“It's not impossible, unless you want it to be. You said that last night, right before we made love the second time.”
“I was nuts. I plead temporary insanity,” she said, rolling over onto her back and looking up at the ceiling, to avoid looking at him. It felt so good to just lie there next to him, and feel like a woman again. But it was forbidden fruit she knew she couldn't allow herself to eat again. “Do you have any idea how crazy this is?” she asked, turning her face to look at him. His eyes were green and enormous, his face nearly perfect, but just imperfect enough to make him look like a man. He looked like an actor in a sexy movie. He needed a young starlet to costar in it with him, not a woman her age. She knew it, even if he didn't, or didn't want to. She knew it for both of them.
“It isn't crazy, Sasha. You're a woman, I'm a man. We like each other, we're both lonely. We have the same interests, we both live for art. What's so wrong with that?”
“Everything. I look, and feel, old enough to be your mother. You're a friend of my son's. I represent you. How's that for a start? And besides, you're still in love with your wife.” She hadn't doubted it for a minute the night before, as he told her the story of Beth and her evil twin.
“You do not look old enough to be my mother. You're a spectacular-looking woman, and you're only nine years older than I am. So fucking what? And I am not in love with my wife, anymore. Besides, she's no longer my wife. We're getting divorced. You and I are both free, unattached, lonely as hell, and over twenty-one. That sounds possible to me. What's your problem?” He looked mildly annoyed.
“I'm still in love with my husband,” she said sadly, but she didn't cry this time. Liam waited for a moment before he answered, and he touched her face gently with one finger when he did.
“Sasha, he's gone. You're alive, he's not.” She had proved that amply to both of them the night before.
“You have a right to be happy with someone. Me, or someone else. You can't hide yourself away anymore. It's not right.”
“Yes, I can.” She rolled over and turned her back to him, and still did not get out of bed. He couldn't see if she was crying, but he put his arms around her anyway, and pulled her close.
“Sasha, I know this sounds crazy. I hardly know you, but I think I love you. I feel like I've been waiting for you all my life.”
“That's insane,” she muttered, still turned away from him. But something of what he said rang true, even to her, although it made no sense. “We drank too much. It wasn't love, it was wine.” She tried to dismiss what had happened, but convinced neither him nor herself.
“Well, whatever it is, I want more of it. Why can't you just let this happen and see where it goes?” He was pleading with her.
“And then what?” She turned to face him again. She looked genuinely tortured by what they'd done. “Where could this possibly go? You need someone your own age. I'm older than you are, I'm your art dealer. I'm conservative, you're not. We'd be the laughingstock of Paris.” Particularly if he showed up at one of the functions she went to, with no socks and a painted shirt. She was a respectable person, with a serious life, and Liam wasn't. He was exactly what he said he was, a wacky artist, and he was Xavier's friend. Her kids would be totally upset if they knew, just as she was now.
“I don't want someone my age, Sasha. I want you.” And then he thought about it for a minute, and looked at her again. “Do I embarrass you?”
“You could,” she said honestly, “but I'm not going to give you the opportunity to do that. I'd look like a sex-starved old fool if I went out with you, Liam. This could never work.”
“Yes, it could. And you're half right at least. You are sex starved, but you're not a fool, young or old.”
“Yes, I am,” she said, looking miserable, and he kissed her then to silence her and cheer her up. She was beyond cheering, but not impervious to his touch, far from it. In spite of all her resolve and determination not to let this happen, or continue, she responded instantly to his touch. It was more powerful than she was. She had never experienced anything like it in her life, not even with Arthur, whom she genuinely had loved for more than half her life. But as Liam had pointed out, he was gone. And Liam wasn't. Within seconds, their bodies were entwined. And she moaned softly with pleasure as he began making love to her again.
It was quarter to ten on the bedside alarm clock when they finally lay breathless and sated in each other's arms.
“Oh my God,” she said when she saw the time. “Xavier will be here any minute. I'm having breakfast with him.” Liam laughed.
“Well, I'd better get my ass out of Dodge.” He unwound his long, lean limbs from hers, got up, and stood looking down at her. “I've never wanted any woman as much in my life. When can I come back?”
“Never,” she said sternly. “I'm leaving for the airport after breakfast. Liam, I mean it. This has to stop.” But the one she needed to tell was herself. She had never felt so confused and out of control in her life. She felt like she was on a roller-coaster ride to hell. She could imagine only the worst happening, and she couldn't let it. She had to get control of herself. “I won't let this happen again.”
“Then you are a fool,” he said sadly. “I don't believe you are. I'll call you tonight.”
“Liam, don't. I want to represent you. You're a fantastic artist, and you could have an important future. Let's just do that. Don't jeopardize it now.”
“Are you telling me you won't represent me if we're lovers? Because if you are, screw the gallery and the contract. You mean more to me than that.” They were powerful words, and he meant them.
“You're insane,” she said, sitting up in bed, staring at him.
“Possibly. My family thinks I am.” He was pulling on his pants and shirt as he said it. He didn't have time to shower. He knew he had to get out before Xavier arrived, or she'd never forgive him. “You decide, Sasha,” he said, looking down at her, as she stood next to the bed where they had made love three times. The three best times in her life. But she couldn't make this decision based on sex. She truly felt as though she had lost her mind. And she knew she had to find it again, and fast.
“Don't call me,” she said, trying to sound as though she meant it. She wanted to mean it, and knew she had to. Whatever this had been, it had to end, even before it began. “I'll get in touch with you about your work.”
“We can do both,” he said reasonably, and she shook her head, as he pulled her toward him for one last kiss. She was standing naked before him, shocked by how comfortable she was with him. After talking over dinner, and making love with him, she felt as though she had known him all her life. She was totally at ease with him.
“No, we can't do both,” she said, sounding desperate. “I won't be your dealer and your lover.” She also didn't want to be the older woman in his life. She'd never done that before and didn't want to start now.
He kissed her, and left without saying another word. She stood staring at the door for a long moment, fearing what could happen, and determined to put walls up between them. From that moment on, she told herself, she was his art dealer and nothing more. She rushed into the shower, and the phone was ringing when she got out. She was afraid it was Liam, but it was Xavier. He was just leaving his apartment, and said he would be there in five minutes.
“That's fine, darling,” she said calmly, as her hands shook. “I'm running a little late myself. I'll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”
“Did you make all your calls?” Xavier sounded like he was in good spirits. He must have had fun the night before. She shuddered thinking of what he would think of his mother if he knew what she had done. She felt utterly debauched.
“What calls?” she asked, sounding distracted. “Oh…yes… those…of course…I'm just running a little late. See you in a few minutes.” She hung up and sat down on the bed, shaking. What she had done was insane. But the insanity was going to stop. She was a sensible person, and Liam was nothing more than a badly behaved overgrown boy, a
nd had made a lifetime career of not growing up. She reminded herself, to frighten herself further, that he had committed adultery with his wife's twin. It was hardly a recommendation for his morality and good judgment. And no matter how beautiful he was, he acted like an irresponsible kid, and prided himself on it. So had she, she told herself. She had to be the grown-up here. Liam was incapable of it.
She threw what she had brought to London into a bag, dressed hastily, brushed her hair, and put on makeup. And fifteen minutes later, she was in the lobby when her son walked in, looking handsome and young. His stride and confidence and the way he dressed reminded her instantly of Liam. They were contemporaries in lifestyle, attitude, and behavior. Two wild young boys.
“You look happy,” Xavier said, looking pleased. “I never see you with your hair down. It looks nice, Mom.” She realized with horror that she had forgotten to put it up. She had been in such a rush, she hadn't even noticed it in the mirror. It was a clear sign, to her and to Xavier, that something was different. She had let her hair down in some very major ways, and it was time now to put it back up, and keep it that way.
“Oh, thank you. I was just in a rush.”
“You should wear it that way more often. How was dinner with Liam?”
“Fine…fun…no… actually, it wasn't… he's a bit ridiculous, isn't he? He showed up without socks or shoelaces, in a shirt he painted himself.” Maybe if she ridiculed him to Xavier, she would see how foolish it was herself. But she felt like a traitor as she said it.
“He's a nice guy. Hell, Mom, some of your other artists look a lot worse,” Xavier said with a shrug, as she reminded herself that she had never slept with any of them. But Liam was different. None of them had ever made her feel the way he did, just looking at him from across the room. She had felt the pull between them the moment they met, and had told herself she was imagining it. She had tried to deny it, but couldn't. As it turned out, it was a lot more than imagination. Worse yet, it felt real.
They had breakfast in the lobby. She drank tea, and stared at the scones on her plate. She couldn't eat them. She wasn't hungry. Xavier wolfed down his own—and hers. He was starving.
They talked about nothing in particular for an hour, and he waved as she left for the airport, while she wondered if he would see Liam that day, and what he might say. She would kill him if he intimated anything to her son. But she trusted him not to do that. He wasn't mean or spiteful, just irresponsible and young for his age. Very young. He seemed far more Xavier's age than hers or his own. She forced herself not to think about him on the way to the airport, and took some papers out of her briefcase.
She couldn't concentrate on a single word she read. She sat staring at his contract with his signature on it, hastily signed at Harry's Bar, and for a moment thought of tearing it up. But she couldn't do that to him. He had given her back both copies, and she reminded herself to send him his copy from Paris. He had left her with his cell phone number, but nothing in the world could have induced her to call him. She hadn't given him hers. Nor her home number. All he had was the gallery number in Paris, and she prayed he wouldn't call to talk to her. If he did, she would refer him to someone else. Anyone. Just not her. She didn't want to hear his voice again, at least not for a long time. His voice had a deep, sexy rumble with a gentleness that stirred her. She had noticed it right from the first. Now she loved his voice, and damn near everything else about him, except the way he behaved. The last thing she needed at her age was to be involved with a self-proclaimed wacky artist who acted like a juvenile delinquent. What she had said to him that morning was true. If she became openly involved with him romantically, she'd be the laughingstock of Paris, and even New York. She had a reputation to protect. Liam didn't. He cared about neither his own nor hers. He had nothing to lose by being involved with Sasha. She had everything to lose, even if only the respect of her children, colleagues, and friends. She was acutely aware of it, as she boarded the plane at Heathrow. It had been an outrageous incident, a one-time-only, totally insane out-of-body experience, and there was absolutely no way she would ever let it happen again. Ever. As the plane took off for Paris, she promised herself to get and stay sane.
It was four o'clock when she walked into her office in Paris. Despite the sun in London, it was raining in Paris when she arrived. She had trouble finding a cab at the airport, and she was soaked when she got to her office. It was sobering after the heady experience she'd had in London, and it had brought her to her senses.
“My God, you look awful,” Bernard, her gallery manager, said as he passed her in the hall. “Or very wet, in any case. You should go home and change before you get sick, Sasha.”
“I will in a minute. I have to make some calls. And by the way.” She smiled at Bernard, and he noticed that in spite of the wet hair and drenched clothes, she looked better than she had in months. For the first time in over a year, she looked relaxed and happy. Obviously, her visit with her son had gone well. “We have a new artist. A friend of Xavier's in London. He signed the contract, we have to send him his copy. A young American. His work is gorgeous.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing it.” She enjoyed the contemporary side more than he did. Like her father, Bernard was more traditional, but he had great respect for Sasha's eye for new work and emerging artists. She had an unfailing sense for what would sell.
“I told him we'd open with a show in New York.” He nodded, and they went to their respective offices. When she walked into hers, she was surprised. There was an enormous bouquet of red roses sitting on her desk, and she was relieved to see that her secretary hadn't opened the card. The very fact that they were red roses had looked personal to her, so she had left the envelope sealed, much to Sasha's relief, when she saw who they were from. She didn't want her office thinking she had a secret lover. She didn't. She had made a mistake, it had been corrected, and would stay that way.
The card said, “It's possible. I love you, Liam.” She tore it up in tiny pieces and threw them into the wastebasket, feeling embarrassed. The roses must have cost him a fortune, and she knew he couldn't afford them. She was touched, and tempted to call him, but she forced herself not to. She had made a vow of silence and she intended to keep it, no matter what it cost her.
Instead of calling him to thank him for the flowers, she wrote him a polite note that could have been written by his grandmother, or art dealer. There was nothing personal about it. She handed it to her secretary with his copy of the contract, and his phone number and address. She told her to open a file on Liam Allison, he was one of their new artists.
“The flowers are lovely,” Eugénie said to her. What Sasha had told her explained the flowers. They were sent by a new artist, a handsome gesture for a starving artist. Maybe this one wasn't starving. Roses in January were expensive. For a minute, Eugénie had wondered if Sasha had a boyfriend, but she didn't. Just a new emerging artist. But at least Sasha looked happier than she had in a long time. She had looked morbidly depressed ever since Arthur's death. And there seemed to be a new spring in her step now. She looked relaxed after her trip to London.
Sasha went back to her part of the house at six that night, relieved that Liam hadn't tried to call her. She made herself a cup of tea and some soup. She took a hot bath, and tried not to think of him, which was far from easy. The night before at the same time she had been having dinner with him at Harry's Bar. She fought even harder not to remember what had come later when they went back to the hotel.
She was startled out of her reverie when the phone rang at midnight. It was Tatianna. She had found a job that morning. She was going to be working in the art department of a fashion magazine, coordinating photographs, and doing whatever else they gave her to do. She was happy and excited, and then, after sharing her news, finally turned her attention to her mother.
“How was London?”
“It was fun.” She forced her mind away from Liam. “I saw Xavier, and lots of artists.”
“How was Xavie
r's friend?”
“What friend?” Sasha sounded panicked in answer to the question.
“I thought he wanted you to meet one of his friends, to see his work.”
“Oh, that friend,” Sasha said, sounding relieved. “He was fine. We signed him.”
“Wow, he must be good. Lucky break for him.”
“He's very good. We're going to give him a show in New York next year.” She forced herself to sound serious and professional as she said it.
“I'll bet that made him happy.” Artists begged her all the time to introduce them to her mother. It always annoyed her. She didn't want to be used as a conduit to Sasha. Xavier was much more relaxed about it. “When are you coming to New York?”
“Not for a few weeks. I have a lot of work to do here. You can always come over for a weekend, if you want to.” Sasha loved seeing her children, and spending time with them.
“I hate it when it rains there. I talked to a friend who got back today. She said the weather was disgusting.”
“It's not lovely,” Sasha admitted to her. “It was sunny in London.”
“It's supposed to snow here tomorrow. I think I might go skiing this weekend.”
“Be careful on the roads. When do you start the new job?” Sasha yawned, it was late for her, and only six o'clock at night in New York.
“Tomorrow.” Tatianna sounded ecstatic, and for a moment Sasha envied her. Her life was just beginning. Sasha felt as though hers was ending. All her best years were behind her. The children had grown up. Arthur was gone. She had nothing to look forward to, except work, and one day grandchildren, which didn't interest her particularly. She felt like a very old woman after she said good-bye to her daughter and lay on her bed. As she did, she couldn't help thinking about Liam. It had been nice of him to send her roses. And foolish. “It's possible,” he had said on the card she tore up. She knew it wasn't.
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