Beyond Eden (22 page)

“That's a beautiful photo of you in
Self.
Demos commented on it last week. It's certainly discriminating.”

“Yes, it turned out nicely. I'm pleased. Drake Otis did the shoot. Too bad he's gay. Well, no matter. I'll see you when I get back from Italy. Oh, yes, just in case you're interested, Father is doing well. He was embroiled in a very high-profile drug case and the defense attorneys were confident he would throw out the major evidence because supposedly the cops obtained it illegally. Father did throw it out, but he allowed great latitude to the prosecutor, with the result that the three men, Colombians all, got a guilty verdict. Father sentenced them all to twenty years, no chance of parole. He told me he threw out the evidence because if he hadn't, he knew the defense attorneys would appeal and the case would probably be overturned. He's laughing his head off, having the time of his life. You know he hates the liberal judges in California. He pulled the rug out from under the defense lawyers. They're screaming to the media, and of course, since the media are all liberal idiots, they're all over Father's back. He's enjoying it all. As for Holly, the poor thing is now as fat as your mother was just before Father kicked her out. He's got a new mistress, a woman about my age. Her name is Cynthia—Cyn for short. Isn't that precious? As for Grandmother, she's just the same. Father thinks she'll outlive us all.”

She blew Lindsay a kiss, turning in the open doorway to say, “I will give the prince your fond regards. It will make him grimace, remembering those bullets, which in turn makes Melissa giggle. You see, some good comes out of everything.”

Lindsay wished her half-sister would fly to Italy and stay there the rest of her life. Then, to her own surprise, she laughed. Sydney would never change. But Lindsay was beginning to. It was odd, yet it was true.

 

Taylor dutifully went to Valerie's apartment on Thursday. When she opened the door, he realized that each time he saw her he'd forgotten how absolutely beautiful she was. She was wearing pale blue-ice silk lounging pajamas tonight and her hair was long and thick to her shoulders, pulled back on one side, held with a gold clip.

She looked as rich as his ex-wife, Diane.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello, Taylor. Goodness, you look good enough to eat. Do come in. Our dinner will arrive in an hour or so. Would you like a drink?”

Taylor followed her, wondering what he was going to say and how she would react. He was relieved that she hadn't immediately started on the attack. It sounded like she wanted his pants off, soon, and that would be even more embarrassing. The thing about it was that there was another woman and he was perfectly capable of feeling like a guilty jerk because she'd been right. But not at first, no, not at first.

Valerie didn't attack, seduce, nothing but sparkling conversation until after they'd eaten their way through the lobster thermidor, tossed earth salad with a light vinaigrette dressing, potatoes sliced thin
and broiled, and a chocolate mousse for desert that was to die for. The Château le Duc-Dupress '89 was exquisite, dry and crisp. It tasted like hemlock to Taylor.

Taylor just wanted to get it over with. He hadn't eaten all that much because he didn't want to be here and he didn't want to feel guilty.

“So,” she said, sitting back, a brandy snifter in her hand, “tell me about this job of yours.”

“The one I no longer have?”

“Yes.”

“I was protecting a woman from a threat made against her employer. It turns out another employee was attacked instead. It's over now.”

“I see.” She rose slowly, giving him a smile that would have made him hard as a stone just the week before. She untied the silk sash at her waist.

He raised his hand, his eyes on that damned sash. “Wait, Valerie, don't. Please don't.”

She paused, her eyebrow going up.

“I want to talk to you.”

“We've been talking, Taylor.” She looked down at her Cartier watch. “For nearly an hour and a half now we've been talking. So, lover, just relax now and let me—” She broke off, smiled at him, and put her fingers on her lips. “No, Taylor, enough. Actually, I'm the one who wants to do the talking. Your turn will come. I wanted to speak to you about this all through dinner, but you were enjoying it so much, I didn't want to ruin it for you. I'm so sorry, baby, I don't want to hurt you, but I've found a man who's divine and he's got everything you don't have and he's aced you right out of the race. I just thought a good-bye fuck would be nice. Assuage my guilt. And you are quite good in bed, nearly as good as he is.”

Taylor felt such relief he nearly fell off his chair.

“Come on, pretty boy, one last time and then you're gone. My new man is coming later.”

He stared at her. “But why would you want to make love with me when there's someone else you're interested in? That's crazy, Valerie.”

She shrugged. “I've always liked comparisons and I do think this one would prove very interesting. Maybe you could go see one of your other girlfriends later and do the same.”

“No, Valerie, not this time. I wish you luck. You're beautiful and smart and it's been fun.” Jesus, he sounded like a trite recording.

Her face was set into a smile that left her eyes cold as a glacier. He hadn't a clue to what she was thinking. Was she angry because he was refusing to go to bed with her, or was that all a game? Possibly.

“Yes, it has been fun, hasn't it, Taylor? Well, babe, I hope you also have fun with your new little cutie. You know, the one you started out protecting and ended up screwing? And don't lie to me now. Does the bimbo have a brain? Or is she all tits and ass? Why don't you call after you've taken her to bed and let me know who's better.”

“I don't think so. Good-bye, Valerie.”

She watched him go to the front closet, pull his camel coat off a padded hanger. He shrugged it on, then pulled on his brown leather gloves. She watched him, unmoving, as he walked toward the front door without turning back. She watched every move he made. She watched him stride out the door. He closed it quietly behind him. She felt such fury and pain she thought she'd choke on it. She went to the phone and dialed. A man answered.

“Barry? This is Valerie. Yes, lover. Come on over. Who cares what you tell your wife? Tell her
you're constipated and need a constitutional. Yes. Thirty minutes, no longer.”

 

Lindsay discovered on Thanksgiving that both of Taylor's parents were dead. He had one older sister, Elaine, who was married with three children and lived with her accountant husband in Phoenix. It was too far to go, he told Lindsay, then asked her about her plans.

She was predictably vague, which annoyed him, but he let it go. They ended up together again with Sheila and Enoch.

Sheila played the saxophone for two hours, letting it wail and moan until Lindsay had gooseflesh with the power of it. Sheila wore a long black dress. She was incredibly good. There was no prodding, no questions of any kind, on Thanksgiving.

That evening Taylor kissed her for the first time.

They were standing in front of her apartment door, and she didn't want him to go. But she was afraid to let him in.

He simply leaned down, catching her chin in the palm of his hand, and kissed her. Lightly, nothing threatening, nothing to make her withdraw.

“Oh.”

He grinned at her, eyes warm, wanting trust from her, wanting warmth from her as well. “Did you like that maybe a little bit?”

“I don't know.”

“That's honesty. Always be honest with me, Eden, all right?”

“Sometimes,” Lindsay said very slowly, looking down at the buttons on his coat, “sometimes it's just not possible.”

“When you come to trust me, you'll find it will be
easy as chewing gum, at least I hope so. Good night, sweetheart. Happy Thanksgiving. Sleep well.”

“I will, since I'm stuffed with more food than I usually eat in a week. Did you know that fashion photo sessions tend to slow down dramatically during the holiday season? It's because models are people too and the temptations are just too great. I've got until December 1 to get rid of my turkey-and-stuffing lining.”

He was pleased that she was lingering to talk, very pleased, probably more pleased than the situation warranted, but what the hell. She paused and he picked it up. “Tomorrow I've got to fly to Chicago. A meat packer, of all things, has brought himself and his company into the twentieth century with a computer that should scare every cow on the hoof in the U.S. Unfortunately, there's a major screwup with a critical part of a specialized program and all the techs haven't been able to straighten it out. He's so teed off with the company that he called me. I'll phone you from there tomorrow night and give you my number.”

Before she could say anything, Taylor leaned down and kissed her again, just as lightly, his gloved fingers caressing her cheek. He loved touching her, even with gloves on. He cupped her chin in his palm. “Miss me, all right?”

“I think I will,” Lindsay said, and knew it was true.

Taylor didn't have luck or an attack of genius on the meat packer's job. It took him three long days of pure grunt work to diagnose the problem and figure out how to fix it. The man who'd hired him, Mr. Closse, was looking over his shoulder every minute, wringing his fat hands and cursing technology in general.

Chicago was cold and raining. The wind was loud, even through the double windows in his hotel room. Taylor was tired, impatient, and he missed Eden. Missed her more than he'd thought he would. He looked forward to their long talks each night.

When the job was finally done and the five thousand dollars in his wallet, Taylor flew back to New York.

He was at Eden's apartment by six o'clock that evening.

To his surprise, a young woman he'd never seen before opened the door. She stared at him and he stared back.

“Are you selling something? Why didn't the super ring you up?”

“I'm Taylor and I'm a regular. The super and I drink beer together on Thursday afternoons at Clancy's. Who are you? Where's Eden? Is something wrong?”

“You're a friend of Lin . . . Eden's?”

She sounded shocked and plainly disbelieving. “Yes,” he said easily, “I'm a very good friend. I even spent Thanksgiving with her. Who are you?”

“I'm Gayle Werth. Please come in. I'm sorry for grilling you, but it's just that Eden didn't say anything about a man or a friend who was a man. Oh, dear, let me take your coat.”

“Where's Eden?”

“In the bedroom. She's got a great case of the flu and is at very low ebb right now.” Gayle studied him for a minute, still not believing that this hunk, this man who was every inch a man and not a gay, was a friend of Lindsay's, that Lindsay would allow such a man to come within ten miles of her. How much of a friend? “I'll see if she's awake. It's been a very long day for her.”

“I'm here now. I'll take care of her.”

Again the young woman looked incredulous. At his offer? At his very presence? Taylor had the feeling it was the latter.

“You've known Eden long?”

“We went to boarding school together in Connecticut. The Stamford Girls' Academy. Doesn't that sound great? Anyway, we go all the way back to first ear piercings and exchanging formulas to cover zits. Sit down, Taylor, and I'll see what Eden—”

“No, don't bother.” Taylor walked past her, aware that she was on his heels, uncertain what she should do.

He walked quietly into Eden's bedroom and stopped short. She was lying on her back, blankets up to her chin, and her face was white as rice paper. Her hair was in a lank dull braid. She was just opening her eyes. “Oh,” she said and moaned. “I had hoped you would call so I could tell you to keep your distance. Don't come any closer, Taylor, I'm sicker than a pig.”

“I never get sick,” he said, and sat down on the bed beside her. He laid his palm on her forehead. “Fever. How long have you felt this bad? What have you taken and when?”

“Dr. Taylor, I presume?”

“Eden, what do you want me to do?”

“Oh, Gayle—”

Taylor turned to the woman who was standing there, nearly
en pointe
, looking worried, amazed, and uncertain. He said easily, as nonthreatening a smile as he could muster on his face, “It's been a pleasure to meet a friend of Eden's. You can leave her with me now, Gayle.”

If Lindsay hadn't felt like garbage that had
already been completely squashed in a compactor, she would have smiled at the utterly bewildered look on Gayle's face. “He's a friend, Gayle. It's okay. I'll call you tomorrow if I'm still alive. Thanks for letting me boss you around and for being such a wonderful slave.”

“You're sure, Eden?”

“Very. Taylor will be leaving soon too.”

Taylor didn't say anything. He nodded to Gayle and remained silent until he heard the front door close.

“Now, why the hell didn't you tell me you were sick last night when I called you?”

“I wasn't all that sick. It hit me during the night. I even swore along about two
A
.
M
. that I'd become a missionary, but it didn't matter. God must have known I was lying because it just got worse.”

The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she stared at him, turning whiter than a moment before, and leapt from the bed. He saw long bare legs from beneath a sleep shirt saying
Don't Hit Psychiatrists or They'll Shrink You
on the back.

He followed her into the bathroom, waited until she was shuddering from dry heaves, then lifted her beneath the arms and helped her back into bed.

“You're sick and it's time to call the doctor.”

She fluttered her hand but didn't argue. She felt too awful. Then, when he was reaching for the phone, she said, “I wish you wouldn't. It's just a stomach flu.”