by Dianne Dixon
Peter flashed Ali an irresistibly boyish grin. “Damn, girl. I hate to see you go.”
Ali liked Peter—had liked him from the first time she met him. On a sunny October afternoon, in the apartment complex’s mazelike garden area. She’d been carrying shopping bags containing the makings of a special dinner she was planning for Matt. A whistle had come from behind the low hedge surrounding the swimming pool.
The whistler turned out to be easygoing, perfectly muscled Peter Sebelius. There was a well-stocked cooler on the ground between his lounge chair and the one occupied by his bikinied girlfriend. He’d held up a bottle of beer and called to Ali. “It’s Friday. Want to help us celebrate?”
Ali had chuckled. “Don’t have time. I’m getting ready for a celebration of my own.” She indicated the shopping bags—a bouquet of flowers peeking from the top of one, a bottle of wine and a baguette from the other. “It’s our first wedding anniversary, and I’m planning a surprise for my husband.”
“Too late.” Peter jerked his thumb in the direction of the open patio door on a nearby apartment—someone was moving around in the bedroom, lighting candles. “Looks like he beat you to it.”
Peter’s girlfriend, a tough, little redhead named Liz, had given a snorting laugh. “That’s not even her apartment. She lives in that building over there.”
Peter had shrugged. “What can I say? I have a shitty sense of direction.” Then he’d flashed that killer grin at Ali. “I’m Peter Sebelius. Welcome home.” And he really had made the apartment complex feel like home—because he was so easy to talk to and laugh with.
And here he was, again, giving Ali another beer-bottle salute and telling her, “Think I’ll take myself on a tour of your new house, admire your planked floors and french windows, and whatever else there is to admire.”
Heading toward the kitchen, Ali blew Peter a kiss. In that same instant, she heard the sound of a lilting voice—“Hola!” The greeting was from Ava, a woman whose soul matched her physical appearance. Both were transcendently beautiful. Ava had dark hair, eyes that were luminous, and skin the color of golden-brown sugar. Ali adored her.
Ali and Ava had met just before the opening of JOY. Ava had been pregnant and in need of a job. Ali had given her one. Their bond was instant and unbreakable. Ava, who was from Belize and was funny and wise, had become Ali’s best friend, a confidant and guide. A surrogate sister.
Ava’s hug was warm as she told Ali, “Your new house, it is most lovely.”
Ali immediately reached for Sofie, Ava’s baby, gathering her into her arms. Sofie was six months old and had Ava’s ethereal beauty. Sofie’s eyes were a fascinating cinnamon color, and they danced with light. Her dark hair was silky. Her skin was golden brown. Every time Ali saw Sofie, her heart fluttered, and melted. She loved this child in a way she couldn’t explain.
“I got Sofie an early Christmas present.” Ali was talking to Ava and unable to take her eyes off Sofie. “It’s a mobile for her playpen, a cascade of silver bells. I had it specially made. And the bells are engraved. Each one has a sprig of rosemary on it.”
“Rosemary?” Ava gave a puzzled frown.
“The line from Shakespeare,” Ali explained.
“Yes! From Hamlet.” Ava’s expression was bright with recognition. “‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.’”
“My grandmother believed when a cook puts rosemary in her food, she’s making a wish…wanting the love she has for the people she’s feeding to be remembered.” Ali ducked her head, embarrassed. “I wanted rosemary on the bells because I want Sofie to remember me.”
While Ali gently handed Sofie back to Ava, Ava told Ali, “You have been with us, have loved us, from before Sofie was born. Sofie and I, we could never forget you. You are too precious to us.”
Ali smiled.
“Where is Matt?” Ava asked.
“He seems to have disappeared.” Ali’s smile had dimmed a little. “But I keep hoping he’ll be back soon.”
• • •
The makeshift bar in the dining room had run low on wine. Ali was in the garage, gathering a few additional bottles. She hadn’t bothered to switch on a light. The windows along the wall were reflecting the glow from the Christmas lights in the garden.
Just as Ali was about to go back into the house, she was startled—by Aidan. He was standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. His body language suggesting he’d been there for a long time, watching her.
He seemed to be smirking as he said, “It’s still a couple of weeks away but…Merry Christmas.”
Ali was uneasy, and annoyed. “Your story conference with Matt is over?”
Aidan nodded, casually leaning against the doorframe.
“So soon? It’s only been what…an hour and a half…in the middle of a party?”
“Darling girl, are you snapping at the hand that feeds you?” Aidan left the doorway and took the wine bottles from Ali. His wrist brushing against her breast. He gave no indication he was aware of it. She shot him an irritated look. He responded with a chuckle. “You’re miffed. Would you care to tell me why?”
Aidan’s flippant attitude grated on her. “Tonight may be a joke to you, but it’s a big deal for Matt and me. It’s our housewarming, in our first house—”
“And I’m deeply honored to be here.”
Ali met his smile with a cold stare. “Aidan, you’re not going to charm me out of this. You asked me why I’m mad, and I’m going to tell you. I’m married to a man I happen to love, and I’m really pissed that he doesn’t have time to do anything but work. It’s ridiculous.” Ali’s resentment at having lost so much of Matt to his job was sending the words flying out of her mouth, uncensored. “From the minute Matt went to work for you, there’s never been time for anything but story conferences and casting sessions and rewrites and more rewrites.”
“That’s show business. It’s the kind of game where, if you want to win, you don’t treat it like a job. You make it your life.”
“Matt and I barely have a life anymore, Aidan. We hardly see each other. He doesn’t have time for anything…even something as simple as a broken lock. The one on our apartment’s patio door hasn’t worked right since the day we moved in. That was over a year ago. We’re moving out tomorrow, and it still isn’t fixed. Matt hasn’t had the time. Because he’s always at work.”
Aidan cocked an eyebrow, amused. “And this is my fault?”
“Yes,” Ali said.
But the reality was that she could have taken care of it herself, could have called a locksmith. She had stubbornly left the lock unrepaired, trying to make a point: Matt wasn’t paying attention to their life because all of his attention had been grabbed by his job.
“It’s like you’re constantly swallowing him whole. You did it again tonight.” Ali was glaring at Aidan. “Are you telling me that working on that script really couldn’t have waited till tomorrow?”
“No. It couldn’t.” He flashed a smug grin.
“It actually takes twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week to produce a stupid television show?”
“Yes.” Aidan’s grin widened. He was playing with her.
Ali’s temper flared. “Bullshit. I think you like making Matt eat dirt. In return for all that money you’re giving him.”
Aidan’s grin vanished. He narrowed his eyes and told Ali, “You have a massive amount to learn about the entertainment industry. For any man with a serious set of balls, the rewards of show business encompass a lot more than money. Don’t be naive. You’re overlooking the adulation. And the power.” Aidan chuckled. “And the bountiful supply of women.” He kept his gaze level and cool as he asked, “Ali, my dear, what makes you think I’m what’s keeping Matt’s nose to the television grindstone?”
“Matt isn’t interested in power. Or a bountiful supply of women.”
“All
men want power.” Aidan was expressionless. Then the grin returned. “As for the joys of tearing through an endless supply of women…maybe that’s just me giving voice to a load of wishful thinking.”
Ali was determined not to let him see it, but Aidan had gotten to her, opened a little vein of suspicion. She didn’t believe Matt was interested in power, or other women. Yet there’d been a time she would have sworn he would never give up teaching and Rhode Island for a TV series and life in California.
Suddenly Ali was the slightest bit queasy. “I need to get back to the party.”
Aidan blocked her way. “You do know that almost everything I say is utter crap, don’t you?”
Ali didn’t answer. All she wanted to do was get away from him.
Aidan stepped aside, letting her pass.
As she walked toward the kitchen, she could still feel the practiced, Hollywood-style brush of Aidan’s wrist when it had traveled across her breast. In that same instant, she heard Matt, in the living room, laughing with his show’s gorgeous female star.
Aidan stepped in behind Ali and put his mouth close to her ear. “A girl from Rhode Island who probably wants babies and loves to cook is married to the producer of a hit television show and can’t figure out why she’s a work widow. I’d call that Hello Kitty in the Land of the Barbies.”
An involuntary shiver went through Ali.
She quickly wiped her hand across the place where Aidan’s lips had touched her ear, wanting to wipe away the feel of the serpent’s tongue.
• • •
Ali could still feel the shiver caused by her conversation with Aidan. She was in the dining room, near the makeshift bar, listening to Jessica say, “I’m going on this great ski trip to Deer Valley. One of my girlfriends, Annika, she’s taking all of us up there on her husband’s private jet and—”
Jessica had been interrupted, midsentence. By Aidan.
He’d appeared out of nowhere, leaning past Jessica, telling Ali, “You’ve given me the impression I’ve worn out my welcome. I’m leaving. But I’m sure I’ll see you again. Soon.” After that, he planted what felt like a vaguely hostile kiss on Ali’s cheek and strolled away.
“Is that the good-looking Australian you told me about? Matt’s boss?” Jessica asked. “Do you have some kind of problem with him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.” Ali shook her head, trying to sort out her thoughts. “I’m not sure. Maybe my problem’s with Matt.”
“Welcome to the club. When I got married, Not Sure became my middle name. I still don’t have Logan figured out.” Jessica laughed her trademark tough-girl laugh. “It probably would’ve helped if we’d known each other more than ten minutes before we did the wedding dance. But hey, we met on a nude beach in the Caribbean. The guy had a great ass and plied me with rum and sex. I was judgment impaired.”
Ali smiled.
“Which brings me back to the subject of fun,” Jessica said. “The subject of us having fun—”
Again, Jessica was stopped in midsentence. This time by Peter Sebelius, who handed Ali his empty beer bottle and told her, “Great party. Great house. But now, unfortunately, only four beers in, I gotta roll. I’m late for the hospital Christmas bash.”
Ali hadn’t had a chance to talk to him. And she was disappointed that Peter was leaving. “Wait, the people we bought the house from left an old-school arcade game in the basement. Matt wanted to go one-on-one with you.”
“I really wish I could, but—” Peter’s phone was ringing. He glanced at it. “Liz. Again.” He pointed at the phone and explained to Jessica, “My girlfriend. We’re fighting, and she’s righteously pissed.”
Peter’s smile to Ali was apologetic as he hurried toward the front door. “Gonna have to catch the arcade game later. Thanks for the invite. I had a good time.”
Tracking every step of his exit, Jessica let out an admiring whistle. “That is one hot guy.” She watched Peter until the door closed behind him, then gave Ali a playful shrug. “Okay, fantasy’s over. I’m a married woman. Back to reality. About this ski trip… Oh, by the way, we’re calling it the Perfect Ten.”
“And you’re calling it that because…?”
“Because it’s ten women, ten days. No husbands, no kids. Nothing but snow, a world-class spa, and a ten-thousand-square-foot ski chalet that looks like it’s in Switzerland.” Jessica reached into the tiny, envelope-shaped purse hanging from her shoulder and pulled out her phone. “Annika sent me pictures. The whole place has just been redone.” Jessica swiped a finger across the phone’s screen, holding it so Ali could see photographs that could have been ads for luxury living. “Right now, we’ve got nine women definitely coming, and I want you to be the tenth.” Jessica walked to the bar, put down her phone, and picked up two glasses of champagne, holding one out to Ali. “Here’s to a hell of a good time.”
Ali hesitated before she took the glass and Jessica noticed. “Damn! I know what you’re thinking!”
Ali could feel her face reddening. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”
“Bullshit. You were thinking, ‘What about poor Morgan? She’s not invited, and it’s not fair for me to go off and have fun without her.’”
Jessica was pretty much on target. For the past few weeks, Morgan had been on Ali’s mind almost constantly. Something was wrong. Ali could sense it. In the few phone calls they’d exchanged, there’d been tension, a darkness in Morgan that Ali hadn’t been able to get her to talk about.
“You’re feeling guilty,” Jessica was saying. “You’re thinking that going off to Deer Valley would be wrong, just because you can’t drag her along with you.”
Ali began straightening the wineglasses on the bar. “Why would I be thinking that? Morgan’s three thousand miles away.”
Jessica shot her a knowing look. “You’re running what my dad calls old tapes. I can see it.”
Ali groaned. “I’m in a weird place, Jess. It’s such a relief not to be looking over my shoulder every two minutes, checking to see if I should be apologizing to Morgan because I’m getting something she wants.” Ali gazed up at the ceiling, feeling foolish. “But another part of me really, really misses her. It’s crazy.”
“Not so crazy.” Jessica put her arm around Ali. “It kind of makes perfect sense. You’ve been her hostage since you were in diapers. Remember that story you used to tell me? About when you were little? And you ended up giving her your imaginary pony?”
Ali’s smile was sheepish. “Morgan felt bad that she didn’t have one. She was totally bummed about it.”
“Give me a break. What kind of kid is so damn lazy they can’t dream up their own imaginary friend? Sorry, Al, but the woman’s a succubus. Personally, I’d—”
Jessica stopped and gasped. “Holy shit!” The color drained from her face. She was staring at something Ali hadn’t seen.
Something that was lurking in the shadows just outside Ali’s dining room window.
Morgan
“When what you have done is discovered, it will cause problems. You know that, don’t you?” Sam said.
“Yes,” Morgan answered.
“Is that what you set out to do? Create an unpleasant situation?”
“Not really.” Morgan’s voice was hoarse with tears. “I did it because I didn’t have a choice.” She was remembering…the humiliation of standing, stranded, in the copier salesman’s hotel doorway. Half-naked in Ali’s left-behind trench coat. Realizing she had nowhere to go but back into Ali’s shadow. Knowing that getting there would require money she didn’t have. Wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. Furious that she was always on the short end of the stick. And for months, she’d stayed furious. Angry at never being the chosen one, the favorite. But then, in thinking about that concept, “the favorite,” Morgan saw the answer to her money problems. The laugh she’d let out had been loud and bitter.
> “In answer to your question,” Morgan told Sam, “I did what I did because it was the only way to get the money I needed.”
She was recalling the ugly details of the transaction… The thuggish girl trying to hand Morgan what looked like a dirty Kleenex, and Morgan not wanting to touch it.
Then the girl shoving it at her. “Take it, stupid. It ain’t gonna bite ya.”
After the flimsy piece of paper was in her possession, Morgan stared at it, longer than she needed to. Looking at the girl was making her sick.
“Can we get outta here now?” The question came from the girl’s companion, a scrawny man in a torn, inside-out T-shirt and faded jeans. His teeth were gray, and his hair was long, bottle blond. He was leaning on the open door of a red Cadillac.
Morgan turned her head. The girl smelled as if her armpits needed washing and she’d tried to cover it up with cheap perfume. After she’d backed away from the girl, Morgan asked, “Now that you’ve bought the land, what are you going to do with it?”
The man bared his gray teeth and made a raucous, mocking sound.
Morgan understood this was wrong in more ways than she could count.
But all she did was sneak another glance at the wrinkled piece of paper she was holding, a certified check. Then she put the check in her pocket.
And now here she was, listening to Sam say, “This new chapter you’re about to open…you’re sure you want to go through with it? You could simply keep the money in the bank and stay where you are.”
Morgan, her chin quivering, stared into the darkness. “If it were you, what would your plan be?”
“Why are you doing this?” Sam’s voice was soft, thoughtful. “Tell me the truth.”
Morgan slumped against a tree trunk, shivering with cold. “My sister, my twin, has everything. And I hate her for it.”
“You have other choices.”
Morgan’s voice was dead. “No. I don’t.”
There was a brief pause before Sam asked, “Why?”