by Sandra Brown
“What?” Todd asked as he used his butt to grind a more comfortable depression into the sand.
“Wishes,” Roark replied. “Reminds me of a genie joke.”
“There are hundreds. Which one?”
“This guy finds a magic lamp, rubs it, genie pops out, grants him three wishes. The guy wishes for a Ferrari, and poof! Next morning there’s a shiny new Ferrari parked in his driveway. He rubs the lamp again, genie pops out, says he’s got two more wishes. The guy wishes for ten million dollars and poof! Next morning ten million dollars is neatly stacked on his nightstand. He rubs the lamp again, genie pops out, says he’s got one last wish. The guy wishes for a penis that would reach the ground, and poof! Next morning he wakes up and his legs are three inches long.”
When their laughter subsided, Roark added, “Moral of the story, be careful what you wish for.”
Todd grumbled, “I wish Hadley’s dick would shrivel to nothing and then drop off. If he’s even got one. Which I doubt.”
“Which manuscript did you send him?”
“The historical.”
“You’ve been working your ass off on that book. What’d he say?”
Todd took another swig from the bottle. “The plot stretches plausibility. My dialogue sucks.”
“Hadley said ‘sucks’?”
“Words to that effect.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“He said my dialogue was crisp and well paced, but my plot is predictable and needs punch.” He looked over at Todd. “Maybe we should collaborate.”
“Shit, no. No sharing. I’ve put in a two-year apprenticeship without any remuneration.”
“You sold a short story,” Roark reminded him.
“One lousy short story to a local magazine for twenty-five bucks. It’ll be read in the crapper if at all.” He pitched a seashell back into the surf. “I’m living in an apartment where the roaches are carnivorous and the tenants downstairs are armed and dangerous.”
“But you can’t beat the view. You can, however, beat your meat while taking in the view.”
“There is that,” Todd replied solemnly. “I’ve never jerked off so much in my life.”
“The palm of your hand isn’t sprouting hair, is it?”
“Here’s to nude sunbathing among exotic dancers.”
He raised the bottle in salute, but Roark took it from him and helped himself to another swallow.
“I’m broke all the friggin’ time,” Todd continued morosely. “My car’s got over a hundred and sixty thousand miles on it.”
“Meanwhile, you’re parking Porsches and BMWs.”
“A job you could train a chimpanzee to do.”
“A chimp is cuter. Would probably get better tips.”
Todd glared at Roark. “Are you gonna let me finish this or what?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your pity party.” Roark passed the bottle back to him. “Have another drink.”
“Thank you.” Todd drank and belched a loud, gurgling burp. “When all this hardship pays off, I want the glory to go to me, myself, and I. No offense.”
“None taken. I don’t want to collaborate with you, either. I was joking.”
“Oh.” Todd flopped down onto his back in the sand. “So what did Hadley really say in his notes to you?”
“I told you.”
“Was it the truth?”
“Why would I lie?”
“To make me feel better.”
Roark snorted. “I’m not that charitable.”
“Right, right, you’re a son of a bitch. So maybe you would lie for another reason.”
Roark sat up. “Something on your mind, Todd? If so, why don’t you just say it?”
“You always downplay Hadley’s critiques.”
“I’m not gonna wear a hair shirt over one man’s opinion, which is all his critiques are. I don’t let myself get depressed over them the way you do.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe that explains why you downplay them. On the other hand, you might be trying to throw me off track.”
Roark shook his head in bafflement. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Forget it.”
“Like hell I will. First you accused me of lying and then you provided me with a shitty motivation for it. I take exception to both.”
“And I take exception to your thinking you’re a better writer than me.”
“Than I,” Roark corrected.
“Fuck you!” Todd surged to his feet, but the earth tilted drastically and threw him off balance. He landed back in the sand.
Roark grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him around. “Why would I deliberately mislead you about Hadley’s critiques?”
Todd flung his hands up and threw Roark’s off. “To get the jump on me. You can’t stand the idea of me getting—of my getting—published before you.”
“Oh, like you’d be thrilled if I sold a manuscript ahead of you.”
“I’d rather have my guts ripped out up through my throat.”
For several moments the narrow distance between them was volatile, teeming with molecules of hostility ready to spark. Todd made his hands into fists in anticipation of an attack.
To his surprise, Roark started to laugh. “You’d rather have your guts ripped out up through your throat?”
Todd tried not to smile, but he lost the battle and soon he was laughing, too. “In the heat of the moment, not to mention my inebriation, that’s all I could think of to say.”
“I don’t recommend it for your book.”
“Point taken.”
They stared at the oceanscape for several minutes, then Roark said, “I’m done for the night. Think we can make it to the car?”
Todd took satisfaction in Roark’s being the first to cave. “Fuck, man, I don’t know. I’m wasted.”
Roark threw his arm across Todd’s shoulders and helped him to his feet. They made it to the parking lot, although it took a while because they stumbled often and stopped frequently. Their drunken efforts made them weak-kneed with hilarity. Neither was in any condition to drive, but Roark got behind the wheel because he was slightly less drunk than Todd.
It was past noon the following day, as they medicated their hangovers with burgers and fries, that Todd resumed the conversation. “You know, a little rivalry could be good for us.”
Roark groaned. “Don’t start that again. I don’t consider you a rival, Todd.”
“Bullshit. Of course you do.”
“How could rivalry possibly be good for us?”
“It makes us work harder. Admit it, when you see me writing, there’s no way you can shirk off. If I’m at my keyboard, you can’t sit down and watch a ball game on TV. I’m the same. If you’re writing, I feel guilty if I’m not writing, too. If you put in seven hours a day, I’ve got to put in at least that much. That competitive edge is what drives us.”
“I’m driven by nothing except a desire to write good fiction.”
Todd waved his hands in the air. “Saint Roark. Glory and hallelujah.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll drop it.” He took a bite of his cheeseburger. “Anyway, the point’s moot. I’ll be offered megabucks for The Vanquished before you even complete your book. Then we’ll see who’s green with envy.”
“That is not going to happen.”
Todd laughed. “Oh, man, I wish you could see the malicious glint in your eye. You just won my argument for me.”
Chapter 24
“Is there any coffee?”
“Isn’t there always?”
Parker shot Mike a dark glance as he rolled his chair across the kitchen and poured himself a fresh mug from the coffeemaker. “Usually you come and ask if I’d like a refill, check and see if I need anything.”
“I didn’t want to take a chance on having my head bit off. You made it plain at breakfast that Maris and I should make our
selves scarce today, and that’s what we’re doing.”
“I’m working on a difficult passage. I didn’t want any distractions or interruptions.”
He was on his way back through the connecting door when he heard Mike mutter, “You could’ve asked us nicely.”
Parker stopped and reversed direction. “Did you say something?”
Mike threw down the dish towel he’d been using and did an about face. “I said her blouse was buttoned wrong last night when you finally saw fit to bring her in out of the rain and let me know where you were.”
“Wow! You covered several transgressions in one sentence, Mike. Shall we break it down and discuss it iniquity by iniquity? Or should I just acknowledge that you’re riled in general and get back to my work?”
“I came home after a day on the mainland to find the house wide open, lights on, nobody home. I thought you’d been abducted.”
“Did it occur to you that I could have been taken up in the Rapture and that you’d been left behind? Bet that really would’ve pissed you off.”
“You and the Rapture are irreconcilable themes. I would never pair you with a thought about it. And I soon ruled out the possibility of kidnapping. Who’d be crazy enough to want you?”
“Man! You are ticked.”
“I have a right to be. I wouldn’t have even known Maris had come back if I hadn’t noticed two sets of dishes in the sink and went out to check the guest house.”
“You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes.”
“You could have left a note telling me you were going down to the beach.”
“I could have. But I was afraid your maternal instincts would kick in and you’d follow us down there to make sure we kiddies were all right.”
“And not up to any mischief.”
Parker dropped all vestiges of humor, saying tightly, “That’s right, Mike. I didn’t want you to catch us playing naughty. I wouldn’t care, but Maris might.”
“Which brings me to the next point.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You’ve cooked up a plot of vengeance and you’re going to act it out to the bitter end, aren’t you?”
“We’ve been over this.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Damn right I am!” Parker shouted.
His raised voice didn’t deter Mike, however. “What’s the final chapter going to be?”
“What, give away the ending? Tell you and spoil the surprise? I don’t think so.”
Mike glared at him. “It’s not going to be a happy ending.”
“I’m not after rave reviews.”
“Only revenge.”
“Which always makes for good motivation, ergo a good plot. Now, are you finished?”
“Not quite. What about Maris?”
“She’s definitely a plot device.”
“You’re using her, aren’t you? In spite of who she is.”
“Because of who she is.”
Mike must have sensed Parker’s unshakable resolve. Or maybe his imperious tone reminded the older man that he had overstepped his bounds. Or maybe he simply wore out. Whatever the cause, Mike’s anger dissolved. His angry posture settled back into its elderly sag. “Parker, I implore you to give this up. Let go of it. Tell Maris everything. For your good as well as hers. Tell her.”
“Tell me what?”
* * *
At the sound of her voice, the two men turned quickly. Evidently she had walked into a spirited exchange, and it felt like a quarrel. “Tell me what?” she repeated.
“I’ve written some new pages,” Parker said. “They’re printing out now.”
“I’ll get them.” Mike gave Parker a look that was rife with meaning. But whatever the meaning was, Maris couldn’t decipher it. He went into the solarium, leaving them alone.
“He just made a fresh pot of coffee,” Parker remarked.
“Thanks, but I’ve passed my limit. If I drink any more this morning, I’ll be swinging from the chandelier along with your ghost friend.”
“I’d pay to see that.” His smile was forced and the attempted humor fell flat.
Maris couldn’t account for the mood in the house, mainly because she couldn’t define the mood. It had started last night when she and Parker returned from the beach. Mike, who had arrived in their absence, had been on the veranda watching for them, standing with his hands on his hips and looking perturbed. He’d admonished them for getting soaked to the skin. He said he expected that kind of nutty, irresponsible behavior from Parker, but Parker had no right to subject Maris to his zaniness.
He had then hustled Parker into his bedroom at the back of the house. Maris knew which room it was, but she’d never been invited to see it, not even when Mike had conducted her on a guided tour of the house, including his suite and the unfinished rooms on the second floor.
Feeling slightly downcast over the abrupt conclusion to the romantic evening, she had returned to the guest cottage. She sensed that it wasn’t their getting caught in the rain or even their unexplained absence from the house that had upset Mike. He was more than slightly annoyed, more concerned than the situation had warranted.
She couldn’t figure out what they had done or hadn’t done to provoke him.
If it were anyone else, she would guess that the personal valet was jealous of the newcomer. It stood to reason that someone in Mike’s position would resent an intruder into the comfortable life he had made for his charge. Their days had a rhythm that he wouldn’t want disturbed.
Understandably the interloper would be regarded as a threat. His first instinct would be to protect his position and importance. He would also want to shield the individual he cared for against any potential harm.
But Mike hadn’t behaved jealously toward her. He didn’t treat her as a danger who might damage Parker. On the contrary, he seemed genuinely pleased that she had entered their lives. He’d shown her every kindness, and, in even the most insignificant disputes, he took her side over Parker’s more often than not.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel that Mike had a general idea of what they’d been doing down at the beach and that he disapproved. Whatever else had factored in, this was the basis of his indignation. When she returned to the guest cottage, she’d discovered that she hadn’t buttoned her shirt correctly, that in her haste, she’d skipped a button. A dead giveaway to hanky-panky.
Still, she was more mystified than embarrassed. She and Parker were well beyond the age of accountability, and it should have been clear to Mike that whatever had transpired on the beach had been consensual. Could it be a moral issue with him? Not knowing the present state of her marriage, did Mike think Parker was romancing another man’s wife?
In any case, their return to the house had quelled any plans either she or Parker had for continuing what had been started on the beach. She prudently remained in the guest cottage until this morning, and although she’d lain awake for a long time half expecting Parker to come to her, he hadn’t. This morning at breakfast, he’d been testy and irritable. More so than usual. And he’d acted as though their time on the beach together had never happened.
All this was weighing heavily on her mind. She was trying desperately to stave off a bad case of the blues. Despite the tender lovemaking last night, her relationship with Parker was still unspecified and tenuous. At any moment, she feared a geocentric shift of emotions that would plunge her headlong into despair.
She’d been made a fool of by one man. She didn’t want to repeat that particular mistake. Ever. But certainly not within the same week.
Following that first lame attempt at conversation about caffeine, neither she nor Parker had said a word. Their eye contact had been haphazard and fleeting. Parker seemed to be making a concerted effort to avoid it altogether.
Feeling awkward, she asked if he was happy with what he’d written that morning.
“It’s all right, I guess,” he mumbled into his coffee mug, keeping his head down.
T
his was silly. They were grown-ups, not adolescents. Up till now, he had seized every opportunity to slip a blatant sexual innuendo into their conversation. He certainly hadn’t been shy about demonstrating his attraction to her, starting with the night they met. His sudden bashfulness made no sense.
“Did Mike lecture you?”
He looked over at her. “About the foreplay?”
“I… I was going to say about seducing a married woman.”
“Is that what I did?”
“Not without a lot of encouragement.”
“Then does it count as a bona fide seduction?”
“Parker, are we going to play a game of semantics, or are you going to answer my question?”
“Mike is concerned for you.”
“Why?”
“He thinks I’m rotten to the core.”
“He thinks the sun rises and sets in you.”
“He’s afraid I’ll hurt you.”
Looking at him intently, she asked, “Will you?”
“Yes.”
Startled by his blunt reply, she sat down at the kitchen table without breaking the eye contact they had finally established. “At least you’re honest.”
“Brutally so. It puts most people off.”
“Noted. But I’m not most people.”
The hard line of his lips softened. Something sparked in his eyes, which had been so remote only seconds ago. They moved over her, alighting for a time on her mouth, her breasts, her lap. Those spots that had experienced his intimate touch began to tingle with sensual recollection.
When his gaze reconnected with hers, he said gruffly, “Noted.”
They lapsed into a long stare that went unbroken until Mike reentered the kitchen, bringing with him several pages of text. “The print was getting dim, so I had to replace the cartridge.” He handed the pages of manuscript to Maris.
“I need to get back to it,” Parker said, wheeling his chair toward the solarium. “Don’t talk about me while I’m gone.”
“We’ve got better things to talk about,” Mike retorted.
Parker slammed the door shut behind him.
Maris laughed. “You two are like quarreling siblings. Or an old married couple.”
“God forbid.”
“Were you ever married, Mike?”