Starlight (6 page)

“Okay, let me stand back and see if this is even.” Judy broke into Karen’s thoughts. A warm smile formed. “This dress is going to be lovely. I’m proud of it.” The vibrant jacquard material was being handcrafted for Karen as a birthday gift from her sister. “I’m sure if Rand could see you now, he’d be knocking the phone off the hook.”

Karen didn’t bother to correct Judy by saying Rand would never “see” her or the dress.

Judy’s hand went to her chin as she continued to study Karen. “I don’t think I’ve ever realized how much you resemble Mom. You’ve got her tilted nose and those warm, dark eyes. You’re as beautiful as she was.”

Karen had always been referred to as the “pretty” McAlister daughter. Judy was far from ugly, but her nose was a trifle too large, her mouth too full. But in the things that
mattered, Judy Turner was the most beautiful woman Karen knew. “A lot of good a cute nose does me!” She smiled gently. “You’ve got the talent, while I’m stuck with two left hands. I could never sew anything this lovely.”

“Sure you could.” Judy dismissed her lack of confidence with a short shake of her head. “You’d better change. I imagine Dad’s thoroughly tired of showing my boys chess moves.”

Karen was in the bedroom when the phone rang. “I’ll get it,” Judy called. Karen stopped dressing, her pants zipper half closed. Her heart beat expectantly, as it always did when the phone rang.

“No, this is her sister, Judy,” Karen heard her sister say. “Yes, I am,” Judy added. “I heard you three had quite an introduction. Let me apologize again for the boys.” She laughed. “Just a minute. I’ll get Karen.”

Judy burst through the bedroom door. “It’s him … It’s him.”

Karen released the breath she’d unconsciously been holding. A flooding sense of relief came over her until her knees trembled.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer it?” Judy whispered fiercely.

“Yes … yes,” she said again, hoping her voice sounded composed and confident, knowing it didn’t. Slowly, to calm her nerves, Karen walked into the living room and picked up the phone. “Hello, Rand,” she said softly.

“Karen”—his voice was curt—“how are you?”

“Fine, thank you.” She was, now that he’d phoned. “And you?”

“Good.” An awkward silence followed. “The Tacoma Actors Guild is putting on a play at the Pantages Thursday night. Would you like to go?”

“Yes, I would,” she said with an eagerness that betrayed her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know the name of the play?” he chided softly.

Karen silently berated herself. Why did she have to appear so anxious? “All right, if you feel it’s important.” Suddenly, she wanted to laugh. What did it matter if he knew how eager she was to see him? If she’d answered him in a completely monotone voice, he would have guessed her feelings, anyway. “What time should I be ready?”

Rand paused. “I’ll be coming directly from the school and will probably be at your place around seven-fifteen. The play’s at eight; that should give us plenty of time.”

“I’ll be ready.” Karen felt like singing; she wanted to laugh and dance all at the same moment.

When he spoke, she could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you then. Bye for now.”

“Bye.” Karen replaced the receiver and glanced at her sister’s curious face.
Driven by a happiness she couldn’t contain, Karen flung her arms around Judy. “How soon did you say my new dress would be ready?”

For the second time, Karen smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. Nervous fingers toyed with the deeply veed neckline of the bodice, examining again the velvet ribbon, lace, and pearls of the ornate trim. The skill and patience it had taken to string each pearl between the delicate lace and ribbon brought a sense of awe to Karen. The dress was far more than a simple birthday gift; it was a labor of love.

Karen was ready early, absurdly so. Rand wasn’t due for another twenty minutes, and already she had checked her appearance ten times in the hallway mirror. Careful attention had been paid to her makeup, although she seldom wore much, preferring the natural look. Styling her hair had taken the major part of an hour. If anyone had known she was going to such trouble for someone who could never see her, they would have thought she was crazy.

When Rand’s knock came, Karen nearly jumped from her chair. Releasing a deep sigh of tension, she paused long enough to calm herself.

“Hello, Rand,” she greeted cheerfully.

He moved into her apartment, and again Karen was struck by his basic masculine appeal. His face possessed character and strength.

“Karen,” he said, his voice formal, “are you ready, or do you need a few extra minutes?”

“I’m ready.” They were acting like awkward strangers meeting for the first time on a blind date. The analogy nearly sent her into nervous giggles. “Would … would you like something to drink before we go?”

Rand shifted; everything about him seemed controlled. “Thank you, no. The taxi’s waiting.”

Their conversation in the cab was so polite and stilted that Karen wanted to scream in frustration. This evening would never work with Rand’s attitude. His formal greeting, the stiff conversation, indicated that although he was complying with his part of the agreement, he regretted it.

The seats for the play were among the best. The oppressive silence stretched between them while the theater began filling. Suddenly, Karen turned toward Rand and said the most ridiculous thing that came to mind.

“The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain.”

He relaxed. “The rain?” He arched a curious brow.

“That’s right,” she assured him coolly. “It stays mainly in the plain.”

Against his will, Karen noted his eyes deepened into smiling grooves. “What makes you say that?” He was completely earnest.

“I could see what was coming. First you’d ask me if I was comfortable, and then we’d discuss the weather. It was either say something totally ridiculous or scream.”

Amusement softened his expression. “I’m eternally grateful you didn’t scream.”

“You’re most welcome. Now, are you going to enjoy the evening, or do I have to create a scene?”

For a moment, Karen thought Rand was going to laugh. “My mother warned me about women like you.”

“I’m sure she did,” she said resolutely after a pause. She shifted forward slightly. “Would you mind helping me with my coat? If I don’t take it off now, I’ll roast later.”

His hand lingered as it cupped her shoulder in the briefest of contacts before following the sleeve and holding it stationary while she withdrew her arm.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

His mouth moved into a lazy smile as he relaxed against the plush seat. “You’re welcome.” Tentatively, his hand sought hers, gently folding her slim one in his.

Karen settled into her seat, too. It was almost impossible to describe what a simple thing like holding hands with Rand did to her. Even a dictionary, Karen decided, couldn’t define the pleasure she found in his company.

“Tell me about the play. It has the most curious title—
Deadly Vintage
.” An aura of anticipation and excitement touched Karen, who enjoyed live performances above all else.

“A friend of mine wrote it,” Rand began. “I think you’ll find the plot intriguing. I won’t spoil it for you by discussing details.” He finished just as the curtain rose.

Rand was right; the plot was excellent, and the cast held the audience’s full attention. The story revolved around a young man facing financial ruin, struggling against all odds to keep his business and family together. Karen felt herself tense as one complication after another fell upon the young man’s shoulders. Right before the intermission, a second, older man was introduced, who promised to help the young man.

Karen sighed gratefully. “Things were beginning to look a little bleak there for a minute,” she said to Rand.

He squeezed her hand and murmured cryptically, “Things aren’t always what they appear.”

“Oh, no?” She slouched against the back of her seat. “I thought you said you
wouldn’t ruin the story for me.”

Amusement glittered from his dark eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

A sick feeling knotted Karen’s stomach as the second part of the play unfolded. The older man agreed to pay all the younger man’s debts on one condition. The young man must agree to have dinner with the older man. Sometime during the course of the meal, the young man would be offered wine. But the wine contained a deadly poison. No physical pressure would be applied to the man to drink the wine. If he chose to drink, it would be of his own free will. The man hesitantly agreed, but told the rich man he had much to live for and had no intention of drinking the wine. The older man amicably agreed that that was exactly as he wished it. Later, the young man learned this same agreement had been made many times over with others in the same financial difficulties. They, too, had agreed to the dinner with no intention of drinking the deadly vintage. In every instance, the men drank the wine and died.

The characterization of the rich man was portrayed superbly. The overwhelming force of his personality, his power of persuasion, had Karen sitting on the edge of her seat, wishing there was some way she could intervene and help the younger man. The play ended just as the wine was offered.

“That’s it?” Karen gasped as the final curtain closed. “It can’t possibly end there. What happened?” She turned anxiously to Rand. “What happened?” she demanded again.

“My dear Karen, I have no more idea than you.”

The cast was called for three curtain calls, after which the theater began emptying. “Are you ready?” Rand questioned.

“No … not yet,” Karen said stubbornly. Again and again, certain phrases and scenes played in her mind.

Rand shifted impatiently. “Karen,” he said finally, “no one’s coming to add a postscript. This is it.”

“He didn’t accept the wine,” she said more forcefully than she meant. She stood and reached for her coat.

“Is that so?” He was mocking her.

“Yes. If you examined the evidence, you’d realize it, too,” she defended herself.

“It seems to me you’re searching for a satisfactory conclusion. That sensitive female nature of yours insists upon a happy ending.”

“Honestly, Rand, my sensitive female nature, as you call it, has nothing to do with this. What do you think he did?”

Karen had the curious sensation Rand was watching her, not with his eyes, of course, but with his other senses.

“I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully. “Why don’t we go somewhere and discuss it? Have you had dinner?”

Karen hadn’t; her nerves had been a jumbled mess most of the day, and although she hadn’t eaten since lunch, she wasn’t the least bit hungry.

“No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t.” Karen smiled to herself. She may not have much of an appetite, but she wasn’t about to refuse an invitation from Rand.

Karen ordered a shrimp salad and coffee, while Rand had apple pie. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care for a glass of wine?” he teased after the waiter had taken the menu.

“Hardly!” She didn’t bother to disguise her amusement. This was how she’d prayed their evening would be—a teasing banter between them without the steel-wall façade Rand had erected earlier. They discussed the play in detail; Karen argued her view, while Rand, with clear-headed logic, proved exactly the opposite, that the younger man had drunk the wine.

“Now I don’t know what to believe.” Irrationally, she was almost angry with him. The matter had been settled in her own mind, and he had completely shattered her confidence. “I was perfectly content before.”

Rand grinned that crooked little smile she’d seen only at rare times when he was especially pleased about something. Using some of the same rationale she’d used, Rand proceeded to prove that indeed the man had not drunk the wine.

Karen was astonished as she listened to him. Everything he said seemed perfectly sensible, sound, and reasonable, yet only a few minutes before he’d taken the opposing viewpoint.

“Remind me never to argue with you,” she muttered.

“I’ve had more time to think about it is all. And if past evidence is anything to go by, you hold your own in any argument. I certainly never intended to see you again, and look at us now.”

Karen’s eyes widened in hurt astonishment.

“I’d better phone Carl,” Rand added after checking his watch. It was one made specially for the blind, and Karen was curious as to how it worked. “It’s nearly midnight, and you’re a working girl.”

“Not tomorrow I’m not,” she answered absently, trying to catch a glimpse of his wrist again.

“Is there some holiday I don’t know about?” he asked, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Not a holiday, exactly.” She placed her coffee cup on the china saucer. “It’s my birthday, and the cable company gives their employees the day off with pay. Rather a nice gesture, I think.”

“Your birthday?” His expression turned serious, as if he’d made a social blunder. “You should have said something.”

Karen gave a tiny laugh. “I just did.”

“You’re twenty-four?” It wasn’t really a question, and Karen didn’t bother to answer. “There are twelve years between us. I’m far too old for you, Karen.”

“My goodness, at thirty-six you must be sitting around just waiting to collect Social Security,” she said with a mocking laugh.