True Bliss

by Cameron, Stella

  Before opening the door, she took off the jacket and hung it on a nail beside several others.

  The atmosphere in the great room was steamy. Fabiola grabbed any excuse to start a fire. Flames curled up the big chimney and two of the women who were summer renters— both poets—sat on the worn rug before the hearth, looking damp. Engrossed in reciting aloud to each other, they barely acknowledged Bliss's arrival.

  Leaving the door open behind her, she walked through the

  room and into the kitchens where Polly toiled over several pots on the stove.

  " 'Lo, Bliss," she said. "Fab and Bobby are at the bungalow with Mom. She's dropped by to sprinkle us with her latest insights. Fab'll be right back. Sebastian called. He said—"

  Bliss felt the instant when Maryan's arrival silenced Polly.

  "What did he say?" Maryan asked.

  Polly frowned at Bliss, who shook her head slightly. "How's dinner coming?"

  "Great. Stew. You know how Fab is about storms. Any storms. Build a fire and eat stew. Beef, chicken or vegetarian. Take your pick."

  "Gourmet stew." Bliss laughed. "Polly, this is Maryan— Is it still Plato?"

  "Of course."

  Bliss studied Maryan thoughtfully. Did that mean she believed in women keeping their maiden names after they were married, that she'd never married, or that no sane person would give up a name like Plato?

  "We need to talk," Maryan said. "Where can we go?"

  "Here will do," Bliss said. Under no circumstances did she intend to be alone with Maryan Plato again. The last time was already unforgettable.

  Maryan eyed Polly.

  Polly smiled pleasantly and, predictably, began to hum. "The Ride of the Valkyries" took on new dimensions when hummed by Polly Crow.

  "I really don't think you'd want me to say what I came to tell you in front of a stranger."

  "Polly isn't a stranger." And Maryan Plato didn't call any shots here. "This is Sebastian's sister," she said to Polly.

  "Hi," Polly said. "Do you work at Raptor?"

  Bliss gaped at Polly.

  "I'm Sebastian's partner," Maryan said curtly.

  "You have a talent agency, don't you?" Polly asked. "As well as the modeling agency?"

  "Yes." Maryan peeled off her gloves and undid the single tortoise-shell button at the neck of her raincoat.

  Polly brandished a wooden spoon. "I've been thinking of dropping by. Of course, I'm not short of work, but there might be something I could do for you."

  Maryan took off her coat and draped it over the back of a chair. A soft beige sheath, cut low to showcase the only part of her that wasn't thin—her breasts—ended at mid-thigh. She regarded Polly, the spoon, and the stove. "We don't have much call for gourmet stew at Raptor."

  Polly's already pink face turned a darker shade. "I'm a singer."

  "A very fine singer," Bliss said, furious with Maryan.

  "In that case"—Mary an's smile showed small teeth but was definitely shark style—"call Zoya. Just Zoya. Tell her I said you should have an appointment. She'll set something up for you."

  Polly's delightedly flustered thanks made Bliss's heart plummet. Later she'd have to warn her to guard against disappointment.

  "Now," Maryan said. "A private place?"

  The door from the terrace opened and Fabiola came in.

  "This is Maryan Plato," Polly said, exuding excitement. "She's going to help me get an audition with Raptor."

  Fabiola looked at her sister with undisguised envy. "You're kidding."

  "I'm not, am I, Ms. Plato?"

  Maryan ignored her. "I'm a very busy woman, Bliss. I made time to come by because this is important."

  "Do you run the modeling agency?" Fab asked, raking her fingers through her hair. "I've been meaning to come by your new offices and see if there's anything I might be interested in."

  "Call Zoya," Maryan said, not even bothering to look at Fab. "Tell her I told you to call her and arrange an appointment. She'll set something up."

  Bliss couldn't bear to look at either of the twins. "We can go up to my rooms," she said, leaving the kitchens almost at a run, and jogging upstairs. She didn't slow down until she was inside her room.

  Within seconds Maryan came in and shut the door. She'd taken the time to gather up her raincoat. This time she tossed the wet garment on Bliss's map table and looked around the room with open curiosity.

  "I don't have long," Bliss told her, suffocating on her innate dislike for this posturing woman.

  "Why? Are you meeting Sebastian?"

  "You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about."

  Maryan grew still. She met Bliss's gaze and shook her head slightly. "This is very difficult. I need your help."

  Bliss didn't trust Maryan Plato. The sharp-featured girl she'd met in the dark, in a car, on a night she'd like to forget, had matured into an arrogant, if elegant woman.

  She reached into her raincoat pocket for an antique silver cigarette case and a red enameled lighter. "Mind if I smoke?"

  Before Bliss could answer, a flame shot from the lighter. Maryan drew on a long, thin cigarillo, dropped her head back and closed her eyes. Smoke curled slowly from her nose and drifted. The pungent scent was faintly sweet.

  "How did you find out where I live?"

  Maryan looked at her. She strolled to the cedar chest, sat down and spread her arms along the brass footrail of the bed. When she crossed her legs, Bliss saw coffee-colored lace panties.

  "Sebastian hired a detective. Did you know that?"

  Bliss frowned. She didn't like feeling defensive on her own turf but she couldn't bring herself to sit down.

  "He did," Maryan continued. "Shitty little man called Nose, if you can believe it. He had Nose find out all about you, including where you live and how long you've lived here. Same pattern as always, I'm afraid. Gets a woman on his mind and hires someone to bring him all the smutty details—or just plain details if that's all there are."

  Hair rose at Bliss's nape. "Thank you for telling me." Maryan wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing Bliss get angry. "If that's all—"

  "It's not all. I didn't have to come here. 1 do need some help

  TRUE BLISS • 159

  from you, but I also want to help you. You're still in love with him, aren't you?"

  Bliss opened her mouth.

  "They all are," Maryan said, leaning to flip ash into a Spode basket. "That's his problem. Women love him. And he loves women."

  "I don't know why you've come to tell me these things." Subtlety had no place here. "I'd like you to leave. Now."

  "Oh, damn it." Maryan massaged her brow with two fingers. "Tact was never my strong suit, Bliss. I've got absolutely nothing against you. Can you believe that?"

  "I don't think you care what I believe."

  "Oh, but I do. I have to because I've got a problem and I don't think I can continue to deal with it alone. I tried everything I could think of to stop him from coming here, you know. Back to the area."

  "Really?" Bliss wished she didn't feel miserable at the very idea that Sebastian might not have appeared on her doorstep a few days earlier.

  "He wouldn't listen. So much talent, but he's very vulnerable. I know you'll find that hard to believe, but he is. He wants respect. To a huge degree, he's been able to buy what he wants— who he wants. But you can only buy certain kinds of respect, and you can't get a pedigree with any amount of money—not the real thing."

  Bliss went to the nearest French door and stared out at rain that blew almost horizontally. "He seems perfectly confident to me."

  "He's learned to put on a great front. When you think of what he's accomplished, it's incredible." She sighed. "Hell, he started out with an idea no one else would have touched at the time. Running an airline like a bus service. Cheap fares. Show up to get your seat. No frills. And he talked himself into the capital he needed to get started. A hell of a lot of capital. Balls, that's what it took. Balls, charm, and a brain that lets him dance
over obstacles that would stop most of us."

  Bliss knew the story, but she still felt proud of Sebastian.

  Proud and sad at the same time. He'd made his own chances, but so much of that drive must have been spawned by an early life that came close to crushing him.

  "I want to confide in you, Bliss. Trust you. Can I do that?"

  Trees whipped, willow branches brushed the ground. "As long as I don't have to compromise myself, you can trust me."

  "I'd never ask you to do that. I didn't want to be the one who brought you bad news all those years ago. I did it for Sebastian—and because I felt sorry for you."

  Bliss bit back a retort that she didn't want Maryan Plato's pity.

  "Sebastian's ill."

  Tightness gripped Bliss's scalp. She turned to look at Maryan.

  The other woman let the heel of her shoe slip off and jiggled it by the toe. She took a long, long, pull on the cigarillo. "I'm the only one who knows—apart from the doctor."

  Sebastian? 111? Bliss visualized him in her chair, on her bed. Big, muscular, strong. Laughing, wrestling—loving. "What do you mean, ill? What's wrong with him?"

  "Crystal got over him in the end, you know."

  Bliss pressed her fingertips together. "They're divorced."

  "Yes. Finally she couldn't take it anymore. He's never forgiven her. He still craves her."

  "What's the point in this?"

  "To illustrate what I'm telling you. Crystal still isn't safe from Sebastian. Bliss, I've spent a lot of years looking after my brother, but this time I'm really frightened I might not be able to save him."

  "He's dying?" Each breath Bliss took was an effort.

  "He's under psychiatric care."

  Bliss made it to her chair and sat down hard.

  "Sebastian compensates for feelings of inadequacy by proving his sexual prowess over and over—as often as he can. He's sexually obsessed. That's what drove Crystal away."

  The phone on the bedside table rang. Bliss got up and answered it. Sebastian asked if she would be ready at seven-thirty. "I'll call you back," she told him shortly, and hung up.

  "Sebastian?" Maryan asked.

  Why lie. "Yes."

  "You're going out with him tonight?"

  "I'm supposed to."

  "Where's he taking you? To the party in Seattle, I suppose. Or are you staying here?"

  Honesty need not go too far. "We haven't decided yet."

  "Will you help me, Bliss?"

  "I've already told you I will if I can."

  Maryan rose and stubbed out her cigarillo. "I know I can trust you. I felt that when we first met. If you care at all about Sebastian, try to keep his mood level, but don't let him get too close to you." She looked sharply at Bliss. "You know what I mean. He has—unusual tastes. I don't want you hurt."

  Bliss's throat was too dry to allow her to swallow.

  "I don't want anyone hurt," Maryan continued. "It's been close on several occasions, but so far I've managed to intervene in time. And for selfish reasons, I don't want any of this to get into official hands."

  "You aren't making any sense," Bliss finally managed to say. "I've been with Sebastian. He isn't violent."

  "That's his pattern. First he lulls them into believing in him, into wanting him so badly they can't refuse him anything. Then things change. I don't want to go into it too deeply."

  "I think you'd better."

  Maryan picked up her raincoat. "It isn't necessary. We both want the same thing—Sebastian's happiness and safety."

  "If he just wanted a woman, he wouldn't have to come looking for me."

  "It doesn't work like that for him. He wants the challenge of conquering some obstacle. He must be living out some fantasy of subduing you all over again. Also you have money. Sebastian needs money."

  Bliss started to argue but thought better of it. "I'd like you to go, Maryan. I need to think."

  "Of course. As long as you let him think you're besotted with him, it'll be okay. Can you do that—be nice to him—for me?"

  For her? Bliss wanted to be nice to Sebastian for herself.

  Maryan picked up her coat. "This isn't a game. When you're doing it for me, you'll be doing it for yourself. If you thwart him, the pattern's predictable."

  "Predictable?" The solid thud of Bliss's heart was stifling.

  "Nothing's been proved, but I think it's predictable. Things will happen to you. Don't misunderstand me. I don't mean you should put out for him. As soon as you do that, he'll lose interest in anything but playing his games. Painful games. Games guaranteed to scare you—to death."

  Bliss didn't want to know about painful games. "How do I know any of this is true?"

  "I didn't want him to come here, but leaving New York for a while was a good idea. There was too much there that might catch up with him. If you don't believe me, I can get Crystal to talk to you."

  "No! No, I don't want to talk to Crystal." She wanted to be alone. "I've got to go."

  "Of course, you've got to go and meet Sebastian. Just remember to be nice, but not too nice. You're too exposed here— particularly at night. Sebastian likes the night."

  Bliss picked up the dirty Spode basket. "Thanks for the warn-mg.

  "There's a name for a man like Sebastian, Bliss. When he becomes obsessed with a woman—for whatever reason."

  Even if that reason was only because he wanted her money? He knew she had financial difficulties here, but he also knew she would inherit a large trust fund and that this property was worth a great deal. She refrained from suggesting that the name for the type of man Maryan described might be, opportunist.

  "Crystal could tell you about it. It broke her—almost ruined her life. Sebastian becomes a stalker."

  Twelve

  Fab had argued against the glasses.

  Polly, ever the practical one, had pointed out that whatever Bliss might gain in elegance without them, she'd lose fast when she started falling over things.

  Bliss had opted for safety.

  "You look terrific," Sebastian said.

  She couldn't help smiling. "Thanks—again." He drove a dark gray Thunderbird tonight—borrowed from William, whoever William might be.

  Driving across the 1-90 bridge toward Seattle, Sebastian glanced at her, then over the choppy, gray surface of Lake Washington. They'd left after nine and the light was failing. "People tend to come back here, don't they?" he said.

  Not if Maryan had her way. "I guess. I couldn't wait to get back."

  "After school?"

  "Mm. It's home. Always will be." She couldn't relax. Her back ached with tension.

  "I don't think I've ever seen you in white before."

  Few people had seen her in white. "We don't exactly have a history of attending formal gatherings—together."

  He thought about that for a few moments, then said, "No," speculatively. "Does this seem unreal to you?"

  She gave a sharp laugh. "Unreal's a bit weak, wouldn't you

  say?" From the bridge, they'd entered the tunnel leading into industrial Rainier Valley. The rain had eased to drizzle.

  "Sorry you agreed to come?" His green eyes were utterly serious.

  "Wondering why I did," she told him honestly. And unable to shut out Maryan s accusations against him.

  "This had to happen."

  Bliss looked at his thigh in the slacks of his beautiful dark suit. He changed gears. Muscle flexed. His hand on the stick was broad and long-fingered—strong, very strong. He'd taken off his jacket and she smelled the scent of his freshly laundered white shirt. Against the collar his hair was black. Against his cuffs, his hands were tanned and lightly sprinkled with dark hair. Scratches on his knuckles and a bruise at the bridge of his nose reminded her of their night together.

  The corner of his mouth jerked down. "You agree with me?"

  She parted her lips and breathed in slowly. "That we had to go to a party together?"

  His laugh was cynical. "You're smarter than that. You know w
hat I meant. We've been moving toward this all our lives. Coming together."

  "We were together once. We aren't together anymore."

  "Aren't we?" His glance was no more than a flicker, but she shifted in her seat at its intensity. "We're together, Bliss. And this time we're staying together."

  He must be living out some fantasy of subduing you all over again. Maryan had said.

  "Bliss?"

  "I can't make a leap like that. You can't expect me to." As long as you let him think you 're besotted with him it '11 be okay. "We're strangers." She couldn't pretend.

  "Like hell we are." This time his laugh held disbelief. "We're old friends who should never have been parted. And we've already been where we'd never been before . . . before."

  She ignored his last comment. "But we were parted. Your decision, not mine."

  The drizzle had stopped. Sebastian turned off the wipers. "Is this because of the scene with your mother? This coolness? You were warm enough before she arrived yesterday."

  "My mother has nothing to do with anything. I can't just forget. I can't forget that you ... I can't forget, that's all. It's there."

  "And you don't want to start over?"

  "I"—she turned in her seat—"I can't say that, either. If I could, my life wouldn't feel as if gravity just quit."

  "You, too, huh? But, hey, who needs gravity? We haven't floated away yet."

  He might not have floated away. She felt decidedly separated from reality.

  They drove the graceful freeway ramps that brought them to the Kingdome, Seattle's massive sports arena with its giant orange-juice strainer top. A jumble of warehouses and railroad tracks surrounded acres of parking lots.

  "Seems a lifetime since I was here," Sebastian said.

  Bliss felt less and less secure. "It is a lifetime." Could she find a way to bring up the subject of Crystal again?

  "I don't know if I want to take you to this party after all."

  "Because I'm not bubbling over with enthusiasm?" She remained where she was, swiveled to face him. "I can't pretend nothing's changed."

  "That wasn't what I meant. I know I can't do the impossible and change history. I was talking about not wanting to share you."