Читать книгу Loveplay - Diana Palmer - Страница 6

Two

It was like old times for Bett, who’d lived like this in her younger days. She still knew where to go for bargains and what to buy. And the fact that it was New York and not Atlanta didn’t make a bit of difference. Poverty had many addresses.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just let me pay the rent until you get out of the hole,” Jane said later as she helped Bett move the few things she had to have into her new home.

“Because I’ll be working for minimum wage through all six weeks of rehearsals,” she told her friend. “And then we’ll have a tryout in Philadelphia before we open on Broadway. I don’t know when I’ll be able to make a decent living. And I don’t want to owe anybody, Janet. Not even you,” she added with a quiet smile. She sat down on the lumpy sofa with a sigh. “Once I start earning, and pay back what I owe the IRS, I’ll come home.”

“Okay. I guess you know best.” Janet watched her friend stack dishes on the counter. “But it’s going to be lonely without you.”

“You can come over for supper tomorrow night. I’ll make spaghetti.”

“That sounds nice. You can come for supper the night after, and move back in.”

Bett laughed softly. “I’ll miss you, too. But it will all work out.”

“Sure.”

“Really!”

Janet smiled. “Okay. I’ll try to adopt an optimistic attitude. Now, tell me what you want me to help with. I don’t have anything to do for the rest of the day, fortunately for you.”

“You’re not kidding. I never realized I had so much stuff to move!”

It took the rest of the day to get only half the things in their proper place. By the time Janet left, Bett was too tired to do anything except go to bed.

Her dreams were restless and unnerving and full of Cul. She woke up before dawn to the sound of a screaming child in the apartment above and couldn’t close her eyes again. She got up and made coffee, and stared out the window at the wall across the way. The only view was straight up, and it was too chilly to lean that far out the window.

She sipped her coffee, remembering how it had been six years ago. She had been a struggling young actress then, and Cul had written his first play. It was being performed by the local summer stock theater where the two of them had been performing for several weeks. Up until that time, she and Edward McCullough had been moderately friendly—it was impossible to work in such a small group of people without getting to know each of them. But Bett had been much more involved emotionally than Cul, from the very beginning. She remembered looking at him when he was introduced as the group’s newest player, and wanting him with a wild fever. Considering her puritanical upbringing in Atlanta, and her virginal status, it was surprising to find a man having that effect on her.

Because he bothered her so much physically, she’d begun needling him. It was a habit that took hold early, and had a lasting effect. Cul took it with unexpected good humor. And then they began rehearsals on his new play.

Bett, because of her unusual coloring and talent, had been given the female lead. Cul would have been perfect for the male lead, but had refused it, giving the part instead to Charles Tanner, an actor of large proportions and moderate talent.

The female part was that of a liberated young woman out on her own and enjoying liaisons. The male part was frankly reticent and condemning. The play contrasted the conservative viewpoint with the liberated one, and did such a splendid job of it that Cul was approached by a theatrical backer. Shortly thereafter he left for New York. But not before he’d done some devastating damage to Bett’s emotions.

She’d always told herself that she had followed him to New York because of his cold observation that she’d never be star material with all her hang-ups. But sometimes she wondered if it wasn’t because she’d loved him so much.

Her eyes closed and she could see them together that first evening, when he’d been coaching her in the part.

“You just can’t let go, can you, Bett?” he’d accused coldly after a half-dozen failed attempts at dialogue. He’d slammed the script down on the coffee table in his small apartment and reached for her. “Well, baby, let’s see if this kind of coaching isn’t what you need the most…!” And he’d kissed her.

Six years later, she could still feel the wild impact of his mouth on hers. Months of watching him, hoping, praying for just a few seconds in his arms, and it had happened just that suddenly.

She remembered going stiff from the burst of pleasure, mingled with apprehension, at the intimacy of his hold. Cul was eight years her senior and obviously experienced, and she hadn’t known what he’d expected from her. The expression on his face when he lifted his head had been a revelation.

“Is that the best you can do?” he’d asked wonderingly.

She’d flushed and tried to get away, but he’d held her securely against his long, lean body. There was steel in his fingers, in the wiry arms that held her.

“Not yet,” he’d murmured, studying her. “You’ve always reminded me of Elizabeth the First. Do you remember what they called her, Bett?”

She’d chewed on her full lower lip to stay its trembling. “Yes.”

“The Virgin Queen,” he’d continued quietly, searching her face. “Do you have that in common with her, too, as well as her hair and eyes?”

She’d tried to avert her eyes, but he’d held her face up to his intense study.

“No wonder you can’t play the part properly,” he’d said then. And he’d smiled. “All right, Miss Hang-ups. Let’s see what we can do about those unexpected inhibitions.”

And he’d kissed her again. This time it had been give and take, advance and retreat, until he woke the sleeping fires in her and she arched up and gave him her heart.

He’d sent her home minutes later, without taking what she’d been so eager to give him. And for the weeks that followed, they’d been inseparable, on stage and off. By the end of the summer, she’d been totally committed, and hoping for happily ever after.

It had come as a wild shock when Cul broke it off. Abruptly, without warning, announcing in front of the entire company, including Bett, that he was leaving for New York to direct his play on Broadway.

Bett had gone to his apartment that evening to wait for him. And he’d come home with one of the women in the cast, one with a reputation for giving out, and he’d laughed at Bett’s quiet query about the future of their relationship. Both of them had laughed. And Bett had cried herself to sleep. But it had gotten worse. The next day, the whole cast knew about it. Cul left and Bett gritted her teeth and tried to play out the season. But his parting shot had been that she was limited to small summer stock groups, and she’d determined immediately to show him she wasn’t. She’d gotten on the next plane to New York, and there she’d been ever since.

She sipped her cold coffee with downcast eyes. Well, he’d told her from the very beginning that he wouldn’t get involved with her physically. He wouldn’t take her virginity, even though she blatantly offered it. Perhaps it was as well. He’d announced loudly, and to anyone who cared to listen, that marriage wasn’t one of his future goals. He planned to go through life single, and despite the fact that he and Bett had been a brief item, it was a relationship without a future.

But they’d had a special kind of relationship, for all that. She could talk to him as she could talk to no one else. And he seemed to confide in her, as much as he confided in anyone. There were still unexplored depths to his character that she doubted anyone had ever plumbed. He was a zealously private person.

When she came to New York, it was inevitable that as she started to climb up from part to part, they’d meet socially. She still occasionally needled him in the old way, and he took it all with unexpected good humor. She wondered if sometimes he didn’t see through the playing to the deep hurt he’d inflicted, and tolerated her biting remarks for that reason.

But the thirst for revenge was still strong, and flared up every so often. He’d never know how bitterly he’d hurt her, how he’d damaged her budding emotions. She hadn’t been capable of a deep relationship since the day he walked out. Perhaps she never would be. And for that, she owed him.

She poured out the rest of the coffee and went to get dressed.

The first day of rehearsal was exciting. She liked the rest of the cast immediately. The play promised to be great, and everyone hoped it would have a long run on Broadway. Considering what it cost to produce, it would be a disaster if it folded too soon. Of course, any play was a risk. But with the caliber of Cul’s script, and its previous long run many years before, they felt it couldn’t help but hit.

Cul spoke to the players, lingering on the good fortune of finding an actress with Bett’s talent. For the first day, since he was doubling as director, he worked out the blocking —the deft art of moving actors and actresses around the stage without having them run over each other while they spoke their lines. Each movement had to have motivation, and since the actors were working from scripts, not memorized dialogue, it was more difficult. Bett knew from the old days that, by the third day, Cul would expect them to do the entire play without the scripts.

Bett obeyed quickly and without argument as Cul gave her directions, and she went carefully through her own blocking, noting it on her script.

But the actor who was playing opposite her, a method actor who came from a well-known acting school in the city, had to have his motivation for each step spelled out. Cul obliged with unexpected patience, explaining as they went along. Unfortunately the actor disagreed with half the moves and wanted to rearrange his own movements. The resulting exchange of viewpoints went on for a half hour, until Cul politely told the man to either do it as he was told or find another play.

“Now, Cul,” David Hadison said soothingly, “you know there isn’t a better play in town. I gave up a movie contract to play this for you. Doesn’t that entitle me to one tiny change?”

David was tall and dark, and inclined to moods, but he was a splendid actor. Cul sighed and gave in, but only on one short walk across the stage. That seemed to satisfy David, though, because he didn’t put up any more argument. He spent the rest of the long, arduous rehearsal grinning at Bett.

She carried her script home and studied it until her eyes blurred, practicing loudly despite the wails of the baby upstairs and the off-key singing of the man below. There was so little time to learn the dialogue. Most of it was hers, not David’s, and she was meticulous over her lines. It was probably one of the reasons that Cul had given her the part.

The next morning she had most of it memorized, but the blocking tripped her up. She had to change a movement from center stage to stage left, around a table instead of in front of it, and it threw her rhythm off. She fumbled her lines, and Cul gave her a hard stare.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I blew it.”

David grinned at her. “No problem. We all blow it from time to time. Even Cul used to, in the old days when he was one of the flock, didn’t you, Cul?”

Cul only stared at him. “Let’s take a ten minute break, kids,” he said heavily, “and we’ll get back to it. Bett, come here.”

When he said it like that, it meant trouble. She followed him offstage without hesitant steps, remembering other conferences. She felt small in her jeans and sweatshirt as she followed his long strides backstage.

He fixed two cups of coffee and handed her one. “Now,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“The blocking,” she muttered. “You moved me in front of the table and it doesn’t feel comfortable.”

“If you go behind it, you’ll upstage David.”

“Yes, I know. I’m not complaining, it’s just going to take me a day to get used to it, all right?” she asked defensively.

He sipped his coffee and glanced at her curiously, letting his eyes wander over her slimness, the long waves of her hair. “Do you play Elizabeth much these days?” he asked unexpectedly.

She smiled into her coffee. “Constantly,” she muttered. “I’m typed, I suppose.”

“In every way?” he probed.

She sipped the hot black liquid. “I didn’t expect that you’d direct this revival,” she said, sidestepping the question. “I thought you were in Hollywood working on a screenplay.”

“I was. I asked if I could go to my apartment to work on it, and they said, sure.” He chuckled. “I didn’t mention that my apartment was in New York.”

“William Faulkner once pulled that same trick, if I remember,” she returned.

“A writer after my own heart. He was one of the greats.” He leaned back against the wall with a sigh. “Why did you audition for my play, Bett?” he asked bluntly.

She looked up at him contemplatively, studying the new lines in his face, the dark tan that made his green eyes glitter like rain-washed leaves. “I needed the money.”

“No,” he replied. “That isn’t what I meant. There are other plays in town.”

She sighed and smiled wistfully. “There wasn’t a role I had a better chance of getting,” she admitted. “I know this one like the back of my hand. I didn’t have time to wait for callbacks. I have thirty days to make a start on a very large tax bill. I can do it, but I have to live while I’m earning the rest of what I owe.” She shrugged. “I didn’t really think you’d be here, and I had this wild idea that I might get the part if I seemed polished enough.” She glanced at him. “I played the role during that summer in Atlanta.”

“Yes, I remember,” he said curtly. He drank down the rest of his coffee. “Let’s get back to it.”

She would like to have pursued that line, to ask him why he’d broken it off so cruelly. But it was something that had happened a long time ago, and had no bearing on the present. She was an actress in need of money, and Cul was just the director. All too soon his part in the play would be over, and the stage manager, Dick Hamilton, would be in full charge of it all. Just a few weeks more to see Cul every day and agonize over the past. She started back toward the stage. Well, she’d live through it. She’d lived through six years without Cul, and this surely wasn’t going to be that bad.

By the third day, the play was set, the blocking was done, and they were working without scripts. That was hard going on one or two of the players, but Bett didn’t even notice. She had her lines down pat. It was just a matter of getting the right interpretation into them. Cul seemed to find fault with every sentence she uttered, despite the fact that she was doing it from memory, from coaching he’d given her during the short summer run in Atlanta.

By the end of the rehearsal late that night, she felt dragged out and exhausted. She’d gotten out of the habit of long hours, being between plays, and it was rough adjusting to a day that ran from ten in the morning until after eight or nine o’clock at night. Her nerves were raw from Cul’s criticism, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed.

But Cul stopped her at the stage door. “Not yet, you don’t,” he said coolly. “Let’s talk.”

She felt like crying. She was so tired! “Cul…” she began defensively, her eyes wistfully following the last of the cast as they filed out the door and it closed behind them.

“You wanted this part,” he reminded her with a frankly cruel smile.

She glared at him through the glitter of tears. “Stupid me,” she ground out. “I should have let them put me in jail instead!”

“Save the emotion for your part. You’re going to need it.” He turned away, leaving her to follow, and picked up his script from one of the prop tables. He threw himself down into a chair and crossed his long, powerful legs. He ran his hand restlessly through his already disheveled hair. “All right,” he said gruffly. “It starts breaking down here, on page thirty-six, where you’re explaining your pregnancy to David.”

“Cul, I’m doing it the way you wanted it done in Atlanta,” she began.

His green eyes flashed angrily. “This isn’t Atlanta. And I’ve told you for the last time that I won’t have old ashes dredged up!”

“God forbid!” she agreed with a wild toss of her red-gold hair, her eyes flashing darkly. “I’m a little more choosy these days myself!”

He slammed the script onto the floor and stood up, towering over her. “You haven’t changed,” he said under his breath. “Not one bit. You’re still the same undisciplined, impulsive, maddening little brat you used to be. But while you’re starring in my damned play, you’ll follow my direction, is that clear?”

Her pride felt as if he’d ripped it open. By her sides, her slender, graceful hands clenched until they hurt. “Yes, sir,” she said in a hushed whisper.

His eyes studied her face quietly. “You’ve got more than your share of pride, haven’t you? And much more than your share of temper. You always were passionate.”

He couldn’t have chosen a better way to hurt, and this time she couldn’t stop it from showing. Her eyes closed and tears ran helplessly down her cheeks, although she didn’t make a sound.

“Bett…” he ground out.

She turned away, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m very tired, Cul,” she said with the last fragments of pride she could find. “Please, let’s get on with it.”

He hesitated for a long moment before he picked up the script and sat back down. When she took off her coat and turned, her face was composed, but very pale. He didn’t miss that. His eyes narrowed as if it bothered him.

“I’m sorry,” she said unexpectedly. “I should have gotten a job waiting on tables or something. I’m sorry I came here.”

“So am I,” he said curtly, “but it’s too late to do anything about it now. I can’t afford to lose any more time. As for the way you’re playing the part, it’s been six years. Will you try to remember that my outlook has changed, that my interpretations of the play have changed, and work with me instead of against me?”

She sighed wearily. “Yes.”

“Then, let’s start from your first line on page thirty-six,” he said, leaning back.

She ran through it again, remembering the way he’d coached her earlier, and he nodded as he listened, his lips pursed, his eyes narrowed as he took in even her body movements.

“Much better,” he said when she finished. “Much better. You understand now, don’t you, that I want as much emotion as you can drag up. I want the audience to cry buckets when you give that monologue about not giving up the baby.”

“I understand.” She pulled her coat back on, lifting her long hair out of the way. “You never used to like so much emotion in the monologue.”

“I’m older.”

“So am I,” she said quietly. She picked up her own script and tucked it under her arm along with her purse. “You do a lot of plays about pregnancy these days,” she observed. “And yet you’ve never married. Don’t you want—”

“It’s late,” he said shortly, checking his watch, “and I have a late date. I’ll drop you off by your apartment.”

“No!” she said quickly, for some reason not wanting him to see where she lived. “I’ll get a cab.”

He scowled, but he didn’t pursue it. “Suit yourself, darling.”

If he’d known how that careless endearment hurt, she thought miserably, he’d probably have used it ten times as much. Once he’d used it and meant it, so long ago.

He hailed a cab and put her into it, turning away immediately, and she forced herself not to watch him walk away. Minutes later she was back at her apartment and in her bed. She fell asleep the minute her head touched the pillow.

* * *

Bett slept badly, and dragged into rehearsal a half hour early with a cup of black coffee clutched in one slender hand. David Hadison was sprawled in one of the metal chairs, glaring at his script, when she slid gracefully into one nearby.

He looked up, saw who it was, and grinned. “Just running over a little problem spot,” he confessed.

“Is that what you’re doing?” she queried with pursed lips. “I thought you were cursing the dia- log.”

He sighed. “Well, actually, I was. It isn’t a very meaty part, darling. You have the only good lines.”

“Want to trade?” she asked with a slow grin. “I’ll let you borrow that big brown maternity dress I wear for the role.”

He chuckled delightedly. “Cul wouldn’t like it. I’m much too tall.”

“How sad.” She sipped her coffee slowly. “I’d offer you some, but you don’t look like a coffee drinker.”

“I’m a Coca-Cola man,” he agreed. He put down the script, folded his arms, and stared blatantly at her. “Has anyone ever told you…” he began predictably.

Before he could finish, she stood up, threw her scarf royally over one shoulder, and fixed him with her best sharp scowl. “My good man, have the decency not to stare, if you please,” she intoned with the crisp British accent she’d perfected. “We do not like our subjects making free with their eyes on our person.”

He roared, clapping. “You do it with panache, darling,” he said. “Elizabeth to the ruff.”

She curtsied deeply. “We are pleased that you think so.”

“How many times have you played her?” he asked as she sat back down.

“At least ten,” she confessed. “Once in a nude play—I talked the director into letting me wear a corset.”

He shook his head, studying her exquisite facial features—the dark eyes that were oddly gray, the flaming hair. “I’ve never seen such a resemblance, and I’ve been in the theater for ten years. You must be marvelous.”

“I enjoy it, but it gets a bit tedious after a while,” she confessed. “Although, she was a character. I doubt a woman’s ever lived who was her equal, in statesmanship or just pure grit.”

“You started out in Atlanta, didn’t you?” he asked. “I saw you play in this very production about six years ago, just one time. You were magnificent.”

“What were you doing in Atlanta?” she asked, curious.

“Trying to get a job in summer stock.” He shrugged. “I didn’t. I wound up in New York instead. It was a good thing, too.”

“You’re very good,” she said genuinely, sipping her coffee as she studied him. “But aren’t you Shakespearean, primarily?”

“By jove, yes, madam,” he said with his own British accent and laughed. “I’ve done all of Shakespeare’s plays at one time or another. But I’m trying to branch out.”

“If the two of you can spare the time,” a harsh voice rumbled behind them, “I’d like to start.”

They got to their feet in a rush, noticing that the rest of the company was already assembled on stage, and Cul was nothing if not impatient. He glared at them as they joined the rest, and his mood didn’t improve all morning. He snapped at Bett more and more, until by the end of the day she was practically in tears.

“Come on, darling,” David said, taking her arm as she wrapped up against the chill to go out the stage door. “I’ll buy you a nice cup of coffee.”

“How about a sweet roll to go with it?” she asked with a wan smile.

“Whatever you like.” He checked his pocket. “Well, almost.”

She smiled gently. “Starving in garrets isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

“How would you know?” he teased. “You’re on top.”

“Is that what I am? You really ought to come home with me.”

“Can I?” he asked, all eyes. “I’ll make the coffee.”

She relented. It would be nice to have company, and she didn’t really mind if David saw her deplorable apartment. He probably had one just like it. “Okay,” she agreed, and went out with him, oblivious to the glittering green gaze that followed them.

It was a nippy evening, although it wouldn’t be long until spring. Bett huddled into her tweed coat and led David up the long staircase to her apartment. The baby was crying, but the man who sang off-key was apparently resting his throat for the moment.

Bett opened the door and let David in with her. “Well, as they say, it ain’t much, but it’s home.”

“My God, you weren’t kidding, were you?” he burst out, staring around him. “What happened?”

“I had a very inefficient business manager,” she confessed. “He talked me into a bad investment, and also neglected to tell me about my taxes. I’ve got quite a bill with Uncle Sam.” She shrugged. “They were very nice about it, in fact. I guess they get used to dumb people like me.”

“I wouldn’t call you dumb, not the way you act,” he said kindly. He moved to the cabinet. “Is this the coffeepot?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. Isn’t it the pits? But it works, all the same.”

“Old-fashioned,” he murmured, filling the basket with a filter and then dumping in a generous amount of coffee out of the can. “Boiling it on the stove.”

“Well, coffee is coffee.

He sighed. “I guess so.” He finished, turned on the burner, and sat down at the kitchen table across from her. “How did you wind up on the stage?”

“My mother convinced me that it was what I wanted to do,” she said, laughing. “I was torn between acting and driving a semi, and she decided that it was more ladylike to act. Honestly, though, I guess it just came naturally. There was never anything else that I wanted to be. How about you?”

“Same thing.” He made patterns on the table’s chipped surface with a long finger. “I started out playing a squirrel in our third-grade play, and I was hooked. I’ve never wanted to do anything else. I studied and worked and eventually became the practically unknown actor you see before you.”

“That’s not true,” she chided. “You were on one of the soap operas, I heard.”

“For six weeks, until they killed me off.” He propped his face in his hands. “I die well, you know.”

“Yes, I know. Too bad you have to do it offstage in this play,” she murmured on a laugh.

“I thought I’d do it with sound effects,” he said with an evil glint in his eyes. “Screams and groans and thuds, that sort of thing.”

“Cul would kill you,” she suggested.

“He already wants to, I think.” He watched her quietly. “But he’s really after you, lady. I’ve never seen a director ride anyone as hard. What have you done to make him so antagonistic?”

“I breathe,” she said simply. “It’s something I’d rather not talk about, anyway. Would you like some cake to go with the coffee? I just happen to have two slices left.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate,” she said.

He grinned. “My favorite.”

She dished it up and he poured the coffee into the thick cracked mugs she’d found at a second-hand shop. “Isn’t this fun?” she laughed as they sipped and ate. “There I was, living on Park Avenue in a luxury apartment, wearing leather coats and buying silk lingerie…and I never knew what I was missing.”

“Must be hard,” he said with real sympathy.

She considered that, stirring her coffee idly, with a spoon after she’d added cream. “Do you know, it isn’t? I think I had my values all mixed up. Money and power and getting ahead were all I thought about. I’ve been noticing—forced to notice—how people live around here. It’s pretty sobering. I think I’ve changed directions, all at once.”

“Yes, it does make you think, when you see people so much less fortunate,” he admitted. “I haven’t had the kind of life you’ve had, not yet. But I hope that if I ever do make it, I won’t forget who I was.”

“I can’t see you forgetting,” she said, and meant it. “But you’re supposed to say `when,’ not `if,’ you make it.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I guess so. I get discouraged once a week and have to drown my sorrows in cheap wine.”

“We all get discouraged, it comes with the territory. Just don’t ever give up. Think through it. That’s what I’m trying to do. I like to picture how it will be on Christmas Day this year.” She sighed. “I’ll have paid off my tax bill, I’ll be in a hit play, and happy as anything.”

“No man in that picture?” he asked softly.

She shook her head with a tiny smile. “Nope. I’ve never inspired a man to propose. I don’t see it happening.” Not ever, because of the scars Cul had left on her. But she wasn’t telling that to a relative stranger.

“You might be surprised one of these days.” He finished his coffee. “Well, I’d better run. If we’re lucky we may actually get some sleep before rehearsal tomorrow. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“Come again,” she invited, her smile genuine. He was a nice man, and she liked him.

He nodded. “I’d like that. Good night, Bett.”

“Good night.” She closed the door behind his tall figure and sighed. It had been nice to have company.

* * *

After that, she and David became good friends. But their association had a devastating effect on Cul. He glared daggers at them every single day.

It didn’t help that being around Cul was bringing back old, unwanted sensations. He could look at her and make her tremble. She hadn’t counted on that reaction when she’d auditioned for the play. She hadn’t counted on the fact that he might want to direct it himself. She should have thought it through.

One night as they were leaving the theater she stumbled over a metal chair, and Cul caught her just in time to keep her from having a bad fall. She looked up into his green eyes and saw an expression in them that made her heart run wild. His hard fingers on her back held her close for an instant, while his eyes went to her soft mouth and stared at it. It was like being kissed; she could almost taste his lips as she had so many years before.

“Getting careless, Bett?” he asked under his breath. “Don’t fall, darling, it’s not the kind of part you can do with a broken leg.”

“I won’t,” she said unsteadily, and tried to smile.

He studied her slowly. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“No,” she said.

But this time he wasn’t letting her talk him out of it. He herded her out to his Porsche and put her in the passenger side. Now what was she going to do, she wondered wildly. How could she let him see where she was living? The humiliation would be terrible.

“Come on, coward, direct me.”

She drew in a steadying breath. “Queens.”

He glanced at her, frowning. “I thought you lived on Park Avenue.”

“I did, while I was making money,” she said wearily. “I made a huge payment on my tax bill, Cul. I had to budget. The apartment—at least, my half of it—had to go.”

“Were you living with a man?” he asked.

“Janet would hate being called a man,” she said through her teeth. “And who I live with is none of your business.”

“It was once. I almost asked you to move in with me, six years ago.”

That was shocking, and her eyes told him so. “Me?”

“You.” He glanced at her mockingly as he navigated a turn. “If you hadn’t been a virgin…”

“Have you always had this hang-up about inexperienced women?” she asked bitterly.

“Just with you, oddly enough. I didn’t want to take advantage of what you felt for me. Especially since marriage wasn’t in my vocabulary.” He glanced at her again. “It still isn’t.”

“Don’t imagine I’m any threat,” she said as coolly as she could, clutching her purse on her lap. “I’m a career woman all the way these days.”

“You’re an up-and-coming star,” he agreed tautly. “I went to see you in that last Lewis play. You were good. Damned good.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, dazed. He didn’t give praise easily. In fact, he rarely gave it at all.

“Now where to?” he asked.

“Left, then right at the next corner,” she directed.

He pulled up in front of her apartment building and glared at it. He cut off the engine and pocketed his key.

“Cul, don’t come up,” she pleaded.

“I want to see.”

There was no arguing with him. Resignedly, she led him up the long flight of stairs to the door of her apartment. His face was rigid as she unlocked it and let him in.

His green eyes swept the surroundings with obvious distaste. “My God,” he breathed.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she defended, dropping her purse onto the couch. “It’s warm and dry, and I have neighbors who’d come running if I screamed. Besides, if you remember, the apartment I had in Atlanta was much like this.”

“That was different,” he growled. “You were struggling then.”

“I’m still struggling,” she corrected him, turning away. “Would you like a cup of coffee, or are the surroundings just too much for you?”

“Is that how I sound? Like a snob?” he asked softly.

She glanced at him while she filled the pot and set it on the stove to boil. She got down the cracked mugs. “You were never a snob, Cul.”

“I hope not.” He pulled out one of the chairs and straddled it. He looked devastating, his blond hair gleaming in the overhead light, his eyes almost transparent in his dark, rugged face. “I was born to money, but I like to think I’ve never looked down on people without it. My circumstances were an accident. I could as easily have been born poor.”

She’d forgotten until then about his background. One of his ancestors had been an English duke, and he had titled relatives. That straight, proud nose would have graced a family portrait, she thought, studying it.

The man who sang off-key had just started his nightly accompaniment to an opera recording, and Cul sat up straighter.

“Verdi?” he queried, frowning.

“Amazing that you recognized it.” She laughed. “He has a lot of enthusiasm, for a man who can’t sing. I’ve gotten quite used to hearing him.”

“He probably dreams at night about a career with the Met,” he murmured, not unkindly. “Not a lot of us get to fulfill our dreams,” he added, and his eyes were brooding.

“What did you want to do that you haven’t?” she asked as she poured the coffee. “You’ve made a name for yourself as a writer and a director, you have a play being made into a movie…. You’ve done it all.”

“Have I?” He took the cup from her and watched her drop into a chair. “Not quite, Bett. There was one thing I wanted desperately that I never had.”

“What?” she murmured absently.

“You, in bed with me,” he said softly. His eyes wandered slowly over her face and what he could see of her body. “I wanted you to the point of obsession.”

She felt the old hurt come back, full force. “How interesting. Was that before or after you humiliated me in front of the entire cast?”

He caught his breath at the ice in the calm little question. “Yes, I thought you were still bitter about it. I can hardly blame you. But at the time, it seemed the only way out.” His eyes held hers, and there was faint regret in their green depths. “You were in love with me. Too much in love. I had nothing to give you, except a few kisses in the moonlight or, at best, a brief affair. I had to break if off.”

“You might have just told me,” she returned.

“You’re a bulldog, Bett,” he replied with a faint smile. “It wouldn’t have worked. It had to be something drastic.” He shrugged. “Gloria was willing and handy. I knew your pride would save you.”

She laughed curtly. “Oh, yes, it sent me running for New York. Or hadn’t you considered what the cast would do to me afterward?”

The smile left his face. “What do you mean?”

“Your `girlfriend’ made a huge joke about my hanging like an albatross around your neck. She made me the laughing stock of the entire company.” Her eyes darkened with remembered pain. “I finally left because of it.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t consider that.”

“No, why should you? I was handy, and you needed someone to amuse yourself with, wasn’t that it?”

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “No. Walking away from you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

“Were you so fond of juvenile adulation?” she asked with a laugh.

“It was more.” He finished his coffee. “I’m a single, not a double, Bett. I’ll live alone all my life, except for the occasional diversion. But not you.” He watched her quietly. “Someday you’ll marry and have those kids you used to dream about having. Three, wasn’t it?”

Something odd in his voice touched her and she frowned. But before she could question it, he checked his watch and rose. “We’d better get some rest. Rehearsals are grueling, aren’t they darling? Thanks for the coffee.”

“Any time,” she said lightly, showing him to the door.

He turned unexpectedly, and framed her face in his hands, watching it like some tawny cat. “You’re as beautiful now as you were then, Bett,” he said quietly, and his eyes were hungry. “Hair like wild honey… I used to dream of seeing it fanned out across my pillow.”

Her lips parted under her roughened breath. It wasn’t fair that he could still affect her this way. She felt the warmth of his big body and wanted to feel it against hers, wanted to drag that hard mouth down over her own and taste him just once again.

“That’s something you’ll never see,” she managed tautly.

“Challenging me?” He drew her chin up and bent his head, opening his mouth just as it made brief, shocking contact with her own. “I don’t have any more noble sentiments to protect you, Elisabet,” he whispered. “Because you’re not a virgin anymore. And frankly, darling, you’d be a pushover.”

Even as he spoke, he was folding her into the curve of his body. His mouth opened hers, biting at it in the old remembered way, his own wild prelude to the deep, hot kisses he liked. Her fingers went to his chest to push, but lingered on the soft silk of his shirt under the sweater he was wearing. He had a mat of hair just over his breastbone. That one time in the park when they’d almost gone all the way, she’d felt it tickling her breasts just before it had crushed her into the soft grass.

“Cul,” she moaned, and all at once her hands went up to hold him, her body arching into his.

He whispered something into her mouth, and his arms half lifted her against him while his tongue penetrated the soft dark recesses and made the teasing kiss into a declaration of possession.

She clung, moaning, drowning in the sensations, totally yielding. She was eighteen again, and Cul was her man, and she loved him, loved him, loved him….

He put her down abruptly, his eyes flashing. “No,” he said on a harsh laugh. “Oh, no, little redhead, not again. I’m not going through it twice. Practice your witchcraft on Hadison, but keep your spells off me.”

He turned, slamming out the door. She stared at it for a long time before she went back to put the cups in the sink. She lifted his, studying it with eyes gone soft and sad with love. Impulsively she brought it to her lips and kissed the place where his had been. There were tears in her eyes as she washed it.

If she’d hoped that Cul might soften, even a little, after that wild kiss, she was disappointed. He was as cold as winter stone with her the next day, tossing instructions around like bullets. Once she paused just a second too long before lines, and he went through the ceiling. It didn’t help that she started getting involuntary stares from the rest of the cast. She was being ridden deliberately, and they knew it.

“What have you done to him now, darling?” David teased at the lunch break as she started out the door with her brown bag in hand.

“Still breathing,” she told him with a smile. “Never mind, we’re old enemies.”

“Are you really?” he asked, his eyes openly curious.

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m off to the park for lunch. See you.”

“Want some company?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I need to be alone for a little while.”

He stared after her quietly, his dark eyes wistful and sad. She felt that long gaze, and almost turned around to invite him along. But what David was looking for, she couldn’t offer. She had nothing to give him, not even half a heart. Everything she was belonged to Cul, whether he wanted her or not.

She sat down on a park bench and watched children play near the lake, smiling at their antics as they fed the ducks. She could have given Cul children, if he’d ever felt strongly enough about her. Once she’d thought he did.

The last time they were together had been on a day like this, she recalled, looking around at the blue sky and the warm sunshine on the grass. They’d lain together in a secluded spot in an Atlanta park under a spreading oak tree and talked lazily of fame and fortune and the future….

* * *

“What do you want to be, eventually?” she asked him, lying back in the grass. She was wearing a white peasant dress that day, with an elasticized bodice that showed off her golden tan. He was wearing his usual jeans and a burgundy knit pullover that day, a shade that emphasized his blondness.

His green eyes darkened as he let them run from her loosened reddish hair down to her long, slender legs where the skirt of her dress had ridden up over her knees. “Your lover,” he murmured wickedly.

She laughed almost bitterly, her arms thrown back over her head as she closed her eyes. “That will be the day,” she muttered.

She felt him before she saw him. Her eyes opened suddenly as his formidable weight settled over her torso, his forearms supporting him.

“How about today, then, Bett?” he asked softly, bending to her mouth.

They’d kissed before. Soft, clinging kisses. Even a few deep, hard ones. But this was a different way, an oddly sensuous way. His mouth nibbled and brushed and bit at hers in a slow rhythm that made her feel odd from the neck down. Her legs began to tremble as his tongue traced the outline of her mouth and penetrated the soft line of her lips.

He lifted a little, easing onto one elbow so that his other hand had free access to her body. It slid gently over her waist for a long time before it moved up and brushed lightly over her breast. She caught her breath and he lifted his head, but he didn’t move his hand.

He searched her eyes quietly. Seeing the yielding fascination in them, he drew the elasticized bodice slowly down until it rested beneath her breasts, baring them to the sunlight and his darkening eyes.

She held her breath, remembering how it had been. The impact had been frightening; she’d never let a man look at her like that. His eyes were narrowed, glittering and spellbound by the swelling softness of her.

Around them, the deserted park was quiet. Only the soft cries of the birds interrupted the burning silence.

“Oh Bett,” he breathed huskily. His fingers touched the hardening buds as if it were the first time he’d ever touched a woman that way, and they trembled. “Bett, do you even know what it means, when this happens to your body?”

She didn’t, but he told her, in soft, sensuous whispers as he bent to kiss them. She remembered crying out just before his mouth came down to smother the wild little sound. His hands took possession of her, gentle hands that stroked and probed until tears were running down her cheeks.

Her own hands were busy, trying to get his shirt out of their way so that she could feel the thick mat of hair over the warm muscles of his chest. With a shaky laugh, he stripped it off and rolled onto his back, pulling her hands down to his body.

“Learn me, the way I’ve learned you,” he coaxed, his eyes wild with passion as he watched her touch him, watched the fascinated wonder in her eyes as she explored him hesitantly, slowly.

“Don’t stop there,” he whispered when her hands trembled at his waist. He took her hands in his and moved them, and her breath caught at the harsh sound that broke from his lips.

The ground was hard at her back. The hardness of his body was like a brand, melting down onto every inch of hers in the shaded warmth of the day. His hands were under the dress, and only the sudden sound of people in the distance kept him from taking their lovemaking to its natural conclusion.

She could still hear the hard groan against her mouth, feel the trembling of his body as he rolled away from her.

The worst part of it all was that he had to put her back into her dress. She was trembling and crying too hard to do it alone.

“You mustn’t,” he whispered, rocking her against his bare chest. “It was beautiful. The way I knew it would be. We wanted each other, and that’s all, it’s so natural, Bett. Like breathing. There’s nothing in the world to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed,” she whimpered. “I’m frustrated.”

“Try to imagine how I feel,” he murmured dryly.

She looked up at him and felt as if she had the world. He was looking down at her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever seen, as if he loved her.

“Cul, I love you,” she whispered to him as her pride yielded to the exquisite sensations he aroused. “I want to marry you and have your children!”

The glow of passion faded from his face. It was always this way whenever she mentioned children or anything permanent.

He framed her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. And then he kissed her, in a way he never had before or since. A cherishing, tender, utterly passionless kiss with his whole heart in it.

“Yes, I know,” he whispered back. “I’ll live on that all my life.”

It was an odd thing to say. He helped her to her feet after he’d retrieved his shirt, and they walked back to her apartment hand in hand.

Shyly, she invited him to come in with her, but he shook his head.

“You’re a virgin, darling,” he said softly, brushing the long hair from her cheeks. “Despite the fact that I lost what little sense I had today in the park, I’ve got just enough left to walk away from you. I’ve nothing to offer you, Bett, don’t you see?”

“I don’t care about money…” she began fiercely.

“I know. Neither do I. But that wasn’t what I meant.” He bent to kiss her forehead with a tender brush of his mouth. “You deserve so much more than I can give you, darling. One day, you’ll thank me. So long, Bett….”

* * *

And he’d walked away. She hadn’t known it at the time, but he was walking out of her life. It was later that day that he’d announced his departure for New York, grimly, without looking at Bett. And it was that night that she’d discovered him with Gloria. From dream to nightmare, in only a few hours.

She felt tears in her eyes as she finished her sandwich and reached for her coffee. Her hand withdrew sharply as she recognized the man standing beside her.

“It brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Cul asked coldly, glancing around them with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing his usual jeans, with a yellow knit shirt today, and she hated him for the powerful sensuousness of his body and the longing that had never died.