A Secret Life

by Barbara Dunlop

  She took a breath. She could do this. It was just like Charlie Long, only with more questions.

  “Who was shot?” came the first question.

  “Was anybody killed?”

  “How does your book fit into this?”

  ANTHONY WATCHED from the sidelines while Joan stood on the front lawn patiently answering the reporters’ questions. There were three news trucks, at least eight reporters, several cameramen and a multitude of other people running around with clipboards, headsets and toting thick wire feeds.

  Amidst the chaos, Joan was doing a great job, and he couldn’t be prouder. He didn’t think he’d ever get over the sight of her with Nash’s gun pointed at her head. If he’d been one minute later, one second later…

  He shuddered now just thinking about it.

  “Does this exonerate your father?” a reporter shouted to Samuel.

  Samuel stepped up, and Heather jostled Joan’s elbow, holding up her cell phone.

  “It’s Mom,” Anthony overheard Heather say.

  Joan took the phone and backed away from the reporters. His attention stayed with her.

  She listened for a minute, the animation slowly leaving her expression.

  Anthony cursed under his breath.

  “But, I don’t—” she started.

  Then a silence.

  “Mom—”

  She heaved a heavy sigh, wiping her damp hair back from her forehead. “Mom—”

  Another silence. Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes.

  Anthony watched the fight and self-confidence drain right out of her.

  She opened her eyes and glanced furtively at the reporters, then she shrank farther into the alcove of the front door.

  He wanted to grab the damn phone and pull her into his arms.

  “See, I didn’t—” she tried again.

  “Just—”

  Her face went pale, and she blinked rapidly.

  Anger welled up inside him. He knew it was her family, but damn it, nobody had a right to crush her spirit like this.

  Joan’s voice cracked. “Please, Mom—”

  Finally, Anthony couldn’t stand it any more. He’d stood back and watched while these people ripped Joan to shreds under the guise of loving her. This had gone beyond ruining her career. They were totally demoralizing her.

  A red haze formed in front of his eyes, and he strode forward and plucked the phone from her hands.

  He stuffed it against his own ear. “Mrs. Bateman?”

  Joan grabbed for it, but he turned away, holding her off with his other arm.

  “To whom am I speaking?” The voice on the phone sounded every bit as imperious as he’d expected.

  “This is Anthony Verdun.”

  The police, the reporters, even Joan herself faded into the background.

  “Where’s my daughter?”

  “She’s busy. I’d like to talk to you for a minute.”

  “Anthony,” Joan whispered urgently.

  “I demand that you put my daughter back on the phone.”

  “And I demand that you stop harassing her.”

  “Anthony!”

  There was a sputtering sound on the other end of the line.

  “Further, I demand that you get your head out of your ass—”

  “Anthony!”

  “—and take a good long look at how much your talented and successful daughter has accomplished. I don’t particularly care that your blood’s bluer than—”

  The phone disappeared from his hands.

  He looked up to see Samuel hand it back to Heather.

  “You’re losing it, buddy,” said Samuel.

  Anthony glanced over his shoulder, wondering if the reporters had overheard. What he saw was Joan’s incensed expression.

  Samuel immediately resumed talking to the reporters, raising his voice, walking toward the curb, ensuring their attention was distracted.

  “You are so fired,” Joan rumbled.

  “Yeah?” Anthony stepped closer, lowering his voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “You think I was rude and out of line?”

  “Absolutely,” she said without hesitation.

  “And you think your parents have the right to speak to you that way?”

  Her nostrils flared. “They’re my parents.”

  He shook his head. “Then your biggest problem isn’t whether or not I’m your agent.”

  “Anthony,” Heather interrupted.

  He held a warning hand up in Heather’s direction, keeping his gaze on Joan. He had to say this, and he had to say it now. “Your biggest problem is that you’re willing to let them ruin your life. And you know what? I can’t stand to stick around and watch it happen.”

  He turned on his heel.

  His head pounded and his gut ached as he walked away. But he’d done everything he possibly could for her, and it was getting both of them nowhere.

  He really couldn’t stand to watch her parents rip her joy, her confidence, her career out of her grasp. And there was no way he could stand to watch her crawl back into her shell, afraid to be who she was, afraid to love what she loved, afraid to accomplish the things her talent would allow.

  He pulled out his car keys and clicked the unlock button. He’d stop and give Alain his statement, and then he was heading back to New York. Stephen would probably fire him for losing Joan, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care.

  He had a feeling it would be a long time before he cared about anything again.

  AS JOAN WATCHED Anthony walk away, her entire body went numb.

  She felt a tug on her shoulder and realized that Heather was pulling on her arm. She allowed herself to be led into Samuel’s front hall.

  “You know what?” asked Heather as the door clicked shut on the noise and flashbulbs.

  Joan blinked stupidly at her. Anthony had left her. He’d left her for good this time.

  “Anthony is right,” Heather practically shouted.

  Joan jerked herself back to life and stared incredulously at her perfect sister. “He just told our mother to get her head out of her ass.”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  “Where’s the phone?” Joan glanced frantically around. “Where’s Mom? I have to—”

  “And our mommy should consider pulling her head out of her ass.”

  “What?” Had Heather lost her mind?

  “Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past few days, Joan? Hmm? Do you?”

  Joan had to get her mother back on the phone. She had to explain. She had to fix this.

  “I’ve been having wild sex with Samuel.”

  That stopped Joan in her tracks.

  “Yeah. That’s right.” Heather stuffed her thumb against her chest. “Me. Stuck-up Heather Bateman has been on her… Okay, never mind the details. My point is, I have spent my entire life doing uptight things with uptight people that I never really liked, all because I let our parents tell me what was right and wrong instead of judging it for myself.”

  “Wild sex?” Joan blinked, not quite getting past that point in the conversation.

  Heather leaned forward, staring directly into Joan’s eyes. “Things that would curl Mom’s hair. Things that would curl your hair. And I liked it.”

  “With Samuel?” How had Joan missed this? They seemed to be growing close, but…

  “And you know what I’m going to do at the music festival?”

  “You’re staying for the music festival? With Samuel?”

  What had happened to her perfect sister? Heather always said and did the right things. She’d never insult their mother. She had always put Joan to shame.

  “Yes,” said Heather.

  “Has Samuel given you something to smoke?”

  Her sister cracked a smile. “No. But I’d do pretty much anything he told me.”

  Joan raised her eyebrows.

  “It’s a whole big world out there.” Heather nodded sagely. “But, back to you.”

&nb
sp; “No. Back to why you’re staying for the music festival.”

  “Oh. Right. I’m playing fiddle tunes. Out there on the stage for all the world to see. I’m going to use my own name. I’ll ask them to put me on the posters. And I’m going to send an invitation to every single one of Mom and Dad’s friends.” Heather gave a so there nod.

  Okay. That was going to be bad. Her parents would be having coronaries over Heather’s behavior. Still. It was one night, one event, arguably something for charity.

  “That’s still not as bad as—”

  “Loving Anthony?”

  Joan froze. “I don’t love Anthony.”

  Heather laughed. “He’s been your best friend for ten years. You shared secrets with him that you didn’t even share with your family.”

  “That’s because—”

  “Because he understands you, the real you. He knows you and he loves you just the way you are. Face it, Joanie, you don’t have to pretend with Anthony, and he doesn’t have to pretend with you.” Her voice softened. “Don’t you want that? Don’t you want that for the rest of your life? To be you, just you?”

  Joan swallowed. She drew a breath into her tightening chest. To be with Anthony. To come off the stage at the Charlie Long show and have somebody smile and congratulate her and pull her into his arms.

  To have a book launch, a real book launch. To talk to fans, to answer their letters instead of logging on to the unofficial Jules Burrell site under an assumed name. To stop hiding and lying and pretending.

  Her eyes teared up, and she blinked furiously.

  “Do it, Joanie,” Heather commanded. “Anthony’s right. You have to take control of your life.”

  “But Mom and Dad—”

  “Will get used to it.” Heather reached out and rubbed her arm. “What? They’re going to disown both of us?”

  Joan shook her head weakly. She didn’t suppose her dad would let that happen.

  Then she remembered what she’d just done to Anthony. The way she’d behaved. The things she’d said—today and in the past couple of weeks. He must be so tired of her psychotic behavior. Even if he agreed to stay working as her agent, he’d probably remain in New York and restrict their communication to faxes and e-mail. She didn’t blame him.

  But it didn’t mean she didn’t owe him an apology, recompense for being so shortsighted and self-centered.

  She squared her shoulders. “I’m going out there.”

  “Good for you.” Heather smoothed back her sister’s hair and wiped the damp streaks from her cheekbones. “You’re gorgeous. Go get ’em.”

  Joan took a deep breath, excitement buzzing to life in every fiber of her being.

  THE TELEVISION was playing at the Indigo police station. Those who weren’t occupied with the interrogation of Nash Dinose were clustered around the small set, watching reporters alternate between interviewing Samuel live and segueing to experts for speculation about his parents and Samuel’s possible claim to the Dinose fortune.

  That part hadn’t sunk in with Anthony yet. With Nash in jail, Samuel was the only apparent heir to an industrial empire. He wondered if Samuel was ready to cope with that. Then he realized that a man who could cope with gunshot wounds, alligator bites and Heather Bateman all in the same week probably wouldn’t be fazed by multimillion-dollar business decisions.

  Joan appeared on the screen, and Anthony’s gut contracted. He’d pushed his cruel words to the back of his mind, planning to ask himself later what the hell he had thought he was doing swearing at Joan’s mother.

  Something inside him had snapped. He didn’t care who the Batemans were, or what the consequences might be. He wasn’t going to stand back and let anyone treat Joan that way. It didn’t matter if it cost him his client, his job or his life.

  He stood up from the hard bench, drawn to the television set where she was now talking. Perhaps she was disavowing him, publishing and the entire popular fiction world all at once.

  “—by my agent, Anthony Verdun—”

  Hello?

  “—of Prism Literary Agency.”

  What the hell was she doing?

  “It’ll be released in March by Pellegrin Publishing. We’re all extremely excited.”

  She paused for a second, but Anthony couldn’t make out the reporter’s question.

  “I’ll do Charlie Long Live again any time he asks. It was a wonderful experience.”

  Another muffled question, while Anthony shook himself, trying to figure out if this was a hallucination of some kind.

  “The details haven’t been nailed down yet, but I’d say a book tour is very likely. My schedule’s been erratic this summer, trying to make deadlines. But I’ve got some free time now. I’m sure Anthony will set something up.”

  Anthony slumped back down on the wooden bench. Had somebody drugged her? Had somebody drugged him?

  “Thank you all very much,” said Joan. “But I have an—” She paused to listen. “Oh. I think my backlist is on the Pellegrin Publishing Web site, and the unofficial Jules Burrell Web site has loads of information. Thank you,” she called as she walked away.

  She was perfect. She was better than perfect. If Anthony had to design a time in his life when every single professional hope and dream coalesced into a moment of pure brilliance, this would be it.

  And it felt terrible. It felt empty. Because Joan wasn’t with him. And because he didn’t want her to be his client. He wanted Joan to be his lover, his best friend, his soul mate.

  He was in love with Joan. He’d thought he could settle for less from her, but he realized now that was impossible.

  SHE COULD finally go home.

  Joan should have been a lot happier about that.

  She thanked the officer for the ride from the police station. It had taken hours to tie up all the loose ends. But even the thought of her own bed and comfort food couldn’t erase the hollow ache that had planted itself in the pit of her stomach.

  Heather was with Samuel. They were staying at his cottage tonight, finishing the cleanup and starting work on the fiddle tunes for the music festival. Alain was thrilled about that. Heather Bateman was a world-class violinist. People would come to Indigo to see her alone.

  Things had worked out just fine.

  Joan sighed as she inserted her key into the new front door lock Anthony had had installed. Things had worked out just fine when you considered her career, Heather’s happiness and the success of the music festival. Not so fine when you considered Joan’s broken heart.

  Her fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar lock as her hands started to shake and stinging tears welled up behind her eyes. Anthony was right. All along, he’d been right. And at any point over the past two weeks, she could have told him so and thrown herself into his arms.

  But she was too proud. She was too stubborn. For the sake of pretension and propriety, she’d chased away the only thing that mattered in her life.

  Heather was right, too. Their parents would get over it. Joan should have given them the chance to get over it years ago. She should have been honest. She should have held her ground when it came to what she wanted and what she believed in, instead of letting her mother bowl her over.

  The stiff lock finally gave way, and she wrestled the door open. Safe inside her house at last, she pushed back against the door, clicking it shut and leaning heavily on its solid weight.

  She swallowed a sob.

  Anthony was gone.

  He was probably on a plane already.

  She pressed a shaky hand over her mouth and let the sobs come freely as she slid down to slump on the floor of the entry hall. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in them.

  “Joan?” came a soft voice.

  She drew her head back, blinking a pair of charcoal creased slacks into focus.

  Anthony crouched down. “Are you hurt?”

  “Anthony?” she hiccupped.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She scrubbed her palms over her
wet cheeks. “What are you doing here?”

  He held out a hand and drew her to her feet. “I saw your interview.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh.” He pulled her into his arms, rocking her back and forth.

  “You’re not fired,” she mumbled.

  “And your mother doesn’t have her head in her ass.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry right back at you. I never should have said that.”

  She shook her head. Then she nodded. “Yes. You were right. My parents are going to have to get used to me the way I am.”

  “I’m sure your parents love you very much.”

  Joan drew back, touching his rough face, gazing into his deep blue eyes, so very, very happy to see him. “But what are you doing here?”

  “I was making cosmopolitans. You want to get drunk?”

  She nodded. “Oh, yeah.” Maybe once she was drunk she’d have the courage to tell Anthony she loved him.

  “Good.” Then he drew her into his arms again, holding her tight. “Forget getting drunk,” he mumbled against her ear. “You want to make love?”

  Joan’s entire body shuddered in relief. “Yes. Oh, yes.”

  He drew back once more, his eyes darkening to midnight. Then he slanted his head and brought his lips down on hers. They were hot and moist, and oh so familiar. She lost track of time and space and reason as his tongue made love to her mouth.

  Finally, gasping, they drew apart. He kissed her one last time. “Good. Then since I’m on a roll here, you want to marry me?”

  Joan’s heart contracted. Her chest tingled, and she was sure she couldn’t have heard right. “What did you say?”

  “That wasn’t quite right.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Joan, I love you.”

  Her tears started anew. “I love you, too.”

  “In descending order of importance, will you A, marry me. B, make love with me. C, get drunk with me. Because it’s been one hell of a day.”

  “It’s been one hell of a week.”

  “Say yes, Joan.”

  Her broad smile tightened her cheeks. “Yes. To all of the above.”

  His arms held her closer. “I saw your interview.”

  She nodded. “So you said.”

  “My boss offered me a raise.”

  “You deserve it.”