If I Can't Have You

by Patti Berg

  He started out the door, then tilted his head to look over his shoulder at Janet. “I’ll bring it back to you. Don’t worry.”

  Trevor ignored the stares and laughter of his friends as he walked soggily across the terraces. He patted backs, shook the hands of age-old friends, and hugged his dearest friend, Harrison, as he headed for the pool. They must think I’m a fool, he laughed to himself, not really caring any longer what anyone thought.

  The only person who mattered to him was Adriana, and he’d give anything to hear her laugh—with him or at him.

  The surface of the water was calm when he stood before the Poseidon Pool. At the bottom, resting on top of an emerald green tile, he saw the sparkle of a diamond choker.

  He’d picked a red rosebud on his trek down to the pool. Now, he held it close to his face, inhaling the sweet fragrance, and thought of Adriana’s own unique scent wafting about him. The memory made him smile.

  “Soon, Adriana,” he whispered, half-hoping, half-praying that his words were true. Once he returned the necklace to Janet, he’d try and return to the arms of his wife—and he’d keep on trying, even if it took a lifetime.

  He’d failed Carole. He refused to fail Adriana.

  He kissed the rose and tossed it onto the water, took a deep breath, and dived to the bottom of the pool. With his eyes open, he could see the shimmer of diamonds, and he followed their glow.

  The necklace was just inches from his fingers when he heard thunder roaring through his ears and felt a turbulent whirlpool surrounding him. Reaching out, he clutched the choker, turned, and attempted to push off the bottom and head for the surface.

  But the strong, swirling water pulled him down. It felt as if icy fingers had wrapped around his ankles, his knees, his waist, halting his escape. The water choked his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

  Fear wrapped around him. He thought he was going to die without having a chance to get back to Adriana.

  All of his instincts fought for life. He scratched at the water, wanting to reach the surface, wanting a gasp of air.

  But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t swim. He could just barely think as the water pressed against him like a vise.

  Adriana! he attempted to scream, but his words were drowned out by water rushing into his mouth.

  Dizziness engulfed him, as his thoughts drifted from his fear of dying, to once again being with the woman he loved, to lying in her arms.

  I love you, Adriana.

  A dark void filled him then, he felt tired, he wanted to sleep, and...

  Chapter 27

  July 4, 1998

  “Miss Howard.”

  The woman’s voice was hazy. Faint and indistinct. A nurse maybe?

  Adriana felt cool fingers on her forehead, then the voice again.

  “Miss Howard? Are you all right?”

  “Just a little dizzy.” Adriana struggled to sit up, then doubled over, wrapping her arms around her stomach to fight the nagging nausea. “I’ll be fine in a moment,” she said, choking out the words.

  “I’m going to get something cool for you to drink. Try not to move until I get back.”

  Adriana pressed her fingers to her temples, hoping to rid herself of the headache and the persistent ringing in her ears. Her fingers were numb, and an icy dull fluttered through her arms.

  Opening her eyes, she looked around the unfamiliar room. Sun streamed through an open window where white eyelet curtains fluttered in the breeze. Floral paintings hung on the walls in pristine white frames, and a yellow-and-white chenille spread draped over the side of the narrow twin bed. A white, lacy doily sat on a nightstand, and one simple long-stemmed red rose occupied a tall crystal bud vase on top.

  Where could she possibly be?

  The room seemed oddly familiar, but the decorations were different. Soft and feminine rather than sterile and plain.

  She rose from the floor and hesitantly walked to the window to look out. She was at Magnolia Acres, but it seemed so different. Happier.

  Downstairs, on the vast expanse of green lawn bordered by rows of multicolored rosebushes, an old man was lighting a barbecue, and the fumes of lighter fluid and charcoal wafted up to her. A child was laughing as he ran around waving a sparkler, and gray- and white-haired men and women with crocheted lap robes over their legs sat about in wheelchairs listening to Sousa marches on the stereo.

  The Fourth of July? No, that couldn’t be right. That holiday was several weeks ago. She had planned to spend it with Elliott and Juanita but something had kept her from celebrating the Fourth at Sparta, so she’d gone there on the fifth, instead.

  Oh, why can’t I remember anything else?

  She pressed her burning forehead against a cool yellow wall and tried to remember something, anything that might remind her why she was here. She didn’t remember the drive, but her green Mercedes was parked downstairs in the gravel circle. She didn’t remember coming to this room, but her purse sat on the nightstand.

  Am I losing my mind?

  She turned when she heard footsteps on the hardwood floor, and the woman’s voice once again. “Are you feeling better, Miss Howard? I was worried about you.”

  Adriana studied the frail but still pretty woman with curly white hair wisping about her head, trying to remember who she was. She had blue eyes that twinkled when she smiled. Pink lace gloves covered her hands and an exquisite pink-and-white cameo had been pinned at the neck of her frilly, pale pink dress. She was lovely.

  Of course. Janet Julian. Adriana laughed inwardly. How could she have forgotten the sweet movie star of the thirties whom she’d visited several times?

  Adriana began to smile, and white light flashed before her eyes. She clutched the windowsill as a vivid image of a dying woman flashed through her mind. There were no pretty pictures on the stark, sanitary white walls. The smells of alcohol and pine cleaner assaulted her.

  In an instant, the vision was gone. But the dizziness remained.

  “I’m sorry,” Adriana apologized, massaging her temples. “I seem to have developed a horrible headache.”

  Janet set a tray containing two frosty glasses on the bedside table, then moved slowly toward her.

  “Just sit a moment, dear. I’ll call one of our doctors.”

  Adriana shook her head. “No. I’ll be fine. Please, just stay with me for a while.”

  “Of course I will. Come. Sit down and have some lemonade.”

  Adriana took hold of the woman’s arm and allowed her to lead her to a chair next to the bed. She slumped into the pretty floral cushion that softened the wooden seat. Taking the glass that was offered to her, she took a slow, tentative sip, then set the glass back on the tray and closed her eyes.

  Why am I here? she asked herself. Why do I feel so confused?

  She could hear Janet moving about the bedroom, her sweet voice humming a tune as she opened and closed a drawer, then walked toward Adriana and sat on the edge of the bed.

  Adriana opened her eyes, and watched Janet flip open a photo album. “I so enjoy looking at these old photos,” she said, turning the pages slowly. “They bring back many fond memories.” She glanced at Adriana and smiled. “I’m glad you’ve asked Charlie and me to help with the movie you’re producing.”

  Movie? What movie was Janet talking about?

  “No one today knows the thirties better than Charlie,” Janet continued, “and what he can’t remember, well, perhaps I can help fill in the blanks. It’s about time someone made a movie about Trevor Montgomery.”

  A movie about Trevor?

  Adriana closed her eyes again and tried to think, willed herself to remember what was going on.

  Bits and pieces came to her. A call from William Castle asking if she’d be interested in coproducing a film about Trevor Montgomery. Consulting with screenwriters. Sitting in on auditions with nearly a dozen actors who weren’t half as wonderful as Trevor. The minute flashes of memory churned in her brain and made her head ache. Again she pressed her fingers to her tem
ples and hoped the haziness in her mind would clear.

  Taking the glass of lemonade, she sipped on the cool, tangy drink, and watched Janet as she studied the pictures.

  “Charlie took these photos in the thirties. Actually, they were taken in thirty-eight, when I was filming Break the Night with Trevor.”

  Adriana sat up, looking closely at the photos Janet was flipping through. At least one thing was clear in her mind. Her passion for Trevor Montgomery. Her friends had laughed at her obsession, but she didn’t care. No one understood how precious he’d always seemed to her, how real, especially in her dreams and in the visions that came to her without warning—visions that warmed her heart and soul.

  “Trevor was different before we started filming that movie,” Janet said.

  “In what way?”

  “It’s common knowledge that he drank—a lot—and that there were many women in his life.” Janet’s eyes flickered toward Adriana. “He was a very wicked man, and I suppose I shouldn’t have been in love with him, but I couldn’t help myself. When I came out of the hospital that first time, he’d changed. He seemed happier. He said there was a special woman in his life, although none of us ever met her.”

  Adriana found it difficult to believe Janet’s words. She considered herself an expert on the life of Trevor Montgomery, and she’d never heard a story about him having just one special woman. Perhaps that was something Janet had dreamed up to soothe her feelings after Trevor rejected her. Janet had a history of slipping into a fantasy world. Still, Adriana didn’t want to discourage Janet’s words.

  “I don’t know much about that year of his life,” Adriana told her. “All I’ve ever read said he stayed in Santa Barbara when he wasn’t filming or attending special functions. Is there more you can tell me?”

  “I’ll tell you everything I possibly can. The only reason I agreed to talk with you about this is because I know you want his story to be completely factual,” she stressed. “No innuendo.”

  “You mean about Trevor possibly murdering Carole Sinclair?” Adriana asked.

  “Why, no. I’d never heard that story,” Janet declared. “Everyone knows that Carole committed suicide. You are aware of that, aren’t you, Miss Howard? Carole Sinclair swallowed a bottle of sleeping pills along with too much champagne.”

  Suicide?

  Nausea suddenly overwhelmed her, and she gripped her stomach as another image flashed through her mind. A battered and slashed body. Platinum hair, and Carole Sinclair’s frightened—but dead—eyes. A bloodstained knife. And Trevor Montgomery lying at Carole’s side. Just as fast as the memory came, it was gone, but the horror remained in Adriana’s mind.

  Murder? No, it was impossible. She’d never read anything about a murder. Why, then, had that image come to her so vividly?

  Janet’s cool fingers touched her arm. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to call the doctor?”

  “No, please. I’m fine.” Adriana said, closing her eyes for a moment as she took a deep breath.

  When she looked at Janet again, she smiled faintly, not wanting to worry the lady. “I’m feeling a little better, Miss Julian.”

  “Mrs. Beck, please,” Janet corrected. “I haven’t used the name Julian in nearly sixty years. Charlie and I were married not too long after Trevor disappeared. But, I’m talking far too much about myself. I know you have an appointment to rush off to, so please, tell me again what it is you’d like me to help you with.”

  Appointment? Again she couldn’t remember. It was the Fourth of July and she always spent the day at Sparta, but today was different. Why?

  Suddenly she remembered the phone call from London. The collector wanted to look at Valentino costumes, and he was going to be in California for just one day. Of course. It was all coming back now. She’d had to make the trip in to her shop in Hollywood, and she’d decided to visit Janet at the same time, to try and learn more about what happened the night Trevor Montgomery disappeared.

  A flood of relief washed through her as her remembrances collided with each other. The pain in her temples and behind her eyes was subsiding.

  “Miss Howard?”

  Adriana looked into Janet’s worried eyes.

  “Would you like some aspirin?” Janet asked.

  “No. No thank you. I’m tired, that’s all. I should have stuck with running my memorabilia business instead of coproducing this film, too. It’s been one headache after another, especially the star.”

  “I’ve read so much gossip about that Mr. Dorn,” Janet said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Miss Howard, but he’s not at all like Mr. Montgomery. I honestly can’t see why he was hired for the part. He’s much too pretty.”

  “Yes, I always felt that way, too. The Trevor Montgomery I knew was taller. His shoulders were broader...” Adriana’s words trailed off when she saw the frown on Janet’s face.

  “You couldn’t possibly have known him, Miss Howard.”

  Adriana laughed nervously. “Of course not,” she said, covering her mistake. “I just imagine that he was taller.”

  Another vision swept through her mind. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. A harsh—but sensuous, whiskey-tasting—kiss in the pounding ocean waves. Bronzed skin that felt warm and wonderful to the touch.

  A tear slid down her cheek, and Adriana hastily wiped it away.

  Maybe she was losing her mind. She’d seen visions of Trevor before, but they’d never seemed so real.

  A light tap on the doorjamb made Adriana instantly turn her head. Charlie Beck was walking toward her with the aid of a cane.

  “Janet told me you’d come by,” he said, shaking Adriana’s hand. He once again gripped his ivory handled cane as he looked deeply into Adriana’s eyes. “She said you weren’t feeling well. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I think it’s just a mild case of exhaustion. Your lovely wife’s been kind enough to keep me company until my headache goes away.”

  “Then I won’t be imposing if I join you for a bit, at least till the charcoal’s hot?”

  “No, dearest,” Janet said. “We’d love your company. We were talking about that actor—Paul Dorn. You remember, the one who’s going to play Trevor Montgomery in Adriana’s new movie.”

  “Yes, I know the one.”

  Charlie pulled a low wooden chair close to the bed and sat down slowly, leaned forward and rubbed his knees.

  “I had the radio playing earlier,” he said, glancing from his wife to Adriana. “I heard the oddest story about Mr. Dorn being arrested for fraud and embezzlement. Is it true?”

  “Every word of it,” Adriana remarked, suddenly realizing how easy it had been to answer Charlie’s question. The memory was clear. All of the haziness had seemed to clear just as her headache was going away. “Actually, he and his agent, Jim Paxton, were arrested. It’s going to slow production down, but I’d been looking for an excuse to find another person to play the Trevor Montgomery role.”

  “Why?” Charlie asked.

  “Mr. Dorn just didn’t fit the part. His Southern accent was too strong, and we were considering doing a voice-over. It took several weeks to find Mr. Dorn, but I’d rather double that time rather than hire someone who isn’t close to perfect. It’s a shame Trevor didn’t have a son who’d followed in his acting footsteps.”

  “He might,” Janet threw in. “We don’t know what happened to him after he disappeared. He could have gone to another country, fallen in love, and had several children.”

  “I suppose we’ll never know, though. I wish there was some way we could give the movie a happy ending, but I want to tell the truth—nothing else.”

  “Then end it by telling the world that he was a hero,” Charlie said.

  “A hero?” Adriana had always imagined Trevor playing that role, she’d dreamed of him doing heroic things, but all she’d ever read about was his drinking, his womanizing, and his very wicked ways. “I’d love to end the movie that way. But I have nothing to base it on.”

  “Tell t
he world that he saved my life,” Janet said, then hesitantly continued. “I tried to kill myself once. It was a long time ago, and I didn’t want anyone to know—except Charlie.”

  Adriana watched Janet reach a hand out to her husband, and saw the tenderness in both their faces as Charlie squeezed her fingers.

  “I realize your movie isn’t about me,” Janet said, “but I’d like to tell the truth, so people will see that special side of Trevor that Charlie and I got to see that last year.”

  “If you feel like sharing, I’d love to hear the story, and I’ll make sure you have the opportunity to read the screenplay before we start to film. I told you I needed your help.”

  “I don’t honestly know where to begin,” Janet said. “Of course, I’m sure you’ve read all the stories about the party the night before Carole died.”

  Adriana nodded, and Janet continued, her eyes glazing over as she stared out the open window.

  “Carole left the Trocadero early, but most everyone else stayed until nearly dawn. Charlie was going to take me home, but he got a phone call and had to leave, so Trevor took me home.” Janet frowned. “No, that’s not quite right. We went to my house and I packed a few things to take to Sparta for the Fourth of July weekend, then we drove to Trevor’s place in Santa Barbara. He said he had a letter to write to a friend.”

  “A letter?” Adriana asked. As far as she knew, Trevor Montgomery had never written letters. She’d never found any in the house—to or from anyone.

  “I don’t know who it was to,” Janet continued. “It must have taken him an hour or so to write, and then we left for Sparta. When we got there, Trevor seemed terribly preoccupied. He spent a lot of time with Harrison, reminiscing about old times. He seemed happier that night than he’d been in a year, as if he knew something good was about to happen.”

  “But you don’t know what?”

  “I just assumed it had something to do with the woman he said he was in love with,” Janet said. “Of course, the happiness disappeared the moment Charlie showed up at Sparta.”

  “I’m the one who told them about Carole,” Charlie said. “The phone call I’d gotten at the Trocadero was a tip that the police had found a movie star dead in Santa Monica. I didn’t say a word to Janet about it—I figured I should check it out first.”