by Jo Leigh
His voice sounded strained. But he’d shown her one thing—they had to get on with it. Get on with the wedding, even though it would kill her that it was her sister getting married and not her. But then she remembered it was Saturday already. Stephanie could never get here in time.
“We have some beer in the honor bar downstairs,” she said. “But I don’t know how cold it’ll be. The power’s been off all night.”
“I won’t like it, but I’ll drink it.”
“Good man,” she said, aware as she spoke how feeble the joke was. But it was the best she could do.
He blew out the candle and left it on the coffee table. Then he took her hand and led her to the door. She looked back once, trying to see the tub, but of course, she couldn’t.
IT WAS DURING HER SHOWER that she made up her mind. Now, taking a cold, hard look at herself in the bathroom mirror, she knew she had no choice.
She snapped her compact closed and went to the bedroom. Mitch was waiting for his turn in the shower. He looked so wonderfully at home among her things. He was on the couch, thumbing through her issue of Vogue—barefoot, shirtless, his hair tousled and his chin dark with the beginning of a beard. She wanted to make love to him right then. The ache was more than physical, and she wondered if that ache was going to be a part of her from now on, like her hair or her fingers.
“It’s all yours,” she said, trying to keep her voice cheerful. That was another thing she suspected would last long past this trip. Forcing herself to sound chipper, to put on a happy face.
He tossed the magazine aside and smiled up at her. She saw her own bittersweet emotions echoed on his face. That same effort to look like all was right in a world gone terribly wrong.
“You leave any hot water?”
“That’s the one thing we’ve been left with,” she said. “I really do want to get downstairs and see what happened during the night. I wonder if the tarps held?”
“I’ll hurry,” he said, standing. He walked by her and touched her briefly on the arm. “Have some juice. The kitchen probably won’t be open.”
She nodded absently, not caring whether she ate or drank. She wanted to get out of here, find her parents, get on with it. If she lingered too long, there was a chance she’d change her mind.
Today was supposed to have been Stephanie’s wedding. Of course, without the bride, there wouldn’t be a ceremony. Her whole trip had been for nothing. No wedding, no story. She would have been better off staying at home. God, she wanted to get back there as soon as possible.
Was the airport even open? She went to the window and saw that while it wasn’t anything like last night, there was still some serious wind out there. A palm tree she’d barely noticed before made her look twice. It had been snapped in two. Bentley sent up a small prayer that no one had been hurt, that no one’s life had been taken.
Then she turned back and went to the closet. She chose jeans and a T-shirt instead of the creamcolored suit she’d planned on wearing for today’s activities. She might be asked to help, and she wanted to pitch in.
Mitch came out of the shower just after she’d put on her sneakers. He was clean shaven once more, his hair wet and spiky. He’d wrapped a towel around his waist.
“That felt great,” he said. “I see you decided to dress like the common folk.”
The comment stung. “What the heck,” she said. “I’ll try to blend in.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that. Honest.”
She knew he hadn’t consciously meant to hurt her. But the blatant reminder of their different worlds had hit her like a blow.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Echo Park.”
“An apartment? A house?”
“Apartment. Duplex, actually.”
“What does it look like?”
He shrugged as he pulled a clean pair of jeans from his duffel bag. “Nothing special. Salvation Army furniture. Brick-and-wood bookcases. Posters on the wall.”
“No pets?”
“Not even a plant. I’m not home enough to take care of a pet. Not the way a pet should be taken care of.”
“Do you stick things on your refrigerator?”
He smiled. “Yeah, I do.”
“I do, too,” she said, excited for no logical reason. “I use little magnets and I stick pictures and articles and ticket stubs on there.”
“Did you hear? There’s a new children’s museum downtown,” he said, grinning. “All the artwork is hung on refrigerators.”
She laughed, but the humor drained out of her quickly. “It’s silly, isn’t it? Tacking things up with a magnet. It doesn’t matter at all.”
She could see he was searching for something to say, but she hadn’t meant to put him on the spot. This was her own private battle, and there was no need for him to get hit by the shrapnel. “Come on, get dressed already. Don’t you want to hear how Babs spent the night?”
He nodded, but she could see he was worried. Soon he would know that he needn’t be concerned about her.
Mitch dropped his towel, and her cheeks flushed at his casual nakedness. There was no reason for modesty anymore. Not after last night. Still, it was an intimacy she no longer deserved, and she picked up the Vogue and tried to focus on the pictures.
“I’m ready if you are,” he said after a few minutes.
It was safe to look up again, and she did, pasting her smile on as if donning a hat. “Great. Lets hit it.”
He held out his hand for her. She stared at it, completely choked up by the small courtesy. But the smile didn’t waver. Not a centimeter. She took his hand, and he helped her up. Neither of them spoke, although they stood very close to each other. She could smell his clean scent, feel his body heat. She stepped away.
MITCH CURSED HIMSELF for a fool. He should comfort her, make her see that things weren’t so terrible. Once she got back to L.A., she’d remember who he was. She’d see him in context, and she’d wonder how she ever let herself get so crazy over a poor slob like him. Maybe she’d look back with kindness. He hoped so. He hated to think she would have regrets. He would, but not about what had happened, only about what hadn’t.
They walked down the stairs, crowded with guests, most of them looking worse for wear. He doubted anyone had slept last night.
When they reached the lobby, he was relieved to see that the tarps had held. Nothing looked too bad inside, just a few broken vases, a tipped palm tree or two. The place was packed with people. Children slept on the couches, though, so it was remarkably silent. Trust a hurricane to make people considerate.
“I don’t see anyone we know,” Bentley said. “Wait, there’s Kimo.” She rushed over to the ex-hausted-looking bellman. “Can you tell me where the Brewster party is?”
He looked at her for a moment, as if trying to remember who she was. “Oh. In the Lanai ballroom. Most everyone slept there last night.”
“Babs Brewster?”
His face got that exasperated, look Mitch had come to associate with those who had encountered Babs. “She’s fine. We got her out of the elevator early this morning. She’s back there with the rest of them.”
Bentley nodded knowingly. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“But she did. Guilt by association.”
Kimo smiled. “She’s really something.”
Bentley nodded. “Let me know if there’s any way I can help out today. I’m going to check up on her, but I’ll come back if you need me.”
He shook his head. “We won’t be able to do much until the wind dies down some more. The cleanup is going to be mostly outside.”
“The offer stands,” she said.
Mitch felt proud, which seemed a bizarre thing to feel. Why should he puff up like a peacock because Bentley offered to help out? It must be the lack of sleep.
They threaded their way through the crowd. Mitch barely noticed anyone; his gaze was fixed on Bentley. She walked so straight and tall. With such natu
ral grace. Although he was glad that he’d seen her nude, with all the trappings of wealth stripped away, it saddened him, too. She had a richness about her that had nothing to do with wealth, and everything to do with wealth. Her lithe body moved with stunning ease and self-assurance. He wondered if she’d studied ballet or attended a finishing school.
Bentley led him inside the ballroom where the bachelor party had been the night before. Babs was holding court, a bevy of wedding guests standing at her feet with deep sympathy etched in every pair of eyes.
“Where have you been?” Babs called when she caught sight of them. She made a beeline for Bentley, nearly pushing Tildy off balance. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. It’s been hell. I tell you, Bentley, you have no idea.”
“I’m sorry the hurricane inconvenienced you, Mother.”
Babs stopped short, her hands still extended for the aborted hug. “What’s the matter?”
Bentley took a deep breath. She straightened her already straight back and pushed her hair from her face. “I have something to tell you,” she said.
“It can’t wait? I’ve not slept at all. Daddy got drunk last night, and he has a deadly hangover.”
“No, it can’t wait. But you probably should hear this privately. Daddy, too.”
Babs looked at Mitch questioningly. He shrugged and shook his head, but he had a terrible feeling he knew what Bentley was going to say. He couldn’t let her. Not this way. It was all his fault.
“Excuse us a minute, Mom,” he said as he turned to face Bentley. “What are you doing?” he said softly. “Are you crazy? You don’t have to tell them. I’ll never let on. I’ll be Carter whenever you need me to.”
Bentley shook her head. “No. This isn’t about you, Mitch. It’s about me. About who I am. And what lies I’m willing to live with.”
“If I hadn’t been here…”
“If you hadn’t been here, I’d probably have gone on telling my parents what they wanted to hear. I would have bent my life around to fit their mold. And little by little, I’d have died inside. Don’t you dare feel bad, Mitch. You make me brave. How I’ll be brave without you, I don’t know. But I’ll try.”
He swallowed hard. “What are you telling me? That you’re going to give up the money?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll have to wait and see how things turn out. What I won’t do is compromise for one more day. I won’t hide anymore. For the first time in my life, it is my life, and I’m not at all sure how I want to spend it.”
“The Pulitzer?”
She nodded. “I’ll still beat you to that prize, kiddo. Or my name isn’t—”
“Bentley Brewster-DeHaven,” he said, loud enough for Babs, for all of them to hear. He turned around and met Babs’s gaze. “You wanted a wedding. You’re going to get a wedding.” He took Bentley’s hand in his, ignoring the shocked look on her face. “We’re going to renew our vows. Today. Right now. There’s got to be a preacher here somewhere.”
Babs smiled brightly, her immediate woes chased away by the thought that her expensive wedding wouldn’t go to waste after all. “This is wonderful,” she said. “Danny, did you hear? We’re finally going to see Bentley and Carter get married.”
Mitch felt Bentley tug at him until she finally yanked him around.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting married.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Hey, I’ll change my name. I’ve come to like Carter. He and I share the same taste in women.”
“You can’t do this.”
“Why not? We’ve pulled off harder things than this. Listen, it wouldn’t so bad, would it? I’d leave you alone, I promise. It would kill me, but I’d leave you alone.”
She looked up at him with eyes brimming with tears. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t want you to change your name or anything else. I’m doing this because I need to. Because I want to. Because I love you.”
“You do? For real? It’s me here, Bentley. Mitch, not Carter. I’m from the poor side of town, kiddo. I’ve been on my own for a lot of years. I’m no piece of cake.”
“You think I am? I don’t give a damn about the money, Mitch, but it’s there, and we’ll have to deal with it. It can change people, you know. It might change me.”
His heart was beating a mile a minute. “I’m willing to take that risk. Are you?”
The tears had broken free and were trickling down her cheeks. He kissed them away, and then she whispered, “Yes.”
Chapter Seventeen
“But it has to be my way,” Bentley said. “No more lies.”
Mitch nodded, his smile so gentle and loving that she knew nothing could hurt her. She kissed him lightly on the lips and turned to face her parents.
“Mother, this isn’t Carter.”
Babs blinked several times. Her smile still played on her lips, but now it looked painful. Despite her makeup, Bentley watched her pale. “What?”
“This isn’t Carter. His name is Mitchell Andrew Slater, and he’s a reporter for the Times.”
“What have you done with Carter?”
Bentley walked over to her mother and took her hands. “There never was a Carter, Mom. I made him up so that you would stop sending me potential husbands. I realize I should never have done that. It wasn’t fair. I should have told you a long time ago how I really felt.”
“I don’t know how to react to this, Bentley. I’m at a loss for words. You made up your husband? All this time, you’ve been lying to me? To your father? My God, what will I tell people? How am I going to explain this?”
“I hope you’re going to tell them that your daughter made a mistake. But she never stopped loving you, or respecting you. And now you’re very happy for her. Happy that she’s found the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”
Babs took her hands away. She looked as though she might cry, but that wouldn’t happen. Babs never cried.
“How can I be happy for you? I don’t know this young man at all. Who are his people? What can he offer you?”
“I don’t have people, Mrs. Brewster,” Mitch said. “It’s just me. All I can offer your daughter is everything I’ve got. Which isn’t a whole hell of a lot, but what I lack in goods, I make up for in sincerity.”
Bentley took his hand in hers. “I’m crazy about him, Mom. And you will be, too. He’s just what this family needed. A man who wears a bowling shirt to his own wedding.”
“You’re serious about this?” Babs said. “Danny, talk to her.”
Dan nodded and walked up to Bentley. He took hold of her shoulders and settled his gaze pointblank. “You really love him?”
Bentley nodded.
“Can you live without him?”
“I probably can. But I don’t want to.”
“You know he loves you?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have my blessings. I still want that grandchild, though.”
“We’ll do our best, Dad.”
“Danny!”
He turned to his wife. “What is it?”
“I thought you were going to talk her out of this. You know she’s a special young lady and that she has certain needs.”
“Beulah Brewster, you listen to me. Our daughter is a grown woman. She’s capable of making her own decisions. She’s done nothing but make us proud, and I don’t see that this will turn out any differently. Now, you wanted to throw a wedding. So kiss your new son-in-law and get on with it”
Babs’s mouth hung open in total surprise. “We’ll talk about this later, Danforth.”
“I know we will, dear.” He kissed her on the lips. “And I know you’re going to make the best of things. You always do. That’s one of the reasons I love you.”
She didn’t look happy, but it didn’t look like she was going to fight them any longer.
Bentley had never been so proud of her father. Or felt so dearly for her mother. It was as if the dust of years had been blown away,
and now she could see her parents with all their faults and love them completely.
Mitch put his arm around her waist and whispered, “Beulah?”
She laughed. “I warn you. This is not an easy family. Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“Let’s find us a justice of the peace and snookems, I’m all yours.”
She turned to him. “One promise?”
He nodded solemnly.
“Never call me snookems again.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Promise?”
He nodded. “Boy, I propose in this idyllic setting, I dress up in my best clothes, and this is what I get in return?”
“Quit complaining and find us a preacher before I decide I need a real wedding dress.”
“Anyone here who can officiate a wedding?” he shouted.
The milling guests were looking on as if watching an episode of Dallas. From the very back, a small voice cried, “I can.”
Bentley tried to see who it was. Finally, a man stepped forward. A short, short man, bald on top, a long ponytail in back.
She turned to Mitch. His mouth was open, so she knew that it really was Darren Colker.
“What are you doing here?” Mitch said.
“I’m here for the wedding.”
“For my sister’s wedding?” Bentley said, utterly confused.
“Bentley,” Babs said, “this is your father’s old friend. Surely you’ve heard us mention Dinky.”
“This is Dinky? Darren Colker is Dad’s old college roommate?”
Babs nodded. “Of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You never asked.”
“So do you two want to get married?” Colker asked. “Or do we want to discuss the old days at Harvard.”
“Are you allowed to do that?” Bentley said. “Marry us?”
“I’m a minister, and I can officiate anywhere in the United States.”
“What about our interview?” Mitch asked.
Colker, the strange-looking little billionaire, stared up at Mitch and Bentley. “Ah, now there’s the rub. You want to get married, or you want an interview?”