Passion's Promise

“You’re not listening to me, Lucas.”

“Hm?” He looked up to see Kezia watching him with a smile.

“Something wrong, darling?”

“Are you kidding? How could there be?” She was watching his eyes, and he pushed thoughts of San Quentin from his mind, but something was bothering him. A sense of foreboding, of … something. He didn’t know what. “I love you, Kezia. It was a beautiful day.” He wanted to chase the painful thoughts away, but it was getting harder to do.

“Yes, it was. You must be tired from all that driving though.”

“We’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight.” He chuckled at the thought and leaned forward for a kiss.

It wasn’t until they left that he saw the same face he had seen too often during the weeks he’d spent in San Francisco. As he looked around and saw the man darting back into one of the booths with a newspaper under his arm, it was suddenly too much for him.

“Wait for me up front.”

“What?”

“Go oh. I have some business to take care of.”

She looked suddenly surprised, and frightened by the expression on his face. Something had happened to him; it was as if a dam had broken, or like the moment before an explosion … like … it was frightening to watch.

“Go on, dammit!” He gave her a firm shove toward the front of the restaurant and headed quickly back toward the booth he had seen the man enter. It took him only a moment to reach it, and he pulled back the aged, fading curtain with such force that it tore at the top. “Okay, sweetheart, you’ve had it.” The man looked up from his newspaper with an overdone expression of unknowing surprise, but his eyes were wary and quick.

“Yes?” He was graying at the temples but he looked almost as solid as Luke. He sat poised in his seat, like a tiger ready to pounce.

“Get up.”

“What? Look, mister …”

“I said get up, motherfucker, or didn’t you hear me?” Luke’s voice was as sweet and smooth as honey but the look on his face was terrifying, and as he spoke, he lifted the man from his seat with a hand on each lapel of his ugly plaid double-knit sportcoat. “Now what is it exactly that you want?” Luke’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I’m here for dinner, Mack, and I suggest you lay off right now. Want me to call the cops?” The man’s eyes were menacing and his hands were starting to come up slowly and with well-trained precision.

“Call the cops … you fucking … whatcha got, a radio in your pocket, motherfucker? Listen, man, I’m having dinner with a lady and I don’t dig being tailed night and day, everywhere I go. It makes me look bad, got that? Nice and clear?” And then he gasped. Luke’s victim had removed both of Luke’s hands from his lapels and delivered a swift punch to his middle all in one flashing gesture.

“That’ll make you look worse, Johns. Now how about going home like a nice boy, or you want me to run you in for attempted assault? That’d look good to your parole board, wouldn’t it? You’re just fucking lucky they don’t get you with a murder beef one of these days.” There was hatred in his voice.

Luke caught his breath and looked up into the man’s eyes. “Murder? They’d have a bitch of a time sticking me with that. A lot of things, but not murder.”

“What about the guards at Q. last week, or don’t they count? You might as well have killed them yourself, instead of having your punks do the job.” The conversation was still carried on in an undertone, and Luke lifted one eyebrow in surprise as he stood up slowly and painfully.

“Is that to what I owe the honor of your company everywhere I go? You’re trying to stick me with the murder of those Bulls in Quentin?”

“No. That’s not my problem. Not my detail. And believe it or not, babyface, I don’t like tailing you any more than you like having me on your ass.”

“Watch out, you may make me cry.” Luke picked up a glass of water from the table and took a long swallow. “So what’s with the tail?” Luke put down the glass and watched him carefully, wondering why he hadn’t punched the man back. Jesus, he was getting soft … dammit … she was changing everything, and that could really cost him.

“Johns, you may find it hard to believe, but you’re being tailed for protection.”

Luke answered with a shout of cynical laughter. “How sweet. Whose protection?”

“Yours.”

“Really? How thoughtful. And just who do you think is going to hurt me? And just exactly why do you care?” He looked doubtful; they could have thought of a better story.

“I don’t care, and that’s upfront, but the assignment is to follow you until further notice and keep my eyes open for assailants.”

“Bullshit.” Luke was angry now. He didn’t like the idea. “Is it bullshit?”

“Sure it is. Oh, what the fuck do I know?” That was all he needed, with Kezia around. Shit.

“The word is that some of the hothead left-wing reform groups don’t like your trip, don’t like you floating in and out of their scene like some kind of visiting hero. They want your ass, man.”

“Yeah? Well, let’s put it this way: if they ask for it, I’ll call you. Till I do, I can do without company.”

“I could do without you too, but we don’t have a choice. Nice place for dinner though. Great egg rolls.”

Lucas shook his head with a look of restrained aggravation and shrugged. “Glad you liked it.” He paused for a long moment in the doorway then and watched the man who had punched him. “You know something, man? You’re a lucky motherfucker. You’d hit me like that some other time and I’d have pulverized you. And enjoyed it” They eyed each other for a long moment and the other man shrugged and folded his newspaper.

“Suit yourself. But that would buy you a one-way ticket back to the joint. Save us all a lot of trouble if you ask me. But anyway, watch your ass, man. Somebody’s out to get you. They didn’t tell me who, but it must’ve been a hot tip because they had me out on the street an hour later.”

Luke started to leave the booth then, and suddenly turned with a question in his eyes. “You guys tailing anyone else?” That might tell him something.

“Maybe.”

“Come on, man, don’t tell me half-assed stories without telling me the rest!” There was fire in his eyes again and the other man nodded his head slowly.

“Yeah. Okay. We’re tailing some other dudes.”

“Who?”

The cop heaved a slow sigh, looked at his feet and then back at Luke. There was no point playing games, and they both knew it. And he felt that he had already pushed Luke as far as he should, farther possibly. Lucas Johns was not a man you played with. He looked up slowly, and reeled off the names expressionlessly.

“Morrissey, Washington, Greenfield, Falkes, and you.”

“Jesus.” The five of them were the all-time heavies in prison agitation. Morrissey lived in San Francisco, Greenfield in Vegas. Falkes had come out from New Hampshire, but Washington was local and the only black in the group. All radicals of a kind, but none of them heavy left-wingers. They just wanted to fight for their ideals, and change a system that should have died years ago. None of them had wild illusions about changing the world. Washington took the most flak from those who opposed them. The black factions thought he should be fighting with them; he wasn’t enough of a rebel for them. But Luke thought he was the best of both worlds.

“You’re tailing Frank Washington?”

“Yeah.” The plainclothesman nodded.

“Then you better tail him good.” The other man nodded knowingly, and Luke turned his back and left.

Kezia was waiting nervously at the front door.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course I’m all right. Why shouldn’t I be?” He wondered if she had heard something, or worse yet seen. Remarkably, no one had walked by during the brief fracas and the waiters had been too busy to notice the intensity of the subsequent exchange.

“You were gone for so long, Lucas. Is something wrong?” She searched his face but found nothing.

“Of course not, I just saw someone I know.”

“Business?” Her face had the intense look of a wife.

“Yes, silly lady, business. I told you. Now mind your own, and let’s go back to the hotel.” He gave her a fierce hug and walked her out into the night fog with a smile. She knew something was amiss, but he covered it well. There was never anything she could put her finger on. And Luke was going to see that it stayed that way.

But the next morning over breakfast there was no mistaking that something was very wrong. She had awakened him this time, after ordering a sumptuous breakfast for them to share. She shook him gently with a kiss after the tray had been delivered to the room.

“Good morning, Mr. Johns. It’s time to get up, and I love you.” He rolled over with a sleepy smile and half-opened eyes, and pulled her down to kiss him.

“Sure is a nice way to start the day, Mama. What are you doing up so early?”

“I was hungry, and you said you had a lot to do today, so I got up and got organized.” She sat on the edge of the bed with a smile.

“Want to come back to bed and get unorganized again?”

“Not until after breakfast, hot pants. Your eggs’ll get cold.”

“Jesus, you’re practical. Such a cold-hearted woman.”

“No. Just hungry.” She patted his behind, kissed him again, and got up to take the covers off their breakfast.

“Boy, that smells good. Did they send up the paper too?”

“Yes, sir.” It was neatly folded on the tray, and she picked it up and unfolded it, handing it to him with a small curtsy. “At your service, monsieur.”

“Lady, how did I live without you before?”

“With difficulty, undoubtedly.” She smiled at him again and turned to pour him a cup of coffee. When she looked up she was shocked by the expression on his face. He was sitting naked on the side of the bed, with the newspaper open on his lap, and tears starting down his face, contorted with anger and grief. His hands were clenched in fists.

“Lucas? Darling, what is it?” She went to him hesitantly and sat down next to him, searching the headlines quickly to see what had happened. It was the main feature in the paper: Ex-Priest Prison Reformer Shot and Killed. The killing was thought to have been done by a radical left-wing group, but the police were not yet sure. Joseph Morrissey had been shot eight times in the head while leaving his house with his wife. The photographs on the front page showed a hysterical woman leaning over the shapeless form of the victim. Joe Morrissey. His wife was reported to be seven months pregnant.

“Shit.” It was the only sound she heard from Luke as she ran a hand gently around his shoulders, with tears running from her own eyes. They were tears for the man who had died, and tears of fear for Luke. It could have been Lucas.

“Oh darling, I’m so sorry.” They seemed such empty words, for what she felt. “Did you know him well?”

He nodded silently and then closed his eyes. “Too well.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice was a whisper.

“He was my front man. Remember, I told you I never go into the prisons, and no one can pin anything on me?”

She nodded.

“Well, they can’t pin anything on me because of guys like Joe Morrissey. He was a chaplain in four of the joints before leaving the priesthood. He stuck around with some of the hard-core reformers after that. And he fronts for the heavies. Mostly me. And now … we killed him. I killed him. Goddamn fucking …” He got up and walked angrily across the room, wiping the tears from his face. “Kezia?”

“Yes?” Her voice was a frightened little sound from across the room.

“I want you packed and dressed right now. And I mean right now. I’m getting you the hell out of here.”

“Lucas … you’re afraid?”

He hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “I’m afraid.”

“For me? Or yourself?”

He almost smiled then. He was never afraid for himself. But this was no time to get her involved. “Let’s just say I want to be smart. Now come on, baby. Let’s get moving.”

“You’re leaving too?” She was talking to his back now though.

“Later.”

“What are you going to do before that?” She was suddenly terrified. Oh God, what if they killed him?

“I’m going to take care of business, and then get my ass back to Chicago tonight And you’re going to go to New York, like a nice girl, and wait there. Now shut up and get dressed, dammit!” He turned toward her with an attempted snarl, but then his face softened as he saw the look of terror on her face. “Now, Mama, come on….” He walked back across the room and took her in his arms as she began to cry again.

“Oh Lucas, what if …”

“Shhh …” He held her tight and kissed the top of her head gently. “No ‘what if,’ Mama. Everything’s going to be cool.”

Going to be cool? Was he out of his mind? Someone had just been killed! His front man, for chrissake. She looked at him with shock in her eyes and he pulled her gently up off the bed.

“Now I want you to get ready.” Too many people could figure out where he was staying. And Kezia was one gold mine he didn’t want in his pocket if someone was laying for him. Maybe killing Morrissey was just a warning. Some warning. His stomach turned over again at the thought.

She started to get dressed while throwing things into her suitcase and casting sidelong glances at Luke. He suddenly looked so businesslike, so foreign to her, so angry.

“Where will you be today, Lucas?”

“Out. Busy. I’ll call you when I get to Chicago. And you’re not going to a birthday party for chrissake. Just put on some clothes. Hurry up.”

“I’m almost ready.” And a moment later she was, looking very sober, with large dark glasses concealing the lack of makeup.

He looked at her for a long moment, tension rippling through his body, and then nodded. “Okay, lady. I’m not going to ride with you. I’m going to call a cab, and get the hell out of here. You’re going to wait in Ernestine’s office downstairs and wait for a cab with her. She will take you to the airport.”

“Ernestine?” Kezia looked surprised. The proprietress of the Ritz didn’t look the sort to play nursemaid to grown guests. And Luke was wondering about it himself. But he figured that for fifty bucks she’d do almost anything.

“That’s right. Ernestine. Go to the airport with her. And get on the first goddamn plane out. I don’t give a shit if it stops fifteen times on the way to New York. But I want you out of here. I don’t want you hanging around the airport. Is that clear?” She nodded silently. “It damn well better be, ‘cause Kezia, I’m not kidding. I’ll tear your hide off if you fool around somewhere. Get out of this town! Is that clear? I’m sorry I brought you here in the first place.” And he looked it.

“I’m not sorry. I’m glad. And I love you. I’m just sorry your friend …” Her voice trailed off and her eyes grew large as she looked at him, and he softened. He took her in his arms again, once more torn between wanting her and knowing he shouldn’t take her down with him. But he needed her too much.

“You’re quite something, lady.” He kissed her quietly and then straightened up. “Get ready to go, Mama. I’m going to tell Ernestine to get you out of here within five minutes, and I’ll be calling to check. I’ll call you in New York tonight. But it may be late. I want to get back to Chicago before I start playing around making phone calls.”

“You’ll be okay today?” But it was a pointless question and she knew it. Who knew if he’d be okay? What she really wanted to ask him was when she’d see him again, but she didn’t dare. She just watched with large damp eyes as he quietly closed the door to the room. A moment later she saw him leave the hotel in a cab. And ten minutes later, she and Ernestine did the same. Kezia got very drunk on the flight back to New York.

Chapter 19

It had been over a week since she’d left him in San Francisco. Now he was back in Chicago and calling her two or three times a day. But there had been a raw fiber of terror in her gut since she’d left him. He said everything was fine, and he’d be in New York any day. But when? And how was he really? She was aware of a guarded quality to his speech when he called. He didn’t trust his phone. And this was far worse than the last time they’d been apart. Then she had only been lonely. Now she was afraid.

She was desperately trying to keep her time, and her mind, as filled as she could. She had even suggested to Luke that she do a piece on Alejandro.

“On that fleabag center he runs?”

“Yes. Simpson says he might have a market for it. I think I’d like to do it. Think Alejandro would agree?”

“He’d love it, and a little publicity might help him get funds.”

“All right. I’ll get busy on it.” Either that or go crazy, sweetie pie.

“Okay, now what do I do? I’ve never been interviewed before.” She laughed at the nervous look on his face. He was such a nice man, with a good sense of humor.

“Well, Alejandro, let’s see. Actually, you’re only my second personal interview. Usually, I go about it quietly. Kind of sneaky.” She looked like a kid in her pigtails and jeans. But a clean kid. That was rare in those halls.

“Why sneaky? Are you afraid of what you write?” His eyes opened wide. It surprised him. She was so direct; it seemed unlike her to go through any back doors.

“It’s mostly because of the crazy life I lead. Luke covered it fairly accurately. I am one way, and live a number of other ways.”

“And what’s Luke to you, Kezia? Is he real?”

“Very. It’s my old life that isn’t real. Never was. And it’s even less so now.”

“You don’t like it?”

She shook her head in silent answer.

“That’s too bad.”

“I’m almost ashamed of it, Alejandro.”

“Kezia, that’s crazy. It’s part of you. You can’t deny it.”

“But it’s so ugly.” She toyed with a pencil and looked at her hands.

“It can’t all be ugly. And why ‘ugly’? To most people that life looks pretty good.” His voice was very soft.

“It’s an empty life, though. It takes everything out of you, and doesn’t put anything back. It’s pretense and games, and people cheating on each other, and lying, and thinking of how many thousands of dollars to spend on a dress, when they could be putting it into something like this. It just doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense to me. I guess I’m a misfit.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about that world.”

“You’re better off.”

“And you’re silly.” He reached out and touched her face, pulling her chin up until her eyes met his. “It’s part of you, Kezia. A nice part. A gracious part. You really think you’d be so much better off living up here like this? People lie and cheat and steal here too. They shoot junk. They fuck their children. They beat their mothers and their wives. They get frustrated and angry. They don’t have time to learn the things you know. Maybe you should just take that knowledge and use it well. Don’t waste your time feeling bitter or sad for the years before this. Just use it well now.”

She smiled at him for a long moment. He made sense. And he was right. Her world had given her something. It was a part of her life. “I think I hate it so much because I’m afraid I’ll get stuck there in the end. It’s like an octopus, and it won’t let you go.”

“Baby, you’re a big girl now. If you don’t want it, all you have to do is walk away. Quietly. Not with a bazooka in one hand and a grenade in the other. No one can stop you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He looked surprised.

“I guess not. I never felt I had a choice.”

“Sure you do. We all have choices. We just don’t see them sometimes. Even I have a choice, in this ‘shithouse’ as Luke calls it. Any time it gets me down, I can walk out. But I don’t.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Because they need me. And I love it I feel like I can’t walk out, but the point is, I can. I just don’t want to. Maybe you didn’t want to walk out of your world either. Maybe you still don’t want to. Maybe you’re not ready to yet. Could be you feel safe there. And why not? It’s familiar. And familiar is easy. Even if it’s the shits, it’s easy, because you know it. You never know the hell that is going to be out there.” He gestured vaguely with one arm as she nodded. He understood very well.

“You’re right. But I think I’m ready to leave the womb now. I also know that until now I haven’t been ready. That’s embarrassing to admit. Seems like at my age, I should have all that behind me, and be all squared away.”

“Bullshit. That takes a hell of a long time. I was thirty before I had the balls to leave my little Chicano world in L.A. and come here.”

“How old are you now?”

“Thirty-six.”

“You don’t look it.” She was surprised.

“Maybe not, querida, but I sure as hell feel it.” He laughed his soft velvety laugh, and the warm Mexican eyes danced. “Some days I feel eighty.”

“I know what you mean. Alejandro …” Her face grew serious.

“What, babe?” He thought he knew what was coming.

“You think Luke’s okay?”

“In what way?” Oh God, don’t let her ask. He couldn’t tell her. Luke had to do that himself, if he hadn’t already … but he should have by now.

“I don’t know. He’s so … well … so bold, I guess that’s the right word. He just does what he does and that’s it. I worry about his parole, about his safety, his life, everything. But he doesn’t seem to.” She wasn’t looking at him and he watched her hands; they were nervous and taut, playing games with her pen.

“No, he doesn’t worry about his parole, or his ass, or much of anything. That’s just Luke.”

“Do you think he’s going to get his ass in a jam one day? Like maybe killed?” She couldn’t help thinking of Morrissey. Her eyes came back to him, full of questions, and fear.

“If he has problems, Kezia, he’ll tell us.”

“Yeah. The day before the ceiling comes down.” She had learned that much about him. He never said a word till the last minute, about anything. “He doesn’t give one much warning.”

“No, Kezia. He doesn’t. That’s just his way.”

“One has to respect it, I suppose.”

He nodded very quietly, and wanted to reach out and touch her hand. But he couldn’t. All he could do was talk to Luke. He thought it was time.

“And that, my friend, ought to finish the story. Thank you.” With a sigh, she sat back in the chair in Alejandro’s office. It had been a long day. They’d been talking for hours.

“You think you’ve got it all?” He looked pleased. She was fun to work with. Lucas was one hell of a lucky man, and he knew it.

“All, and then some. Can I lure you downtown for dinner? You ought to have something to make up for my picking your brain all afternoon.”

He smiled at the thought. “I don’t know about that. Hell, Kezia, if you get us some decent publicity for this place, it might change a lot of things. Community acceptance, if nothing else. That’s been one of our biggest problems. They hate us worse up here than they do at City Hall. We get it at both ends.”

“It really seems like that.”

“Maybe your story will change the trend.”

“I hope so, love. I really hope so. So, what about dinner?”

“You’re on. I’d take you to dinner up here, but Lucas would kill us both. I don’t think he wants you hanging around this part of town.”

“Snob.”

“No, for once in his life he’s using his head. Kezia, he’s right. Don’t just come up here like it’s the cool thing to do. It isn’t. It’s dangerous. Very.”

She was amused at their collective concern. The two tough guys protecting the delicate flower. “Okay, okay. I get the message. I got a whole speech from Luke on the phone. He wanted me to come up here today in a limo.” She laughed.

“Did your’ Alejandro’s eyes grew wide. Talk about heat from the neighborhood!

“Of course not, you ass. I came up by subway.” He answered her laugh with his own. They had fallen into the easy banter and jovial insults of friends, and she was glad. He was a very appealing man. Deeply sensitive, and at the same time fun. Above all, what struck her again about him was his kindness. And he was right about her too. Her past was a part of her life. The grandeur, the money … running away from it wouldn’t solve anything. She was tempted to with Luke, but that wouldn’t do it. She was Kezia Saint Martin and he was Lucas Johns and they loved each other. He couldn’t become another Whit, and she was no street girl. They had come from different places and met when the time was right. But now what? What about the future? She hadn’t figured that one out yet. She hadn’t figured that out at all. And maybe neither had Luke.

“Hey, Kezia, tell you what … how about dinner down in the Village?”

“Italian?” It was all she ever ate with Luke, and pasta was coming out of her ears. She had cooked spaghetti for him the night before.

“No. Fuck Italian. That’s Luke’s trip. Spanish! I know a great place.” She laughed at him and shook her head.

“Don’t you guys ever eat hamburgers or hot dogs or steak?”

“No way. Right about now I’d sell my soul for a burrito. You don’t know what it does to a Mexican to live in this town. Everything’s kosher or pizza.” He made a face and she laughed again as she followed him out.

“Tell the truth. It’s fantastic, isn’t it?” She had settled on a tostada while he ate paella.

“I’ve got to admit, it’s not bad. And it’s a change from fettuccine.”

“This place is run by a Mexican bandit, and his old lady’s from Madrid. Great combination.”

She smiled and sipped at her wine. It had been a nice evening. She enjoyed Alejandro’s company and it took the edge off her yearning for Luke. All she wanted to do was go home and wait for his call.

“Kezia …” Alejandro seemed to hesitate.

“Yeah?”

“You’re good for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had. But do me a favor …” He paused again.

“What, love?” How she liked this funny Mexican man. He cared so much about everything. The kids at his center, his friends, and especially Luke. And now her.

“Please don’t get hurt. He lives a hard life. It’s a long way from home for you. Lucas is a gambler. He plays and he pays. But if he loses … you’ll pay too. Through the teeth, kid—worse than anything you know.”

“Yeah. I know.” They sat silent for a moment in the light of the candle on their table, and thought their own thoughts.

And when Alejandro took her home, Luke was waiting for her in the living room.

“Lucas!” She ran into his arms and was instantly swept off the ground. “Oh darling, you’re home!”

“You’d better believe it! And what’s this lecherous Mexican bandit doing with my woman?” But there was no fear in his eyes, only delight at having Kezia in his arms again.

“We did the interview today.” Her words were muffled as she buried her face in his chest. She held him as tightly as a child would, clutching all her security in those arms, in those shoulders, in that man.

“I wondered where you were. I got home two hours ago.”

“You did?” She looked more childlike than ever, the days of worry slipping away from her like rain. Alejandro stood by and watched the scene with a smile. “We had dinner at a nice little Spanish place in the Village.”

“Oh God, he took you to that place? How bad is the heartburn?”

She grinned up at him again as she slid out of her shoes and stretched, a look of mischief coming to her eyes. Lucas was home and he was safe!

“Not bad. And it was lovely. Alejandro is very good to me.

“Best dude I know.” Lucas sprawled on the couch with an appreciative look toward his friend, who was getting ready to leave them.

“Don’t you want some coffee, Alejandro?”

“Nope, I’ll leave you lovebirds alone.”

“Smart man, Al. She has some packing to do anyway. We’re leaving for Chicago in the morning.”

“We are? Oh Lucas, I love you! How long are we staying?” This time she wanted to know how long they had.

“How about till Thanksgiving?” He looked at her happily through half-closed eyes.

“Together? Three weeks? Lucas, you’re crazy! How can I stay away that long? The column …” Oh shit.

“You do it in the summer, don’t you?” She nodded.

“Yeah, but I cover things over there, and there’s no one here in the summer.” He laughed, and she looked a question into his eyes.

“What’s so funny?”

“The way you say ‘no one.’ Can’t you cover a couple of posh posh parties in Chicago?”

“Yeah. I guess I could.” And she wanted to go. Oh God, how she wanted to go!

“Then why don’t you? And maybe I can wind things up there in less than three weeks. There’s no reason why I can’t work out of New York. What the hell … and all I really need is a week there to work out some things. I can commute, if I have to.”

“Could we both commute?” Her eyes were filled with stars.

“Sure we could, Mama. The two of us. I made up my mind on the plane coming back here tonight. I told you it would never be like that last stint again, and it won’t be. I can’t stand it without you.”

“Lucas, my love, I adore you.” She bent quickly to kiss him.

“Then take me to bed. Good night, Alejandro.”

Their friend chuckled to himself as he let himself out. Lucas was asleep before she turned the lights out. She looked at him, sound asleep on his side. Lucas Johns. Her man. The hub of her life. And here she was, following him from town to town like a gypsy. It was fun, she loved it, but she knew that sooner or later she’d have to make some decisions … the column … she hadn’t been to a party in weeks … and now she was off to Chicago … and what then? But at least Lucas was with her. And safe. Who cared about parties? She had been afraid for his life.

Chapter 20

“Kezia, when are you coming back?”

She had been on the phone long-distance to Edward in New York for over half an hour. “Probably some time next week. I’m still working on that story out here.” And she had appeared at two social galas, but it was harder out here. This wasn’t her town. It took a lot more research to come up with the dirt. “Besides, darling, I’m enjoying Chicago.” That confirmed the worst of his suspicions. She sounded so happy. And she was not the sort to be thrilled by Chicago; it was not her milieu. Too Midwest, too American, too Sears Roebuck, and not enough of the rarefied air of Bergdorf’s and Bendel’s. There had to be someone in Chicago. Someone new? He only hoped it was someone worthwhile. And respectable.

“I saw your last article in Harper’s. Nice piece. And I heard from Simpson the other day that you’ve got something coming out in a few weeks in the Sunday Times.”

“I do? Which one?”

“Something about a drug rehabilitation center in Harlem. I didn’t know you’d done that.”

“That was just before I left town. Save it for me when it comes out.” But suddenly there was an unspoken awkwardness between them. They both felt it.

“Kezia, are you all right?”

And now it was back to that again. “Yes, Edward, I’m fine. Honest. We’ll have lunch next week when I get back, and you can see for yourself. I’ll even meet you at La Côte Basque.”

“Dear lady, how kind you are.”

She laughed at him and they hung up after a few moments of business: they had some new tax shelters to discuss.

“Luke looked up from his reading with a quizzical eye. “Who was that?” He knew it had to be Edward or Simpson.

“Edward.”

“You can tell him you’ll have lunch with him sooner. If you want.”

“Are you sending me back?” They had been gone for ten days.

“No, you jerk.” He grinned at the look on her face. “I just thought we’d go back tomorrow. You’ve got your work to consider, and I have to commute to D.C. for the rest of the week. There’s a series of closed meetings for the moratorium that I want to attend, and I can catch another speaking engagement or two down there. Washington seems to love me.” The checks had been coming in with pleasing regularity. “I just thought we’d settle down in New York for a couple of weeks.”

She laughed at him, relieved. “Are you sure you can stand staying anyplace for that long?”

“I’ll sure try.” He slapped her behind as he walked to the bar and poured himself a bourbon and water.

“Luke?” She was lying on the bed, looking pensive.

“Yeah?”

“What am I going to do about the column?”

“That’s up to you, babe. You’ve got to make up your own mind on that. Do you dig writing it?”

“Once in a while. But not lately. Not for a long time, in fact.”

“Then maybe it’s time to quit, for your own sake. But don’t give it up for me. Do what you want. And if you’ve got to stick around New York covering fancy parties, then you do that. You’ve got to take care of your business too. Don’t forget that.”

“I’ll see how I feel about it after next week. Ill do my usual thing when we go back to New York. Then I’ll see how it feels.” With Luke commuting to Washington, she’d have plenty of time to hit her old circuit.

After four days in New York, she had been to the opening of a play, the closing of a theater, two lunches for ambassadors’ wives, and a charity fashion show. Her feet hurt, her mind ached, and her ears were numbed by the constant flow of idle gossip. Who gave a damn? Kezia didn’t. Not anymore.

“Lucas, if I ever hear the word ‘divine’ again, I think I’m going to throw up.”

“You look tired.” She looked more than tired. She looked drained, and she felt it.

“I am tired, and I hate all that fucking shit.” She had even made it to a meeting of the Arthritis Ball that day. Tiffany had passed out in the John. And she couldn’t even use it for the column. The only good piece of information she’d picked up was that Marina and Halpern were getting married. But so what? Who cared?

“What are we doing this weekend?” If he told her that they were going to Chicago, she would have a fit of hysterics. She didn’t want to go anywhere, except bed.

“Nothing. Maybe I’ll go up and see Al. Want to have him for dinner?” He was sitting on the edge of the bed and looked as tired as she.

“That, I would love. I’ll cook something here.” He smiled at the domestic exchange and she picked up on what he was thinking. “It’s neat, isn’t it, Luke? Sometimes I wonder if you love it all as much as I do. I’ve never lived like this before.”

He grinned at her, knowing how true that was.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. And I probably love it even more than you do. I’m beginning to wonder how I survived without you before this.” He slipped into bed beside her, and she turned off the light. He had his own keys to the apartment, and used the answering service as his, she had cleaned out a closet for him, and the maid had finally even smiled at him. Once. She called him “Mister Luke.”

“You know something, darling? We’re lucky. Incredibly lucky.” She was pleased with herself, as though she had caught a falling star in her hands.

“Yes, baby, we are.” Even if only for now….

“Well, gentlemen, I propose a toast to the demise of Martin Hallam.”

“Lucas, what does she mean?” Alejandro looked puzzled and Luke looked at her curiously. This was the first he had heard of it.

“Kezia, does this mean what I think?”

“Yes, sir. It does. After seven years of writing the Martin Hallam column, I quit. I did it today.”

Luke looked at her, shocked. “What did they say?”

“They don’t know yet. I told Simpson today, and he’s going to handle the rest. They’ll know tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” It wasn’t too late to reverse the decision.

“I have never been so sure in my life. I don’t have the time for that garbage anymore. Or the inclination to waste my time doing it” She saw a strange look pass between Luke and Alejandro, and wondered why no one seemed impressed. “Well, you two are certainly a lousy audience for my big announcement. Phooey on both of you.”

Alejandro smiled and Luke laughed.

“I guess we’re just kind of shocked, babe. And I suddenly wondered if you’re doing it because of me.”

“Not really, darling. It’s my decision. I don’t want to have to go to those shitty parties for the rest of my life. You saw how tired I was this week. And for what? It’s just not my thing anymore.”

“Have you told Edward?” He looked worried, and Alejandro was looking daggers at him.

“No. I’ll call him tomorrow. You’re the first two to know after Simpson. And you’re a couple of creeps.”

“I’m sorry, baby. It’s just sort of a shock.” He lifted his glass to her then, a nervous smile on his face. ‘To Martin Hallam then.” Alejandro raised his glass in response, but his eyes never left Lucas’ face.

“To Martin Hallam. Rest in peace.”

“Amen.” Kezia drained her glass in one gulp.

“No, Edward. I’m sure. And Simpson agrees. It’s a diversion I don’t really have time for anymore. I want to stick with serious writing.”

“But it’s such a drastic step, Kezia. You’re used to the column. Everyone’s used to it. It’s become an institution. Have you given this decision adequate thought?”

“Of course I have. For months. And the fact is, darling, that I don’t want to be an ‘institution.’ Not that kind of institution. I want to be a writer, a good one, not a gossip monger amongst fools. Really, darling, you’ll see. It’s the best possible decision.”

“Kezia, you’re making me nervous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why?” She swung her foot as she sat at her desk. She had called him right after Luke left the house for a morning of meetings. At least Luke had come around, after the first shock. And Simpson had applauded the decision, and said it was high time.

“I wish I knew why you make me nervous. I think it’s because I get the feeling I don’t know what you’re up to, not that it’s really any of my business.” But he wanted it to be. That was the rub.

“Edward, you’re going to make yourself senile worrying about nothing.” He was beginning to annoy her. Constantly.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” It was almost an accusation.

“Going away.” But he didn’t dare ask where. And she didn’t volunteer the information. They were going back to Chicago.

“All right, all right. Dammit, Kezia, I’m sorry. It’s just that, in my mind, you will always be a child.”

“And I will always love you, and you will always worry too much. Over nothing.”

He had made her uncomfortable, though. After they hung up, she sat silently and wondered. Was she crazy to stop writing the column? At one time, it had been so important to her. But not anymore. But still … was she losing touch with who and what she was? In a way, she had done it for Luke. And for herself. Because she wanted to be free to move around with him, and besides, she had outgrown the column years ago.

But suddenly, she wanted to discuss it with Luke. He was gone for the day. She could call Alejandro, but she hated to bother him. It was a queasy feeling, like leaving the dock in the fog, headed for an unknown destination. But she had made her decision. She would live by it. Martin Hallam was dead. It was a simple decision really. The column was over.

She sat back at her desk and stretched, and decided to go for a walk. It was a gray November day, and there was a nip of winter in the air. It made her want to throw a long wool scarf around her neck and run to the park. She felt suddenly free of an old wearisome burden. The weight of Martin Hallam had finally slipped from her shoulders.

Kezia grabbed an old sheepskin jacket from her closet and slipped tall black custom-made boots under her carefully pressed jeans. She dug a small knitted red cap from the pocket of her jacket, and took a pair of gloves from a shelf. She felt new again now. A writer of anything she wanted, not a scavenger of social crumbs. A small smile hovered on her lips, and there was a mischievous gleam in her eye as she headed for the park, with long strides. What a marvelous day, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. She thought about buying a picnic to eat in the park, but decided not to bother. Instead, she bought a small bag of hot roasted chestnuts from an old gnarled man pushing a steaming cart along Fifth Avenue. He grinned at her toothlessly and she waved at him over her shoulder as she walked away. He was sweet really. Everyone was. Everyone suddenly looked as new as she felt.

She was well into the park and halfway through the chestnuts when she looked ahead and saw the woman trip and fall on the curb. She had spun out into the street close to the clomping feet of an aging horse pulling a shabby hansom carriage through the park. The woman lay very still for a moment, and the driver of the carriage stood and pulled at the horse’s reins. The horse seemed not even to have noticed the bundle near his hoofs. She was wearing a dark fur coat and her hair was very blond. It was all Kezia could see. She frowned and quickened her pace, shoving the chestnuts into her pocket, and then breaking into a trot as the driver of the hansom jumped from his platform, still holding the reins. The woman stirred then, knelt and lurched forward, into the horse’s legs this time. The horse shied, and his owner pushed the woman away. She sat down heavily on the pavement then, but mercifully free of the horse’s legs at last.

“What the hell’sa matta wi’youse? Ya crazy?” His eyes bulged furiously as he continued to back his horse away and stare at the woman. Kezia could only see the back of her head, as she shook her head mutely. He mounted his platform then, and clucked his horse back into motion, with a last flick of his middle finger at the still-seated woman, and a “Stupid bitch!” His passengers were obscured beyond a scratched and smoky window in the carriage, and the ancient horse continued plodding, so used to his route that bombs could have shattered near his feet and he would have continued in the well-worn groove he had traveled for years.

Kezia saw the woman shake her head fuzzily and kneel slowly on the pavement She ran the last few steps then, wondering if the woman had been hurt, and what had caused her to fall. The dark fur coat was fanned out behind her now, and it was obvious that it was a long and rather splendid mink. Kezia heard a dry little cough from the woman just as she reached her, and then she saw her turn her head. What she saw made her stop, shocked by who it was and how stricken she looked. It was Tiffany, her face gaunt yet swollen, her eyes puffy, yet her cheeks were pulled inward, with painful lines near her eyes and mouth. It wasn’t yet noon, and she was already drunk.

“Tiffany?” Kezia knelt beside her and smoothed a hand over her hair. It was uncombed and disheveled and there was no makeup on the ravaged face. “Tiffie … it’s me. Kezia.”

“Hi.” Tiffany seemed to look somewhere past Kezia’s left ear, unknowing, unseeing, uncaring. “Where’s Uncle Kee?”

Uncle Kee. Jesus, she meant Kezia’s father. Uncle Kee. She hadn’t heard that in so long … Uncle Kee … Daddy …

“Tiffie, are you hurt?”

“Hurt?” She looked up vaguely, seeming not to understand.

“The horse, Tiff. Did it hurt your.”

“Horse?” She wore the smile of a child now, and seemed to understand. “Oh, horse. Oh, no, I ride all the time.” She stood up shakily then, and dusted off her hands and the front of her long black mink coat. Kezia looked down and saw torn gray stockings and one bruised black suede Gucci shoe. The coat gaped a little and Kezia caught a glimpse of a dressy black velvet skirt and a white satin shirt, with several rows of large gray and white pearls. It was no outfit to be roaming the park in, nor was it an outfit for that time of day. Kezia wondered if she’d been home the night before.

“Where are you going?”

“To the Lombards’. For dinner.” So that was where she’d been. Kezia had been invited there too, but had turned down the invitation weeks ago. The Lombards. But that had been last night. What had happened since?

“How about if I take you home?”

“To my house?” Tiffany looked suddenly wary.

“Sure.” Kezia tried to put an easy tone in her voice, while holding Tiffany up firmly by one elbow.

“No! Not my house! No….” She bolted from Kezia’s grip then and stumbled, and was instantly sick at Kezia’s feet and over her own black suede shoes. She sat down on the pavement again and began to cry, the black mink trailing sadly in her own bile.

Kezia felt hot tears burn her eyes as she reached down to her friend and tried to pull her up again.

“Come on, Tiffie … let’s go.”

“No … I … oh God, Kezia … please …” She clutched at Kezia’s denim-clad legs, and looked up at her with eyes torn by a thousand private demons. Kezia reached gently down to her and pulled her up again, as she saw a cab swoop around the bend from which the hansom cab had appeared only moments before. She held up a hand quickly and hailed it, and then pulled Tiffany closer. “No!” It was the anguished wail of a heartbroken child, and Kezia felt her friend trembling in her arms.

“Come on, we’ll go to my place.”

“I’m going to be sick.” She closed her eyes and sank toward Kezia again, as the cabbie darted out and threw open the door.

“No, you’re not. Let’s get in.” She managed to slide Tiffany onto the seat and gave the driver her own address as she rolled down both windows to give her friend air. It was then that she noticed that Tiffany wasn’t carrying a handbag.

“Tiffie? Did you have a bag?” The girl looked around blankly for a moment and then shrugged, letting her head fall back onto the seat as both eyes closed and the air rushed in over her face.

“So what?” The words were so low Kezia had barely heard her.

“Hm?”

“Handbag … so what?” She shrugged, and seemed almost to fall asleep, but a moment later, her hand blindly sought Kezia’s and gripped it tightly as two lone tears squeezed down her face. Kezia patted the thin cold hand and looked down with horror at the large pear-shaped emerald flanked by diamond baguettes. If someone had taken Tiffany’s handbag, he had missed the best part. The thought made Kezia shudder. Tiffany was ripe prey for anyone. “Walked … all … night….” The voice was almost a painful croak, and Kezia found herself wondering if it wasn’t more likely “drank” all night. It was obvious she hadn’t gone home after the Lombards.

“Where did you walk to?” She didn’t want to get into a heavy conversation in the cab. First she’d put Tiffany to bed, call her home and tell the housekeeper that Mrs. Benjamin was fine, and then they’d talk later. No drunken hysterics in the cab…. The cabbie might decide he had a hot story and … Christ, that Kezia did not need.

“Church … all night … walking … slept in church….” She kept her eyes closed and seemed to drift off between words. But the grip on Kezia’s hand never slackened. It was only a few minutes before they drew up in front of Kezia’s building, and with no explanations required or proffered, the doorman helped Kezia get Tiffany into the elevator, and the elevator man helped get her inside. The apartment was empty; Luke was out, and the cleaning woman wasn’t due. Kezia was grateful for the solitude as she led her friend into the bedroom. She didn’t want to explain Luke, even in Tiffany’s current state. She had taken a hell of a chance bringing her there, but she couldn’t think of anyplace else.

Tiffany sat sleepily on the edge of Kezia’s bed and looked around. “Where’s Uncle Kee?”

Her father again … Christ. “He’s out, Tiff. Why don’t you lie down, and I’ll call your place and tell them you’ll be home later.”

“No! … Tell them…. Tell…. Tell her to go to hell!” She began to sob then and shake violently from head to foot. Kezia felt a cold chill run up her spine. Something about the words, the tone of voice … something … it had struck a chord in her memory, and she suddenly felt frightened. Tiffany was looking at her now with wild eyes, shaking her head, tears pouring down her face. Kezia stood near the phone and looked at her friend, wanting to help, but fearing to go near her. Something inside Kezia turned over.

“Shouldn’t I tell them something?” The two women stayed that way for a moment, with Tiffany slowly shaking her head.

“No … divorce….”

“Bill?” Kezia looked at her stunned.

Tiffany nodded.

“Bill asked for a divorce?”

She nodded yes and then no. And then she took a deep breath. “Mother Benjamin…. She called last night … after the Lombards’ dinner. Called me a … a … lush … an alcoholic … a … the children, she is going to take the children, and make Bill … make Bill …” She gasped, choking back more sobs, and then retched briefly, but dryly.

“Make Bill divorce you?”

Tiffany gasped again and nodded while Kezia continued to look on, still dreading to go near her.

“But she can’t ‘make’ Bill divorce you, for Christ’s sake. He’s a grown man.”

But Tiffany shook her head and looked up with empty, swollen eyes. “The trust. The big trust. His whole life … depends … on it. And the children … their trust … He … she could … he would …”

“No, he wouldn’t. He loves you. You’re his wife.”

“She’s his mother.”

“So what, dammit? Be reasonable, Tiffany. He’s not going to divorce you….” But suddenly Kezia wondered. Would he? What if the bulk of his fortune depended on it? How much did he love Tiffany? Enough to sacrifice that? As Kezia watched her, she knew Tiffany was right. Mother Benjamin held all the cards. “What about the children?” But she saw the answer in Tiffany’s eyes.

“She … she … they …” She was racked by fresh sobs, and clutched the bedspread beneath her as she fought to finish. “She has … them…. They were gone last night after the … Lombards’ dinner … and … Bill … Bill … in Brussels … she said … I … oh God, Kezia, someone help me please….”

It was a death wail and Kezia found herself trembling as she stood across the room and finally, painfully, slowly began to walk toward her friend. But it was like hearing it again … hearing it … things began to come back to her. There were tears on her own face now and there was this horrible, terrible urge to slap the girl sitting filthy and broken on her bed … an urge to just sweep her away, to shake her, to … oh God, no….

She was standing in front of her and the words seemed to rip through her soul, as though they were someone else’s, hurled by and at a long vanished ghost. “Then why are you such a fucking drunk, dammit … why … why?” She sank down on the bed beside Tiffany then, and the two women held each other tight as they cried. It seemed like years before Kezia could stop, and this time it felt as though Tiffany were comforting her. There was a timelessness about the arms veiled by black mink. They were arms that had held Kezia before. Arms that had heard those words before, twenty years before. Why?

“Jesus. I’m … I’m sorry, Tiffie. It … you brought back something so painful for me.” She looked up to see her friend nodding tiredly, but looking more sober than she had in an hour. Maybe in days.

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m a bad trip all around.” The tears continued to fan out from her eyes, but her voice sounded almost normal.

“No, you’re not. And I’m so sorry about the kids, and about Mrs. Benjamin. What a stinking thing to do. What are you going to do?”

She shrugged in answer, looking down at her hands.

“Can’t you fight it?” But they both knew otherwise. Not unless she cleaned up radically overnight. “What if you go to a clinic?”

“Yeah, and when I come out she’ll have a grip on those kids that will never loosen, no matter how sober I get. She’s got me, Kezia. She’s got my soul … my heart … my …” She closed her eyes again then, and the look of pain on her face was intolerable. Kezia put her arms around her again. She seemed so thin and frail, even in the thick fur coat. There was so little one could say. It was as though Tiffany had already lost. And she knew it.

“Why don’t you lie down and try to get some sleep?”

“And then what?” Her eyes were almost haunting.

“Then you can take a bath, have something to eat, and I’ll take you home.”

“And then?” There was nothing Kezia could say. She knew what the other girl meant. Tiffany stood up slowly and walked shakily to the window. “I think it’s time I went home.”

She seemed to be looking far beyond and far away, and Kezia berated herself silently for the wave of relief that she felt. She wanted Tiffany out of her house. Before Luke came home, before she fell apart again, before she said something that brought even one instant of horror back, she wanted her gone. Tiffany made her unbearably nervous. She frightened her. She was like a living ghost. The reincarnation of Liane Holmes-Aubrey Saint Martin. Her mother … the drunk…. She did not argue with Tiffany.

“You want me to take you home?” But she found herself hoping not.

Tiffany shook her head and brought her gaze back from the window with a small, gentle smile, and quietly shook her head. “No. I have to go alone.” She walked out of the bedroom, through the living room, and stopped at the front door, looking back at Kezia hovering uncertainly in the bedroom doorway. Kezia wasn’t sure if she should let her leave alone, but she wanted her to. She just wanted her to go home. To go away. Their eyes held for a moment, and Tiffany lifted one hand in a mock military salute, pulled her coat more tightly around her, and said, “See ya,” just as they had when they were in school. “See ya,” and then she was gone. The door closed softly behind her, and a moment later Kezia heard the elevator take her away. She knew she had no money to go home with, but she knew that Tiffany’s doorman would pay for the cab. The very rich can travel almost anywhere empty-handed. Everyone knows them. Doormen are delighted to pay for their cabs. They double their money in tips. Kezia knew Tiffany was safe. And at least she was out of her house. There was a heavy scent left hanging in the air, a smell of perfume mixed with perspiration and vomit.

Kezia stood at the window for a long time, thinking of her friend, and her mother, loving and hating them both. After a while, the two seemed to blend into one. They were so much alike, so … so … It took a long hot bath and a nap to make Kezia feel human again. The excitement and the freedom of the morning, of ditching that damn column, was tarnished by the agony of seeing Tiffany sprawled in the street at the feet of that horse, shouted at by the hansom cab driver, puking and crying and wandering lost and confused … and screwed over by her mother-in-law … bereft of her children, with a husband who didn’t give a damn. Hell, he probably would let his mother talk him into a divorce. And it probably wouldn’t take much talking. It made Kezia’s stomach turn over again and again, and when at last she lay down for a nap she slept badly, but at least when she awoke, things looked better again. Much better. She looked up to see Luke standing at the foot of the bed. She glanced at the clock by her bed. It was much later than she’d thought.

“Hi, lazyass. What did you do? Sleep all day?” She smiled at him for a moment and then grew serious as she sat up and held out her arms. He leaned over to kiss her and she nuzzled his neck.

“I had kind of a rough day.”

“An assignment?”

“No. A friend.” She seemed unwilling to say more. “Want something to drink? I’m going to make some tea. I’m freezing.” She shivered gently and Luke looked at the window and the night sky beyond.

“No wonder, with the windows open like that.” She had opened all of them wide, to banish the smell. “Make me some coffee, babe?”

“Sure thing.” They exchanged a haphazard kiss and a smile, and she took the newspaper from the foot of the bed where he’d left it when he leaned over to kiss her hello.

“That girl in the paper anyone you know?”

“Who?” She was wandering barefoot through the living room now, yawning as she went.

“The socialite on the front page.”

“I’ll look.” She flicked on the kitchen light, and looked down at the paper in her hands. The room spun around as she did. “It … it … I … oh God, Lucas, help me …” She slid slowly down the side of the doorway, staring at the photograph of Tiffany Benjamin. She had jumped from the window of her apartment shortly after two. “See ya … see ya….” Suddenly the words rang in her ears. “See ya.” With that little salute they had done all through school. Kezia scarcely felt Luke’s arms around her as he led her to the couch to sit down.

Chapter 21

“Do you want me to come with you?” Kezia shook her head as she zipped up the black dress and then slipped on the black alligator shoes she had bought the summer before in Madrid.

“No, love, thanks. I’ll be okay.”

“Promise?”

She smiled at him as she put on her mink hat. “Swear.”

“I’ll say one thing, you sure as hell are looking fancy.”

He looked at her appreciatively and she smiled again.

“I’m not sure that I’m supposed to.” But she knew that she looked just right. She was trying to decide if she should wear her mink coat or her black Saint Laurent. She decided on the black.

“You look fine. And listen, lady, if it gets too heavy for you, you split, right?”

“I’ll see.”

“That’s not what I said.” He walked to the mirror and pulled her around to face him. He still didn’t like the look in her eyes. “If it gets heavy, you come home. Either that, or I come with you.” He knew that was out of the question. Tiffany’s funeral was going to be one of the “events” of the season. But all he wanted to know was that Kezia knew the score. It wasn’t her fault Tiffany had committed suicide. She had not killed Tiffany. She had not killed her mother. She had done her best. They had been over it and over it and over it, and he wanted to be sure that she wouldn’t backslide now. It was a bitch of a thing to happen but it wasn’t her fault. She slid quietly into his arms as they stood in front of the mirror, and she held him tighter than usual.

“I’m glad you’re here, Lucas.”

“So am I. Now do I have that promise from you?” She nodded silently and held her face up to him to kiss, which he did with a vengeance.

“Goodness, at that rate, Mr. Johns, I may never leave here in the first place.”

“That would suit me just fine.” He ran a hand inside the V-neck of her dress and she backed off with a giggle.

“Lucas!”

“At your service, madam.”

“You’re awful!”

“Awful horny!” He was eyeing her with a smile as she clipped on simple pearl earrings. He knew he was being irreverent, but it lightened the mood. He tried to sound casual as he sat down and watched her put on lipstick and a last dab of perfume. “Is Edward going with you?” She shook her head and picked up the black alligator bag and short white kid gloves. The thick black and white silk scarf from Dior provided the only brighter spot to her outfit.

“I told Edward I’d meet him there. And stop worrying about me. I’m a big girl, and I’m fine, and I love you and you take care of me better than anyone in this world.” She faced him with a smile that looked more like the Kezia who could take care of herself and he began to feel better.

“Jesus, you look good. If you weren’t in a hurry …”

“Lucas, you’re all talk.” She had turned away and was crossing the living room on her way to get her coat, when he came up silently behind her and picked her up off her feet.

“All talk am I? Listen here, wench…”

“Lucas! Lucas dammit, put me down! Lucas!!” He spun her around back down to the ground and she fell giggling and breathless into his arms as he chuckled. “You are the worst, most miserable, impossible …” He met her lips with his own and after a moment she pushed him gently away with a look both happy and sad on her face. “Luke … I have to go.”

“I know.” He was sober now too, and helped her on with her coat. “Just take it easy.” She nodded, kissed him, and was gone.

The church was already filled when she got there, and Edward was waiting discreetly near a door. He signaled silently to her, and she joined him, slipping a hand inside his arm.

“You look lovely.” His voice was a whisper and she nodded, as he tightened his grip on her arm. They were ushered up the main aisle, and Kezia tried not to see the casket draped in a blanket of white roses. Mother Benjamin sat piously in the front pew with her widower son and his two children. Kezia felt the breath catch in her throat as she saw them, and she wanted to scream “Killer!” at the bowed head of her friend’s mother-in-law. “Killer! You killed her, with your fucking threats of divorce and taking the children … you …”

“Thank you.” She heard Edward’s subdued voice as the usher showed them to a pew near the middle. Whit was standing three pews ahead.

He looked thinner, and suddenly more openly effeminate in an over-tailored Cardin suit that clutched at his waist, and seemed to hang too closely across his back. She suspected the suit had been a gift from his friend. It was not the sort of thing Whit would have bought for himself.

Marina was there too, with Halpern, looking embarrassingly happy in spite of the setting. They were getting married at New Year’s in Palm Beach. Marina looked as if her troubles were over.

Kezia found it hard not to cast the eye of Martin Hallam about, looking for people, tidbits, stories. But she couldn’t hide behind him anymore. Now he was dead too. And she was simply Kezia Saint Martin, mourning her friend. The tears ran freely down her face as they carried the casket down the aisle, to the maroon limousine that waited outside. Two policemen had been detailed to redirect traffic around the long snaking line of limousines, not a single one of which was rented. It was all the real thing. And as was to be expected, an army of press lay in wait for the mourners as they left.

It was hard to believe that it was all over. They had had so much fun in school, had written to each other from their respective colleges. Kezia had been Tiffany’s maid of honor when she married Bill, had laughed at her when she was pregnant. When did the end start? When did the drinking make her a drunk? Was it then, after the first baby? Or after the second? Was it later? Had she been before? The awful part was that now it seemed as though she had always been that way, always lurching, vague, dropping “Divine’s like rabbit pellets everywhere she went. It was this Tiffany that leapt to mind, the drunken, vomiting, confused Tiffany … not the funny girl in school … that mock salute at the door that last day … that … see ya … see ya … see ya….

Kezia found herself staring blankly at the backs of people’s heads and felt Edward guiding her slowly out of the pew. It was a long wait at the line where she shook hands with assorted relatives. Bill looked officious and solemn, dispensing small smiles and understanding nods like an undertaker instead of a husband. The children looked confused. Everywhere people were looking around, checking out who was there, what they had worn, and clucking and shaking their heads over Tiffany … Tiffany the drunk … Tiffany the lush … Tiffany the … friend. And it was all so much like Kezia’s mother’s funeral that it was unbearable. Not only to her, but to Edward. He looked gray when they left the church at last. Kezia took a deep breath, patted his hand and looked up at the sky.

“Edward, when I die, I want you to see to it that I’m tossed into the Hudson, or something equally simple and pleasant. If you do one of these numbers for me, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life.” She was not entirely joking. But Edward looked at her with an unhappy expression.

“I hope I won’t be around to worry about it. Do you want to go to the cemetery?” She hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head, remembering her promise to Luke. This had been bad enough.

“No, I don’t. Are you going?”

He nodded painfully.

“Why?” Because he ought to. She knew the answer too well. That’s what killed people like Tiffany. Ought to’s.

“Really, Kezia. One ought …” She didn’t wait to hear the end of it. She merely leaned over, kissed his cheek, and started down the steps.

“I know, Edward. Take care.”

He had wanted to ask her what she was doing later, but he never got the chance, and he didn’t want to impose on her. He never did. It didn’t seem right to trouble her. She had her own life to live, but it had been such a wretched day. Such a bad day for him. It all reminded him so much of Liane. Of that godawful, unbearable day when…. He watched Kezia slip easily into a cab, and wiped a tear quickly from his cheek. He was smiling a small, appropriate smile when she looked back at him from the rear window.

“How was it?” Luke was waiting for her with hot tea.

“Horrible. Thanks, darling.” She took a sip of the tea before she took off the black Saint Laurent coat, and with her free hand pulled the dark mink hat from her head. “It was ghastly. Her mother-in-law even had the bad taste to bring the kids.” But Kezia had been at her mother’s funeral too. Maybe that was just the way things had to be. As painful as possible to make them seem real.

“Do you want to go out to dinner, or have something sent in?”

She shrugged, not really caring. Something was bothering her. Everything was.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Did it hit you that hard? I told you….” He looked at her unhappily.

“I know. I know. But it’s upsetting … and maybe something else is bothering me. I don’t know what. Maybe it’s seeing all those fossils who still think they own me. Maybe it’s growing pains. I’ll be okay. I’m probably just depressed about Tiffany.”

“You sure it’s not something else?” He was troubled, more than she knew.

“I told you, I don’t know. But it’s no big deal. There have just been a lot of changes lately … quitting the column … you know. It’s time to grow up, and that’s never easy.” She tried to smile but his eyes didn’t answer.

“Kezia, am I making you unhappy?”

“Oh, darling, no!” She was horrified. What a ridiculous thought. And what the hell had he been worrying about all afternoon, she wondered. He looked lousy.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’m positive, Lucas. Really.” She leaned over to kiss him and saw sadness in his eyes. Maybe it was compassion for her, but what she saw touched her deeply.

“Are you sorry about having given up the column?”

“No, I’m glad. Honestly glad. It just feels odd when things change. Makes one insecure. It does me, anyway.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and stayed silent for a long time as she finished her tea, her coat now tossed on a chair, the black dress she wore making her look more severe. He watched her and it was a long time before he spoke again. There was an odd note in his voice when he did. The bantering of earlier in the day was gone.

“Kezia … there’s something I have to tell you.”

She looked up, all innocence, trying to smile. “What is it love?” And then she joked, “You’re secretly married and have fifteen children?” She spoke with the confidence of a woman who knows that there are no secrets … only one.

“No, you jerk. I’m not married. But there’s something else.”

“Give me a hint.” But for once she didn’t look worried. It couldn’t be important or he wouldn’t be bringing it up now. He knew she was upset about Tiffany.

“Babe, I don’t know any way to tell you, except to put it to you straight. But I have to tell you. It just can’t wait anymore. I’m up for a revocation hearing.” The words fell into the room like a bomb. Everything smashed and then stopped.

“A what?” She couldn’t have heard him correctly … couldn’t have. She was dreaming. This was one of his nightmares and she’d overheard by mistake.

“A hearing. I’m up for a hearing. About my parole. They want to revoke me for conspiracy to provoke disturbances in the prisons. In other words, agitation.”

“Oh God, Lucas…. Tell me you’re joking.” She closed her eyes and sat very still, as though she were waiting, but he could see her clenched hands shake in her lap.

“No, babe, I’m not kidding. I wish I were, but I’m not.” He reached out and took both her small hands in his. Her eyes opened slowly, drowning in tears.

“How long have you known?”

“There’s been a threat of it for a while. Since before I met you, in fact. But I never believed it would happen. I got confirmation of the hearing today. What really did it, I think, was the San Quentin work strike. They got pissed enough to grab my ass this time.” That, and kill Morrissey.

“Jesus. What’ll we do?” Her face looked limp as the tears flowed in silence. “Can they prove you were involved in that strike?”

He shook his head in answer, but he didn’t look encouraged. “No. But that’s why they’re so pissed. Now they’ll try to get me on anything they can. But we’ll do our damnedest I have a good lawyer. And I’m lucky. A few years ago, you couldn’t have an attorney at hearings to revoke your parole. Just you and the board. So, cheer up, things could have been worse. We have a good lawyer, we have each other. And they can’t object to our life-style, it’s as clean as they come. We’ll just have to do what you do with these things. Wait it out till the hearing, and then put up a good fight.”

But they both knew that the key issue was neither the fight, nor his life-style. He was accused of agitation. And it was all true. “Come on, Mama, hang tough.” He leaned over to kiss her, taking her into his arms, but her body was stiff and unyielding, her face bent as the tears continued to flow. He saw her knees shake as he looked down at her lap. He felt as though he had killed her. And in a way, he was right.

“When is the hearing?” She expected to hear that it was the next day.

“It’s still more than six weeks away. January eighth, in San Francisco.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘and then what?’” She was sitting so still that she frightened him.

“What if they make you go back?”

“That won’t happen.” His voice was deep and subdued.

“But what if it does, dammit, Luke?” Her shriek of pain and fear slashed through the silence.

“Kezia, it won’t!” He lowered his voice and tried to calm her, while fighting his own desperation. This was not at all what he’d planned. But what could he expect? He should have known this from the beginning. He had led her gently away from her home, into his, and now he was sitting there telling her that their house might burn down. The look in her eyes made her an orphan again. And her pain was his doing. He felt the weight of it like a cement sack around his heart.

“Darling, it’s not going to happen like that. And if it does—and that’s only an ‘if’—then we live with it. We both have the balls to do that. If we have to.” He knew he did. But did she? Not the way she looked then.

“Lucas … no!” Her voice was a barely audible whisper.

“Baby, I’m so sorry….” There was nothing more he could say. The thing that he’d feared for so long had finally happened. Only the joke of it was that before Kezia he hadn’t feared it the same way. Hadn’t feared it at all. He had regarded it as a potential price to pay, a possible inconvenience. He had had nothing to lose … and now he had it all … and it was all on the line. And she had to pay the price with him. But she had to be told. Alejandro had told him that for weeks, and he had stalled, and evaded, and lied to himself. There was no lying now. The notice lay crumpled in a ball on the desk. They had taken the matter out of his hands … and now look at the mess…. He lifted her chin gently with one hand, and sought her lips tenderly with his. It was all he could give her, what he felt, what he was, how he loved her. They still had another six weeks. If no one murdered him first.

Chapter 22

For Thanksgiving, they had hot turkey sandwiches in their room at the hotel in Chicago. The revocation hung over their heads, but they had fought hard to ignore it. They rarely discussed it, except once in a while, late at night. They had six weeks till the hearing, and Kezia was determined not to let the threat of it ruin their life. She fought for gaiety with an almost unbearable determination. Lucas knew what was happening to her, but there was so little he could do. He couldn’t wish the hearing away. His own nightmares were back, and he didn’t like the way Kezia looked. She was already losing weight. But she was game. She made the same old jokes, they had a good time. They suddenly made love two and three times a day, sometimes four, as though to stock up on what they might lose. Six weeks was so short. When they went back to New York, there were only five left.

“Kezia, you don’t look well. You don’t look well at all.”

“Edward, my darling, you’re driving me mad.”

“I want to know what you’re up to.” The waiters swished past them and poured more Louis Roederer champagne.

“You’re prying.”

“YES, I am.” He looked sour, and old. She looked tired, and far older than she had so briefly before.

“All right. I’m in love.”

“I assumed that much. And he’s married?”

“Why do you always assume that the men I go out with are married? Because I’m discreet? Hell, I have a right to be that, I’ve learned that much over the years.”

“Yes, but you don’t have a right to indulge in sheer folly.”

No, just a right to misery, darling, and shitty rotten luck. Right, Edward? Of course. Or is it just a right to duty and pain? “Folly, in this case, dear Edward, is a beautiful man whom I adore. We have more or less lived and traveled together for more than two months now. And just before Thanksgiving, we found out … that …” Her voice caught and her heart trembled as she wondered what she was doing … “We found out that he’s sick. Terribly sick.”

Edward’s face suddenly looked pinched. “What sort of sick?”

“We’re not sure.” She was into it now. She almost believed it herself. It was easier than the truth, and it would get him off her back for a while. “They’re attempting treatment, and at this point he has about a fifty-fifty chance of living. Which is why I don’t ‘look well.’ Satisfied?” Her voice was ripe with bitterness, her eyes dulled with tears.

“Kezia, I’m so sorry. Is he … is he … anyone I know?”

Not on your ass, sweetheart. She almost wanted to laugh. “No, he isn’t. We met in Chicago.”

“I wondered about that. Is he young?”

“Young enough, but he’s older than I am.” She was quiet now. In a way she had told him the truth. Sending Lucas back to prison would be like condemning him to death. Too many men hated or loved him, he was too well known, had stirred up too much. San Quentin would kill him. Someone would. If not an inmate, a guard.

“I don’t know what to say.” But his face said what his words couldn’t. There was a ghost in his eyes. The ghost of Liane Saint Martin. “This man … is he … would … does he come to New York?” He was groping for a criterion that Kezia wouldn’t leap at in fury but there were none. Where did he go to school? What does he do? Where does he live? Who is he? Kezia would have exploded at any of those questions. But he wanted to know. Had to. He owed it to her … to himself.

“Yes, he comes to New York. He’s been here with me.”

“He stays in your apartment?” He suddenly remembered her saying that they had lived together. My God, how could she?

“Yes, Edward. In my apartment.”

“Kezia … is he … is he …” He wanted to know if this was someone decent, respectable, not some fortune hunter, or … or “tutor,” but he simply couldn’t ask, and she wouldn’t have let him. Edward felt as though he was on the verge of losing her forever. “Kezia….”

She looked at him then with tears on her cheeks and quietly shook her head. “Edward … I … I can’t do this today. I’m sorry.” She kissed him gently on the cheek then, picked up her handbag, and slid to her feet. He didn’t stop her. He couldn’t. He merely watched her retreat toward the door and clenched his hands very tightly for a moment before signaling for the check.

In the bitter cold of the winter afternoon, she rode the subway to Harlem. Alejandro was the only one who could help. She was beginning to panic. She had to see him.

She walked quickly from the subway to the center, oblivious of how she looked in the long red Paris coat and the full white mink hat. She didn’t give a damn how she looked. On the streets where she slalomed between garbage cans and scampering children, they looked at her as if she were a strange apparition, but the wind was bitingly cold and there was snow in the air. No one had time to be bothered. They left her alone.

There was a girl in Alejandro’s office when Kezia arrived, and they were laughing. Kezia paused in the doorway. She had knocked, but their laughter had muffled the sound.

“Al, are you busy?” It was rare that she called him by the nickname Luke used.

“I … no … Pilar, will you excuse me?” The girl bounced from the chair and scraped past Kezia with a look of wonderment in her eyes. Kezia looked like a vision fresh out of Vogue, or someone in a movie.

“I’m sorry to break in on you like this.” Her eyes looked agonized beneath the white fur.

“It’s all right. I was … Kezia?”

She had crumbled into tears in front of his eyes, and now she stood there, broken, holding out both arms, her handbag askew on the floor, the last of her control dissolved.

“Kezia … pobrecita … babe … take it easy …”

“Oh Christ, Alejandro…. I can’t stand it!” She let herself fall into his arms and buried her face on his shoulder. “What can we do? They’re going to take him back. I know it.” She sniffed and pulled away to see his eyes. “They will, won’t they?”

“They might.”

“You think they will too, don’t you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do, godammit. Tell me! Somebody tell me the truth!”

“I don’t know the truth, damn you!”

She was shouting and he was shouting still louder. The walls seemed to echo with what they had both penned up—fear and anger and frustration.

“Yeah, maybe they will take him back. But for chrissake, lady, don’t give up till they say it. What are you going to do? Let yourself die now? Give him up? Destroy yourself? Wait till you hear, for chrissake, then figure it out.” The room had been full of his voice and she could hear tears creeping up on him too, but she was quiet. He had brought her back to her senses, to a point of control.

“Maybe you’re right. I’m just so fucking scared, Alejandro. I don’t know what to do to hang on anymore…. I get this rising panic like bile in my guts.”

“There’s nothing you can do, except try to be reasonable and hang in. Try not to panic.”

“What if we run away? Do you think that they’d find him?”

“Yes, eventually, and then they’d kill him on sight. Besides, he’d never do that.”

“I know.” He came close to her again and held her in his arms. She was still wearing the coat and fur hat and her face was streaked with mascara and tears. “The worst of it is that I don’t know what to do to help him, how to make it easier for him. He’s under so damn much strain.”

“You can’t change that. All you can do is stand by him. And take care of yourself. It’s not going to help anyone if you fall apart. Remember that. You can’t give up your whole life for him, or your sanity. And Kezia … don’t give up yet Not till they say the word, if they do, and not even then.”

“Yeah.” She nodded tiredly at him and leaned back against the desk. “Sure.”

“I didn’t know you were a quitter.”

“I’m not.”

“Then don’t act like one. Get your shit together, woman. You’ve got a rough road ahead, but nobody said it was the end of the road. It isn’t to Luke.”

“Okay, mister big mouth, I get your point.” She tried to muster a smile.

“Then start acting like you ain’t going to quit. That big dude loves you one hell of a lot.” And then he walked back to her and hugged her again. “And I love you too, little one … I do too.” Tears started to squeeze from her eyes again and she shook her head at him.

“Don’t be nice to me, or I’ll cry again.” She laughed through her tears and he rumpled her hair.

“You’re looking mighty fancy, lady, Where’ve you been? Shopping?” He had just noticed.

“No. To lunch with a friend.”

“It couldn’t have been heroes and Cokes from the look of it.”

“Alejandro, you’re nuts.” But they shared the moment of honest laughter, and he reached for his coat on the back of the door.

“I’ll take you home.”

“All the way downtown? Don’t be silly!” But she was touched at the thought.

“I’ve done enough here for one day. Want to play hooky with me?” He looked young as he made the offer, his eyes dancing, his smile that of a playful boy.

“As a matter of fact, that sounds just fine.”

They walked away from the center arm in arm, her red coat linked with his drab army surplus jacket and hood. He gave her a squeeze and she laughed into the warm eyes. She was glad she had come up to see him. She needed him, differently but almost as much as she needed Luke.

They got off the subway at Eighty-sixth Street and stopped in one of the German coffeehouses for a cup of hot chocolate “mit schlag”: great clouds of whipped cream. An oom-pah-pah band was doing its best, and outside, Christmas lights were already blinking hopefully. They said nothing of the revocation, but talked of other times. Christmas, California, his family, her father. It was funny; she had thought about her father a lot lately, and wanted to share it with someone. It was so hard to talk to Luke now; every conversational path led them back to the tangled emotional maze of the revocation.

“Something tells me you’re a lot like your father, Kezia. He doesn’t sound all that much of a conformist either, if you scratch the surface a little.”

She smiled at the melting whipped cream on her hot chocolate. “He wasn’t. But he had a nice way of pulling it all off, judging from what I’ve been told and what I remember. I suspect he wasn’t as compelled to make choices.”

“Those were different times. He didn’t have the same choices. That might have had something to do with it. What’s your trustee like?”

“Edward? He’s lovely. And solidly to the bone everything he was brought up to be. And I think he’s lonely as hell.”

“And in love with you?”

“I don’t know. I never gave it much thought. I don’t think he is.”

“I’ll bet you’re wrong.” He smiled and took a swallow of the warm sweet drink, his lips frothed with the cream. “I think there’s a lot you don’t see, Kezia. About yourself and your effect on other people. You’re naive in that sense.”

“Is that so?” She smiled at him. He was nice to be with. And she had needed someone to talk to. Years ago, she had talked so well with Edward, but not now. In an odd way, Alejandro was replacing him now. It was Alejandro she had turned to, when she couldn’t talk to Edward, or even Luke. Alejandro who gave her solace and fatherly advice. And then she had a funny thought. She looked up, and giggled. “And I suppose you’re in love with me too?”

“Maybe so.”

“You nut” She knew he didn’t mean it, and they sat back and listened to the pounding of the old-fashioned music. The restaurant was crowded but they sat apart from the noise and the movement as isolated as the old men reading German newspapers alone at their tables.

“What are you guys doing for Christmas?”

“I don’t know. You know Luke. I don’t think he’s made up his mind. Or if he has, he hasn’t told me. Are you staying here?”

“Yeah. I wanted to go home to L.A., but I’ve got too much to do at the center, and the trip is expensive. There’s a facility I want to check out in San Francisco, though. Maybe next spring.”

“What kind of facility?” She lit a cigarette and relaxed in her chair. The afternoon had metamorphosed into something delightful.

“They call them therapeutic communities out there. Same as the center, except the patients live in, which gives you a much better chance of success.” He looked at his watch and was surprised at the time. It was just after five.

“Want to join us for dinner?”

He shook his head regretfully. “No. I’ll leave you two lovebirds in peace. Besides, there’s a ‘little piece’ of my own I want to check into, closer to home.” He cackled evilly, and she chuckled.

“Havoc in Harlem? Who is she?”

“A friend of a friend. She works at a day-care center and probably has big tits, bad breath and acne.”

“You’ve got something against big tits?” She grinned again.

“Nope. Just the other two. But it’s a type. There are two or three like that who work at the center. And yeah, I’m a snob. About women.” He signaled for the check.

Kezia laughed at him. “How come you don’t have an old lady?” She had never asked him before.

“Either because I’m too ugly, or too mean. I’m not quite sure which.”

“Bullshit. What’s the real story?”

“Who knows, hija. Maybe my work. You were right way back when—Luke and I have a lot in common that way. The causes come first. That’s hard for a woman to live with, unless she’s got a heavy trip of her own. Anyway, I’m picky.”

“I’ll bet you are.” And therein most likely lay the truth. Because he was assuredly neither ugly, nor mean. She found him strangely attractive, and cherished the relationship that had blossomed between them. “So what’s with this lady tonight?”

“I’ll see.” He was gently evasive, but Kezia was curious.

“How old is she?”

“Twenty-one, twenty-two. Something like that.”

“I hate her already.”

“You should worry.” He looked up at the porcelain skin framed by the white fur hat. Her eyes stood out like sapphires.

“Yeah, But I’m staring at thirty. That’s a far cry from twenty-two.”

“And you’re a lot better off.” She thought about it for a moment and nodded. Twenty-two hadn’t been very much fun. It had started to be, though, after she began writing. Before that, it was the shits. Unsure of where she was going, what she was doing, and who she wanted to be, while having to present an outward appearance of unshakable certainty and poise.

“You should have known me ten years ago, Alejandro. You would have laughed.”

“You think I was better off at that age?”

“Probably. You were freer.”

“Maybe, but still not very cool. Hell, ten years ago I wore a crew cut cemented into place with ‘greasy kid stuff.’ Talk about funny! And I’ll bet you weren’t wearing a crew cut.”

“No. A pageboy. And pearls. I was adorable. The hottest thing on the market. Come and get it, ladies and gentlemen, one untouched, unused, near-perfect heiress. She walks, she talks, she sings, she dances. Wind her up and she plays ‘God Bless America’ on the harp.”

“You played the harp?”

“No, dummy. But I did everything else. I was absolutely ‘mahvelouss,’ but not very happy.”

“So now you’re happy. That’s a lot to be grateful for.”

“I am.” Her thoughts flew back to Lucas … and the hearing. Alejandro watched the transitions in her eyes, and moved quickly to bring her back to the easy chatter of the last hour.

“How come you don’t play the harp? Aren’t heiresses supposed to?” He was all innocence.

“No, that’s angels. They’re the ones who play the harp.”

“You mean they’re not the same thing?”

She threw back her head and laughed at the thought. “No, darling. They are most emphatically not the same thing. I do play the piano, though. That’s a prerequisite for your heiress wings. A few play the violin, but most of us tackle the piano at an early age, and give it up by the time we’re twelve. Chopin.”

“I still kind of wish you could play the harp.”

“Up your ass, Mr. Vidal.” She grinned and he feigned shock.

“Kezia! And you’re an heiress? How shocking! Up my … what?”

“You heard me, mister. Now come on, let’s go home. Lucas will worry.” They slipped into their coats, he left the tip on the table, and they walked out into the cold air, arm in arm. The afternoon had been well spent. She felt restored.

When they got home, Luke was waiting in the living room, bourbon in hand and with a smile on his face.

“Well, what have you two been up to?” He liked to see them together, but Kezia noticed something pinched about his eyes. Jealousy?

“We went out for a cup of hot chocolate.”

“A likely story. But I’ll forgive you both. This time.”

“That’s big of you, darling.” Kezia walked to his side and bent to kiss him.

He pulled a cigar out of his pocket and winked at Alejandro, as he slid his arm around her waist. “Why don’t you get our friend a beer?”

“Probably because he’d throw up after all the hot chocolate he drank … mit schlag!” She grinned over at Alejandro.

“What’s that?” Luke’s voice sounded unusually loud. As though he was terribly nervous.

“Whipped cream.”

“Puke. Nah, get him a beer.”

“Lucas …” She wondered suddenly if he had something to say to Alejandro, he looked so odd—and a little bit crocked.

“Go on.”

“Kezia looked at him strangely and then turned to Alejandro. “You want a beer?”

Their friend threw up both hands and shrugged. “No, but with a dude that size, who argues?” All three of them laughed and Kezia vanished into the kitchen.

She called back over her shoulder as she flicked on the light. “I’ll make you coffee. I can’t stand the idea of beer after all that good chocolate.”

“Right on.” Alejandro sounded distracted as he answered and Kezia wondered what was afoot. Lucas had the look of a small boy. Or the look of a man with a secret. She grinned to herself, wondering if it was something to do with her. Maybe a present, something silly, an outing, a dinner. Luke was like that. She wouldn’t allow herself to wonder if it was something to do with the hearing. It couldn’t be. He looked much too pleased with himself, and a little bit punchy.

She went back to the living room a few moments later with the coffee. Two cups. Luke looked as if he could use one.

“Look at that, man, she wants to sober us up.” Luke’s tone was jovial, but Alejandro didn’t look as if he needed sobering. He looked tense and unhappy, as though something drastic had happened in the moments she was out of the room. Kezia looked at his face, then at Luke’s, and then she put down the two cups and sat down on the couch.

“Okay, sweetheart, game’s over. What’s up?” Her voice was light and nervous and brittle, and her hands had begun to tremble. It was something to do with the hearing. It wasn’t anything fun after all. Now she could tell. “What’s wrong?”

“Why the hell should something be wrong?”

“For one thing,” she cast a glance away from him, and apologetically at their friend, “if you’ll forgive me,” and then she turned back to Luke, “because you’re drunk, Lucas. How come?”

“I am not.”

“You are. And you look scared. Or pissed. Or something. And I want to know what the hell’s happening. You told Al, now tell me.”

“What makes you think I told Al anything?” Now he looked visibly nervous, and Kezia was beginning to look angry.

“Look, dammit! Don’t play games with me. I’m having just as tough a time coping with all this crazy bullshit as you are. Now tell me! What’s wrong?”

“Oh, for chrissake. Will you listen to that, Al?” He looked around at them both with a plastic smile on his face, and crossed one leg over the other and then back again, while Alejandro looked very upset.

Kezia looked from Lucas to him. “Okay, Alejandro, will you tell me what’s going on?” Her voice was rising to an uncomfortable level, nearing hysteria. But Lucas broke in with a look of impatience, and pushed himself forcefully out of his chair, growing instantly pale as he stood.

“Just keep it together, Mama. And I’ll tell you myself.” But as he turned to face her the room swam, and he sank almost to his knees. Alejandro rushed to his side and took the half-empty glass from his hand. Most of the bourbon had sloshed into the carpet, and Luke’s face was now frighteningly pale.

“Take it easy, brother.” He supported him with one arm, as Kezia rushed to his side.

“Lucas!” Her eyes were frantic as Luke sat down heavily on the floor next to her, and rested his head on his knees. He was drunk and in shock. But slowly he turned his face toward her with a gentle expression.

“Mama, it’s no big deal. Someone tried to shoot me today. They missed by an inch.” He closed his eyes on the last words, as though afraid of her eyes.

“Someone what?” She held his face with both her hands and slowly he looked up at her again. It had not yet registered in her face.

“Someone tried to kill me, I guess, Kezia. Or scare the piss out of me. Either way, but everything’s cool. I’m just a little punchy, that’s all.”

She thought instantly of Morrissey now, and knew Lucas had too. “My God … Lucas … who did it?” She was sitting next to him, trembling, and her stomach felt as though it were riding a wave.

“I don’t know who. Hard to tell.” He shrugged and suddenly looked very tired.

“Come on, man, let’s get you to bed.” Alejandro helped him slowly to his feet, and he wasn’t sure if he should be supporting Lucas or Kezia. She looked almost worse. “Can you make it, Luke?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not hurt, man. I’m gassed.” He chuckled proudly for a moment, as he walked into the bedroom. Alejandro shook his head with a worried frown on his face, as Kezia settled Luke against the pillows. “For chrissake, Kezia, I’m not dying. Don’t overdo it. And get me another drink, will you?”

“Should you?”

He laughed at the question and crossed both eyes with a grin. “Oh Mama, should I!” The smile she returned to him was her first in ten minutes, but she could feel her knees shaking as she sank onto the edge of the bed.

“My God, Lucas, how did it happen?”

“I don’t know. I went up to talk to some guys in Spanish Harlem today, and we were walking down the street after the meeting and whap, someone almost winged me. The motherfucker must have been aiming for my heart, but he took lousy aim.”

Kezia sat staring at him in shocked disbelief. It could have been like Morrissey. He could have been dead. There were chills on her spine as she thought of it.

“Anyone else knew about the meeting?” Alejandro looked frightened as he continued to stand there and look at his friend.

“A few people.”

“How few?”

“Not few enough.”

“Oh God, Lucas … who did it?” Suddenly Kezia’s head was bowed and she was sobbing as she sat there. Luke leaned forward and circled her with his right arm, pulling her toward him.

“Come on, baby, take it easy. It could have been anyone. Just some crazy kid out for a laugh. Or maybe someone who knew me. Could have been some heavyweight right-winger up there who doesn’t dig prison reform. Could have been some pissed off left-winger who doesn’t think I’m enough a ‘brother.’ What the hell difference does it make? They tried. They didn’t get me. I’m okay. You’re okay. I love you. So … no big deal, please. Okay?” He sank back on the pillows then with a dazzling smile. But neither Kezia nor Alejandro was swayed by the bravado.

“I’ll get you another drink.” Alejandro left the room, and had a drink of his own in the kitchen. Shit. It was coming to that now. And with Kezia in the picture. Terrific. He heaved a long sigh as he walked back to the bedroom with a tall glass of straight bourbon for Luke. Kezia was crying again when he walked in, but this time softly. The two men exchanged a long look over her head and Luke nodded slowly. It had been quite a day. And they were both wondering if it was going to be like this all the way till the hearing. It could have been a cop for all they knew, and they both realized it, even though they didn’t tell that to Kezia. But the reality was that Lucas was popular only with those he worked with on the outside or the men in prison all over the country who benefited directly from all he did. Not many others really understood. And as loved as he was, he was equally hated.

“I’m going to hire you a bodyguard.” She looked up with a sniff, as Luke took a long sip of his bourbon and Alejandro sat down in a chair near the bed. She was still sitting near Luke.

“No, you’re not, pretty lady. No bodyguard, no bullshit. This happened once. It won’t happen again.”

“How do you know?”

“Baby … don’t push me. Let me run this show. All I want from you is your beautiful smile and your love.” He patted her hand and took a long sip of bourbon Alejandro had handed him. “All I want from you is what you already give me.”

“Yeah, and not my advice.” She said it sadly, her shoulders sagging. “Why won’t you let me hire a bodyguard?”

“Because I already have one.”

“You hired someone?” Why didn’t he tell her anything anymore?

“Not exactly. But I’ve been followed by the cops for a while now.”

“By the cops? Why by them?”

“Why the hell do you think, Mama? Because they think I’m a threat.” It put an aspect on things that she didn’t like. And it suddenly brought home to her that in a sense Luke was considered an outlaw, and that in living with him, she was on that same ill-favored side of the law. She somehow hadn’t totally absorbed her position in all this before. “And don’t kid yourself, sweetheart, it could just as well have been a cop who tried to get a piece of me today.”

“Are you serious?” Her face grew even paler. “Would they do that to you, Luke?”

“Damn right. If they thought they could get away with it, they’d do it in a hot second. And enjoy it.”

“Oh God.” The police taking potshots at Luke? They were supposed to give decent citizens protection. But that was the whole point. And Kezia finally knew it. To the cops, Lucas wasn’t “decent.” He was only that in her eyes, and Al’s, and his friends’, not in the eyes of the rednecks, and the Adult Authority, and the law.

Luke exchanged a rapid look with Alejandro, who slowly and unhappily shook his head. Bad things were coming. He could feel it. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Kezia. I don’t want any bullshit from you. You do exactly what I tell you from now on. No visits to Al up in Harlem, no traipsing through the park alone, no disappearing into the subway. Nothing except what I tell you you can do. Is that clear?” He was wearing the face of a general again as he said it. “Is it?”

“Yes, but …”

“No!” He was roaring now. “Just listen to me for once in your life, damn you! Because if you don’t, you goddamn stupid naive asshole … because if you don’t,” his voice began to tremble and Kezia was shocked to see tears in his eyes, “maybe they’ll get you instead of me. And if they did …” His voice began to crack and grow soft as he lowered his eyes, “if they did … I couldn’t … take it….” She went to him with tears on her own cheeks as she put her arms around him and let him rest his head on her chest. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, with Luke crying in her arms, and what she did not know was that he was torturing himself for what he was doing to her. Oh God … how could he have done this to a woman he loved … Kezia…. At last he fell asleep in her arms as they sat there, and when Kezia slid him down onto the pillow and turned off the light, she suddenly remembered Alejandro sitting in the chair. She turned to find him, but he was long since gone, with heartaches of his own, and no Kezia whose arms he could cry in. And like Luke, the tears that he cried were for her.

Chapter 23

Lucas put down the phone with a look of dismay, and Kezia instantly knew.

“Who was it?” But she didn’t need to ask. She knew, whatever the name, whatever the city, it didn’t really matter. He always wore that face, and sounded the way he had, for calls about prisons. But now, when Christmas was so close….

“It was one of my crazy friends out in Chino.”

“And?” She wasn’t letting him off the hook.

“And …” He ran a hand through his hair and bit the end of a cigar that had been lying on the desk. It was almost midnight and he had been strolling the house in his shorts, barefoot and bare-chested. And … they want me to come out. Think you can handle that, Mama?”

“You mean come out with you?” It was the first time he had asked her.

“No, I mean stay here. I’ll be back by Christmas. But … it looks like they need me. Or at least they think they do.” There was something gruffer in his voice, pure macho, all man. And a vibrant chord of excitement that ran through his words, no matter how careful he was to conceal it. He loved what he did. The meetings, the men, the riots, the cause. He loved getting back at the “pigs,” and helping his brothers. It was what he lived for. And there was no room for Kezia in that world. It was a world of men who had lived without women for long enough to know that they could do without them, if they had to. They had a hard time learning to include them again. And this was one place where Luke wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t have considered taking her with him, not for a moment. Not when there was danger involved. Not after last time in San Francisco. Not after he’d almost been shot. She knew she had been crazy to hope that he was inviting her this time. He wasn’t.

“Yes, I can handle it, Luke. But I’ll miss you.” She tried to keep the sadness from her voice, and the terror, but he knew. She looked at him and shrugged. “So it goes. You’re sure you’ll be home by Christmas?”

“As sure as I can be. They’re afraid riots might start. But I think we’ll probably get everything straightened out before that happens.” Maybe. If. She wondered if he really wanted to, or if he’d rather play with the fireworks. But she knew that wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Me too, but I’ll be okay.” She walked over to him and slid her arms around his neck. She kissed him gently on the back of the head and smelled the fresh richness of the cigar. He was going to “war.” Again. “Lucas …” She hesitated about saying it, but she had to.

“What, babe?”

“You’re crazy to do this now. With the hearing pending. And …” She was afraid to voice all her fears, but he knew them. He had the same ones.

“Oh Christ, Kezia, don’t start that.” He pulled away from her and stood up to walk across the room, half naked and puffing on his cigar, with a ferocious look on his face. “You just be sure you take care of yourself. And what fucking difference does it make what I do now, with the backlog of bullshit they’re going to throw at me at the hearing anyway? I’ve been doing this kind of thing since I got out of the joint. You think one more time will make a difference?”

“Maybe.” She stood very still and kept her eyes on his. “Maybe this one time could make the difference between revocation and freedom. Or between living and dying.”

“Bullshit. And anyway … I have to, that’s all.” He slammed the door to the bedroom and she wondered how close she was to the truth. He had no right to do this to her, jeopardize his own life and hers with it. If this trip cost him his freedom, or his life, what did he think it would do to her, or didn’t he think? The bastard….

Kezia followed him into the bedroom and stood looking at him as he pulled a suitcase out of his closet. She watched him with fire in her eyes, and a lead weight on her heart.

“Lucas … “He didn’t answer. He knew. “Don’t go … please, Luke … not for me. For you.” He turned to look at her then, and without exchanging another word with him, she knew she had lost.

It was the twenty-third before Kezia got the call she had feared. He would not be home for Christmas. He’d be gone for at least another week. Four men had already died in the Chino strike, and the last thing on his mind was Christmas, or home. For one brief moment Kezia found herself wanting to tell him what a bastard he was, but she couldn’t He wasn’t. He was simply Luke.

She didn’t want to admit to Edward that she was going to spend Christmas alone. It was such a lonely admission, an admission of defeat He would have tried to be sweet to her, and insisted she spend it with him in Palm Beach, which she would have hated. She wanted to spend the holiday with Luke, not with Edward or Hilary. She had toyed with the idea of flying out to California to surprise him, but she knew she wouldn’t have been welcome. When he was involved in his work, that was it. He wouldn’t have been amused or pleased by the gesture, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to spend any time with her anyway.

So she was alone. With a stack of engraved invitations, and red and green inked notes suggesting she stop by for a drink, or drop in on the city’s “best” holiday parties, the sort of invitations people would have given right arms and eyeteeth for. Eggnog, punch, champagne, caviar, pâté, amusing little stocking gifts from Bendel’s or Cardin. The cotillions were in full swing, if she wanted to check out the season’s debs, which she didn’t There was a rash of charity balls, a white tie party at the Opera, and a skating fete at Rockefeller Center to celebrate the alliance of Halpern Medley and Marina Walters. The El Morocco would be alive with the holiday spirit. Or there was always Gstaad or Chamonix … Courchevelles or Klosters … Athens … Rome … Palm Beach. But none of it appealed. None of it.

After mulling it all over in cursory fashion, Kezia decided it would be less lonely to be alone, than to be lost in the midst of empty hilarity. She was not feeling very festive. She thought briefly about inviting some friend over to help her spend Christmas day, but she never got up enough steam to ask anyone in particular, and could think of no one she really wanted to ask … only Lucas. And the others would be busy with whatever they had planned, just as right now they were busy at Bergdorf’s and Saks buying shocking pink slippers and parrot green robes, or drinking rum in the Oak Room, or helping their mothers “get ready” in Philadelphia or Boston or Bronxville or Greenwich. Everyone was bound to be somewhere, and she was actually alone. She and an army of doormen and maintenance men, each of whom had received his Christmas dues. The superintendent discreetly left a mimeographed sheet in the mail around the fifteenth of December. Twenty-two names, all waiting for bribes. Merry Christmas.

It was the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, and Kezia had nothing to do. She walked the length of the apartment in her cream satin robe, and smiled to herself. There was a mist of snow on the ground outside.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” The whispered words were for Lucas. He had kept his word and called every day, and she knew he’d call again later. Christmas by telephone. It was better than nothing. But not much. The silver-wrapped boxes on her desk were for him—a tie, a belt, a bottle of cologne, a briefcase, and two pairs of shoes. A collection of mundane gifts, except that she knew they would all make him laugh. She had explained all the “in” symbols to him when they first met, like translating the language of the country she lived in. Status-ese. The Dior ties, the Gucci shoes, the Vuitton luggage, and its ugly LV’s plastered all over the mustard and mud colored surface. It had made him laugh when she told him. “You mean those guys all wear the same shoes?” She had laughed back, nodding, and explained that the women wore them too. One style for the women, and one for the men. Varied styles would have created insecurity, so there was just one. One had a choice of colors, of course. It was all terribly, terribly original, wasn’t it? But it had become a standard joke with them, and neither of them could keep a straight face anymore as they passed a pair of Guccis on the street, or a Pucci dress on a woman. The Pucci-Gucci Set. It was something else they shared from their private vantage point. So that’s what she had bought him for Christmas. A Pucci tie, a Gucci belt, Monsieur Rochas cologne (which she actually decided she liked quite a lot), a Vuitton briefcase, and the indomitable Gucci shoes in black leather, standard model, and of course, a duplicate pair in brown suede. She smiled to think of him opening them all, and the look on his face.

But her smile deepened as she thought of the real presents she had bought him, the ones hidden in the pocket of the Vuitton case. Those were the ones that mattered to her, and would undoubtedly matter to him. The signet ring with the dark blue stone carved with his initials, and her initials and the date engraved in tiny letters on the inside of the setting. Carefully wrapped in tissue paper was a leather-bound book of poems that had been her father’s, and had occupied a place of honor on his desk for as long as Kezia could remember. It made her happy to know that now it would be Luke’s. It meant a great deal to her. It was a tradition.

She drank a cup of hot chocolate as she stood looking out at the snow. It was cold out, very cold, the way only New York and a few other cities can be. The kind of chill that makes you feel as though you’ve been slapped when you walk out the door. The freezing winds swept your legs and brushed your cheeks like steel wool, and the ice on the windowsill was frozen in patterns of lace.

The phone rang as she stood alone in the silent room. It could be Luke. She dared not ignore it.

“Hello?”

“Kezia?” It wasn’t Luke’s voice, and she wasn’t quite sure whose it was. There was the merest hint of an accent “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Alejandro!”

“Who were you expecting? Santa Claus?”

“In a way. I thought it might be Luke.”

He smiled at the comparison. Only she could come up with that. “I had a suspicion you’d be here. I saw the papers, and have an idea of what it must be like in Chino. I figured he wouldn’t want you out there. So what are you up to? Ten thousand parties?”

“No. Nary a one. And you’re right He didn’t want me out there. He’s too busy.”

“That, and it’s not a cool scene.” Alejandro was grave.

“No. But it isn’t a cool scene for him either. He’s a fool to get sucked into that now. It’ll just add more fuel to their fires at the hearing. But Luke never listens.”

“So what else is new? What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Oh, I think I’ll hang my stocking up on the fireplace and put out cookies and a glass of milk for Santa, and …”

“Milk? Qué horror!”

“And what would you suggest?”

“Tequila, of course! Jesus, if that poor sonofabitch has to drink milk all over the world, it’s a wonder he bothers with the trip.”

She laughed at him and switched on some lights. She had been standing in the early darkness of the winter dusk.

“Do you suppose it’s too late to pick up some tequila?”

“Baby, it’s never too late for that!”

She laughed again at the earnest sound of his voice. “And what are you up to for Christmas? More work at the center?”

“Yeah, some. It’s better than sitting at home. Christmas with my family is always a big deal. It kind of depresses me to be away from all that, unless I keep busy. How come you’re not going to all those big fancy parties?”

“Because that would depress me. I’d rather be alone this year.” She was thinking of the hearing on the eighth again. It was strange though, lately things with Luke had seemed nearly normal. The first shock of the hearing was gone. It almost didn’t seem real. Just a meeting they would have to go to, nothing more. Nothing could touch the magic circle around Kezia and Luke. Certainly not a hearing.

“So you’re sitting around there all by yourself?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”

“Well, okay. Yeah. I am all by myself. But it’s not like I’m crying my eyes out. I’m just enjoying being peaceful at home.”

“Sure. With presents for Luke all over the house, and a Christmas tree you haven’t bothered to decorate, and not answering the phone, or only when you think it might be Luke. Listen, lady, that’s one stinking way to spend Christmas. Am I right?” But he knew he was. He knew her by now.

“Only partially, Father Alejandro. Boy, you sure like to lecture!” She laughed at the tone of his voice. “And the presents for Luke are not ‘all over the house,’ they’re neatly stacked on my desk.”

“And what about the tree?”

“I didn’t buy one.” Her voice was suddenly meek.

“Sacrilege!”

She laughed again and felt silly. “All right. I’ll go buy one. And then what do I do?”

“You don’t do anything. Do you have any popcorn?”

“Hmmm … yes. As a matter of fact, I do.” There was still some left from the last time she and Luke had made popcorn in the bedroom fireplace at three in the morning.

“Okay. Then cook up some popcorn, make some hot chocolate or something, and I’ll be there in an hour. Or do you have other plans?”

“Not a thing. Just waiting for Santa.”

“He’ll be on the subway and down in an hour.”

“Even if I don’t have tequila in the house?” She was teasing him; she was glad he was coming.

“Don’t worry. I’ll bring my own. Imagine not having a tree!” Friendly outrage crept into his voice. “Okay, Kezia. See you later.” He already sounded busy as he hung up the phone.

He arrived an hour later with an enormous Scotch pine dragging behind him.

“In Harlem, you get them cheaper, particularly on Christmas Eve. Down here this would cost you twenty bucks. I got it for six.” He looked chilled and ruffled and pleased. It was a beautiful tree; it stood a head taller than he, and its branches reached out furrily when he pulled off the ropes that had bound them. “Where’ll I put it?” She pointed to a corner, and then unexpectedly reached up and kissed his cheek.

“Alejandro, you are the best friend in the world. It’s a beautiful tree. Did you bring your tequila?” She hung his coat in the closet and turned back to look at the tree. Now it was beginning to look like Christmas. With Luke not planning to come home, she hadn’t done any of the things she usually loved. No tree, no wreath, no decorations and very little Christmas spirit.

“My God, I forgot the tequila!”

“Oh no … how about cognac?”

“I’ll take it.” He smiled at the offer with obvious pleasure.

She poured him a glass of cognac, and went to ferret out the box of Christmas tree ornaments from the top shelf of a closet. They were old ones, some of which had been her grandfather’s. She took them out tenderly, and held them up for Alejandro to see.

“They look pretty fancy to me.”

“No, just old.”

She joined him in a glass of cognac and together they strung lights and hung baubles until there were none left in the box.

“It really looks beautiful, doesn’t it?” Her face lit up like a child’s, and he reached over and gave her a hug. They sat side by side on the floor, their cognac glasses and a huge crystal bowl full of popcorn beside them.

“I’d say we did a damn good job.” He was a little merry from the drinks, and his eyes looked soft and bright.

“Hey … you want to make a wreath?” She had just thought of the ones she had made every year as a child.

“Make one? With what?”

“All we need is a branch from the tree … and some fruit … and … let’s see, wire….” She was looking around, getting organized. She went to the kitchen and came back with a knife and some scissors. “You cut off a branch, one of the lower ones in the back so it won’t show. I’ll get the rest.”

“Yes, ma’am. This is your show.”

“Wait till you see.” The light in his eyes had been contagious and now hers shone too, as she gathered what they would need. They were going to have Christmas! In a few minutes, it was all spread out on the kitchen table. She wiped her hands on her jeans, rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, and set to work, as Alejandro watched, amused. She looked a lot better than she had two hours before. She had looked so lost and sad when he arrived, and he hadn’t liked the sound of her voice on the phone. He had canceled a date, a dinner, and two promises to ‘drop in,’ but he owed this one to Luke. And to Kezia. It was crazy; there she was in her fancy apartment, with all her millionaire friends, and she was alone on Christmas. Like an orphaned child. He wasn’t about to let it stay that way either. He was glad he had canceled his plans and come down. For a moment, he hadn’t been sure she would let him.

“You going to make a fruit salad?” She had apples, pears, walnuts, and grapes spread out near the branch.

“No, silly. You’ll see.”

“Kezia, you’re crazy.”

“I am not … or maybe I am. But I know how to make a wreath anyway. I used to make ours every year.”

“With fruit?”

“With fruit. I told you, you’ll see.” And he did. With deft fingers, she tied the branch together with wire, and then carefully wired each piece of fruit and attached it to the wreath. The finished product looked liked something in a Renaissance painting. The thick pine branch was covered with a neat circle of fruit, the nuts scattered here and there, the whole thing held together with an invisible network of fine wire. It was a handsome ornament, and Alejandro loved the look on her face. “See! Now where’ll we put it?”

“On a plate? It still looks like a fruit salad to me.”

“You’re a barbarian.”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms. It was warm and comfortable there.

“You’d never get away with a wreath like that in a poor neighborhood. It’d be picked clean in an hour. But I will admit … I like it. It’s a beautiful wreath—for a fruit salad.”

“Asshole.”

“Yup. That’s me.” But she was still comfortably lodged in his arms as they spoke. She felt safe there; she liked it. She pulled reluctantly away after a few moments, and their eyes met with laughter.

“What about some dinner, Kezia? Or are you serving the wreath?”

“You take one bite out of that and I’ll brain you! One of my friends’ brothers did that one year and I cried for a week.”

“He must have been a sensible kid, but I can’t stand women in tears. We’d better go get a pizza.”

“On Christmas?” She was shocked.

“Well, they don’t sell tacos in this part of the world, or I would have suggested that Can you suggest anything better?”

“I certainly can!” She still had the two Rock Cornish game hens she had been saving for Luke’s Christmas dinner, just in case he came home. “How about a real Christmas dinner?”

“How about saving that for tomorrow? Will the invitation still be good?”

“Sure? Why … do you have to go now?” Maybe he was in a hurry, and thus the suggestion of pizza. Her face suddenly fell, and she tried to look as though nothing had happened. But she wanted him to stay. It had been such a nice evening.

“No, I don’t have to go. But I just had an idea. Want to go skating?”

“I’d love it.”

She put another sweater on over the one she already wore, thick red wool socks, brown suede boots, and buried herself in a lynx jacket and hat.

“Kezia, you look like someone in a movie.” She had the kind of beauty which appealed to him. Luke was a damn lucky man.

She told the answering service when they’d be back, in case Lucas called, and together they braved the biting night air. There was no wind, only a bitter frost which seared the lungs and eyes.

They stopped for hamburgers and hot tea, and she laughed as he told her of the chaos of Christmas in a Mexican home. A thousand children underfoot and all the women cooking, their husbands drunk, and parties in every home. She told him the things she had liked about her Christmases as a child.

“You know, I never got the purple-sequined gold dress.” She still looked almost surprised. She had seen it in a magazine when she was six, and had written all about it to Santa.

“What did you get instead? A mink coat?” He said it teasingly, without malice.

“No, darling, a Rolls.” She looked down her nose at him from beneath the big furry hat.

“And a chauffeur, of course.”

“No, I didn’t get him till I was seven. My own, of course, with two liveried footmen.” She giggled at him again from under the hat. “Shit Alejandro, they used to drop me three blocks from school when I was a kid, and then follow me. But I had to walk the last bit of the way because they didn’t think it was cool for me to arrive at school with a chauffeur.”

“That’s funny. My parents felt the same way. I had to walk too. It’s really rough what kids have to go through, isn’t it?” His eyes laughingly mocked her.

“Oh shut up.”

He threw back his head and laughed. Plumes of frost flew from his mouth in the cold night air.

“Kezia, I love you. You are really one crazy lady.”

“Maybe I am.” She was thinking of Lucas.

“Man, I wish I had bought some tequila. It’s gonna be colder than shit on the ice.” She giggled at him then, looking like a child with a secret. “I’m glad you think it’s so funny. Me, I’m not wearing fur, and if I fall on my ass, which I will, I’ll wind up with a good case of frostbite.” She giggled again, and with a white cashmere mittened hand pulled a fiat silver flask from her pocket. “What’s that?”

“Instant insulation. Cognac. The flask was my grandfather’s.”

“The dude was no dummy. That’s a mighty thin flask. Hell, you could wear that in your suit and no one would spot it … pretty cool.” Arm in arm, they walked into the park, and began to sing “Silent Night.” She unscrewed the cap on the flask and they each took a sip before she put it back in her pocket, feeling much better. It was one of those rare nights in New York when the city seemed to shrink. Cars had all but disappeared, buses seemed quieter and fewer, people were no longer rushing and actually took the extra second or two to smile at passersby. Everyone was either at home or away, or hiding from the fierce winter cold, but here and there groups were walking or singing. Kezia and Alejandro smiled at the other couples they passed, and now and then someone joined in their songs. By the time they got on the ice at the skating rink they had all but exhausted their collective knowledge of Christmas carols, and had had several sips from the flask.

“That’s what I like, a woman who travels equipped. A flask full of cognac. Yep, you are crazy … but good crazy, definitely good crazy.” He sailed past her on the ice with a broad grin, intending to show off, and winding up instead on his ass.

“Mister, I think you’re drunk.”

“You ought to know, you’re my barman.” He grinned at her good-humoredly as he got up.

“Want some more?”

“No. I just joined A.A.”

“Party pooper.”

“Lush.”

They laughed at each other, sang “Deck the Halls,” and skated a few turns arm in arm. The rink was almost deserted, and the other skaters shared in the Christmas spirit. The piped music was merry and light, carols intermingled with waltzes. It was a beautiful night. And it was past eleven before they decided they’d had enough. Despite the cognac, their faces were numb from the cold.

“How about midnight mass at Saint Patrick’s? Or would that be a bad trip? You’re not Catholic, are you?”

“Nope. Episcopal, but I have nothing against Saint Patrick’s. Your mass isn’t that different from ours. I’d really enjoy it.” There was a moment of worry in her face, as she thought of missing a call from Luke. But the prospect of church appealed to her, and Alejandro swept her along. He suspected what she’d been thinking. And going home to sit by the phone would negate all they’d done. It was turning into a passable Christmas, and he wasn’t going to let her spoil it. Even for Luke.

They walked down a deserted Fifth Avenue, past all the ornate window dressings, the lights and the trees. It had a carnival air. Saint Patrick’s was jammed, hot, and smelled strongly of incense. They wedged their bodies in way at the back of the church; they could not approach the front pews, short of standing on shoulders and walking on heads. People had come from miles. Midnight mass at Saint Patrick’s was a tradition for many.

The organ was somber and majestic, the church dark except for the light shed by thousands of candles. It was a high mass, and one-thirty when they got out.

“Tired?” He held her arm as they made their way down the steps. The cold air was a shock after the scented warmth of the church.

“More like sleepy. I think it’s the incense.”

“Of course the cognac and the skating have nothing to do with it.” His eyes laughed at her, but kindly.

He hailed a cab, and the doorman at her place lurched his way to the door.

“Looks like he’s been having a good time.”

“So would you if you raked in as much money as he and the other guys do. They each get an envelope from everyone in the building.” She thought of what Alejandro must make at the center and cringed at the comparison. “Want to come up for a drink?”

“I shouldn’t….” He knew she was tired.

“But you will. Come on, Al, don’t be a drag.”

“Maybe I’ll just stay for a minute, and have a bite of the fruit salad.”

“Touch my wreath and you’ll regret it! And don’t say I didn’t warn you!” She brandished the nearly empty flask at him and he ducked. They giggled sleepily as they walked out of the elevator arm in arm. The apartment was warm and cozy and the tree looked pretty all lit up in the corner. She went out to the kitchen, as he sat down on the couch.

“Hey Kezia!”

“What?”

“Make that another hot chocolate!” He had had more than enough cognac, and so had she.

“I was.”

She came out with two steaming cups covered with rapidly dissolving marshmallows, and they sat side by side on the floor, looking up at the tree.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Vidal.”

“Merry Christmas, Miss Saint Martin.” It was a solemn moment, and for what felt like a very long time neither spoke. Their thoughts were drifting separately to other people, other years, and in their own ways, they each found their minds wandering back to Luke and the present.

“You know what you ought to do, Alejandro?”

“What?” He had stretched out on the floor, his eyes closed, his heart warm. He was growing very fond of her and he was glad he had made a change of plans. This was turning into a beautiful Christmas. “What should I do?”

“Sleep on the couch. It seems stupid for you to go all the way uptown at this hour. I’ll give you some sheets and a blanket and you can stay here.” And then I won’t have to wake up in an empty house tomorrow morning, and we can giggle and laugh, and go for a walk in the park. Please, please stay … please….

“Wouldn’t it be a pain in the ass for you if I stay?”

“No. I’d love it.” The look in her eyes said she needed his presence there, and he didn’t know why, but he needed that too.

“Are you sure?”

“Very sure. And I know Lucas won’t mind.” She knew she could trust him, and it had been such a nice evening that now she desperately didn’t want to be alone. It was Christmas. It had finally dawned on her. Christmas: a time for families and friends and people you love. A time for children and big sloppy dogs to come lumbering into the house and play with the wrappings from the gifts that were being opened. Instead, she had sent Edward a set of colorless books for his library, and French place mats from Porthault to Aunt Hil, to add to the towering stack already in her London linen closets. And in turn, Hilary had sent her perfume, and a scarf from Hardy Amies, Edward had given her a bracelet that was too large and not her style. And Totie had sent her a hat that she’d knitted, that didn’t go with anything Kezia owned, and might possibly have fit her when she was ten. Totie had aged. Hadn’t they all? And the exchange of gifts had all been so meaningless this year, by mail, via stores, to people she owed by ritual and tradition, not really by heart. She was glad she and Alejandro had not tried to drum up gifts for each other that night. They had given each other something far better. Their friendship. And now she wanted him to stay. Aside from Luke, it suddenly felt as though he were her only friend.

“Will you stay?” She looked down at him lying on the floor beside where she sat.

“With pleasure.” He opened an eye, and held out a hand for one of hers. “You may be crazy, but you’re still a beautiful lady.”

“Thank you.”

She kissed him gently on the forehead, and went down the hall to get him some sheets. A few minutes later, she gently closed the door to the room with a last whispered “Merry Christmas,” which meant “thanks.”

Chapter 24

Kezia had been out shopping. She had stopped sitting in her apartment, just waiting for Luke. It had been driving her crazy. So she foraged around Bendel’s and wandered through the boutiques on Madison Avenue for an hour that afternoon, and when she opened the door, Luke’s suitcase was spilling its contents nervously across the floor, brush, comb, razor, rumpled shirts, sweaters lying about, two broken cigars tangled with a belt, and one shoe, whose mate was missing: Lucas was home.

He waved at her from the desk as she walked in. He was on the phone, but a broad grin spread over his face, and she walked swiftly to his side, matching his smile, and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. It felt so good just to hold him again. He felt so big and so beautiful, his hair smelled fresh and felt like silk under her hand. Black silk, and soft on his neck. He hung up the phone and turned around in his chair to hold her face in his hands and look into the eyes that he loved.

“God, you look good to me, Mama.” There was something fervent in his eyes and his hands were almost rough.

“Darling, how I missed you.”

“Baby, me too. And I’m sorry about Christmas.” He buried his face in her chest, and gently kissed her left breast.

“I’m so glad you’re home … and Christmas was lovely. Even without you. Alejandro took care of me like a brother.”

“He’s a good man.”

“Yes, he is.” But her thoughts were far from Alejandro Vidal. They were filled with the man she was looking at. Lucas Johns was her man. And she was his woman. It was the best feeling she knew. “Oh Jesus, but how I missed you, Lucas!” He laughed with pleasure at the catch in her voice, and pulled her off her feet, standing up and sweeping her into his arms like a child. He kissed her firmly on the mouth, said not a word, and walked her straight into the bedroom as she giggled. He marched right over the suitcase, the clothes, the cigars, kicked the bedroom door shut with his foot, and made his presence rapidly and amply known. Lucas was very much home.

He had brought her a turquoise Navajo bracelet of elaborate and intricate beauty, and he laughed at the Christmas presents she gave him … and then grew silent over the book that had been her father’s. He knew what it must have meant for her to give it to him, and he felt something hot at the back of his eyes. He only looked up at her and nodded, his eyes quiet and grave. She kissed him gently, and the way their lips met told them both what they already knew, how much he loved her, and she him.

He was back at the phone in an hour, bourbon in hand. And half an hour later he announced that he had to go out. When he did, he didn’t come back to the apartment until nine, and then got back on the phone again. When he finally got to bed at two in the morning, Kezia had long since gone to sleep. He was up and dressed when she awoke the next morning. These were hectic days. And tense ones. And now there were always plainclothesmen wherever Luke was. Even Kezia spotted them now.

“Jesus, darling, I feel like I didn’t even get to talk to you yesterday. Are you already going out now?”

“Yeah, but I’ll be back early today. I just have so much to do, and we’ve got to get back out to San Francisco in three days.” Three days. Where had she gotten the idea that they would be spending time alone in New York? Time to walk in the park, and talk, to lie in bed at night and think aloud, time to smile at the fire, and giggle over popcorn. It wasn’t going to be like that at all. It already wasn’t. The hearing was less than a week away now, and at his insistence, she was sticking close to home. He had been adamant about that. He had enough to think about without worrying about her.

He left ten minutes later, and the promise that he’d be back early went by the wayside. He walked in at ten that night, looking tired and nervous and worn, reeking of bourbon and cigars, with dark rings under his eyes.

“Luke, can’t you take one day off? You need it so much.” He shook his head as he threw his coat over the back of a chair. “Just an afternoon? Or one evening?”

“Goddammit, Kezia! Don’t press me! I have too fucking much to do as it is.” Gone the dream of peace before the hearing. There would be no peace, no time alone, no rest, no candlelight dinners. There would be Luke coming and going, looking ravaged, up at dawn, drunk by noon, and sober again and spent by the end of the evening. And nightmares when he finally allowed himself a few hours of sleep.

A canyon had opened between them, a space around him which she couldn’t even begin to approach. He wouldn’t let her.

On their last night in New York she heard Luke’s key in the door and turned in her seat at the desk. He looked pathetically tired, and he was alone.

“Hi Mama. What’s doing?”

“Nothing, love. You look like you had a bitch of a day.”

“Yeah, I did.” The smile was old and rueful, the lines around his eyes had deepened noticeably in the last few days. Luke sagged visibly in his chair. He was beat.

“Want a drink?” He shook his head. But tired as he was, there was a familiar light in his eyes. It was as though the old Luke had finally come home … the one she’d waited weeks, and now days for. He was worn out, exhausted, but sober and alone. She went to him and he put his arms around her.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a sonofabitch.”

“You haven’t been. And I love you … a whole bunch.” She looked down into his face, and they smiled.

“You know, Kezia, the funny thing is that no matter how hard you run, you can’t run away from it. But I got a lot done. I guess that’s something at least.” It was the first hint he’d given her that he was scared too. It was like a train heading straight for their life, and their feet were rooted to the tracks while it just kept coming at them … and coming and coming and coming … and….

“Kezia …”

“Yes, love?”

“Let’s go to bed.” He took her by the hand, and they walked quietly into the bedroom. The Christmas tree still stood tall in a living room corner, shedding needles all over the floor, the branches beginning to droop dryly from the weight of the ornaments. “I wanted to take that down for you this week.”

“We can do it when we get back.” He nodded and then stopped in the doorway, looking at something over her head, but still holding her hand.

“Kezia, I want you to understand something. They might take me away at the hearing. I want you to know that, and accept it, because if it happens, it happens, and I don’t want you falling apart.”

“I won’t.” But her voice was shaken and tiny.

“Noblesse oblige?” His accent was funny and she smiled. The words meant “Nobility obliges”; she’d grown up with it all of her life. The obligation to keep your chin up, no matter who sawed off your legs at the knee; the ability to serve tea with the roof coming down around your ears; the charm of developing an ulcer while wearing a smile. Noblesse oblige.

“Yeah, noblesse oblige, and partly something else maybe.” Her voice was strong again now. “I think I could keep it together because I love you as much as I do. Don’t worry. I won’t fall apart.” But she didn’t understand it either, nor could she accept it. It couldn’t happen to them. And maybe it wouldn’t … or maybe it would.

“You’re a beautiful lady, sweet Kezia.” He put his arms around her again, and they stood in the doorway for a long, long time.

Chapter 25

Their mood on the plane was almost hysterically festive. They had decided to travel first-class.

“First-class all the way. That’s my girl.” He was prominently carrying his new Vuitton briefcase, and ostentatiously wearing the brown suede Gucci shoes. They had agreed that the brown suede were the wealthier looking.

“Lucas, pull your feet in.” She giggled at him; he was deliberately dangling one foot in the aisle.

“Then they won’t see my shoes.” He lit a cigar from the new shipment from Romanoff, and flapped the Pucci tie in her face.

“You’re a nut, Mr. Johns.”

“So are you.” They exchanged a honeymoon smooch and the stewardess looked over and smiled. They were a good-looking couple. And so happy they were almost ridiculous.

“Want some champagne?” He was fumbling around in his briefcase.

“I don’t think they’ll serve it till we’re off the ground.” “That’s their business, Mama. Me, I bring my own.” He grinned broadly at her.

“Lucas, you didn’t!”

“I most certainly did.” He pulled out a bottle of vintage Moët et Chandon and two plastic glasses, also a small tin of caviar. In four months he had developed a fondness for much of her way of life, while still keeping his own view and perspective. Together they filtered out the best of both worlds and made it their own. Mostly, the “posh” things amused him, but there were certain things he truly liked. Caviar was one of them. And so was pâté. The Gucci shoes were a lark, and she knew that’s how he’d feel, which was why she had bought them.

“Want some champagne?” she nodded, smiling, and reached out for one of the two plastic glasses.

“What are you looking so funny about?”

“Who, me?” And then she started to laugh, and leaned over and kissed him. “Because I brought some too.” She opened her tote bag, and pointed at the bottle lying on the top. Louis Roederer, though not quite as vintage a year as his Moet. But still, not a bad one. “Darling, aren’t we chic?”

“It’s a wine-tasting party!” Stealthily they guzzled champagne and devoured the caviar; they necked during the movie, and traded old jokes, which got sillier by the hour and the glass. It was like leaving on a vacation. And he had promised her that he would be all hers the next day. No appointments, no meetings, no friends. They would have the day to themselves. She had taken reservations at the Fairmont, just for the hell of it; a suite in the tower, for a hundred and eighty-six dollars a day.

The plane landed smoothly in San Francisco, just before three o’clock. They had the rest of the afternoon and the evening before them. Their rented limousine was waiting, and the chauffeur took their baggage stubs, so they could head for the car. Luke was as anxious as Kezia to avoid any publicity. This was no time for that.

“Do you think he noticed my shoes?”

She looked down at them pensively for a moment. “You know, maybe I should have bought them in red.”

“Maybe I should have made love to you during the movie. No one would have seen.”

“How about in the car?” She settled back on the seat, and automatically pressed the button to raise the glass between their seat and the chauffeur’s. He was still hunting for their bags.

“Baby, that may cut out the sound track, but if we’re going to make love he’ll still get a wide-angle view.”

She laughed with him at the thought. “Want some more champagne, Lucas?”

“You mean there’s more left?” She nodded, smiling, and produced the remaining half bottle of Roederer. They had polished off the Moët et Chandon. He produced the plastic glasses from his briefcase, and they poured another healthy round.

“You know, Lucas, we really have a great deal of class. Or is it panache? Possibly … style.” She was thinking it over, the glass tilted slightly in one hand.

“I think you’re drunk.”

“I think you’re gorgeous, and what’s more, I think I love you.” She made a passionate lunge at him, and he groaned as her champagne flew at the window, and his splashed on the floor.

“Not only are you drunk, but you’re a sloppy drunk. Just look at the Honorable Miss Kezia Saint Martin.”

“Why can’t I be Kezia Johns?” She sank back into the corner with her empty champagne glass, and waited for him to refill it, a pout taking over her face. He eyed her curiously for a long moment and cocked his head to one side.

“Are you serious or drunk, Kezia?” This was important to him.

“Both. And I want to get married.” She looked as though she were going to add, “And so there!” but she didn’t.

“When?”

“Now. Let’s get married now. Want to fly to Vegas?” She brightened at the thought. “Or is it Reno? I’ve never gotten married before. Did you know I’m an old maid?” She smiled primly, as though she had revealed a marvelous secret.

“Jesus, baby, you’re shitfaced.”

“I most certainly am not! How dare you say such a thing?”

“Because I’ve been supplying the champagne. Kezia, be serious for a minute. Do you really want to get married?”

“Yes. Right now.”

“No. Not right now, you nut. But maybe later this week. Depending on … well, we’ll see.” The accidental reference to the impending hearing had gone over her head, and he was grateful for that. She was thoroughly plastered.

“You don’t want to marry me.” She was getting close to champagne-induced tears, and he was trying hard not to laugh.

“I don’t want to marry you when you’re drunk, stupid. That’s immoral.” But there was a special smile on his face. My God, she wanted to marry him. Kezia Saint Martin, the girl in the papers. And here he was in a limo wearing Gucci shoes, on his way to a suite at the Fairmont. He felt like a kid with ten electric trains. “Lady, I love you. Even if you are shitfaced.”

“I want to make love.”

“Oh God.” Luke rolled his eyes, and the chauffeur slid into his seat behind the wheel. A moment later the car pulled away from the curb. Neither of them had seen the unmarked car drive up behind them. They were being followed again, but by now they were used to it. It was a fixture.

“Where are we going?”

“To the Fairmont, remember?”

“Not to church?”

“Why the fuck would we want to go to church?”

“To get married.”

“Oh, that kind of church … Later. How about getting engaged?” He looked at the signet ring on his hand again. He had been so pleased with the gift. But she saw the look in his eyes, and anticipated what he had in mind.

“You can’t give me that I gave it to you. That would be Indian giving, not a proper engagement … an Indian engagement? In any case, I don’t believe it would be for real.” She looked haughty and was listing badly to one side.

“I don’t believe you’re for real, Mama. But okay, if this one won’t do it, let’s stop and get a ‘proper’ engagement ring. What would you consider proper? I hope it’s something smaller than a ten-carat diamond.”

“That would be vulgar.”

“That’s a relief.” He grinned at her, and she dropped the haughty look for a smile.

“I think I’d like something blue.”

“Oh. Like a turquoise?” He was teasing, but she was too drunk to see it.

“That would be pretty … or a lapis patchouli….”

“I think you mean lapis lazuli.”

“Yes, that’s who I mean. Sapphires are nice too, but they’re too expensive, and they crack. My grandmother had a sapphire that …” He shut her up with a kiss, while pressing the button to lower the window separating them from the chauffeur.

“Is there a Tiffany’s here?” He knew all the right names now. For a man who hadn’t known the difference between a Pucci and a lap dog four months ago, he had learned the private dialect of the upper classes with astonishing speed. Bendel’s, Cartier’s, Parke Bernet, Gucci, Pucci, Van Cleef, and of course … Tiffany, everyone’s favorite supermarket for diamonds. And comparable stones…. undoubtedly, they would have something blue, other than turquoise.

“Yes, sir. There’s a Tiffany’s here. On Grant Avenue.”

“Then take us there before the hotel. Thanks.” He rolled the window back into place. He had learned that one too.

“My God, Lucas, we’re getting engaged? For real?” Tears sprang to her eyes as she smiled.

“Yes, but you’re going to stay in the car. The papers would really love this one. Kezia Saint Martin gets engaged at Tiffany’s, and the bride was noticeably inebriated.”

“Noticeably shitfaced,” she corrected.

“Excuse me.” He gently relieved her of the empty glass she’d been holding, and kissed her. They rode into town sitting close together in the back of the car, his arm around her, a beatific smile on her face, and a look of peace on his that hadn’t been there for weeks.

“Happy, Mama?”

“Very.”

“Me too.”

The driver stopped in front of the gray marble facade of Tiffany’s on Grant Avenue, and Luke gave her a hasty kiss and dashed from the car, with a sobering admonition that she stay there.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me. And don’t under any circumstances get out of the car. You’d fall flat on your ass.” Then, as an afterthought, he stuck his head in the window and wagged a finger at her slightly hazed eyes. “And stay out of the champagne!”

“Go to hell!”

“I love you too.” He gave her a quick wave over his shoulder as he dashed into the store. It seemed like only five minutes before he was back.

“Show me what you got!” She was so excited she could hardly sit still. Unlike other women at her age, this was the first time she’d gotten engaged.

“I’m sorry, baby. They didn’t have anything I liked, so I didn’t get anything.”

“Nothing?” she looked crushed.

“No … and to tell you the truth, they didn’t have a thing I could afford.”

“Oh shit.”

“Darling, I’m sorry.” He looked crestfallen and held her close.

“Poor Lucas, how awful for you. I don’t need a ring, though.” She suddenly brightened and tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but she was so tipsy that it was hard to keep it all in control.

“Do you suppose we could get engaged without a ring?” He sounded almost humble.

“Sure. I now pronounce thee engaged.” She waved an imaginary wand at him, and smiled happily into his eyes. “How does it feel?”

“Fantastic! Hey, far out! Look what I found in my pocket!” He pulled out a dark blue velvet cube. “It’s something blue, isn’t that what you wanted? A blue velvet box.”

“Oh you … you! You did get me a ring!”

“No. Just the box.” He dropped it into her lap and she snapped the lid open and gasped.

“Oh Lucas, it’s gorgeous! It’s … it’s incredible! I love it!” It was an emerald-cut aquamarine with a tiny diamond chip set on either side. “It must have cost you a fortune. And oh darling, I love it!”

“Do you, babe? Does it fit?” He took it from the box for her and carefully slipped it on her finger. Doing that was a heady feeling for both of them, as though when it reached the base of her finger something magic would happen. They were engaged. Christ, what a trip!

“It fits!” Her eyes danced as she held out her hand, looking at the ring from every possible angle. It was a beautiful stone.

“Shit. It looks like it’s loose. Is it too big?”

“No, it isn’t. No, it isn’t! Honest!”

“Liar. But I love you. We’ll get it sized tomorrow.”

“I’m engaged!”

“Hey, that’s funny, lady. Me too. What’s your name?”

“Mildred. Mildred Schwartz.”

“Mildred, I love you. That’s funny though, I thought your name was Kate. Didn’t it used to be?” He had a tender light in his eye, remembering the first day he’d met her.

“Isn’t that what I told you when we met?” She was a little too drunk to be sure.

“It was. You were already a liar way back then.”

“I already loved you then, too. Right away, just about.” She sank back into his arms again, with her own memories of their first days.

“You loved me then?” He was surprised. He thought it had taken longer. She had been so evasive at first.

“Uh huh. I thought you were super. But I was scared you’d find out who I was.”

“Well, at least now I know. Mildred Schwartz. And this, my love, is the Fairmont.” They had just pulled up in the driveway, and two porters approached to assist the chauffeur with their bags. “Want me to carry you out?”

“That’s only when you get married. We’re only engaged.” She flashed the ring at him with a smile which enchanted him.

“Please forgive the impertinence. But I’m not sure you can walk.”

“I beg your pardon, Lucas. I most certainly can.” But she wove badly when her feet touched the pavement.

“Just keep your mouth shut, Mama, and smile.” He picked her up in his arms, nodded to the porters and mentioned something about a weak heart, and a long plane trip, while she quietly nibbled his ear. “Stop that!”

“I will not.”

“You will, or I’ll drop you. Right here. How’d you like a broken ass for an engagement present?”

“Up your ass, Lucas.”

“Shh … keep your voice down.” But he wasn’t much more sober than she; he only held it a mite better.

“Put me down, or I’ll sue you.”

“You can’t. We’re engaged.” He was halfway through the lobby with Kezia in his arms.

“And it’s such a pretty ring too. Lucas, if you only knew how much I love you.” She let her head fall onto his shoulder and studied the ring. He carried her easily, like a rag doll, or a very small child.

“Due to Mrs. Johns’ weak heart, and her weakened condition from the flight,” would they send the registration forms up to the room? The couple rode quickly up in the elevator, with Kezia carefully propped up in a corner. Luke watched her with a grin.

“I’ll walk to the room, thank you.” She looked at him imperiously, and tripped as she got out of the elevator. He caught her before she fell, and he offered her his arm, trying hard to keep a straight face.

“Madam?”

“Thank you, sir.” They walked gingerly down the hall, with Luke supporting most of her weight, and at last arrived at the room.

“You know what’s funny, Lucas?” When she was drunk, she had the voice of Palm Beach, London, and Paris.

“What, my dear?” Two could play that game.

“When we came up in the elevator, I felt like we could see the whole world, even the sky, the Golden Gate Bridge … everything. Is that what being engaged does to you?”

“No. It’s what being in a glass elevator does to you, when it runs along the outside of the building, and you ride in it when you’re drunk. You know, sort of like special effects.” He gave her his most charming smile.

“Go to hell.”

The porter was waiting for them in the door of the suite, and Luke tipped him solemnly and closed the door behind him.

“And I suggest that you lie down, or take a shower. Probably both.”

“No, I want to …” She walked slowly toward him, an evil gleam in her eye, and he laughed.

“As a matter of fact, Mama, so do I.”

“Hey, lady, it’s a beautiful day.”

“Already?”

“It has been for hours.”

“I think I’m going to die.”

“You’re hung over. I ordered coffee for you.” He smiled at the look on her face. They had made matters worse with a third bottle of champagne after dinner. It had been a night for lengthy celebration. Their engagement. It was more than a little mad. He knew only too well that by the following day he could be in jail, which was why he hadn’t jumped at the thought of Reno or Vegas. But that was one thing he wouldn’t do to her. If they revoked him, that was it. He wasn’t going to take her down with him, as his wife. He loved her too much to do that to her.

She struggled with the coffee, and felt better after a shower.

“Maybe I’m not going to die after all. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“You never know with a weak heart like yours.”

“What weak heart?” She looked at him as though he were crazy.

“That’s what I told them when I carried you into the lobby.”

“You carried me?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I don’t remember being carried. I do remember feeling like I was flying.”

“That was the elevator.”

“Jesus, I must have really been bombed.”

“Worse than that. Which reminds me … do you remember getting engaged?”

“Several times.” She grinned wickedly and ran a hand up his leg.

“I mean with a ring, you lewd bitch. Shame on you!”

“Shame on me? If I remember correctly …”

“Never mind that. Do you remember getting engaged?”

But her face softened as she saw how earnest be was. “Yes, darling, I remember. And the ring is incredible.” She flickered it at him, and they both smiled as she kissed him. “It’s a magnificent ring.”

“For a magnificent woman. I wanted to buy you a sapphire, but they were waaaaaayyyy over my head.”

“I like this better. My grandmother had a sapphire that …”

“Oh not that again!” He started to laugh and she looked surprised.

“I already told you?”

“Several times.” She grinned and shrugged her slim shoulders. She was wearing only his ring. “Now, are we going to sit here all day, making love and being lazy, or are we going to go out?”

“Do you suppose we ought to go out?” But she looked as if she liked the first idea better.

“It might do us good. We can come back for more of this later.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Do you usually have to force me, my love?”

“Not exactly.” She smiled primly and walked to the closet. “Where are we going?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Can we go for a drive? I’d love that. Up the coast, or something nice and easy like that.”

“With the chauffeur?” The idea didn’t have much appeal. Not with the chauffeur.

“No, silly, alone of course. We can rent a car through the hotel.”

“Sure, babe. I’d like that too.”

She was forking out vast sums of money for this trip. The suite at the Fairmont, the first-class seats on the trip out, the limousine, the elaborate room service meals, and now yet another car, for his pleasure. She wanted it all to be special. She wanted to soften the blow of the hearing, or at least provide some diversion from the reason they were there. Underneath the holiday air was the kind of gaiety one produces for a child who is dying of cancer—circus, puppet shows, dolls, color TV, Disneyland, and ice cream all day long, because soon, very soon…. Kezia longed for the days of their first trip to San Francisco, for their early days in New York. This time nothing was natural; it was all terribly luxurious, but it wasn’t the same. It was forced.

The concierge rented a car for them, a bright red Mustang with a stick shift that pleased Luke. He roared up the hills on his way to the bridge.

It was a pleasant drive for a sunny winter afternoon. It was never very cold in San Francisco. There was a brisk breeze but the air was warm, and everything around them was green, a far cry from the barren landscape they’d left.

They drove all afternoon, stopped here and there at a beach, walked to the edge of the cliffs, sat on rocks and talked, but neither spoke of what weighed on their hearts. It was too late to talk and there was nothing to say. The hearing was too close. They had both said it all, in all the ways they knew how, with their bodies, with gifts, with kisses, with looks. All they could do now was wait.

A light green Ford trailed them all day long, and it depressed Luke to realize they were being followed that closely. He didn’t say anything to Kezia, but something in her manner led him to suspect that she knew too. There was more than a faint air of bravado, of each trying to reassure the other, by pretending not to see all the terrors around them … or simply the passing of time. The hearing was right in front of their faces, and Lucas noticed that the cops stuck much closer now, as though they thought he’d suddenly bolt and run. But to where? He knew enough not to run. How long could he have gotten away with something like that? Besides, he couldn’t have taken Kezia. And he couldn’t have left her. They had him; they didn’t have to breathe down his neck.

They stopped for dinner at a Chinese restaurant on their way back, and then went to the hotel to relax. They had to meet Alejandro’s plane at ten o’clock that night.

The plane was on time and Alejandro was among the first through the doors.

“Hey, brother, what’s your hurry?” Lucas stood lazily propped against the wall.

“It must be New York. It’s getting to me. How’s it going, man?” Alejandro looked worried and tired, and felt suddenly out of place when he saw the look on their faces, happy, relaxed, with windburn tans and pink cheeks from the sun. It was almost as though he had come out for no reason. What could be wrong in the lives of two people who looked like that?

“Hey! Guess what?” Kezia’s eyes glowed. “We’re engaged!” She held out the ring for his inspection.

“Beautiful. Congratulations! We’re going to have to drink to that!” Luke rolled his eyes and Kezia groaned.

“We did that one last night.”

“‘We,’ my ass. She did. Shitfaced to the gills.”

“Kezia?” Alejandro looked amused.

“Yup, on champagne. I drank about two bottles all by myself.” She said it with pride.

“From your flask?”

She laughed at the memory of Christmas and shook her head, as they went to claim his bags. They had brought the limousine; the Mustang had been returned.

The banter in the car on the way into the city was light and easy, bad jokes, silly memories, Alejandro’s account of his trip, complete with a woman in labor and another woman who had smuggled her French poodle aboard under her coat and then threatened hysterics when the stewardess tried to take the dog away.

“Why do I always get on those flights?”

“You should try flying first-class.”

“Sure, brother, you bet. Hey, what’s with the fruity brown shoes?” Kezia laughed and Lucas looked pained.

“Man, you ain’t got no class at all. They’re Guccis.”

“Look like fruit shoes to me.” The three of them laughed and the car pulled up in front of the hotel.

“It’s not much, but we call it home.” Luke was in high spirits as he waved grandly to the towering palace that was the Fairmont.

“You guys certainly travel in style.” They had offered him the couch in the living room of their suite. It pulled out to make an extra bed.

“You know, Al, they’ve got a little old guy who walks around in the lobby just making ‘F’s in the sand in the ashtrays.” Alejandro rolled his eyes, and the three of them chuckled again. “It’s the little things that make the difference.”

“Up your ass, man.”

“Please, not in front of my fiancée.” Luke looked mock prim.

“You guys really engaged? For real?”

“For real.” Kezia confirmed it. “We’re going to get married.” There was steel in her voice, and hope, and life, and tears, and fear. They would get married. If they got the chance.

None of them mentioned the hearing and it wasn’t until Kezia started to yawn that Luke began to look serious.

“Why don’t you go on to bed, babe? I’ll be in, in a bit.” He wanted to talk to Alejandro alone, and it was easy to know what about. Why couldn’t he share his fears with her? But it wouldn’t do to look hurt. It wouldn’t have served any purpose.

“Okay, darling. But don’t stay up too late.” She kissed him gently on the neck and blew a kiss to Alejandro. “Don’t get too drunk, you guys.”

“Look who’s talking.” Luke laughed at the thought.

“That’s different. I was celebrating my engagement.” She tried to look haughty, but started to laugh as he swatted her behind and gave her a kiss.

“I love you. Now beat it.”

“Night, you guys.”

She lay awake in their bed and watched the line of light under the bedroom door until three. She wanted to go out there, to tell them that she was scared shitless too, but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t do it to Luke. She had to keep a stiff upper lip. Noblesse oblige, and all that shit.

She saw the next morning that Luke hadn’t gone to bed all that night. At six in the morning, he had finally fallen asleep where he sat, and Alejandro had quietly laid down on the couch. They all had to be up by eight.

The hearing was at two, and Luke’s attorney was due at the Fairmont at nine for a briefing. It would probably be the first time that Alejandro would hear it all straight. Luke had a way of clouding the issues, to spare his friends fear. And he knew that Kezia wouldn’t let herself speak what she thought. Alejandro got nothing from Kezia now, and nothing from Luke except bullshit and bravado. The only real thing he had heard was to “take care of Kezia, in case.” And that was going to be no easy task. That girl was going to take it harder than hell if he fell.

For a brief moment before he went to sleep, Alejandro almost wished that he hadn’t come. He didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to watch it happen to Luke, or see Kezia’s face when it did.

Chapter 26

The attorney arrived at nine, bringing tension with him. Kezia greeted him with a formal “good morning,” and made the introduction to “Our friend, Mr. Vidal.” She poured coffee and commented what a beautiful day it was. That’s when things started to go sour. The attorney gave a terse little laugh that set Kezia’s nerves on edge. She was suspicious of him anyway. He was renowned for his skill at hearings like Luke’s, for which he charged five thousand dollars. Lucas had insisted on paying it himself with his savings. He had set aside money for that, “just in case.” But Kezia didn’t like the man’s style—overconfident, overpaid, and overbearing. He assumed far too much.

The attorney looked around the room and felt the chill vibes from Kezia, and then made matters worse by putting his foot in his mouth. She was a most unnerving young woman.

“My father used to say on mornings like this, ‘Could be a beautiful day to die.’” Her face grew ashen and taut and Luke gave her a look that said “Kezia, don’t blow it!” She didn’t, for Luke’s sake, but she smoked twice as much as she ordinarily did. Luke made no pretense: at nine in the morning, he was drinking bourbon straight up. Alejandro chain-drank cold coffee. The party was over.

The meeting lasted two hours, and at the end of it they knew nothing more than they had before. No one did. There was no way to know. It all depended on the Adult Authority and the judge. No one could read their minds. Lucas was in danger of being revoked for instigating “unrest” in the prisons, agitating, and basically meddling in what the parole board and prison authorities felt was no longer his business. They had the right to revoke him for less, and there was no denying Luke’s agitating. Everyone knew of it, even the press. He had been less than discreet in the years he’d been out. His speeches, his book, his meetings, his role in the moratorium against prisons, his hand in prison labor strikes across the country. He had gambled his life on his beliefs, and now they’d have to see what the price was. Worse, under the California indeterminate sentence laws, once he was revoked, the Adult Authority could keep him for as long as they liked. The attorney’s “probably not more than two or three years” only added to their collective gloom. No one held out much hope. For once, not even Luke. And Kezia was silent.

The lawyer left them shortly after eleven, and they agreed to meet at the courthouse at one-thirty. Until then, they were free.

“Want to have lunch?” It was Alejandro’s suggestion.

“Who can eat?” Kezia was having increasing trouble playing the game. She had never looked as pale, and suddenly she wanted to call Edward or Totie, even Hilary, or Whit. Someone … anyone … but someone she knew well. This was like waiting in a hospital corridor to find out if the patient would live … and what if … what if he didn’t … what if … oh God.

“Come on, you guys, let’s go out” Luke had the situation in control, except for the almost imperceptible tremor of his hands.

They had lunch at Trader Vic’s. It was nice, it was pretty, it was “terribly posh” as Luke said, and the food was probably excellent, but none of them noticed. It didn’t feel right. It was all so fancy, so overdone, so false, and such a goddamn strain to keep up the pretense of giving a damn where they ate. Why the Fairmont and Trader Vic’s? Why couldn’t they just eat hot dogs, or have a picnic, or go on living after today? Kezia felt a weight settle over her like a parachute dipped in cement. She wanted to go back to the hotel to lie down, to relax, to cry, to do something, anything but sit in this restaurant eating a dessert she couldn’t even taste. The conversation droned on; all three of them talked, saying nothing. By the time the coffee was served, they had sunk into silence. The only sound was of Luke, drumming the fingers of one hand softly on the table. Only Kezia heard; she felt the sound rippling through her like a triphammer pulse. She felt wired to the marrow of his bones, to his brain, to his heart. If they took him, why couldn’t they take them together?

Alejandro looked at his watch, and Luke nodded.

“Yeah. It’s about that time.” He signaled for the check and Alejandro made a gesture to reach for his wallet. With a sharp look in his eyes, Luke shook his head. And this wasn’t a day to argue with him. He left the money on the small wicker platter the waiter had left with the bill, and they pushed the table away. Kezia felt as though she could hear a drum roll as they walked outside to the limousine. She felt like the costar in a B movie. They couldn’t be real people, this couldn’t be an hour before Luke’s hearing, it couldn’t be happening to them. None of it seemed real. And then, as the limousine rolled them inexorably away, she started to laugh, almost hysterically.

“What’s funny?” Luke was tense, and Alejandro was silent now. Her laughter rang out jarringly. There was something shattering about it, something unbearably painful. It wasn’t real laughter.

“Everything’s funny, Luke. All of it. It really is, it … I… it’s all so absurd.” She laughed on, until he took her hand and held it too hard. Then she stopped, fears suddenly trying to rush into the space where the laughter had been. It was all so absurd, all those ridiculous people at Trader Vic’s—they’d be going to a concert after lunch, or the hairdresser, or to board meetings, or I. Magnin’s, or to tea parties and dressmakers … leading their perfectly normal lives. But what could be normal, that, or this? None of it made any sense. The laughter tried to bubble back into her mouth, but she wouldn’t let it. She knew that if she laughed again she would cry, and maybe even howl. That was what she wanted to do. Howl like a dog.

They drove west into the pale afternoon sun, and then south on Van Ness Avenue, past used cars and new cars and the blue plastic of the Jack Tar Hotel. The ride seemed to go on forever. People were busy, were running, were going, were living, and all too soon the dome of City Hall loomed before them. It stuck out like a proud gilded onion, a dowager’s tit, noble and overdressed in patina and gold. Terrifying. City Hall. And within so few feet, other limousines were beginning to arrive for the symphony at the Opera House. Nothing made any sense.

Kezia felt vague and confused, almost drunk, though she’d had only coffee. And only the steadying presence of Luke on one side and Alejandro on the other kept her feet moving. Up the steps, through the doors, into the building, past the people … oh God … oh God, no!

“I need a pack of smokes.” Luke strode away from them and they followed, through the vast marble halls and under the dome. He walked with the determined rolling gait she knew so well, and silently she reached for Alejandro’s hand.

“You okay, Kezia?”

She answered with a question in her eyes: I don’t know. Am I?

“Yes,” She gave him a small wintry smile and looked up at the dome. How could ugly things happen here? It looked like Vienna or Paris or Rome, the columns and friezes and arches, the lofty swoop of the dome, the echo, the gold leaf. The day was really here. January eighth. The hearing. She was nose to nose with it now. Brutal reality.

She held tight to Luke’s hand as they rode up in the elevator, and she stood as close to him as she could … closer … tighter … nearer … more…. She wanted to slip inside his skin, bury herself in his heart.

The elevator stopped on four, and they followed the corridors to the law library where the attorney had said he would meet them. They passed a courtroom, and suddenly Luke pushed her aside, almost thrusting her at Alejandro.

“What …”

“Fucking bastards.” Luke’s face was suddenly angry and red, and Alejandro understood before she did. They quickened their pace, and he put an arm around her shoulders.

“Alejandro, what…”

“Come on, babe, we’ll talk about it later.” The two men exchanged a look over her head, and when she saw the television cameras waiting, she knew. So that was it. Lucas was going to make news. Either way.

They detoured the reporters unnoticed, and slipped into the law library to wait. The attorney joined them after a few minutes, a thick file in his hand, a tense look on his face. But something about his demeanor impressed Kezia more than it had at the hotel.

“Everyone ready?” He tried to look jovial and failed dismally.

“Now? Already?” It wasn’t two o’clock yet, and Kezia was beginning to panic, but Alejandro still had a tight grip on her shoulders. Luke was pacing in front of a book-lined wall.

“No. It’ll be a few minutes. I’ll meet you back here, and let you know when the judge is in court.”

“Is there any other way into the courtroom?” Alejandro was troubled.

“I … is … why?” The attorney looked puzzled.

“Have you walked past the courtroom yet?”

“No. Not yet.”

“It’s crawling with reporters. Television cameras, the works.”

“The judge won’t let them inside. Not to worry.”

“Yeah. But we’ll still have to walk through them.”

“No, we won’t.” Luke was back in their midst. “Or Kezia won’t in any case, if that’s what you’re worried about, Al.”

“Lucas, I most certainly will!” Small as she was, she looked as though in the heat of the moment she might hit him.

“You will not. And that’s that.” This was no time to argue with him. The look on his face made that much clear. “I want you here. I’ll come and get you when it’s over.”

“But I want to be in there with you.”

“On TV?” His voice dripped irony, not kindness.

“You heard what he said. They won’t be in court.”

“They don’t need to be. They’ll get you coming and going. And you don’t need that. And neither do I. I am not going to argue with you, Kezia. You’re staying here in the library, or you can go back to the hotel. Now. Is that clear?”

“All right.”

The attorney left them, and Luke began to pace again, and suddenly he stopped and walked slowly toward her, his eyes fixed on hers, everything about him familiar and dear. It was as though the barbed wire had gone from his spine. Alejandro sensed the mood and moved slowly toward a distant row of maroon and gold books.

“Baby …” Luke was only a foot away from her, but he didn’t reach out to touch her, he only looked, watching her, as though counting every hair on her head, every thread in her dress. He took in all of her, and his eyes bore through to her soul.

“Lucas, I love you.”

“Mama, I have never ever loved you more. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes. And you know how much I love you?”

He nodded, his eyes still digging deep.

“Why are they doing this to us?”

“Because I decided to take my chances a long time ago, before I knew you. I think I’d have done it differently if I’d known you all along. Maybe not. I’m a shitkicker, Kezia. You know it. I know it. They know it. It’s for a good cause, but I’m a thorn in their side. I’ve always thought it was worth it, if I could change something for the better … but I didn’t know then that I’d be doing this to you.”

“Is it still worth it, for you, not counting me?” Even without considering her, how could it have been now? But his answer surprised her.

“Yes.” His eyes didn’t waver, but there was something sad and old about them that she had never seen before. He was a man paying a heavy price, even if they didn’t revoke him. It had already cost him a great deal.

“It’s worth it even now, Lucas?”

“Yes. Even now. The only thing I feel like shit about is you. I should never have dragged you through it. I knew better right at the start.”

“Lucas, you’re the only man I’ve ever loved, maybe the only human being I’ve ever loved. If you hadn’t ‘dragged me through this,’ my life would never have been worth a good goddamn. And I can live with what’s happening. Either way.” For a moment she was as powerful as he; it was as though his strength had filled her to catalyze her own.

“And what if I go?”

“You won’t.” I won’t let you….

“I might.” He seemed almost detached, as if he was ready to go if he had to.

“Then I’ll handle that too.”

“Just handle yourself, little lady. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved like this. I won’t let anything destroy you. Not even me. Remember that. And whatever I do, you’ve got to know that I know what’s best. For both of us.”

“Darling, what do you mean?” Her voice was a whisper. She was afraid.

“Just trust me.” And then, without another word, he bridged the last foot between them, pulled her into his arms and held her breathlessly close. “Kezia, right now I feel like the luckiest man in the world. Even here.”

“Just the most loved.” There were tears brushing her lashes, as she buried her face in his chest. Alejandro was forgotten, the law library had faded around them. The only thing they had that mattered and was real was each other.

“Ready?” The lawyer’s face looked like a vision from a bad dream. Neither of them had heard him coming. Nor had they seen Alejandro watching them with tears streaming down his face. He wiped them away as he walked toward them.

“Yeah. I’m ready.”

“Lucas …” She clung to him for a moment, and he pushed her ever so gently away.

“Take it easy, Mama. I’ll be back in a minute.” He gave her a lopsided smile and squeezed her hand tight. She wanted so desperately to reach out to him, to keep him from going, to stop it, to hold him close and never let him go….

“We’d best be …” The attorney looked pointedly at his watch.

“We’re going.” He signaled to Alejandro, gave Kezia a last ferocious squeeze, and strode to the door, his attorney and his friend right behind him. Kezia was standing where he had left her.

“Lucas!” He turned at the door as her voice echoed in the silent rows of books. “God be with you!”

“I love you.” His three words rang in her ears as the door whooshed slowly closed.

There was no sound, not even that of a clock ticking. Nothing. Silence. Kezia sat in a straight-backed chair and watched a sliver of sunlight asleep on the floor. She didn’t smoke. She didn’t cry. She only waited. It was the longest half hour of her life. Her mind seemed to doze like the sun on the floor. The chair was uncomfortable but she didn’t feel it. She didn’t think, didn’t feel, didn’t see, didn’t hear. Not even the footsteps that finally came. She was numb.

She saw his feet pointing at hers before she saw his face. But they were the wrong feet, the wrong shoes, a different color and too small. Boots … Alejandro … where was Luke?

Her eyes ran up the legs until they reached his face. His eyes were dark and hard. He said nothing, only stood there.

“Where is Lucas?” The words were small and precise. Her whole body had stopped. And he answered all in one breath.

“Kezia, they revoked him. He’s in custody.”

“What?” She flew to her feet. Everything had started again, only now it was all going too fast instead of too slowly. “My God, Alejandro! Where is he?”

“He’s still in the courtroom. Kezia, no … don’t go …” She was on her way to the door, her feet racing over the gray marble floor. “Kezia!”

“Go to hell!” She flew out the door just as he caught her arm. “Stop it, damn you! I have to see him!”

“Okay. Then let’s go.” He held her hand tightly in his, and hand in hand they ran down the hall. “He may be gone now.”

She didn’t answer, she only ran faster, her shoes beating like her heart, pounding the floor as they ran. The reporters had already thinned out. They had their story. Lucas Johns was on his way back to Quentin. So it goes. Poor sonofabitch.

Kezia shoved her way past two men blocking the door of the courtroom, and Alejandro slipped in beside her. The judge was leaving the bench, and all she could see was one man, sitting quietly, alone, his back to her, facing straight ahead.

“Lucas?” She slowed to a walk and approached him slowly. He turned his head toward her, and there was nothing on his face. It was a mask. A different man than she knew. An iron wall with two eyes. Two eyes that held tears, but said nothing.

“Darling, I love you.” She had her arms around him then, and he leaned slowly against her, letting his head rest on her chest, letting his weight go, his whole body seeming to sag. But his arms never moved to go around her, and then she saw why. He was already in handcuffs. They hadn’t wasted much time. His wallet and change lay on the table before him, and among them were the keys to the New York apartment, and his ring, the one she had given him for Christmas. “Lucas, why did they do it?”

“They had to. Now you go home.”

“No. I’ll stay till you go. Don’t talk. Oh Christ, Lucas … I love you.” She fought back the tears. He would not see her cry. He was strong, so was she. But she was dying inside.

“I love you too, so do me a favor and go. Get the hell out of here, will you?” The tears had gone from his eyes and she covered his mouth with her own as her answer. She was bending toward him, her thin arms and small hands trying to envelop the whole of his body, as though he were a child and had grown too big for her lap. Why had they done it? Why couldn’t she take this away from him? Why couldn’t she have bought them? Why? All this pain and the ugliness and the handcuffs … why was there nothing she could do? Fucking goddamn parole board, and the judge and …

“Okay, Mr. Johns.” There was a nasty inflection on the “Mr.,” and the voice came from right behind her.

“Kezia, go!” It was the command of a general, not a plea from the defeated.

“Where are they taking you?” As her eyes flew open wide with anger and fear, she felt Alejandro’s hands on her shoulders, pulling her back.

“To county jail. Alejandro knows. Then to Quentin. Now get the fuck out of here. Now!” He rose to his full height and faced the guard who was about to lead him away.

She stood on tiptoe briefly and kissed him, and then almost blindly she let Alejandro lead her out of the court. She stood for a moment in the hall, and then as though in a distant vision far off down the hall she saw him go, a guard on either side, his hands shackled in front of him. He never looked back and it seemed as though, long after he was gone, she felt her mouth open, and a long piercing sound filled the air. A woman was screaming but she didn’t know who. It couldn’t be someone she knew. Nice people don’t scream. But the sound wouldn’t end and someone’s arms were holding her tight, as flashbulbs began to explode in her face and strange voices assailed her.

And then suddenly she was flying over the city in a glass cage, and after that she was led into a strange room and someone put her to bed and she felt very cold. Very cold. A man piled blankets on her, and another man with funny glasses and a mustache gave her a shot. She started to laugh at him because he looked so funny, but then that terrifying sound came back again. The woman was screaming. What woman? It was a long, endless howl. It filled the room until all the light was squeezed out of her eyes and everything went black.

Chapter 27

When Kezia woke up, Alejandro was sitting in the room with her, watching her. It was dark. He looked tired and rumpled and was surrounded by empty cups. He looked as though he had spent the night in the chair, and he had.

She watched him for a long time; her eyes were open and it was hard to blink. Her eyes felt bigger than they ever had before.

“You awake?” His voice was a hoarse whisper. The ashtrays were filled to the brim.

She nodded. “I can’t close my eyes.”

He smiled at her. “I think you’re still stoned. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

She only shook her head, and then tears washed the too-open eyes. Even that didn’t help her to close them. “I want to get up.”

“And do what?” She made him very nervous.

“Go pee pee.” She giggled and choked on fresh tears.

“Oh.” The smile was brotherly and tired.

“You know something?” She looked at him curiously.

“What?”

“You look like hell. You stayed up all night, didn’t you?”

“I dozed. Don’t worry about me.”

“Why not?” She staggered out of bed and headed for the john, pausing in the doorway. “Alejandro, when can I see Luke?”

“Not fill tomorrow.” So she already remembered. He had been afraid that he would have to start from scratch after the shot they’d given her the night before. It was now six in the morning.

“You mean today or tomorrow?”

“I mean tomorrow.”

“Why can’t I see him till then?”

“County only has two visiting days. Wednesday and Sunday. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Them’s the rules.”

“Bastards.” She slammed the bathroom door and he lit another cigarette. He was into his fourth pack since the night had begun. It had been one hell of a night. And she still hadn’t seen the crap in the papers. Edward had called four times that night. He’d seen the news in New York. He was half out of his mind.

When she came back, she sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette from his pack. She looked tired, haggard, and pale. The tan seemed to have instantly faded, and dark rims framed her eyes all the way around, like purple eye shadow gone wild.

“Lady, you don’t look so hot. I think you ought to stay in bed.” She didn’t answer, but only sat there, smoking and swinging her foot, her head turned away from him.

“Kezia?”

“Yeah?” She was crying again when she turned to face him, and she felt like a very small child melting into his arms. “Oh God, Alejandro. Why? How can they do this to us? To him?”

“Because sometimes it happens that way. Call it fate, if you want.”

“I’d call it fucked.” He smiled tiredly and then sighed. “Babe …” She had to know, but he hated to tell her. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know if you remember, but the newspaper boys took a bunch of pictures as they led Luke away.” He held his breath and watched the look on her face. He could see that she didn’t remember.

“Those shits, why couldn’t they leave him his last shred of dignity? Miserable, rotten …”

Alejandro shook his head. “Kezia … they took pictures of you.” The words dropped like a bomb.

“Of me?”

He nodded.

“Jesus.”

“They just thought you were his old lady, and I had Luke’s attorney call them and ask them not to run the pictures or your name. But by then, they knew who you were. Somebody spotted the pictures when they were developing them. That’s a lot of bad luck.”

“They ran the pictures?” She sat very still.

“Out here, you’re page one. Page four in New York. Edward called a few times last night.” Kezia threw back her head and started to laugh. It was a nervous, hysterical laugh, and not the reaction he had expected.

“Man, we really bought it this time, didn’t we? Edward must be dying, poor thing.” But she didn’t sound very sympathetic. She sounded distracted.

“That’s putting it mildly.” Alejandro almost felt sorry for the man. He had sounded so stricken. So betrayed.

“Well, you plays, you pays, as they say. How bad are the pictures?”

About as bad as you could get. She had been hysterical when the photographers had spotted them. Alejandro pulled the evening edition of the Examiner from under the bed and held it out to her. On the front page was a photograph of Kezia collapsing in Alejandro’s arms. She cringed as she saw it, and glanced at the text. “Socialite heiress Kezia Saint Martin, secret girlfriend of ex-con Lucas Johns, collapses outside courtroom after …” It was worse than they had feared.

“I think Edward is mainly concerned with what kind of shape you’re in now.”

“My ass, he is. He’s having a heart attack over the story. You don’t know Edward.” She sounded almost like a child afraid of her father. It seemed odd to Alejandro.

“Did he know about Luke?”

“Not like this he didn’t. Actually, he knew I had interviewed him, and he also knew there’s been someone important in my life for the last few months. Well, sooner or later, I guess it had to come out. We were lucky till now. It’s a bitch that it has to be like this though. Have the papers called since?”

“A few times. I told them there was no story, and you were flying back to New York today. I thought that might get them off your back, and they’d keep busy watching the airport.”

“And the lobby.”

He hadn’t thought about that. What an insane way to live.

“We’ll have to call the manager and arrange to get out of here. I want to move to the Ritz. They won’t find us there.”

“No, but you can count on some coverage tomorrow if you want to see Luke at the jail.”

She stood up and faced him, an icy look in her eyes. “Not ‘if,’ Alejandro, ‘when.’ And if they want to be pigs about it, fuck them.”

* * *

The day slipped by in a haze of silence and cigarette smoke. Their move to the Ritz passed uneventfully. A fifty dollar “gift” to the manager encouraged him to show them out through a back door, and keep his mouth shut about it later. Apparently, he had. There were no calls for them at the Ritz.

Kezia sat lost in her own thoughts, rarely speaking. She was thinking of Luke, and how he had looked when they led him away … and before that, how he had looked in the law library. He had been a free man then, for those last precious moments.

She called Edward from the Ritz and struggled through a brief, anguished conversation with him. They both cried. Edward kept repeating, “How could you do this?” He left the words “to me” unspoken, but they were there, nevertheless. He wanted her to fly home or let him fly out. He exploded when she refused.

“Edward, please, for God’s sake, don’t do this to me. Don’t pressure me now!” She shouted through her tears and wondered briefly why they kept throwing guilt at each other. Who cared “who was doing what to whom.” It had been done unto Kezia, and Luke, but not by Edward. And Kezia had done nothing to Edward, not intentionally. They were all caught in the teeth of a maniacal machine, and no one could help it, or stop it.

“You have to come home, Kezia! Think of what they’ll do to you out there.”

“They’ve already done it, and if it’s in the papers in New York it won’t make any difference where I am. I could fly to Tangiers for chrissake, and they’d still want a piece of the action.”