by Gail Bowen
He gave me a quick, reassuring smile. “Physically, I’m fine, but last year left its mark. It made me realize how quickly it can all end, and I don’t want to spend every waking hour on this case.”
* * *
—
The forecast had mentioned the possibility of strong winds, but Saturday morning the air was chilly and still—a good day to bundle small children up in snowsuits, grab sleds, and visit the animals and poultry on the Crawford Kilbourn farm.
Peter’s breeding programs of heritage poultry and animals meant there was plenty to see. In addition to the heritage turkeys, ducks, geese, and chickens, there were goats, sheep, cows, and riding horses. Margot was a farm girl, but Roy, Brock, and Zack had always been city boys, and they were as fascinated by the sights, sounds, and smells of the barns as were Margot’s soon-to-be three-year-old daughter, Lexi; her twenty-two-month-old brother, Kai; and the Crawford Kilbourn twins. It was a happy morning, but trudging takes its toll on small people, and after lunch all the kids, including Lexi, who was still insisting she was not tired when she fell asleep in Brock’s arms, went down for naps.
When the children were settled, Pete headed off to do chores. Maisie, Margot, Zack, and Brock went to Peter’s office on the main floor to talk strategy, and Roy and I sat down at the kitchen table and shared a pot of tea.
“Alone at last,” Roy said. “And none too soon, because you and I have things to talk about.”
“That sounds ominous,” I said.
“Not at all,” Roy said. “But I wanted to check in about our contracts, to make certain you didn’t feel pressured because I went to Gabe as soon as you agreed to a collaboration.”
“I didn’t feel pressured, but I was surprised that the contracts gave Gabe Vickers so much power in making decisions for us.”
“Well, we have exactly the same terms as Ainsley and I had with Gabe on The Happiest Girl. Zack and I talked about the rationale for giving Gabe the power to act for us in dealings with possible backers. That particular surrogacy is just part of the executive producer’s job.”
When I didn’t respond immediately, Roy frowned. “Jo, are you still concerned about Gabe being a part of our project?”
“I am,” I said. “You’ve assured me that Gabe is the right choice, and Gabe has given me his word that he’ll create a series that will be revered worldwide, but I’m still uneasy. I guess I just wish I knew more about him.”
Roy’s smile was crooked. “So do I,” he said. “Ainsley and I are as close as two people can be, but her marriage to Gabe Vickers came out of nowhere, and sitting here with you in an eminently sane world looking out at the fields of snow, I can’t believe I didn’t question her decision.”
“Surely the subject must have come up,” I said.
“It didn’t,” Roy said. “At least not directly. My only rationalization is that the time after The Happiest Girl opened was surreal. Ainsley and I had had successes before. Broadway shows have run as long as they’re profitable, but when the house percentages start to drop, they close.” Roy’s laugh was rueful. “Sometimes very quickly. All our previous productions had a decent run, usually around 325 shows, but none made it to a year.”
“And The Happiest Girl changed that.”
“The Happiest Girl changed everything,” Roy said firmly. “It put us in the stratosphere. The reviews and the buzz were incredible. Suddenly our musical was the hottest ticket on Broadway. Within a week, we were sold out for a year, and second-year sales were running at 100 per cent. Ainsley and I were in a daze. The phones never stopped ringing—everybody wanted to interview us, hire us, or just get a piece of us. Our agent was inundated with offers to option the movie rights. I was overwhelmed, but Ainsley told me to relax and let her handle it.”
“She protects you,” I said. “That’s a gift.”
“It is,” Roy said. “Luckily for us both, she makes the decisions. She was determined to get a deal that gave us what we needed. She wanted to direct the movie and for me to write the screenplay. It was a lot to ask. We were unknown quantities in the film industry, and making a movie, especially one with computer graphics, takes serious money. We’d seen projects flounder for years because the financing never came together. But my collaborator has always been willing to roll the dice.”
“And Gabe Vickers made an offer that met her demands,” I said.
“Not immediately,” Roy said. “Gabe had approached our agent the day after the opening. Our agent was ecstatic, but Gabe was reluctant to accept Ainsley’s terms. Finally, Ainsley bypassed our agent, called Gabe, and said she wasn’t going to walk away without a deal. She suggested the two of them hammer out a contract face to face.”
“And they did,” I said.
“Gabe agreed to our terms: Ainsley would direct, I would write the screenplay, and Gabe would guarantee financing within a year. It was as if the genie had emerged from the bottle and granted us all three wishes at once. That was on a Friday. Ainsley went away for the weekend and when she came back, she told me she and Gabe were married.”
“And that was it?”
“That was it. I had questions, but Ainsley refused to answer. And since that day, she’s carried on as if nothing has changed. We’ve always worked well together. We still do, but it’s like Bluebeard’s Castle. We still share everything, but now there’s one room I’m not allowed to enter.”
“Ainsley and Gabe’s marriage,” I said.
“Yeah. And I’ve read enough fairy tales to know what happens to people who unlock the doors to forbidden rooms.”
“So you’re not searching for the secret key.”
“Not any more, although every so often I do get a glimpse inside the room. One day last summer, Ainsley and I went out for a sandwich. It was hot, and not far from our office. Ainsley just crumpled onto the sidewalk. A woman helped me get her inside the nearest building. I found Ainsley a chair, somebody brought a glass of water, and within a few minutes, she was fine. The woman who’d helped us asked if Ainsley was pregnant. Ainsley shook her head. When we got to the diner and ordered, I asked Ainsley if she was certain she wasn’t pregnant. Ainsley was dumbfounded. She said, ‘I thought you understood that it’s not that kind of marriage.’ ”
“What kind of marriage is it?” I said.
“I wish I knew. The only answer that makes sense is that Gabe and Ainsley have what used to be called ‘a marriage of convenience.’ ”
“An arrangement for a strategic purpose,” I said. “So what’s the purpose?”
“To make a movie that will become a classic.”
“Is any movie worth that?”
“Only if it will save someone you care about deeply. Jo, you never saw me at my worst. For the two years after Lev-Aaron died, I was a seeping wound. During the period when I was writing The Happiest Girl I was obsessed and when it opened, I was euphoric, but I was also fragile. That play meant everything to me. Ainsley knew that if the producer who optioned the script made a movie that was shoddy, saccharine, or simply not true to the spirit of the play, I’d have been crushed. By marrying Gabe and ensuring that the film not only would get made but that she and I would shape it, Ainsley was giving me a safety net.”
“She must love you very much,” I said.
“She does, and I love her. We’ve been partners for thirty years. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, and I don’t say that lightly. Ainsley wants Gabe to produce Flying Blue Horses, Jo. So do I—for all the reasons you and I have already talked about. Gabe can arrange the financing, and he’ll be hands off about the choices we make.”
“But he isn’t always,” I said. “When Ainsley wanted another actor to play Ursula, Gabe insisted that Vale Frazier be cast.”
“And we’re lucky Gabe was insistent,” Roy said. “Before she joined the New York production of The Happiest Girl, Vale was in an indie film that’s just been released. It’s attracting a lot of interest, and Vale is suddenly a very hot property. Gabe has already talked to Val
e about playing the young Sally Love. She’s keen, and with Gabe as executive producer, she’ll sign. I know you have doubts, but Flying Blue Horses has the potential to be extraordinary, and Gabe is our best chance to realize that potential.” Roy’s eyes shone with hope. “So what do you say?”
I tried a smile. “We’ll keep moving ahead,” I said.
* * *
—
Lexi and Kai had awakened by the time the Falconer Shreve meeting ended. Brock, Roy, and Zack volunteered to take the little ones sledding, and Maisie asked if I’d mind listening for the twins so she could help Pete with chores.
Margot joined me when I took up my old place at the kitchen table, and together we watched the men as they set out for the sledding hill with the kids and Rowdy in tow. When Brock put his arm around Roy’s shoulder, Roy looked up at Brock and their joy was palpable.
“I think Brock may have found Mr. Right,” Margot said.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“It’s not as if I have a choice,” Margot said softly. “But I want that for Brock. He and I have talked about it. We love each other, and we love the kids—that won’t change. But I remember what physical passion is like. Sliding into bed with Leland and knowing that bliss was within easy reach was pretty cool.”
“I remember when you and Leland invited Zack and me to dinner at your condo the night you got engaged,” I said. “The electricity between you and Leland could have powered a small city.”
Margot laughed softly at the memory. “Zack said, ‘The faster you feed us, the faster Jo and I will get out of here.’ That was a very quick meal.” She sighed deeply. “But that was then, and this is now. I really am glad for Brock. What he and I have together is wonderful, but he deserves the whole package.”
“So do you,” I said. “Is that why you decided not to second chair?”
“So I can spend my nights cruising for a man who makes my loins twitch instead of curled up with my laptop? No, it’s not that. It’s a question of time. I’ve been practising criminal law for twenty years, and I love it, but it’s no longer my all-consuming passion. I used to share Eddie Greenspan’s hope that I’d die in a courtroom immediately after hearing a jury return with the words Not guilty. But not any more. I’m still a senior partner at Falconer Shreve and I’m still deeply committed to the work I do there. I’m not slacking off; I’m not cutting back. I’m simply going to have a life.”
“But Maisie will be lawyering 24/7.”
“Pretty much, but that’s what she wants, and that’s what she should be doing. Jo, if you repeat what I’m about to say, I’ll tie your shoelaces together, but Maisie has the potential to be a better lawyer than either Zack or me. Her instinct for what works in the courtroom is extraordinary. She doesn’t need tutoring there, but 95 per cent of trial law takes place outside the courtroom, and Zack’s ability in that area is second to none. He has an uncanny ability to find common ground for mediation, and among other skills, he knows how to edit a case. He can shape a line of reasoning so that the details that matter are there from beginning to end, no digressions, no showboating—just a case that unfolds powerfully and gracefully and carries the jury to the point where they believe there’s only one possible verdict they can reach.”
“And Maisie can learn that from second chairing.”
“Oh, she’ll learn. I’ve seen what Zack can do to a lawyer’s trial notes. It’s brutal. He scribbles all over them and then at the end he writes a comment. I remember one real zinger: ‘mediocre argument; flawed summation.’ ”
“Ouch. Was that directed at you?”
“Nope. That was Zack critiquing his own work.” We both laughed and then Margot’s expression grew serious. “You’re worried about the effect Maisie’s new workload will have on the twins, aren’t you?”
“I’m concerned about the effect it will have on all of them, but my late husband’s mother had a motto: Mouth shut, arms open.”
“Smart woman,” Margot said.
“She was, and I’m doing my best to follow her example,” I said.
* * *
—
Zack seemed preoccupied as we drove back to the city.
“Revisiting the idea of having a second chair?” I said finally.
“Nope. Actually, I was thinking about how great it’s going to be sitting in front of the fire with you on stormy days listening to Bill Evans.”
“The Prince of Darkness grows mellow.” I squeezed Zack’s arm. “Taylor’s right. Everything is constantly transforming. Speaking of…”
When I’d finished filling Zack in on the latest with the Flying Blue Horses project, he whistled. “Gabe Vickers may be a sleaze, but he knows how to get things done.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself. Zack, I know you didn’t ask about the particulars when Gabe asked you to hook him up, so to speak, but what do you think he was after?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. Jo, are Gabe’s sexual peccadilloes going to make it difficult for you to work with him?”
I sighed. “No, as long as the sex is consensual, and he’s not breaking any laws, it’s none of my business.”
CHAPTER
12
Vale and Taylor had decided to go to the downtown library’s Saturday afternoon showing of François Truffaut’s The 400 Blows and come back to our place to get ready for the dinner party together. They were still discussing the final freeze frame of the boy hero at the ocean when they arrived. As I listened to their young voices arguing passionately about the meaning of the film’s ending, I felt a frisson of delight. Prodigious talent was a gift but it was also a burden, and it was good to hear Taylor and Vale talking with youthful bravado about Life with a capital L.
I am not a woman who anticipates parties with pleasure, but as we drove downtown, the evening was looking more and more promising. According to Vale, Rosamond Burke had declared that since the party was in her honour, she would make her preferences known to the planners. By the time we pulled up in front of the glass condo tower where Gabe and Ainsley were subletting, Zack and I had learned that we would be dining on rack of lamb, that the flowers perfuming the air would be Rosamond’s favourite Michelangelo roses, and that the help hired for the evening would all be young, attractive male actors who were between engagements.
A silvery-grey BMW with the vanity plate DANCE was stopped ahead of us at the entrance. I nudged Zack. “Zephyr’s here,” I said. As we watched, the driver got out, walked behind the car to the passenger side, opened the door, and when Zephyr emerged, escorted her into the lobby. With Zephyr safely inside, the man returned to the BMW and drove away.
“Shawn O’Day,” Zack said. “Looks like dance’s loss is Zephyr’s gain. Shawn appears to be her new gentleman companion.”
“I’ll bet there’s a tantalizing story there,” I said. “I wonder if we’ll ever know it.”
“Of course we will,” Taylor said. “This is Regina. Sooner or later, everybody knows everything.”
* * *
—
Pointing to their short life spans, water leaks, and skyrocketing energy and maintenance costs, naysayers may call condominium towers that have floor-to-ceiling glass walls throwaway constructions, but on a December night when the snow is falling and the buildings rise up sparkling and shiny against the winter sky, they offer appealing sites for holiday parties.
Gabe had arranged for valet parking. As soon we’d handed over the keys to the Volvo, the four of us started towards the entrance. We’d just reached it when a girl with very short, hacked black hair appeared out of the shadows. She was bone thin with huge, darkly shadowed black eyes. The wind was sharp but despite her bare legs, the girl looked cozy in her cherry red princess line wool coat with its wide leather belt. She went straight to Vale. “Look at you, pretty girl,” she said in a high breathy voice. “Where’s your man?”
Ignoring the question, Vale stepped closer to the girl. “Forget about me,” she said. “Look at y
ou, Lizzie. That coat’s the perfect colour for you, isn’t it, Taylor?”
“It is,” Taylor agreed, “and it’s a perfect fit. Promise you won’t give it away, Lizzie. The days are getting shorter and colder, and it makes Vale and me happy to know you’re warm.”
“I want you to be happy,” the girl said.
“We want that for you too, Lizzie, and we’ve been worried about you,” Vale said. “When was the last time you ate?”
Lizzie shrugged. “I’m fine. I can go for days without eating. I’m like a camel.”
“Camels can go without water for six or seven months,” Vale said. “But they need the nourishment stored in their hump to keep going. You don’t have a hump, Lizzie. There’s food in my condo. Come up in the elevator with us, get off at my floor, and go to my place for something to eat.”
“I don’t like to go there alone,” the girl said.
Vale took a twenty-dollar bill from her evening bag and tucked it in the pocket of the red coat. “Then go across the street to the café and get something,” she said. “You won’t be alone there.”
The girl moved with the jerky rhythms of a marionette. “I’m not hungry,” she said.
Vale’s smile was fond but resigned. “Have coffee.”
Lizzie laughed and shook her head. “Gives me jitters.” She held up her hands. “Look.” She was gloveless. Her fingers were skeletal, and they were indeed shaking.
Vale took off her own gloves. “Put these on. Now, go to the café, order some herbal tea, and warm up.”
Docile as a child, Lizzie started down the semicircular driveway. We all watched as the girl crossed the street and walked towards the restaurant.
“Every time we see her, I wonder if it’s for the last time,” Taylor said.
Vale put her arm through Taylor’s. “I wonder that too,” she said. “But until Lizzie decides it’s time to change course, all we can do is give her a coat and money for herbal tea.”