Infamous

by Jane Porter

  Wolf stopped. His broad shoulders nearly filled the door frame, casting a long, dark shadow behind him. “I don’t know.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart beating so hard it hurt. “Do you want a divorce?”

  He said nothing, choosing to remain silent, and his silence was worse than any words. Rage and pain and heartbreak filled her.

  “Wolf?” she demanded, even though she already knew the answer. But she wanted to hear it from him, wanted him to finally speak the truth.

  Slowly his head turned. She could just glimpse the hard line of his cheekbone, the curve of his ear. “I don’t know. I need time. I need to think.”

  The words broke what was left of her heart. Hot, furious emotion rushed through her. The emotions were wild, the pain extreme. He’d made her feel safe. He’d made her feel loved. He’d made her believe he’d be there for her and with her and that it was okay to love him. It was okay to fall in love with him. It was okay to imagine a life together. But it was all a lie. He’d lied. He’d pretended. He’d acted.

  “You tricked me,” she choked out, taking a step toward him. “You deceived me.”

  He said nothing.

  Her hands balled convulsively. Tears blinded her. Hysteria, rage, grief bubbled, boiled. “If you go and leave me, Wolf, I won’t be here when you return.”

  And still he said nothing.

  The pain and his silence whipped at her, tormenting her. “Wolf.”

  “I hear you, Alexandra. You don’t have to shout.”

  She was wiping the tears away, one after the other. “If you go to Venice now, I won’t be here when you come back,” she repeated in a whisper. “I won’t.”

  He nodded. And then he left.

  Alexandra crawled into bed after he left, carrying the house phone and the mobile phone with her, just in case Wolf changed his mind. Just in case he called.

  She didn’t leave the house in case he changed his mind.

  But night came, and the Europe flights were all gone. And when she turned on the television the next morning there was a story about the Venice Film Festival and the glittering guest list, with Wolf Kerrick and Joy Hughes making their first appearance together since the dramatic plane crash and rescue in Zambia.

  And then suddenly there they were, Wolf and Joy, arriving at the Venice airport, filmed amid a blinding strobe of flashes. Joy wore an enormous mink coat over her jeans and turtleneck sweater, while Wolf was in his favorite jeans and a T-shirt topped with a wool coat. They looked gorgeous together, Alexandra thought, the way a celebrity couple should look.

  Turning off the television, Alexandra knew it was time to pack, find a place of her own, return to work and move on.

  In the first month after separating from Wolf, Alexandra was so overwhelmed trying to adjust to a different life, settling into her new home—a condo close to downtown Los Angeles in a new development filled with artists, writers and trendy business executives—and learning the ropes of her new job that she didn’t really let herself think about the end of their relationship.

  But later, as the newness wore off and the pattern of her days emerged, her work became more routine and she grew comfortable reading scripts, meeting with studio heads and acting as the intermediary between directors, actors and producers. People took her seriously. Her opinions were respected. And before long her name was added to the credits of her first film as an assistant director. It was a huge personal moment for Alexandra. She wasn’t just a coffee girl anymore but a valuable member of a studio making major motion pictures.

  That night she took Kristie and some of the other girls from the studio’s front office out to dinner at the Ivy and they celebrated. Alexandra promised Kristie and the others that if they wanted to get out of copy-room hell, she’d do everything she could to help them, and she meant it.

  It was a lovely dinner, warm, happy, full of laughter and enthusiasm. After four and a half years in Los Angeles, Alexandra finally felt as though she belonged. She’d made it. She could live here, survive here and be happy here.

  Even without Wolf.

  But back home later that night, after Alexandra entered her dimly lit condo, she walked to the enormous plate-glass window in the living room with its view of downtown. The skyscrapers were lit and the streets below were dotted with yellow lights. She felt a pang of such sorrow and loss it nearly doubled her.

  She realized she’d never really accepted that the relationship was over. In the back of her mind she’d secretly thought that maybe, just maybe, it could be saved. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

  After Wolf’s Venice trip, he went to London for six weeks, where he filled in for an actor in a West End play. When the play closed, he engaged in a series of meetings with the producers of The Burning Shore and eventually, by promising to put up his own money and coming onto the picture as a coproducer, he got the studio to agree to finish the film. Wolf had gone back to Africa.

  Alexandra sank down on the arm of her sofa, her stomach falling along with her heart.

  Until now she’d hoped, secretly hoped, it would just be a matter of time before Wolf returned to her. She’d thought that after he finished in Zambia he’d call or come see her. She’d imagined that being in Zambia would remind him of her, of the experiences they’d shared, and he’d realize he missed her. Loved her. And wanted her.

  But it’d been months since the filming had wrapped, and instead of returning to California, Wolf had sold his Malibu home and bought a house in the outskirts of Dublin.

  Sitting on the arm of her sofa, Alexandra was forced to confront the reality that Wolf was never coming back. At least not for her. And despite her best efforts to put on a brave face, focus on her career and begin to move forward, she’d only managed to do the above because she’d thought soon she and Wolf would be together again and everything would eventually be fine.

  But Wolf wasn’t coming back and they weren’t going to be together again and somehow, she thought, reaching up to catch a tear before it fell, she had to believe that everything would still be fine.

  But to make everything truly finished, she had to take the next step, the step she dreaded, the one that would legally separate them. Neither had taken any action to dissolve their marriage, and Alexandra had thought it was because Wolf still loved her. But maybe it wasn’t love that kept them legally bound but public relations.

  Maybe he was waiting for her to be the one to file, to initiate the divorce proceedings, to preserve his image. His precious reputation.

  If she filed, she’d be the bad girl and he’d remain the hero.

  Eyes hot and gritty, Alexandra moved to the computer at the desk in her kitchen nook. She pulled the keyboard out on the granite counter and clicked on her e-mail account and then Wolf’s e-mail address.

  Wolf, she typed quickly, I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m filing for divorce tomorrow. I’m not asking for spousal support or a settlement. I wish you well always. Alexandra

  She read and reread her brief message, hoping it sounded relatively cordial. She wanted to be fair and calm and nonemotional. Twice she went to add another line, something more personal and then less personal, but eventually she just gave up and pressed send, whisking the message from her out-box to his in-box.

  The next day she used her lunch break to drive to the county courthouse, where she filled out the necessary paperwork. After signing her name, she submitted the forms to the clerk. The clerk stamped her paperwork and gave her a receipt.

  “If it’s uncontested,” the clerk said, “in six months you’ll receive a letter confirming the dissolution.”

  Alexandra nodded, thanked the clerk and turned away.

  And that, she said silently, a massive lump swelling in her throat, is the end of that.

  Two weeks later, Alexandra had been invited to attend an industry party, one of those gala events she’d been so in awe of a year ago. After her brief marriage to Wolf and her new position at Paradise Pictures, industr
y parties felt normal.

  As she stepped from the limo—the studio always sent a limo for her when she attended events and she’d wondered more than once if that was Wolf’s doing—camera flashes briefly blinded her. She stood next to the car for a moment in her snug deep blue satin evening gown and smiled, the deep plunging V neckline showing off the creamy skin between her breasts, the neckline accented with a romantic satin ruffle that caught the light and shimmered like midnight with a full moon.

  She’d started to move on when photographers shouted out, pleading with her for just another picture, so Alexandra paused again, shoulders squared, stomach pulled in flat, and forced another smile, the firm, confident smile she’d seen countless celebrities do. As she held her position, she realized Wolf had been right. She’d become a celebrity by virtue of association. Once she’d married him, she’d earned an elite Hollywood status. And although they now lived on separate continents, she was still Mrs. Wolf Kerrick around town.

  And there were nights like tonight when, despite the physical distance between them, Alexandra almost believed that Wolf was near. It was as though he were still part of her life, aware of her world and the things she was doing.

  Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, she thought, clutching her black handbag—the same one she’d carried that very first night she and Wolf had gone out together for drinks at the Casa Del Mar—and headed in.

  Inside the hotel’s ballroom doors, she was handed a flute of champagne. As she moved through the crowd, she heard bits and pieces of peoples’ conversations. It was mid-June and the big summer blockbusters were just starting to be released. Everyone had something to say about the summer films as well as the need to get box-office revenue up again. For the fourth year in a row attendance was down and industry insiders were worried. People just weren’t going to movies the way they used to despite the increasing number of choices. What would it take to get people back to theaters again?

  Across the ballroom she spotted Daniel deVoors at the same time he saw her. He lifted his flute in acknowledgment. She smiled and planned to cross the enormous room in a little bit to visit with him.

  Like Wolf, Daniel had returned to Africa to finish filming The Burning Shore. The film was in postproduction now, slated as a Christmas release. The heavyweight films, the ones considered to be Oscar contenders, were usually released in December and January in order to be fresh in Academy members’ minds at nomination time. Wolf, it was rumored, would be up for another Academy Award as best actor. Daniel would be up for best director, and it was said that Joy would probably earn her first nomination for best actress.

  Moving through the crowded ballroom toward Daniel, Alexandra knew that even though she found it painful to think about Wolf, she was happy for him—as well as the cast and crew—that the picture had finally come together. It wasn’t even his financial investment she cared about. Rather, she knew how much he loved Africa and the story and the people there. She was proud that he’d made something so problematic work. He’d really fought for the film, and it’d paid off.

  Daniel shifted in the crowd, and as he moved to one side, she felt an icy shaft of pain and heartbreak.

  Wolf. He was here.

  Pulse leaping, she drank him in—tall, darkly handsome, dressed in a black tuxedo with a black dress shirt and no bow tie, of course. His hair was longer—considerably longer, nearly down to his shoulders—and the style made him look even more fierce and primitive and male. Then he reached out and drew the woman next to him closer to his side.

  Joy.

  Her heart squeezed into a tattered ball and then fell, a dramatic free fall all the way to the tips of her navy satin pumps.

  He was here. With Joy.

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t take another step, and for the first time since arriving at the hotel she felt grateful for the crowd surging around her. She needed them, all these people, to buffer her, keep her from falling, fainting, weeping.

  Instead she stood there, rooted to her spot, and felt pain roll. Pain and loss and rejection. The emotions were so intense she knew they had to show on her face. She wasn’t an actress, couldn’t hide her feelings, not feelings this strong, and she prayed no one saw how once again her heart was breaking.

  Seeing Wolf and Joy together tonight was nothing short of excruciating. She’d never heard back from Wolf after she’d filed the divorce papers, but the media had somehow managed to get a copy of the paperwork and People magazine had run a color copy of the front page of the form. There in an enormous picture was her request to end her marriage. The headline to the accompanying article was every bit as salacious as she’d feared. And still no word from Wolf.

  But now here he was, a dozen yards away, with Joy. And even if she believed that Joy and Wolf had never been lovers, the fact that Wolf still saw Joy and spent time with her cut, and cut deeply.

  Alexandra envied Joy and Wolf’s bond. It was obvious they had a special connection, and standing there, watching them, Alexandra had never felt like such an outsider as she did just then.

  Someone bumped her from behind and she finally forced herself to move, slipping as quickly through the crowd as she could.

  With a frozen smile fixed to her face she prayed no one could see how much she was hurting. Cameras were everywhere. The last thing she wanted was photos in tomorrow’s paper showing her leaving the fund-raiser in tears.

  And yet, as she slid into the backseat of the limo, her frozen smile shattered and tears filled her eyes.

  She’d loved him. Trusted him. And it’d broken her heart.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IT WAS A LONG, ENDLESS, sleepless night. She cried off and on, getting up once to wash her face, and by the time her alarm finally went off, Alexandra felt as though she’d gone thirteen rounds in a heavyweight fight.

  After dressing and downing a cup of strong black coffee, she dragged herself to work feeling half-alive.

  Even though she felt like hell, the front office was buzzing with excitement. Apparently Wolf had been in there early for a brief meeting with one of the studio’s heads. Kristie had seen Wolf on her way in—he’d just been leaving—and she was telling the other girls that he’d looked even more gorgeous than usual.

  “His hair’s long now,” she whispered dramatically. “And it makes him look wicked and unbelievably sexy.”

  Alexandra carried her mug of herbal tea past the giggling office staff to her desk in the back. Her promotion had meant a private office, and it wasn’t big but it was at least quiet with the door shut.

  Taking a seat at her desk, she turned on her computer, checked e-mail, answered the ones requiring an immediate response and then got busy reading the script needing her attention first.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been reading when she felt the oddest shivery sensation, like that of a feather being trailed across her skin. Reaching up, she rubbed at her nape, where the skin felt most sensitive. All the hairs on her arms were standing up, as well.

  It was then she realized she wasn’t alone. Wolf was standing just inside her door.

  For a long moment she simply stared at him. He looked like a pirate with his long black hair and his dark, shadowed jaw.

  “Your hair’s so long,” she said almost absently.

  “It’s for my next role. Blackbeard.”

  “He was vile.”

  Creases fanned at his eyes. “Brilliant.”

  “Cruel.”

  “Practical.”

  “Insensitive.”

  “Legendary.”

  Alexandra fell silent. She wasn’t going to win. Wolf was Wolf. He’d always be smarter, faster, stronger, richer, more beautiful.

  His jaw jutted at an angle and his dark lashes dropped, concealing his eyes. “You left quickly last night, before we could speak.”

  Her heart ached fiercely. “There was no reason for us to speak.”

  He didn’t move, and yet she felt his physical presence grow, his anger and leashed tension fi
lling the room. “There’s our marriage.”

  “Divorce,” she corrected.

  “I’ve contested the divorce.”

  Alexandra grabbed at the edge of her desk, reeling. “You what?”

  “I’m Irish and Spanish. I don’t believe in divorce.”

  “But this is California.”

  “And you married me. And maybe I’m vile and cruel and insensitive, but I view marriage as a holy union—”

  “Really? Then where the hell have you been?” She slapped her hands on her desktop, hitting the surface so hard her tea sloshed a little in the white ceramic mug. “I certainly wouldn’t say you’ve been doing anything to try to save the marriage.”

  “You gave me an ultimatum,” he said unapologetically.

  “So you leave and never contact me again?”

  He shrugged. “I was giving you time.”

  “To hate you!”

  His dark eyes flashed. Lines etched at his mouth. “Hate’s a sister emotion to love.”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t do this, not now, not here, not like this. She hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. Her head ached from crying.

  For the past months she’d done everything she could to stabilize herself, to make her new world okay. And to do that, she’d had to minimize Wolf, reduce his influence and the impact he had on her.

  When his name was mentioned on television or she came across one of his movies on cable, she turned the channel. When the papers printed an interview, she skipped it. When people at parties mentioned him, she moved to another group gathered. It wasn’t that she was bitter, it was just that everything to do with him—them—still hurt. Even after the end of their relationship, even after filing for divorce, her heart still felt broken.

  Leaving the party last night she’d felt destroyed. She’d felt empty. Different. Changed. And she didn’t like these feelings at all, didn’t like the helplessness they entailed. “This isn’t the time, Wolf,” she said woodenly. “I’m working—”

  “And work is more important than us? Than our marriage, our family?”

  She drew a rough breath. “We were never a family.”