Born to Be Wild

by Berg, Patti

  “I believe our contract called for a dance.”

  His eyes narrowed into a frown, not exactly the look she’d expected. “Yeah, it did,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to hold you to it.”

  “But—”

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

  Max stalked away, disappearing into the crowd and leaving her annoyed with his actions and hurt by his indifference, because little more than an hour ago they were nearly in each other’s arms.

  “What was that all about?” Gerald asked.

  “Nothing,” she answered, trying to ignore the ache in her heart, but it seemed to blot out everything around her.

  “Do you make a habit of dancing with the caterers?”

  She wanted to tell him no. Wanted to pretend that she felt nothing for Max, but she couldn’t hide her deepening emotions. “He’s a friend. A dear friend.”

  There. She’d said it, and the world hadn’t crashed in on her.

  “Your mother told me you’d developed an odd attraction toward a caterer. Is he the one?”

  “I told you, he’s a friend.”

  “And decidedly jealous, I daresay.”

  Could Max really be jealous? She’d done nothing more than dance with Gerald Harcourt, a bore who meant nothing to her. She’d have to straighten Max out the next time she saw him.

  But she didn’t see him again. Max Wilde had made himself completely invisible, while Gerald Harcourt stayed glued to her side, flashing his billion-dollar smile so many times she wanted to scream. Instead, she drank champagne, flitted from one acquaintance to another, entertaining her guests while trying to figure out a way to get rid of Gerald, other than knocking him unconscious.

  But Gerald wouldn’t be put off. He urged her to stand with the other single women when Betsy tossed her bouquet, and pulled her back to his side when she missed. They ate cake together, drank more champagne, and tossed fragrant white plumeria at the bride and groom when they ran off for their round-the-world honeymoon.

  She had no idea how much time had gone by, but the warmth of the air, the smoothness of Gerald’s voice, and too many glasses of champagne lulled her, made her rest her head against his shoulder. She wanted to close her eyes. Wanted to sleep.

  And then she could dream of dancing with Max, since it appeared that was as close as she’d ever get to reality.

  Gerald’s cologne was strong and sweet, so different from Max’s, which had been light and musky and natural. Gerald’s hand was small, soft against her back, where Max’s was large and strong, with calluses on his palms. Gerald’s hair was perfect, while Max’s was wild. She lifted her head and looked into pale blue eyes that weren’t the least bit intense, showed no sign of danger, only sophistication and the ultimate in breeding, and she wished that she were looking into Max’s fiery brown eyes.

  She didn’t want to be with Gerald any longer. It was getting late, people were starting to drift away. “It’s time that I say goodbye to some of the guests,” she told him, pulling far away.

  “I could do that with you.”

  She shook her head. “You’ve been wonderful all afternoon, but there are a few people I’d like to see on my own.”

  He didn’t argue. “Perhaps tonight—”

  “I have plans.”

  “Then I’ll call tomorrow.”

  She smiled gently, not wanting to tell him that she wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, she’d done little to prove that point in the past few hours.

  The orchestra continued to play, a few couples swayed on the veranda, and Lauren searched for the only man she wanted to dance with.

  “Have you seen Max?” she asked Bear, who stood behind the bar, looking devilishly handsome in his tux.

  “There was a problem at the Fabianos’ party. He asked me to take charge here.”

  A sinking feeling hit her heart. “He’s gone?”

  “Not more than a minute or so.” He turned a glass upright on the bar. “Would you like a drink? I make a hell of a martini.”

  “Some other time, thank you.” She skirted quickly past friends and acquaintances, past her mother, who tried to catch her attention, toward the driveway that led to the side of the house. She prayed she could catch him.

  A black van with a sleek motorcycle and Born To Be Wild painted in screaming reds, yellows, and greens on the side was backing out of the drive, and she raced after it. “Stop, Max. Please.”

  The van continued to move backward, slowly maneuvering around a Rolls and a Bentley. “Max!” she cried out again. He didn’t stop until the vehicle reached the street. She was breathless when she got to the rolled-down driver’s window.

  Max had stripped off his tie. His jacket was gone and the top button was loosened on his shirt. He looked wonderful, and she wished she could climb into the van and run away with him.

  “I hoped I could catch you.”

  “Why?”

  She couldn’t miss the annoyance in his voice. “Because we need to talk.”

  “I don’t have time.”

  “I know. Bear told me there was an emergency at the Fabianos’, that you had to rush off, but—” She smiled weakly. “But maybe we can talk later. Maybe you can come back tonight and we can have our dance.”

  He laughed far too cynically. “You traded in our dance for a dozen dances with Gerald Harcourt.”

  “I would have given you a dozen dances if you’d been anywhere around, if you hadn’t turned me down when I asked.”

  “You were busy.”

  “I was entertaining my guests.”

  “One guest!”

  She put her hands on the door and leaned close. “You’re jealous!”

  “Damn right!”

  “But why? Gerald’s a bore!”

  “Chip’s a bore, too, but you married him. Then there were Leland, and Peter, and God knows how many others. Hell, Lauren, you dispense with husbands and lovers easier than I get rid of motorcycles and cars.”

  “You don’t know enough about my marriages or the rest of my life to go throwing the past in my face.”

  “I don’t have to throw it in your face. It’s with you all the time. Your ex-husband is always around. You live in the house he bought you.”

  “It’s just a house, Max. A big, empty, lonely mansion that has no sentimental value to me at all. It’s where I live, it’s where I entertain. Nothing more. As for Chip, I don’t love him anymore. My life might not be anything like yours. You might not like the way I entertain my guests. You might not like my friends or the way I’ve lived my life. But this is my life and I’m not going to give it up—no matter how much I want you.”

  He stared at her, and a deafening silence and all their differences, not to mention her past, formed a wall between them.

  She dropped her hands from the side of the van and took a deep breath to regain her composure. He was cruel, and jealous, and totally wrong for her, and she refused to let him see just how much he’d hurt her.

  “Thank you for everything you did to make Betsy’s wedding such a success,” she said, and didn’t wait for another vindictive response. Instead, she turned and walked back toward the house, far away from the first man to make her truly happy, and far away from the first man to leave her feeling completely lost.

  Ten

  Lauren strolled through the conservatory, tending her orchids, sticking her finger into each pot to see if the soil was damp and watering the plants that were far too dry. The gardening she did in this room was therapy for most everything that ailed her, but tonight it was barely taking care of a headache induced by too much champagne and an injured heart. She sighed as she pinched off a wilted bloom from a lemon-yellow lady’s slipper, wishing she could just as easily pinch away the agony she felt at losing Max.

  Unfortunately, life didn’t work that way. That was something she knew all too well.

  She looked up at the sound of her mother talking to Charles in the next room, ignoring their words as she care
fully dusted the mottled leaves with a soft cotton cloth. When Charles walked up the grand staircase, her mother came into the garden room, looking refreshed after a two-hour nap and a massage from Lauren’s masseuse.

  “The wedding was lovely, darling,” Celeste said, taking a seat in one of the white wicker chairs and crossing her legs neatly. She smoothed the skirt of her amethyst shantung suit and casually leaned back, watching Lauren at work. “The flowers were beautiful, the music gorgeous, and Betsy’s dress was fabulous.”

  Lauren wiped her hands on a towel and slid closed the tropical-painted panel that hid her potting supplies. “Betsy told me she’d never been happier,” she said, taking a seat across from her mother.

  A blasé smile touched Celeste’s mouth. “Dickie and Betsy have so much going for them. For their sake, I hope the marriage will last.”

  “I’d put odds on them.”

  “I heard that Chip was doing that very thing during the reception.”

  Lauren frowned as she picked up her cup of lukewarm tea, letting her mind drift back to the wedding celebration she’d shared with Chip. “He took bets during our reception, too.”

  “Surely that’s just a rumor that was circulating at the time.”

  “I’m afraid not. He gave us six months, not a day longer. He would have made a lot of money if anyone had taken him up on it, but no one thought our marriage would even last that long.”

  “I’m truly sorry, darling. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s history,” Lauren said, taking a sip of her tea. “Believe it or not, Chip and I have laughed about it a time or two. He’s even apologized.”

  Celeste smiled uncomfortably and picked up a copy of Town & Country. She flipped absently through a few pages, obviously as uncomfortable with the conversation as Lauren, Talk between mother and daughter should come easy, Lauren thought, but it always seemed as if she and Celeste were only casual acquaintances.

  “You also received many compliments on the food,” Celeste said, her eyes never leaving the magazine.

  “Max Wilde was completely responsible.” For everything—even for a painfully splintered heart. “I’ll drop him a note and tell him how delighted the guests were.”

  Celeste glanced up, quickly studied Lauren’s face, then looked back down at her magazine, as if she’d heard the note of unhappiness in her daughter’s voice, but didn’t know how to respond.

  “Did you try the pastries?” Lauren asked, forcing her mind to more pleasant thoughts of the day.

  “You know I don’t eat sweets, darling.”

  “I know, but the lemon cream was delicious.” Remembrances of the tangy flavor and the sweet scents of lemon, sugar, and chocolate came back to her, as did the conversation she’d shared with a jealous little girl. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and pictured herself taking Jamie into the shops on Worth Avenue, ducking into an ice cream parlor and indulging in a hot fudge sundae, or discussing things little girls could only talk to a mother about. Her eyes popped open again when she realized those were things that would never be—as if there’d ever been a chance for them in the first place.

  She had to put Max and Jamie completely out of her mind because that brief interlude in her life was over.

  Celeste poured more tea into her cup, frowning as if an unpleasant thought had just come to her. “I hate to bring this up right now, darling, considering how well Betsy’s wedding went, but in spite of the compliments on the food, I did hear several people complaining about the waiters, particularly the young boy and girl. I can’t believe in this day and age a man would be so unenlightened as to hire children.”

  “They’re Max’s children and they don’t wait on people as a rule. His other waiters were busy and—”

  “There’s no need to make excuses for him. I overheard the conversation between you and Mr. Wilde.”

  Lauren frowned. “You didn’t follow me to his van, did you?”

  “Of course not. I was walking Holly Rutherford to her car and we both heard your argument. Face it, darling. Max Wilde is not the man for you, nor is he the type of person who should be catering our parties.” Her mother leaned forward and uncharacteristically placed a gentle hand on Lauren’s knee. “I hope you’re not too upset by this incident.”

  Lauren smiled softly, hoping to fight off her threatening tears. “I suppose it’s difficult for you to understand, but I liked him, much more than I ever expected.”

  “It’s not difficult to understand. I once felt that way about your father, who was terribly handsome in a rugged way.” A slight smile touched her lips. “It was a long time ago, of course. Did I ever tell you how we met?”

  Lauren shook her head, wanting to know a part of her mother’s past that she’d never shared before.

  Celeste leaned back casually, her gaze fixed on one of the potted orchids. “Bunny Endicott—she was Bunny Barrett then—dragged me to a rodeo on a lark. The place was awful. Too much dirt being kicked up, and I detested the smell of the bulls, but I couldn’t take my eyes off one of the bronc riders. Reece Remington was big, strong, terribly brash, and extremely wealthy. I was eighteen, he was twenty-three, and he could have swept me off my feet even if he’d been poor.”

  “So why didn’t your marriage work?”

  “He hated Newport and Palm Beach, and I could never adjust to Wyoming. You’ve been there. You know how desolate it can be.” She took a sip of tea, holding the cup close to her lips. “I gave him six good years and two beautiful children, but the love we had wasn’t enough to keep us together, not when we wanted such different things in life. That’s why I’ve encouraged you to choose men with the same breeding and social standing as you.”

  “But they’ve never made me happy, never made me feel good.”

  “Gerald can do that for you.”

  “I’m not interested in Gerald Harcourt.”

  Celeste smiled as she put down her cup. “Don’t brush his attentions off too lightly, Lauren. You love to travel, and so does he. You love the tropics, and he’s just purchased that island in Fiji. I’ve heard the home he’s building is magnificent, and if you don’t wait too long, you could have a say in the decorating scheme, although you could always have the rooms changed later.”

  “I have a big house, Mother. I could travel to Fiji any time, I could go anywhere I want, but I love Palm Beach, even in the summer when everyone’s gone and the weather’s at its worst. Somehow or other I’ve become a homebody, and all I want are family and friends around me.” She smiled at her mother. “I want more moments like this.”

  “Maybe you want too much.”

  “I just want what I’ve never had.”

  Celeste fidgeted with her wedding ring, obviously searching for some kind of response, but she was saved from answering when Charles walked into the room. “Pardon me, my lady, but the car’s ready.”

  “I’ll be out in just a moment, Charles.”

  “Very well,” he said, and much too formally left the room, a posture he’d always maintained in Celeste’s presence.

  “I hadn’t expected you to leave so soon,” Lauren said, putting down her cup of tea when Celeste rose from the chair and tucked her handbag under her arm. “We’ve hardly had any time together.”

  “But, darling, Bunny wants me to fly down to Rio with her for a few days, and Charles is taking us to the airport. After that, I may go back to England. As much fun as I’m having, I do miss Andrew. Of course, you know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder.” A cunning smile touched Celeste’s lips. “Maybe I’ll come back here after Rio and give Andrew a little more time to miss me.”

  “Please go home after Rio,” Lauren said, knowing her words sounded abrupt, but she hated to see her mother testing Andrew’s devotion.

  Celeste laughed lightly. “I thought you wanted me here.”

  “I do. I’ll miss you when you’re gone, but I think it’s more important for you to be with Andrew.”

  Celeste squeezed her daug
hter’s hands when they reached the car. “Will you really miss me, darling?”

  “I’ve always missed you when you’ve gone away.”

  Celeste slowly, somewhat uncomfortably, wrapped Lauren in a tender embrace. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Lauren couldn’t remember ever hearing her mother say “I love you”—not to her. She tried to respond, but her own words stuck in her throat as Celeste pulled away.

  “I’ll call you from Rio,” Celeste said, sliding gracefully into the back seat of the Bentley. “Please, darling, don’t fret over losing that man. You’ll find another.”

  Lauren waved as the car drove away. It seemed as if she was always saying goodbye to the people she cared about. But it wasn’t her mother ’s leaving her that bothered her most, not now, not after she’d said, “I love you.” Celeste would always come back, in a few days, a few weeks, a few months. This time when her mother disappeared, Lauren wished with all her heart that Max were the one coming back.

  oOo

  The house was far too quiet, Lauren thought as she crept down the stairs at ten. Charles had gone to a friend’s, Mrs. Fisk would be in Tahiti for a few more days, and the crew that had been hired to clean up had long since departed. No one would ever guess that a wedding and reception had been held there only a few hours before.

  The mansion seemed big and lonely. Lauren almost wished she’d gone to Rio with her mother. She’d even considered flying to Aspen, or heading to Milan or Paris, where she could immerse herself in shopping and socializing, but none of those ideas interested her anymore.

  Crying had seemed like a good idea after her mother had gone. For nearly half an hour she’d cried over losing Max, cried because he’d hurt her feelings, cried because she’d let a man trample all over her emotions. Unfortunately she didn’t feel the least bit better when the crying jag was over. Instead, she had another headache and puffy eyes, and she was in no mood to garden this time of night.

  Instead, she headed into the kitchen, dragged the Hershey’s syrup from the back of the refrigerator, where Mrs. Fisk usually hid it, squeezed a healthy portion into a glass, and added a tiny bit of milk. Chocolate could cure anything!