Turn Back the Dawn (15 page)

should be out in a minute," Kate said. "Kurt has obviously put her under too much pressure. This
is
her first assignment, you know. But I think she'll be fine."

Ben slammed down his cup. "Dammit, Kate, I think you were right at the beginning. Alexandra Dayton just might not be worth the trouble she's going to cause."

"I was worried about Dick Dayton back then," she said. "And he's hardly said a word. I think she'll be fine. If we give her a chance and try to minimize Kurt's influence."

"Kurt," Ben growled, turning away. He stalked over to the far window and stood with his back to Kate and Clyff.

Kate walked over to Ben. "What's the matter with you?" she asked. "You're acting as if this is a major crisis."

He turned and looked at her with blazing eyes. "Maybe it is," he seethed. "You wouldn't know it. The girl is a flake, and you're such a softhearted ... sentimentalist that you refuse to see the handwriting on the wall even when the letters are ten feet high."

She stared at him. "And what is it that you know?" she demanded. "I'm the one who was in there talking to her."

He sighed. "All right. Maybe she's okay. For now. But we cannot have delays like this again. It's one thing—a very expensive one for you—to keep a director waiting. But in terms of public relations, Kate, it will be worse in two weeks, when you've got a crowd of people in your 'Nighttime Secrets' sleepwear department waiting to meet Alexandra and Pierce, and no one's there but Pierce and a nervous assistant buyer explaining to the crowd that they've missed their lunch hours but the show
won't
go on."

"Ben, this is
one
time. Her first shooting."

"And that will be her first in store promotion," he said. "And the same thing could happen."

"That is
not
your area," she said. "The promotions were part of your overall plan, but they're run by my department and you don't even know half of—"

"Kate," he interrupted, looking at her curiously. "Don't you see? I'm trying to help you. I don't want some . masochistic little fool throwing a wrench in your success. I want everything to go smoothly."

"And it will," she said. "And really, Ben. You could try to be nicer about it. If she had overheard what you just said, she'd have been crushed. What's wrong with you?"

He shook his head, sighing. "Sorry. I guess—well, for one thing, whether you accept it or not, I
am
tense because it's your project. I want it perfect, Kate. Perfect. And also, 1 happen to have stopped smoking this morning." He smiled. "After fifteen years."

"Really? That's great! But why? I mean why today?"

"I've been trying every day since the other night, when I was trying to talk to you and I couldn't even concentrate because you had asked me not to smoke—or to wait. I could hardly speak after that—and I decided it was a habit that had much too much power over me. Anyway, I tried to quit for a few days, but I kept finding conveniently hidden pouches of tobacco all over the apartment. But this morning I decided today was the day. And I think it is."

"That's wonderful," she said.

"Only if I don't keep snapping at you," he answered, smiling.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll hit you if you do it again."

He looked past her then, and she turned and saw Alexandra and Kurt coming out of the back room. Alexandra

looked much more relaxed—almost calm—and Kate looked up at Ben. "See? She'll be fine."

And, despite all the pre-session tears and tensions, the shooting went well. Alexandra listened to Clyfford Grace carefully, almost as if trying to understand a foreign language, and Kurt stayed in the background most of the time, "correcting" only one or two changes the stylist had made while he was talking to Alexandra.

Alexandra was good—better when she didn't listen to Kurt, best when the cameras began rolling. And Pierce was his usual excellent self, getting better and better each time.

By the end of the afternoon, they had a series of thirty- and sixty-second spots that would be shown both on television and in short segments at the party on Tuesday night. Kate felt it had been an excellent session, and judging by everyone's expression—everyone except Kurt, of course—the feeling was unanimous.

Kate and Ben left the studio together and, once out on the street, began walking arm in arm.

"What's on with you for the rest of the afternoon?" he asked as they headed toward Second Avenue.

"Oh, about a thousand phone calls. I'm following up on the invitations to the party Tuesday night—making sure people got all the invitations and all that."

"You?" he asked. "What about your assistant? And your secretary, for that matter?"

"They're doing some," she said. "But I want to do a lot of it myself. A little personal contact never hurt, you know. A lot of people respond to that sort of thing."

"Mm, I know," he said, pulling her close and sending a thrill of desire through her. He stopped and turned, looking into her eyes. "When am I going to see you, Kate? I feel as if we've created a monster: we're both so busy because of the damn campaign that we never see each other outside of studios and offices."

She smiled. "I know. It's ridiculous."

"But what about us? I've got to fly out to Michigan this evening to meet with a client. I'll be back Monday, but—"

"Why not this afternoon?" she said. "I feel the same way, you know. I just want to . . . hold you in my arms. It's been so long."

"Well. Monday," he said quietly.

She blinked. "Fine. But what about this afternoon?"

He shook his head. "I'd love to. But I can wait, Kate, and so can you."

She stared at him. "Are you serious? You mean because
of
my work? Isn't that for me to determine?"

He looked into her eyes. "I want you to understand something," he said. "I guess I really haven't made it
clear."
He glanced at the passing crowds, then back at Kate. "I love you, Kate. I've been waiting for someone like
you
to come along
—
looking for someone like you for
years.
I love all kinds of things about you—your moods,
your
looks, your strengths, and one of the things that first
caught
my eye was something I thought of as a paradox
—
this beautiful young woman who's so strong in business
and
so vulnerable and giving underneath. But, Kate, sometimes the line between those two fades. You're too
ready
to give in, too ready to empathize with someone like Alexandra Dayton."

"I don't really see what that has to do with us," she said.
"Not
that I even agree with what you're saying, by the
way."

He sighed. "It's a perfect example," he said. "I want to see you, you want to see me, and you're willing to jeopardize your job instead of waiting."

Her eyes widened. "If you could hear yourself," she said quietly. "You know what, Ben? I just realized something about you: you are a complete and total perfectionist. I can't think of one instance as I look back when you haven't expected everyone and everything around you to be perfect. And look—this morning you chipped another imperfection off your perfect self
—
you stopped smoking. You don't need a lover, Ben; you need some sort of plaything you can work on to your heart's content—someone who doesn't mind changing just to please you. But that isn't me."

"Kate—"

"I mean it," she said.

"But it's such a minor thing."

"Then, why couldn't you let it go?" she demanded. "You can't have it both ways, Ben. If my staying or going to work for the next couple of hours is such a minor thing, then why couldn't you have let it go and said nothing?"

"Because I have to be honest with you."

"Oh, come on," she said. " 'Being honest' is usually just an excuse to say something the other person doesn't want to hear."

Ben frowned. "Kate, I
—
Is that how you really feel? That I want to say something you don't want to hear?"

"All I know is that you can't seem to accept me as I am from one day to the next. In bed we're just great together
—
but I can't keep this up if I feel you're trying to
..
. remold me every time you see me at work or in action."

She searched his eyes, fighting the memory of lovemaking. "I can't see you if it's going to be on that level."

"Don't say that," he said, taking her by the shoulders.

She resisted the warmth of his touch, resisted the honeyed pull of his eyes. "What do you suggest?" she asked hollowly. "I'm telling you how I feel, Ben. You have to say more than 'don't say that.' "

"All right—let's grab a taxi and we'll go to my place."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, forget it," she breathed. "God! Do you really think we're still talking about this afternoon, Ben?"

"i
don't know," he said loudly. "Kate, I don't know how to please you. You want to get together, and I say I think you should work. But when I agree, you don't want to see me anymore."

She shook her head. "Uh-uh. Not so.
I'm
the one who doesn't know how to please you. You know, the first time we talked, you said you didn't mean to sound sanctimonious, but that you had never looked at another woman when you were first married. At the time I had found that difficult to believe. Everyone's human, after all—if only in terms of fantasizing. But you probably
didn't
look at anyone else, out of sheer determination." She could see the pain in his eyes, but she went on. It was the only way she would get through to him, the only way she would break through the problem. "You're so controlled; every part of your life is so planned and programed that you probably are as perfect as you want to be. And now you want some perfect woman to fit into your life. But dammit, Ben, I don't want to be with you if I'm always feeling that you're trying to change me."

His eyes were dark and unreadable. "Well," he said quietly. "It seems you haven't been as happy as I thought. Or as happy as I've been." He looked past her, and then into her eyes. "What do you suggest?"

They were alarming words, and she could say nothing at first. "I—I don't know."

He searched her eyes.
"i
hadn't realized you were unhappy."

"I'm not," she said, and then shook her head. "Or I am. But not..." Her voice trailed off. "I don't know what to say."

His gaze was sad, serious. "I've told you before," he said quietly. "I don't believe in forcing issues or people or things. If you're unhappy, Kate, then this relationship isn't worth a damn." His gaze was deep and powerful, as deep and powerful as their lovemaking had been. She wanted to tell him to forget what she had said, but she couldn't; for she knew she had been right. "I think we both have some thinking to do," he said, brushing a wisp of her bangs back. "I'll be in Michigan for the next few days, but I'll be back on Monday. I hope I can see you then. And I hope you still plan on coming with me to California." And he turned and walked away, up Second Avenue into the autumn wind.

Kate wanted to call out to him, to stop him. But what could she say? He was right: she
was
unhappy. She was the one who had brought it up. And she did have some thinking to do. But as she watched him walk away, head down and shoulders hunched against the cold, she felt as if a part of her heart had just been cut out.

Kate walked back to Ivorsen and Shaw, though it was cold and rather a long distance. But she needed time to think, to snap out of the haze that had fallen over her as she had watched Ben walk away. The haze was part panic, part fear, a terrible feeling of emptiness that had closed over her soul like a chill gray mist.

For she had no idea how Ben had felt as he walked off into the cold. He had said he hoped she still planned on coming to California; but did he really? He wouldn't have
even
brought it up unless at some level he hoped she wouldn't come. God
—
what had she done?

But she shed no tears. For there was a part of her that knew she had done the right thing. She had just taken a painful step she had never taken before. With Kurt and
other
boyfriends, she had never stood up for herself. Each
in
his own way had tended to be very dominating, and, translating this into caring, Kate had accepted it. She had
told
herself that Kurt or Alan or Steve or whoever wouldn't care about what she wore or said or did if he
didn't
love her. And over and over again, she had failed
to
see it wasn't true caring.

She remembered how Kurt would lie on her bed as she
got
dressed before a night out on the town, and she would
have
to try on six different outfits before he finally said one
looked
good. Something about this had made her feel
loved;
she felt he was doing it because he was proud of her,
and
he wanted her to look her best. But now, as she looked
hack
on it all, she saw how wrong she had been. Yes, Kurt
had
wanted her to look good, but only so that
he
could
look
good. And he had rarely complimented her, either
—
perhaps
out of the fear that if she became too confident,
she
would leave him. And this had happened
—
in different
ways—
over and over again with all the men Kate had ever
been
involved with.