually going to do it, I bet you couldn’t even get up and walk out on me if you tried.”