Jessica looked in wonder at Mac’s careful lettering, and a sample rejection letter he had prepared on the computer. Respectful, apologetic, encouraging. Nothing like Lauder’s "don’t call us, we’ll call you" game.
Pulling open the lap drawer, she perused the contents and discovered a small address book.
"Hmmm." Jessica smiled, remembering Mac’s disdain for "palm" type organizers. She thumbed through a few pages, then tossed the book into her purse.
She took one more look into Dane’s darkened office as she walked toward the door.
~ * ~
Roxanne Boudreau had closed the small dress shop on Sunset Boulevard; she now sold her gowns by appointment only and from the large manor house she shared with her husband. Tom Jarrick optioned an occasional screenplay, but mostly dabbled at golf, home remodeling and fund-raisers. He was also a widely sought after film critic.
Now, while pinning fabric together on her living model and best friend, Roxanne glanced quickly out the window at the broad expanse of lawn across the rear of the estate where Tom tossed a toy football to young Devon MacKendall. She immediately turned her attention back to Jessica.
"So are you going to tell me about Hawaii or not?"
"It was fun."
"Fun. Now that’s an all-encompassing term. Fun."
"Well, up to a point… Ouch!"
"Sorry. How did Kyle treat you?"
"Don’t ask."
Roxanne rose from where she had been kneeling, her eyes delving. "Well that’s telling," she uttered.
Jessica sighed. "Oh, it wasn’t really his fault. It was mine. Being an idiot, as usual. Just like the other night at Dane’s. I just can’t seem to make anything go right."
After a decided pause, Roxanne began removing the pieced-together garment from Jessica’s frame and draping it over a mannequin. Taking her friend by the wrist, she pulled her toward the kitchen and led her to a chair.
"Sit." After pouring them each a cup of coffee, Roxanne joined Jessica at the table. "Now, talk."
"There’s nothing to talk about. It’s just--just that I’m tired. I’m tired of trying so hard, every day, and nothing happens. Nothing’s happening with the film. Nothing’s happening with Charlene or the baby. And now I have this murder investigation to deal with, and I am so tired of thinking about that, too… and I’m worried about Devon, and Dane’s mad at me, and--"
"Whoa, whoa. Time out. What do you mean, Dane’s mad at you?"
Jessica jammed her fingers into her hair, now chagrined at the tangled mess it was.
"I don’t know," she murmured. "I screwed up with him, again. First, I pressured him about doing Mr. Romance when he didn’t want to, then the other night I stopped by his house and damn if he didn’t have a girl in there. I felt like a complete imbecile, he got out of bed to answer the door! I don’t even know why I went there."
"You went there because you’re friends and you needed some support. I’m sure he wasn’t mad at you. Probably just a little red-faced."
Jessica looked at her lap. "She drives a red Corvette."
Roxanne chuckled. "Of course you would notice that." Then, reaching across the table, she squeezed Jessica’s hand. "I think you need a little vacation. Why don’t you and Dev go back up to your sister’s lodge for a while? Just drop out for a month or so. It would do you good."
"Christine and Nick are going into their busy season next month."
"Perfect. You can help out."
"It’s hard to be there without Mac."
"Aughhh! Would you just knock it off? Can you get any more down-trodden?" Roxanne’s eyes were wide with exasperation. "I’m sorry, honey, but you need to get off this train. I think you were doing fine until the murder thing came up. You need to focus on one thing at a time here."
Jessica was oblivious to Roxanne’s admonitions. "Kyle won’t do the film. Dane won’t do the film. Lauder won’t do the film unless I can bring in a big name."
"So don’t do the film! Is that so hard?"
"The adoption people won’t let me adopt Chet because Charlene is still alive, and Charlene is not going to come out of the coma, and no one is authorized to pull the plug on her."
"Table that one. It’s out of your hands. And I might ask you, what the hell would you do with a little baby right now?"
"We wanted another baby so bad…"
"We, as in you and Mac. Sorry to be blunt, but you have no father for a baby right now."
"You’ve never had a problem being blunt," Jessica observed, sipping her coffee.
"No offense, dear," Roxanne said lightly.
"None taken." Jessica peered out the window, her eyes growing misty. "Do you think Dane’s serious about her?"
"Her, who?
"The woman he was all sweated up about."
"Red Corvette?"
"Mmm."
Roxanne looked at her closely. "What do you care?"
"I just… worry about him, that’s all. Mac says… said… Dane sabotages his own happiness over and over again."
"Your husband was a very perceptive guy. I’d say he was on the mark with that one."
Jessica put down her mug and stood up. "You’ve never been fond of Dane, have you?"
"Let’s just say I’ve come a long way from the days when I couldn’t stand the sight of him. He broke your heart more than once, as I recall."
"Only because I handed it to him on a platter."
"Well, I don’t think we need to dredge up that old stuff now. I still believe you should take a vacation."
"Maybe so," Jessica mused. "I’ll think about it."
She was still thinking about it when the call came from the hospital in Minneapolis. An ethics panel had convened, and after much deliberation, had deemed Jessica MacKendall the authorized party in Charlene MacKendall’s medical proxy case.
"So it’s your decision, Mrs. MacKendall, as her only living relative."
A cold chill passed over her body and her hand trembled as she held the phone to her ear. "I’ll come right away," she said softly.
Her plans had been made for her. A higher power was intervening.
Forty-eight hours later, Charlene Raylin MacKendall was removed from the devices that pumped prolonged, artificial life into her otherwise lifeless form; she slipped away minutes later, peaceful and unaware of the heaving sobs of the sister-by-marriage at her bedside.
It was a brief trip, over practically before it began. Jessica was on her way home by the following night. Choosing not to put herself through another funeral, she had arranged for Charlene’s remains to be buried alongside her father’s. It was fitting, she decided. Mac had been laid to rest beside his mother.
She made one half-hearted attempt to visit her young nephew, but knew his foster family had been warned against allowing her to see the infant. It was unfair, more than unfair, but she hadn’t the strength to fight the system. Still, she left a voice-mail message for Irma Carvey, demanding an update of her adoption application, now that the baby’s mother was officially dead. It took all her effort to sound strong and confident in the message.
The flight home was long and incredibly lonely. Guilt washed over her like a summer rain, warm and sticky, permeating her mind. I should have stayed. Mac would be so disappointed in me.
Charlene’s friends and co-workers had planned a ceremony, and had graciously invited Jessica to join them. Now, lying back in her reclined seat, she fought back more tears. Indeed, she had cried so long and hard after Charlene’s death she felt she could never cry again.
I am so tired of all this grief, she thought miserably. Roxanne was right. She was due for a change.
The following afternoon found her helping the Jarricks with the arrangements for their first annual Make-a-Wish Masquerade Ball. The "guest" list had grown so long, the party had to be moved to the banquet hall at the Elysian Country Club.
"I don’t know what I’ll wear," she mumbled, absently checking off names as Roxanne called them out to her.
&nb
sp; "Not a problem. I’ve already started your gown."
Jessica looked up. "My gown? You’re making something for me?"
"Let’s just say Cinderella would scratch your eyes out for this dress. And hopefully, lend you her glass slippers."
"I always wondered how you could possibly dance in glass shoes." Jessica commented.
"Plexiglas. Discovered in 1680."
"So what’s it like?"
"Supposed to be tougher than glass, flexible, scratches though…"
"The dress! What’s it made of?"
"Forest green velvet. Faux fur-trimmed. The squeeziest waist you’ll every wear. Whale-bone stays. Hooped shoulders…"
"Cleavage?"
"Oh ho ho, built-in boob builders. He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you."
"Who?"
"Prince Charming, of course."
"Is he coming?" Jessica asked with a giggle.
"Could be," Roxanne replied, her smile mysterious. "Could be."
Jessica sighed and tried to envision the fabulous gown Roxanne had in mind. Unbidden, her thought took a turn. "Is Dane coming?" she asked suddenly.
"Actually, he is. Paid for two tickets. I can’t wait to see what he shows up in. And with whommm…"
"Hmm." Jessica put down her pencil. "I guess I’d better call these last two people. Could you hand me the phone?"
Eight
Masked Man
"Now I know how Scarlett O’Hara felt when she was getting ready for the barbecue at Twelve Oaks." Jessica groaned as Roxanne pulled the costume tighter in order to fasten the small pearl buttons down her back.
"Suck it in, girl! You can’t have put on any weight this year. You’ve always been a perfect--"
"Not anymore," Jessica complained, peering down her lowered chin at the promised cleavage. "God if I could only breathe I’d be fine."
"You don’t need to breathe, or eat for that matter. Just flit around and look gorgeous. There. And here’s your mask."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes! Everyone has to wear a mask, that’s the rule. They can come stark naked if they want, but they have to wear a mask. Until midnight, when we pull them off."
Jessica picked up the understated, green satin mask and carefully stretched the elastic band over her perfectly curled coiffure.
"How does it look? Stupid?"
"Very sexy, actually," her friend admired. "And your hair turned out great. I love the blonde streaks. I can see your dance card will be filled immediately."
"You can’t be serious. Dance card?"
"Just kidding. Hey, I’ve got to get ready myself. Oh, this is going to be so much fun! You know we’ve raised fifty thousand in tickets alone? That doesn’t include the silent auction or the donations."
"Wonderful. I’m really thrilled. Now where are my Plexiglas slippers?"
Jessica gazed at herself in the guest room mirror as her friend left the room. She barely recognized the young widow she had arrived as; staring back at her was a vision of a fairy-tale princess.
Whimsy captured her momentarily, and she made a deep curtsey, then stood and practiced a repertoire of facial expressions, finally succumbing to a fit of giggles.
"You would love this," she murmured when her laughter subsided. "You always liked me in green." Reaching into her overnight bag, she withdrew a small velvet case. Soon it would be time to go downstairs and join her friends in the limousine.
~ * ~
"Just stand around and help people who need… help," Roxanne directed, and Jessica made her way across the ballroom toward the punchbowl. The room couldn’t have been more elegant; the twelve tables set for eight each were beautifully appointed with intricate rose and candle centerpieces. A large dance floor was central, and a band was tuning up at one end of the great room.
Every few minutes she attempted a deep breath, hoping her breasts would not lift right out of the low cut, v-necked gown. The emerald and diamond necklace Mac had given her went perfectly with the dress, and she adjusted it in nervous anticipation.
Smiling and nodding, Jessica was happy to encounter several old friends with whom she had lost touch. She made a conscious effort to shed her problems, at least for this one very special night. She was due for some light-hearted fun.
Soon, Roxanne joined her for a brief respite from her hostess duties. "How ya holding up?"
"I’m really enjoying this. The band is awesome. Where did you find them?"
"They found me. They heard about the ball and called us."
The two women stood together, perusing the room, each with her own thoughts.
"This is where you and Mac had my birthday party. He proposed in the ladies’ restroom." Jessica grasped Roxanne’s hand, turning toward her with a smile.
"I know. I was worried that it might bother you."
"It doesn’t. It’s kinda nice, actually."
"I noticed you aren’t wearing your rings."
"Oh! I caught one of the prongs on the gate at home. I had to leave it to be repaired." She held up her bare left hand. "Wearing just one felt weird."
Roxanne nodded, and Jessica turned her eyes back toward the growing crowd. "I’d better get back," Roxanne said, but Jessica detained her.
"Wait. Who is that? That guy just walking in?"
Roxanne followed Jessica’s gaze to rest on the tall man entering the ballroom. He was wearing a white, high collared shirt, a burgundy velvet waistcoat, black silk pants and cape, and over-the-knee black boots. His thick, chestnut brown hair was pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and hung to the middle of his back. A narrow, black satin mask was tied around his head.
He carried himself like a nobleman.
"Don’t have a clue," Roxanne uttered. "Despite my vast popularity, I don’t know everyone on the list, you know. But it looks like he’s headed this way. I’m outta here."
"Rox!" Jessica whispered urgently, but her panic was wasted on Roxanne’s retreating bustle. The man meandered, but was definitely making his way toward the empty corner where Jessica stood.
As he passed the dining table closest to her, he leaned across it and plucked a small, deep red rose from the arrangement and brought it to her. Coming close, he offered her the bloom with a slight bow.
Speechless, Jessica took the rose and unconsciously held it to her nose. The man held out his hand, and she gave up hers; he brought it to his lips with great ceremony.
It was as if a spell had been cast. Despite the dim lighting, and the mesmerizing aura that surrounded him, Jessica was suddenly aware that his appearance was, in part, a deception. The green eyes that fixed on hers from behind the mask could not be disguised.
"Dance?" he asked softly, still holding her hand in question.
Wordlessly she allowed him to guide her to the dance floor, the rose still held delicately in her hand as she slipped her arm around his neck. Pulling her firmly against him, his hand sliding across her back was comforting and, most certainly, welcome.
"I didn’t recognize you at first," Jessica told him, her smile filled with relief and amusement.
"Well, that’s the whole point, isn’t it? The essence of a masquerade? I’m not him, you’re not her, we can each be someone else for a couple of hours. Live different lives, be people we’d rather be… but just for a couple of hours."
"Okay," she replied, closing her eyes and relishing the feel of the contact between her forehead and Dane’s cheek. She could almost slip away… dance her way into a fairy tale and never come back.
Indeed, the slow, romantic melody, the lyrics recounting the joy of rekindled love washed over her as they danced. Perhaps for a moment or two, she could make believe that things were different; that she was a woman in love, a woman without pain, without grief.
She could be a woman with a man, a real hero, so steady and true that he would lay down his life for her in the blink of an eye.
Involuntarily, she tightened her embrace on her dance partner; he responded by doing the same. The s
ong ended, but they remained frozen in time, in place, eyes closed, hearts beating in harmony.
For a moment, nothing else existed. Dane’s arms around her gave Jessica a feeling she had missed; a sensation she so badly needed in her life, a sense of protection and all-encompassing security. It was a place from which she did not want to come back.
The band had other plans.
Embarrassed now, the spell broken, Jessica pulled away, hoping to hide her confusion.
"I need to get some air," she mumbled, and Dane followed her through the throngs of costumed disco dancers.
"Mind if I join you?"
"Not at all," she said over her shoulder, pushing open a heavy side door leading to a wide veranda.
Turning her back to him as if admiring the view, she quickly tugged at the neckline of her dress, attempting to conceal some of the creamy white flesh that now seemed vulgar. He was watching her though, and she waited for his expected, lewd, comment. Instead, he turned his eyes away.
Perplexed, Jessica stole a glance at Dane as he leaned casually against the ornate concrete railing at the balcony’s edge. He looked different, and it was definitely more than just the wig that altered his appearance.
"Great hair," she teased softly.
"Took a truckload of Rogaine," he replied with a smile. Reaching behind his head, he loosened and removed the mask, stuffing it into his trouser pocket. "Hate these damned things."
"Me too," Jessica said, now removing her own mask and slipping it over her wrist.
The smile faded from Dane’s lips as he regarded her. "You look…" he began, but ended by shaking his head slowly.
Possessed by powers she would never understand, Jessica approached him now and stood before him, peering up into his face in unabashed affection. "I look… what?"
He stared at her for several moments, his thoughts unreadable. Finally, sighing, he reached out to her as though he would stroke her hair. Jessica closed her eyes, only to have them flutter open again as he tweaked her nose.
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