by Peggy Webb
"And just what is that supposed to mean?"
"No self-respecting Sullivan is ever a sissy."
"She's a girl, for goodness sake!"
Suddenly Helen pressed her hands to her mouth, and he gave her a sheepish grin. Then they both burst into laughter.
"See?" she said. "We even fight over things that haven't happened yet."
"Yet?" His eyebrow quirked upward.
Helen felt the flush that crept over her face, heating her skin and making her feel light-headed.
"What I meant to say is… it's just as well I left. We fight all the time."
"Why did you leave, Helen?" She drew back into herself, but Brick would have none of it. He bracketed her face with his hands and tipped it up so he could look deep into her eyes. "You said you wanted to have my baby. Then why did you leave?"
"It's not important."
"I think it is… for both of us."
Helen tried to think of reasons to hide the truth from him and found there were none. He couldn't leave her because she'd already left him. She couldn't lose him because he was already lost.
The time had come to tell Brick the truth.
Brick waited for her reply. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until Helen began to speak.
"I didn't want to be abandoned."
"Abandoned?"
"Left alone to bring up a baby."
"I wouldn't have accepted as many road shows."
"I'm not talking about temporary abandonment. I'm talking about permanent."
"You thought I'd leave you and the baby?"
"Yes."
It was the most absurd thing Brick had ever heard. He was on the verge of telling her so until he saw her face, her eyes. Helen was dead serious. She had really thought he would leave her alone with his baby. He, who had grown up in an orphanage without another soul to call his own. He, who had wanted a family more than any man on earth. He, who would have fought anyone who dared suggest that he abandon his wife and child.
"But, why, Helen? Had I ever done anything to make you think I was that callous, that irresponsible?"
"It wasn't you; it was me… or rather what had happened to me."
Brick realized that he and Helen had never really had time to talk. Theirs had been love at first sight followed by a whirlwind courtship and a wedding that made the front pages of every paper in America. They hadn't even had time for a honeymoon, but had launched immediately into a joint project—Much Ado About Nothing.
All he really knew about his wife—his ex-wife, he had to keep reminding himself—was that she was a beautiful, talented woman who was his match onstage and off, that she hailed from the South, that she could throw together an elegant meal in fifteen minutes flat, that she loved animals but hated snakes and frogs, that she laughed at things he didn't find remotely funny, and never cried except at old movies.
Nor did she know anything about him. Maybe it was about time they got to know each other.
"I'd like to hear about your life before I met you, Helen."
"It's not pretty."
He waited, letting her take her time. Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. When she opened them he could see tears collected on her eyelashes.
"My father abandoned us when I was a baby. After three hard years, my mother married again. Six months later my stepfather left, saying he couldn't manage somebody else's child. My next stepfather lasted a year, the third only two weeks."
Brick could picture Helen as a small child, watching out the window as each of her stepfathers departed. How devastating it must have been for her. She must have thought she was the cause.
Suddenly his orphanage seemed a sane and safe place. At least he'd been surrounded by the same people during his childhood. Nothing had ever changed at St. Dominic's except the size of the chores. They had gotten increasingly bigger as he had gotten older.
"I'm sorry, Helen."
"I can't seem to hang on to people," she said.
"I was your husband. I had pledged to honor and cherish you all the days of my life."
"So did Roy Wayne… unofficially."
"Who is Roy Wayne?"
"The man I was dating before I met you."
"You loved him?"
"I thought I did."
"How could you think you were in love?"
For Brick, love had been so clear, so certain, as if the hand of God had written across the sky, Brick loves Helen, forever and ever.
"He was kind to me, affectionate."
"Passionate?"
"Affectionate."
"What kind of man wouldn't be passionate with you, Helen? He must have been a wimp."
"He was not a wimp. As a matter of fact, he was a weight lifter."
"You were in love with a brainless jock?"
"He was not brainless. And I never said I was in love with him."
"But you thought you were?"
"He seemed the steady kind."
"A weight lifter?"
"He only did that as a hobby. He was a CPA."
"Good Lord, a weight-lifting CPA? Why didn't he jog like sensible people? How much muscle does it take to push a pencil?"
"Why don't you ask him?"
Helen jerked away and stormed toward the wings. He caught up with her in two strides.
"I'm sorry, Helen. That was a silly argument."
She shook his hand off her arm. "All our arguments are silly, Brick. But that doesn't alter the fact that we argue about everything."
"Makes life interesting, doesn't it, Helen?"
"It makes me realize that my decision to leave you was the right one, no matter if my reasons were wrong."
Good. At last she had admitted she was wrong. Brick wanted to gloat a little, but he decided he'd best keep his glee to himself. After all, he still had a play to do with Helen.
He couldn't even effectively argue with her that her decision to leave him was not a good one. Even with her standing at his side and him wanting her more than he'd ever wanted another woman in his entire life, he was in no position to try and win her back.
He was a man tangled in a web of his own making.
Barb Gladly. His fiancée.
How was he ever going to explain her without looking like a liar. And if he admitted to being a liar about one thing, how would Helen trust anything he said?
Hoisted on his own petard… whatever the devil that was.
Helen waited for Brick to contradict her. Why didn't he? All he had to do was say the word and she would stay.
Helen, you're wrong, he could say. You should never have gone.
Or he might say, Helen, I love you. I never stopped loving you.
But he said none of those things.
Silence. It filled her until she wanted to scream.
Brick's eyes became shuttered, his face closed. What was he thinking?
Barb Gladly.
How could Helen have forgotten about Brick's fiancée? Mentally, she upbraided herself. In the heat of passion and the euphoria of finally getting an old burden off her chest, she'd almost made a fool of herself over her ex-husband.
She wouldn't be caught doing that again. A few more days of rehearsal, then the play, and Helen would be out of New Hampshire and out of Brick Sullivan's sight.
"I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm starving. I think I'll go up to the house and see if there's anything to eat."
She was almost out the stage door before Brick spoke.
"A little chocolate cake, maybe?"
Passion hit her full force. She squeezed her hands into fists and kept on walking.
That was another thing. From now on she wouldn't miss any meals.
She didn't dare get trapped in the kitchen with Brick again. The next time she might not be able to escape.
EIGHT
What next? Brick wondered. They couldn't go back and they couldn't seem to go forward.
He loved her. There was no question about that. He'd never stopped loving her. But even if he decided to
try and win her back, where were the guarantees that she wouldn't run away again? Admitting why she had run was not the same as saying, I would never make that mistake again.
"Shoot!" He'd buttoned his shirt wrong. Helen was even interfering with his ability to dress. He rebuttoned it and left the room.
As he descended the staircase for lunch he saw Barb waiting for him at the foot of the stairs.
"Hi, Brick." She laced her arm through his, then leaned closer to whisper, "Everything all right?"
"Everything is just fabulous."
His smile was an even bigger lie.
Brick Sullivan. Actor.
Helen forced herself to eat. One bite at a time. When the food wouldn't go down, she forced it with big drinks of water.
Across the table Brick seemed perfectly oblivious to her turmoil. His head was never far from Barb's; his smile was only for her.
Helen might never have confessed a single thing for all Brick cared.
Well, so be it. She had a life.
Didn't she?
The gym at Farnsworth Manor was fully equipped with the best machines money could buy. The exercise machines were in a carpeted area in the center of a track that was a tenth of a mile long. The weights were positioned along a wall of mirrors, and beyond them was a heated pool.
Helen stood on the diving board poised to jump. Matt Rider sat on the edge of the pool with his feet in the water. When Helen dived, he didn't even get wet.
He gave a satisfied nod. He could take credit for her form and style. He'd been her personal trainer for the last seven years. No other actress he knew had Helen's stamina. Certainly none of them had her body. She was in tip-top shape, each muscle beautifully sculpted, not one ounce of body fat, not one inch of sag.
"Water feels good, Matt." Helen bobbed beside him, treading water. "Why don't you come on in?"
"Nope. I'm saving my strength."
Helen didn't inquire why. He liked that about her. She was friendly without being nosy.
He was saving his strength for Barb. Now there was a woman. The experts would have said she had too much fat around her thighs and waist, but Matt was wild about every inch of her. (Love handles, she called her slight paunch.)
She'd get no argument from him. Content, he watched Helen make another lap of the pool.
"Five more minutes, Helen, then I'll do the massage."
"Fifteen, Matt."
"Ten at the most. I don't want you to overdo it."
"Okay."
She was pushing herself. It didn't take a genius to guess the cause.
The door at the end of the gym swung open, and the cause walked through. Brick Sullivan paused in the open doorway to assess the situation, then headed straight to the pool.
Helen was making her turn when he mounted the diving board.
"What are you doing here?" She caught the edge of the pool to anchor herself.
"I'm going to take a swim."
"The pool is occupied."
"It looks big enough for two."
"It's big enough for two, but I'm doing my laps."
"You do your laps and I'll do mine, Helen. And never the twain shall meet."
"You've got that right."
Matt watched the exchange with lively interest. After this morning's rehearsal, everybody at the theater had been making bets as to how soon the Sullivans would be back together again. He had bet by nightfall. The onstage kiss had made it seem like a sure thing.
And yet, they'd acted so cool to each other over lunch, you'd have thought they were sworn enemies. To make matters worse, Brick had been unusually attentive to Barb. It had taken all Matt's willpower to keep his silence.
Brick sliced into the water in a perfect dive. Matt had been his trainer, too, before the breakup.
He scooted back from the edge of the pool so he could have a panoramic view. He didn't want to miss a single thing between the warring Sullivans.
Brick cut through the water with the speed of a dolphin. Helen passed him going the other way. They barely looked at each other.
At opposite ends of the pool, they turned and headed toward each other. Matt noticed the space between them narrowing. When they met in the middle of the pool, Brick was close enough to brush against Helen.
"You're too close," she said. "Sorry. It was an accident."
"Well, don't let it happen again." Brick didn't look sorry at all. He looked pleased. Matt knew him well enough to know that Brick Sullivan never did things by accident. Every move he made was as carefully staged as one of his Shakespearean plays.
Instead of swimming all the way to the end of the pool, Brick turned and swam in Helen's direction. She was a strong swimmer. He didn't overtake her until they had reached the end of the pool.
She clung to the edge, treading water. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked. "Swimming."
"Couldn't you do it at the other end of the pool?"
"What's the matter, Helen?" Brick trapped her from behind, bracing his arms on either side of her. "Do I bother you?"
"What makes you say a silly thing like that?"
"Methinks the wench protests too much."
"This is not a Shakespearean play, Brick Sullivan. This happens to be my workout time, which you have managed to send into total disarray."
"There are other ways to work out, Helen."
"Why don't you try some of them, then?"
"You want to know one of my favorites?"
"No."
"My favorite workout is making love. Did I ever tell you making love for an hour is the equivalent of jogging five miles?"
Except for the color that crept into Helen's face, she showed no sign of being flustered. Matt had to admire her. She was as good an actress offstage as she was on.
And he knew full well she was acting. He'd been with her too long not to understand her moods.
"Why don't you tell that to someone who is interested, Brick? Your fiancée, for instance?"
Helen lifted herself out of the pool and reached for her towel.
"I'm ready for that massage now, Matt."
Matt stood up. As much as he hated to see what was happening between two people he really liked, he had no choice but to do Helen's bidding. After all, she was his sole employer now.
He looked in Brick's direction. "Take care of yourself," he said.
Brick merely nodded.
Just before Matt followed Helen through the broad double doors, he looked back at the pool. Brick was still in the deep end, treading water.
Brick decided he might have to tread water the rest of his life. He was certainly in over his head, and it was all his fault.
Helen had every right to be mad. He'd acted like a fool at lunch, hanging on Barb's every word, hovering over her like a goose over a lost gosling.
What had possessed him?
A coward. That's what he was. He had taken the path of least resistance. Somehow it was easier to play out the game than to confront Helen with his truth.
He hefted himself out of the pool and shook the water out of his hair. He felt waterlogged. Burying his head in the towel, he massaged his hair. He hadn't wanted to swim in the first place. He'd just wanted to be near Helen.
The doors to the gymn opened once more, and Barb came through. In her hot-pink swimsuit and backless high heels, she looked like a pinup girl from one of those old World War II posters.
"Hiya, Brick. Where's Matt?"
"Matt?"
"Yeah, Matt."
"He's gone to give Helen a massage."
"Oh…"
Barb plopped herself by the side of the pool and wrapped her arms around her knees. She looked like a forlorn little girl whose lollipop had been stolen.
"The water's nice," he said. "Aren't you going in?"
"Nah. I don't think so." Barb inspected her long red fingernails, then looked up and contemplated the skylights for a while. "Do you know when he'll be coming back?"
"Who?"
"Matt. Jeez, Brick. Som
etimes you can be so dense."
Brick came around the side of the pool and plopped down beside her.
"You got all dressed up in that outfit to come down here and see Matt?"
"Bingo. Give the man a cigar." Barb clapped her hands, then folded them once more around her knees. "We've been seeing each other on the sly."
Things were worse than Brick had thought. Not only had he put his own life in a tangle, but he'd also complicated the lives of two very fine people. He reached over and patted Barb's knee.
"I'm sorry, Barb. I've been so wrapped up in my own problems, I didn't take the time to notice anybody else."
"That's all right, Brick."
"No. It's not all right." He stood up. "It's time to straighten out this mess."
"What are you going to do?"
"Tell Helen the truth."
"About us?"
"Yes. Why should you and Matt have to sneak around pretending, just because I can't get my act together?"
"You'd do that for me?"
He leaned down and kissed her cheek.
"For me and you both, Barb."
Helen lay on her stomach with her face pressed into her crossed arms. Her head was wrapped turban style, and a long fluffy towel was drapped loosely over her body.
Matt stood with his back to the door, bent over Helen. Brick could hear the soft splat of his hands against her naked back.
It was time.
Taking a deep breath, he approached the table… softly so Helen wouldn't hear. He tapped Matt on the shoulder.
Matt whirled around, and Brick put one hand on his lips. With the other he handed Matt a note.
"Barb is waiting for you in the gym," it read. "I'll take over Helen's massage. Brick."
Grinning, Matt stepped aside, and Brick slipped into his place.
"Matt?" Helen's voice sounded tired.
"Hmmm?" Brick said.
"Use some more oil. My skin feels dry."
As Brick reached for the oil, Matt slipped through the door. Brick warmed the oil in his palms, then flattened them on Helen's back. She flexed her shoulders and made soft humming sounds of satisfaction.
In slow, sweeping movements, Brick worked the oil into her skin.
"Hmmm. Good," she said. "I like that touch."