by Stone, Jean
She took a breath and tried to sound disinterested. “Oh, yes, Danny. I understand you called. I tried phoning you a few minutes ago.”
“I’m not home,” he said.
Right, Alissa thought. He’s probably in some bimbo’s apartment. He probably doesn’t even have a home, doesn’t need one. His answering machine is probably hooked up to a phone booth in the back of a Forty-second Street bar.
“I’m in Atlanta,” he said.
She grasped the receiver. “Here? In Atlanta?”
Danny laughed. “Something told me once you heard I had the information on Jay, you’d demand that I come down, anyway. So I hopped a plane last night. This time I thought I’d call before coming over.”
“Don’t come here,” Alissa said quickly. She didn’t want Natalie to come in from the hospital and find Danny Gordon in the library. “Where are you?”
“The Marriott.”
The last time Alissa counted, there were half a dozen Marriotts in Atlanta. “Which one?”
“Downtown. The Marquis.”
Great. The same place as the WFFA luncheon. It figured. “I’ll meet you there,” she said, her thoughts racing. “But not right away,” she added. “I’ve had a few problems come up. How about five o’clock?” Five o’clock should be fairly safe. The WFFA women should have disbanded by then.
“In the lounge?”
Should she take a chance?
“No,” Alissa replied. “In your room.”
“My room?” His tone was thick with sarcasm.
“Just give me the number, Danny.”
He did.
“And tell me one more thing,” she said. “Did you find him?”
“Of course I found him. I told you I’m good at what I do.” She hung up the phone and smiled.
They wanted to do a triple bypass.
“Genetics,” Robert said to Alissa as she sat by his bedside. Natalie sat on the other side of the bed, holding her father’s hand. “Remember, my father died at fifty-two of a massive coronary.”
Alissa nodded. They had been married less than a year when Robert Hamilton Page, Sr., dropped dead on the golf course. Genetics, she thought, then wondered if Robert’s father had also been gay.
“It’s a good thing I’ve always taken such good care of myself,” Robert added. “Otherwise I could have been a goner, too.”
“You’re only forty-six, Robert.”
He tried to smile through the gray pallor of his face. “It’s a different era, my dear. Life is a good deal tougher these days.”
Only because you’ve made it tougher, Alissa wanted to say.
“When does Dr. Stern come home?” she asked.
“Tomorrow. They’ll wait until the day after to do the bypass. They want him around to manage the cardiac medication if my ticker starts acting up after surgery.”
“Who’s doing it?” She felt as though she needed to ask the right questions. She would support Robert through this. She was, after all, still his wife. And all the world still knew it. But when he recuperated—if he recuperated—things were going to be different. Much different.
“Harley Kunze. Jacob is bringing him in from Zurich.”
Alissa nodded again. She didn’t have to ask if Robert thought Harley Kunze was the top heart surgeon. She assumed he wouldn’t let the man near him unless he did. Or maybe, she thought with a grimace, unless he was a good-looking queen, a potential lover.
“How long is the recovery?” she asked.
“A week, ten days, in the hospital. Then a month, maybe six weeks of rehabilitation.”
She stood up and looked at her daughter. “Let’s go, Natalie. Your father needs his rest.”
Natalie looked concerned. “Can we come back tonight?”
“You can if you want,” Alissa said. “But I have an engagement I can’t cancel.”
On the ride home, Alissa made a decision. She still hadn’t heard from the “ladies” of the WFFA about her resignation. But as badly as she wanted back in with the gala—as badly as she craved the control—Alissa could not admit she’d misjudged their reaction. Now, however, none of that mattered. For Robert had provided the ruse she needed to evoke their sympathy and win the game.
Inside the house Alissa headed straight for the private phone in her bedroom. In less than a minute Sue Ellen was on the line.
“Sue Ellen …” Alissa gritted her teeth and added, “Darling. How are you?”
Frost coated the wire. “Alissa. What a surprise.”
Alissa laughed. “Now, now, Sue Ellen. I’m sure you knew I’d be calling. You’ve heard about my Robert, haven’t you?” When Sue Ellen, of course, replied “No,” Alissa was only too pleased to fill her in on the details—how poor Robert had been so sick for so long now, and how, in her martyrlike way, poor Alissa had not wanted to tell anyone and had, instead, sacrificed her own interests to be by his side.
“That’s why I resigned, Sue Ellen. What else could I have done? But Robert will be having surgery now, and I’m certain that after a somewhat lengthy recuperation, he’ll be fine.”
After the expected initial tentativeness, Sue Ellen began to sigh and cluck and say in all the right places how “very sorry” she was to hear that.
“Robert will be fine,” Alissa repeated, “but the doctor said I may not be if I don’t stop fussing and worrying about my husband and get back to my life. So if I’m forgiven for being so foolish, I’d love to get back to work on the gala. In fact, I have a little plan that’s certain to make it a simply stupendous success.” She would keep them in suspense for now; then, once she was sure she was back in control, she’d set them all back on their two-inch, sensible heels when she told them Zoe would attend.
And now that Danny had found Jay, maybe Jay Stockwell—not poor, sick, recuperating Robert—would be Alissa’s escort to the gala. A shudder tingled in her heart.
“There’s a meeting tomorrow,” Sue Ellen conceded. “You’re welcome to come.”
Alissa smirked. The hell with expectations. Once she was back in control, they could all go to hell. Because Alissa Page was going to run the show.
At ten after five Alissa rode the elevator up to Danny’s floor. She was smiling. She was happy. She had the gala back. And now …
Danny knows where he is.
Her stomach lurched as the elevator bumped to a stop.
… Now with the gala she’d have something to keep her busy if Jay didn’t want to see her.
The elevator doors opened. Alissa stared at the blank wall of the corridor. She shook her head. Unthinkable. Of course Jay would see her. But what if he was married? Or worse, what if he was happy?
She stepped from the elevator as the doors started to close. She walked down the hall, looking for Danny’s room, wondering why she hadn’t heard from Meg. Or Zoe. Had they abandoned the plan? Was she the only one with enough courage to see this through? And now that her chance had arrived, would she have the courage?
She barely had a chance to knock when Danny opened the door.
“If it isn’t my favorite southern belle,” he said, stepping aside to allow her to enter.
It wasn’t a room. It was a suite. Probably the hotel’s most expensive.
“Nice place you have here,” Alissa said as she breezed past him.
“First-class expenses, remember?”
She ignored the comment and crossed the room. She took a seat by the window and noticed a bottle of wine chilling in an ice bucket. For her? Was Danny Gordon trying to impress her? To come on to her? The flutter of encouragement died with the realization that the cost of the wine would undoubtedly appear on her bill.
She crossed her legs and let the hem of her white cotton sundress inch up her thighs. Danny was dressed in frayed jean shorts and a T-shirt that declared “Save the Manatee.” His boots were gone; he was barefoot. He looked a dozen years younger than the last time she’d seen him. And still incredibly sexy.
“Wine?” he asked.
“I mi
ght as well,” Alissa said, but didn’t add, “After all, I’m paying for it.” She was, after all, there for only one reason: to learn about Jay.
Danny spoke as he uncorked the bottle. “I had a real exciting day. Went to the Underground for a while and hung out. Came back here. Watched TV. Yup, the exciting life of a private investigator.”
“I couldn’t meet you sooner. Something came up.”
“I thought this was the most important thing in your life right now. What were you doing? Planning a party?”
Alissa bristled. “You don’t like me very much, do you, Danny?”
He handed her a glass of wine, then seated himself in the chair facing her. “I have a problem with ladies of leisure. Especially rich ones. But don’t take it personally.”
“Oh, I see. Would you like me much if I were poor?”
“That’s like asking if Meg Cooper would have any clients if she weren’t a redhead. It’s an unanswerable question.” He swirled his wine around the glass, lightly sniffed the bouquet, then took a sip.
“Is that the big attraction to Meg?” Alissa asked. “Because she’s not a lady of leisure?”
He set down his glass. “Meg and I have been friends for years,” he said.
“Mmm” Alissa said. So he wasn’t going to admit they were lovers. He was being the noble male, the righteous protector of the female reputation. God, sometimes she really hated men. She took a cigarette from her purse. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Hell, I don’t care if you snort coke. But this is a nonsmoking room.”
She flickered her lighter. “So tell the management to sue me.”
Danny smiled.
“I know. Now, what have you got in that briefcase of yours that pertains to me?” She pointed to the small leather case propped against Danny’s chair.
He picked up the briefcase. It caught on the corner of the chair, and a few file folders spilled out. The one on top was clearly labeled “Larson, Bascomb.” Beneath that was one marked “Alissa.” He grabbed that one and began to tuck the others back into the case. But not before Alissa saw the one marked “Meg.”
Was Danny looking for Meg’s man, too? Her pulse quickened at the idea. She was dying to know who he was.… Obviously, it wasn’t Danny. She’d been wrong about that. But who was it? Maybe it was someone powerful, after all. Someone in the “public eye,” Meg had said. Who the hell was it? And, if not Meg, then who the hell was Danny screwing?
Danny set the briefcase back down on the floor and took several yellow lined sheets from the file marked “Alissa.” She swallowed a big gulp of wine.
“Jay Stockwell,” Danny said, reading from one of the sheets. “Age, forty-four.”
“I know that.”
“Five feet eleven. Sandy hair. Green eyes.”
Alissa wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing her annoyance.
“Broadcast journalist,” Danny continued. “With World Press International.”
WPI. That was something she didn’t know. She sat up straight in her chair.
“Oh, yeah, and you might be interested in knowing this. He’s single. Never married.”
She hoped the elation wasn’t showing on her face.
“He’s based out of Los Angeles. Currently working in Djkarta.”
“Indonesia?”
He looked up at her. “The last I knew, that’s where Djkarta is.”
She sank back in the chair. “So what the hell am I supposed to do? Fly to Djkarta?”
“From there he’s going on to Singapore.” He handed her a piece of paper. “Here’s how to get in touch with him when he gets back to the States. He’s scheduled to return at the end of July.”
She took the paper and stared at it. There was one address for his office, one for his home. “The end of July is six weeks away.”
Danny shrugged. “Sounds like it’ll give you time to nurse your husband back to health.”
She drained her wineglass. “How the hell did you know about my husband?”
Danny smiled.
“Oh, right. You’re good at your job.”
“More wine?” he asked.
“Don’t mind if I do.” The alcohol was beginning to fuzz her brain, but Alissa didn’t care. Jay would be in L.A. at the end of July. A perfect time to visit Zoe, to lock her in for the gala, to kill two birds with one stone. Her insides began to tingle.
The telephone rang. Danny finished refilling her glass before he answered it.
She drank too quickly. God, why was she thinking about the damn gala? Danny found him. Christ, she couldn’t believe it. Jay wasn’t married. Never married, Danny said. Could it be that he still loved her, that he had loved her all these years, that no other woman could ever measure up to his childhood sweetheart? She took another sip. Slow down, she commanded herself. This means nothing. It doesn’t mean he wants to see you. It only means you know where he is. She stared at the addresses again.
Danny hung up the phone and turned to Alissa. “Would you excuse me a minute? I have to make a call from the bedroom. Private stuff.”
“I’d expect nothing less from a private investigator.”
He left the room and closed the bedroom door behind him.
She glanced at his briefcase, then looked to the bedroom door. It was firmly closed. Could the call have anything to do with Meg? Alissa could hear his voice on the phone. It was low, indistinct. She slipped from her chair and, keeping her eyes on the bedroom door, bent down and opened the briefcase. She took out the file marked “Meg.” She opened the folder. There were a few yellow lined notes, not many. There was a phone number. Beneath that was a newspaper clipping. It was an article about Senator Steven Riley’s wife. About the car accident Alissa had heard about.
Her pulse leaped into her throat. Senator Steven Riley? She quickly closed the file, jammed it back into the briefcase, and returned to her chair. Was Senator Steven Riley Meg’s lost love? Senator Steven Riley from New York? His party’s most rumored about-to-be-presidential candidate? She took another long drink. It all fit. He certainly was in the “public eye.” And Meg had said he was married.
And Riley’s wife is a drunk, Alissa remembered. Anyone who knew anything knew that.
As she tried to relax in the chair, all Alissa wanted to do was get out of there. Any hopes of getting more information from Danny would be a waste of time. And now Alissa needed to move, she needed to think. For suddenly she was almost as excited about learning that Meg’s love might be the golden boy senator with the drunken wife as she was that Danny had at long last found Jay, and that the gala was once again hers.
She shoved the paper with Jay’s addresses into her purse and went to the bedroom door. She knocked, then opened Danny sat on the bed. He looked up and put his hand over the receiver.
“Gotta go,” Alissa whispered.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “I was hoping you’d stick around for a while.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Next time, okay?” She started to close the door, then stuck her head back inside. “Oh, and thanks, Danny.”
He nodded and she left the room, and the suite, wondering why in the hell he’d hoped she’d stick around. And if he really had meant it.
14
“Well, Zoe, you did it. The part is yours.” Tim Danahy leaned back in his office chair, folded his arms across his middle, and smiled as though he’d known all along there was no way Zoe wouldn’t get the part of Jan Wexler, super-single-mom of the nineties.
Zoe, however, was speechless. She had done it. She had really done it. “I can understand why you didn’t want to tell me this over the phone,” she said finally.
“I didn’t want to miss seeing that smile on your face. It’s still the same, you know. It’s a beautiful smile.”
Zoe twisted uncomfortably on the chair. She was not used to compliments; it had been too many years. Better change your attitude, girl, she said to herself. You’ve got the part, and you’re gonna be a star again!
Ex
citement pumped through her veins. She couldn’t wait to tell Marisol. Scott. And oh, God, Zoe thought, I can call that wet-behind-the-ears banker and maybe we can make this work out. Maybe Cedar Bluff will still be mine.
“Don’t you want to know how much?”
How much? Oh. The money. “Okay, Tim. How much?”
He smiled again. “Three hundred thousand.” Zoe nearly jumped from her chair. “Three hundred? You got three hundred? But I thought …”
Tim shook his head. “I know I told you less. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
Zoe smiled. “But three hundred thousand?”
Tim laughed. “Would you expect Zoe’s agent to settle for less?”
She got up from her chair and walked to the window. Tim’s office was on the ground level. There was no magnificent L.A.-smog-coated skyline to view from there, only the pavement and the nonstop string of cars. “I can’t believe it,” she said quietly. “I really did it.”
Tim swiveled in his chair. It squeaked. “We did it, my dear.”
“Right,” she said. “We did it. And thank you, Tim.”
“There is one problem, though.”
Zoe’s heart sank. A problem. Of course there’d be a problem.
“Filming starts in ten days. In New York.”
“Ten days?”
He nodded. “This is television, not cinema. You’ll find the schedule grueling, and there won’t be as many opportunities to make it the best you can, so you’d better be good from the get-go.”
Zoe clapped her hands together. “I’ll be better than good, Tim. I’ll be great. You’ll see.” She could feel an unfamiliar stiffness creep into her cheeks, into her smile muscles. Smiling, Zoe thought. My God, how long has it been since I’ve smiled so much?
Suddenly Tim was by her side. “I think we should celebrate,” he said as he put a hand on her shoulder.
Zoe tensed.
“Let’s have dinner,” he continued. “You pick the restaurant. As long as it’s expensive, and maybe romantic.”
Zoe pulled away. She smoothed her hair. She bit the edge of a fingernail. “Tim,” she said slowly, “I can’t. Not tonight.”
He stepped forward and rested his hand on her shoulder again. “Not tonight? Or not any night?”