"Just why are you handling this?" Mas gritted through clenched teeth.
"Because, sir, I love your daughter and T'Spindle knows it." Johns's turn to reply without thinking. He let his caring show, added softly. "And she really needs the gilt for an expensive Healing treatment for Thrisca." He paused, and his jaw flexed with renewed anger. "You remember Thrisca, don't you? Your father's FamCat?"
"She's still alive?" Mas asked blankly, with a disregard that riled Johns, though he didn't much care for the cat, either. But she should have been Mas's responsibility.
"Yes, and undergoing a very interesting, very costly procedure this Midweekend, tomorrow, by FirstFamily GreatLady D'Willow." Johns shook his head. "Another FirstFamily noble involved." He stared at Mas Filix. "I'm sure that if you contacted her, GreatLady D'Willow, and offered to pay her directly for Thrisca's Healing, she'd accept." Johns frowned. "Not sure if Fams are entitled to financial support or not. You left her, too."
Mas hunched in, posture turning defensive. Truly, the man wasn't nearly as good an actor as Johns thought. Perhaps he'd reached that level of fame where he really didn't have to act, just play himself. Johns couldn't imagine that, wanted to be practicing his craft, and well, when he reached this guy's age. More, he wanted to always learn, always get better.
He knew Giniana felt the same way, held the same belief.
Not her father.
Suddenly Johns’s disgust with the man raised his gorge and he couldn't speak, even to flick the scry closed. He did manage to remain expressionless.
Mas used the passing minutes to gather himself, put on a haughty air. "I will definitely track this information down and discover what went awry." He squared his jaw. "However, I don't think I'll be able to rectify the situation in time to pay for Thrisca's—" Mas choked on the name "—procedure."
Johns nodded. "Sounds good. You have my scry and viz locale, Saint Johnswort estate." He paused two beats, "And, of course, you can speak to your daughter by contacting T'Spindle Residence."
Mas made a point of looking at his wrist timer. "I'm sorry, I must go. My current viz project awaits."
"Uh-huh—" But Mas's image vanished in a spill of droplets above the scrybowl falling back to their source.
Johns stood and stretched, scented herbs on his clothes, which must have released when he sweated. He hadn't been aware of perspiration triggering the garment-protection spell. But his fury had certainly heated him. What a dishonorable man that Mas was. And he understood Giniana better. She didn't want to claim the man, who would? But she'd been showing her flaw of pride too much recently.
He took another long pace around his House, upstairs and down, while he considered his next move. Giniana or T'Spindle?
Johns felt on a roll, and if he was going to talk to Giniana about finances and why she kept working so hard, may as well be today and now.
If she continued to be aggravated with him, and they argued, that could definitely relieve some of her tension.
But he didn't like the notion of quarreling with Giniana. The idea speared a lance of tension at the base of his skull, seeping into the back of his mind that he could lose her.
Maybe. Hell. But his conscience demanded he help her, no matter what the cost to him or their relationship. She deserved to have the gilt owed to her by her father, and Johns definitely didn't like that she insisted on standing alone in the face of the winds of financial adversity when he, and others, could help.
If Giniana and he argued, she'd have all afternoon and evening to get over it before Thrisca's Healing appointment.
In any event, he'd promised to pick her and the Fams up and take them to D'Willow's facility tomorrow morning, so he'd do that, no matter what.
He had to make this right for Giniana. Or spur Giniana into speaking with T'Spindle.
Or something.
He'd start with another offer of gilt. He'd indirectly mentioned that in passing now and again and she'd rebuffed him.
So Johns arrived at T'Spindle's and a female guard waved open the large gates that would accommodate his glider. Her expression indicated wariness. "You here to speak with our lord?" Obviously T'Spindle had briefed them to expect him if he wanted to meet with the nobleman.
With an easy smile, Johns said, "No, I'm here for Giniana." He angled his chin at a widening of the gliderway. "I'll park there, so my vehicle is out of the way."
The guard didn't smile back and Johns rolled a shoulder. "Driving a glider takes less time than riding a public carrier here, and less Flair than teleporting. I've got a performance tonight I'll need my Flair for."
"Oh. Sounds right. But Giniana isn't home. Primary HealingHall called her in to finish a short shift for a sick healer." The guard grimaced. "That flill sickness continues to go around." She stared hard at Johns. "Good thing we have a Healer and she and the Residence gave us health boosts when we all had our physicals."
"Good thing," Johns murmured. "Can I wait at Giniana's?"
The guard grinned. "Sure thing, Thrisca and Melis are there."
He gave the guard back a fake smile she seemed to accept as real. "Good."
Much as he disliked the thought, he decided to speak to Thrisca about gilt and see if he could convince the Fam to persuade her person to ask for help.
Just as he took the front steps up to the cottage and sent out a mental call to her, Thrisca, along the bond between them that he'd grudgingly accepted, Giniana opened the door with a smile. She seemed to have drawn on her inner Healer serenity, good.
He didn't return her smile. "I thought you weren’t here.”
She shrugged. “I just got home.”
“We really do need to talk."
Her lips straightened into a line. She stepped aside and waved him in.
CHAPTER 28
"WHY ARE you still taking outside jobs other than the Spindles and the Daisys?" Johns asked in as even a tone as he could.
She shuddered. "D'Willow's assistant called to confirm, and she says people occasionally drop out at the last minute—don't show up. And the cost is shared, so—"
Though she looked nearly too twitchy to hold, he went up and put his arms around her. She didn't relax, but he thought her muscles loosened a bit.
"Let me help you," he murmured in her ear.
She slid away and he stopped himself from going after her, but let his emotions get the better of him and paced the small mainspace. Thrisca lay on her twoseat. He sensed her amusement.
"You need help," he said roughly to Giniana. He nerved himself to give it, watched all the gilt he'd accumulated in savings vanish with the offer. He stopped before her. "Together we can do this. I have enough gilt to make up for whatever shortfall you lack."
She scowled, crossed her arms. Not a good sign and irritation bloomed inside him that his difficult offer had been summarily brushed aside.
Glancing away, she replied, "I should be able to provide for myself and my Family."
He shot her an annoyed look. "Things happen that strain the resources of all of us. And let me tell you, Giniana, your emotional resources are strained to the Cave of the Dark Goddess and back."
She blinked rapidly, as if she felt she'd been to the Cave of the Dark Goddess, some long, dreadful mythical journey and back. "People will say I slept with you because you helped pay for the Time experiment."
All right, his mouth dropped open in surprise. He straightened, angled, flexed the body he kept in prime shape.
She choked, as if with laughter. Good. Jutting his chin, he said in a mock-haughty tone, "I'll have you know, dozens of women would like to have sex with me."
He lifted and dropped his brows, teased a smile from her, then asked softly, "What do we care what people say?"
"Actors always care what people say."
With her standard dismissal of himself, his colleagues, and his craft, exasperation zapped along his nerves. He inhaled through his nose, let out the quiet breath through his mouth. "Yes, actors care what people say about our acting
, sure. I care if folks comment about my work. I don't care about anything else." He wouldn't say anything about any sort of publicity helping his career right now.
Her arms remained crossed, she stared out the window and didn't do "brood" nearly as well as he.
Yet not looking at him, she said, "I don't think I should take your money."
His chest tightened as she kept flinging up roadblocks. Of course she didn't know how much it would cost him, in gilt, but more in the lack of security. He hated being poor.
"I am helping a friend," he snapped.
She winced, dropped her arms from her defensive pose. "Of course." She took the step toward him and touched his cheek with fingertips, then drew in a breath, and said, "I can't. I just can't take money from you."
"Not even a loan?" he asked.
"Not even a loan," she shot back.
You should let him help us, Thrisca said mind-to-mind, while purring rustily. I am fine with any help.
Moving to prove a point physically, Johns set his hands on her waist and lifted her up. She smiled. He didn't. "You are off your feet. I'm holding you. You are in my power."
She frowned. "No, I'm not."
He didn't respond.
"I'm not," she emphasized, and continued, "I could take a number of actions to disable you."
"But you don't feel like I'll hurt you," he stated.
"No."
"Of course not." He lowered her gently, did not pull her body to body as he wanted. Not the moment for a discussion to alter into sexuality. Releasing her, he asked, "Why do you think I'd control you by any gilt I lent or gave you?"
She opened her mouth, closed it.
"You trust me physically but not with gilt."
“Gilt can make things go very bad," she replied starkly.
"Your mother," he murmured. They hadn't explored personal hurts.
"My mother paid no attention to gilt, and we'd get into financial trouble with banks or people she borrowed money from and never repaid so they cut her from their lives and never forgave her."
"And that hurt you, too. They cut you from their lives, too."
"Wouldn't even let me repay them when I could," she muttered.
Johns had a vision of a young girl offering gilt to people who loaned her mother money and them realizing how much pride she had and refusing … and not telling her why they rejected her offer. Which hurt her pride and compiled this particular problem.
"Would you trust me in this instance?" she demanded.
"If I couldn't afford to pay for something in a life-and-death circumstance? Yes. In fact, let's turn it around. I admit I'd have problems paying for all of Thrisca's treatment if she was the only one to go through the Time Healing Procedure." It would probably take all his savings. "But I will pay for her treatment," he said. "You can provide, say, a quarter of the cost. Yes."
I accept, said Thrisca, sounding amused by human behavior.
"I don't." Giniana stuck out her chin.
"All right," he sighed. "All right. But I'm telling you, you have false pride if you can't let friends help you. You're hurting yourself. You're hurting Thrisca, by not allowing others to help."
"I can do it myself," she insisted.
"At what cost?" he demanded, his vexation igniting into something more. She understood her problems but would not move to rectify them. Hadn't she figured out by now that they only avalanched into more? He had. "You aren't eating right, you've lost weight. You aren't taking care of yourself."
She gasped, "And you think you should take care of me?"
"You're very touchy today. I understand—"
"No. You don't." Her teeth set and jaw firmed, she actually pounded a fist on her chest, a gesture far too theatrical for Johns. "I take care of myself. I handle my finances."
"All right." He kept his voice and manner steady.
"What of your faults?" she snapped.
"I have them."
"Including handling me instead of letting me take care of myself. Big, macho guy. You aren't your character, you know."
That truly stung. He swallowed hard, some hurt, mostly anger so more furious words wouldn't spurt from his mouth. Yet, he needed a few less-rapid-heartbeats before he answered her. "I understand why this is coming up now." His mouth twisted. "And I should probably put this off until tomorrow, but I'm not going to." He sucked in a breath. "I've put off talking to you about it, already. I've contacted your father—"
And she went up in flames.
"You did what?" she shrieked.
He over-rode her volume. "I contacted your father to find out about the gilt he should have paid for your support all your childhood."
"Behind my back—"
"No. Yes. I guess—"
Now she trembled in fury, not anxiety. "He abandoned me! He abandoned Thrisca. I would not take one silver sliver from him! How dare you go behind my back and contact him about gilt!"
Johns hunkered into his balance, his face setting into stern lines. "Because he owes it to you, you deserve it, and you need it."
More panting gasps from her. "Who do you think you are?"
He snapped out, "I'm the man who's slipped you energy during sex, while we're together in my glider or on the public carrier. And I've seen others do the same. Haven't the Residences you work at helped you? You are taking help, you just don't have the guts to acknowledge it. Or have too much false pride to ask for it."
She flung out her arm, pointed. "Get out."
He jerked a nod. "Going. I'll see you tomorrow morning to take you and Thrisca," who was laughing at them both, with the kitten watching wide-eyed as if in the theater, "and Melis to the health checkup, then the time treatment. Later." He paused at the threshold of the door and glanced back at Giniana. "I love you."
Johns strode, energy sizzling from the argument, hurt hammering through him with every heart beat. He loved this maddening woman and she wouldn't let him help her, in any way. She wouldn't let him be a partner in her life. Cave of the Dark Goddess!
He jerked a nod to the guards in thanks as he drove through the gates they'd opened, but seethed. Better get his temper under control, perhaps store the anger and hurt to use later. He was glad he hadn’t asked his understudy to take tonight’s performance as well as the matinee and evening tomorrow. He’d thought to support Giniana and Thrisca, the night before the Time Healing.
They could support each other, as always. He wondered if he was really welcome in their circle, the only deeply emotional circle he'd made since he'd lost his FatherDam. The one where he was simply Klay, more than he was 'Johns'-- the name most of his associates and the theatrical world called him. The Klay of his deepest, most genuine self.
Even as he thought that, his perscry rang with the regular pings for unknown callers. He set the nav on auto to his home, plucked the pebble from his trous pocket, and rubbed his thumb against it. Del D'Elecampane's narrow face came into holographic view, her blond hair springing in cheerful contrast to her serious expression and a line between her brows.
"Greetyou, Johns. I'd like some information."
Absolutely no flirting on either of their parts. Seeing her and Raz Cherry together confirmed the two's lover and HeartMate status.
But Johns liked her, a solid, honest woman of no pretenses, who'd probably worked out her own problems during her long treks on the trails of Celta. He gifted her with his best smile.
She didn't seem to notice, which made him grin.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"You're interested in this play by Amberose."
"That's right," he said cautiously, but his brain made the switch from personal hurt and problems to professional work.
"New, important play that can make careers?" she asked, then murmured. "I like her stories as long as she doesn't do deep drama and angst."
"The script is a suspense with romantic elements," he paused, then added. "With the villains caught and happy endings all around."
Del repeated what
Johns had told her that morning, "Two romantic couples. And the leading lady someone like Lily Fescue,"
"Yeah, but as I said, Amberose is demanding artistic control at the moment and no standard producer will do the show with such strings attached."
Spacing her words, Del asked, "Do you know where I might find Amberose's agent?"
A spark of hope firerocketed through Johns. "Formal or informal setting?"
Her head tilted. "I think, informal?" Another question as if she asked his advice on a meeting.
"Sounds good." Johns culled through all the gossip he'd heard lately, considered all the networking opportunities an agent might take. "Pretty sure Amberose's new agent will be at a garden party this afternoon, starts in about a septhour." He pulled up his calendarsphere, he'd been invited, and reeled off the information to Del.
"Many thanks, later," she signed off.
Johns sank back into his seat, not even pretending to drive. He'd heard the gossip about the mapmaker: friends of one of the FirstFamilies, connected to them by Family somehow. And extraordinarily wealthy in her own right. And she was Raz's HeartMate…and Johns had ensured that morning that Raz was fascinated with Amberose's play. with the idea of starring in it.
Del D'Elecampane could produce such a play. Unlike other backers, she might also allow the playwright creative license, since Del had no background in the theater.
Hell, she could probably buy a theater, and he sensed through the scry, the tiny flickers in her expression, that she'd been more than contemplating the project, more like planning to buy the script and follow through to give her HeartMate what he wanted.
Johns didn't know much about HeartMates. He didn't have one, though he couldn't imagine loving any woman more than he did Giniana, of bonding with anyone closer.
The future of his personal career had brightened in the last few minutes, something he'd have shouted with joy about a week and four days ago. Now the glow of being a theatrical star had dimmed because he and his beloved stood at odds.
Heart 16 - Script of the Heart Page 26