“It’s been tomorrow morning for a while,” Will said, looking at his watch.
“I think Cassy should stay with you,” Jackson told Alexandra.
Alexandra looked to her.
Cassy nodded. “Me too. Okay?”
“Sure. Thanks,” Alexandra said, walking in. She went over behind Will’s chair and leaned over it, slid her arms around his neck and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Superman. Thanks for saving my life.”
Will smiled, reaching back to rub her head. “Any time, Waring, any time.”
“You need anything?” Jackson asked Cassy.
She smiled. “No, thanks.” And then she got up, leaning toward him on the way up to whisper, “But I’ll miss you.”
He stood up too, smiling at her. “Me too,” he mouthed. Then he turned around, jingling the change in his pocket. “Will, you all set with a room?”
“Yep,” Will said. He was holding hands with Alexandra, walking to the door.
“Everybody meets here at ten o’clock, okay?” Alexandra said, opening the door.
“Agreed,” Jackson said. He gave Alexandra a hug, lifting her off the floor and then setting her back down. “We love ya, kiddo.” He turned to Cassy, giving her a salute. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Cassy said, sitting back down on the couch.
“Good night, you guys,” Alexandra said, but then she stepped outside so the uniformed policeman and-woman could introduce her to her bodyguards. Afterward, stepping back into the suite, she closed the door, locked it and then slumped back against it with a groan. “Armed guards. Me. In America. Unbelievable.”
Cassy looked at her for a long moment and then said, “You think you might be able to cry?”
Alexandra, still slumped against the door, nodded.
“Come here,” Cassy said, holding out her arm. Alexandra walked over to the couch and sat down. Cassy reached over for her and in a moment Alexandra had collapsed in her arms. “Just let it come,” Cassy said, rubbing her back.
“If it will,” Alexandra said, closing her eyes. “It’s so strange, because I don’t feel scared, I just feel…” Her eyes opened. “Just the other night Jessica and I were talking about how it almost physically hurts when someone doesn’t like us.”
Cassy frowned.
“She has the same thing I’ve always had,” Alexandra said. “And she said it was one of the reasons why she drank so much—that drinking was the only thing that seemed to turn it off, so that she didn’t care.” She swallowed, closing her eyes again. “And a perfect stranger pointing a gun at me—even when I think he wants to kill me—doesn’t hurt as much as when someone disapproves of me. Now is that crazy, or what?”
Cassy just sighed, continuing to rub her back.
“A stranger pointing a gun at me just doesn’t register,” Alexandra said. “There’s just this dull shock, a delayed reaction—like, Uh-oh, this is going to be too horrible to even think about and so I’m deciding this isn’t really happening. It feels like when I was little and spilled cranberry sauce all over Gran’s linen tablecloth in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.”
Cassy smiled, stroking Alexandra’s hair.
“You know how you sat there—as a child? Looking at what you just did? How it felt like years going by before anyone saw it and said anything? And how you couldn’t say anything first, but could only sit there, watching it seep into the tablecloth that meant so much to Gran? The horror of what has just happened, is happening—that it’s so horrible it can’t register, so it turns into a dream?” She swallowed. “Realizing someone wants to shoot me feels just like that.”
She sighed, then, and Cassy felt her body go limp.
“He wanted to make my heart stop beating,” Alexandra whispered. She paused and then added, “And that’s what it is, isn’t it, when someone wants you to die? You’d think he’d stop and think about that. Visualize it. About how my heart would stop beating, how it would look, beating for the last time. And then be still. And then how everything else inside of me would slow to a stop. Forever. Oh, God, Cassy,” she said, hiding her face against Cassy, clinging to her. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered, starting to cry, “not yet.”
And then she really began to cry, and Cassy held her tight, rocking her, murmuring, “It’s all right, it’s all right—everything’s going to be all right.”
“Please don’t leave,” Alexandra said, crying.
“No, sweetheart,” Cassy murmured, kissing the top of her head, “I’m not leaving. Shhh, shhh, shhh, shhh… Everything’s going to be all right…”
After a minute or two Alexandra stopped crying. She swallowed. “Cassy?”
“Yes?”
Alexandra sniffed. “Would you mind staying with me tonight?”
Cassy opened her eyes. And then she blinked. “You mean sleep here?”
Against her shoulder, she felt Alexandra nod. “I feel so…” Alexandra started to say, and then she started to cry again.
Alexandra cried for just a little while longer and then was so exhausted she could scarcely keep her eyes open. They went into the bedroom and Alexandra gave Cassy a nightgown. While Alexandra was in the bathroom, Cassy turned down the king—sized bed, fluffed up the pillows, set the alarm, turned off all the lights except one by the bed, changed into the nightgown and hung up her clothes. When Alexandra emerged, Cassy went in to use the bathroom, washed her face and hands, brushed her teeth with the extra toothbrush Alexandra left out for her and brushed out her hair.
When she came out Alexandra was lying on her back in bed, one arm over her face against the light.
“Are you all right?” Cassy said.
‘Just tired,” Alexandra said, not moving.
Cassy went around to the other side of the bed, climbed in and reached over to turn off the light, murmuring good night as she settled in under the covers.
It was very still, quiet. Dark.
“I hate my scar,” Alexandra said.
Cassy opened her eyes. And then she blinked. “What?”
“My scar,” Alexandra said. “I hate it. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror anymore. If I could cut my shoulder off tonight I would.”
Cassy thought about this for a moment and then turned over on her side, toward Alexandra. “I’ve got just the person for you to see. We’ll make an appointment for you as soon as we get back.”
“What kind of person?” Alexandra said a moment later.
“A doctor,” Cassy said. “A surgeon—a plastic surgeon.”
Silence.
Cassy laughed softly, scrunching her pillow into a more comfortable position. “So aren’t you going to ask me why 1 know a plastic surgeon?”
“I was being polite,” Alexandra said, sounding more like herself.
“You know Chet at WST,” Cassy said.
“Sports, sure.”
“Right,” Cassy said.
“Well, remember when that hockey player got his tendons and a nerve in his wrist slashed?”
“A couple of weeks ago,” Alexandra said.
“Right,” Cassy said, yawning and pulling the covers up over her shoulder. “Well, the surgeon who operated on him has a specialty in microsurgery—you know, hands—but she’s also a plastic surgeon. And so Chet—get this—asks me to go see this doctor, pretending I want a face lift. And then once inside, you see, I was supposed to try and get the inside scoop on the player’s recovery.”
Alexandra was now laughing.
Cassy sat up. “So I said, ‘Thanks a lot, Chet! A whole face lift? Forget it! I won’t go unless it’s just to get my eyes done.’”
“You mean you went?” Alexandra said, turning over.
“Uh-huh,” Cassy said. “Oh—but she was wonderful, Alexandra. You’d love her. She’s—”
“And did you get it?” Alexandra said.
“What, a face lift?” Cassy said.
“The scoop on the player.”
Cassy leaned over and whispered, �
��I forgot completely about it—can you believe it?” She sat back, laughing. “Never even crossed my mind after I got in there.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Cassy said, “ask Chet. I don’t know—I just had so many questions about so many things I’ve always wondered about. Because I have thought about it, you know—getting my eyes done. And then I started asking her about face lifts and—” She laughed a little, embarrassed. “Oh, Alexandra, you’d have to meet her to understand—she’s just the most extraordinary doctor. She seems to know more about how people feel about themselves than—I don’t know, I think I’d rather see her every week instead of my therapist.”
“So what about your eyes?” Alexandra said, sounding a bit dubious.
“Oh,” Cassy said, sighing, “we agreed I’d come back and see her in a couple of years.”
“You mean she didn’t think you should do it?”
Cassy gave Alexandra’s shoulder a little shove. “Why, you think I should?”
“No,” Alexandra said, yawning, “it’s just that I’ve never heard of a plastic surgeon who didn’t think someone needed surgery.”
“That’s why I want you to go see her,” Cassy said, yawning too, sliding back down under the covers. “She’s wonderful. And I told her about your scar and she said she does that kind of work all the time.”
“I’ll go see her,” Alexandra promised, yawning again, rolling over on her other side, away from Cassy. She sighed, quietly. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Cassy said.
Silence.
Cassy sat up. And then she reached over to touch Alexandra’s back. “Sweetheart,” she said, “you’re shivering. Are you cold?”
“At this point,” Alexandra said, “I’m so tired I wouldn’t even know.”
“Well, here, wait—” Cassy said. She moved over and slid down in behind Alexandra, putting one arm under her pillow and the other around Alexandra’s waist. “Better?” she said gently.
“Reassuring,” Alexandra said, closing her eyes, “thank you.”
“You’re safe, absolutely safe,” Cassy whispered.
“I know,” Alexandra murmured, taking Cassy’s hand in her own then and holding it to her chest.
In a minute, breath fading, her body still, Alexandra was asleep.
In a while Cassy fell asleep too wondering when or how she would tell Alexandra about Jackson.
When Cassy awakened in the morning it was to find Alexandra sitting over her, smiling.
“Good morning,” Alexandra said.
For a moment Cassy forgot where she was, what year she was in. And then she thought of Michael and then she remembered that Michael was no longer an issue; and then she remembered Jackson and remembered that, no, their affair was not a dream, she awakened with him almost every morning now; and then she thought, Alexandra?, but remembered that she had stayed the night with her because someone had tried to shoot her again and she had been frightened.
“Good morning,” Cassy said, sitting up on her elbows, looking for the travel alarm that was no longer there. “What time is it?”
“Ten to nine,” Alexandra said.
Cassy looked around the room; everything was packed up. She looked back at Alexandra. She was dressed in a skirt, blouse and heels, earrings and bracelets, ready to go.
“I’m not going back to New York with you,” Alexandra said.
Cassy looked at her.
“I don’t want to argue, I don’t want to talk about it either,” Alexandra said, getting up and walking to the window. “Just take my word for it”—she was opening the drapes now, letting the light in—”I need to stay out on the road and get my head straight.”
Cassy sat up. “Get your head straight about what?”
After a moment, looking out the window, hands in her skirt pockets, Alexandra said, “I want to marry Gordon.” And then she paused, squinting at the horizon. “I want to be married. I want to belong somewhere. Like other people do. A home, I guess—I guess that’s what I mean.” She shook her head, slowly, and then sighed. “I’m so tired of feeling like a special case all the time.”
“That’s not something that marriage fixes,” Cassy said.
“No, I suppose not,” Alexandra said, still looking out the window.
Silence.
“Strange things happen when you almost die,” Alexandra said then. “And it scares me that all I have to do is think that maybe I won’t be alive tomorrow and then everything that was so important suddenly isn’t so important.” She paused, swallowing. “Like getting married to Gordon.” She paused again. “I get scared because I think I might know what I really want.”
“And what’s that?” Cassy said.
For a moment Alexandra did not react. And then she laughed to herself, letting her head fall back so that she was looking up at the ceiling. “Oh, God,” she said. And then, laughing again, she lowered her head and turned around to look at Cassy. “That’s what I love about you.”
“What?”
“That you are the brightest, most capable person I’ve ever met—and yet,” Alexandra said, “you can be so incredibly dumb sometimes.” She took a step forward. “I used to think it was an act—but I’ve come to recognize that if Cassy Cochran doesn’t want to see anything wrong with someone she cares about, then, by God, she doesn’t see anything wrong.”
“That’s not the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Cassy said.
“No, it’s not,” Alexandra said, coming over to the bed, “but people who get shot at get to have one self-indulgent morning—don’t they?” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Listen, Cassy, I need some distance from New York. I need some time away from everybody—to think things through, sort stuff out in my head. Now—while Gordon’s away. I need to work, move around, get some perspective. And I won’t be able to do that if I go back with you.”
Cassy sighed, brushing a piece of hair back off Alexandra’s forehead. “I still think you should come home for a few days. We can start up the tour again—next week, maybe.”
Alexandra was shaking her head.
“Look, Alexandra, you can’t—”
“What I need is to get right back in the saddle,” Alexandra said, getting up and going into the dressing room. In a moment she came back out again, slinging a large bag over her shoulder. “I left some clean underwear for you in the bathroom.”
“Jackson’s going to go berserk,” Cassy said.
“But not for an hour,” Alexandra said, walking over to the bed. “And what’s one more fight between you two? And I have every confidence you’ll handle the situation beautifully.” She leaned over and kissed Cassy on the cheek. Looking at her, “Thanks for staying with me last night.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I love you,” Alexandra said.
“I love you too,” Cassy said. “But wait, Alexandra—”
“I’m fine,” Alexandra said, halfway to the door, “really.” She opened it and then turned around. “You’re taking Dash and Jackson home and I’m taking everybody else to Indianapolis, bodyguards too. Okay?” She looked at her watch. “I gotta run—they’ll be waiting for me downstairs.”
“I still don’t think—” Cassy started to say.
“You should let me go, Cassy,” Alexandra told her. In a moment she added, “Really. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. You should let me go.”
They looked at each other for a long moment. And then Cassy sighed. And then she nodded. “Okay,” she said. “But please be careful.”
“To the Crossroads of America,” Alexandra said, closing the door behind her.
40
Jackson Can’t Believe It
Jackson was furious. The only thing that kept him from going after Alexandra and physically dragging her back to New York was the fact that the bodyguards he had hired for her had been taken along and that Cassy kept insisting, over and over again, that Alexandra knew what she was doing and that they should
leave her alone.
“If what she’s doing is so right,” Jackson said for the fifth time, “then why did they sneak out of the hotel? She told me we were meeting at ten.”
“Because she knew you’d try to stop her,” Cassy said for the fifth time.
They were Flying home in the Gulfstream. Dash was sitting across from them, facing them in one of the six seats in the main cabin area. He was trying to read a copy of Sports Illustrated, the pages of which were turning faster and faster as Jackson and Cassy started in again.
“She should come home where we can protect her,” Jackson said, slamming his armrest.
“Give it up, will you?” Cassy said.
“I won’t, damn it!” he said. “Not until you tell me why you let her go.”
“I will say this one more time, Jackson. One,” she said, striking her index finger against the palm of her other hand, “she refused to come home. Two, I can’t make her come home, thanks to her contract. Three, she’s a newswoman—not a politician, not a movie star. If she can’t go out and cover the news, then she’s no longer a newswoman. Four, she’s been through this before and knows she has to get back in the saddle again.”
“She doesn’t know,” Jackson said, “she’s a kid.”
“Five, she knows that if she goes on with the tour the ratings for DBS News will—”
“Oh, great!” Jackson said, hurling his newspaper across the cabin. “So we just sit around and wait to see which new kook’s gonna blow her head off next to raise her ratings?”
Cassy stared at him. “How dare you say such a thing to me,” she finally said, fumbling with her seat belt, getting it undone and standing up.
“I still don’t understand why you let her go,” Jackson said.
“I don’t know!” Cassy said, throwing her hand out. “All right? I don’t know why I let Alexandra go. I’m just dumb, I guess. So if you want her to come back to New York, you do something—you go and get her.” She whirled around and walked away.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
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