"Nice hook, MacKendall." Dane held out his hand for Mac to help him up. Mac immediately extended his and pulled Dane to his feet.
In the men’s room, Dane washed his face as Mac leaned against the wall, feeling worse than ever.
"I don’t know what to say, man," he managed.
Dane pulled his dripping head from the sink and shook the water off. He blinked, then looked at Mac. "Say, you love her, man." He checked his face in the mirror, still talking to Mac. "Tell her, like you just told me." He paused, then turned around to face Mac. "Only don’t hit her."
Mac didn’t answer.
They returned to the waiting room to find a nurse inquiring after them. "Who is Mr. MacKendall?"
At this, Dane slapped Mac on the shoulder and walked to the door. "I’ll be around."
Mac’s heart began to race and the aching in his legs disappeared as he followed the nurse down the hall to Jessica’s room. She adjusted the curtain, pulled around Jessica for privacy, and promptly left the room.
Tentatively, Mac stepped quietly around the curtain. Jessica lay still, pale and dressed in a hospital gown. The IV attached to her arm gave her an even more fragile look. She appeared to be sleeping. After a moment of assessing her appearance, he touched her face lightly with his fingers, gently moving away a stray strand of hair.
She opened her eyes, and turned them to gaze upon him. "You really are here. I thought it was a dream." Her voice was small and soft. She was obviously weak, but there was no mistaking her subtle gesture as she lifted her hands to reach out to him. Mac was already there, sliding his arms around her, holding her tight.
"Mac, what’s wrong with me?" she whispered close to his ear.
Mac pulled gently away from her, locking his eyes onto hers. "Nothing too serious. You seem to have forgotten that you have to eat and sleep once in a while to stay alive." He couldn’t help the bit of sarcasm that had crept into his voice, letting her in on his disappointment. "You’ll be fine. You just need some time off."
Tears came to her eyes and she swallowed hard. Her voice was strained. "I still can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you so much, Mac, I’ve been calling you…"
"Shhh…I know." He wiped her tears away, then awkwardly cleared his throat. "Pierce is here, I’m sure he wants to see you."
"Stay with me, Mac." He heard growing panic in her voice.
"I’ll be back, but you should see Dane." He wet his lips nervously and started to leave. But she was grasping his hand, if weakly, and he returned to her side.
Mac gazed down at her small figure, her now beloved eyes begging him to stay. Without a word, he leaned down and slipped his fingers beneath her head, impulsively moving his lips to meet with hers. Tenderly, deliberately, Mac kissed her, and what began as a simple kiss on the lips quickly swelled into a fully realized gesture of ultimate affection.
Startling even himself, Mac pulled away, an embarrassed flush to his face. Clearing his throat, he backed toward the door. "I’ll be back; I won’t leave you, Jess."
Outside, Mac found Dane staring at the surf. He grimaced at the sight of the pale purple stain on Dane’s cheek, then turned his own eyes to the ocean before them that neither truly saw. Without a word, Dane left Mac to brood alone.
~ * ~
To a stunned Jessica, the encounter was over almost before it had started. Mac’s whispered words touched her somewhere deep inside. She couldn’t remember him ever having kissed her like that. She touched her fingers to her lips, seeking some evidence that his loving touch had not been only some elaborate hallucination.
She watched as Dane strode into her room, her mind still absorbed by the sensation of Mac’s kiss. Dane seemed uncomfortable in his own skin, the pain reflected in his face growing as his eyes took in Jessica in her surroundings. Hastily she swiped a stray tear from her cheek.
He immediately bent to kiss her forehead, then sat on the edge of the bed.
"I’ve sent out to Miami for a Quarter Pounder and fries…you want a chocolate shake with that?"
Jessica sniffed and managed a small laugh. She made a fist and tried to punch him, but Dane intercepted her hand, opened it, and kissed her palm. "Can you ever forgive me, sweetie?"
"For what, Dane?"
"For letting this happen." He bowed his head, his eyes looking down at her small hand in his.
Jessica slowly reached up and drew her fingers into the long, ashen hair at the back of his neck, winding the strands around them. "You can be a real pain in the ass," she paraphrased his words of the day before, now gripping the locks and tugging them gently. Dane kept his eyes level. "But you didn’t do this to me."
Dane’s sudden vulnerability was obvious. He sighed, and she let go of his hair, tenderly replacing her grip with a caress down his bruised cheek. He leaned toward her face, but held back, opting instead for a smile and a comfortable way to change the mood.
Before she could ask him what had happened to his face, he lifted up the sheet and gazed underneath it. "A little scrawny, but everything seems to be there." He grinned at her, then looked around uneasily. "Look, I’d better go. You should rest. Are you okay, babe?"
Jessica nodded. "Dane, thanks for worrying about me. But don’t. It doesn’t become you."
She could sense that her comment hurt him and she struggled to sit up.
"No--no," he scolded, but she sat up anyway and put her arms around him, ignoring the needle in her arm.
~ * ~
Dane stepped out into the cool night air. He was despondent, yet wired. There would be no sleep for him tonight. He headed for the cantina, hoping to meet with a bottle of comfort to bed down with. Instead he encountered Mac walking about outside alone.
"Yo. MacKendall. Have a drink with me."
Mac stared at him, in clear belief that Dane had lost his mind, then looked into the midnight sky at the multitude of stars forming a tropical canopy over them. As if spying some signal there, he consented and fell into step with Dane as he walked to the cantina.
Inside, only a couple of die-hard locals lounged under the fans and most of the smoke had dissipated after the crowd had dwindled. The bartender regarded them without much interest, routinely setting drink napkins before them.
"What do you wish, Monsieur Pierce? Rum tonight?"
"Set us up a couple of shooters." Dane pulled a c-note from his wallet. "And keep them coming until this runs out." He glanced at Mac who nodded in silent agreement at his choice. "And Maurice, don’t forget my limes this time."
"No problem, Monsieur. I have many limes tonight."
"Good. And pal, if I pass out before the dough’s gone, keep the rest, okay?" The bartender grinned. He knew the wealthy American would not pass out before the hundred was spent; he drank them too fast.
He poured the drinks, and Dane held his up before Mac. "To women, God love’m. Salut!" Mac humored him, raising his glass in a mock toast. Dane tossed down the tequila without a blink, demonstrating the technique to Mac, who followed suit. He laughed at Mac’s surprised expression, and the bartender filled the glasses again. "Great, huh?"
Mac nodded again, unable to find his voice after the tequila had seared his throat.
"God I could go for a cigarette," Dane confessed.
"I didn’t know you smoked," Mac managed, eyeing his second shooter with dread.
Dane put away his second and turned to Mac. "Quit five years ago. But times like these I could just about light up a whole damned pack. It’s her fault. She makes me crazy." He grinned at Mac. "Go ahead. The second one’s easier, honest. And by the way, pal, the salt goes before the lime."
Mac hesitantly picked up a slice of lime and glanced at the salt, then shook his head and tossed the lime back into the bowl. He paused before bringing the tequila to his mouth, and turned to Dane. "Shit, Pierce, why am I doing this?"
"Because you’re fucking miserable, that’s why. We’re both a couple of sorry assholes."
"Oh. Right." Mac nodded and proceeded to down the t
equila. "You’re right," he croaked, his gullet on fire. "Much easier." He attempted to clear his throat. "Look, I don’t want to talk about Jess, okay?"
"That makes two of us, pal," Dane asserted, nodding and slapping Mac hard on the back. "Maurice! Another, s’il vous plait!"
He paused before throwing back his third. "Maybe I should just throw in the towel."
Mac held the shot glass delicately in his fingers, marveling at the damage such a small amount could do to his stomach. "What towel?"
"She’s never gonna forgive me anyway." Dane looked up at the fan, pouring the liquor into his mouth and holding it there for a moment before swallowing it. "I’m a bad decision, all around."
"I thought we weren’t gonna talk about her."
"Not that you’re such a prize, either."
Mac shook his head and sipped at his drink.
And so it went. Mac lost count at around six, but he was later told that Dane had bested him by two or three shots, and had somehow managed to get Mac to his cabin besides.
Eight
Hearts Asunder
Jessica was released Thursday morning in the care of Pierce Productions. Although Dane had made the decision to halt the filming, Jessie insisted they resume immediately without her and shoot what they could with Melinda. They were already behind schedule, she pointed out; her strength returning, she stood barefoot in the sand, waving her arms and arguing with him to "get his act together."
"I want to go home, Dane," she pouted. "So we need to wrap this up!" She snapped at him jokingly, grabbing his chin and shaking his face back and forth.
"Ouch! Settle down, spitfire." His hand went to his jaw.
"You never did tell me what happened to you," she inquired, referring to the bruise, now camouflaged with make-up.
"Mac hit me," he boasted proudly, like a small boy tattling on his brother.
Jessica turned to Mac, who had been silently listening to the argument transpiring outside Jessie’s bungalow. He sat in the sand, leaning against the cabin, a wet towel over his head.
"What?" Jessica’s mouth dropped. "Mac?"
Mac lifted the towel and squinted at her, shrugging, then replaced the towel. She turned back to Dane.
"Why?" she demanded, her eyes shifting between the two men.
"Because," Dane began, and Mac pulled the towel off of his head, his bloodshot eyes watching guardedly. Dane looked to Mac before speaking. "Because I was being an asshole, as usual." Dane laughed. "You okay, Mac?"
The towel back in place, Mac was shaking his head "no."
"Well, you kids have fun. I gotta go see a man about a boat." Dane headed off down the beach, the Pacifica his obvious destination.
Jessica coaxed Mac inside the bungalow where she dumped two aspirin tablets into his palm and offered him a sip of bottled water.
"This is monstrous," he moaned. Jessica crawled onto the bed behind him, placing a pillow across her legs and then pulling him back to lie with his head on her lap. Without another word she began massaging his temples, his forehead, the back of his head. Mac stared at her briefly before closing his eyes.
"Why did you come?" she asked, now sliding her fingers along his jaw, his neck, his shoulders, slowly chasing the pain from his body. He sighed before answering, his eyes still closed.
"Someone had to catch you when you fainted."
She was pushing hard on the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles, and he was groaning. His hair, still damp from the shower, fell over her hands and covered them.
"Well, it doesn’t really matter," she said. "But you sure came a long way, all alone."
He didn’t answer and she paused, leaning close to his face. "Mac?" She smiled at the peaceful expression on his face, then eased herself out from beneath the pillow and stretched out beside him on the bed. She stroked his face, pushing back the locks of hair she had disheveled, caressing his cheek in the process.
"You are the best man I have ever known, Cory MacKendall. The best." She leaned over him now, kissing his forehead and his cheek before pausing to hover just above his lips in indecision. Giving way to the moment, she pressed her lips to his, delighting in the feel of them, even passively; her kiss was firm and self-serving.
Filming finally resumed that afternoon. Jessica paced around off-camera, restless and wanting to get back to work. "I’m really fine," she insisted to anyone who would listen, but Dane was adamant about her not returning to work just yet. Mac, too, was restless, and that night suggested that he and Jessica go for a walk. He wasn’t into the noisy, smoky cantina scene, and thought the exercise would do them both good.
"Pierce says you can get back to work tomorrow," Mac announced as they walked down the wet sand.
"What? When did he say that?" Jessie wanted to know.
"He wanted my permission."
"And you said…"
"I said I wasn’t your keeper. I said if you felt okay, it was up to you."
The breeze was still slightly warm. Jessica had wrapped a long, sheer gauze skirt around her one-piece, floral bathing suit. Mac’s island-print cotton shirt was unbuttoned over white draw-string beach trousers, his hands thrust deep into the pockets. The moonlight was made to order.
Jessica was moved by how attractive he looked. She had never fully appreciated his well-toned muscles and firm, trim physique. The breeze caught his hair, alternately exposing and covering his tanned brow. Mac strode casually along, his demeanor thoughtful; yet despite the easy pace, he seemed tense, and Jessica wished she could reassure him somehow. But a new feeling had moved into her heart. An awareness that had not been there before; a risk was now present. She could no longer find the easy, familiar comfort that had existed between them. It nearly astounded her that she could feel self-conscious in his presence, after the weeks of living under the same roof, the playful bantering, the late night talks and early morning meals--they had been emotionally intimate, and now, suddenly, she was confused, even embarrassed by the feelings stirring within her.
Mac’s mood was somber, however, and she detected anxiety in his expression. "Jess, I’m going back home in the morning." He said it without looking at her. He continued walking, hands still buried, but she stopped short. He turned back, and Jessica could feel the color rising in her cheeks.
"Oh," she responded, the old tightness returning to her stomach. She waited expectantly for an explanation. Mac seemed troubled and uncomfortable.
"I just need to be alone for awhile, I can’t explain. You finish the film, and when you come home," he paused a moment to form his words, "maybe we’ll have a lot to talk about."
"Are you…upset about something? Have I done or said something wrong?" she began tentatively.
He smiled, a fleeting, almost remorseful look before taking her hand and gently urging her to continue walking. He didn’t speak again, and she decided not to ask about the fight with Dane. It was clear he didn’t want to talk, and she would give him this. And despite the warmth of Mac’s hand, the long, sensitive fingers wrapped so firmly around her own, Jessica suddenly felt as if she was walking with a complete stranger.
At her door, he did not kiss her goodnight. Instead, Mac imparted the same, painful smile he’d flashed briefly when she’d questioned his motives for leaving Amande; and after quietly making her swear to take better care of herself, he closed her door and walked away. She lay awake for a long time, confused and saddened by his words.
Jessica tumbled from her bed at 6:30 a.m. and hurried into a pair of jeans, stuffing her cotton nightshirt into them and shaking out her hair with her fingers. She did not even stop to glance into the mirror before rushing out the door and running barefoot across the sand to Mac’s bungalow. She knocked but entered the unlocked room without waiting for a response, only to emerge seconds later. She ran all the way to the main building, breathless as she approached the front desk.
The night registrar was just preparing to leave, and stared at her disheveled appearance with curiosity.
"Monsieur MacKendall?" she inquired, panting.
"Oui, Monsieur MacKendall has checked out, Mademoiselle."
Jessica’s face fell and she closed her eyes, still trying to catch her breath. She turned slowly and headed toward her cabin, only to walk past it and down to the surf, where she squatted to touch the cool water with her fingers.
"He took off an hour ago."
Dane stood beside her, wearing only blue jeans and a serious expression. "I gave him a lift to his plane."
She could not disguise the sorrow in her eyes as she looked up at him, nor did she try.
"What did he say?" she asked softly.
"He wasn’t exactly talkative." Dane replied. "I’m sorry."
"About what?"
"It’s probably my fault he left. I sometimes don’t know when to shut up."
"No, Dane, I don’t think it was you. If Mac had a problem with you, he would have made it known. He’s very straight forward, with most people."
"Well, you got that right," he replied, absently touching his cheek.
Jessica wasn’t listening, however. Not to Dane, anyway.
I won’t leave you, Jess.
~ * ~
Jessica did indeed return to work that day, and after two more weeks of fifty-nine cast and crew members sweating out the Caribbean sun, the film was completed to the satisfaction of Pierce Productions. Jessica had finished out her role admirably, taking great pains to improve her health and sustain a stable attitude in the face of her emotional disarray. There had been a change in her, and in Dane, too, noticeable by everyone involved with the project.
She kept more to herself; he was subdued. The constant stream of sexual innuendoes had ceased, and he treated his leading lady with dignity and respect. All were agreed that the balance of the filming had gone much smoother without the undercurrent between them.
Finally, on this hot Wednesday afternoon, the announcement was made around three: it was a wrap. Lost Season was in the can. A celebration was immediately planned for that evening. Jessica sighed in relief that home was almost in sight; she would leave on the first plane out tomorrow. After exchanging happy pleasantries with other cast members, she began fighting the sand back up the beach once more to her bungalow.
Starcrossed Hearts Page 13