The Driftwood Dragon

by Ann Charlton

  And so the evening went. Darlings and honeys and extravagant praise, sarcastic witticisms. A woman got up and sang, unasked and unaccompanied and for the most, unapplauded. A male guest wandered in wearing only drawstring shorts and body paint.

  Locke stayed with Dru, the picture of the attentive husband. But she and everyone else she supposed, knew that he wanted to make sure his wife and his mistress didn't get together. But they did anyway.

  Dru was in the guest room touching up her makeup when Sandy came in. There were two other women there too. They glanced apprehensively from the model to Dru.

  'Oh my God,' Sandy cried at her own image in the mirror, 'I look ghastly.' Which was something of a put on. She looked fantastic and knew it.

  'I should look so ghastly,' one of the other women murmured. Sandy brushed pastel colour on to her cheeks and smiled at Dru in the mirror. There was a noticeable gleam in her eyes. 'This must all seem so strange to you, Dru. This kind of party I mean.'

  'Not really. I went to the circus a few times as a child.'

  The other women smiled. Sandy paid some attention to her eyes, using another tiny brush to apply blue shadow.

  'I mean—you must feel a bit like Cinderella, marrying someone like Locke.' She gave a merry little laugh. 'You'd be wondering all the time if midnight was going to strike.'

  'Well, she might apply her make-up with tiny little brushes Dru thought, but she used a shovel for her spite. It was cheering to know that Sandy was jealous. Ironic too.

  'Why should I worry about midnight?' she grinned. 'When it strikes I get to go home with Prince Charming.'

  Sandy had to do her lips twice before she left. The other women followed. 'Bravo, Cinderella,' one of them said.

  But her defences were getting ragged. Dru delayed her departure as long as she could. When she went out and saw Locke's red-brown head above the others on the terrace, and a pastel blonde one nearby, she turned tiredly away from the party into quieter corridors. She stopped for a time in front of the triptych of Locke. Eric was an art and celebrity collector, host and jet-setter. Without Locke he would still live well—Eric would always do that she thought—but he would be on the fringes, the outskirts of the business he seemed to love. Locke looked down from the wall, his magnificent physique sexy in the tattered shirt. Was that why Eric didn't want his brother to turn down his macho starring roles and the television series?

  She moved on, went into a sunroom furnished with lacquered Chinese couches. On the wall were shelves filled with beautiful, natural treasures. A split thunder egg, its agate core polished to a marble sheen, a burst of amethyst, sea-shells and urchins. Dru picked up a shell and ran a finger along its smooth, high-gloss curve.

  So many years of playing similar roles had eaten away at Locke's confidence to do anything else and it looked as if Eric had played on it. When the signs of restlessness became all too dangerous had he arranged the sop of the lightweight stage role in Man Alive? If so, it could have been a mistake. Locke's ability in comedy had received some attention since then. The image of the Ransome Man had been shrugged off a little with that exposure. And with the acquisition of a wife. Dru gazed unseeingly at the shelves. A wife who unwittingly bolstered the star's attempts to break away from the big time and the big money if necessary to do the work he wanted. Less money. How astonished, how upset Eric had been at the thought. How quickly he had hidden his annoyance when Locke had shown his respect for his wife's opinion. Eric, she thought, was over-estimating her influence. Locke had been discontented and ready to change direction before she met him. The important thing was that Eric must have seen her as a catalyst. For it was plain now that he had taken steps to sour the growing understanding in their marriage. Nothing much—little things. But effective in a marriage even more infant than Eric knew. A word here. A hint there. Consolation that always left her feeling inadequate and suspicious. The Santa Monica house offered at first and withdrawn after he found out that she was not the mouse he thought, so that Locke went to Hollywood alone after all. Eric, late at the airport so that she had to deal with the press alone, hinting that Locke had arranged for Mort to advise her on her appearance. Eric forgetting to tell her to dress for a pool party, Eric disputing the facts about Sandy and Locke in a dressing room, yet encouraging the conversation he knew she must overhear.

  Dru stared at the golden shell in her hand. At least she knew that was the truth. Eric might have made sure she overheard all about Sandy but he wasn't fabricating the story. Locke himself had corroborated that with his evasions over the phone calls.

  'It's a Golden Cowrie,' Locke said behind her and she swung around, startled. 'Van collects shells and all these other things,' he gestured at the shelves, then took the Cowrie from her to put it back. 'Dru,' he said taking her hands, 'I'm sorry about Sandy. When she kept phoning the apartment I meant to tell you but you assumed it was a man and I let you because— well, because I didn't want to have to explain. You're always so sarcastic about my…'

  'Women?' she pulled her hands free.

  'It was over between us before I met you.'

  'Judging by the phone calls she doesn't know that.'

  'She knew. We did have a brief…'

  'Affair?'

  He took her shoulders in an angry grip. 'It's over, just in case you're imagining otherwise. Finished. Sandy is spoiled rotten and doesn't like to give up her—'

  'Playthings?'

  He shook her. 'I swear, Dru, I'll put you over my knee again if you keep this up. I didn't lie to you, I merely let you make your own assumptions that Sandy was a man.'

  He really wanted to convince her. Locke must want to hang on to his new domestic image. A divorce too soon would turn him right back into the Ransome Man.

  'I made another assumption too and I'll bet I'm right about this one. I assume that Sandy was the "old friend" you stayed on to see in Melbourne.'

  He stared at her. 'What?'

  'Harve Randall mentioned you and your old friend in his column three days ago. Quite a coincidence that you were in Melbourne at the same time, he said.'

  'But he didn't mention the friend's name,' Locke said slowly.

  'Lucky weren't you?'

  'I stayed on to see Hal Spencer,' he said sharply. 'We were at NIDA together. Hal's been looking for a break and I happened to know that the Ramage producers had considered him for my part originally. Eric had the negotiations practically concluded when I decided I definitely didn't want Ramage again in a big way. I ran into Hal and wondered if I couldn't turn my refusal to his benefit. I owed him a favour.' He paused. 'The show format is too popular to discard— after Eric came back here I put the proposition to them that I would contract to do several guest spots in the series if they found themselves another Ramage. It's a long shot but I was going to turn it down anyway and it might do Hal some good. Eric was upset of course, but he understood when I explained how I felt.'

  She doubted that. 'So you weren't with Sandy ?'

  'Until tonight I hadn't seen her since March.' His hands slipped down from her shoulders to grip her arms. 'Now you tell me something. If you were making assumptions about her being with me in Melbourne days ago, you had obviously already heard about her. Tonight was not the revelation I had thought. So when did you find out?'

  His green eyes were extraordinarily intent.

  'On the opening night of Man Alive—' she felt his fingers tighten. There was a sudden glitter in his eyes, 'I overheard Melanie say you'd married me as a smokescreen for your lovelife and especially for your affair with Sandy and because you'd had those phone calls, I thought she was right—'

  'Melanie's a stupid woman. And I'm an idiot.' He curved a hand to her head. 'Opening night—was that why our celebration turned out a fiasco, Dru? We were doing just fine until then. Was a bit of malicious gossip responsible for your crack about the play? And for refusing me?' His head bent, he nuzzled his way across her cheek until his lips were touching hers—

  'Was that why you let me thin
k it was him still ?

  Her lips moved to answer him but the words were lost in a kiss that went on and on… 'That champagne—is it still on ice?' he said huskily in her ear.

  'Okay, okay, break it up you two,' Eric laughed from the doorway. 'I can't have my star guest sneaking off to neck with his wife even if he is my brother.'

  'In that case, we'd better leave,' Locke said.

  Both Van and Eric saw them out. Eric gave Locke the latest publicity file of press clippings. 'See if there's anyone you want to sue this month,' he joked. 'Hey, we're going up to the reef for a few days soon. Why don't you come?'

  'Not this time,' Locke tucked the file under his arm and smiled down at Dru, 'We might sneak away alone though for a weekend. We never did finish the painting at Sea Winds.'

  'Did you enjoy your weekend up there, Dru? Was it warm enough to swim in September?' Vanessa asked.

  Dru looked blankly at the girl. How had she known about her trip away? Locke's arm stiffened at her waist. She became aware that her surprised silence might look like guilt.

  'The sea wasn't exactly warm. I would have told you I went up,' she said to Locke, 'but you made such a fuss at the idea of me staying at the beach alone.'

  'You chauvinist, Locke,' Van accused.

  'You can't play the heavy husband these days, old son. Women won't stand for it. And anyway who says she was alone?' Eric winked roguishly. 'You won't mind me saying it pet, but in the old days you looked like a girl who'd spend her time alone but now—' he leaned back, hands spread wide and admired her new look, 'Rah, rah, rah. I'll bet you just couldn't wait to go back and show them all what they missed out on. Michael for instance, eh?'

  Locke's face froze up.

  'Oh look—' Eric was all concern. 'It was a joke…'

  'Come on, Locke, just because Dru went away without telling you doesn't mean…' Van began.

  'For God's sake, Van,' Eric hissed. 'Be quiet.'

  It was artistic. Convincing. They had put their foot in it quite by accident or so it would appear to Locke. Dru didn't believe it for a moment.

  'A weekend away and you just forgot to mention it,' Locke sneered when they were in the car.

  'I didn't forget. I just didn't want to get into another argument about my being there alone.'

  'If you were alone,' he said roughly. 'And I've never noticed any reluctance on your part to get involved in arguments.'

  'Of course I was alone—don't swallow Eric's nicely planted—' she backtracked on that fast. Now was not the time to tell him that Eric was trying to break them up. She had no proof—Eric had never done or said anything in front of Locke except to elaborately defend her. Even that had been designed to make her look unsuitable, but it was all a matter of interpretation. There wasn't Dru realised dismally, a single thing she could point to that would ring true. She would merely sound neurotic, Eric would come up smelling like a rose and Locke would hate her for it.' Besides, even if she could prove his interference, how was she going to hurt Locke with it? Her mind raced. If she could just hold on, Eric would slip up and Locke would find out for himself—that would be by far the best way… 'I went to see Barry and Jan. Then I saw Gillian and hired a car and drove to the beach,' she said in a matter-of-fact voice. 'I re-painted the Sea Winds sign and—and tidied up a bit in Sam's place. I know that probably sounds stupid, but I dusted his things and swept the floor…'

  He parked the Rover and they took the elevator. Inside the apartment, Locke tossed the publicity file on to the marble coffee table, and put his hands on his hips.

  'Is it still Pennington? Did I assume too much tonight, thinking it was just jealousy about Sandy that made you reject me on opening night? Is he the reason you were reluctant to come to Hollywood with me—so that you could pretty yourself and fly up to see him?'

  'What do you mean, reluctant? I wanted to go—but when Eric wouldn't—couldn't—let us have his house, you said staying in a hotel was no good. And I thought you and Eric had decided I was too much of a risk after what I said about the play.'

  Eric, she thought. You might be asking a lot of Dru, old son, he'd probably said to Locke. She's worried sick about mixing it with the Hollywood set but doesn't like to say. Feels she might be letting you down. Better give her more time.

  'If I gave you any impression of reluctance—it was because I was jealous of Sandy—thinking of you seeing her after those late, late rehearsals and performances.'

  'Hmmph. I keep forgetting that you had that fiction on your mind.' He walked over to her, shoving his hands into his pockets. 'You had plenty of reason to believe it I guess—what with my reputation and the nature of our marriage.' He came and stood close to her and Dru's heartbeat accelerated. 'I'm jealous too, Dru,' he said softly. 'But I know that I only have to be afraid of a man you love. You aren't the kind to experiment for kicks.' He took her by the shoulders, 'So tell me you haven't seen Pennington and I can stop acting like a fool.'

  'Locke, about Michael—I don't—' love him, she wanted to say. But his grip increased and he pulled her fractionally closer.

  'Tell me,' he urged and there was a warmth and promise in his eyes that needed only a simple 'no' for release. She thought of that boring lunch with Michael at his hotel—a totally meaningless thing and weighed it against this new beginning. Later, when she had had the night to show him how much she loved him—later she could tell him what a joke that lunch had been… Dru put her arms around his neck.

  'No—I didn't see Michael, and I don't want to,' she whispered and she did what she had promised herself on the play's first night. She kissed him.

  Locke was surprised. Her lips moved on his, her tongue flicked at him and she leaned back to smile at his bemused expression. He touched her face, moved his hand to accommodate the curve of her jaw. There was a look in his eyes that awed her, delighted her. She felt beautiful.

  'You know, it's time we had that celebration,' he murmured.

  'I won't argue with that. The champagne has been on ice long enough. And so have I—'

  He bent his head and kissed her neck, inching his way to her ear. 'Let's take this nice and easy—' he said softly, '… why don't you—'

  'Slip into something comfortable?' she giggled. There was the sound of nerves in it. Locke held her close and stroked her hair.

  'Nice and easy,' he repeated in reassurance. 'I want to tell you…' He stopped and laughed, put her away from him, 'No—go and change. I'll propose a toast in a little while.' He went to his bedroom, she went to hers. The last time they would do that, Dru thought as she threw off her designer dress and tossed it on the floor. She showered, stroked on L'Air du Temps in daring places. The silk nightdress dropped over her head with a sensuous slither. Dru smiled as she tied the two sets of ribbons that closed the deep slashed front together at just two points. Soon Locke would untie them again…

  He was waiting in the lounge room. An ice bucket was on the marble slab coffee table with the unopened bottle in it. Two glasses stood beside it. Locke had his back to her. His hair was damp, his feet were bare. He wore a short robe tied at the waist. Dru stood there, marvelling at him. His legs were long and muscular and the hair on them darkened as if he had not dried them entirely. The robe clung to his buttocks and narrow hips, pulled across the flaring width of his back and shoulders.

  'I wondered what you would wear,' she said inanely and heard her voice emerge too high. 'On opening night, I tossed up between those indecent pyjama trousers, a brocade dressing gown—or…' He turned and she saw his eyes. '… nothing.'

  All the warmth had died. Locke's mouth was hard, his jaw set. As he turned all the way around she saw that he held Eric's publicity file in his hands.

  'So you didn't see Pennington,' he said and tossed the file on to a chair near her. Dru went to look at it, turning the pages until she saw it. 'Elegant Dru Matthews, wife of screen star Locke Matthews and daughter of former Olympic swimmer Wes Winters, lunching with Michael Pennington at his hotel recently…' She closed her e
yes. What timing.

  'Locke, I was going to tell you tomorrow. It didn't mean anything—I was sure you were in Melbourne with Sandy at the time.'

  'You arranged it while you were up at the beach I suppose? Where you assured me you hadn't seen him.'

  'I didn't. He wrote to me at Gillian's address. She gave me the letter and I had no intention of accepting his invitation at first…'

  'And you were going to tell me—now isn't that nice? I suppose you were going to tell me about taking off for the weekend too. How many other things might I discover that you haven't yet mentioned?'

  Dru felt cold. The magic had slipped away again.

  'It's mutual then isn't it, Locke? You didn't even tell me I was to be your second wife—you didn't bother to enlighten me as to Sandy's gender.'

  'We've been through that,' he said dismissively with an arrogant, scissor movement of his hands. 'But you and Pennington! Couldn't you resist it, Dru? Showing him what he threw away? The new elegant Dru Matthews—did he come running, Dru, to admire you now that you've acquired the glamour of being married to me?'

  That stung. As if she had no individuality of her own.

  'Naturally,' she snapped. 'Any woman chosen by the great Lothario himself has to be reconsidered as an asset—out of bed and in.'

  He grabbed her arm and yanked her to him. 'Eric's right. You've changed.'

  Dru's frustration boiled over at his brother's name.

  'Maybe you should think twice about what Eric says. If it hadn't been for him, we'd be drinking champagne and—and making love by now.'

  'Eric?' Locke repeated. She might as well have told him that the Martians had landed. 'What the hell has any of this to do with Eric?'

  'Everything,' she cried, driven by those fading images of him tenderly holding her through the night, 'He produced Sandy tonight to humiliate me and come between us, but it backfired. Instead, we reached an understanding but Eric doesn't want that. So he dropped his little bombshell about my weekend away, or got Van to drop it for him—and I'll bet it's no accident that he gave you that file just then—clever of him not to even mention the picture of me, as if he assumed you'd know all about my lunch date with another man—of course he couldn't know just what fantastic timing it was but…' she stopped. Locke was looking at her as if she was demented. Inwardly she groaned. It would sound like ravings to him. Why hadn't she kept quiet about it? 'He—he has been trying to break us up, Locke,' she felt compelled to go on now that she'd started and heard herself babbling again as she took his arm. 'If it hadn't been for Eric I wouldn't have overheard Melanie talking about you and Sandy—he tried to make me feel an outsider—and it was Eric who didn't want us to go to Hollywood together. When you came back he made me think you had been ashamed of me and asked Mort to give me a few tips—'