by Susan Lewis
Ellen’s eyes were wide with shock, as a voice inside screamed out for this to stop. ‘Are you insane?’ she cried. ‘There’s no romance between me and Tom Chambers, and I want to know who the hell said there was.’
‘The woman’s not going to reveal her source,’ the publicist told her. ‘Do you want me to deny it, or do you want to go the “no comment” route?’
‘Deny it,’ Ellen snapped. ‘Deny it categorically, and tell her if she goes public I’ll sue.’
She slammed the phone down, was about to turn away when it rang again.
‘Yes?’
‘Hello Mrs McCann,’ a soft, gravelly voice at the other end said, ‘you don’t know me, but I want you to know I’m a friend. And as a friend, I would advise you to pull out of the movie you are making …’
‘Oh great! Just what I need, a whacko,’ she seethed, and slamming down the receiver, she picked up her purse and keys and ran out the door.
Fifteen minutes later she was pulling up behind Michael’s car where it was parked in the drive. Going over to the front door, she knocked hard.
Clodagh answered, her small, wrinkly face showing surprise, then pleasure, when she saw who it was. ‘Oh my, how lovely it is to see you,’ she said, giving Ellen a hug. ‘We went over to the set to find you today, but you’d already left. Come along in now. Will you be staying for supper?’
Ellen didn’t answer as she saw Michael getting up from the sofa where he’d been sitting with Robbie. His face showed no welcome at all, and she could feel her heart thumping as it struggled between anger and despair. She looked at Robbie who was watching her with big, uncertain eyes, and for one horrible moment she felt her nerve failing.
But she was quickly past it and looking at Michael again she said, ‘I need to talk to you.’
If it had been in him to resist he must have decided against it, probably, she guessed, because he didn’t want a showdown in front of Robbie. He turned towards their bedroom, and, glancing at Clodagh who gave her best reassuring smile, Ellen followed.
He was standing beside the bed as she closed the door behind her. She felt momentarily light-headed, as though in some strange, undefinable way she was closing them off from reality, sealing them into a place where neither of them quite knew how to behave. She could see the hostility in his eyes, almost feel his efforts to keep her at bay, yet it was the very power of his resistance that was drawing her to him, enveloping her in the maelstrom of pride and anguish that was causing him so much pain.
She took a breath and said, ‘I know you saw me with Tom, and I know what you must have thought, but you’re wrong, Michael. It wasn’t the way it might have looked. It was simply me trying to give him some comfort when he saw the set. It was nothing more than that, I swear. I love you, I’ve always loved you, and even the goddamned pride you’re putting between us now isn’t going to stop me loving you.’
His face didn’t change, nor did he speak, but it was his silence that encouraged her to go on.
‘Michael, please stop doing this,’ she implored. ‘I know you love me, and I know how much I hurt you, but don’t you care what this is doing to me too? I want us to be together, to work through this and …’ Words were starting to fail her, as she had no clear idea of what she wanted to say, whether she should tell him about the baby now, or what she should do. ‘I know you feel you can’t make love to me again,’ she said, ‘but you can, you know you can and I want you to. Michael, please. I can’t bear this, wanting you so much and …’ She hardly knew what she was doing, was giving herself no time to think, as she began taking off her clothes, shedding them as though they were veils around her emotions, until finally she stood naked before him.
His eyes didn’t waver from hers, their fierceness seeming to see so far into her that even her nudity wasn’t enough. She waited, willing him to move, to say something, even if it was to tell her to go. Each second that passed was more excruciating than the last. The air on her skin was a whisper of pain; the small swell of her child a heaviness that seemed minutely to grow. Though he wouldn’t look she knew he could see it, a blur on the edge of his vision, a stone in the heart of his pain. She could feel her image in his eyes, as though he were smothering her with fear and anger and a growing need to hurt and love her.
It was hard to breathe. The air was static with feeling; sensations seared through her body with an intensity that burned and a need that curled into every hidden place. Her eyes were wide, her breasts were heavy and laden with desire. Her hands hung at her sides, wanting to reach, to feel, to bring him to her. Then he was coming towards her, reaching for her, pulling her harshly against him. His mouth came crushing down on hers, his tongue pushing between her lips, his hands cupping her buttocks and lifting her to him.
She tore at his shirt, returning his kisses with the urgency and passion that was inflaming them both. Very soon he was naked and she pressed herself to him, feeling his strength and hardness and sinking into the power of his need. Her fingers raked his hair, pulling his mouth down harder on hers, as his hands moved to her breasts, taking their weight and squeezing them, twisting her nipples, and kissing her harder than ever as his fingers pushed between her legs.
She was gasping and murmuring, holding him tightly as her desire became so intense that emotion was lost in its vastness. Yet it was only because of their love that they could take each other like this, devouring each other’s lust with a hunger that knew no repletion.
She lay back on the bed and pulled him down with her. He came to her, swollen with urgency, hardened by the power of desire and love. Their eyes were on each other’s, smouldering with need, drinking in the reflected wells of emotion. And then he was there, entering her, pushing into her, filling her until he could go no further. He held himself there, looking down at her and feeling the invisible bonds that enclosed them, that locked them together despite all he did to keep them apart.
She raised her hands to his face, touching his lips with her thumbs, brushing his ears with her fingers. Then he pulled back and pushed into her again. His voice grunted from his lips as he rammed her again and again. She met his pounding with a magnificent force, rising up to take him, using her hips to mirror the frantic rhythm of his own. The muscles in his arms were straining as he continued to hold himself over her, and they watched the movement of their bodies seeking to scale the final barriers to release.
‘Oh my God,’ she cried, as suddenly he changed motion.
He grabbed her to him, taking her lips with his own and holding her so close it was as though they were one. He was still solid inside her, and could feel the pulsing beat of her climax as it tugged and clenched with a life of its own.
‘Michael,’ she murmured again, and again he was kissing her, emptying his heart through the movement of his body.
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
‘I love you too. Oh Michael, don’t let me go.’
His embrace tightened, and as he began kissing her again he felt the seed rushing from him, filling her, soaking her and shooting deep, deep inside her. Her moans of pleasure vibrated through his lips, her legs entwined his and her hands pressed him even more closely to her.
They lay that way for a long, long time, neither wanting to let go, dreading the moment their bodies would part. They could feel the quieting throb of each other’s hearts, the stickiness of their sweat, the pull of their limbs. It was as though they were shielding themselves from the world, wanting to close out encroaching reality as they were shutting out the air between them.
In the end Ellen was the first to move, pulling her head back to look into his face.
He kissed her softly on the mouth, and as her eyes closed she felt her heart fill up with hope. She wasn’t sure if she could speak, if she dared to ask the questions in her heart, but then she heard herself saying, ‘Please, Michael, tell me it’s going to be all right. Say we can get past this.’
She looked into his eyes, waiting and willing, until finally he looked away an
d her breath stopped coming.
‘Would it help,’ she said, panic forcing the words from her lips, ‘if I told you the baby was yours?’
Though he didn’t move, she felt the effect of her words ripple through him. She hadn’t intended to tell him like this, but the words had just come, so she watched his face and wished desperately that she could read his mind. The minutes ticked by and when still he didn’t speak the chill of instinct began warning her that she wasn’t going to receive the response she had hoped for.
‘Even if you could tell me that now,’ he said finally, ‘I still can’t tell you it would change anything. I wish to God it could, because I love you, we both know that, I just don’t know if we can go back to where we were.’
‘But who’s talking about going back?’ she cried. ‘We need to go forward, to put it all behind us and build a life for our baby.’
His expression wasn’t one to encourage her.
‘Oh my God,’ she murmured, drawing away. ‘You do believe me, don’t you? Tell me you believe it’s yours.’
His eyes were steeped in anguish as he said, ‘God knows I want to believe it, I just don’t know if …’
‘Then do the math!’ she cried. ‘You can work it out for yourself. I’m five and a half months pregnant. Michael, please! You can talk to the doctor, she’ll tell you, the baby’s due in December, so it has to be yours.’
As he looked at her she could see how hard he was finding it to adjust, how afraid he was of accepting.
‘Michael! Why are you doing this? I don’t understand …’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘the last thing I want is to hurt you, but I can’t live a lie …’
‘Where’s the lie?’ she shouted. ‘The baby’s yours, I swear it …’
He was shaking his head.
‘Michael! Don’t do this!’ she cried. ‘Why won’t you believe it’s yours?’
‘Even if it is,’ he cried, ‘can you tell me honestly, in your heart, that you no longer want Tom?’
She looked at him in amazement. ‘Of course I don’t want Tom,’ she replied. ‘I love you. Why else do you think I’m here?’
He got up from the bed and going after him she spun him back to face her. ‘Michael, listen to me,’ she demanded. ‘What happened, happened. You made love to Michelle, I made love to Tom. We were both at fault, we made mistakes and now we’re paying. But for God’s sake, don’t make the baby pay too.’
‘Do you think that’s what I want?’ he replied.
‘No, I don’t. But it’s what’s going to happen if you won’t accept that I don’t want Tom any more than you want Michelle.’ She would have gone on, but the look that suddenly came into his eyes snatched the breath from her body.
‘Oh my God,’ she murmured, taking a step back, ‘tell me I’m not reading this right. Please, tell me you’re not using this as an excuse to go back to Michelle.’ She was too appalled, too stricken by fear to go on.
Again he was shaking his head. ‘This has got nothing to do with Michelle,’ he said. ‘It’s to do with you and what I saw today. I don’t know how many times you’ve slept with him, Ellen, and I don’t want to know …’
‘Michael, are you crazy? Didn’t what we just did tell you anything? You were there, you felt it too, so don’t you think it was the same for me? There’s no-one else I want, no-one, do you hear me?’ Tears were sliding down her face, but she was too distraught to feel them.
He started to speak, but suddenly her rage and frustration burst out of control. ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘I’m not taking any more of this. If you can’t deal with the fact that I slept with another man, if you can’t forgive me when I’m prepared to forgive you, then you just don’t deserve the way I feel about you.’
He watched as she picked up her clothes and began putting them on.
‘You’re a fool, Michael McCann,’ she told him. ‘You’re so afraid to trust that you’re screwing up both our lives and you don’t even care. So, OK, Michelle walked out on you once, and OK, she was pregnant when she went, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again.’
‘It already is,’ he reminded her.
‘Because you’re making it happen!’ she almost screamed. ‘You won’t let me in, you keep shutting me out and telling me I want another man, when you’re not even listening to what I’m telling you. Well, I’ve had it, do you know that? I’m through with trying to make you listen. So let’s do this your way and see just how far we can really fuck this up.’
‘There’s always another option,’ he said as she reached the door.
She turned back, eyes bright with tears, cheeks flushed with anger.
‘Divorce,’ he said.
Despite the pain she came forward, advancing on him with such intent it was as though she would strike him. ‘If you really mean that,’ she said, ‘then you’re not the man I thought you were. And if you’re not the man I thought you were, then maybe we should get a divorce.’
After the door closed behind her he remained where he was, too shaken by the cruelty of their words and stunned by the force of his feelings to make himself move. A turmoil of anger, jealousy and confusion was swelling inside him, battling his desire to hurt her, and filling him with despair. This was the woman he loved, the woman he cared for and wanted more than any other alive, so how could he have treated her that way? What the hell was wrong with him that he couldn’t show the way he was feeling, couldn’t let her close enough to understand the fear and jealousy that had all but controlled him since the day she’d told him about Tom? He had to go after her and try to take back what he’d said, but the problem was he had no idea what he could say in its place.
Chapter 19
THERE WERE JUST three days to go before principal photography was due to begin and Tom wasn’t liking the way things were looking one bit. Alan Day, his colleague in Bogotá, was calling regularly now, warning him that Galeano’s objections were becoming increasingly ominous. And it wasn’t only Alan Day he was hearing from, it was several other reporters who were based in Colombia, as well as some lowlife hoods who claimed to be working here in LA for the Tolima Cartel. They very probably were, but as he’d already pointed out to one of them, planning his hasty, or even drawn-out despatch wasn’t going to persuade anyone to stop the movie now. If anything, it would give the producers even more reason to make it. To his surprise the goon he was on the line to right now was agreeing with what he was saying, but as the man didn’t give a damn, personally, whether the movie got made, he insisted he was concerning himself only with trying to save Chambers’s skin.
‘And why would you want to do that?’ Chambers asked him.
‘Because I’m that sort of a guy,’ he was told. ‘I don’t want to see you getting blown away, hombre. I mean, I got nothing against you, so why would I? But I got my orders and right now I’m supposed to persuade you that it wouldn’t be in your interests to go on with this film.’
‘Well, thanks for the call,’ Chambers said. ‘Is there a number I can get back to you on?’
The voice chuckled. ‘Now do I look that dumb, Mr Chambers?’ he said.
‘How would I know? I’ve never seen you,’ Chambers replied. ‘And with any luck, I never will.’
‘I hope you don’t either,’ came the response. ‘But certain people you’re working with already have. I’m trying to do them the same favour I’m trying to do you. Seems they’re not listening either.’
The line went dead. Chambers hung up and immediately redialled. ‘Alan,’ he said, making a quick connection to Bogotá, ‘it’s Tom. Any news?’
‘Yeah. I put it on your e-mail,’ the journalist at the other end answered.
‘I didn’t go on-line yet today,’ Chambers said, feeling an unsteady rhythm starting in his chest. ‘Tell me.’
‘Well, we already know Galeano’s not happy,’ Day began. ‘Members of the cartel have been in and out of the jail like punks in a whorehouse these past couple of days, and I got a message this mor
ning on my e-mail that goes “We have repeatedly alerted Señor Chambers to the fact that certain businessmen in Bogotá have objections to the making of his movie. The names he is intending to reveal are false, and it is our duty now to inform him that unless production is cancelled by the end of today action will be taken to ensure the co-operation requested.’”
Chambers’s mouth was drying up. ‘That it?’ he said.
‘You want more?’ came the reply.
‘So what do you reckon he’s planning?’
‘At a guess,’ Day responded, ‘it would entail measuring you up for a celestial suit.’ He took a breath, and by the sound of it a slurp of coffee. ‘This is serious, Tom,’ he said. ‘I don’t think anyone gives a shit about Molina, but the Zapata boys are Galeano’s flesh and blood – not to mention his insurance for life after Picota.
And, so rumour has it, they only did what Molina made them do.’
‘Oh, give me a break!’ Chambers spat in disgust. ‘You saw those pictures, did it look to you like anyone was being forced – apart from Rachel?’
‘I’m just passing on what I heard,’ Day told him. There was a sharp noise at the other end, then Day said, ‘Got the bastard. Damned bugs.’
It was a timely reminder to Chambers that in Bogotá all foreign journalists’ phones were bugged, and no-one was ever entirely sure by whom. Could be the police, could be the military, could even be the traficantes. What was certain, though, was the roaring trade that went on in phone-tapped information.
‘You know I can’t stop the movie,’ Chambers said, as much for the benefit of an eavesdropper as to state the truth. ‘It’s out of my hands. I mean, even if I wanted to, there’s nothing I can do now.’
‘The truth is, there was never anything you could do,’ Day commented, ‘not once the money started coming in. I know how Hollywood works. I bet you’ve got no more power now than a used-up dildo.’
‘Less,’ Chambers corrected. ‘But I told you that weeks ago. Maybe these fuckheads just don’t understand English. What do you say we try it in Spanish?’