Sapphire and Shadow (A Woman's Life)

by Marie Ferrarella

  Chapter Eighteen

  She was upset. He could tell by the way she held herself, the way her smile had tensed about the corners of her mouth. It was that woman and her bloody article that had done it, Tommy thought, resigning himself to the situation. He leaned over the table and lightly placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Would you like to go back to the hotel?” He had made plans for them for the rest of the day, but he knew that the day had been spoiled for her. It was best just to let it go for now.

  For a moment, she was flustered. He had read her mind. “I—“ There was no use pretending. “Yes, Tommy, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, I do mind.” He leaned back in the chair. “But I also understand. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  He heard the gratitude in her voice. It was payment enough. “Any time, luv.”

  “But why can’t I see the newspaper?” Jocelyn protested as soon as she and Johanna entered the hotel suite. She had barely been able to contain herself until Tommy had let them off at the hotel.

  Johanna ran one hand against the border where the door met the door frame. The white enamel paint was so smooth to the touch, so perfect. The door and frame were like one. Tommy would appreciate such fine workmanship. Tommy. Her one temporary haven in this storm. He was wonderful. He was making her aware of herself again, as a person. A person who had something to offer. Who deserved to be treated well. If it weren’t for him, she might be coming unglued right now. She felt so confused, so terribly impatient. She wanted things to be over, settled. Yet nothing would be for some time. And until they were, things like this article would continue to creep up and haunt them.

  “Because,” Johanna said, shutting the door firmly and crossing through the sitting room, “it’s trash.”

  Stubbornly, Jocelyn reached for the newspaper under her mother’s arm. “But if it’s trash—“

  She knew Jocelyn was consumed with curiosity, but she didn’t want her exposed to the kind of things that were written in the tabloid. As long as she could shield her from it, she was determined to do it. Johanna held onto the newspaper tightly. The look on her face made Jocelyn drop her hand.

  “The way trash gets perpetuated, my love, is by people reading it, paying for it, asking for more.”

  “Are you going to read it?”

  There she had her. Johanna refused to lie to Jocelyn. “Yes.”

  “Why?” Jocelyn’s hands were on her hips, impatience registered on her delicate features.

  “Because I’m old enough to be able to separate fact from fiction. Because what’s written here can’t hurt me anymore. But it can still hurt you.” She walked into her bedroom and put the newspaper away on a shelf in her closet. With a firm jerk, she slid the mirrored door shut and faced her daughter.

  “How am I supposed to learn anything if you don’t let me?”

  Deliberately, Johanna walked out of the room. Jocelyn was forced to follow. “We’ll start out with an easier object lesson, okay?”

  “He’s my father.”

  “No one ever disputed that fact, Jocelyn,” Johanna said wearily, sitting down on the sofa. Except, maybe Harry when he was particularly out of control.

  “I have a right to know what he’s doing.” Jocelyn stood in front of her, hands on hips again, legs spread wide, the picture of petulant adolescence.

  “You have rights that I give you, my love.” Johanna touched her cheek lightly. “Face it, until you’re eighteen, you’re living in a dictatorship.”

  Jocelyn muttered under her breath as she flounced out of the room.

  Johanna hated Harry for making her go through this. Why couldn’t the fool keep his private life just that? Why couldn’t he exercise a little discretion with his affairs instead of flaunting them?

  It wasn’t until late that evening, when her daughter was asleep, that Johanna took the newspaper down from the closet shelf. She spread the paper on her bed, opening it to page three. Then she sat down to read.

  A morbid curiosity drove her to it. She wasn’t interested in what Harry was doing these days or with whom, although it appeared that the rest of the world was. And it wasn’t the first time that her husband’s infidelities and excesses had been recorded. Usually, they screamed up at her from the rack at the local supermarket. Which was why she had left the shopping to Amanda, her housekeeper, these last few years.

  Johanna supposed that she was just attempting to reinforce her decision, to show herself one more time how useless it had been to waste all those years, hoping for the return of a man who no longer existed. He wasn’t just buried deep within Harry, sublimated by years of drugs and frustrations and fears. He was gone. There would be no resurrection, no second coming of Harold T. Whitney. She might as well mourn his demise and go on.

  But the pictures on page three did not make her mourn. They made her angry. Not for herself, but for Jocelyn. Whatever wasn’t there between them any more, there was still Jocelyn to consider. How could he flaunt his infidelities this way when he had a young daughter who could read and hear? And feel?

  She didn’t blame Hollywood, or pressures or drugs. She blamed Harry. He didn’t have to succumb. He didn’t have to give in and take drugs. It wasn’t as if he was alone. He had made himself alone, shutting her out when all she wanted to do was help him, to listen to his problems and to love him.

  His own fault. It was all his own fault and no one else’s. She was a firm believer that to a greater extent, people held their own destinies in their hands. Harry had held his and had destroyed it.

  Johanna pressed her lips together. It was about time she took responsibility for hers.

  Very quietly, she tore out the picture of Harry and the near nude model, folded it into tiny squares, and then tucked it away in her wallet. If, in the coming weeks and months ahead, the ensuing turmoil would cause her convictions to waver, she would just take out this picture and remind herself what she was walking away from. To remind her how low she had managed to slip.

  But no more, she promised vehemently, making the vow to the glowing city that was just below her feet, outside the hotel window.

  No more.

  She was awakened by persistent knocking. Rousing herself, she groggily looked at the clock on her night-stand and saw that it was a little past three in the morning. Who—?

  Her first thought was of Tommy, but that faded just as quickly. He wouldn’t come at this hour.

  Harry.

  Johanna fairly leaped out of bed. The comforter fell on the floor behind her but she didn’t notice. Damn, why couldn’t he stay away a little longer? She grabbed her kimono, jamming one arm into a sleeve searching for the other sleeve behind her as she quickly made her way to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Santa Claus. It’s three o’clock in the morning and I have jet lag. I don’t want to stand in the hallway and play twenty questions, Jo.”

  The woman’s voice, tinged with the edginess of exhaustion, was low, smoky.

  Johanna blinked, dazed. She dragged her hand through her hair, as if that would make her think straighter. It couldn’t be, and yet—

  “Mary?”

  She felt foolish for even thinking that her younger sister was standing on the other side of the door. Mary was half a world away, in New York, working on the new spring line for I. Magnum. But it sounded just like her, especially the choice of words.

  “Okay, you win the prize. It’s me. Now for God’s sake, open up.”

  Johanna threw open the door and saw her sister, two suitcases in her hand, standing a foot away from her. Not a single hair was out of place and she looked as if she had just had a leisurely stroll down the block, not come halfway around the world in the middle of the night. But then, Mary always had style.

  “What are you doing here?” It still seemed unbelievable.

  “Growing roots in the hall carpet.” Mary began to make her way into the suite, using the suitcases in her hand to forge a path. “Let me in.”
>
  Johanna took one of the suitcases out of her hand and moved aside simultaneously. It was either that, or get hit with a suitcase. Mary had no intention of standing out in the hallway a minute longer than she had to.

  Johanna closed the door with her free hand, then followed Mary to the sofa. “Seriously, why aren’t you in New York?”

  Mary raised an eyebrow. “That glad to see me, eh, Johanna?”

  Johanna let the suitcase drop where she stood. She put her arms around her younger sister and hugged. Hard and with a flood of sudden gratitude. Although there was only eighteen months difference, she always considered herself a lot older. She had always felt the burden of being the oldest in the family. The big sister. Mary, however, never quite saw it that way. Now it felt as if the roles had finally been reversed.

  “You know better than that, Mary. I just didn’t expect to see you. Especially not in my suite in London at three in the morning.”

  “That makes two of us.” Managing to do it gracefully, Mary sank down on the sofa chair and kicked off her three inch heels one at a time. “Those damn things were invented by a man who hated women. Wouldn’t wear them except they make my legs look so good.” She massaged the back of one calf. “Pop’s pretty worried about you, Jo,” she added casually.

  The tone didn’t fool Johanna. She felt a stab of guilt as she perched on the arm of the sofa. Without looking at Mary, she plucked at an imaginary thread. “He sent you here?”

  “He and George Tate—I. Magnum’s business manager,” she added when Johanna raised her head. “Time to case what the English designers are doing. I just nudged him to move up my trip, that’s all.”

  Johanna knew better. “To three o’clock in the morning?”

  “It wasn’t three when I left.” Mary shrugged, her long blond hair rippling on her shoulders. The London weather made it kinkier, but on Mary, Johanna thought, it looked good. On Mary, everything looked good. She was a born model. “And hey, you take what you can get.”

  “Aunt Mary?”

  Mary turned to see her niece groggily walking out of her room, rubbing her tangled hair out of her eyes. The noise had woken her up and since Megan’s departure and her father’s abrupt disappearance from her life without so much as a word, the young girl was very attuned to nocturnal noises. She was afraid that her mother would leave her too, although she wouldn’t admit it.

  “The one and only,” Mary said, opening up her arms. “Give me a hug, kid. I’m too pooped to get up myself.”

  Jocelyn grinned broadly as she joined her aunt on the sofa. “You didn’t tell us you were coming.”

  “There’s a reason for that. Until yesterday, I didn’t know it myself. I’ve been away on a trip.”

  The smile on Mary’s face told Johanna that it wasn’t a trip that involved her job as a buyer. Of the three sisters, Mary was the carefree one, the one who moved with the wind and did what she pleased when she pleased. Consequences were things to be considered later. As long as she hurt no one, she was content. And a good time, she had often said, was had by all.

  As Johanna had rushed into marriage, Mary had rushed into life, embracing it, savoring it, but never being mastered by it.

  There was a lot to be learned from her younger sister, Johanna mused.

  Johanna shifted to get more comfortable. “How long are you planning to stay?”

  “Only a few days, but I thought I’d touch base with you and the kid.”

  She ruffled Jocelyn’s hair fondly and Jocelyn didn’t mind in the slightest. If she had done it, Johanna thought, amused, there would have been a high-pitched protest of “Mother,” followed by an accusing glare. But Mary could do no wrong in Jocelyn’s eyes and fortunately for both of them, she didn’t.

  “I’ve got to be back by Monday, Tuesday at the latest. But that gives me four days, five if I don’t sleep,” she said, glancing out at the dark sky beyond the window.

  Mary leaned back, draping an arm on the sofa on either side of her. She looked around. Usually, by now, Harry would be out to join them, eyeing her, alternately being charming or being annoyed by her presence. She looked quizzically at Johanna. “So, where’re you hiding the Boy Wonder?”

  Johanna stiffened slightly, but only for Jocelyn’s sake. The comment seemed to go over Jocelyn’s head, or maybe she thought Mary was referring to Tommy. Johanna tugged at the sash that was loosening around her waist. “He’s away on business.”

  A knowing look entered Mary’s deep blue eyes. “I’ll bet. So,” she struggled to her feet. “Got a place for me to crash for a couple of hours?”

  Johanna rose to join her. Jocelyn was already on her feet, next to Mary. “Harry’s room.”

  “Been sprayed yet?” she asked as she followed her sister to the bedroom. Mary left her suitcases in her wake. Later would be time enough to carry them into the bedroom and unpack.

  Johanna opened the door. The room looked oddly empty. “He didn’t use it often enough to leave anything behind.”

  “Good enough for me.”

  Uninhibited, Mary began to strip off her clothes as she spoke until she was totally nude. Then she slipped into bed.

  “What d’you do when it gets cold?” asked Johanna.

  Mary grinned broadly. “There are other ways to keep warm.”

  “Blankets?” Johanna said.

  “Heavy, hairy blankets,” Mary answered with a chuckle. “Wake me at eight. I want to have breakfast with you two.”

  “Breakfast in bed?” Johanna guessed.

  “What else is there, Jo?”

  Johanna grinned her amusement. “Some people use restaurants.”

  “For lunch and dinner only,” Mary sighed, already falling asleep.

  It was wonderful having her sister here, Johanna thought with a smile. She always managed to make everything that much better, just by being.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mary finally rose at eleven and although Johanna couldn’t persuade her to go down to the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast, Mary did concede to having the meal in the sitting room instead of in bed. She ordered a full course breakfast, ravenous only half an hour after waking up. It always took Johanna a full two hours before she could face the prospect of food in the morning. She had already had her token breakfast, but asked room service to bring her up a pot of coffee anyway. She nursed a cup now as she sat opposite Mary.

  Having Mary arrive out of the blue the way she did gave Johanna unexpected breathing space as far as her situation with Jocelyn went. With Mary here, the tension between mother and daughter concerning Harold would lessen. Jocelyn adored Mary and her mind would revolve around having fun, not around the serious issue of parental discord.

  But, having Mary here also forced Johanna to cleanse her soul. Mary wasn’t a person who stood for double-talk or evasion. She didn’t believe in it, not for herself nor anyone else.

  “Okay, spill it,” Mary instructed as she heaped raspberry jam on a muffin.

  “Always so indirect and subtle.” Johanna grinned as she watched her sister consume a breakfast that could fill three other people to the gills. Mary ate and ate and never seemed to gain an ounce.

  “Doesn’t pay,” Mary murmured. She licked her index finger which had gotten a generous glob of jam when she raised the muffin to her lips.

  Johanna leaned her head on her hand and watched in fascination. “You know, I’m thoroughly convinced that you have a portrait in the attic somewhere, gaining weight. You can’t possibly put all that away and stay the same dress size. Either that, or you have a pet boa constrictor hiding under the table that you’re feeding.”

  “High metabolism.” Mary raised her eyes to Johanna’s as she poured a second cup of coffee. “And we’re not discussing me, big sister, we’re discussing you.”

  “Boring.” Johanna shifted slightly as she waved away the statement. She might have known better. Mary was nothing if not tenacious when she wanted to find out something.

  “Not from what I read.”


  “Mary, you don’t mean to tell me that you believe those stories, do you?”

  “Only when they have dear Harold’s name splashed all over them.” Mary leveled clear blue eyes that seemed to see right through her sister. “So, have you finally come to your senses? Or was that middle-of-the-night phone call to Pop a dream he wistfully had?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that we all think that you should leave Harry before he destroys you, destroys her.” She nodded her golden tousled head in the direction of her niece’s room. “He isn’t worthy of you.”

  “It’s not like I’m a saint, Mary.”

  “I’d be the first to agree with you on that one.” Mary laughed softly. “I know all your faults, all your shortcomings and believe me, you’ve never done anything to merit the kind of man Harry’s become. Early Christian martyrs wearing hair shirts have done less penance than you have being married to him.” She pushed the dining cart away and sat back on the sofa, pulling her legs under her. “You can come stay with me until you figure out what you want to do.”

  The fact that she had someone, a family, to lean on meant a great deal to Johanna. “Dad said the same thing.”

  “Pop meant the same thing.” Mary reached out a beautifully manicured hand and placed it over her sister’s. “We worry about you, Jo.”

  “Thanks. It helps some.”

  Mary studied her face. Johanna looked worn around the edges, tired. Mary could have killed Harry with her bare hands and felt nothing—except possible concern about ruining her manicure. “Any plans?”

  “Healing.”

  “Good start.”

  “Aunt Mary.” Jocelyn burst into the room, her eyes bright with anticipation. She was dressed in her favorite outfit, one she hoped would catch the approval of her aunt. But then, Mary rarely disapproved of anything she ever did. It was one of the reasons she liked her so much. “Are we going to go shopping like you promised?”