First Loves: A Loveswept Contemporary Romance

by Stone, Jean

  Alissa smiled. She wanted to tell Zoe that Jay had wanted her to go to San Francisco with him tomorrow. She opened her mouth to speak, then was stopped by the motherly look on Zoe’s face. It was apparent there would be no more talk of Jay until after Alissa called Robert. Alissa’s smile faded into resignation. “All right, all right. Where’s the damn phone?”

  “There’s one over there,” Zoe said, pointing to a corner table. “I’ll leave if you want.”

  Alissa got up and walked to the phone. “If I needed privacy to talk to my husband, I’d go to my room. Believe me; stay. This won’t take long.”

  She hesitated a moment, then picked up the phone and put the call through to Atlanta, her elation, her dreams, deflating with each number she pushed.

  Robert answered on the first ring.

  “What’s the big emergency?” she asked, forgoing the word “hello.”

  “Thank God you called.”

  Alissa looked over at Zoe and rolled her eyes. Zoe looked away.

  “It’s Natalie.”

  Alissa stiffened and quickly sat in the high-backed chair beside the table. “What about her? What happened?”

  “She’s okay. But there’s been a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “She being questioned,” Robert said. “By the police.”

  Alissa bolted from the chair. “The police? Why, for chrissakes?” Natalie had finally done it. Natalie. Natalie. Natalie. Her rebellious, renegade daughter. She’d finally done something really stupid, and now she’d been caught. Visions of things like fucking in public shot through Alissa’s mind.

  “I told them it was an accident. That it wasn’t her fault.” His tone was flat, robotic.

  “Exactly what wasn’t her fault?”

  “Well … ah … I …” Robert stammered. Then she heard what sounded like a sob.

  “Robert! What has she done?”

  The sob slowed, then stopped. “Derek was here.”

  “Who the hell is Derek?” What was he talking about? Was Derek Natalie’s latest lay?

  “Derek is, ah …” There was silence again. Then Robert cleared his throat. “Derek is my friend.”

  Derek. Oh, yes. A sickening feeling in her stomach told Alissa that Derek wasn’t her daughter’s latest lay, that he was Robert’s. Derek. So that was his name. The man who was pinned under Robert that night at the lab. The man who was fucking Robert’s brains out, or whose brains Robert was fucking out, or however those same-sex people managed to do things.

  “What the hell does Natalie have to do with Derek?” She dropped her voice and turned her head toward the wall, as though Zoe might know about Robert, might guess about Derek.

  “I was resting. In my room. Derek was, ah, Derek was visiting me.”

  “Oh, Christ.”

  “Natalie walked in. Without knocking.”

  The nightmare image of Robert’s white ass pumping up and down on the floor of his office flashed before her. I should have told the girls, she thought. God, I should have told them. Natalie should never have found out this way.

  “Alissa? Are you all right?” Robert strained to ask.

  She felt her body go rigid. “Why are the police questioning my daughter?”

  Silence. One. Two. Three seconds.

  Then Robert tried to speak. “Derek … he … she …”

  Dread flooded through Alissa. “Robert. Where is Derek now?”

  There was silence again; then Robert let out a small cry, and Alissa knew she didn’t want to know the rest of the story.

  Finally Robert spoke. “It was an accident,” he repeated.

  “Where is he? Where is Derek?”

  “Derek,” Robert said quietly, “is in the morgue.”

  Her body went numb. A tiny ache formed in her heart and spread, slowly, oozing up to her head, out to her limbs. The pieces began coming together. Robert and Derek. Fucking. Natalie. Interrupting. Derek. In the morgue.

  Alissa gripped the phone with all the strength she could find. Through clenched teeth she asked, “What happened?”

  Robert tried to speak. “Natalie,” he said, then paused. The crack in his voice made him sound like a child. A little boy. He cleared his throat again. “Natalie shot him.”

  “Natalie?” Alissa screamed. Her vision blurred, the room tipped, and she slid from the chair to the floor.

  17

  Alissa left on the first morning flight to Atlanta. After she had gone, Zoe went down to the pool and sat on the edge, stirring the warm aqua water with her toes. She watched the quiet ripples; she listened to the wakening song of a rousing bird. Zoe gazed at the sun’s mirrored image on the water and thought how unfair life could be, how lonely. Alissa lived on the surface, yet, like the water in the pool, underneath there lay depth, different sensations from those visible to the world.

  Alissa had told her that Robert was gay.

  Alissa had told her her sixteen-year-old daughter had shot Robert’s lover.

  Alissa had begged her to meet Jay Stockwell that night; to explain that she’d had no choice but to return home. Then she had started to ask Zoe something—started to tell her something else that was “really important.” When she hesitated, Zoe reassured her that Alissa could ask her anything. But Alissa had looked at her blankly a moment, then lowered her head, shrugged, and said, “Never mind.”

  When Zoe hugged her good-bye, Alissa’s tears were real. And the aggressive, fiery, energetic society lady had crumbled. “My life,” Alissa had said, “is unbelievably fucked up.”

  Is anyone’s not? Zoe wondered now.

  She dug her feet deeper into the water and felt the calmer water, cooler. Like so many women, Zoe thought, Alissa spent her days trying to convince everyone around her that her life was perfect. What’s going to happen to Alissa when everyone finds out that it’s not? She lifted her gaze and stared off into the canyon. And why, she wondered, should it matter what other people think?

  As she sat there, at Scott’s special place, Zoe’s thoughts drifted to him, and to Eric. Her motivation for finding Eric, she realized, had not been the right motivation. She had, indeed, wanted revenge. She had wanted him to feel pain. Instead, she was the one with the aching heart. She was the one who had lost her son.

  She pulled her feet from the water and tucked them under her on the stone deck. She had spent so many hours there, so many days, months, years. Sitting in solitude, shutting out the world, fearful of the hurt she would feel if she became a part of life again. Using first her stroke as an excuse for her seclusion; then hiding behind the weight she’d gained, using each layer of fat to construct another wall of protection from the world, to save her from being abandoned again by someone like Eric, to keep her from feeling love.

  It hadn’t been fair to William. But he had known from the beginning that she didn’t love him. Still, Zoe thought now, it hadn’t been fair.

  She looked out to the canyon below and wondered—as she had wondered so many times, so many years ago as she sat there in solitude—if she screamed, would it echo? Would her pain resonate among the cliffs? Would everyone find out?

  She had asked herself those questions so many times so long ago, and yet now, as Zoe again thought of Alissa, she asked the one question that pertained to them both: if everyone found out … did it matter?

  “Is this a private party?” Tim Danahy hoisted the cuffs of his trousers and squatted beside Zoe at the pool.

  She shielded her eyes from the sun. “Tim. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said. He stood and extended his hand. “Come with me. It’s up at the house.”

  Zoe couldn’t imagine what his “surprise” could be, but she grasped his hand and let him pull her upright. She bent to shake the water from her feet. Then she realized that Tim was still holding her hand. She looked into his somber eyes. In the bright sunlight the lines that skittered around them cast a well-defined web of age.

  “You lo
oked very lonely sitting here by yourself,” he said. “I hate to think that you’re sad.”

  Zoe gently removed her hand from his. “Not sad,” she said. “Reflective, perhaps.”

  “About William?”

  She shook her head. “About life.”

  “Your life is going to be just fine.”

  “You must know something I don’t.”

  “I do. The surprise is another script.”

  Zoe smiled. She leaned down and picked up her sandals. “Another script?”

  “Cal Baker again.”

  Zoe dropped the shoes. “Cal Baker?” she asked.

  “It’s a feature. No made-for-TV crap this time.”

  Zoe looked back over the water. Cal Baker wanted her for another film? Cal Baker? She’d barely made it through the final two weeks of shooting Close Ties. She’d hardly spoken to Cal—or he to her—since the incident on the pier. She’d tried to do her best, tried to get through each day, tried to glean hope about Scott after Meg’s return from Minnesota. Still, she hadn’t been immersed in the film. When they finally wrapped, they were four days past deadline—her fault, she’d heard Cal remark to the producer.

  She squatted down and swished her hand across the water. “I didn’t think he liked me,” she said.

  “He saw the dailies. He told me you were great.”

  Great? Cal Baker thought she was great?

  “And besides,” Tim continued, “he liked you enough to offer eight hundred thousand for the feature.”

  Zoe closed her eyes. The sun warmed her skin, the glow warmed her heart. But it didn’t filter into the hole that was there, the hole left vacant by Scott. “Eight hundred thousand?” she asked. Could she go through it again? Could she pretend to be cool, calm, in control, when there was such a void in her life?

  Tim laughed. “Don’t worry. I told him we wouldn’t consider anything less than a million.”

  A million dollars?

  “He hesitated the required three minutes, then he agreed.”

  A million dollars? Zoe was certain she’d stopped breathing.

  “Then he said something I’ve known for years,” Tim said. Zoe shuddered, unable to speak.

  “He said you’ve got the makings of a star.”

  By the time Zoe stepped inside DiNardo’s restaurant that evening, she still hadn’t grasped what was happening. She knew that she had been offered a million dollars to do a Cal Baker film. It had taken only a quick read through the script that afternoon for Zoe to know she was going to accept. Cedar Bluff would be hers now, forever. She would have her career back, she would have a life.

  But what would life be worth without Scott?

  She was glad for the diversion of having to meet Jay Stockwell. She was relieved to have to think of Alissa—instead of herself—if only for a few moments.

  She stood in the foyer and surveyed the atmosphere. It was a small restaurant decorated in red, white, and green; the wood floors were crammed with tables occupied by numerous families with noisy children. Straw-basketed wine bottles hung randomly from wooden beams; a long white plastic sign announced the specials of the day in black stick-on letters. Alissa, Zoe thought, would have hated it.

  A broad-hipped hostess approached her with a smile. If she recognized Zoe, she discreetly gave no indication. On Sunset Strip, Zoe remembered, stars weren’t a big deal. Not to the natives.

  Zoe explained that she had to meet someone she didn’t know. “He’s about five eleven, sandy hair, glasses.” She omitted the part that Alissa said about his having a hot body. “His name is Jay Stockwell.”

  “Jay? Sure,” the hostess said. “He’s over there, in the bar.” She pointed toward a room off the dining room.

  Zoe nodded her thanks and went into the bar. There was only one person there, a man. He was, however, not seated on a stool. He stood behind the bar, wearing a white apron, washing glasses.

  She went in and sat on a stool. “You wouldn’t be Jay, would you?” she asked.

  “That’s me,” he answered brightly. “What’s your pleasure?”

  Zoe fought back a laugh. This was Alissa’s Jay Stockwell, man of the world? Zoe was sure Alissa had no idea he would be tending bar. If she had, chances were she never would have wanted Zoe to meet him. “Are you really Jay Stockwell?” Zoe asked. Though he was quite good-looking in a laid-back, liberal sort of way, Zoe couldn’t quite picture Alissa loving a man who didn’t have a starched collar and gray at his temples. Zoe wished she’d paid more attention when she’d seen him on television.

  “Actually,” he said as he swished a glass in rinse water and held it up to the light, checking for spots, “my Christian name is James Ellis Stockwell the Fourth.” He peered over at Zoe. “Kind of makes you gag, doesn’t it?”

  Zoe laughed. “Are you really Jay Stockwell, the television journalist?”

  He set down the glass and smiled. “I’m flattered that you recognize me,” he said. Zoe was instantly taken with his warmth. “We media types aren’t usually too popular with movie stars like Zoe.”

  Zoe felt herself blush. “My secret’s out,” she said quietly.

  “And mine,” he laughed as he leaned against the bar. “You’ve discovered how I keep myself sane when I’m in this lousy town, land of the plastic people.”

  Now, more than before, Zoe couldn’t imagine Alissa with this down-to-earth guy. Not twenty-four years ago. Not ever. But the thought of Alissa roused her sympathy again, and she wondered what was going on in Atlanta.

  “What brings you to our humble eatery?” he asked.

  “Better still,” Zoe said, looking around, “what brings your ‘humble eatery’ to Sunset Strip?” She hoped he wasn’t offended, but DiNardo’s hardly resembled the awning-entranced, thickly carpeted, fine dining establishments of the world-famous avenue.

  “It’s a joke on the tourists,” Jay said with a wink. “Believe it or not, they don’t care about the accoutrements. But because we’re on the Strip, they think our little restaurant must be loaded with stars. Which isn’t true. Or, rather, wasn’t until tonight.”

  “Did you say ‘our’ little restaurant? Do you own this?”

  “Partly,” he answered. “The DiNardos are old pals. Mama DiNardo makes the best sauce this side of Napoli. I encouraged her to open it.”

  And probably helped foot the bill, Zoe thought.

  “Are you dining with us tonight?” he asked with a friendly flourish of a white cotton dish towel.

  He has a wonderful smile, Zoe thought. Maybe that’s what Alissa loves about him. Alissa. She realized she’d been taken off guard a moment, captured by Jay’s charm. She cleared her throat. “I came to see you,” she said. “To give you a message.”

  “You? Came to give me a message? Don’t tell me. Warner Brothers thinks I’m the next Tom Cruise.”

  Zoe laughed.

  “Okay, okay, so I’m a little old to be Tom.”

  She grinned and noticed that through the lenses of his glasses Jay’s eyes were remarkably green. Alissa hadn’t mentioned that. Alissa. That’s why I’m here. Alissa, Atlanta, homosexuals, and murder. The muscles in her cheeks relaxed, her smile disappeared. “Actually,” she said, “I’m a friend of Alissa’s.”

  “You? You’re a friend of Alissa’s?”

  If that surprised him, Zoe couldn’t tell by his expression. “She asked me to do her a favor, so here I am.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Jay said, rinsing another glass, “she’s not coming.”

  “She didn’t want you to think it was because she didn’t want to.”

  Jay shook his head and set the glass in the drainer. Zoe noticed that the beautiful smile had vanished from his face. “Alissa does what Alissa wants. She always has. She probably always will.”

  “Honestly,” Zoe said, feeling the need to defend her friend. “She wanted to come. But there was a family crisis. She had to fly back to Atlanta today. She didn’t want to leave a phone message, so I offered to explain it in person.”
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  Jay set the glass in the drainer. “Message delivered. Thank you,” he said without looking up.

  Zoe sensed he was angry. Or was he hurt? Whatever it was, Jay obviously didn’t believe her. “It really is true,” she said. “I was there when the phone call came.” Alissa would be devastated if Zoe couldn’t convince Jay. And devastation over Jay Stockwell was the last thing her friend needed right now.

  Jay shrugged. “I don’t think she would have liked it here, anyway.”

  “Oh, I think she might have. It’s quite”—she paused, trying to come up with the right word—“charming.” And so, Zoe decided, was Jay. No wonder Alissa wanted to find him again. No wonder she had never stopped loving him.

  “Charming, yes. But Alissa always preferred elegant. Oysters Rockefeller, not ziti and meatballs.”

  “Maybe she’s changed.”

  “Maybe,” Jay said, then smiled again, “and maybe not.”

  “You hadn’t seen each other for a long time.”

  He turned off the water and wiped his hands. “But some things you never forget.”

  It wasn’t anger, Zoe knew now. What Jay Stockwell was feeling was hurt. Probably an old hurt. Uncovered, unearthed, when it shouldn’t have been.

  Eric.

  She tried to make the pain go away.

  “Anyway,” Jay was saying, “DiNardo’s is strictly for people who appreciate good food served by your basic, fun-loving Italians. Are you interested?”

  Zoe wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

  “You haven’t lived until you’ve had Mama’s linguine marinara.”

  “Is that an invitation?” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” he answered as he untied the apron. “Besides, it’s rather humiliating for a grown man to be stood up, especially when this date was her idea.”

  Alissa’s idea?

  Zoe wondered if she should stay. This was Alissa’s man, the love of her life. But, then, it was only linguine marinara, and Jay Stockwell, Zoe was certain, was only being friendly.

  He hung his apron on a peg and moved from behind the bar. “Dinner?” he asked again.