First Loves: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance

by Stone, Jean

  “You’re here? In L.A.? Why?”

  There it was. The big question. Why.

  “Business,” she lied, and hoped he didn’t ask what kind. But she could always tell him Zoe was working on a benefit for her.… “Could we?” she repeated. “Get together?”

  “Christ, Alissa, I’d love to, but the truth is I just got back from being on the road for a few months.…”

  I know that, she wanted to scream into the phone.

  “… and I’m way behind in my work.”

  “I thought perhaps cocktails,” she said. “Tomorrow evening?”

  “I don’t drink anymore. Can you believe it? I’m as straight as they come now.”

  “I understand the Perrier in the lounge at the Wilshire is extraordinary,” she said. “Will seven o’clock be too early?” Her heart fluttered in her throat. Would he reject her? No. She’d been the one who’d rejected him.

  Jay laughed. “Do you still insist on always getting your own way?”

  Yes. God, he was going to say yes. “I only want my way when it’s something worthwhile.”

  “Okay, you win. Seven o’clock. At the Wilshire.”

  “Don’t be late,” she said with a giggle as she hung up the phone.

  She sat at the desk, trembling, quivering, euphoric. Tomorrow night she had a date to see Jay. The one man in the world who had ever loved her, the one man she had ever loved. Twenty-four years. And now she was going to see him again.

  A small ache formed inside her. Was Jay as excited about seeing her? The opposite of love is not hate. The opposite of love is indifference. She’d read that somewhere. Had Jay sounded … indifferent? “Okay, you win,” Jay had said. Not exactly a hotbed of enthusiasm.

  She stared at a woven mat that hung on the wall. It couldn’t be, she thought. Jay had merely been caught off guard, that’s all. It was surprise, not indifference, that she’d heard in his voice.

  She went back to the kitchen and forced a smile.

  “I talked to him,” she told Zoe. “He sounds wonderful.”

  “That’s good,” Zoe said as she poured hot water into two mugs.

  “We have a date for tomorrow. He was so excited, though, he wanted to see me tonight. I thought it was better to wait. Give him a little time to think about me, you know? She had no idea why she was lying.

  “Sure,” Zoe answered as she set a steamy mug in front of Alissa. “And I’m sorry if I didn’t sound excited earlier.” She placed her hand over Alissa’s. “But you’re my friend. I don’t want you to be hurt. Forgive me?”

  Alissa smiled. She was going to see Jay. And Zoe had called her a friend. It looked as though she was going to get the two things she needed most right now in her life.

  She arrived at the Wilshire at quarter to seven, her palms sweaty, her stomach in knots. She pulled into a parking space away from the valet service, but close enough to the front door that she could see anyone coming or going. She glanced around the lot: no dark-green Chevy Blazer. She turned off the ignition. She waited. She lit a cigarette and rolled down the windows so she wouldn’t smell like smoke, then remembered she’d read somewhere that the powers-that-be in L.A. had talked about an ordinance to ban smoking citywide. Had it happened yet? Could it ever? She took a deep drag. Fuck it.

  She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She checked and rechecked her eye makeup in the rearview mirror. She took out her lipstick, ready to apply as soon as she was done with her cigarette. She knew she looked great in the pink linen dress—hell, she almost looked angelic. She tried to think about what she was going to say, but she couldn’t seem to think about anything beyond what kind of car was coming into the parking lot, what type of person was walking through the hotel door.

  Then she saw the dark-green Chevy Blazer.

  She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to seven. Alissa smiled. He was on time. A good sign.

  She watched him park, watched him get out, watched him stride across the pavement. His hair was thin on top—she hadn’t noticed that on TV—and it was bleached out, probably from the strong sun in those godforsaken near-to-the-equator countries. His clothes were loose: jeans and a cotton khaki jacket with the sleeves turned up. She was surprised to see that he wore glasses. She knew he hadn’t worn them in that clip a few weeks ago. Nor had he worn them when they were young. But, then, Alissa remembered, forty-four was a long way from twenty.

  Jay disappeared inside. Alissa took a deep breath. And waited.

  At ten minutes past seven she got out of the car and slowly walked toward the entrance, not so much for effect as to be sure her legs would remain steady. She stopped outside the lounge: he was there, by the door, seated on a bar stool, watching the television that hung from the ceiling and hovered over the lineup of bottles below. Alissa walked up behind him. She studied his back, the thick muscles that strained through the thin fabric. He was larger than she remembered, broader. She wondered if he’d ever grown hair on his chest. Finally she leaned toward him.

  “Jay?” she asked.

  He turned and hesitated only a brief second—one of those moments-just-before-recognition seconds—then smiled.

  “Alissa,” he said, and moved to kiss her cheek. She felt the heat rise and hoped she was blushing. A slight blush would look fabulous with the pink linen dress. “You look terrific.”

  She smiled. “So do you.” She knew her voice sounded timid, but she didn’t know what to do about it. And then Alissa got scared. Before her sat her future. Until now it had been only a dream. But Jay was no longer a dream: he was there, flesh, blood, mind. And she had been right, he looked softer. Maybe not softer. Maybe content. Then she realized if she couldn’t make this work, she would have nothing. No more hopes, no more dreams. Even the gala wouldn’t matter. She tried to take a deep breath, but the air didn’t seem to get past her throat.

  He slid off the bar stool. “Let’s get a table,” he said.

  She obediently followed him across the room, too nervous to speak. Jay was in front of her, a touch away. Jay was there, and … Jay was walking with a limp.

  They sat down. Jay pulled a wrinkled matchbook from his pocket and lit the small candle in the center of the table. His green eyes were lighter than Alissa had remembered, or maybe they looked lighter through the tortoise-framed glasses. But his mouth was the same. Still full, still inviting.

  “You still look like a girl, Alissa,” he said. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  A little thing called plastic surgery, she wanted to say, but instead responded by smiling. She wanted to ask him why he was limping. Had he been in a car accident? A war? God, she thought, the last time I saw him, Vietnam was still raging. “You have a limp,” she blurted out.

  Jay smiled. “Not from anything heroic,” he said. “I was doing a live shot during the Gulf War. It was at night. I was walking backward, talking to the camera. I tripped over a tripod and fell off the roof of the building. Broke my leg.”

  “You fell off a building?”

  He laughed. He had a warm laugh, beautiful. The same as ever. “It was only one story. The photog went to black. The world thought we’d been hit by a scud.”

  “It must have hurt.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that. She couldn’t believe that Alissa Page, the ultimate in captivating society hostesses, had said anything so stupid. It must have hurt. God.

  Jay shrugged. “Yeah. It was a couple of days before it was set. That’s why the limp.”

  She pictured him lying on the ground. She remembered when he’d been thrown from a horse and broken his collarbone. He had refused to let an ambulance come and, instead, had Alissa drive him to the hospital. Even in pain, Jay didn’t want a fuss made over him.

  A waiter appeared. Jay ordered a club soda for himself, Perrier for Alissa. She’d have given anything for a glass of wine, but what the hell good was wine without a cigarette, and she was getting the distinct impression that Jay didn’t smoke anymore either. A quick glance around the room told her tha
t neither did anyone else in the place. Ordinance or not.

  “God,” he said, “You really do look terrific.” And then he laughed again. The warmth radiated from his lips, across the table, into her breasts. “Pink. That’s always been a good color on you. Remember the country-club dance? You wore pink that night.”

  She remembered. The dress had been pink organdy. The orchids he’d bought for her wrist had been white, tied with pink ribbon. Alissa had been sixteen. They’d made love in the car after the dance. He’d pulled out quickly—teenage birth control of the sixties. His semen had spilled onto her dress. She’d thrown the dress away, too afraid Aunt Helma would see.

  “I can’t believe you remember that night,” she said quietly.

  “Sure. It was the first time my old man let me drive the Rolls. I’d just turned eighteen, remember?”

  No. Alissa didn’t remember that part. “I was thinking of something else,” she said.

  “I know,” Jay answered. “I remember.”

  The waiter brought their drinks. Jay leaned back in his chair and smiled. “God, can you believe we ever lived that way? We were kids, for chrissakes. I wore black tie more than I wore jeans.”

  “I always loved you in black tie.”

  “I always hated it. Remember Fred Carter? He had that flask with the loop that locked onto his cummerbund?” He pulled back his jacket and imitated the way Fred Carter’s flask hung from his cummerbund. But all Alissa could see was Jay’s waist—trim, hard, and so damn sexy. She didn’t want to talk about the past. She wanted to talk about today. Tonight. Tomorrow.

  “Fred Carter was killed a few years ago,” Alissa said. “DUI.”

  Jay sat straight again. “Shit. I didn’t know. I guess it’s no surprise.”

  “Not to anyone in Atlanta.”

  “Man,” Jay said as he took a big drink of soda. “Atlanta. It’s been years since I was there. Not since my mother died.” Jay’s parents had been older than most: his father had been well into his seventies when he died not long after they’d run away to San Francisco. His mother, Alissa knew, had died more than a dozen years ago. The eulogy had been delivered by a past president of the WFFA. “Hey,” he interrupted her thoughts, “whatever happened to Hank Benson? Remember the night he rode into town on one of his father’s prized polo ponies?”

  Hank had dated LuAnn Palmer—one of the girls Aunt Helma felt wasn’t good enough for Alissa. “Hank Benson is a judge,” she said. “He married LuAnn.” She wanted to ask why Jay had never married.

  “No kidding. Old Hank. A judge.” He laughed. “God, I never thought he’d buy into the establishment.”

  Alissa laughed because she thought she was supposed to. What she really wanted to do was talk about him. About her. About them. She didn’t want to dwell on the past, but somehow she couldn’t steer the subject away from it.

  For nearly three hours Jay reminisced. Alissa nodded, smiled, and added a few words here and there. The important thing is, she reassured herself, he’s having a good time. He likes being with me again.

  They talked about Atlanta. About old friends. About their high-pressure families. They did not talk about when they’d gone to San Francisco. They did not talk about their lives since then.

  Finally the lounge was emptying, the evening was drawing to a close. Jay looked around, as though back from another place in time.

  “It’s been wonderful to see you, Alissa,” he said. “Give me a call if you’re in L.A. again.”

  The muscles in her jaw tightened. Was this it? It’s been wonderful to see you? Was he telling her to leave?

  “I was hoping we could continue our conversation,” she said.

  He stood up. “I’m afraid I’ve got an early flight.” He smiled. “To San Francisco.”

  Her thoughts raced. “San Francisco? I have nothing pressing to do tomorrow. I’d love to come along.” She smiled, trying to quell her pounding pulse. “Besides, I think San Francisco would be rather appropriate.”

  He laughed. “You’re right about that.” He tucked his thumbs into the waist of his jeans. From where Alissa sat, if she slowly leaned over, she could press her mouth against his fly. She could blow hot breath onto the fabric. Her heart skipped a beat when she suddenly pictured the strawberry-shaped mole buried within his pubic hair, just above his testicles—those wonderful, tender balls she had loved to hold, to lick, to suck. He’d always told her he never thought he’d let a girl touch him there. She supposed he had again, but she’d been the first. That had to count for something.

  “But I’m afraid it’s not a good time,” Jay was saying. “I’m just running up there for a day-long conference.”

  She blinked back to the present. “You’ll be back tomorrow? How about dinner?”

  He studied her, as if trying to determine what she wanted. She wondered if he had picked up her scent.

  “Sure,” he said, “why not? Eight o’clock? There’s a great Italian place over on Sunset. DiNardo’s.”

  “Great. I’ll see you there.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “No,” Alissa said, “I need to stop in the ladies’ room. You go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek and left the lounge.

  Alissa stayed in her chair, numb with disappointment. This had not gone as she’d hoped. She couldn’t be sure if the magnetism was still there—God, he was nearly bald. But his body, well, that was something else. She drained the ice from her fourth Perrier. Why hadn’t they talked about themselves? The years between the then and the now of their lives? But what had she planned to tell him? That she’d spent the last twenty-four years planning parties and having parties and attending parties and having her picture taken with the right people? Oh, yes, and raising two kids along the way? And keeping the servants in line? Her life, she knew, had been all the things Jay hated, all the things he’d mocked tonight.

  She leaned back in her chair and signaled the waiter. She needed a glass of wine—no, make that a whiskey.

  It was after two when Alissa returned to Zoe’s. The lights were still burning: Zoe must have waited up for her. Alissa toyed with the idea of what she would tell her. For some reason Zoe was one of the few people she’d met who was difficult to lie to—the type who you just knew, knew. The type Alissa usually avoided. She would love to be able to tell Zoe that she and Jay had slept together and made mad, passionate love; that he had told her he’d waited all those years for her, only for her. It certainly would change Zoe’s tune about things not being the way people remembered them. But, after she told her about the gala, about what a great career-rebuilding opportunity Alissa would be giving her.

  Alissa let herself in with the key Zoe had given her. She had barely stepped into the foyer when she heard Zoe’s voice.

  “Alissa? I’m in the family room.”

  Alissa hesitated a minute. Damn. She’d have to decide fast what to tell Zoe about Jay. Maybe she’d just let Zoe guess, come to her own conclusion. Yeah, that would be fun. She sighed and started down the hall. The gala could wait until tomorrow. “You needn’t have waited up, Zoe. But I’m glad you did.” She went into the family room where Zoe was seated, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

  “You had a phone call,” Zoe said quickly.

  Alissa groaned and flopped onto the sofa. “I can’t believe Natalie actually called. The most important night of my life and my daughter is tracking me down like I’ve never left the house overnight before.”

  “It wasn’t your daughter,” Zoe said. “It was your husband.”

  Alissa sat up. “Robert? Why the hell would Robert be calling?”

  “He said it was urgent.”

  Fuck him, she thought. He can wait. Besides, now that she’d decided what she would, and would not, share with Zoe, her eyes had begun to sparkle, her head had started to reel with the urgency of a teenager needing to share the dizziness of her first date, even if it meant stretching the truth a little. Jus
t a little—enough to make the tale more exciting than the date itself. Yes, Robert could wait.

  “Aren’t you going to ask how my evening was?” Alissa asked.

  “I thought it was more important that you call home first. He really sounded upset, Alissa.”

  Shit. The last thing she wanted was for some idiotic family crisis to step on her mood. “All right, all right. I’ll call. But first I’ve got to tell you about Jay. He’s absolutely divine. Better than I remembered. Zoe, I can’t explain it, but I feel like my life is going to turn around. I feel like finding Jay again is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Maybe she hadn’t slept with Jay tonight, but tomorrow … tomorrow night …

  “That’s wonderful. I’m happy for you.”

  “Are you? I hope so. Because it’s only going to get better. I’m seeing him tomorrow night. Oh, Zoe, it was wonderful.” She lounged back on the sofa and draped her legs over the arm. “We talked about everyone we used to know, all the things we used to do—our little adventures.” The more she spoke, the more Alissa herself began to believe she’d actually had a good time.

  “I never got the idea you were one for adventure.”

  “Oh, Zoe, I was a much different person when I was with Jay. I was so much happier.” But even as Alissa said the words, she wondered if they were entirely true. It was so difficult to remember, so long ago.

  “That’s nice, Alissa. But don’t you think you should call your husband?”

  Alissa sat up again. “Jesus, Zoe, I said I’d call him. It’s only five o’clock in the goddamn morning in Atlanta.” Easy, Alissa, she reminded herself. Don’t alienate her. She softened her tone. “I’m afraid if I call now, I’ll wake up the whole house.”

  “He said it was urgent,” Zoe repeated. “He said it didn’t matter what time it was.”

  She didn’t want to talk to Robert. She wanted to talk about Jay. She wanted to hear the sound of his name, she wanted to think only thoughts of him. Positive thoughts, and possibilities. Well, maybe they weren’t possibilities—yet. Maybe for now they were just fantasies. But what the hell. She deserved a little fantasy, didn’t she? It’s not as though it could hurt anyone.