Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  Mac fell back on the bed, his face drained of all color. His eyes again filled with tears. Her words burned into the insides of his eyelids. "Come home and fight with me." God! He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He remembered, so clearly, the night she’d come home after dinner with Dane. When he had been so angry, tossing her car keys into the pool so she could not run away again. He’d taunted her, baited her, harassed her until she’d raised her fists to his and finally fought for his love.

  And now, here was proof that she’d learned. She wouldn’t run from him again. She was ready to stand ground and make him understand. And where was he? Eight thousand miles away!

  His tears darkened the sleeve of his shirt as he threw his arm across his eyes in despair. I’m a raving, jealous fool, he thought.

  But that God-damned Dane Pierce just couldn’t leave us alone.

  Running his fingers over the stationery, he touched her words reverently. She’d sent this off before receiving his letter.

  Standing quickly from the bed, he grabbed his hotel key and left the room. In the hotel bar, he met Sal Cicerello, the film’s director, and they ordered drinks.

  "So Mac, what’s eating you? Something going on?"

  "When do we start shooting, Sal?"

  "Tomorrow. Cold feet?"

  "No. Just curious."

  "You just got married, didn’t you?"

  Mac took a long draught of the ale placed before him. He nodded.

  "Got a photo?"

  Reluctantly pulling out his wallet, Mac slowly flipped through the photos until he came to his favorite; a candid shot of Jessica strapping Megan to a carousel horse at the Oxnard pier. The opposing photo was of he and Jessica dancing at Jessica’s birthday party. He handed the open wallet to Sal.

  Sal looked from the photos to Mac’s eyes, still too bright from his reaction to Jessica’s letter.

  "Looks too sweet to leave at home, Mac. Why isn’t she with you?"

  Mac wet his lips, then cleared his throat. It did no good, his voice still cracked when he spoke. "She’s…uh…pregnant."

  Sal nodded but his doubt was obvious. Mac knew his excuse was lame but didn’t really care to come up with anything better. Instead, he ordered another tankard of ale.

  "Well. Congratulations then. When’s the baby due?"

  "First part of January." Mac forced a stilted smile.

  ~ * ~

  September 14th was Roxie’s birthday. Jessica busied herself all day with the baking and decorating of an exquisite cake, and the wrapping of an assortment of gifts she’d purchased. Glancing at the calendar as she worked, she stared at the carefully marked off dates: it had been twenty-three days since Mac had driven away.

  She no longer felt it necessary to sit by the phone. Now that she knew Mac was in New Zealand, it was unlikely that he’d be popping in for his clothes, or calling to chat about the weather. The ache inside had not gone away, not by a long shot; but she’d settled into a routine, a waiting game, knowing somewhere deep inside that Mac would eventually return.

  Tonight she would make her grandest effort to be happy at Roxie’s birthday dinner. There would be only seven at the casual get-together; besides Tom and Roxie, Tom’s teenaged son and his girlfriend were coming, and another couple with whom Roxie had made friends at school.

  Everyone was bringing potluck. Jessica eyed the bottles of wine cooling in the refrigerator with regret. She could have used a few hundred glasses of White Zinfandel over the past two months! As if in response to her thought, the baby gave her a swift kick in the side.

  Jessica was almost enjoying herself during dinner. Her cake was a masterpiece, and Roxanne embraced her warmly after they’d cut and served it together.

  "I love you, Jess," she said tearfully. "I wish so bad…"

  "Shhh--" Jessica warned, placing a finger to her lips. "Don’t say it. I’m okay. Really." She picked up a stack of dirty dishes to move to the kitchen sink, and the phone rang. Abruptly she stopped, in the middle of the kitchen, her face suddenly ashen as she stared at Roxie. Roxie, too, froze in her steps.

  "Probably the L.A. Times," Jessica said softly, carefully placing the dishes into the sink. "Could you grab it?"

  "Sure, honey," Roxie offered, reaching for the phone. "Hello?"

  Jessica watched her from the corner of her eye as she slowly began rinsing scraps from the first plate into the disposal.

  "Oh, hi…no, it’s not a bad time…" Roxie turned her back, lowering her voice, and Jessica strained to hear.

  "She’s…bearing up, under the circumstances. Are you…coming home?" Roxie stole a quick look at Jessica, who now had stopped and was staring at her expectantly. "I see. Of course, I’ll get her." Roxie’s voice was soft and serious; she held out the receiver to Jessica.

  Their eyes communicated silently as Jessica took the phone from her with trembling hands. Swallowing hard, Jessica listened first before speaking, finally managing a weak "Hello?"

  "Hi." His one word, and Jessica’s legs began to buckle. Roxie rushed a kitchen chair under her as she slid down the wall. The ashen look had paled even more.

  "Hi, Mac…" she finally responded. Roxie hovered nearby, wanting to afford Jessica some privacy but careful not to stray too far should her friend need some support.

  "Is everything okay?" he asked, his voice almost emotionless.

  "Of course. I…I got your letter. I understand New Zealand is…beautiful…" she stammered.

  "It’s okay."

  She heard him sigh, and his voice became impatient.

  "Look, Jess, I can’t…can’t talk about anything right now, okay? I can’t be…objective about what happened. Try to understand, okay?"

  She nodded, tears stinging her tightly closed eyes.

  "Okay?" he repeated.

  "Sure," she whispered. "It’s Roxie’s birthday, Mac. I have to go."

  "Tell her…Happy Birthday."

  "Good-bye, Mac."

  He didn’t say good-bye. Jessica hung up and curled, spineless, into the chair just as Tom entered the kitchen to find out what had happened to the girls.

  Gently he knelt and lifted Jessica into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, laying her carefully down on the plaid comforter that topped Mac’s bed.

  "He still loves me," she sobbed to Roxie.

  "Of course he does," Roxie consoled her. "He wouldn’t have called otherwise. This is really hard for him, too, you know."

  "Is that what he said to you?"

  "No. But I could tell."

  ~ * ~

  September was over. The month with all the dates crossed off was gone, and a fresh page took its place. Three months to go, and she’d be a mom.

  She’d finally gone ahead and continued her work on the nursery, and it was nearly decorated. She had held out, however, on buying a crib or any other furniture. She would wait on these, just as she waited on Mac.

  On a whim, she called Megan to see if she’d like to shop for some of the baby necessities she had listed with her sister’s help over the phone. Megan was not at home, but she’d left a message on Linda MacKendall’s answering machine. When the phone rang twenty minutes later, she jumped to answer it.

  "Miss Jessica Taylor?"

  "Yes." She realized belatedly that the caller did not ask for her by her new name.

  "My name is Ross Mayer. I’m a doctor, with the U.S. Embassy in Singapore."

  "A doctor, did you say? The connection is poor."

  "Yes, Miss Taylor."

  "Dane? Is this about Dane Pierce?"

  "I’m sorry, Miss, there’s been…an accident. I’ve been asked to call you."

  "Oh my God…what is it? Is Dane all right?"

  "He’s been hospitalized. His condition is critical, Miss Taylor. Your name is listed as an interested party in case of emergency."

  Jessica sat down, suddenly feeling dizzy. "Tell me what’s happened to him, Doctor."

  "He was involved in an altercation with some local people. There was ap
parently a dispute of some kind, Mr. Pierce had been drinking…he was assaulted and, truthfully, out-numbered."

  "He’s been beaten? Oh God--" Jessica bit into her fist, adrenaline suddenly rushing through her body. "He’s…going to live, Doctor?"

  "His chances are fifty-fifty. He’s a strong man, but under the circumstances I felt it best to call."

  "Can I speak to him?"

  "I’m afraid not. He’s still unconscious at this time."

  Jessica swallowed hard and reached for a pencil. "Tell me where he is."

  As the doctor rattled off the details, Jessica scratched them out onto the margin of an old newspaper lying nearby.

  "Dr. Mayer, is he alone? There was a Mr. Peter Welles, and Mr. Pierce’s son, Alexander, traveling with him."

  "I don’t recall anyone, other than some co-workers, studio people, I believe. You understand, the Embassy is making every effort to keep a tight lid on this…situation."

  "Thank you for calling, Dr. Mayer. Thank you so much. And Doctor, if Dane, when Mr. Pierce comes around…Tell him I’m on my way."

  "Roxie? It’s me. Are you getting ready to come home?"

  "Yeah, Jess. You sound upset. Did Mac call?"

  "No, but I need to talk to you."

  "I’m leaving now."

  It didn’t take Jessica long to relate the brief but startling story to her friend, who looked on in amazement.

  "What? No way, lady. You can’t just go running off to Singapore."

  "I have to go. I have no choice. Dane may be…dying." Jessica was tossing random articles into a suitcase with determination.

  "Jessie, please, listen to reason! Maybe we can have him transported home or something! You can’t go there alone! Oh God, this is awful…at least wait until I can get in touch with Tom--"

  "My mind is made up, Roxie. I’ve already bought my ticket. Dane needs me. He needs someone, he’s vitually all alone. I’m the closest thing he has to a relative. I called Rita, and she basically just blew me off. His parents are dead; he has no siblings."

  "What about Mac?"

  "Well, what about Mac? It’s been six weeks, Roxie, six weeks. He’s forsaken me. And our child." She began to weep as she haphazardly threw the lid closed on the case. "Dane loves me, Roxie. It’s the least I can do. He saved my life, remember? And he put me in touch with my feelings for Mac. I owe him everything I have, including my sorry life."

  "Your ‘sorry’ life? You even sound like Dane." Roxie accused, now leaping for the phone as it rang. "Oh, Tom, thank God you got my message. How soon can you get here?"

  Tom drove onto the gravel road just as Jessica was trying to force her suitcase into the trunk of the Miata. It wouldn’t fit, so she grunted and hoisted it out, now attempting to toss it into the bed of Mac’s old Ford truck.

  "You are crazy, woman. You can’t drive that old heap in your condition. Have you forgotten you’re six months pregnant?" Tom admonished Jessica as he yanked the suitcase away from her in irritation.

  "Please, Tom, don’t try to stop me. My flight leaves in ninety minutes. I have to get to the airport!"

  Tom sighed and held the suitcase out of her feeble reach.

  Stomping her foot, she screamed at him. "God damn it, Tom Jarrick, put that down, now. Look, I have other friends, and I’ll find someone to help if you won’t."

  Roxie and Tom stared at each other helplessly.

  "C’mon," Tom said assertively, putting his arm around Jessica. "Come inside. We’ll work something out."

  Jessica stared at him suspiciously, but complied.

  They sat at the kitchen table, and Jessica reiterated her entire conversation with the doctor.

  "Did you happen to, uh, call Mac?"

  "Mac? Why would I do that? He’d probably fly into Singapore just to watch Dane die!"

  "Jessie, I think you’re being unfair." Tom sighed. "Listen. You cannot go alone. I won’t let you. Not to mention that most airlines won’t allow a pregnant woman on board in her last trimester. But I understand how you feel; Dane Pierce is a friend of mine, too. I’m willing to escort you to Singapore, on one condition. You call Mac and tell him you’re going."

  Jessica’s face paled. Call Mac? Tell him she was flying to Singapore to be with Dane? The realization that this news would probably finish their marriage was sobering. She sat silently considering Tom’s proposition for several heart wrenching moments. Finally, she lifted her chin to speak.

  "I have to do this. If Dane should die--"

  "You can’t prevent that, you understand."

  "I’ll call Mac. He’s already lost faith in me; he couldn’t get much angrier than he already is, but I can’t let Dane die…alone." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stood and turned away.

  Roxie rushed to her, embracing her tightly. After a few moments, Jessica pulled away. Silently she went to the phone, picking up the number of the telephone in Wellington that would ring next to Mac’s bed. She’d placed a copy of the number next to every phone in the house, just in case.

  The baby was kicking furiously.

  She dialed the number as Tom and Roxanne exchanged grim looks.

  Two rings, three, four rings.

  "Hello?" He’d been sleeping, she could tell. The sound of his voice embraced her heavy heart. Jessica let out the breath she’d been holding.

  "Hi," she said simply, closing her eyes tightly against the flood of tears threatening to drown her words.

  "Are you okay?" he asked quickly, the sleepiness shaken from his voice at the sound of hers.

  "Yes." Jessica mustered what little courage she could, and ventured on. "I know you won’t like hearing this, but something’s happened, and I need to tell you."

  "The baby?"

  "No, the baby’s fine. It’s Dane. He’s been…had a terrible accident. He’s critical; he may not live."

  "Oh Jesus…" Mac murmured something unintelligible. "Is he still in Malaysia?"

  "Yes. He’s in some hospital in Singapore. He’s alone, Mac. He has no next of kin."

  There was silence on the line as Mac considered the meaning of her words. "You’re going, then?"

  Jessica bit her lip painfully, her body shuddering with barely suppressed sobs. "I think I should." Her words were barely a whisper, but he heard her clearly.

  "Do you think it’s wise to do that by yourself?" Mac’s question was tight, guarded.

  Jessica cleared her throat. "Tom’s going with me."

  Mac’s sigh of relief was audible. "Good. Be…be careful, Jessica. Are you feeling okay?"

  "Yes. I’m fine."

  "Let me know how…how he ends up, okay?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  "Good-bye, Jess. I--" Mac paused, obviously changing his mind about what he intended to say. "I’ve got to get some sleep."

  "Sure. Good-bye."

  ~ * ~

  He’d been sleeping. The phone’s ringer had set his heart to pounding. Now, hanging it up, he glanced at the clock beside his bed. It was 4 a.m., and her call had wakened him from a disturbing dream, just another of many he’d had since leaving her. The sound of her words was like a mountain spring flowing over his parched soul.

  Mac lowered his head and ran his hand across his face. He fought the temptation to allow anguish to consume him, but he could not escape the sickening feeling that had engulfed him at the news; his wife was traveling around the world, not to him, but to be at Dane Pierce’s bedside. Nonetheless, she’d called him first and that was something.

  He didn’t bother going back to bed.

  "Mac, you look like hell. I like it," Sal said to him on the set later in the day. "Now let’s see some anger. Some incredible, gut-ripping hostility. These guys have just slaughtered ten of your animals. Shredded your sheep. I want you to think fury; black, thick, burning rage."

  Mac touched his upper lip in thought. The new mustache was uncomfortable, but necessary. He knew rage, all right. These people had never seen the fury he’d known in the last two months. He looked at t
he sheep, then at Cal Trenton, his opponent: he saw Dane Pierce. Building the fury into the scene, ad-libbing the lines as he went, Mac delivered what the camera wanted to see.

  Sal was elated. Cory MacKendall was a driven man.

  Later, again in the hotel bar, Sal sought him out to congratulate him.

  "Buy you a drink, Sal?"

  "Don’t mind if you do," Sal agreed happily. "What’ll we have?"

  "You look like a man who can handle a few shooters." Mac grinned at the Greek man with the Italian name. And this night he walked to his room on his own accord, hoping the tequila would afford him some much needed sleep.

  ~ * ~

  The Boeing 757 airliner belonging to Singapore-Malaysian Airlines touched down at International Airport twenty minutes late; not bad considering the thirty minute delay in leaving LAX. The airport was terrifyingly foreign, and Jessica felt eternally grateful for Tom’s presence as he guided her through the crowds of people. She now knew she could never have done this alone. But she would have tried anyway, she thought stubbornly. Fortunately, both of their passports were in order, Tom’s from his recent trip to the Orient; Jessica’s still warm from the Caribbean.

  They hailed a cab. They had carried on their abbreviated luggage and this Tom stowed in the trunk as Jessica slid into the back seat. Tom joined her and asked the English-speaking driver to take them to the hospital.

  The driver stared suspiciously at Jessica’s protruding stomach and hastily pulled away from the curb. Tom quickly explained that his companion was not in labor and a gentler ride would prevent her from commencing it. Relieved, the driver slowed to a normal pace and soon deposited them at the front door of Alexandra Hospital where Dane Pierce lay clinging to life.

  After endless questioning, they were directed to Dane’s room. Security had been blanketed around the American celebrity at the request of the Embassy, hoping to keep speculation about Dane’s somewhat political project at a minimum. Hesitant, Jessica timidly pushed open the door and tiptoed in; Tom waited just outside.

  She could not stop the gasp from escaping her lips when she saw him. Jessica stared at Dane’s unrecognizable form in shock and disbelief. This could not be the tremendously attractive man she’d met a year ago.