There was another conversation going on behind her. Bianca wanted to put her hands over her ears and scream, but she listened anyway. It was better than facing her own thoughts.
'I wish he'd make another movie,' a middle-aged woman was saying.
'Yes, it's been—how long—must be almost ten years.'
'And he only made four of them.'
The woman laughed. 'He probably made enough out of those to keep him in style the rest of his life.'
Finally, Bianca found herself inside the crowded cinema, sitting in the back row, one of the last to be admitted. The others would probably wait out there until the next show, she thought grimly as she sat rigidly in her seat. The lights dimmed, blessed darkness descended, and Bianca prepared herself for the worst as the large screen flickered into life.
It turned out to be far worse than she could possibly have anticipated, especially in view of her inexperience with the explicit nature of modern films. She sat virtually motionless through the two movies, stunned and sickened at what she saw. The whole experience was made a hundred times worse because of the magnification of the images on the screen.
In the close-ups, she could clearly see every beloved feature, even the faint stubble on his jaw and upper lip, the little dark mole on one thigh, the muscles rippling under the smooth skin as he embraced his leading lady or slowly undressed. Horrified, she watched him as he made love to the actress exactly as he had to her, never quite naked, but very near. It wasn't just the way he kissed her, open-mouthed, hungrily, or stroked the near-nude body. That was bad enough. But even worse were the little things, the way he smoothed the long blonde hair away from her forehead, or touched the pert nose with that familiar devilish grin on his face, the way he told her he wanted her, loved her, in the husky deep voice Bianca knew so well.
When it was over, she moved rigidly along with the crowd back out into the busy street. She blinked a little at the blinding sunshine, then marched determinedly across the street and past the store where she had intended to buy her wedding dress. Her wedding dress! What a joke!
She went directly to the car, got in and headed back to the beach. She felt soiled, dirty, and wanted to get as far away from that cinema as possible. Dry-eyed, with her teeth gritted together and her hands clamped on the wheel, her brain finally began to function.
It was all lies. The whole relationship was a lie. He was no better than a prostitute. That's where all the money had come from, she suddenly realised. He had sold that beautiful body, that handsome face as surely as any eager starlet on the casting couch. She shuddered in disgust now at the remembrance of his touch on her skin, his mouth on hers. She felt used, betrayed, her deepest affections poisoned. She remembered now the practised gestures and calculated poses that had struck her as being so artificial when she first met him. Why hadn't he told her? she agonised. Of course, she knew why. He was clever enough to realise that she would react in exactly the way she had. Still, he should have told her, at least prepared her. It was cruel to find out this way, and even if she could forgive him for what he had done in the past, she hated him for deceiving her.
By the time she arrived back at Laura's house she was shaking so badly that she was afraid she wouldn't be able to walk from the car to the house. Her one fear was that she would have to confront Gerry before she could get her things together and get far away. She glanced at her watch. It was a little past one o'clock. He wouldn't start calling her for another hour at least, when she didn't show up at the courthouse. Plenty of time, but she'd have to move fast.
She went straight to her bedroom, pulled down a suitcase from the wardrobe shelf and began to throw in the bare necessities. Her mind was working now with cold efficiency, her one aim to get out of California and back home as fast as possible. She called the airport and made a reservation on the late afternoon flight to New York. She would arrange later for Tom to pick up Laura's car and take care of Midnight for her.
When she had finished packing, she moved swiftly from room to room, checking taps, closing windows, straightening up as best she could. Mechanically, she stripped the bed she and Gerry had slept in last night, almost physically ill at the sight of it. It seemed she could still smell his masculine fragrance there, still see the indentation of his head on the pillow.
On her way to the laundry room with the sheets, she heard the doorbell ring. She stopped short. It was not quite two. It couldn't be Gerry. He was at the courthouse by now. Besides, he always came to the back door,. She decided to answer it in the hope it might be Tom responding to her call that morning. Her plane left at four. Maybe he could take her to the airport and she wouldn't have to leave Laura's car there.
She set the sheets down, ran to the front door and opened it. Gerry was standing there, a worried frown on his face. She was so surprised to see him that for one split second she could only stare.
'Bianca,' he said, 'what's wrong? I was driving by on my way downtown to meet you and I saw your car…'
Then, instinctively, she started to slam the door shut in his face. She couldn't bear the sight of him. But he was too quick for her, and had reached out swiftly to hold the door open. She pushed frantically on it, but he was too strong for her. For a moment, they simply stood there staring at each other, his expression stunned under her furious glare.
'Bianca…' he began again.
'Get out!' she spat at him. 'Get out of my house! Get out of my life!'
Still, he held the door open. His face was ashen, all the colour drained out of it, his lips tight and pinched. A pulse throbbed violently at his temple as he struggled to grasp what was going on. Then, with a mighty shove, he pushed the door open all the way, nearly knocking her off-balance, and stepped inside.
He closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, his eyes downcast, his mouth trembling, his shoulders slumped. She stood facing him holding her arms rigid at her sides with her hands balled into white-knuckled fists. The silence between them was electric. Her one thought was to get him out of here.
Finally, with a sigh, he raised his head and gave her a long look, his dark eyes filled with pain. 'You know,' he said quietly.
'Yes. I know,' she ground out.
'How did you find out?'
'What difference does it make? I saw you, that's all that matters.' She narrowed her eyes at him and her voice rose almost out of control. 'I saw you, Gerry, up on the silver screen, larger than life.' She laughed hysterically. 'The great lover himself. I see now where you learned all those clever tricks you used on me.'
'Bianca,' he groaned, 'don't. Please don't. That was a long time ago. I love you. I want to marry you.'
'Marry you!' she shouted. She knew her fury was reaching the limits of control, but she couldn't stop herself. He had wounded her to her very soul, cheapened beyond repair what had been between them, and all she wanted now was to lash out at him, to hurt him as deeply as he had hurt her.
He took a step towards her, and she shrank back from him. 'Don't come near me. Don't touch me. I don't ever want to see you or hear from you again. You're—you're nothing but a prostitute.'
His head snapped back at that, as though she had struck him. His eyes narrowed menacingly and he raised a hand in the air as if to ward off the dreadful accusation. She gazed with satisfaction at him and folded her arms in front of her, a look of scathing contempt on her face.
'Now, will you go?' she bit out.
He looked at her. 'You won't even let me explain?' he said quietly.
'Gerry, I saw everything. I spent the morning at the great Gerald Richards Festival.' She laughed hollowly. '"The Sex Symbol of the Seventies", that's you.' Her eyes narrowed. 'You've made a mockery of everything that was between us, made it cheap and dirty. I don't ever want to see you again. Just the sight of you sickens me and reminds me of my own stupid gullibility.'
'All right, Bianca,' he said at last. 'I can see there's no point in trying to reach you now. But you're wrong, you know. That's all in the past. It's
over, has been for years.' The look in the dark eyes intensified. 'What happened between us wasn't cheap, wasn't dirty. It was real. It was beautiful. In time you'll forget…'
'I'll never, never forget,' she said in a dead, even tone of absolute finality. 'Now, will you please just go.'
'All right. I'll go. But I'll be back, and when you're calmer we can talk about it. Sleep on it, and I'll see you tomorrow.'
He turned to go, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Tomorrow she would be safe in New York, with thousands of miles between them, but she wasn't going to tell him that. He still didn't understand. She watched as he opened the door, holding her breath until he slowly stepped over the threshold.
He turned around, however, at the last minute, and gave her a long penetrating look. 'While you're thinking things over, Bianca,' he said calmly, 'you might ask yourself what the difference is between what I did in my films and what you did in the restaurant.'
With that he was gone, and the door closed firmly behind him. Trembling uncontrollably, Bianca closed her eyes and blindly reached out a hand to brace herself against the wall. The encounter had shaken her badly. She had hoped to avoid it, but now that it was over, she could let go. Gradually, a sense of relief began to replace her distress. It was final, done.
She opened her eyes and reached down to pick up the sheets she had dropped. Still feeling a little weak and giddy, she slowly carried them back to the laundry room. Gerry's parting remark still on her mind, How could he compare the two situations? she thought in disgust. Her appearance at the restaurant and his suggestive roles in the films she had seen were not even remotely similar. And he had had the nerve to lose his temper over the episode with the drunk that night!
Angrily, she threw the sheets into the washing machine. She didn't want to leave even a trace of him or their lovemaking behind. She began to stride purposefully back to the bedroom when the telephone rang. She hesitated. Would he be calling her so soon? She just wouldn't answer it. Then she thought, it might be Tom. She'd better see. If it turned out to be Gerry, she'd just hang up on him. She went into the living room and picked up the receiver.
'Hello,' she said cautiously.
'Bianca,' came Tom's voice. 'I got your message. What's up?'
She sank down on to a nearby chair, so relieved to hear the familiar comforting voice that her knees were suddenly weak. Then she remembered that the reason she had called him that morning in the first place was to tell him she was getting married. What a farce! It seemed now like another lifetime instead of just a few hours ago.
Her mind raced. She'd have to tell Tom something. She needed his help, and owed him some explanation. Bracing herself, she drew in a deep breath to steady her nerves and plunged ahead.
'Tom, I've got to leave for New York right away, and I was wondering if you could look after a few things here for me.'
'What's wrong?' came his concerned voice. 'Not the family, I hope.'
'No, nothing like that. I'll explain later. Right now I've got a four o'clock plane to catch, and I need your help.'
'I'll be right over,' he said firmly.
'Oh, no, Tom. I couldn't ask you…'
'You're not asking,' he broke in. 'I'm telling you. Just sit tight. I'm only fifteen minutes away. There's plenty of time to get you to the airport by four.'
She hated to impose on him, but after they hung up she had to admit it did solve a lot of her problems. By the time she had put Laura's car in the garage and collected her suitcase, handbag and violin case, she heard Tom drive up in front. She ran out to meet him before he could get out of the car. She didn't want to run the slightest risk of Gerry seeing them and getting even an inkling of what was going on.
On the way to the airport she went down the list with Tom of what needed to be done in her absence, including calling Madame Tedescu, and he listened carefully while he drove, nodding and agreeing to each item. She could tell he was curious about the reason for her precipitate flight, but she wasn't ready yet to discuss it even with him. The humiliation and shame of it were still too raw for that.
'You know,' Tom said thoughtfully when she had finished, 'it occurs to me that if you don't think Laura would object, I could stay at the beach house.' He gave her a sidelong glance. 'It sounds as though your move back to New York is permanent.'
'Oh, yes,' she said stiffly, her eyes straight ahead. 'Quite permanent.' She didn't want to see the beach house or be reminded of it ever again. She glanced at Tom. 'That is an idea,' she said slowly. 'I'm sure Laura wouldn't mind. In fact, she'd be grateful. That's why I came in the first place, to take care of the house while she was in England. But don't you already have a place of your own?'
They were at the airport now, and Tom slowed down for the turn. 'I do,' he replied, his eyes on the oncoming traffic, 'but I've about had it with my roommate and would be glad of a place of my own. It's not a long drive from Malibu to the campus. I could easily commute.'
They had pulled up in front of the busy terminal. Tom put on the emergency brake and reached to turn off the ignition, but Bianca put a hand on his arm to stop him.
'No, Tom, don't come with me. I only have one bag and my fiddle. And I'd rather be alone.'
He turned to her. 'All right, Bianca, if that's what you want.' She started to get out of the car, but he reached out a restraining hand. She turned around. 'You're sure you don't want to tell me what's wrong, honey? Sometimes it helps. I don't like the way you look.'
'It's a long story, Tom,' she said. He would find out soon enough, anyway, now that he was going to stay in Laura's house. Gerry would come looking for her. 'Do me one more favour, Tom. Please don't tell anyone where I am. Anyone at all.'
He nodded. 'Okay. But, Bianca, I wish you'd tell me what's going on. I only want to help.'
Tears came to her eyes then for the first time. It was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. She sensed instinctively that at this point any softness would be disastrous, that only the impetus of her anger would carry her through what she had to do. She didn't want to waver in her purpose or even think about what had happened until she was in New York and safely out of Gerry's reach.
She tried to smile. 'I just can't talk about it now, Tom,' she said in a wobbly voice. 'I'll call you soon and give you all the sordid details. I'm so grateful for all you've done.' Her voice threatened to break then, and she quickly got out of the car and reached in the back seat to retrieve her suitcase.
She gave him a little wave, then turned and began to walk towards the terminal. Her plane left in half an hour and she still had to check in her bag and pick up her ticket. There was no room now for regrets or second thoughts. There would be plenty of time later to cry, she thought as she went inside. Of that she could be certain.
CHAPTER NINE
Because of the time difference, it was the middle of the night before Bianca let herself wearily into her parent's apartment in New York. She had tried to sleep on the plane, but instead had sat painfully awake throughout the whole journey, dry-eyed, rigid, reliving every moment of the terrible day.
Even after she fell exhausted into bed in her old room, it was impossible to keep the hurtful images at bay. Gerry looming over her with his dark eyes full of desire, Gerry standing behind her soaping her slick body in the shower, his mouth and hands on her body, his voice in her ear murmuring words of love. Then the scene in her mind would flash abruptly to the sight of that same man on the enormous screen at the cinema, with the same mouth, hands and voice directed at a stranger, exactly as though she had stumbled upon him making love to another woman.
If only he had told me, she agonised over and over again as she tossed and turned in her bed. But what if he had? She would not have been able to resist going to one of his films eventually, and the same thing would have happened.
Finally, the tears came, and with them the blessed relief of a drug-like sleep at last. Her final thought as the darkness descended was of Tom's warning to her weeks ago that she might have to suffer to
become a real musician and that the surest path to such suffering was an unhappy love affair.
She awoke the next day to the jangling ring of the telephone in the living room. For a moment, she was totally disorientated. Blinking in the sunlight coming in through the window, she glanced around the room in bewilderment. Then she remembered. She was back in New York. And with remembrance came the pain.
She shook her head, which seemed to be full of cotton wool and ached miserably. The telephone continued to ring. She groaned, slid out of bed, and stumbled into the living room, each step she took an insult to her pounding head. She lifted up the receiver and cleared her throat.
'Hello,' she said sleepily.
'Did I get you out of bed?' came Tom's cheerful voice. 'It's eleven o'clock here, and since you're three hours later, I thought it would be safe to call.'
Bianca sat down on the chair next to the telephone. She propped her elbow on the table and rested her forehead in her hand.
'It's okay, Tom. Is everything all right?'
'Well, that's why I'm calling,' he said slowly. He paused, then went on. 'Uh, Bianca, I stayed here at Laura's last night, and I had a visitor early this morning.' He paused again. 'He was quite upset.'
Yes, Bianca thought bitterly. He would be. The great sex symbol wasn't used to women fleeing from him. Immediately, she knew she wasn't being fair. Even though she despised Gerry now, he really had wanted to marry her after all.
'I'm sorry, Tom,' she said at last. 'I was afraid of that. I should have warned you, but I wasn't quite myself yesterday.'
'I knew that,' he replied hurriedly. 'Don't worry about it.'
'What happened?' she asked. 'Was it awful?'
He chuckled. 'Well, once I convinced him that hitting me wasn't going to make you suddenly materialise, it wasn't so bad.'
'You didn't tell him where I was,' she put in quickly.
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