Night Moves (60th Anniversary)

by Heather Graham

  “What?” she demanded in an impatient murmur. The others were still talking, not noticing them—she hoped.

  “Nothing, Miss Keller, nothing at all.”

  “Then would you quit looking at me like that?” she whispered.

  “Like what?”

  “Like…”

  “Like you’re playing stupid games? Dirk Hammarfield is married, you know. And I know that even a ‘perfectionist’ doesn’t need to take that many rolls of film to come up with a good shot.”

  “First of all,” Bryn replied in a heated whisper, glad that he hadn’t seen her with the personable golfer, as well, “if Dirk Hammarfield is married, that’s just wonderful. Secondly, all I was trying to do was make sure that you would be pleased—”

  “Like hell!” he interrupted impatiently.

  “I—”

  “You’re a coward, Bryn. The worst sort. You’re afraid of me, and instead of facing the real reasons, you feel compelled to attack. Don’t bother. And don’t feel that you have to make a fool of yourself with another man because of me. We’ll keep this strictly business. You don’t even have to develop the damn prints. Just get me the proof sheets and the negatives and I’ll handle the rest. And don’t worry about your paycheck. It won’t suffer any.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Worried about your paycheck? Oh, yes, you were. But that’s all right. I understand.”

  “No you don’t, you insufferable bastard!”

  Why, oh, why, did she let him goad her? Was it because she saw the fury flashing in his eyes even as he kept his voice discreetly soft? Or because she couldn’t help watching his throat, handsomely bronze, where his pulse beat so strongly?

  He stood up, ignoring the food that had been placed before him, his only reply a curt nod. “I think Bryn has decided to call it quits for the day, guys. She can always take some individual close-ups at the house. I’ve got some things to do. Excuse me, will you? I’ll see you all at the house tonight for practice.”

  He started to walk away. The others called out cheerfully, “See you later!” and waved him on.

  Bryn swallowed nervously, then stood to follow him. “Lee!”

  He paused, turning back to her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” It wasn’t an apology; it was a statement of fact. And again he seemed impatient.

  “Damn you! You don’t know what it’s like to…to be entirely responsible to others.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Bryn,” he said tiredly. “I’ve had my share of— Oh, never mind. That’s why I really don’t pressure you. I can’t make you take a chance on living. That has to be entirely your decision—”

  Bryn was startled when he suddenly broke off, staring pensively beyond her.

  “Lee?” Shivers ripplied along her spine as she watched him. He had gone rigidly tense…as if he were waiting, ready to spring….

  “Lee?”

  Someone was watching them, Lee thought, curiously at first, and then tensely. Someone from the brush beyond the terrace. Imagination, he tried to tell himself. But it wasn’t his imagination. He knew when he was being watched….

  He placed his hands on Bryn’s shoulders to brush past her and find out why he was being covertly stared at. But he never took a step.

  Whomever it had been left with a hurried rustle of the brush.

  He turned back to Bryn quickly. “Want to come home with me and have a glass of wine?”

  “No…I…”

  “Fine. You’ve got a day off tomorrow, but see if you can’t get me the proofs by midday. Just get them to Barbara; she can bring them to my house.”

  He turned and left her. Bryn bit her lip and walked miserably back to the table. She tried to find some enthusiasm for her crab cocktail, but she could only pick at it. Thirty minutes later she excused herself. She would be able to pick up the boys a little early.

  * * *

  Lee hadn’t left the club.

  Slunk low in the seat of his beige Olds wagon, he waited patiently on a hunch.

  He watched Bryn’s van pull out of the club parking lot. His eyes narrowed, and his brow creased into a frown as a dark sedan pulled out after her.

  He twisted his keys in the ignition and turned the wagon to follow the sedan.

  Rush hour traffic had begun, and he was forced to swerve between lanes as he followed the two vehicles. He had fallen behind when Bryn reached the day-care center, but he arrived just in time to see her enter the flow of traffic again.

  The dark sedan was still between them.

  He knew the streets to Bryn’s house, but traffic became worse and worse. A gas truck cut him off at the next corner, and he was swearing softly as he tried to catch up again.

  When he reached Bryn’s house she was apparently already inside with the boys.

  And the dark sedan was burning rubber to make a hasty retreat down the street.

  CHAPTER 5

  For some mysterious reason the boys opted to behave like angels that night. Bryn decided that God was real and occasionally showed mercy to the weary.

  She had them fed, bathed and in bed by eight o’clock, and as soon as the last little forehead had been kissed, she rushed back down the stairs and called Barbara. The answering machine came on, and Bryn started to swear softly, only to hear Barbara’s chuckling after the recorded message had beeped away.

  “Temper, temper, honey! What is the problem?”

  “I want to run this film out to be developed tonight, Barb. I hate to ask you this, but the kids are all asleep. Do you think you’d mind stopping by and watching them for just a few minutes?”

  “Bryn, I wouldn’t mind in the least, whether they were awake or asleep. But I’ve got a show tonight. No vacation till next week.”

  “Oh!” Bryn moaned with dismay.

  “Why are you sending it out? You always develop your own. ‘Half the art,’ remember?”

  “Yeah, but not with these. Condor just wants the proofs and negatives—ASAP. And I’m exhausted. I just don’t think that I could stand to do them tonight.” She didn’t want to do them. She wanted them out of her way; she just wanted to wash her hands of the whole deal.

  Barbara hesitated a minute. “Having trouble with him?”

  “Lee? We just don’t seem to get on well.”

  “That’s foolish, Bryn. The man admires you so much.”

  “He told me he wants the proofs, Barb. Period.”

  Barbara sighed. “It’s all in your attitude, Bryn. And I don’t see what for. He’s charming. A bit remote at times, a little stern, but always courteous. A little scary with that kind of silent strength, but I think that just adds to the sexuality—and sensuality!—of the man. And he’s really such a wonderful human being.”

  “Barbara!” Bryn groaned. She thought that if she heard any more praise of the man when she would truly love to break a drum over his head, she would start screaming and go mad. “Please, I work with him all day. Don’t make me hear about him all night.”

  There was silence on the wire, and then she heard Barbara sigh. “Okay, you two are adults. I’ll drop it. And listen. I can’t sit for you, but how about this? Tell me where you want the film taken and I’ll run it by.”

  “Will you? Bless you Barb! It needs to go to Kelly’s Kodak. I’ll call Kelly, and he’ll be expecting you. Thanks, Barabara. Thanks so much. I’m sure I can get them back tomorrow, give them to you to deliver and be done with the whole thing!”

  “Hmm,” Barbara replied enigmatically. “I’ll be by in ten minutes. I’ll beep; just run out to the car, okay?”

  “You got it! Bless you!”

  Bryn hung up the phone, then hurriedly called Kelly Crane, the owner of a small camera shop who had helped her out a number of times. He groaned when she said she wanted the proofs by the next day, then woefully told her that he had no hot dates that night anyway. She thanked him, carefully bagged all her film and waited for Barbara’s beep. Ten minutes on the dot, Barbara dro
ve away while Bryn was still thanking her.

  The night had gone so well at first that Bryn could barely believe it was already eleven o’clock when she finished arranging clothes and lunches for the next day. She hopped quickly in and out of the shower, then decided that a glass of wine along with the news might help her sleep.

  But the news wasn’t conducive to sleep. The local segment dealt with all the excitement at the Timberlane Country Club.

  How had she missed all the media people, she wondered.

  The first story was on Dirk Hammarfield. He was shown with his wife—a chubby little brunette—smiling that famous smile. He was applauded for being a wonderful family man, a true “American Hero,” living the all-American dream. The newscaster announced that there were rumors regarding his associations with a number of the big gambling concerns, but apparently those associations were all aboveboard. Gambling was legal in Nevada.

  Bryn began to gnaw on her lip as the next film turned out to be of Lee Condor busily signing autographs and laughing with real humor as he tousled a small boy’s hair as he signed an album cover.

  The newscaster gushed over Lee even more than Barbara had. Bryn was tempted to throw something at her televison, but thanks to some dubious sense of maturity, she knew she’d only break her TV.

  Mick Jagger, Michael Jackson and the Beach Boys all rolled into one. Traces of Willie Nelson and Paul Anka. He topped the charts along with Duran, Duran, The Police, etc. etc.

  Bryn stood up, ready to change the channel; then she paused, because the story switched to Mike Winfeld, the man who had taken the PGA tournament and added two hundred fifty thousand dollars to his winnings.

  Not a bad reason for chasing a little white ball all around a green field, Bryn thought dryly.

  She started to sit again, but froze instead. The picture of Winfeld had her in it, smiling away, flushing and handing him her business card.

  With a groan she sank back into the sofa.

  If Lee Condor watched the news tonight he would really be on her case. Flirting with a married politician, then with a championship golfer. Oh, God.

  “Oh, what difference does it make?” she groaned aloud. Wasn’t that what she wanted? To make it clear that she did like people—men in general—not just him?

  Bryn flicked off the television, checked the doors and climbed the stairs to her room. With determination she got into her bed and curled into a comfortable position. Sleep, sleep, she had to sleep, she was so tired….

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his eyes when they met hers… About his hands… About the size and strength of his naked shoulders and chest as he hammered away at the drums with perfect rhythm and haunting power…

  * * *

  The man appeared at her front door just as she threw it open to usher the kids out to the van.

  She stared at him blankly for a moment, frowned and then smiled reflexively as he greeted her with a broad grin and a friendly, “Good morning! Miss Keller, I believe.”

  “I, uh, yes, I’m Bryn Keller. I’m in a bit of a hurry though. If I can help you…?”

  “Well, I’m hoping I can help you.”

  “Who is it? Who is it?” Brian demanded, trying to push his way past her. Bryn caught the top of his head with the palm of her hand and pushed him back behind her.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked, curiously assessing the stranger. He was medium height and of medium build. His hair was neither dark nor light, nor were his eyes any particular color. They were kind of an opaque gray. He might have been thirty or forty or even older. He was dressed in brown slacks and a short-sleeved tan shirt.

  “Well, I’d like to buy something you have.”

  “Buy something? I’m afraid I haven’t got anything of value.”

  He laughed easily. “Value, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. I can see you’re in a hurry, so I’ll get right to the point. I know you took a bunch of pictures of Lee Condor yesterday. I’m one hell of a fan of his! I’m prepared to pay you five thousand dollars, but I want the lot of them. For a private collection, you know.”

  “Five thousand…” Bryn echoed, frowning with incredulity. If she believed for one moment that this idiot might be serious, she could be well tempted. But he wasn’t serious. And besides, she thought uneasily, even if he was, she didn’t think she would dare, no matter how tempting his offer. Lee owned those pictures, and all rights to them. It was stated in the contract. And she still thought of him as having the potential to be a dangerous man. A very dangerous man. She wouldn’t want to cross him in a business deal.

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid even if you offered me half of Tahoe I’d still have to turn it down. Lee Condor owns those pictures.”

  The stranger’s smile turned to an ugly scowl. “You’re being a fool, you know. Just tell him that the film was overexposed or something and you can find yourself quite a bit richer.”

  “Nice thought,” Bryn said wearily, “but sorry. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  The boys had all grouped behind her. Bryn allowed them to push through so that, between the four of them, the annoying stranger was pushed off the porch. She hurried the boys into the van and hopped into the driver’s seat, waving to the man who still stood watching them. “I hope I locked the door,” she murmured absently.

  “You did, Aunt Bryn,” Keith assured her. “I saw you.”

  “Good,” she murmured back. “Thanks, Keith.”

  A few minutes later she forgot the episode. Traffic was at its horrendous best. She was still thinking about the pictures, but she was thinking that she wanted to get to Kelly’s as fast as she could, pick up the proofs and dump them into Barbara’s hands. One headache out of the way!

  * * *

  Kelly had the proofs ready. He was a lanky young man who looked more like fifteen than twenty-five, but Bryn was always thankful that she had stumbled on him a year ago. When she found herself in a jam, he was great—and more, he was talented.

  “These are only proofs, of course, Bryn, but I think you’re going to have some great shots. The backgrounds are wonderful. Looks like you managed to avoid any flaws. And Condor, what an interesting subject! I’d love to photograph him. All this commerical stuff, you usually get ‘pretty boys.’ Condor’s face has such character. A painter would go crazy with him.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Kelly. I hope I did get some good shots. Well, let me pay you.”

  “Only a few of the backgrounds will give you problems, and those will be so minimal that—”

  “Kelly! Please! I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this rush job, but I’m still in a hurry!” She wasn’t really—she had the day off—but she didn’t want to talk about Lee.

  “Okay, Bryn, let me just tally you up. And hey…I really don’t mind the rush at all. Just remember me when you get rich and famous, okay?”

  “It’s a promise, Kelly. But I don’t think either of us should hold our breath!”

  After she had paid Kelly and left the camera shop, Bryn forced herself to stop in a corner restaurant and circle the shots she liked best on the proof sheets while she sipped two cups of coffee and consumed a slightly rubbery grilled-cheese sandwich. By one o’clock she had dropped the large envelope at Barbara’s office, and by two o’clock she was home. She did a load of laundry, and while it went through she studiously exercised—not so much because she felt she couldn’t afford a day of rest, but because she thought the strenuous activity might erase Condor from her mind.

  But an hour’s work didn’t help, and when she had switched the laundry from the washer to the dryer, she hurried over to the complex pool and tried swimming. That didn’t help either.

  But the kids did. They were thrilled to see her pick them up early again, and she found herself giving the afternoon over to them. They made a huge batch of chocolate chip cookies and ate them while she read a space story out loud. The cookies left them all too stuffed for a big dinner, so Bryn—bemoaning her lack of expertise
as a dietician—decided they would have a huge salad for dinner, with apples for dessert. It went well, and she felt as if she had semi-succeeded in being a decent parent by the time she tucked her three charges into bed.

  At nine the phone rang. It was Barbara, calling quickly before starting work. The proofs and negatives had been turned over to Lee; he had said little, but seemed pleased enough.

  “See you tomorrow!” Barbara said, ringing off.

  Tomorrow—another grueling day with the drum-beating sadist!

  Bryn forced herself into bed early. She was pleasantly exhausted and fairly relaxed, or so she thought.

  She did fall asleep. She knew she had fallen asleep easily because her dreams awoke her with such a shattering clarity.

  She had not just dreamed of his eyes, or his hands, or his shoulders.

  She had dreamed of being with him. Lying beside him, naked, feeling him touch her all over…

  She awoke shaking, shivering, covered with a fine sheen of perspiration, and feeling as if she were on fire.

  “Oh, my God, I need a psychiatrist!” she moaned softly to the night. But she didn’t need a psychiatrist, and she knew it. Whether she liked it or not, she was attracted to Lee Condor. And it was very normal. He was an extremely sensual man, and his aura of tension and strength was enhanced by the power of his character. No one who knew him would ever forget him.

  Nibbling absently on her lower lip, Bryn hugged her pillow and came to a sad realization. She was capable of independence, but she missed loving, and she missed sharing. When she had been with Joe, she had given him her whole heart. Loyalty hadn’t been a virtue for her, it had been her nature. And caring that way, she had been able to give so freely….

  Bryn tossed about, burying her head in the pillow. She wanted Condor. More than she had ever wanted Joe. But Joe had loved her, or at least at the time she had believed that he did. Completely. And sex was the strangest thing. She had friends who thought a woman was crazy not to enjoy a lot of experience before settling down. Bare acquaintances went to bed together nightly by the hundreds or thousands, she assumed. But to her it was all so intimate. It meant a bond between two people. Condor probably didn’t want bonds, and she didn’t want to be bonded to Condor. Not in any way.