Текст книги "Native Affairs"
Автор книги: Doreen Malek Owens
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 37 страниц)
She told herself sternly that she really hadn’t been hoping Lee would ask her inside.
* * * *
They were due at the hospital at two, and Jennifer ate a quick lunch before changing into a tailored dress and brushing her hair. She glanced at the evening dress laid out on the bed for the dinner that night Sponsored by the Freedom’s management, it was being held at the Bellevue Stratford downtown, to welcome the new players and kick off the season. It was a social event, rather than business, so she wouldn’t be going with Lee. For lack of a better idea, she had asked John Ashford to escort her, and she assumed Lee was bringing a date also.
Jennifer shook her head. One thing at a time. She had to get through this afternoon first. She would worry about tonight when the time came.
Lee remained introspective during the ride to the hospital. He sat next to her in the back seat of the limousine, his knee almost touching hers, staring out the window. He had changed also, into dark slacks and a light blue shirt and a knit tie. He turned once to find her watching him, and she looked away.
A group of reporters and a news team from a local television station were already waiting outside the ward when they arrived. A cameraman with his equipment strapped to his shoulders zeroed in on Lee and followed his every move. Lee glanced at Jennifer quickly, uncertainly, as if for guidance, and then plunged ahead.
The kids could hardly control their excitement. The ambulatory cases had been assembled at one end of the ward, where rows of folding chairs were interspersed with wheelchairs and cots. The children who were bedridden had been propped up with pillows so they could see better. Nurses and aides stood by, beaming, to shake hands with Lee as he entered. A hospital spokesman, who had met them in the lobby, cleared the way and led Lee to a vantage point where he could address the group.
Lee’s reaction to the sick children was not lost on Jennifer. His sharp eyes took in everything, and they filled with compassion at the sight of illness and incapacity in ones so young. He paused a couple of times, once by the bedside of a little black boy who had tubes running from his nose and the inside of his arm. He sat on the edge of the child’s bed, as everyone waited for him, and talked to the boy for several minutes. He stopped again to tell a girl of about nine or ten, who had a broken leg in traction, about the time he had broken his own leg. He reassured the girl that his was as good as new now, and hers would be, too.
Jennifer walked just behind him, and she could see his face change during his progress through the ward. When he got to his appointed spot, he looked around for her.
“Jen?” he said softly.
She had never heard that tone from him before. He, who was always so sure of himself, sounded…shaken.
“Right here,” she said, stepping forward.
He looked at her for a moment, and then reached down and pressed her hand.
Alarmed, she said, “Lee, are you all right?”
He swallowed. “Sure. Fine. Just…stay here, okay?”
In that moment, she would have done anything he asked. “I’ll be right behind you.”
He nodded. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The photographers snapped pictures, and the reporters held up their microphones to catch his words, as he began a dialogue with the children, answering their questions and telling them stories. As he relaxed, and the effects of what had been bothering him initially wore off, he loosened his tie and pulled a chair forward to lean on as he talked.
His audience was fascinated. They listened, quiet as cloistered nuns, their eyes round, while he described the rigors of the Sun Dance, a solemn ceremony performed by the Indians of the Plains for hundreds of years. Jennifer was as riveted as the children by the narration. Lee told of the preparation involved, the feasting, the courtships, and the selection of the assistants for the rites by the shamans. Virtuous women were chosen to chop down the sacred cottonwood tree, used as an integral part of the dance. Later, a mentor would be chosen from the shamans to be in charge of the activities.
The cottonwood tree was then stripped, painted, and raised as a pole in the center of the dancing ground. At dawn, the dancers were prepared for their ordeal. The warriors were decorated with colors that showed what degree of pain they had chosen to suffer. Some would merely fast and dance, others would have bits of flesh cut from their bodies, and the bravest were those who had agreed to have skewers implanted through flaps cut in their skin. They were attached to the tree, or to buffalo skulls, by rawhide thongs, and would dance until the skin of each man ripped free from the skewers, experiencing, through their great pain, a communion with the spirit of the sun.
Jennifer watched the children’s expressions as Lee detailed, vividly, the endurance of the dancers, the trancelike state of the participants as they approached union with their god. It was clear that this group had never heard anything like it. She hadn’t, either.
One child, bolder than the others, began to beg for a demonstration. Jennifer could tell that Lee was tempted, but he glanced at the reporters crowding around him, and it was obvious that he didn’t want to be filmed for presentation on the six o’clock news. The spokesman had acquired a following, and Lee shushed them with the promise of another story. Jennifer watched, overwhelmed with tenderness, as Lee lost the last of his reserve and sat cross-legged on the floor, telling the children about the Blackfoot societies, through which the men of the tribe advanced all their lives. As boys they entered the Little Birds, where they learned the art of warfare. After three trials, a boy went on to the Pigeons, and when he was finally accepted as a warrior, to the Mosquitoes. He gave the Pikuni name for all of these. And, Lee said, if a man had the largest number of coups in his society, and had become a living god, then he could join the Mutsik, the society reserved for the bravest and best warriors. Lee’s grandfather, Spotted Horse, had been a Mutsik, Lee told them proudly, and a great chief.
“What are coups?” a towheaded midget in the front row asked in a piping voice.
Lee explained that coups were blows delivered to the enemy by touching him with a coup stick. It was like a game of tag, he said, but a dangerous one, in which you had to get close enough to an armed enemy to touch him, but had to get away again to tell the story. The tribal council then listened to the story of the deed, and if it was determined to be the truth, supported by witnesses, the brave was awarded a coup feather, a tail feather of the male golden eagle. The warrior collected these, and when he had enough, he wore them in a war bonnet.
By this time, the reporters had material for their stories, and the nurses were making noises about getting the children back to bed. When it was time for Lee to go, amidst much protest, the redhead who had talked the most touched Lee on the arm and said wistfully, “Sure wish we could have seen that dance.”
The members of the press were gone, and Lee said goodbye to the staff, promising to return. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and exhaled sharply.
“Do you think you could go along without me?” he asked Jennifer. “I’m through here, but I want to talk to the administrator about some fund raiser they want me to do. I don’t want to hold you up, so you might as well go home. I’ll call a cab.”
This was another breach of the rules, but she wasn’t about to debate it with him. “All right, Lee. You look tired, though; you’d better get out of here early enough to get some rest before tonight By the way, what was upsetting you when you first came in?”
His eyes flashed to her face. “Oh, nothing.”
“Something, I think.”
He sighed. “It was just, well, I had a brother who died of leukemia when he was eleven, and this sort of brought it all back to me. I had forgotten how… painful... it is to see sick children and not be able to help them.”
Jennifer was silent.
“I did want to help them, once. I wanted to be a doctor. Did I ever tell you that?”
“I think you mentioned it, yes.”
He nodded slowly. “All water under the bridge, now, I guess.” He eyed her, his head slightly tilted to one side. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Yes.”
His lips curved in the trace of a smile. “Thanks for the moral support.”
“That’s my job,” she said lightly, and then was sorry for the superficial comment. His expression changed.
“Ah, yes, the job. You are very good at your job.”
The closeness between them had vanished in an instant Jennifer lifted her hand in farewell and headed out to the parking lot, as Lee turned away.
She was almost to the glass double doors at the end of the hall when something made her stop. Lee’s behavior had been abrupt, suspect in a vague way, as if he had wanted to be rid of her. The story about the fund raiser had sounded hastily manufactured. What was he up to? Jennifer turned around and retraced her steps.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she got back to the ward. Two nurses stood by the doors, like sentinels, blocking entry. They recognized Jennifer as Lee’s companion and let her pass.
Lee was in the middle of the room, barefoot and bare chested, his shirt and shoes discarded on a nearby chair. Jennifer remained hidden behind an examination screen as Lee selected the redhead and two others to follow him as he demonstrated the Sun Dance. Gracefully, without a wasted motion, he showed the children the ancient, time-honored movements, pacing slowly in a circle, chanting softly under his breath. The kids, two boys and a little girl, mimed his every gesture, carefully, solemnly, as if their lives depended on getting it right. Lee looked like nothing so much as Pied Piper, his charges trailing after him in intricate procession.
Jennifer bit her lip and closed her eyes, smitten completely. How sweet he was to do this. He had come back on his own, without an audience, so as not to disappoint the kids.
When she looked again he was beating out the rhythm on one of the bedsteads, watching the children as they continued without him. Jennifer saw the bent dark head, the softly falling hands, and knew that she was in love with him.
It was not so bad once she found the courage to admit it to herself. She knew that nothing could ever come of it, he had made that eminently clear that morning, but acknowledging it gave her a secret treasure to hold next to her heart She loved Lee Youngson, probably had since the day she’d met him. And just for that moment, before she could consider the heartbreak and the pain that would surely follow, she was glad.
She put her finger to her lips to indicate that she wished to remain undetected, and one of the nurses nodded as she slipped out again. The other followed her into the corridor.
“That is one very nice man,” the nurse said to Jennifer.
“Yes, he is,” Jennifer agreed.
“Those kids will be talking about this for weeks,” her companion went on. “Just think, a famous person like that taking the time for them. It’s made my day, I can tell you.”
Jennifer exchanged a few more pleasantries with the woman and then left During the ride home she kept seeing Lee dancing with those children, an image she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, dismiss from her mind.
* * * *
Jennifer was determined to look her best that night. She might not be Lee’s date, but she would see him and longed to make a lasting impression. After their dinner date she was sure that he wanted her; this gave her a heady feeling of power which she couldn’t resist using. She deliberately chose her sexiest dress, a black off-the-shoulder taffeta with a scalloped hemline and puffed sleeves. She piled her hair on top of her head, adding earrings and a matching pendant of brilliant oval aquamarines surrounded by tiny diamonds. The jewelry was an anniversary present from Bob, which he, in a rare burst of chivalry, had refused to take back when they were divorced. The center stones enhanced her eyes, and the severe dress made her hair seem paler by contrast. When she was ready, she studied her reflection in the mirror and was sure that she had never looked better in her life.
Lee thought so, too. As she walked into the main dining room of the Bellevue Stratford with John Ashford, she saw Lee standing to one side with Joe Thornridge. Lee was resplendent in a white dinner jacket with satin lapels, a ruffled silk shirt, and narrow black pants with a black bowtie. His eyes traveled over Jennifer slowly and then met hers. In them, she saw a reflection of her own desire. Her breath caught in her throat, but she merely inclined her head coolly to acknowledge him. Lee did nothing, simply looked back at her with those searching, fathomless eyes. Jennifer turned her head and moved on.
Dolores was waiting at their table, with her date, a commercial photographer whom Jennifer had once met briefly. After she and John were seated, she looked around for Lee.
She had hoped that he would be placed out of her sight, but found to her dismay that he was only two tables away, with Joe Thornridge and his wife, a delicate blonde in a pastel pink dress. She had a clear view of Lee’s chiseled profile and gleaming hair. And, unfortunately, an equally clear view of his date.
Jennifer really tried not to look, but found this impossible. She kept sneaking glances at the young woman, who was seated at Lee’s left She seemed familiar, and then Jennifer realized, with a start, that this was the same girl pictured with Lee in the photograph in his living room.
Jennifer examined her again, a few minutes later, and changed her mind. It wasn’t the same person.
This one was a slightly distorted reflection in a mirror, like, and at the same time not like, the original in the photo. The cascading, waist-length black hair was the same, but this girl was slightly heavier, with a broader face and blunter features than the first She was very pretty, but she was not the girl in the picture.
But then, who was she? There was a strong family resemblance—she had to be a relative of the girl in the photo, the likeness was too close. Jennifer burned with curiosity, and something like despair. Whoever she was, she was Indian, and Jennifer wasn’t.
Harold Salamone got up on the dais to welcome the new players and wish the rest of the organization a prosperous year. Jennifer had heard it all before and studied her surroundings while the owner made his speech. The grand ballroom was huge, with an overhanging balcony surrounding the entire room, which was carpeted in red plush and dominated by a magnificent chandelier suspended from the ceiling by a golden chain. Salamone was talking from the stage, which had been converted to a speaker’s platform for the executives. The rest of the organization was seated at banquet tables scattered about on the ballroom floor. A large central area had been left clear for dancing, and a small orchestra was setting up in the pit below the stage. Waiters roved through the throng, taking drink orders and carrying silver buckets of champagne and other wines. It was a glittering, picturesque group, and Jennifer felt privileged to be part of it.
After Salamone, a few others spoke, and then the music began as dinner was served. Jennifer ate sparingly, her stomach in a knot, ever mindful of the man two tables away, as if the two of them were alone in the room.
The band played between courses, and Jennifer danced with John and with Dolores’s escort, Craig Davenport Just before dessert she went to the powder room and on the way back ran straight into Lee and his date as they came off the dance floor.
There was no avoiding an introduction. Lee, ever the gentleman, presented the women to one another. His companion was Dawn Blacktree.
Harold Salamone came up to talk to Lee as they stood there, and Jennifer was left to converse with Dawn alone. She learned that Dawn was indeed the sister of the young woman in the picture at Lee’s house. The latter had been Lee’s high school sweetheart, until she was killed in a fall from a horse when she was seventeen.
This information did not make Jennifer feel better. Lee’s bond with this girl was sure to be very strong. And to make matters worse, she couldn’t even dislike Dawn, who was friendly and pleasant.
Joe Thornridge’s wife came up to ask Dawn something, and Jennifer found herself in a three-way conversation with Lee and Harold Salamone. She smiled a lot and wished she were elsewhere. Finally, Mr. Salamone took his leave.
“May your time with us be very happy, and your career here a success,” he said to Lee, grasping both of Lee’s hands in his. Lee thanked him, his lips twitching, and put his hand over his mouth as the older man walked away.
It was a few seconds before Jennifer realized that Lee was laughing. His shoulders were shaking, and there was a wicked gleam in his dark eyes.
“What is it?” she said.
Lee coughed to cover his mirth. “I’m fond of Harold, I really am,” he said, “but I can hardly keep a straight face when he talks to me. Everything he says sounds like the inscription on a greeting card.”
This was so true that Jennifer found herself squelching laughter, too. Salamone was a master of banalities, and the more she thought about it, the funnier it became. She and Lee turned away from one another, unable to look at each other for fear of breaking up, like a couple of teenagers overcome with forbidden hilarity in church.
Jennifer finally risked a glance at him, and he was regarding her with a devilish expression.
“May all your troubles be little ones,” he began, and Jennifer clutched at his arm to stop him. She was off again, gasping, tears coming to her eyes, certain that any moment now they would be attracting attention. After all, what the hell could be so funny that it would reduce the two of them to hysterics in the middle of a banquet?
He opened his mouth, and she held up her hand. “Please,” she whispered, “no more. I’m making a fool of myself as it is.”
“And the road ahead paved with the fulfillment of your dreams,” he recited rapidly.
Jennifer was helpless. She fell against him, and he grabbed her to steady her. After a moment she sobered, noticing the tenderness in his eyes.
“You really do like me, don’t you?” he said softly. “You wish you didn’t, but you do.”
Jennifer’s silence was her answer.
“I know the feeling,” he said, releasing her. They stared at one another, an oasis of stillness in the bustling, crowded room.
Joe Thornridge arrived to break the spell. “Hi, Jennifer,” he said. “What’s this guy been telling you?”
“Not much,” Jennifer replied, realizing that that was possibly the biggest lie she had ever uttered.
“What’s the matter with you, Chief? You boring this girl? I know a good one. Tell her about the time your knee gave out in the men’s room at Grand Central Station.”
“I think she could live without hearing that one, Joe,” Lee said faintly.
“Aw, come on,” Joe said, not to be dissuaded. “The Chief is, uh, using the facilities, if you know what I mean, when his leg folds up, and he goes crashing down between the sinks, flat out on the floor like a sack o’ corn meal.”
“Joe...” Lee said warningly.
“And so,” Joe went on, warming to his tale, “Lee’s all alone in there, can’t get anybody to help him, and just has to wait for somebody to show.”
Lee rolled his eyes, giving up.
“And guess who the first person to come in is?”
Jennifer was unable to guess.
“A cop!” Joe said, chortling. “In he walks and sees old superstar here grovelin’ on the floor, mumbling about some trick knee. Thought it was some new form o’ perversion, didn’t he, Lee ol’ boy?”
“If I killed him right now, how much time would they give me?” Lee said to Jennifer.
“Well, excuse me,” Joe said, offended.
“It’s all right, Joe,” Lee said, clapping his friend on the back, “that just reminded me of something I’ve been meaning to tell the little Mrs. over there. About the time you and Carl Danbury got those two stewardesses and—”
Joe interrupted with an observation about some people having no sense of humor and walked off, throwing Lee a black look over his shoulder.
Lee turned to Jennifer immediately. “Dance with me,” he said.
This was a prospect too inviting to be denied. But just as Jennifer nodded, agreeing, the band switched from the slow numbers it had been playing to a heavy metal rendition of a popular rock tune, with a steady, underlying sensual rhythm.
Jennifer stopped short, intending to demur. But Lee’s fingers closed around her wrist, and she looked up into his eyes. They contained an unmistakable challenge.
“Come on,” he said softly. “You can’t go back on it now.”
Jennifer hesitated, but couldn’t resist answering his unspoken dare. He wanted to dance? She would dance, all right.
Once they got out on the floor, all her inhibitions left her. Lee was as graceful dancing as he was playing football, and she matched him move for move, never breaking eye contact for a moment. As the music swelled, surrounding them, Jennifer felt it in her blood, carrying her away on a tide of reckless abandon. She leaned into Lee, shaking her shoulders, and saw the flicker of response in his eyes, as the crowd around them began to whistle and close in for a better look. He danced more provocatively, testing her, and she followed him, unwilling to back down. More people caught on to the show, and by the time the music ended, Lee and Jennifer had brought down the house, concluding to applause and wolf calls that left little doubt as to the nature of what had happened.
Jennifer walked straight off the floor, looking neither right nor left, until she reached her table and slid into her seat Dolores was there, staring at her, dumbfounded.
“What’s the matter, Dolores, you look like you need a drink,” Jennifer said calmly.
“A drink!” Dolores yelped. “After that little scene, what I need is a cold shower. My God, Jen, what were you thinking of, to dance with him like that? I was ready to phone for the vice squad.”
It wasn’t easy to shock Dolores, but Jennifer had apparently done it That was some sort of milestone. It also told Jennifer that if generally liberal Dolores reacted this way, the response in more conservative quarters (like the mind of Harold J. Salamone) might be somewhat greater.
Her chagrin was intensified by the return of Craig and John to their table. John glanced at Jennifer briefly and then looked down, fiddling with his napkin. Jennifer felt a sharp stab of sympathy for him. After all, she was his date, and she had just made a spectacle of herself with another man.
Jennifer felt the heat of a flush staining her skin and brushed damp tendrils of hair away from her face. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, pushing back her chair. The men half rose out of their seats as she walked quickly through the ballroom until she reached the cool safety of the marble-floored entry hall.
The reception area was almost empty, as the party was in full swing. The clerk behind the desk glanced at her without curiosity, and one of the hostesses, who recognized her as being with the Freedom, merely nodded and walked on. Jennifer sank gratefully into a chair next to a large potted plant, and closed her eyes.
She had to get a grip on herself. This kind of behavior would never do. She was a mature, responsible, professional woman, not some love-struck adolescent tormented by spring fever. She knew how she felt about Lee, but the rest of the world didn’t have to. If she kept on this way, the state of her affections would remain about as secret as tomorrow’s headline on The New York Times.
She opened her eyes to see Lee standing in front of her, regarding her thoughtfully.
“Go away,” she said and closed her eyes again.
“I intend to,” he answered. “And you’re coming with me.”
Jennifer’s eyes flew open.
“Let’s ditch this place,” he said, “and go for a ride.”
“No.”
“Why not? They’re all getting loaded in there; nobody will miss us.”
“I think Dawn and John might notice the empty seats if we leave, Lee.” And draw their own conclusions after our recent performance, she added silently.
“Then we’ll tell them a lie,” he said simply.
She eyed him suspiciously.
“We’ll say something has come up, that we have some work to do.”
“Lee, anybody who swallows that will be ready to open a wooden nickel depository in the morning.”
He grinned, sensing her weakening resistance. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Live dangerously. We’ll come back later. Play hooky, for a little while.”
His terminology was appropriate. He sounded exactly like one of her junior high buddies trying to convince her to skip school.
“You know you want to,” he added softly.
Truer words were never spoken, Jennifer thought.” He took her silence for assent, and she trailed after him, watching him stop at her table, and his own, to volunteer some story which undoubtedly no one believed.
She realized that he didn’t care, and, with some surprise, that she really didn’t, either. Her desire to be with Lee completely overrode the concern with appearances or propriety which might once have influenced her.
When he returned, she followed him wordlessly outside.
* * * *
Lee took her back to his house, switching off a burglar alarm with a key as they entered. It was spotless, as always. He had mentioned that he had a cleaning service come in once a week, and Jennifer had noticed that he himself was very neat.
“I want to show you something upstairs,” he said, leading the way. Jennifer went with him to the second floor, consisting of two large bedrooms, one of which was obviously Lee’s, and another which looked as though it were used as a guest room. Jennifer glanced into the master bedroom as they passed. It was curiously plain, almost Spartan—an oversized bed and a color television on a stand the only touches of luxury. There was one whole wall of built-in closets, and another of floor to ceiling shelves filled with books.
At the end of the hall there was a short staircase, which led to the loft she’d glimpsed from below.
“The builders customized this for me,” he commented as they ascended. “There are a number of artists in the complex, and they use the addition as a studio.” He smiled over his shoulder at her. “I use it as a playroom.”
Jennifer paused on the threshold of an immense circular room with a cathedral ceiling. Brightly colored, hand-woven rugs were scattered on the polished oak floor, which gleamed with a rich luster. The room contained an impressive grand piano and three complicated-looking telescopes, their noses trained outward, poking through full-length, concealing drapes. There was also a plush couch set in a nook, with a companion coffee table covered with books and magazines. At the far end of the room stood a draftsman’s table with an arc lamp anchored to shine on its inclined surface.
Jennifer walked over to the piano, running her hand over the beautiful cherry wood. “However did you get this up here?” she asked.
“There’s a deck off the back, and the movers hoisted it to that level, and then pulled it in through the sliding glass doors.”
Money could accomplish anything. She sifted through the stacks of sheet music which sat on a brass stand next to the instrument.
“I presume you play,” she said.
Lee nodded. “One of the teachers at the Indian school taught me, and later I took lessons on my own.” He pulled out the bench and sat on it, spreading his fingers over the keys. “She noticed the size of my hands when I was in her music class.” He indicated an octave, and Jennifer could see that his fingers stretched two or three keys beyond that. “The reach makes it much easier to play.” He winked. “Good for catching footballs, too.” He leaned back and flexed his arms elaborately, like Victor Borge. “What would you like to hear?”
Jennifer had no idea. “Anything.”
“Just what I like,” Lee said. “A woman of universal tastes, easily pleased.” He began with Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” playing with the ease of long practice. He moved into a Chopin polonaise and then to a series of Strauss waltzes.
Jennifer listened, enraptured.
Lee paused. “Enough of the highbrow stuff,” he said. “You like Gershwin?”
She smiled. “I love Gershwin.”
He picked up the score from the movie Manhattan, which was lying on top of the piano. “Gershwin it is.” Jennifer folded her arms on the cabinet and leaned forward to study the musician as he played, “S’Wonderful,” “Rhapsody in Blue,” “Embraceable You,” and “Someone to Watch Over Me” in a medley, gliding from one to the other effortlessly. He was absorbed, displaying the same concentration he showed on the football field. Jennifer loved him so much in that moment that she didn’t trust herself to speak.
He stopped, and she applauded, burlesquing her reaction to cover her emotion.
He bowed from the waist. “I like the old tunes,” he said. “Sometimes I play up here for hours. It’s very relaxing.”
“It must be.” He certainly covered the waterfront in terms of variety. From Buddy Holly to Bruce Springsteen to Beethoven and Gershwin was quite a spread. “I’d like to hear more,” she added.
He seemed pleased. “Sure.” By heart, without music, he played a haunting rendition of “Stardust,” singing along in a clear, ringing baritone, and then switched to “Deep Purple.” He finished with the theme from Casablanca, and Jennifer watched as the last notes of “As Time Goes By” faded into silence. Lee sat looking at his hands, clenched in his lap.
“If I had closed my eyes, I would have thought you were Dooley Wilson,” Jennifer said lightly.
Lee looked up abruptly, as if roused from some reverie. “Oh, yes, thank you.” He was silent a moment longer, and then said, “I shouldn’t play that, it always gets me down.”
“Why?”
“Oh, you know, the movie, Bogart and Bergman, so in love, but so wrong for each other, caught in such an impossible situation. Sad, don’t you think?”
Jennifer turned away, not wanting him to see the impact of his remark on her face. “Yes, very sad,” she commented neutrally.
He got up and moved to a switch on the wall. “And now for the piece de resistance,” he said. He touched the button, and all the drapes pulled back from the windows at once, revealing floor to ceiling glass completely around the room. The loft was actually on the roof of the townhouse, so the night sky surrounded them in all directions. Jennifer felt bathed in stars.
