Kane

by Steve Gannon

  “You’re missing the point. The only way to change things is to-”

  “Get off the soapbox, honey. I’m not in the mood. Besides, we’re never gonna agree.”

  “Probably not,” Lauren said tersely. “I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to change your mind about something.”

  “Tell you what,” I said, my mood again plummeting. “Why don’t you drink your wine while I slug down a couple more bourbons, and we just listen to the music?”

  “Fine.”

  After the combo finished its third set, I rose unsteadily, deciding the time had come to call a cab. Lauren, who enjoyed jazz and had remained at my table despite my less than hospitable company, offered me a lift. Figuring what the hell, I accepted, at that point not thinking too clearly.

  By then the storm had let up slightly, and the rain-slicked streets outside were practically deserted. Except for giving directions, I said nothing to Lauren on the drive west to San Vicente Boulevard. After traveling for several minutes down the tree-lined avenue, I directed Lauren north on a side street, arriving minutes later at Arnie’s modest, ranch-style residence. The windows were dark.

  “Looks like nobody’s home,” Lauren noted, peering through the windshield.

  “Arnie’s staying at his girlfriend’s tonight, as usual,” I said, searching my pockets for Arnie’s key. “Haven’t seen much of him in weeks. I hope I didn’t… ah, here it is.”

  “In that case, how about inviting me in for a nightcap?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “C’mon, Kane. It’s Friday night, and I don’t feel like going home yet. I won’t bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Okay, come on in,” I reluctantly agreed, one portion of my alcohol-besotted brain suspecting I was making a mistake, another part beginning not to care. “Arnie’s got some Scotch around somewhere.”

  “Works for me.” Lauren cut the engine, slid from behind the wheel, and started for the house.

  I rubbed my eyes in an attempt to clear my vision and stumbled after her. Following her up the walkway, I thought again of Catheryn, realizing she was probably spending time with Arthur West at that very moment. Without willing it, I mentally replayed my conversation with the man who had answered the phone in her room, deciding it must have been Arthur. I pictured Catheryn and her handsome, urbane associate sitting somewhere having a drink, laughing, sharing intimate memories of their trip. Stinging with jealousy, I thrust away the image.

  “You have the key?” asked Lauren when she reached the door.

  I joined her on the landing and fumbled with the deadbolt, acutely aware of the woman beside me. She was taller than I remembered. In heels, she had to be over six feet. I glanced at her as I unlocked the door, surprised to find her clear blue eyes nearly level with my own. I could smell her perfume, the same scent she’d been wearing on the day she had waylaid me in the parking garage.

  “Are we going in?” asked Lauren with a smile. “I suppose we could stand out here all night, but people might talk.”

  I swung open the door and stepped inside. “There’s a light switch here somewhere.”

  Lauren followed me in, brushing against me in the darkened entry. But instead of stepping away, she moved closer. I felt her body touching mine, her breasts lightly pressing against my chest. “Lauren

  …”

  “Shhh,” she murmured. “As you said earlier, no talking.”

  Her mouth tasted of wine and was surprisingly soft as she touched her lips to mine. She opened her mouth slightly, her breath warm and sweet. I stood without moving, caught off guard yet making no effort to resist, bitter thoughts of Catheryn’s betrayal once more rising in my mind. Slowly, I felt myself responding to Lauren’s embrace. Adrift in a sea of disillusionment, I put my arms around her and with a passion that surprised us both, I kissed her back, crushing her slim body to mine.

  A moan escaped Lauren’s lips. She pressed even closer. And as our kisses grew in fervor, she began touching me, her mouth on mine, her hands traveling beneath my coat. Shuddering with excitement, she began moving against me, gently at first, then with increasing intimacy as she felt my need growing to match hers.

  A rush of blood pounded in my ears. Desire sizzling through me like a hot current, I abandoned myself to the shameful sweetness of Lauren’s embrace. Her hair smelled of sunshine and she felt sleek and supple in my arms, her blouse silken under my fingers, her nipples hard and erect and straining at my touch. Without thinking, I slipped her jacket from her shoulders. Then, raising her skirt, I cupped the twin globes of her hips and gathered her to me, the gossamer-sheer fabric of her underwear smooth against my palms. Closing my eyes, I gasped with pleasure as she rocked her pelvis against my hardness, teasing me, urging me on. I felt the heat burning in her core and kissed her again, realizing I wanted more.

  Instead, I pushed her away.

  “What’s wrong?” Lauren whispered, her voice husky with passion.

  “We can’t do this,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “You know the reason,” I said softly. “Besides, I was wrong about you. You’re not half as bad as I thought. You deserve better than this. We both do.”

  Lauren moved closer, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I’m not complaining,” she said, her lips once more finding mine.

  “Nothing good can come of this,” I said, my desire mounting anew as Lauren’s hands crept beneath my shirt. With maddening lightness, she raked her nails across my back. Then, slowly and seductively, she slipped off her blouse and bra. Pressing against my chest with the warm fullness of her breasts, she kissed me again.

  My head swam with a swirl of images: Catheryn and Arthur. Lauren and me. “Nothing good can come of this,” I repeated, still meaning the words, but in my jealousy and hurt, suddenly not caring.

  Lauren pressed closer, her hands now brazenly exploring, her thighs moving insistently against mine. She reached out and closed the door. With a twist of her wrist, she sent home the bolt.

  “I’m a big girl,” she said. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Steve Gannon

  Kane

  38

  U pon awaking the next morning, I found that Lauren had slipped away sometime during the night. Choked with shame and regret, I rolled out of bed and pulled on my rumpled clothes. Arnie still hadn’t returned from Stacy’s, but I decided not to wait. Fighting a raging hangover, I took a cab to the Scotch ’n’ Sirloin and retrieved a spare set of keys from a magnetic receptacle in the bumper of my Suburban. Realizing I would be late for work in any case, I decided to drive to the beach. I needed a shower and a change of clothes, and I wanted to check on the kids as well. Apparently Caltrans repair crews had worked through the night on a slide at Temescal Canyon, and the highway was finally clear… at least until the next rain.

  Allison and Nate hadn’t returned home yet from Christy’s when I arrived, and the house was deserted. I decided not to call, remembering it was Christmas vacation and the kids were probably taking advantage of the situation to sleep late. Once I had coffee brewing, I wrote a short note to Catheryn explaining the children’s absence should she arrive before they returned. Leaving my message on the bed, I stumbled to the bathroom, downed four Advils, and hurriedly showered, shaved, and pulled on a fresh set of clothes. Minutes later, a mug of black coffee in hand, I stepped out the front door.

  As I reached the street, Adele Washington’s car pulled up. Catheryn climbed out. “Hi, Dan,” she said with a guarded smile. Despite our strained relationship, she seemed happy to see me.

  “Welcome home, Kate.” I gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “I thought you weren’t getting back till later.”

  “Some of us managed to catch an earlier flight.” Catheryn drew away, chilled by my reception. “Is something wrong? You’re acting, I don’t know… different. And you smell like a brewery.”

  “The road was closed last night, so I spent the night at Arnie’s. We went to th
e Scotch and had a couple drinks.”

  “Oh, Dan…”

  “It’s no big deal,” I said. “By the way, the kids are at Christy’s.”

  “How’re you doing, handsome?” Adele called from the rear of her Audi, where she was pulling Catheryn’s luggage from the trunk.

  “Getting by, Adele. Thanks for giving Kate a ride. Sorry, but I’m late for work and don’t have time to chat. See you later. ’Bye, Kate.”

  “You haven’t forgotten the Christmas Mercado at the Music Center tonight?” asked Catheryn, clearly bewildered by my frosty attitude.

  “I’ll be there. I’ll pick up a tux and change in town. See you at the fundraiser.”

  “All right,” said Catheryn uncertainly. “I… I’ll look for you there.”

  39

  Catheryn chatted briefly with Adele for several minutes, trying to hide her hurt at her husband’s puzzling reception. Then, after Adele left, she carried her bags into the house.

  A note lay on her pillow. Catheryn read it with a heavy heart, struck by the impersonal tone of the message. Feeling as if she’d been slapped, she crumpled the note. Things hadn’t been on an even keel when she’d left, but this was more than that.

  With a sigh, she busied herself unpacking, sorting her clothes into two piles: those that needed washing and those that could be rehung. As she worked, she noticed one of her husband’s shirts topping a stack of laundry in a hamper by the closet. After she had divided her wash items into darks and lights, she carried the hamper to the bed, intending to add its contents to her piles. Absently, she picked up her husband’s soiled shirt and raised it to her face.

  It smelled of sweat, deodorant, and something else. A faint floral scent clung to the fabric, a distinctive fragrance as memorable as the odor of newly mown lawn. White Linen. Although Catheryn had a small bottle of the perfume on her dresser, she rarely used it, considering it too elegant for casual wear.

  All at once things made sense.

  Stunned, Catheryn sank to the bed, the soiled shirt still clutched in her hands. She lowered her head in shock and disbelief, wondering how things could have gone so wrong, wondering how her life could have come unraveled with such abysmal, unforeseeable hurt. And as she sat, a profound emptiness welled up inside, drowning her in a flood of loneliness and loss. And for the first time since Tommy’s death, alone on the bed upon which for years she and her husband had shared their love, she cried.

  Lauren glared at the jangling phone, thinking that if interruptions kept popping up, she would never finish her news piece on time. It was already two o’clock, with a three-thirty deadline fast approaching. Damn!

  Sighing, she saved the work on her computer screen and glanced around the hectic newsroom. A recording studio for the CBS National Radio Network before the days of television, the windowless chamber still exhibited holdovers from its previous incarnation, including an elevated glass control booth at one end that had been converted to the news director’s office.

  Maybe I can get some help from one of the Newspath guys, she thought, spotting a friend standing near the assignment desk. Manuel doesn’t seem too busy.

  Still ringing.

  Finally she lifted the receiver. “Van Owen.”

  “Lobby, Ms. Van Owen. Someone’s here for you. She doesn’t have an appointment, but she says you’ll want to see her.”

  “I’m not expecting anyone.”

  “She’s extremely insistent.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Catheryn Kane.”

  Lauren swallowed, finding herself at a loss for words. A premonition of disaster settled like a weight in her stomach. “Shit,” she said, irritated that the hackneyed expletive was the best she could do. “Tell her… tell her I’ll be right there.”

  The reception lobby on the ground floor of Columbia Square, the Hollywood headquarters of KCBS-TV, contained a couch, three chairs, photo blowups of the building’s inauguration in 1938, a security station, and twin television monitors mounted high on the wall-both permanently tuned to Channel Two. In addition to a guard, a pair of card-operated turnstiles prevented unauthorized entry deeper into the building. The tall, hauntingly beautiful woman whom Lauren found waiting on the other side of the barrier was not what she had expected.

  Aren’t musicians supposed to have horn-rimmed glasses and wear their hair up in buns? Lauren thought distractedly. This woman obviously hasn’t received the word. “Mrs. Kane?” she said, endeavoring to appear unruffled.

  “Call me Catheryn,” the woman replied, her tone calm and reserved. “This will be difficult enough without standing on formality. After all, we do have quite a bit in common.”

  “I, uh…”

  “I didn’t come here to make a scene. I just want to talk. Is there someplace we can go?”

  Lauren glanced at her watch, her mind racing. Not the newsroom. Too busy. Same with the broadcast studios. The editing bays are all full, too. The Newspath office? Too dismal. Jesus, what’s she doing here? “There… there’s a patio we can use,” she stammered.

  “Fine.”

  Lauren motioned to the guard at the desk. The guard touched a switch, and a low gate bypassing the turnstiles clicked open. Swinging it aside, Lauren ushered Catheryn in. Proceeding in silence down a wide corridor, the two women passed the brightly lit newsroom on the left. Farther on they took a curving passage displaying full-color headshots of Channel Two news anchors, past and present. Lauren’s was one of the most recent.

  Shortly afterward they reached a door leading to a deserted patio. The massive, U-shaped body of the CBS building encompassed three sides; a ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence and a hedge of ficus sealed the fourth, separating the space from passing traffic on Sunset Boulevard.

  “I eat lunch here occasionally, but hardly anyone else ever comes out,” Lauren said self-consciously. Christ, get ahold of yourself, she thought. “We can sit over there, if you want,” she added, indicating one of the white-canopied tables scattered around the terrace.

  Catheryn followed her to the table, on the way inspecting the vertical rows of windows staring down on the courtyard. “A little like being in a fishbowl,” she remarked.

  “It is, isn’t it?” agreed Lauren, taking a seat.

  Catheryn sat across from her.

  An uncomfortable silence descended. Finally Lauren spoke. “How did you…?”

  “Find out? It wasn’t hard. All it took was a couple of phone calls-one to Dan’s ex-partner, another to a restaurant parking attendant. When you’re married to a detective, you learn a few things.”

  “I suppose you would.”

  “Dan doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Has he said anything?”

  “No,” Catheryn answered bitterly. “Although I just arrived home today. Perhaps he’s waiting for the perfect time to tell me. Christmas, maybe.”

  “Excuse me for asking, Mrs. Kane… Catheryn, but why are you here?”

  Catheryn gazed levelly across the table. “I’m not certain. I guess I wanted to see who you were, find out what you were like.”

  “Confront the hussy who stole your man?” said Lauren, meeting Catheryn’s gaze.

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m not going to apologize, if that’s what you expect. If Dan were getting what he needed from you, he wouldn’t have come to me.”

  “No. He wouldn’t.”

  “I’m not criticizing you. I know you’re a successful musician and that your work probably takes up a lot of your time. It’s a hard choice.”

  “For some reason, that sounds like a news flash from the kettle,” noted Catheryn, her expression tightening. “Tell me something, Lauren. Are you married?”

  “I was once. It didn’t work out.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Too personal?” Catheryn shot back, her eyes flashing. “You sleep with my husband and then tell me your marriage is none of my business? I’d find that ludicrous
if it weren’t so absurd.”

  Color rose to Lauren’s cheeks. She started to respond in kind, then caught herself. “I suppose you have a point,” she conceded.

  “So what happened? Another woman?”

  Lauren took a deep breath. “No, nothing like that. To be truthful, I wasn’t much of a wife. My husband wasn’t any gem, either. Eric and I had our problems, but given time I think we could’ve worked things out. Bottom line, my career took precedence over my being married. It’s an old story.”

  “Yes,” said Catheryn, thinking of her position with the Philharmonic and the demands it had placed on her marriage. “Do you have kids?”

  “A daughter. Her name’s Candice. She’s made it all worthwhile.”

  “Children are like that. Most of the time, anyway. We have three.”

  Unexpectedly, Lauren found herself liking the woman sitting across from her. It was a feeling she couldn’t afford. “I know what you’re driving at,” she said, hearing the tension returning to her voice and struggling to bring it under control. “Kids and broken homes and all the things that go with them. Well, I’m sorry, but we all make choices, and I’m not the only player in this.”

  “Do you love him?”

  Though taken off guard by the question, Lauren decided Catheryn deserved an honest answer. She thought a moment, exploring a possibility she had avoided considering, at least until now. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But if he loved me back, I think I could,” she added, surprised by her own admission.

  Catheryn looked away.

  “What about you? Do you still love him?”

  Catheryn shook her head. “I’m not sure about anything anymore. Things haven’t been right between us for quite a while. And now…”

  “You’re a fool if you let him go,” Lauren blurted, surprising herself again.

  “Maybe.” Abruptly, Catheryn rose. “Good-bye, Lauren. Thanks for your time.”

  Lauren pushed to her feet. “Let me walk you out.”

  “I’ll find my own way.”

  Lauren hesitated, for the second time that day at a loss for words. “Catheryn?”