Arms crossed, Sam asked, “Don’t you think you did an awful lot of using each other?”
She didn’t answer.
“No matter what Jonah said, I’ve known him all my life—well enough to know what amazing changes you made in a guy who’d become about as exciting as a brick. He loves you, Rose. So does Katie.”
Tears flowing freely now, she shook her head. “The woman he loves doesn’t exist. As much as I’d like to be her, I can’t.”
Rose’s manager, Grant, wired her money for her return trip to LA and met her at the airport. During the whole drive to her Malibu beach house, a description of which could be summed up in four words—soaring panes of glass—he gushed about how big he planned to make her comeback. Looking healthy and more beautiful than ever, she’d become every manager’s wet dream. And just think—she was all his.
Rose fired him on the front steps. Right after he’d handed over her Ferrari and Mercedes keys, along with the key to her house.
She told him to never contact her again, and she meant it.
And now, on a Monday morning, reclining on a sleek lounge chair, drinking in the full-on ocean view beneath the baking Malibu sun, she figured she might as well be adrift on the ocean, for all the comfort her luxurious surroundings didn’t bring. Sure, the house, with its plush white carpet, custom white leather chairs and sofas, and mirrored tables, was beautiful, but it wasn’t her. None of this was her, but what was? And how did she go about finding out?
She closed her eyes, soaking in the sun, the roaring waves.
Somewhere down the beach seagulls cried and the air smelled crisp with the barest hint of brine.
How was it that she’d outright owned this house for five years, yet it felt less familiar than the one she’d shared with Jonah for five weeks?
There, she’d loved the feel of the morning sun soaking through the back of whichever one of Jonah’s T-shirts she’d worn to tend her new garden. The rustle of breezy spring secrets tittering through leaves. The calls of mockingbirds, robins and jays. The coal trains’ lonely wails. The old house with its creaks and cozy smells of morning coffee and bacon, and Katie’s baby lotion and shampoo. Recalling Jonah’s unique scent would bring unspeakable pain, so she forced open her eyes. Forced herself to face reality. This was her life now. Jonah and Katie were gone.
Eyes open, heart pounding with a raw ache, she brought her hands to her breasts, for they ached, too.
What she missed most from Blue Moon weren’t sounds and smells—but people.
Her family. Her adopted baby.
In her head she knew Katie had only been a beautiful dream, but her body still hadn’t adjusted to the fact that she no longer had reason to produce milk. Since she’d been on a regular schedule of pumping milk for Lizzy ever since her New Year’s Eve birth, when Rose had ended up with Katie in her arms just three days after Lizzy’s death, her body had been all too cooperative in keeping up the masquerade that her baby was still alive.
Lizzy.
Sweet, sweet Lizzy.
Rose swallowed hard. The day she’d found out she was pregnant, joy hadn’t begun to describe her elation. She’d been so certain hearing the news that he was about to be a father would be all it took to settle Talon into being a loving husband and father. She couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Don’t you turn away from me!” she’d said to him backstage in Memphis. In the cloying smoke clouding their dressing room, Rose had snagged the man thousands of women called Talon by the hard black leather of his vest, spinning him around. His dark hair had hung long and loose about his shoulders and his dark eyes had loomed bloodshot and wild. Unlike all those masses who night after night chanted his name, Rose knew the real man behind the name. “Logan, don’t you get what I’ve been trying to say? I’m having a baby. Your baby.”
He’d laughed, and the sharp note had pierced her heart.
“You think it’s funny?”
He’d shaken his head. “I think it’s pathetic. Look, kid, you’re beautiful, and everyone on God’s green earth knows you’ve got lungs. But you’ve also got some stupid notion of settling down to your white picket fence and face it—” He’d curled his lips into a sneer. “That just ain’t me.”
“You could change. You’re going to be a father.”
He’d gripped her by her shoulders, giving her a rough shake. “What’s it going to take to make you listen? The man you call Logan’s dead. In his place arose Talon. That’s who I am, baby. All I ever wanted to be.”
Holding back a wall of tears, she’d shaken her head. “You don’t mean that.”
“The hell I don’t.” He’d reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Opened it and plucked out a couple of hundreds, flinging them at her. “Here. Abortions are cheap. Take care of it.”
“It? You’re calling our child—the child we conceived from love—an it?”
“Whoa. Nobody ever said the word love around here but you. I was only going along for the luscious ride. If you’d ever listened to anything I said, you’d know I’m hardly a happily-ever-after kind of guy.”
She’d slapped him.
“Mmm…” He’d cinched her close. “Now we’re talkin’. You know I’ve always liked it rough.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Geneva hung her head in shame.
To think she’d left Jonah, in pursuit of a man more like Talon. What a joke. What a shame that she’d ever given up Jonah. And now, poor Rose had made the same stupid mistake with an equally tragic outcome. Sure, Jonah had his faults, and technically, yes, he had been using Rose, but not in the same sense that Talon and Grant had used her. Those two yo-yos had been out for either sex or financial gain. Jonah had used her to help heal his child and heart.
So how come if even an insensitive angel reject like herself saw that difference, Rose couldn’t?
Was this it, Geneva’s big cue from the sky to pack it in?
“Not just yet.” Young Elvis approached. Wearing faded jeans, a white T-shirt and scuffed black boots that matched his jet black hair, the mere sight of him left her for once without words and gaping. “Mr. Big said you need a song.”
“But I’m failing. How am I ever going to get those two back together, with Jonah stuck in Blue Moon and Malibu Barbie back in her natural habitat?”
Shaking his head, Elvis clucked his tongue. “Shame on you, Geneva. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since being up here, it’s that you gotta have faith.”
“Right. I’ve got about as much faith in this all working out as—”
He cut her off in mid-whine with a downright depressing rendition of Heartbreak Hotel.
Just as Elvis strummed the final few notes, Teach popped in, giving the King a round of applause. “You just keep getting better,” he said with a shake of his head. “Ever think of giving life another go as a member of one of those hot boy bands?”
“Nah.” Elvis waved him off. “I've got things good up here. Why would I want to go back?”
Teach nodded. “Excellent point. Well, then…” With a sharp sigh and a click of his heels, he turned to Geneva. “Looks as if I’m back to dealing with you.”
“Forget it,” Geneva said. “I’m a lost cause.”
“Giving up so easily?”
“Easily? Ha! You were the one who told me Rose probably isn’t even Jonah’s true soul mate, so where does that leave me? With billions of other women to sift through looking for just the right one?”
“Good point,” Teach said with a solemn nod. “I hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms. Yes, I suppose you’re right. At this point, with only five days until your official deadline, there’s not a thing left for you to do but wait.”
She slanted him a dark look. “Even you’re giving up on me?”
He shrugged. “Everyone else has—including yourself. Besides, John Lennon and Mozart are giving a concert in fifteen minutes. Don’t want to be late.” With a jaunty wave, he was off.
Under ordinary circumstan
ces, Geneva would’ve at the very least stuck out her tongue, but she was too depressed.
Even her own teacher had turned against her. What kind of screwed-up Heaven was this?
She’d worked her vaporous buns off getting Jonah and Angel together. And if it hadn’t been for that stupid talent scout-reporter guy, she would’ve already been tooling around in her flashy new wings! So there, none of this mess was her fault. And what about the fact that before Reporter Guy showed up, Jonah, Angel and Katie were so happy? That had to count for something! Didn’t it prove they were all meant to be together? And if so, didn’t that mean Geneva still had a chance at busting through those pearly gates?
“Damn straight,” she said with a calculating smile.
She’d come way too far to waste a single second being sad. Now was the time for Geneva Kowalski-McBride to get mad.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Would you all give it a rest?” Jonah said Monday afternoon, before flipping a burger. “For the last time, Angel’s gone—and she’s not coming back.”
He looked up just in time to catch Pauline roll her eyes. Chevis and Leon shared a look. The size of Chevis’s grin made the NASCAR lighter and two cigs hitching a ride in his beard bobble.
“What?” Jonah slapped a piece of cheese onto the patty. “Think I’m kidding? She’s bad news. I say good riddance.” Muttering that last part while holding himself together took superhuman effort. He didn’t want to, but Jonah missed Angel-Rebel Blue-Rose-Whatever with a powerful force. He missed hearing her crooning lullabies to Katie and he missed her delicious cooking and her laugh and her aquamarine eyes, and even her goofy little endearments like the way she’d smooth his hair every morning before he left for work.
“You know you don’t mean that.” Pauline edged around the side of the stove to wrap him in a sideways hug.
He nudged her away to slide the burger off the grill and onto a toasted bun. “Leon? Those fries ready?”
“Gott’um right here.” He waved the basket in front of the fryer. “Only I don’t s’pect I’ll be giving them to you till you admit you had a thing for her.”
Jonah gritted his teeth. “Fine. Then I’ll get them myself.” He did just that, wrenching the basket from his friend’s hand, then dumping the contents beneath the warming light and shaking on salt. He scooped a couple dozen onto the burger plate, then held it out for Pauline. “Can you handle delivering this, or is my waitress on strike as well?”
Spying tears in her eyes made him feel like the jerk he was.
“I’ll take it,” she said, lifting her chin. “What I won’t take is any more of your attitude.”
“Sorry.” Plate in hand, he headed for the dining room. “Last thing I intended was to take any of this out on you. But facts are facts. And the fact is, my Angel was no angel.”
Pauline started to speak, but Jonah managed to escape the kitchen before hearing her.
He set the burger and fries on the counter in front of Randy, the UPS guy.
“Mmm, mmm…” After his first juicy bite, Randy used a napkin to wipe ketchup from his chin. “Forgot how good your burgers are. Twice as thick as the fast-food places.”
“Thanks,” Jonah said. “Glad you like it.” At least someone was happy with him this afternoon.
Glancing across the crowded room, a prickle of guilty pride swept through him. The place was packed, just like in the diner’s heyday. Just like in his dreams. Dreams that now felt curiously empty without sharing them with the woman who’d helped bring all those dreams to fruition.
“Jonah!” Pauline’s sister Melvine called from her booth across the room. “Could I trouble you for more tea?” She wagged her empty glass, tinkling the ice.
Had he really wished for increased traffic in the diner? Maybe he liked it empty. Gave him more time to sit in the office, licking his wounds.
“While you’re here,” Melvine said, patting Jonah’s hand when he served her drink, “I want you to have this.” She reached beside her onto the orange vinyl seat, pulling a flashdrive from her purse. “It’s the video Precious took of your Angel’s birthday party. She’s downloaded it.”
“She’s not my Angel.” Jonah took the flashdrive from Melvine, only to set it on the table beside her sweating glass of tea. “Never was.”
“Oh, well…” Reddening, she fussed with the sugar dispenser for a moment before pushing the offensive thing back his way. “Just in case, I thought you might like to have it.”
“In case of what?”
She sighed. “In case you come to your senses, all right? No matter who she used to be, the woman we all came to know and love is sweet as cherry pie. Now take the flashdrive, or I’m walking out of here without paying on the grounds that your just plain mean disposition ruined my meal.”
Rose frowned. The state-of-the-art microwave might as well have been from outer space. All she wanted to do was nuke a bag of popcorn. Did she really need all these buttons?
And the house was too cold. Ever since leaving Blue Moon, she’d felt chilled. Just as soon as she figured out how to make her snack, she’d get back to finding a manual on how to shut off the AC. She’d tried earlier, but the computerized heating and cooling system was equally as complex as the microwave.
Just one more thing to thank Grant for. To him, image wasn’t just about the character she portrayed onstage. It was a full-time gig. If he’d had his way, Rebel Blue would have resided in a gothic mansion deep in the heart of old town Beverly Hills as opposed to the beach.
“If you insist on living in a sand castle,” he’d argued when she’d bid on a simple yet cozy thousand-square-foot cottage, “at least make it a true castle.”
That was how she ended up in not a castle but a palace. Fifteen-thousand square feet of blinding white elegance that used to have a full-time cook and two housekeepers—but right after Lizzy’s death Rose had let them all go. It wasn’t as if she’d used even half the place. She was rarely even home to eat. She did still have two gardeners in her employ. Two very surprised gardeners this morning, when she helped them deadhead a bed of yellow marigolds. Esther would get a kick out of seeing Rose’s elaborate gardens—not that she could take credit for growing them, but they were pretty just the same.
An elegant series of chimes sounded.
Figuring it was Armande with a question about the tomatoes and zucchini she’d asked him to plant beside the roses, she abandoned the microwave to answer the door.
“What’s up?” Talon leaned against the glass block entry wall. Mirrored sunglasses cloaked his dark eyes and black leather pants hugged his long, lean legs. On his feet were black biker boots. On his chest—nothing. His pecs and abs were perfectly tan and perfectly ripped—both feats achieved through hours spent with his fake-tanner and personal trainer. After giving her what she could only guess from her reflection in his glasses was a head-to-toe appraisal, he said, “You’re looking good.”
“Thanks.” Having left Blue Moon with nothing—the same way she’d entered the small town—Rose had trouble accommodating her new, simpler tastes in clothes from her former outrageous wardrobe. At the bottom of a dresser drawer she’d managed to find a white T-shirt and jean cutoffs. She wore her hair in twin braids. No makeup. Standing before this rock god she’d once thought she loved more than life itself, she couldn’t imagine the woman she must’ve been back in the days when she’d worshipped him.
He pulled her into a hug. “Long time, no see.”
Not until after they parted did she notice the scent of stale cigarette smoke clinging to his skin and hair. “Yeah. We pretty much said it all at Lizzy’s funeral.”
“I didn’t go.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“That’s my point.”
“So what? You’re holding a grudge?”
“You think I shouldn’t?”
He glanced over his shoulder. A photographer dove behind a bougainvillea.
“Can we take this inside?” She stepped back, hugging
the door’s edge to allow him to pass. “I’d forgotten about the paparazzi.”
He shrugged, sliding his sunglasses atop his head. “Another day, another tabloid story. No biggee. Remember the first time they said we were an item?” Nudging the front door closed with the tip of his boot, he said, “You used to love that shit. Remember how we’d lounge by my pool naked, reading the National Enquirer, drinking pitchers of margaritas?” While he talked, he’d slid his hands about her waist.
She pushed him away. “I won’t deny we had a few good times, Logan, but that’s over.”
“Call me Talon.”
“Forgive me,” she said, with an exaggerated wave. “I forgot. The stage lights never go out for you, do they?”
“That’s a low blow, Rose.”
“Is it?” Crossing the white marble foyer, her bare feet felt frozen. Seated on the massive, C-shaped white leather sectional, staring out at the foaming surf, she reached for a white faux fur pillow to slip over her toes. Closing her eyes, she wished Jonah were there to warm them the way he had that day in his office when he’d told her he loved her.
Talon sat beside her. “I don’t blame you for being mad. I’ve flaked on a lot of things.” He looked to the view, then back to her. “Grant told me you’ve been shacking up with another guy.”
“Shacking up?” she spluttered. “I had amnesia. I thought I was his wife. His baby’s mother.”
“Deep.” He paused as though letting her words sink in. “Where does that leave us?”
“I thought you said there never was an ‘us’.”
He groaned, slid across the sofa to pull her into his arms. He smoothed the hair back from her forehead, meeting her gaze. “Damn, you’ve got gorgeous eyes. Guys in the band say your ass is your best feature, but I’ve always said it’s your eyes.”
“I’m touched,” she said, pulse racing. He made her nervous—not in a good way. She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands.
He flashed the smile that had seduced women all over the world—including her. “Damn, I’ve missed you.” His voice was husky. His breath smelled faintly of beer and cigs and the lifestyle she thought she’d abandoned. But, in light of the pain she was going through over losing Jonah and Katie, she had to wonder if that was all there’d ever be? “We used to be so good together.” He came in close for a kiss, and the part of her that had loved him for years, that would’ve at one time given her soul to have heard him mutter those very same words, was confused. All she’d ever wanted was to belong. To be loved. His kind words zoned in on that need, capitalizing on her weakness. “We could be good again, you know?”
Angel Baby (Heaven Can Wait) Page 26