Once in a Lifetime (24 page)

But there was something kind and intelligent in Tom's eyes as he looked at Barbara. "You look marvelous, you've hardly changed in all these years." It was a friendly lie, but she thought that it was nice of him to say, and he didn't look particularly bowled over by the young beauty at his side. Barbara noticed then that he was already carrying a shopping bag filled with expensive goodies. She couldn't quite figure out the girl's role in his life with Sandy, but his introduction rapidly explained it. "Eloise, I'd like you to meet Barbara." He smiled at Barb, and then Eloise. "Barbara is a friend of my ex-wife's." And suddenly she understood. They were divorced. Then this was his girl friend.

"Barbara Jarvis," she filled in for him and held out her hand, her eyes going quickly back to his, wanting to ask him more about Sandy, but this was not the time. "It's very nice to meet you." The young redhead didn't say much, but went off to look at a large beige lizard tote bag as Tom watched and then glanced back at Barbara with a look of amusement.

"I'll say one thing, she's got awfully good taste." It didn't seem to bother him much, nor did he seem overly taken with her.

"I'm sorry to hear about you and Sandy." Barbara looked genuinely sympathetic. It had been eight or nine years since the Christmas cards stopped. "How long has it been?"

"Five years. She's remarried." And then after a moment's hesitation, "To Austin Weeks." But that bit of news startled Barbara.

"The actor?" It was a stupid question, how many Austin Weekses could there be? He was a very well-known English actor, but he was at least twice her age, and had been a real Romeo in his day, but Barbara knew from his last movie that he was still breathtakingly handsome. "How did that happen?"

"I handled a fairly large legal matter for him and we got to be friends...." He shrugged, but there was still something bitter in his eyes as he said it, and then he turned to Barbara with a forced smile.

"This is Hollywood, you know. It's all part of the game. Sandy loves it out here. It suits her to a tee."

"And you?" Even twenty years before Barbara had hardly known him, but she had liked him that day at the wedding. She had been the maid of honor and she had thought him intelligent and witty and decent, and she had told Sandy how lucky she was. Sandy had agreed, but there had always been something about her ... something dissatisfied, restless, greedy. She had been unhappy in college, and Barbara had always suspected that she had gotten pregnant just so she could get married. Tom had been from a Main Line family in Philadelphia, but there had been a lot more to him than just that even then. And when Barbara had driven back to school, she had thought of them both with envy.

"Do you like it out here, Tom?"

"Pretty much, but I have to admit, I've stayed out here because of the kids for the last five years. And I've been practicing here for so long, it would be hard to go back." He was in film law, Barbara remembered, and this was of course the place to be, but he didn't look as though he loved L.A. "It gets pretty plastic here after a while." He flashed a warning smile and looked no older than he had at his wedding. "Watch out that it doesn't get you. It's addictive."

"I know." Her smile answered his. "I'm already getting to like it."

"Oh oh, bad sign." And with that Barbara's salesgirl returned with the gift-wrapped scarf, and Eloise returned to Tom's side; she had decided that the three thousand dollar lizard tote bag didn't suit her.

"It was nice to see you again, Tom." Barbara held out a hand. "And say hello to Sandy for me, if you see her."

"I do. I see Alex a couple of times a week and I see them both then." Again the flash of pain in his eyes. He had been betrayed by his wife and a man he had thought was his friend. It was a scar that would never leave him. "I'll tell her you said hello. You ought to give her a call, if you have time." But Barbara hesitated. Married to Austin Weeks, why would Sandy want to see her?

"Tell her I'm at the Beverly Hills Hotel with Daphne Fields, If she'd like, she can call me.' I don't want to intrude." He nodded, and after a moment Barbara left, thinking how interesting and strange life was.

"Well, did you conquer Rodeo Drive?" Daphne was sprawled out on the couch reading the day's work when Barbara wandered in, and she looked like she had put in a hard day's work. "How was it?"

"Super." She had lingered on for another two and a half hours, wandering in and out of Jourdan, Van Cleef&Arpels, Bijan, and a host of other shops, and at last she had stopped at a restaurant for a sandwich. That had been a whole other show to observe, and she was delighted with her afternoon. She had even bought herself a bathing suit, a hat, and two sweaters. "I love this place, Daff."

Daphne grinned. "I always thought you were crazy. What did you buy?"

She showed her, and then tossed the small Gucci box onto her lap. "And that's for you, Madam Boss. I would have bought you the white mink bathrobe I saw at Giorgio's but it wasn't your size." She grinned happily at her.

"Oh, shit. Couldn't you order it?"

They both laughed and Daphne opened the box and was touched and pleased. Red and black were her favorite colors.

"You didn't have to do that, silly." She looked at her friend with warmth in her eyes. "You spoil me in so many other ways, Barb. Without you I couldn't get a damn thing done."

"Bullshit, you'd do fine without me."

"I'm glad I don't have to."

"How's it coming, by the way?"

"Pretty good. But it really is a whole new skill to learn. I feel so damn clumsy most of the time."

"You won't after a while, and I bet it reads as smoothly as your other stuff."

"I hope they think so at Comstock."

"They will." They were interrupted then by the telephone, and Barbara went into her own room to answer. Daphne had the hotel switchboard answer the phone when Barbara was out, and when she was there she took the endless calls from realtors in her own room not to disturb Daphne. She picked up the phone and sat down on her bed. At least she had had one day off from looking at houses. But she wanted to find something soon. She knew it would be easier for Daphne to work in more homelike surroundings. "Hello?"

"May I please speak to Barbara Jarvis?"

"This is she." Out of habit she grabbed a pad and picked up a pencil.

"This is Tom Harrington." She was surprised and her heart skipped a beat. Why would he call her? But it was silly to get excited. He was just the ex-husband of an old friend and he wanted to be friendly.

"If's nice to hear from you, Tom." She wanted to ask him then what she could do for him. Maybe, like most other people who called, he wanted access to Daphne. "Did you have a nice afternoon?" "Very. I covered every inch of Rodeo Drive." "That's an expensive pastime." He glanced at his checkbook lying on the bed next to him. Eloise had done a fair amount of damage, but she was no different from all the rest. There had been dozens of Eloises in his life in the past five years, and no one like Barbara, ever. "What did you buy?"

Barbara looked embarrassed and wondered what he was leading up to. Why would he call her? "Just some silly stuff. Nothing in your league."

"That was a nice bag you were looking at, at Gucci." Then he had noticed. His eyes had seemed to take everything in, and he had watched her for a long time before finally coming over to speak to her.

"I'm afraid it's not in my league. Just a little rich for my blood." Besides what would she do with a black lizard bag like that? Carry her pencils and notepad in it?

"Tell your boss you want a raise." She bridled silently. She didn't need to tell Daphne anything of the sort. Daphne already spoiled her rotten. "Or find some nice man to buy it for you."

"I'm afraid that's not my style." She sounded suddenly cool.

"I didn't think it was." His voice was deep and gentle. If he did, he wouldn't be calling. He had Eloise for that. But Barbara was different. "We didn't get much of a chance to talk this afternoon. Did you ever marry?"

"No. I never did. My mother got sick when I finished Smith, and I spent a long time taking care of her." She said it matter-of-factly, without regret. It was what had been.

"That must have been rough for you." But there was admiration in his voice. Sandy would never have done anything like that, and he wasn't sure he would either. In fact he was sure he wouldn't. "When did you start working for Daphne Fields?"

"About four years ago part time, and then eventually it worked into a full-time job."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. She's the best friend I've got and she's a dream to work for."

"That's unusual for a successful woman." He had seen his share and most of them weren't easy.

"Not Daphne. She's the most unassuming woman I've ever met. She just does her work, and quietly goes about her life, she's really an incredible human being."

"That's nice for you." He didn't sound overly interested in Daphne. "Listen, we didn't get much of a chance to talk. How about a drink later on? I have to meet one of my partners for a quick dinner to discuss a couple of contracts. But I should be free by nine o'clock. I could meet you at the Polo Lounge if that's convenient for you...." His voice drifted off and he sounded somewhat nervous. He correctly sensed that Barbara was well guarded. "How does that sound to you?"

At her end there was a long silence. She didn't really want to go out, and she suspected that his dinner date was probably the young redhead. But on the other hand, she had nothing to do, Daphne would be working and wouldn't need her, and he was a nice man. Without letting herself think about it anymore, she suddenly nodded. "Okay. Why not?"

"I'll meet you in the Lounge at nine. If I'm going to be late, I'll call. Will you be in your room until then?" He somehow suspected she would.

"Yes, I want to order Daphne's dinner."

"Doesn't she go out?" The image he had of writers was one of carousing and drinking and parties.

"Very seldom, and never when she's working. She's working on the screenplay now and she hasn't left the room since we got here."

"That doesn't sound like much fun."

"It's not. It's hard work. She really works harder than anyone I know."

"She sounds like she's up for early sainthood." He said it with a smile.

"In my book, yes." It was a warning to him not to malign Daphne, at this or any later date. Barbara defended her like a priestess at the altar of her private god, whether it was reasonable or not, it was simply the way she felt about Daphne. "I'll see you later, Tom."

"I'm looking forward to it." And as he showered and shaved before meeting his partner at his house in Bel-Air, he was amazed at how true that was. She was attractive, but she was not a spectacular beauty. She looked more interesting than sexy, more intelligent than pretty, and yet there was something very alluring about her, something solid, something real. She looked like the kind of woman you could talk to, and hold on to and count on and laugh with. Tom Harrington had never even known a woman like that, but they were qualities that had struck him in Barbara twenty years before, in sharp contrast to Sandy. Sandy had been a pretty little blond debutante from New York, with dazzling blue eyes and a smile that knocked him on his ass. But she had been spoiled rotten by her parents, and later by him, and she had always let him down, especially at the last when she had run off with Austin. She had taken both kids, and called him two weeks later. He had thought of fighting her for custody for a while after they got divorced, but it would have torn the kids apart, and he didn't have the heart to. And since then there had been no one important in his life. He didn't know why, but he suddenly felt an irresistible pull toward Barbara. He had known the moment he saw her that afternoon that he wanted to see her again, even if only to talk to her.

"Daff, did you eat?" Barbara walked into her room and glanced at the tray and saw instantly that she hadn't. But Daphne was frowning at the typewriter as she clattered along, and she barely heard her. "Daff ... hey, kiddo, food." Daphne looked up with a vague smile.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, okay. Soon. I want to finish this scene." And then, with a glance over her shoulder, "You going out?"

"Just for a little while. Can I do anything for you before I go?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm sorry I'm not much fun."

"I can take care of myself." She started to tell her then about Tom, but Daphne was already typing. "I'll see you later. And don't forget to eat." But Daphne didn't answer. She was already miles away, working on the scene, and Barbara closed the door softly behind her.

Tom gave Barbara the name of his own real estate agent, and the first afternoon that she went out with him to look at houses in Bel-Air and Beverly Hills they found exactly what she needed, in Bel-Air. It was a beautiful little house on Cielo Drive, with three bedrooms that looked out on a huge well-manicured garden. The house and grounds were surrounded by a tall brick wall, overgrown by hedges and vines, so it didn't look like a prison, but it was entirely private. There was a vast expanse of lawn and a simple rectangular pool, a sauna, a hot tub, and the house itself was really lovely. The floors were a pale beige marble, there were huge white couches everywhere, a collection of very valuable modern art, and a kitchen straight out of House & Garden. And throughout the house was a feeling of sunshine and peace. There was a library paneled in whitewashed pine that looked out on the pool, which was a perfect place for Daphne to write. It had everything that they wanted. And although the price was high, it wasn't something that Comstock would cringe at. It belonged to a very respected actor and his wife who were in Italy on location for a movie.

Barbara stood looking around her with an ecstatic smile as the real estate agent watched. She opened every closet, every drawer, and checked out each room with great care for her employer. "Well, what do you think, Miss Jarvis?"

"I think we'll move in tomorrow, if that's okay with you."

They exchanged a smile. "My clients will be pleased. They've been gone for a month." It was a miracle that the place hadn't already been rented, but they had placed some fairly stringent restrictions on the kind of tenant they wanted. "Do you think your employer will want to see it first?"

"I don't think so." And as hard as Daphne was working, she would have been in such a haze that she wouldn't have noticed if Barbara had rented a grass shack. "She's very busy."

"Then why don't we go back to my office and sign the papers?"

Barbara signed the lease for a year an hour later, and she and Daphne moved in the next day.

That night Daphne wandered around the house, adjusting to the new surroundings. Sometimes it was difficult to work right away in a new place, and she was trying to get settled. She had unpacked all her things, and her typewriter was set up in the pretty little den. Everything was ready and waiting, but Barbara had gone out, and it suddenly occurred to Daphne that she didn't know where she had gone. Lately she seemed to have gotten very independent in Los Angeles. She seemed to have blossomed since they had arrived, and Daphne was glad. Barbara's life had never been very exciting, and If she was happy here in L.A., then Daphne was happy for her. But as she sat in the kitchen now, by herself, eating scrambled eggs and thinking about her screenplay, suddenly she felt lonelier than she had in a long time. All she could think of as she sat there was Andrew, the meals they had shared long ago in their apartment, the moments and the days before she had put him in the school. And then she thought of him at Howarth, and ached just to hold him, touch him, see him. As she thought of it a sob broke from her and she pushed away at the plate of scrambled eggs. And feeling like a child herself, she lay her head down on the counter and cried, keening for Andrew.

She promised herself, by way of consolation, as she blew her nose at last that she would send for him at the earliest possible moment, but in the meantime she just had to tough it out. It was even worse to think about what he might be feeling, and the terror that he might be sitting alone in his room crying too reduced her to tears again. There was almost a sense of panic, of desperation, that filled her, a fear that she had failed him, that in coming to California she might have done the wrong thing.

And suddenly she knew she needed reassurance, someone to tell her that her baby was all right, and there was only one person who could do that. Matthew. And without even looking at the clock to see what time it was in the East, she hurried to the telephone on the kitchen wall. With trembling fingers she dialed the familiar number, praying that he was awake. She had to talk to someone. Now.

She had dialed Mrs. Curtis's old private number, and a moment later a deep, husky voice answered and just hearing him, she felt less alone.

"Matt? It's Daphne Fields." Her throat felt tight as she heard his voice and her eyes filled with tears again as she tried to control them. "I hope it's not too late to call."

He laughed softly into the phone. "Are you kidding? I'm sitting here looking at another two or three hours of work on my desk. It's nice to hear your voice. How's California?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't seen it yet. All I've seen is my hotel room and now my house. We moved in today. I want to give you my new number." She did and he jotted it down as she regained her composure, and she tried to sound less upset than she was as she asked him how Andrew was doing.