It could have been coincidence, but she knew her mother too well, and she immediately felt uneasy. I only do what’s best for you, baby. What if Belinda had figured out how Fleur felt and decided to interfere? Just the thought of it made Fleur shudder.
She began to search for her, weaving through the guests as she moved from room to room while an invisible conversation played out in her head. Just give her a chance, Jake, and I know you’ll fall in love with her the same way she’s fallen for you. The two of you are a perfect match.
Fleur would never forgive her.
When her downstairs search came up empty, she slipped upstairs, and though she managed an embarrassing intrusion on Lynn and her lover, she couldn’t find her mother. Just as she was getting ready to return downstairs, however, she heard noises coming from Marcella Kelly’s bedroom. She peeked in.
“There’s nothing more to talk about. Let’s go back to the party.”
It was Jake’s voice. With her heart in her throat, Fleur slipped into the bedroom.
“Two more minutes for old time’s sake,” Belinda said. “Remember how much fun we had together in that awful motel in Iowa? I’ll never forget that morning.”
The intimate note in Belinda’s voice caught Fleur by surprise. As she took another step into the room, their reflections jumped out at her from a floor-length antique mirror, Belinda in shrimp-pink Karl Lagerfeld and Jake wearing a jacket that looked almost respectable. They stood in some kind of dressing alcove. He crossed his arms over his chest. Belinda reached out and touched him. The soft, terrible expression on her face made Fleur’s mouth go dry.
“It must be your mission in life to break the hearts of the Savagar women,” she said. “I understand a rebel spirit, and I knew from the beginning that I wasn’t special enough for you. But Fleur is. Don’t you see that? The two of you belong together, and you’re breaking her heart.”
Fleur dug her fingernails into her palms.
Jake pulled away from her. “Don’t do this.”
“I sent her to you!” she exclaimed. “I sent her to you, and now you’re violating my trust.”
“Trust! You sent her to me to save five minutes of film that you didn’t want to end up on the cutting room floor. Five minutes of your precious Glitter Baby’s career. Fuck my daughter, Koranda, so Baby can save her career. That’s what you told me.”
Fleur’s stomach pitched.
“Don’t be so sanctimonious,” Belinda hissed. “I saved your picture.”
“The picture wasn’t in that much danger.”
“That’s not how it looked to me. I did what I had to.”
“Yeah, right. You dropped your daughter on my doorstep for Mommy’s magic bedroom cure. Tell me something, Belinda. Is this going to be the pattern with you? Trying out your daughter’s lovers first? Auditioning them to make sure they meet your standards before you let them into Baby’s bed?”
The room reeled around her.
Jake’s contempt scorched the air. “What the hell kind of woman are you?”
“I’m a woman who loves her daughter.”
“Bullshit. You don’t even know your daughter. The only person you love is yourself.” He spun around and came face-to-face with Fleur’s reflection in the mirror.
Fleur couldn’t move. The pain in her chest twisted like some terrible beast, stealing her breath and turning the world black and ugly.
Jake was beside her in an instant. “Flower…”
Belinda let out a soft sharp gasp. “Oh my God. My baby.” She ran to Fleur and grabbed her arms. “It’s all right, baby.”
Tears rolled down Fleur’s cheeks. She pushed them away and stepped backward—jerky and awkward, trying to escape the awful beast clawing at her. “Don’t touch me. Don’t either of you touch me!”
Belinda’s face twisted. “Baby…Let me explain. I had to help you. I had to…Don’t you see? You could have ruined it for us—your career, all our plans, our dreams. You’re a celebrity now. The rules are different for you. Don’t you see that?”
“Shut up!” Fleur cried. “You’re filthy. Both of you.”
“Please, baby…”
Fleur drew back her hand and slapped her mother as hard as she could. Belinda cried out and stumbled backward.
“Fleur!” Jake rushed toward her.
She clenched her teeth and let out the snarl of a feral animal. “Stay away!”
“Listen to me, Fleur.” He reached for her, and she went wild, swinging at him, screaming at him, kicking him, killing him…Oh God, kill him. He tried to catch her arms, but she broke away and ran from the room, down the stairs. Dozens of startled faces stared at her as she raced through the foyer and out the door.
A driving downpour lashed at her. She wished it were ice, hard slivers of ice that would cut her up and slice her into tiny pieces of flesh and bone small enough to be washed away. She pulled up her wet skirt and raced down the curved driveway. The straps of the sandals bit into her feet and the soles slid on the wet blacktop, but she didn’t slow down. She cut across the grass and ran for the gates.
She heard him behind her, calling her name over the rain, and she ran faster. Her hair stuck to her cheeks. He cursed, and the sound of pounding feet grew louder. He caught her by the shoulder and threw her off balance. She tripped on the wet silk, and they fell together, just as they had that very first time in front of the farmhouse.
“Stop it, Flower. Please, stop.” He pulled her to him and held her tight there on the rain-soaked ground. His fingers tangled in her wet hair, and his breathing was rough and uneven. “You can’t go off like this. Let me take you home. Let me explain.”
She’d believed he’d wanted her that night. The little oatmeal string dress and the flesh-colored slip and the shining gold hoops that had swung from her ears…All of it had been chosen by Belinda. Her mother had sent her to him in costume. “Get your hands off me!”
He tightened his grip and turned her so she was facing him. His jacket was soaked and mud-streaked. Rivulets of rainwater ran down the slopes of his face. “Listen to me. What you heard wasn’t the whole story.”
She barred her teeth. “Were you my mother’s lover?”
“No…” He dragged his thumbs over her cheeks. “She came to my room, but I stopped. I didn’t—”
“She wrote that note! She sent me to you so you could make love to me!”
“Yes. But what happened that night was only between you and me.”
“You shit!” She swung at him with her fist. “Don’t try to tell me you took me to bed because you fell in love with me!”
He caught her wrists. “Flower, there are different kinds of love. I care about you. I—”
“Shut up!” She tried to punch him again. “I loved you! I loved you with every part of me, and I don’t want to hear any of your shit. Let me go!”
Slowly his grip eased, and he released her. She stumbled to her feet. Her wet hair hung over her face, and her words came out in little gusts. “If you really want to help me…get Lynn. And then…keep Belinda away from me. For an hour. Keep her away…for an hour.”
“Flower…”
“Do it, you bastard. I deserve that much.”
They stood in the rain, their chests heaving, rain dripping from their hair. He nodded and turned back to the house.
Lynn drove Fleur home without asking questions. She didn’t want to leave her alone, but Fleur insisted she was going right to bed. As soon as Lynn drove off, however, Fleur threw some clothes into her largest suitcase, tore off her ruined dress, and stuffed her legs into jeans. Jake and Belinda had plotted over her, used her…And she’d made it so easy. She wondered if they’d talked about her when they were in bed together. Jake had said it hadn’t gone all the way, but it had gone far enough, and her stomach roiled.
She closed the suitcase, called the airline, and booked herself on the next flight to Paris. Only one more thing to do before she left…
By the time Jake let Belinda go, she was frantic
. Her panic swelled when she reached the house and saw that the Porsche was gone. She ran to Fleur’s room and found the bed littered with discarded clothing. The wet Egyptian dress lay on the floor. She picked it up and pressed it to her cheek. Of course Fleur was upset, but she’d be back. She needed a little time to calm down, that was all. Belinda and Fleur were inseparable; everybody knew that. More than mother and daughter. They were best friends.
Belinda noticed the light in the bathroom. With the ruined dress still in her hands, she went over to turn it off.
She spotted the scissors first, gleaming against the white basin, and then she let out a soft, anguished cry. A great mound of wet blond hair littered the floor.
Jake drove aimlessly, trying not to think, but the icy lump wouldn’t dissolve in his chest. The day they’d passed out strength of character, he’d been at the goddamned end of the line. When Fleur had shown up at his door, he should have scared her away like he wanted to. But he hadn’t been able to resist her.
He left the suburbs behind, and soon he was driving through the wet, deserted streets that made up the heart of L.A. He shrugged out of his ruined jacket and drove in his shirtsleeves. She’d been beautiful. Sensuous, exciting…He’d hurt her that first time, but she’d still held on to him, still kept right on trusting him.
The playground was at the end of a street littered with trash and broken dreams. The jungle gym had lost its horizontal bars, and the swing set had no swings. A single floodlight shone over a backboard holding a rusted rim and the fragments of what once had been a net. He parked his car and reached in the back for his basketball. Only a kid would be dumb enough to trust as she did. A kid who hadn’t been knocked around enough by life to smarten up.
But she sure as hell had been knocked around now. He stepped through a muddy pothole on his way across the street to the empty playground. She’d been so knocked around, she’d never be dumb again.
He reached the cracked asphalt and began to dribble the ball. It hit the asphalt, slapped his hand, felt good, like something he understood. He didn’t want to remember her lying in his bathtub encircled by candles. Beautiful, wet, dreamy-eyed. He didn’t want to think about what he’d done to her.
He drove for the basket and slammed the ball home. The rim quivered and his hand stung, but the crowd began to roar. He had to pull out all the stops—show the crowd his stuff—make them scream so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, especially not the taunting voices inside him.
He spun past an opponent and took the ball to center court. He faked to the right, to the left, then came off the dribble for a quick jump shot. The crowd went wild, screaming out for him. Doc! Doc! Doc!
He grabbed the ball and spotted Kareem just ahead waiting for him, a cold killing machine. Kareem, superhuman, the face of his nightmares. Fake him. He started to swing left, but Kareem was a machine who read minds. Quick, before he sees it in your eyes, before he feels it through his pores, before he knows all your darkest secrets. Now.
He wheeled to the right lightning fast, jumped, flew through the air…Man can’t fly, but I can…. Past Kareem…into the stratosphere…SLAM!
Doc! They were on their feet. Doc! They screamed.
Kareem looked at him, and they silently acknowledged each other with the perfect respect that passed between legends. Then the moment was gone and they were enemies again.
The ball was alive beneath his fingertips. He thought only of the ball. It was a perfect world. A world where a man could walk like a giant and never feel shame. A world with referees who clearly signaled right and wrong. A world without tender babies and broken hearts.
Jake Koranda. Actor. Playwright. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize. He wanted to give it all up and live his fantasy. He wanted to be Julius Erving running down the court on feet with wings, leaping into the clouds, flying higher, farther, freer than any man. Slamming the ball to glory. Yes.
The screams of the crowd faded, and he stood alone in a pool of rusty light exactly at the end of nowhere.
Baby on the Run
Chapter 15
Fleur tried to sleep on the plane to Paris, but every time she shut her eyes, she heard Jake and Belinda. Fuck my daughter, Koranda, so she can save her career.
“Mademoiselle Savagar?” A liveried chauffeur approached her as she stood by the baggage carousel at Orly. “Your father is waiting for you.”
She followed the chauffeur through the crowded terminal to a limousine parked at the curb. He held the door open for her, and she slipped inside, into Alexi’s arms. “Papa.”
He pulled her close. “So, chérie, you have finally decided to come home to me.”
She buried her face in the expensive fabric of his suit coat and began to cry. “It’s been so awful. I’ve been so stupid.”
“There, there, enfant. Rest now. Everything will be fine.”
He began to stroke her, and it felt so comforting that she closed her eyes.
When they reached the house, Alexi helped her to her room. She asked him to sit by her side until she fell asleep, and he did.
It was late when she awakened the next morning. A maid served her coffee in the dining room along with two croissants, which she pushed away. She couldn’t imagine ever putting food into her mouth again.
Alexi came in, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. He frowned as he noticed the jeans and pullover she’d slipped into after her shower. “Did you bring no other clothes with you, chérie? We will have to get you some today.”
“I have other things. I just didn’t have the energy to put them on.” She could see that he was displeased, and she wished she’d made an effort to look better.
He surveyed her critically. “How could you do such a thing to your hair? You look like a boy.”
“It was a good-bye present for my mother.”
“I see. Then we will have it taken care of today.”
He gestured for the maid to pour him coffee, then pulled a cigarette from the silver case he carried in the breast pocket of his suit coat. “Tell me what happened.”
“Has Belinda called you?”
“Several times. She’s quite frantic. I told her you were on your way to the Greek islands, but you wouldn’t tell me which one. I also told her to leave you alone.”
“Which means she’s on her way to Greece.”
“Naturellement.”
They were silent for a moment and then Alexi asked, “Does all this have anything to do with a certain actor?”
“How did you know?”
“I make it my business to know everything that affects those who belong to me.”
She looked down into her coffee, trying to hide the fact that her eyes were once again filling with tears. She was tired of crying, tired of the wrenching pain inside her. “I fell in love with him,” she said. “We went to bed together.”
“Inevitable.”
She couldn’t contain her bitterness. “My mother had been there first.”
Two narrow ribbons of smoke curled from Alexi’s nostrils. “Also inevitable, I’m afraid. Your mother is a woman of little willpower where movie stars are concerned.”
“They struck a deal.”
“Suppose you tell me.”
Alexi listened as Fleur repeated the conversation she’d overheard between Jake and Belinda. When she was done, he said, “Your mother’s motivations seem clear, but what about your lover’s?”
She flinched at his choice of words. “His motivations were crystal-clear. This movie meant everything to him. The love scene had to work. When I froze, he saw the whole project bombing.”
“Unfortunate, chérie, that you didn’t make a better choice for your first lover.”
“Obviously I’m not the world’s best judge of character.”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. On another man the gesture would have looked effeminate, but Alexi made it elegantly masculine. “You are planning to stay with me for some time, I hope. I think it would be best for you.”
&
nbsp; “For a while anyway. Until I can get my bearings. That is, if you’ll have me.”
“I’ve waited for this longer than you can imagine, chérie. It would be my pleasure.” He stood. “There’s something I want to show you. I’ve been feeling a bit like a child waiting for Christmas.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see.” She followed him through the house and across the gardens toward the museum. He put the key in the lock and turned it. “Close your eyes.”
She did as he asked. He led her through the doorway into the cool, faintly musty interior of the museum. She remembered the last time she’d been here, the day she’d met her brother. She didn’t know whether her father had ever found Michel. She should have asked, but she hadn’t.
“This has been a fortunate time for me,” Alexi said. “I’m seeing all my dreams fulfilled.” She heard him flick a switch. “Open your eyes.”
The museum was dark except for a pair of spotlights in the center. They shone down on the platform that had been empty the last time she was there. Now it held the most magnificent automobile she’d ever seen. It was gleaming black, exquisitely balanced, with an endlessly long hood that looked like a cartoon of a millionaire’s car. She would have recognized it anywhere, and she let out a soft exclamation. “It’s the Royale. You found it!”
“I had not seen it since 1940.” He repeated the story he’d told her so many times. “There were three of us, chérie. We drove it deep into the sewers of Paris and wrapped it in canvas and straw. All through the war, I didn’t go near it for fear I’d be followed. Then, when I went back after the Liberation, the car was gone. The other two men who knew about it were killed in North Africa. I think now that the Germans found it. It has taken me more than thirty years to locate it.”
“But how? What happened?”
“Decades of inquiries, money applied in proper and improper places.” He flicked a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped an invisible fleck of dust from the fender. “All that matters is that I now own the most important collection of pur sang Bugattis in the world, and the Royale is the crown jewel.”