She stopped in front of the house and sat in the car, eyes closed, head back. At least she hadn’t had to push or pry to get Anna to open up. The woman gushed like water through a broken pipe, her mind on constant overdrive, and her stick-figure body never settled in one place for more than a few intense minutes. All Julia had had to do was ask what it was like to design wardrobes for Eve Benedict.
Anna had been off and running about Eve’s outrageous and often unrealistic expectations, her impatient demands, her last-minute brainstorms. It was Anna—according to Anna— who had made Eve look like a queen in Lady Love. Anna who had made her sparkle in Paradise Found. There had been no mention, as there had been in Kinsky’s and Marilyn Day’s interviews that it had been Eve who had given Anna her first real break by insisting that she be used as costume designer on Lady Love.
The lack of gratitude reminded Julia of Drake.
It was beginning to rain when Julia sighed and climbed from the car. It was a fast, thin rain that looked as though it could go on for days. Like Anna, she thought as she dashed to the front door. Julia would have preferred to close the door on that particular tape as she would close the door against the chilling rain.
But as she searched out her keys, she knew that whatever her personal feelings, she would review the tape. If Anna came across as catty, spoiled, and ungrateful in the book, she had no one to blame but herself.
Wondering if she should make pork chops or chicken for dinner, Julia opened the door, and the scent of wet, crushed flowers poured out. The living room, which had been neat if not orderly, was now a jumble of overturned tables, broken lamps, torn cushions. In the moment it took her mind to register what her eyes were seeing, she stood, briefcase clutched in one hand, keys in the other. Then she dropped them both and walked through the destruction of what she had tried to make home.
Every room was the same—broken glass, overturned furniture. Pictures had been torn off the wall. Drawers had been broken. In the kitchen, boxes and bottles had been yanked out of cupboards so that their contents made an unappetizing stew on the tiled floor.
She turned and fled upstairs. In her room her clothes were strewn around the floor. The mattress had been dragged partially off the bed, the linens in torn and tangled knots. The contents of her dresser were scattered on top of it.
But it was Brandon’s room that snapped the control she was desperately trying to cling to. Her child’s room had been invaded, his toys, his clothes, his books, pawed through. Julia picked up the top of his Batman pajamas, and balling them in her hands, went to the phone.
“Miss Benedict’s residence.”
“Travers. I need Eve.”
Travers answered that demand with a snort. “Miss Benedict’s at the studio. I expect her around seven.”
“You get in touch with her now. Someone’s broken into the guest house and trashed it. I’ll give her an hour before I call the police myself.” She hung up on Travers’s squawking questions.
Her hands were shaking. That was good, she decided. It was anger, and she didn’t mind shaking with anger. She wanted to hold on to it, it and every other vicious emotion that pounded through her.
Very deliberately she went downstairs again, walking over the wreckage of the living room. She crouched in front of a section of wainscoting and pressed the hidden mechanism as Eve had showed her. The panel slid open, revealing the safe inside. Julia spun the dial, mentally reciting the combination. When it was open, she took inventory of the contents. Her tapes, her notes, the few boxes of jewelry. Satisfied, she closed it again, then went to the rain-splattered window to wait.
Thirty minutes later, Julia watched Paul’s Studebaker slide to a halt. His face was set and expressionless when she met him at the door. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Travers called you?”
“Yes, she called me—which is something you neglected to do.”
“It didn’t occur to me.”
He was silent until he’d worked past the anger her remark caused. “Obviously. What’s this about another break-in?”
“See for yourself.” She stepped aside so that he could walk in ahead of her. Seeing it again brought on a fresh, red rage. It took everything she had to whip it down. Her fingers linked together until the knuckles were white. “First guess is that someone was upset when they couldn’t find the tapes, and decided to tear the place up until they did.” She nudged some broken crockery aside with her foot. “They didn’t.”
Fury, and the coppery flavor of fear in the back of his throat, had him whirling on her. His eyes were a blazing blue that had her backing up a step before she stiffened her spine. “Is that all you can think of?”
“It’s the only reason,” she said. “I don’t know anyone who would do this because of a personal grudge.”
He shook his head, struggling to ignore the twisting of his gut when he looked at a hacked cushion. What if he had found her like that—torn and tattered and tossed on the floor? His voice was cold as iron when he managed to speak again.
“So the tapes are safe, and that’s that?”
“No, that is not that.” She pulled her fingers apart, and as though that had been her only restraint, the fury she’d been strapping down broke loose. “They went into Brandon’s room. They touched his things.” Rather than nudging wreckage aside, she kicked at it, her eyes the color of the storm clouds that were shooting down that steady, driving rain. “No one, no one gets that close to my son. When I find out who did this, they’ll pay.”
He preferred the outburst to the cold control. But he was far from satisfied. “You said you’d call me if you had trouble.” “I can handle this.”
“Like hell.” He moved fast, grabbing her arms, shaking her before she could shoot out the first protest. “If it’s the tapes someone’s so desperate to get, they’ll go through you next time. For Christ’s sake, Julia, is it worth it? Is a book, a few weeks on the best-seller list, a five-minute spot on Carson worth all this?”
Every bit as livid as he, she jerked away, rubbing her arms where his fingers had dug in. The wind whipped up enough to beat the rain like impatient fingers against the glass. “You know it’s more than that. You of all people should know. I have something of value to do with this. What I’ll write about Eve will be richer, more poignant, more powerful than any fiction.”
“And if you’d been home when they’d broken in?”
“They wouldn’t have broken in if I’d been here,” she countered. “Obviously, they waited until the house was empty. Be logical.”
“Fuck logic. I’m not taking chances with you.”
“You’re not—”
“No, by Christ, I’m not.” Cold fury had become hot as he heaved a table aside. More glass shattered, like thunder answering the rain. “Do you expect me to stand by and do nothing? Whoever was in here wasn’t just looking for tapes, he was desperately trying to find them.” He snatched up a mangled cushion and shoved it at her. “Look at this. Look at it, dammit. It might have been you.”
It hadn’t occurred to her, not for a second, and she resented that his words had the image leaping so vividly in her mind. She fought back a shudder and let the cushion fall to the floor. “I’m not a piece of furniture, Paul. Nor is it up to you to make decisions for me. Spending an afternoon in bed together doesn’t make you responsible for my welfare.”
Slowly, he clamped his hands on the lapels of her jacket. Anger and fear rode a thin blade of hurt that cut quick and deep. “It was more than an afternoon in bed, but that’s another problem you’ll have to deal with. Right now you’re in the position where a fucking book is putting you at risk.”
“And if I would ever have considered backing off from this work, this would have changed my mind. I will not run away from this kind of intimidation.”
“Well said,” Eve stated from the doorway. Her hair was wet, as was the cashmere sweater she’d tugged on so hastily after Travers’s call. Her face was very pale as she stepped into the ho
use, but her voice was strong and steady. “It appears we have someone running scared, Julia.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Paul whirled on Eve with a rush of anger he’d never shown toward her. “Are you actually enjoying this? Lapping up satisfaction at the thought that someone would do this because of you? What have you come to, Eve, when your vanity, your attempt at immortality, is worth any price?”
Very carefully, she lowered herself to the arm of the damaged sofa, pulled out a cigarette, lighted it. Odd, she thought, she’d been sure Victor was the only man who could hurt her. How much sharper, how much deeper was the pain when it was stabbed into her by a man she thought of as her son.
“Enjoying it,” she said slowly. “Do I enjoy seeing my property destroyed or having my guest’s privacy invaded?” On a sigh, she blew out smoke. “No, I don’t. Do I enjoy knowing that someone is so terrified at what I may tell the world that they would risk a foolish and futile move like this? Yes, by Christ, I do.”
“It’s not just you who’s involved in this.”
“Julia and Brandon will be taken care of.” She tapped an ash carelessly on the rubble on the floor. With every beat of her heart her head pounded viciously. “Travers is seeing to guest rooms in the main house right now. Julia, you are both welcome to stay there as long as you like, or to move back here once we have made it habitable again.” She glanced up, keeping her eyes and her voice carefully neutral. “Or, of course, you are free to abandon the project altogether.”
In an unplanned gesture of alliance, Julia moved to Eve’s side. “I have no intention of abandoning the project. Or you.”
“Integrity,” Eve said with a smile, “is an enviable trait.”
“Blind stubbornness isn’t,” Paul retorted. He snapped his gaze to Julia. “It’s obvious neither of you want or need my help.”
Eve rose stiffly when he strode out of the house. In silence, she watched Julia look after him. “The male ego,” Eve murmured as she crossed the room to put an arm around Julia’s shoulders. “It’s a huge and fragile thing. I always envision it as an enormous penis made of thin glass.”
Despite her churning emotions, Julia laughed.
“That’s better.” Eve bent to pick up a shard of a broken vase, using it as an ashtray. “He’ll be back, darling. Puffing and blowing in all likelihood, but he’s too firmly hooked not to come reeling back.” Smiling, she tapped the cigarette out, then, with a shrug, tossed it and the bit of porcelain into the rubble. “Do you think I can’t tell you’ve been together?” “I really don’t think—”
“Don’t think.” Wanting a breath of fresh air, Eve moved to the open door. She liked the rain, the way it fell cool on her face. She’d come to the point where she appreciated life’s little things. “I could see instantly what had happened between you. And that you’ve quietly, effortlessly, shuttled me out of first place in his affections.”
“He was angry,” Julia began. And because she was suddenly aware that her own head was pounding, she pulled her hair free of the pins.
“Yes, and rightfully so. I’ve put his woman in a difficult, perhaps dangerous position.”
“Oh, come in out of that rain. You’ll catch a cold.” She bristled under Eve’s amused glance. “And I’m my own woman.”
“One must be.” Obligingly, Eve stepped back inside. It relieved her to see youth standing there. Youth, courage, and temper. “Even when one belongs to a man, one must be one’s own woman. However much you love him, or come to love him, hold on to yourself.” The pain radiated so quickly, so sharply, she cried out and pressed the heel of her hand above her left eye.
“What is it?” Julia was at her side in an instant, taking her weight. On an oath, she half carried Eve to what was left of the sofa. “You’re ill. I’ll call a doctor.”
“No. No.” Before Julia could spring to a phone, Eve had her hand. “It’s merely stress, overwork, delayed shock. Whatever. I often get headaches.” She could nearly smile at the grim understatement. “If you’d get me a glass of water.”
“All right. It’ll take only a minute.”
Once Julia had gone to the kitchen to search for an unbroken glass, Eve dug in her canvas bag for the pills. The pain was coming more often—as the doctors had said it would. It was becoming more vicious—again living up to the prediction. She shook out two pills, then forced herself to replace one. She wouldn’t give into the temptation to double the dose. Not yet. When Julia returned with the water, she’d replaced the bottle, and held the single pill in her palm.
Julia had also brought along a cool rag—and as she would have done for Brandon, stroked Eve’s forehead with it as Eve swallowed the medication.
“Thank you. You have a very soothing touch.”
“Just relax until you feel better.” Where had all this affection sprung from? Julia wondered as she patiently sought to ease the pain. She smiled as Eve’s hand reached for hers. Somewhere along the line a friendship had been formed, that woman-to-woman bond no man could possibly understand.
“You’re a comfort to me, Julia. In more ways than one.” The pain was almost tolerable now. Still, she sat with her eyes closed, letting the cool, competent touch soothe her. “I very much regret our paths were so late in crossing. Wasted time. Remember, I told you that’s the only genuine regret.”
“I like to think that no time’s ever wasted. That things happen when they’re meant to happen.”
“I hope you’re right.” She fell silent again, sorting out the things she had left to do. “I arranged for Lyle to deliver Brandon straight to the main house. I thought you’d prefer that.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“It’s little enough to make up for this disruption of your life.” Stronger, more certain, she opened her eyes again. “You checked on the tapes.”
“They’re still there.”
She only nodded. “I leave for Georgia at the end of the week. When I come back, we’ll finish this, you and I.”
“I still have several interviews left to do.”
“There’ll be time.” She’d make sure of it. “While I’m gone, I don’t want you to worry about this.”
Julia cast a look around the room. “It’s a little difficult not to.”
“No need. I know who did this.”
Julia stiffened, backed away. “You know. Then—”
“It was simply a matter of checking with the guard at the gate.” Recovered, she rose and laid a hand on Julia’s shoulder. “Trust me. I will take care of this matter.”
Drake tossed clothes frantically into a suitcase. Neatly laundered and folded shirts were heaved in among shoes, belts, rumpled trousers.
He had to get away, and quickly. With less than five thousand to his name after a desperate and losing session at Santa Anita, and no tapes to bargain with, he didn’t dare keep his appointment with Delrickio. So he would go somewhere Delrickio couldn’t find him.
Argentina maybe, or Japan. He heaved argyle socks on top of swim trunks. It might be better if he went to Omaha first, laid low. Who the hell would look for Drake Morrison in Omaha?
His mother couldn’t drag him out behind the barn for a beating anymore. She couldn’t force him to prayer meetings or feed him bread and water to cleanse his body and soul of impurities.
He could stay there on the farm for a couple of weeks until he’d pulled himself together. And maybe he could finesse a few thousand out of his old lady. God knew she’d made enough off him—taking the money Eve had sent and pouring it into the farm, or into the church.
He deserved something, didn’t he? From her. From Eve. After all, he was the only child. Hadn’t he lived with crazy Ada for the first half of his life, and worked for Eve the second?
They owed him.
“Drake.” He had his arms filled with socks and silk underwear. It all fluttered to the floor when Eve strolled in. “How did you—”
She held up a key, jingling it. “You’ve often imposed on Nina to water your plants whe
n you’re out of town.” She slipped the key into her pocket, daring him to comment, then sat on the bed. “Taking a trip?”
“I had some business come up.”
“Abruptly.” Her eyebrows shot up as she scanned the results of his frantic packing. “That’s no way to treat a five-thousand-dollar suit.”
The itching of his thighs had him grinding his teeth. “I’ll have to have everything pressed when I get there.”
“And where is there, dear?”
“New York,” he said, considering it an inspiration. “You’re my favorite client, Eve, but not the only. I have, ah, some details to iron out on a television deal.”
She tilted her head to study him. “You must be very ruffled to lie so poorly. One of your best—perhaps your only—skill is your ability to lie with complete sincerity.”
He wanted to show annoyance, but the panic shone through. “Listen, Eve, I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to fill you in on my plans, but I have obligations that don’t center on you.”
“Let’s cut straight through the shit, shall we?” Her voice was pleasant. The expression on her face wasn’t. “I know you broke into the guest house late this morning.”
“Broke in?” Sweat streamed down his face. When he laughed, it came out as a croak. “Why the hell would I do anything like that?”
“Exactly my question. I have no doubt you were the one who broke in before and stole from me. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am, Drake, that one of my few remaining blood relatives would find it necessary to steal.”
“I don’t have to take this from you.” He slammed the suitcase shut. Unconsciously, he began to dig at his thighs. “Look around, Eve. Does it seem like I’d have to steal a few trinkets from you?”
“Yes. When a man insists on living well beyond his means, he opens himself up to larceny.” She let out a weary sigh as she lit a cigarette. “Is it gambling again?”