"So, you will all be my dates. I’m not taking any ‘no’s’ here. And anyway, they made a special arrangement to let me bring three guests."
Dane sighed. He hated the Oscars, unless, of course, he was nominated. And worse, AMPAS hated him. Unless, of course, he was winning. He did not have the heart to disappoint her, however.
He just wished it wasn’t for Mac.
~ * ~
I am incredibly selfish. I should be stoked that she wants me to go.
I can do this for her. I have to do this for her. But I can’t help thinking about how different things would be between us if all the crap that’s happened just didn’t. My feelings about Mac are so twisted up. If only he hadn’t read the journal. If only he’d never found out about my feelings for Jess.
Dane paused, his unseeing eyes searching the air around him for the vision that would allow him to finish his entry. He looked back down at the keyboard, his fingers only barely resting there.
Looking back, it was stupid of me to write all that stuff down. My shrink would probably say I was trying to get caught. I can’t imagine how Mac must have felt reading it, finding out that I wished he was out of our lives.
I need to go back and find the journal and destroy it. Maybe it’s turned to dust by now, there on the closet shelf. One of these days I will be able to do that.
For now, it is all I can do to go day to day, barely holding on to my self-respect, trying to keep my promise.
I feel like he is watching me.
Seventeen
Oscar Night Proposal
Jessica had Devon and Alexander fitted for matching tuxedoes. Her own attire presented a real problem, however, for even if she had truly reconciled with Roxanne, Rox was soaking up the sun in the Bahamas and would not return in time to put anything together. Her last minute invitation had not been publicized; not one designer had called to offer a gown, and she was loath to initiate a call herself.
Maybe she could recycle one of her old dresses. In her bedroom, she hastily slammed hanger after hanger aside, pulling out two "possibles" and draping them across the bed.
The first was the white, bead-spangled sensation she had worn to the Bellerive premiere. It was a spectacular dress, Roxanne’s first really formal gown.
Jessica fingered the iridescent bugle beads so carefully sewn into the white lace. It had been a calculated risk, wearing white. But she was an unknown starlet, newly signed to the much buzzed-about epic, Lost Season. All heads turned her way when she timidly joined the after-show party on the arm of Cory MacKendall.
Mac had helped her out of the dress later that New Year’s Eve, carefully draping it onto the hanger on which it still hung. She had not worn it since. With a heavy sigh, she returned the untouchable gown to the closet.
The other dress would need considerable reconstruction. A black velvet and taffeta creation, Roxanne had designed this one for a very pregnant actress now attending the Lost Season premiere.
The right tailor could make it over into something that would work. She hoped.
By the next afternoon, Jessica happily acknowledged her hunch was correct. The dressmaker recommended by her management agency removed a couple of yards of velvet and with a little creative stitching, maintained the simple beauty of Roxanne’s original design. Jessica chose a single teardrop diamond pendant and matching earrings, elegant vintage black evening gloves and the sexiest little sling pumps in her closet.
Fortunately, her hairdresser was a retired stylist, able to come to her house on the day of the awards show. Jessica endeavored to sit still while Devon ran screeching through the house chasing a radio controlled electronic dog.
"Is he always this spirited?" the beautician asked, gently re-adjusting the position of Jessica’s head.
"No. Sometimes he’s worse," Jessica replied. "And I still have to get him ready. The limo will be here in an hour."
"That soon?"
"The arrival of the guests is almost as big a deal as the show itself. They start early."
By 3:30 p.m., Jessica judged them both attractive enough to meet even the Queen. The limousine appeared in the driveway at 3:35; Dane emerged looking like the Hollywood deity he once was and could very well be again. Jessica watched from the window, mesmerized, as he leaned back into the car briefly, then trotted briskly up to the front porch. His tuxedo was flawless… merely an extension of the man beneath it.
She smoothed down her dress. My God, I’m panting!
She opened the door.
They stared at one another for several moments, each taking in the other’s appearance. Jessica sought Dane’s eyes, his approval--and received it. He seemed tongue-tied for the first time she could remember.
"Hey Uncle Dane! We match!" Devon exclaimed, wriggling past his mother and onto the porch.
Dane broke into a grin, and Jessica grasped his hand. "We’d better go. I am so nervous!"
"Right this way." He took a few moments to secure Devon into the limousine beside Alexander, and then returned to intercept Jessica on the porch. "You look… absolutely, unequivocally, stunningly beautiful," he told her.
"Thank you," she said, after taking a moment to absorb the compliment. "You clean up pretty well yourself."
~ * ~
The Oscar ceremony was being held at the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood. In keeping with past years’ traditions, portable bleachers were erected to hold the die-hard fans that had been arriving since early morning. The entire entry had been carpeted in a red plush, and ten foot tall Oscar replicas flanked the doors. The atmosphere was electrified as limousines lined up down Hollywood and Highland Boulevards waiting to deliver their famous passengers.
Jessica sat back in her seat, her eyes only occasionally leaving Dane’s. Unlike the early years when she was as much a fan as she was a celebrity, Jessica was less impressed with the throngs of media that crowded the event. There were more important issues at hand.
Dane, however, did glance out the side windows. "The barracudas are circling," he said of the many reporters and TV cameras hovering.
"A wise man once told me we don’t have to talk to them," Jessica told him.
"Whew. Glad to hear that."
"Is it big inside?" Alex wanted to know, leaning close the window, his eyes wide.
"Very big," his father told him.
"Wow. Have you been here before? Is this where you won your Oscar?"
"We were on Amande when I won. But it was just as exciting," Dane assured, winking at Jessica. "Okay, gang. Looks like we’re next."
Once the door was pulled open, the evening began in earnest.
Dane stepped out first, and then offered his hand to Jessica. The boys fairly tumbled out together, and Dane immediately lifted Devon into his arms. Despite the late afternoon hour, strobe lights flashed from every direction, and the crowd roared in approval. Jessica took Alexander’s hand and the foursome moved down the red carpet together.
Everyone wanted an interview. The fashion divas ogled Jessica’s dress. The hosting television network dispatched their entertainment editor with a microphone, as did the cable news and movie magazines represented. A particularly cloying man with an earring pressed Dane for a statement.
"So what will you and Hollywood’s most eligible widow be doing after the show? Heading out to any of the big Oscar bashes?"
Dane cleared his throat and momentarily set Devon on his feet; the interviewer seemed to purposely pull the microphone closer to Jessica, so that Dane was forced to bend to respond.
"We promised our kids ice cream and games. A little private party of our own," Dane offered with a dazzling smile, caught by the questioner’s own photographer.
"And the kids get to stay up all night, right?"
Dane shook his head, reaching down to tousle Devon’s hair. "It’s off to bed after that."
The event was heavily organized and security was tight. Unlike regular award winners who would be announced by category and approach the stage from the audience, Jes
sica would be brought backstage in advance and introduced on stage.
It was hard to concentrate on the program. She had seen none of the nominated films, but she did watch the overhead monitors and noticed her face as well as Dane’s displayed more than once. When it was time to go backstage, he reached across the two boys sitting between them and squeezed her hand.
She was given specific instructions, and her jitters escalated until she thought she would faint when they announced the award. Surprisingly, she began to calm as she approached the lectern, hearing mostly the swishing of her taffeta ruffles instead of the thunderous applause the audience provided in memory of her late husband.
"This is such an honor," she began, looking from left to right across the veritable sea of faces, some anxious, some bored, some familiar, many unrecognized. "When he made The Horseman, Mac was really terrified of making the leap onto the big screen. He worried that if he was terrible, his new friends would hate him, and if he was wonderful, his old friends would abandon him. It turned out he was wrong on both counts." She paused, gathering her ad-libbed thoughts, her impromptu speech. "Of course he would want me to thank you all. He would want to thank his late mother, for her undying faith in him, his children for their devotion, and his many, many fans for believing in him. His managers, his peers, those before him who inspired him so…" Jessica went on to list the names of the few people who had made a difference in Mac’s life. She had almost finished her brief speech without a single tear. She paused, looking back toward the seat she had recently vacated.
"More than acting, Mac enjoyed being a director. Nothing excited him so much as driving the bus, creating a film out of words on a page. He credited his friend Dane Pierce with strapping him into the director’s chair, and for showing him the professional ropes."
Her statement re-ignited the applause as the cameras closed in on Dane’s face as he leaned down to hear his son’s whisper.
"Thank you again, everyone."
Tears of joy, remembrance and relief now spilled over Jessica’s lower lids as she was ushered gracefully offstage. During what was, to the outside world, a commercial break, she rejoined Dane and their sons. He stood and leaned across the boys to kiss her cheek.
"Would it be terrible for us to leave now?" she whispered before he could return to his seat.
"Terrible or not, let’s go."
~ * ~
They sat on the deck. She was cold and wrapped in a blanket. He was warm enough just sitting beside her.
"You didn’t have to say that, about me," he told her, his eyes watching the breaking surf. Above them, the midnight moon danced among the passing clouds.
"It was the truth."
"He would have done it without me."
"It doesn’t matter."
"You’re right."
"Thanks for going with me, anyway," she said. "I don’t think I would have gone by myself."
"It was arduous."
She glanced over at him then, and he could see the warmth in her eyes. He weighed the moment, and then reached for her hand, barely visible where it clutched the blanket’s edge.
"How’s the real estate circus going?
"It’s a circus all right. The phone never stops ringing, there’s an endless parade of people--mostly just wanting to see where Dr. Jim lived. It’s disheartening."
"So you’re ready to come up to Jackson?"
A smile washed her sour expression away. "Maybe I am. Tell me again how much I’ll love it."
Dane paused, taking a moment to massage her hand, her fingers, her wrist. "The phone doesn’t ring unless I allow it to. There’s no Nintendo, no strobe lights, no dead plants in pots. There’s a Japanese soaking tub, a real wine cellar, a hay loft and five horses in a nine-thousand square foot heated barn."
"Is the house heated, too?"
"By more than one source." He pressed her hand between his own. "There’s a little spring that runs alongside the property, there’s trout, twenty-five acres of quietness… there’s a library, too."
"How about a kitchen?"
"A kitchen and a cook. By the way, has Devon ever been fishing?"
"I don’t think so."
"Riding?"
Jessica giggled. "Does the carousel at the mall count?"
"How about wading in a stream? Catching pollywogs and bullfrogs and--"
"Okay! I’m sold."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I’ve got to get away from the house, Dane. It’s making me crazy. If you’re sure…"
"I’ve got your rooms all ready. I’ll be going up in a few days with Alex. You and the little tough guy can come up any time you want. Whenever you’re ready." He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. She gently tugged it away and started to stand up.
"We’d better go inside. I should get home."
"Home? Dev’s already in bed upstairs."
"I’ve got to get some sleep."
"I have some here."
Jessica gave him a level stare, and he made sure he did not flinch.
"What are you proposing?" she asked at last.
"Only that you let someone else take care of the details for awhile. You go upstairs, take a shower, the sheets on my bed were just changed yesterday…" Dane started to chuckle but continued anyway. "I’ll bunk down here and make you some rubber eggs in the morning."
Jessica shrugged. "Well, when you put it that way…"
"I do. I’ll put it any way you want it. Just… stay."
He put his arm around her shoulders and they walked upstairs together, stopping to peek in at their respective sons, already long asleep.
In his bedroom, Dane tossed her a clean t-shirt, and then pulled a turquoise silk kimono out of the closet.
"Got this on my infamous trip to Singapore." He left her then, and she took his advice and showered in the master bathroom, then pulled the t-shirt down over her damp curls. She climbed into bed with a sigh, leaving the small bedside lamp on.
Visions of the evening re-played in her mind. She remembered someone saying that the Oscar program drew around a billion viewers worldwide.
"He deserved it," she said softly, thinking about Mac and his too-short professional career. "He was so good."
"Why, thank you," Dane said, approaching the bed and sitting on its edge. Jessica gave him a playful punch. "Just wanted to say goodnight," he said, stretching his arms wide and yawning. "It’s been a big day. You have a good time?"
"It was wonderful. Right down to the ice cream. You?"
"Tolerable."
Jessica was quiet for a moment. "I only wish Mac could have--"
She was cut off by Dane’s finger, pressed gently to her lips. "Shh. Time for sleep." Now he caressed her cheek, sliding his fingers into the hair above her ear and around to cup the back of her head. With his other hand he deftly switched off the table lamp.
Without another word, he leaned closer until his lips surprised hers with an unexpected kiss. A kiss that began so innocent, a harmless symbol of an affectionate wish for a good night; a kiss that evolved into a powerful demand for reciprocal love.
Without question, Jessica parted her lips, grasping him around the neck and returning his gesture with equal passion. Her hunger too long un-sated, she was unable to react any other way.
And there was history here. She knew his lips, his tongue, his mouth. The years of being kissed only by Mac were suddenly washed to the side, and the memories of days and nights spent in perpetual obsession came flashing back. The raw sexuality was still there, and Dane Pierce still wanted her.
He released her now, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with hers as they each recovered from their dizzying encounter.
"What are we doing?" she whispered at last, running a hand across her own forehead.
"Surrendering." Even in the darkness, Jessica could see the uncertainty on Dane’s face. He reached out and grasped her chin, giving it a gentle shake. "Goodnight, Sweetie."
Jessica blew all of the air from
her lungs through pursed lips after he had closed the bedroom door. The kiss had put a whole new spin on her trip to Wyoming. On her life.
There goes another damned night of sleep.
Eighteen
Bail Out
Woodson Rawlins leaned forward to light his second cigarette in forty-five minutes, then settled back against the couch in Dane’s living room. Dane blinked his eyes several times. "So, are we about done?"
"What’s your hurry? Got a plane to catch?"
"As a matter of fact, I have to pack. Going back to the ranch tomorrow." Dane stood up and gave his waistband a little tug; he really needed to buy some smaller khakis.
"You really hate this town, don’t you?" his manager said with a chuckle.
"No. I’m allergic to it. Breaking out in hives."
Rawlins took a drag. "Okay. So we’re moving Mr. Romance from the back burner to the closet. You ought to put it in turnaround. You have any interest in that Miramax deal?"
"Nope."
"Disney’s not your style, eh? How about--"
"I hate baseball movies."
"Right. Hey, I did get a hold of a property last week you might want to take a look at. Air traffic controller with big problems meets a female pilot with big problems."
Dane sat back down. "Who’s doing it?"
"Castle Rock. There might be a backend deal."
"Anybody attached to it?"
"Oh, there’s a bunch of names they’re spewing, but I don’t think anything’s signed."
"Call Reiner and see if he wants to talk."
"Gotcha." Rawlins snuffed out his smoke, then stood up himself. Barely 5’2", he wore lifts in his shoes, thinking no one knew about them. Dane tried not to look.
The phone interrupted his musing, and Dane reached for it while glancing at his watch. It was after midnight.
The woman’s voice was shaking with thinly concealed anguish. Trina Vidal was in trouble.
"Where are you?"
"Rampart Division. Downtown. I know I shouldn’t have called you, but… there’s nobody else. It’s a bum rap, too. I--I just need you to post bail for me. I’ll pay back every cent, I promise…"
Dane’s hand went to his forehead. Every thought that came to mind was one he could not voice. Still bruised from her deception, his first inclination was to let her sit in jail. Still, he had developed an unexpected soft spot for the girl. And besides, she knew some of his secrets.
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