Scenes of Passion (3 page)

Matthew.

Her fantasy jungle man was actually her old buddy
Matthew
.

He'd put on some weight, all right, but it was all solid muscle.

“Hey, Mags,” he said—Matt's voice coming out of this stranger's mouth. He was laughing at her. He knew damn well that she'd noticed him in the club but hadn't recognized him.

Come on, Maggie. You're an actor.
Act
.

“Hey, Matt,” she said, her voice coming out perfectly matter of fact. “I'm sorry I'm running late.”

“That's all right,” he said. “I'm just glad you're here. You look great, by the way.”

“I still look fourteen,” she told him. “
You
look great. God, Matt, I've seen you around here for days, but I didn't know it was you.”

“Yeah, well, I've changed a lot,” he said, his eyes suddenly serious.

Maggie had to look away, suddenly uncomfortable with this new man-sized Matthew Stone. Somehow, she'd been expecting the kid she'd known in high school. This man was not only taller and broader, but he'd also lost the nervous
energy that had ruled the teen. Young Matt had never sat still for longer than a few minutes, hopping from chair to chair around the room, smoking one cigarette after another.

This man exuded a quiet strength, a steadfast calmness. And that was really why she hadn't recognized him—never mind the long hair and muscular body.

Matt smiled at her, not one of his old devil-may-care grins, but a gentle smile of genuine pleasure.

“I really missed you,” he said.

“I missed you, too,” she told him. “But right now I have to visit the ladies' room. It's a long drive from New Haven at this time of night.”

“No problem. I'll go up to the café. Want me to order you something?”'

“Yeah, thanks,” she said as he held the door open for her. That was a new one, too. Matt—holding a door? “Will you get me a salad?”

“Italian dressing on the side,” they both said at the same time.

Matt grinned. “Some things never change.”

W
hen Maggie walked into the café, Matthew was standing at the juice bar, talking to three healthy, young college girls. What was it that he'd said? Some things never change.

He turned, as if he'd felt her eyes on him and quickly excused himself. Coming toward her, a smile lit his handsome face. “Hey.”

Their food had already come out, and he pulled her by the hand to a table. And held her chair for her.

She looked up at him as she sat, half expecting him to pull it out from underneath her, so he could laugh as she hit the floor.

But he just smiled at her, and sat down. Behind a huge salad and a plate of steamed vegetables. The hamburger kid was eating
vegetables.

“Before we get down to talking about twenty-five-million-dollar favors,” Maggie said, “I'm dying to hear what you've been up to this past decade.”

And where was the beer? Even at seventeen, Matthew
Stone never sat down to eat dinner without a cigarette and a bottle of beer.

“It would take a full ten years to tell you the whole story,” he said with a smile, digging into his salad.

Maggie looked around the open, airy café. The ceiling was high, the colors were muted grays and maroons. A sign on the wall proclaimed that there was absolutely No Smoking.

“Do you still smoke?” she asked.

“Nope. I quit three years ago,” he told her. “I also stopped drinking and started eating vegan. See, I, um…Well, I got sick, and I needed to take some kind of action—feel like I was doing something to help myself get better. I don't know if it really helped, but it certainly helped my head, you know?”

“How long were you sick?”

He shook his head. “A long time. Do you mind if we don't talk about that? It's not…I have these superstitions about…Well, I'd rather not—”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Of course, you don't have to…I had an address for you in California.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I was, uh, all over the southwest for a while. Right after dear old dad gave me the boot. He kicked me out—did you know about that?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yeah, there was trouble at one of the colleges and he wouldn't even hear my side of it. I mean, sure, it was the fourth college I was…” he cleared his throat. “Politely asked to leave, but…That time it really wasn't my fault. Still, I got the ‘never darken my door again' speech.”

“That's terrible,” she said.

“It was good actually. I finally learned to take care of myself. I kind of floated for a while. I actually did some acting—and got paid for it. My most legit job was at this dinner theater in Phoenix. I did two shows with them—
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
, and
Guys and Dolls
.”

“That's great—getting paid for acting?” Maggie smiled at him, and he smiled back.

“I guess. It was…It really wasn't that great. They didn't pay very much. I had to wash dishes, and…” He shrugged. “Their leading lady had nothing on you.”

Yeah, right. “Thanks.”

When he looked at her, something sparked. Maggie felt it deep in the pit of her stomach, and she had to look away. She'd trained herself for so long to feel nothing more than friendship for Matt that this kind of physical attraction seemed odd and unnatural.

His eyes gleamed with humor. “Oh, here's a story you'll really like. When I was in L.A., I managed to get this agent. What a sleazeball. He told me he could get me some work in the movies. Nothing big, you know—bit parts. But still, it was the
movies
…. Anyway, he sent me on an audition, right?”

Maggie nodded, watching Matt's face as he talked, the corners of his mouth quivering with restrained laughter. It was hard to believe that it had been ten years since she'd seen him. It just seemed so natural, sitting here together.

“So I go into this place,” he said, “and I realize that it's not a cattle call. You know, there're not four hundred other guys that look sort of like me lining up to audition for the part of the store owner who says ‘A dollar fifty,' to Keifer Sutherland when he comes into the convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes. The director actually comes out and shakes my hand—if you can believe that—and he takes me into the studio. I was so jazzed. They had cameras set up on a soundstage, along with this living room set. It looked like a stock American home set—something out of a sitcom, you know?”

He paused, taking a sip of water. “Well, imagine my surprise when the director told me to go ahead and take off my clothes.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Matt grinned. “It didn't take me long to figure it out. I asked to see the script and it was called—I'll never forget this—
Sleazy Does It.
It was a porno flick, Mags. It wasn't an audition—they were just going to shoot the film that same day. Is that too scary or what?”

Maggie had to laugh. Poor Matt. Thinking he was going to get a part in a major motion picture…“Did you do it?”

He choked on his water and glared at her, mock outrage on his face. “Thanks a lot. No, I did
not
do it.”

She was still laughing. “Your past ten years have been much more exciting than mine.”

“You graduated from Yale, went to law school and managed to get an M.B.A. at the same time. You had a fire, moved back in with your folks. You dated someone named Tom for four years, now you're seeing a guy named Brock Donovan. You've had the lead in
Oklahoma, Carousel, Paint Your Wagon, Showboat, The Boyfriend, Superman, Anything Goes, Guys and Dolls, Lil' Abner
and one more…. What was it?”

“
Annie, Get Your Gun
.” Maggie couldn't believe it. “How do you know all that?”

He closed his eyes, placing his fingertips on his forehead. “Matthieu senses all,” he said with a heavy Eastern European accent. “I also know that Angie's married now,” he added in his regular voice.

There was something in his face, in his tone, that Maggie couldn't read.

“Yeah,” she said. “Freddy's great. You'd like him. But it's kind of a drag—they live in London.”

“That must be tough,” he sympathized. “You and Angie stayed close, didn't you?”

Maggie nodded. “I miss her.”

“Did she ever tell you…”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Why we broke up. I don't know. It all seems so silly now.”

He was looking at her, and she felt herself blush under his scrutiny.

“Why did you break up?” she asked.

“Maybe I'll tell you some other time,” he said. His eyes were warm. Hot, almost…

Where are we going?

Does it matter?

No
.

Maggie cleared her throat. “Are you going to audition for the summer musical? I mean, are you going to be in town for a while?”

“Yeah, I'll be here at least three months,” he said. “I don't know about the show, though. I saw the audition notice in the paper. It's tomorrow, right? But the show was one I didn't recognize.”

“It's called
Day Dreamer
. It was written by this local team of writers. It's not…It's really funny. And the music's good, too….” Maggie felt herself babbling in an effort to keep the conversation pointed securely away from the physical attraction that seemed to simmer between them.

But she lapsed into silence as he sat back in his chair, his eyes still glued to her face. As he moved, the muscles in his arms and chest moved, too. It was hypnotizing. With a motion that was clearly well-practiced, he tossed his hair out of his face, back behind his shoulders.

“I guess I'll audition,” he said. “If you're going to…”

“Matt, why do you wear your hair like that?” she asked. “I mean, it's beautiful, but you always had short hair. In school, you used to make fun of the boys who wore their hair long….”

“It's a complicated story,” he said evasively. He sat forward, pointing at her salad. “Are you going to eat that?”

She wasn't very hungry. “Do you want it?”

“No, I want to get out of here,” he told her. “I want to take you to see something.”

He stood up, tugging down on the thighs of his jeans in a
movement that was all Matthew. How many thousands of times had she seem him do that?

But going vegan and quitting drinking and smoking, and the new super healthy body…

As they left the café and walked down the stairs to the lobby, he caught her puzzled look and said, “What?”

It was remarkable, really. With his dazzling white T-shirt tucked into the top of his blue jeans, his long hair cascading halfway down his broad back, he was an odd mixture of her friend Matt and her fantasy jungle man. He looked sort of like Matt and he moved and talked sort of like Matt, but there was so much more that was different about him now. She could see so many changes in him, the most startling being his confidence, his solid, quiet strength.

Again, she found herself attracted to him, and that felt strange.

“I'm trying to figure out exactly who you are,” she said bluntly, “just who it is you've become.”

He looked startled for a moment, and then he laughed. “You know, Mags,” he said, “I really did miss you. You and your honesty.”

He opened the door leading out of the club. With a grand gesture, he motioned for her to go through.

Outside, the night air was cool, and Maggie shivered slightly. Matt casually draped an arm around her shoulders.

His touch was warm, and Maggie felt the urge to lean against him, to rest her head on his shoulder, wrap her own arm around his waist.

But he was just being friendly old Matt. Wasn't he?

She pulled away. “Your car or mine?”

Matt turned around and gave her such a look that she had to laugh. “I assume that means you still
have
to be the driver, right?” she said.

He grinned. “I've got the old man's Maserati. He never drove it anywhere. What's the point in having a car like that if you never use it?”

“Do you remember when you stole it and used it to drive Angie to the junior prom?” That was one of the best times they'd had together and one of the worst.

He unlocked the front passenger side door of the gleaming black sports car and opened it for Maggie. “How could I ever forget? I spent four days in jail for that one. God, my father was such a bastard.”

Matt got into the driver's seat and closed the door. He looked over at Maggie, real sadness in his eyes. “I was such a disappointment to him. Right up to the end.”

She didn't know what to say, and then there was no reason to say anything because he put the key into the ignition and started the engine with a roar. “Oh, yeah,” he said, flashing her a smile. “This is a very nice car.”

Maggie wanted to ask about his father, but she held her tongue. Mr. Stone had died over a year ago, and even though he and Matt had never gotten along, she'd been surprised when Matt didn't show up for the funeral.

She shook free of the thought, fastened her seat belt, and got ready to hang on for dear life as he pulled out of the parking lot. But he drove almost slowly.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

Does it matter?

She loosened her fingers from her grip on the handstrap as she realized he was going to stay under the speed limit.

“Out to my father's office,” Matt told her. “
My
office,” he corrected himself with a laugh. He shot her a look. “Can you believe I have an office?”

Maggie was confused. “You mean, over at the factory?”

“No,” he said. “The main office was in our house.”

Matt glanced at her.

Maggie's face was lit in regular intervals by the street lights. The pale yellow glow made her seem unearthly.

She was prettier than ever. She still had the biggest, bluest eyes he'd ever seen. They were surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Her complexion was fair—a fascinating contrast to
the dark brown of her soft, wavy hair. Her nose was small and almost impossibly perfect, her lips soft and full, and always quick to curve into a smile.

For the first time since he'd hit town, he was honestly glad to be back.

Very glad.

“I want to offer you a job,” he told her as they neared the house. “I'd like to hire you as my corporate attorney and business advisor—for three hundred thousand dollars a year.”

She stared at him.

She didn't say a word as he pulled into the driveway of his father's huge white Victorian house. All the outside lights were on, spotlighting it against the darkness of the night.