Public Secrets
Page 22
“I haven’t tried to change it yet.” He frowned at Marianne. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’ve been warned. I’ve already been through all this with my parents,” she added quickly. “They don’t particularly like it, but we’re set. Emma and I are both eighteen now. We know what we want.”
He felt suddenly, uncomfortably old. “And being eighteen means you can do as you please?”
“We’re not kids anymore,” Marianne began before Emma put a hand over her mouth.
“Sit down, Marianne, and be quiet.”
Emma took her glass back from Johnno. “I know how much I owe my father, and you. Since I was three years old, I’ve done everything he’s asked of me. Not just out of gratitude, Johnno, you know that, but because I love him more than anyone in the world. I can’t go on being a child for him, being content in whatever safe little box he’s picked out for me. You wanted something, and so did he. You went for it. Well, I want something, too.”
She walked over to her suitcase, popped it, then took out a portfolio. The nerves had faded. The energy hadn’t. “These are my pictures. I’m going to try my hand at making a living from them, and I’m going to go to school here, to learn how. I’m going to share an apartment with Marianne. I’m going to make friends, and go out to clubs and walk in the park. I’m going to be a part of the world for a change instead of standing right on the edge looking in. Please understand.”
“How unhappy were you?”
She smiled a little. “I couldn’t begin to explain.”
“Maybe you should have.”
“I tried.” She turned away a moment. “He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. I only wanted to be with him, with you. Because that wasn’t possible I tried to be what he wanted. That night in Martinique.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. Even Marianne didn’t know what she had seen. “Things changed for me, and for Da. I finished out what I’d started, Johnno. I owed him that—so much more than that. But this is for me.”
“I’ll talk to him for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. He’s liable to take one leap over the Atlantic and lop off my head.” Idly, he opened the portfolio. “You always were clever,” he murmured. “Both of you.” He nodded to a sketch of Devastation that hung on the east walk “Told you I was going to frame it.”
With a cry of pleasure Marianne leaped up. She had drawn it on the evening of their graduation celebration. The house Brian had rented on Long Island had been full of people. Never one to be shy, Marianne had ordered all four men to pose. “I didn’t think you meant it. Thanks.”
“I suppose you’re going to make your way drawing pictures while Emma snaps them.”
“That’s right. It’ll be a bit hard to be starving artists with the inheritance my grandmother left me, but we’re going to give it a shot.”
“Speaking of starving, have you eaten?”
“I had a hot dog at the airport while I was waiting for Emma’s flight to get in.” Marianne grinned. “It wasn’t enough.”
“I suppose we should eat then, before I call Brian.” Johnno came from around the bar. “It may be our last meal.”
“Hey, Johnno. Couldn’t you sleep?” Both girls turned at the sound of another male voice. They watched the man, the truly gorgeous man, come down the curving stairs in nothing but a pair of jogging shorts. “I wondered where you’d gone off to. Oh.” He paused, combed his fingers through dark, tousled hair, and smiled at the girls. “Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”
“Luke Caruthers, Emma McAvoy and Marianne Carter.” Johnno stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweats. “Luke writes for New York magazine.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “He lives here.”
“Oh,” was all Emma could think of to say. She’d seen enough of intimacy, envied it enough, to recognize it. “Hello.”
“So you’re Emma. I’ve heard so much about you.” He smiled, holding out his hand. “Somehow I expected a little girl.”
“Not anymore,” she managed.
“And you’re the artist.” He offered his dazzling smile to Marianne. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.” She tilted her head, smiled back, and hoped she looked sophisticated.
“I was just offering the ladies a meal. They’ve been traveling.”
“A midnight snack sounds good to me. But let me whip it up. Johnno’s cooking is poison.”
Marianne stood a moment, torn between fascination and middle-class shock. “I’ll—ah—I’ll give you a hand.” She cast a quick look at Emma and fled behind Luke to the kitchen.
“I guess we came at a bad time,” Emma began. “I didn’t realize you had a … roommate.” Blowing out a breath, she sat on the arm of a chair. “I had no idea, Johnno. I really had no idea.”
“Rock and roll’s best-kept secret,” he said lightly, but his hands were clenched in his pockets. “So would you like me to help you make an excuse, and reservations at the Waldorf?”
Her cheeks heated as she looked down at her hands. “No, of course not. Does Da know—of course he does,” she said quickly. “Stupid question. I don’t know what to say. He, ah, Luke’s very attractive.”
A trace of amusement lit Johnno’s eyes. “Yes, I think so.”
Her blush deepened, but she managed to look at him again. “You’re making fun of me now.”
“No, luv.” His voice was soft. “Never you.”
She studied him, carefully, trying to see if he looked different somehow—if she could find something odd or wrong with the face she knew so well. There was nothing, only Johnno. Her lips curved a little. “Well, I guess my plans do have to change.”
He felt the twist—harder, sharper than the fists of the boys from his youth. “I’m sorry, Emma.”
“Not half as sorry as I am,” she told him. “I have to give up my fantasy about seducing you.” For the first time in her life she saw his face go totally blank.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, I always thought, when I grew up, when you saw me as a woman.” She stood up, spreading her arms out, then down her sides. “I’d come to visit you here, fix you a meal by candlelight, put on the music, then seduce you.” She pulled a chain from under her blouse. On it hung a little plastic ring with a gaudy red stone. “I always thought you’d be my first.”
Speechless, he stared at the ring, then looked up and into her eyes. There was love there, the kind that lasted lifetimes. And there was understanding without blame. Stepping forward, he took her hands. His voice was thick when he found it. “Very rarely have I regretted being gay.” He brought her hands to his lips to kiss them. “This is one of those very rare times.”
“I love you, Johnno.”
He held her against him. “I love you, Emma. God knows why, since you’re such an ugly bitch.” When she laughed, he drew her back for a kiss. “Come on then, not only is Luke good to look at, but he’s a hell of a cook.”
EMMA AWOKE EARLY and followed the scent of coffee and the muted sounds of the television to the kitchen. It wasn’t jet lag she felt now, but the restless disorientation of waking up in a strange bed after only snatches of sleep. There was an awkward moment as she stood in the kitchen doorway watching Luke butter toast across from the television set where David Hartman interviewed Harrison Ford.
She’d almost been able to relax around Luke the night before as they’d all eaten soup and hot sandwiches in the kitchen.
He was well mannered, witty, intelligent, and mouthwateringly attractive. And gay. So was Johnno, Emma reminded herself and tried a smile.
“Good morning.”
Luke turned. He looked different this morning with his hair styled, his face shaven. He wore gray pleated slacks and a trim blue shirt set off with a thin tie of a darker shade. He looked alert and hiply professional. The upwardly mobile young executive, she thought, and such a complete contrast to Johnno.
“Hi. Didn’t think you’d surface till this afternoon. Coffee?”
“Johnno’s very persuasive.” He slid the coffee in front of her. “Why don’t I put you out of your misery? Toast?”
“No.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Do you know what happened?”
“They argued, a lot.” Luke checked his watch, then sat beside her. “Johnno called him a few names I’m not sure he’d like me to repeat to you.”
She dropped her head into her cupped hands. “Terrific.”
“He also vowed, and I think a blood oath was mentioned, to keep an eye on you.”
“Bless him.”
“In the end, and it was a long time coming, Brian agreed to your attending college here, but—” he added before Emma could leap up and dance. “You have to keep the guards.”
“Dammit, I will not have those two hulking bastards dogging my every move. I might as well be back in Saint Catherine’s. When is he going to realize that there isn’t a kidnapper behind every bush? People don’t even know who I am, and they don’t care.”
“He cares.” He put a hand over hers. “Emma, sometimes we have to take what we can get. I know.”
“I only want to live a normal life,” she began.
“Most of us want that.” He smiled again when she looked up and flushed. “Look, we both care about Johnno, so I figure that makes us friends. Right?”
“All right.”
“Then this is my first friendly advice. Think of it this way. You want to be in New York, right?”
“Yes.”
“You want to go to NYCC.”
“Yes.”
“You want your own place.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “Yes.”
“Well, you’ve got it.”
“You’re right,” she said after a moment. “You’re absolutely right. And I can ditch the guards when I want to.”
“I didn’t hear that.” He checked his watch again. “Listen, I’ve got to run. Tell Johnno I’ll pick up Chinese.” He grabbed a briefcase, then stopped. “I forgot. Are these yours?” He pointed to the portfolio open on the kitchen counter.
“Yes.”
“Good work. Mind if I take them with me, show them around?”
“You don’t have to do that. Just because I’m friends with Johnno doesn’t mean—”
“Hold on. Look, I happened to see them sitting out in the other room. I took a closer look and liked what I saw. Johnno didn’t ask me to pump up your ego. He wouldn’t.”
She rubbed her palms on her thighs. “Do you really like them?”
“Yes. I know some people. I could get you some input if you want.”
“I would, very much. I know I have a lot to learn—that’s why I’m here. I’ve entered some competitions and shows, but …” She trailed off, knowing she was babbling. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Sure. See you later.” He tucked the portfolio under his arm and headed out.
She sat alone, taking very careful breaths. She was on her way, Emma thought. Finally, she was on her way.
Chapter Nineteen
IT’S OURS.”
Emma and Marianne stood, their arms tossed around each others shoulders, looking out the windows of their newly purchased loft in SoHo. Emma’s voice was both dazed and exhilarated as she made the statement.
“I still can’t believe it,” Marianne murmured.
“Believe it. It’s ours—twenty-foot ceilings, bad plumbing, and interest rates from hell.” On a quick laugh, Emma did three spins. “We’re property owners, Marianne. You, me, and Chase Manhattan.”
“We bought it.” Marianne sat down on the scarred wide-planked floor. The rattle and hum of downtown traffic echoed up from three stories below. Something crashed outside, and even through the closed windows they heard the shouts and swearing. It was like music.
The loft was a huge square of space, banked by a band of windows in the front and a towering panel of glass on the right.
A sound investment, Marianne’s father had grudgingly called it.
Complete insanity, had been Johnno’s verdict.
Investment or insanity, it was theirs. Still dressed in the tidy suits they’d worn to the settlement, they each studied their new home, the fruit of weeks of search, endless calls to realtors, and numerous bank interviews. It might have been a huge, empty space with spotted ceilings and grimy glass, but for them, it was the dream they had shared throughout childhood.
Then they studied each other, their faces mirrors of giddy terror. It was the laughter that broke the last strain. It bubbled up from Emma first, then echoed off the high plaster walls. Grabbing each other, they did an impromptu polka up and down the length of their new home.
“Ours,” Emma panted out when they teetered to a stop.
“Ours.” They shook hands formally, then laughed again.
“Okay, co-owner,” Marianne began. “Let’s make some decisions.”
They sat on the floor with Marianne’s sketches, warming Pepsis, and an overflowing tin ashtray between them. They needed a wall here, the staircase there. Studio space above, darkroom space below.
They arranged, rearranged, constructed, destructed. At length Marianne waved her cigarette. ’This is it. Perfect.”
“It’s inspired.” Emma took the cigarette out of self-defense and rewarded herself with a puff. “You’re a genius.”
“Yes, I am.” She shook her spiky hair as she leaned back on her elbows. “You helped.”
“Right. We’re both geniuses. A space for everything and everything in its space. I can’t wait until we—oh, shit.”
“Shit? What do you mean, shit?”
“There’s no bathroom. We forgot the bathroom.”
After a brief study, Marianne shrugged. “Screw the bathroom. We’ll use the Y.”
Emma simply put a hand on Marianne’s face and shoved.
PERCHED ON A stepladder, Marianne painted full-length portraits of herself and Emma between two windows. Emma had taken on the more pedestrian chore of marketing and was storing food inside their reconditioned Frigidaire.
“That’s our buzzer,” Marianne called out over the boom of the radio.
“I know.” Emma balanced two grapefruits, a six-pack of Pepsi, and a jar of strawberry preserves. When the buzzer sounded again, she dumped all of them on a shelf. Beside the elevator, which opened up into their living area, she pushed the intercom. “Yes?”
“McAvoy and Carter?”
“That’s right.”
“Delivery from Beds, Beds, Beds.”
Emma released the entrance door, let out a war whoop.
“What?” Marianne demanded, sitting back far enough to frown at her work.
“Beds!” Emma shouted. “We’ve got beds.”
“Don’t joke about something like that, Emma. Not while I’m painting, or I’ll give you a wart.”
“I’m not joking. They’re on their way up.”
Marianne paused, dripping brush in hand. “Real beds?”
“Mattresses, Marianne.” Emma leaned a hand on the ladder. “Box springs.”
“Jesus.” Marianne shut her eyes, then gave a dramatic shudder. “I think I had an orgasm.”
At the elevator’s ding, Emma was across the room like a shot. When the doors opened, all she could see was a queen-sized mattress covered in plastic. “Where do you want it?” was the muffled question.
“Oh. You can take that one right up those stairs in the far