If I Can't Have You

by Patti Berg

  “She was dead, and he was frightened. Everything pointed to him as the killer. Would you have stuck around to tell the police you were innocent?”

  “I wouldn’t have gotten myself into that situation in the first place.”

  “No, I doubt you would have,” Trevor said, wishing he could wipe out a lifetime of making wrong decisions—but he couldn’t. All he could do was start over. This was his chance to have a new life.

  “My father was a coward,” Trevor said.

  “He wasn’t,” Adriana protested.

  But Trevor nodded his head, remembering that morning in Carole’s room. “He hadn't wanted to suffer through bad press. He hadn't wanted his image smeared. Those things and acting were what mattered the most in his life.”

  Trevor hoped Adriana would forgive him for destroying the perception of the man she’d idolized. “My father thought about committing suicide, but he disappeared instead. He didn’t want to face anyone or anything. He just wanted to run away. That’s what cowards do.”

  Adriana had turned away, staring out the window. Trevor didn’t want her loving a myth, he wanted her to get to know him, the real, living, breathing Trevor Montgomery. The man who wasn’t as heroic off-screen as he was on. The man who had demons that haunted him. The man who’d never been in love because he’d never learned how to love.

  The man who thought he might have finally found the woman to teach him.

  “So,” he said, turning back to Stewart, “that’s why my father disappeared. What else do you want to know?”

  Stewart picked up a pen and hastily scratched on a yellow pad of paper. “Where did he go?”

  Trevor hesitated, not to think up a reason, because he and Adriana had already dreamed up a story, but to pause, as if remembering the events of his father’s past. “He went to Mexico. He’d gone there quite often with friends. It was easy to get across the border and even easier to hide. He lived by himself for nearly thirty years, in a village where no one knew him, where no one had ever heard the name Trevor Montgomery.”

  Stewart kept his eyes down, his pen poised over the paper. “What’s the name of the village?”

  The man was testing him, but Trevor felt ready for anything Stewart might throw out.

  “Santa Elena. It’s not on many maps.”

  Stewart glanced at Trevor over his glasses. “How very convenient.”

  “It was for my father.”

  Trevor looked out the window, reciting his story as if he’d expertly memorized lines from a script. He gave each word the proper inflection, his tone was low and reflective, his gaze distant, anguished. His acting was perfect.

  “He was close to sixty when he met my mother. Not long after I was born she decided she didn’t like the quiet, rural life, so she left him to raise me on his own.”

  “Was he a good father?”

  “I have nothing else to compare him to,” Trevor said, which was a lie. He knew that, in spite of his own less-than-perfect ways, he’d be a damn sight better father than his real one had been.

  “I’m sure he did the best he could,” Trevor continued, dreaming up words to say as he went along.

  “He passed away ten years ago... when he was eighty-four. He refused to see doctors—no matter how much I begged—because he was afraid someone might figure out who he was.”

  Stewart looked up from his paper and rubbed the bridge of his nose. A frown marred his face. He was a good lawyer, Trevor imagined. Skeptical of everyone—especially the man talking to him now.

  “How did he die?” Stewart asked.

  “Old age, I imagine. I never really knew, except that I went into his room one morning and he wouldn’t wake up.”

  “Where’s he buried?”

  Trevor shook his head, already prepared for the question. “He wanted to be cremated. I don’t have any records. I don’t have anything that belonged to him before he went to Mexico, and he didn’t have much of anything the last fifty years of his life.”

  Stewart rested his elbows on the desk, his hands steepled. He tapped his index fingers together, obviously deep in thought.

  Trevor just wanted to get the meeting over with and get out of there. He’d never liked attorneys—good or bad. They reminded him too much of his father. Stern, skeptical, and cold. Stewart was no exception, even if he was Adriana’s friend.

  Stewart took off his glasses and set them on top his yellow pad. “It all sounds very interesting—and quite contrived. Why should I believe you’re Trevor Montgomery’s son?”

  “Because I look exactly like him. I have his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his hair. We have the same voice.”

  “There’s an impostor for just about every famous person.”

  “I’m not an impostor,” Trevor said calmly, thinking that Stewart might be looking for a reaction. “I’m the son of a famous person.”

  “What do you think, Adriana?” Stewart asked. “Is he telling the truth?”

  Adriana nodded, nervously twisting the black silk scarf in her lap. “I didn’t believe it at first, but it’s true. He knows things only Harrison and I knew about Trevor.”

  “So what is it you want, Mr. Montgomery? Your father’s property back? Your father’s money?”

  “Citizenship,” Trevor said. “I want to live in this country, but I have no records at all of my birth.”

  “How did you get across the border?”

  “I gave a sob story to a very American-looking family about my girlfriend running off and ditching me on the streets of Tijuana. They believed me. I climbed into the backseat of their car, and we crossed the border.”

  “Do you have any money?”

  “Some.”

  “Do you have any way of supporting yourself?”

  “I can act.”

  “That’s not very lucrative—unless you’re a star. Do you have any experience.”

  “Some.”

  “Is that what you did in Mexico?”

  “That’s enough!” Adriana blurted out. “You’re my friend, Stewart. I believe him, and I need for you to believe in him, too. He needs a birth certificate, a Social Security card, and a driver’s license. That’s all. As for money, I told him I’d support him until he gets on his feet.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “He told me he didn’t need any support. He wanted to do everything on his own, but I insisted we come and see you. If anything I’m doing is unwise, it’s sitting here telling you everything. I’ve always trusted you, but you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be. Please, get us the identification. July 4, 1964, is his birth date. His father was Trevor Montgomery. His mother was...”

  “Gabrielle Montgomery,” Trevor interrupted. “Her maiden name was Ramon.”

  Rosenblum leaned back in his chair, studying Trevor, studying Adriana, then slowly leaned forward and scribbled on his pad. “I’ll need dates of birth.”

  Trevor nodded, gave Stewart the necessary information, and hoped his composure would keep Stewart from digging up information that didn’t exist.

  “How long before we can get the I.D.?” Adriana asked.

  “A few days,” Stewart told her. “A week maybe. I’ll get in touch with you when it’s ready.”

  Trevor reached across the desk and shook Stewart’s hand. “Thank you for your help.”

  Stewart laughed. “Thank Adriana, not me. She pays me very good money to be a very good attorney. What you’re asking of me isn’t legal, and I could lose my license if I get caught. But Adriana’s not only a client, she’s a friend, and I’ll do whatever she asks. I’ll tell you one thing, though, Mr. Montgomery. You hurt her in any way, and I’ll come after you. I’ll find a way to expose you as a fraud.”

  “Hurting Adriana isn’t in my game plan,” he assured the attorney. No, he had no intention of hurting her at all.

  Chapter 10

  They stood across from each other in the crowded elevator and not once did Adriana seek Trevor’s eyes. Even through her dark
sunglasses he could see her staring at the floor, at the wall, at the back of an old lady’s head.

  What could possibly be going through her mind? Was she worried that he might be an impostor? Lord, he hoped those words of Stewart’s hadn’t made her doubt him all over again.

  He lit up a cigarette when they walked out of the building, relieved to be away from Stewart’s interrogation, out of the confining elevator, and in the fresh, coastal air.

  “Do you have to do that?” Adriana asked, frowning at the cigarette in his mouth.

  “Does it bother you?”.

  “Yes,” she said flatly, then turned, headed toward the parking garage.

  Trevor stubbed the Chesterfield out in a sand-filled ashtray at the edge of the office building, then rushed to catch up with Adriana.

  “What’s bothering you?” he called out before she could climb into the Mercedes.

  She turned around slowly, then leaned against the car door. “I feel like I’ve been sitting in a courtroom for the past two hours, waiting for someone to find me guilty of perjury.”

  “It wasn’t all that bad,” he said, taking a place at her side. “I thought things were going well, right up to the end, that is. You realize he didn’t believe a word of it”

  Adriana’s head snapped toward him. “Why do you say that?”

  “He’s too smart, and all he saw was a good friend being suckered by a con artist.”

  “But you’re not.”

  “No, I’m not a con artist, Adriana, but Stewart’s going to prove that I am, and we have no way of proving I’m not, unless we tell him the truth. Of course, he won’t believe that, either.”

  Adriana rubbed her arms as if a sudden chill had rushed through her.

  “I should have gotten a birth certificate some other way, from someone who wouldn’t ask any questions,” she stated.

  “And then you’d open both of us up to God knows what. Getting the certificate from Stewart won’t be legal, but it’s better to deal with someone you trust than with some back-alley thug.”

  “You’ve watched too many old movies.”

  “Maybe I’ve just made too many.”

  That brought a smile to Adriana’s lips. “You didn’t make enough.”

  “I have a new life, Adriana. Maybe I’ll make some more.”

  “Is that what you want? To act again.”

  “I’ve always wanted to act. But not right now.” All he wanted was to spend time watching her smile, enjoying her occasional laugh. His life had been consumed with making movies, with being a star. He’d never taken the time to have a life that wasn’t orchestrated by the studio. He’d never wanted anything more—until now.

  “Show me around Santa Barbara,” he said. “Let me see how things have changed.”

  “Someone might see you.”

  Her words made him laugh. “Do I look like a freak, Adriana? A man from outer space?”

  She shook her head slowly. “You look... perfect, and everyone’s going to stare.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. I saw an advertisement on your television about a place called McDonald’s. I want to try a Big Mac and french fries.”

  “Absolutely not. Fast food isn’t the least bit healthy.”

  He smiled at the persnickety woman standing in front of him. “I’ve indulged all my fantasies and all my cravings for years.” He reached out and stroked her cheek, knowing full well that she’d pull away—which she did. “I think I look pretty good for a ninety-four-year-old man.”

  “You’re terribly vain, do you know that?”

  “I know it, you know it, and half the world knew it in the thirties. I’m proud and stubborn, too. I don’t have many sterling qualities, Adriana, but do you mind if we discuss my lack of character some other time? I’m hungry, and that Big Mac looked awfully good.”

  Adriana shook her head in disgust. “Don’t blame me if you get fat.”

  They walked briskly through the parking lot and out onto State Street, lined on either side by Spanish-and Moorish-style buildings with tiled roofs that glistened in the sun.

  Trevor captured Adriana’s arm and slowed her down. “Take a moment to enjoy it all, Adriana. Life’s too short to rush.”

  “I thought you were hungry.”

  “I am, but I want to enjoy the sights, too.”

  Slowly he pulled the black silk scarf from her hair. “You don’t need to hide behind this, you know. You’re one of the prettiest sights in town.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “That’s the way it appears to me.” He tucked the scarf into his pocket, ignoring her attempts to take it back. Instead he took her hand and pulled her into the sunlight.

  “Well, what do you know.” He pointed to the building just across the street. “The Granada Theatre’s still standing. I bet you didn’t know that I appeared on stage there once.”

  “With Helen Hayes, as I recall.”

  She did know a lot of details. But no one knew the real truth about Trevor Montgomery, those things he’d never told a soul. Still, he said, “Your knowledge is impressive.”

  “I know everything there is to know about you.”

  “I doubt that seriously. There are many things only I’m aware of, many things I just might share with you—if you’re good.”

  They turned into a courtyard of winding paths, fountains, and tiled pools. Hanging baskets and red clay pots decorated their way, each filled with red and white geraniums, bright orange marigolds, sweet alyssum, and other colorful flowers he couldn’t begin to name.

  He’d seen many of these buildings before, but the atmosphere had changed. There were more shops now, more people. Wide windows displayed artwork, women’s clothing, and elaborate gold and silver jewelry. He stopped in front of a window and admired a man’s three-piece wool suit, then dragged Adriana inside for a fitting, groaned at the staggering price, but peeled numerous bills from his clip.

  “Where does all this money keep coming from?” Adriana asked when they left the store.

  “A secret stash. I’m surprised you’ve never found it.”

  “It’s in the house?”

  “You can’t get into banks twenty-four hours a day. I never knew when I might need it.”

  “We have automated bank tellers now. You just go up to a machine, punch in a number, and withdraw money out of your account.”

  “Interesting concept. I’ll let you show me one of those machines, and maybe someday I’ll show you the secret panel in... your home.”

  “It’s your home, Trevor. I don’t feel right claiming it’s mine. Not any longer.”

  “Then we’ll share. For now.”

  She looked uncomfortable but intrigued with the thought. Trevor was just as intrigued. Sharing the house, the cars, the food... the bed.

  It sounded so good, but he had to slow down. He was more than ready. She wasn’t even close.

  Strolling along the walks, they passed women and men sitting at intimate tables for two, sipping coffee and other drinks. No one seemed to be staring at him. In the thirties when he’d walked down State Street at least one or two people would ask for his autograph, and he’d gladly obliged. He rather missed the notoriety.

  Finally they reached a place with golden arches painted on the windows. “McDonald’s?” he asked, clutching Adriana’s arm and pulling her to a stop.

  She smiled indulgently. “You know, there’s a lovely little restaurant not far from here. They have salads and herb teas.”

  Trevor shook his head. “Big Mac and fries. My treat.”

  He wove his fingers through hers and didn’t let go when she tried to pull away. She was the most uptight woman he’d ever met, and he was bound and determined to loosen her up.

  They stood side by side at the counter and Trevor started to order. A Big Mac, large fries, a hot apple turnover, and a Coke. “What would you like?” he asked Adriana.

  “I thought you’d ordered enough that we cou
ld share.”

  Sharing food with Adriana wasn’t a bad idea. Sharing her home wasn’t a bad idea, either. Both had endless possibilities.

  Carrying the tray, Trevor found a table that looked out onto the courtyard, sat down, and immediately peeled off wrappers. “Let’s see if this is as good as they say.”

  The first bite was all and more than he’d hoped for. He loved the sauce and cheese that oozed over the bun and dripped onto the table. He liked the way the sandwich slid apart, the bread going one direction, the meat another.

  He peeked over the top of his burger and watched Adriana pick at a french fry, then delicately lick the salt from her fingers. He didn’t say a word, just watched her enjoying the tastes she was putting into her mouth.

  “Try this,” he said, holding the sloppy burger out to her.

  “I can’t. It’s much too fattening.”

  “I might not be around forever, Adriana, but while I’m here, I have every intention of showing you how to live.” He moved the burger a little closer. “Try it.”

  Some of the pinkish sauce stuck to the corner of her lip after she bit into the burger, and before she could wipe it off with her napkin, Trevor stroked it away and licked it from his thumb.

  “What do you think?” he asked with a wicked wink.

  “That you’re a little too hedonistic for me.”

  “I doubt that seriously. But I was talking about the burger, not about me.”

  “I think I should stick with salads.”

  “I think you should stick with me. When was the last time you did something just for fun?”

  She didn’t answer immediately, which wasn’t a good sign. Hell, Trevor made a point of having a good time, at least once a day.

  “I went to the theater with Stewart and Maggie a month or so ago,” she said. “Going out isn’t my style.”

  “Hiding behind silk scarves, dark sunglasses, and adobe walls is?”

  “I like my privacy. Besides, it’s good for business. It gives me a certain mystique that makes people curious. That curiosity makes my shop and my work more intriguing. People seek me out because of it.”

  “Work isn’t the only thing in life.”

  “I enjoy reading and watching old movies.”