A ruling passion : a novel (9 page)

She supported herself on her hands on either side of his broad face and when she lowered herself she brushed her nipples against his chest because that always got him excited. He let her do it all, and she listened to the sounds he made and moved faster, willing him to do what she wanted, until he shouted out and gripped her buttocks with both hands, shuddered beneath her, and finally lay still.

He was still breathing quickly as she slid off him and sat cross-legged on her bed. "Nice," he said, his eyes still closed. "Real nice, sweetie." Sybille waited for what she would feel next, and it came as

certainly as it always did: first she felt empty, then lonelier than ever, and finally furiously angry.

He didn't give a damn who was on top of him. He didn't bother to look at her; he didn't say her name once the whole time. Maybe he didn't remember it. He would see her at the television station the next day and act as if he'd never been inside her. She was anonymous to him.

As he was to her, she thought. But that didn't matter. She could not bear to be invisible.

But then he surprised her. She had been about to send him home, as she always did with whoever had been in her bed, so she could spend the rest of the evening once more in control of her life, but he put out his hand. "Have to talk about that newscast you did today. Lots of problems with it."

Sybille froze. "Problems?"

"Dull." He opened his eyes and heaved himself to a sitting position. "It's a noon newscast; people getting lunch, coming and going, on the run... it's gotta move or you lose 'em. What you want, you want personal stuff. Little stories. Moments, somebody called 'em; you know, litde stories all strung together. Nobody wants to see just a flood, for Christ's sake—water in the fields and voice-over talking about crop damage—^Jee-sus—people want to see other people. Mosdy suffering. Family in a boat, lost everything but the clothes they're wearing; river dragged for bodies; little kid on a roof, crying, waiting to be rescued by a helicopter; dog drowned... whatever. Moments. Give people what they want."

"But the big news was the loss of the crops—"

"Fuck the crops. Fuck the news. Nobody cares. They want stories, sweetie. Moments. How many times I have to say that?" He stood beside the bed and ran a finger around her breast. "You're good and you're tough; you'll figure it out. I've got plans for you, you know. We got any beer in the house?"

We? Sybille took a long breath. He had plans for her; he could help her, "Sure." She wrapped her seersucker robe around her and tied it tighdy. "I'll see you in the kitchen."

The kitchen was in a corner on the other side of a blanket she had hung to screen her bed and dresser, and she could hear him dressing as she took beer from the refrigerator. She debated taking out cheese and crackers, and then decided against it. There was no need to coddle him.

He was with her in a few minutes, tucking his shirt into his pants.

"Speaking of moments," he said, opening a bottle of beer, "I'll give you a great one. Can't use it, but it's great." He sat on a straight wooden chair and stretched out his legs. "There's this crazy woman in Sunnyvale, worth maybe a couple hundred million—her daddy was in oil and her hubby was in gas—and she calls the president of Stanford one day and says she wants to give him fifty mill for a new engineering building, because her daddy and hubby were both engineers. But, and there has to be a but if you want a great story, there's got to be an ape house too."

"A what?"

"Don't interrupt, sweetie; just absorb. This is a moment Fm giving you. She has a whole bunch of apes—raises 'em or breeds 'em or whatever—and her favorite is named Ethelred the Unready... you know who he is? Or was?" Sybille shook her head. "King of England back in the Dark Ages; she likes the name, God knows why. Anyway, she's giving her millions so the university can build the Ethelred Engineering Building and Ape House—don't laugh, sweetie, this is serious stuff", fifty mill is always dead serious—so her apes'll have a home after she dies. I guess she's getting on, somewhere around ninety, maybe more. Great story, right? 'Course we can't do anything with it."

He finished his beer and opened another bottle. "Somebody else might," he said casually, gazing at the botde opener, "but I can't because I promised."

Sybille sat down opposite him. "Promised?"

"The person who gave me the story. She told me in confidence."

"Who is she? How do you know her?"

"I don't know her. I was in bed with her."

Sybille bit her Up. 'Who is she?"

"Somebody's wife. Her husband's at the university; he's been in on the meetings."

She gave him a long look. "I don't believe a word of it. It's crazy."

He shrugged. "World's fiill of crazy people. Good thing, too, or TV news'd be out of business."

"Not this crazy," she said stubbornly. "Stanford wouldn't do it."

"Listen, sweetie; you like the story?"

"Of course I like it; it's terrific. But it's not true."

"Well." He gazed at his beer. "Ifs half true. She did say it. With a smile. Seems they were negotiating about her fifty mill and couldn't agree on some things about how to build the building, and she said if they didn't agree pretty soon, the only way she'd give the money was if

Stanford built a home for Ethelred and her other apes. Something like that. She even made a sketch of it, gave it to the v-p of the university for a souvenir." He sighed. "Nice litde story. A good news writer could get some mileage from it. Enough to jazz up a newscast. Enough to get the attention of somebody from the network who might be watching."

Sybille looked at him sharply "And then what?" she asked. "Well, who knows.> I've been told—confidential again; God, I'm giving you all these juicy secrets tonight; must have been something you did earlier—somebody's told me I might be tapped for the network; they're keeping an eye on the station. And then... who knows.> I don't think I'd want to leave my best producer here if I moved to New York."

There was a long silence. "Well, it won't work, though." He gave a deep, elaborate sigh. "I did promise. Guess I'd better swear you to secrecy, too." They exchanged a look. "Promise?" he asked.

"Of course," Sybille said easily

He gave a broad smile, finished his beer and looked around for another. "That's all diere is," Sybille said. "And I have an awful lot of homework to do."

'T>o you, now." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Thursday I won't be expected home till ten."

She nodded. "All right."

"Buy some more beer," he said, and walked to the door.

"Terry," Sybille said as he opened it. 'What's the name of the lady with the apes?"

He frowned deeply. "Of course it's a secret."

"Of course."

"Ramona Jackson," he said. "Of Sunnyvale."

"And the vice-president? The one who got the sketch as a souvenir?"

"Oldfield."

"Thanks."

He put his finger to his mouth, winked, and left without closing the door. Sybille closed and locked it. Then she went to her desk and wrote down the Ramona Jackson story, to make sure she didn't forget any details.

"'Papa,'" Valerie said from the center of the stage, looking hungrily at the muscular airplane pilot. "'Buy the brute for me.'"

"God, lady, you look like you're about to swallow me," said Rob Segal, who played the pilot. He cringed, and the others on stage burst out laughing.

"I like it," said the director. "Hypatia devours every man she sees, the ones she wants, anyway. You really hit it, Val; it was perfect."

Valerie made a deep curtsy. "If s not hard, once you figure out that none of Shaw's heroines is truly lovable."

"Neither was Shaw," said Rob Segal, and grinned at her. She smiled back and held his eyes until the director appeared at her side. He discussed the final scene again, and Valerie nodded, but her gaze moved past him to take in the stage, partially furnished with the set it would have on opening night, only a week away. She liked being there. She loved make-believe, especially when she could share it with people who loved it as much as she. That was why she liked the theater. On stage, they lived a fantasy and they convinced audiences to do the same: hundreds of people sharing the same make-believe because, for that little while, it seemed real. Of course Misalliance was more farfetched than a lot of plays, even silly in places, but it was fun and Hypatia Tarleton was a delicious role.

And Rob Segal, who looked like a Greek god, hadn't taken his eyes off her for the whole rehearsal.

"How about something to eat."" he asked as the cast began to leave. "A bunch of us are going for Mexican food."

Regretfully, Valerie shook her head and gestured toward the shadowy seats beyond the front of the stage. "I've got a date."

"Yeh, I've seen you and him around. I just thought, maybe, you know, some variety." His hand brushed her arm as he turned. 'We've been rehearsing, you know, for ages, and I've been wanting to ask you out... well, anyway. Next time, maybe, if you can cut loose."

"I can cut loose anytime I please," Valerie said coldly.

"Bight," he said hastily. "I mean,.. sure. I just meant you might, you know, feel you had to, you know, because you've been going together for a long time. I'd understand that. I mean, I'd understand, you know, if that was what you meant. Listen." He scribbled on her copy oi Misalliance. "You could call me, we could go out or whatever. Just, you know, do something. God, Val, you are so £freat; you're so smooth. So anyway, I just thought we could get together, you know? Without the whole cast and everything. So if you want to call me we could, you know, have a good time. Right?"

"Right," Valerie said, amused by his torrent of words. "I'll see you tomorrow. At rehearsal." She left the stage and went to the

eighth row of the theater, where Nick sat, his arms folded, watching. "Ready," she said. "Is it a good day for a picnic? It feels like an eternity since I saw the sun."

"It's perfect. Like you." He uncoiled his long body from the narrow seat and stood beside her. "You were terrific up there."

"Thank you, sir. It was better today than yesterday. I almost feel ready for an audience."

"You had one today; I wanted to cheer, but I thought I'd better not remind anybody I was here." He started to tell her how she had dominated the stage, her poise and confidence as magnetic as her beauty; her sense of fun making Hypatia a delight instead of simply a spoiled girl. But he changed his mind. She often seemed resdess when he paid her compliments, especially if they sounded extravagant. "You were good with the pilot, the one who thought you were about to swallow him. The two of you made a good pair."

"Thanks." She smiled, thinking about Rob as they left the theater building and came into the cloudless May afternoon. Sunlight filtered through palm trees and slanted across the buff'-colored university buildings, turning them a soft gold. "What a wonderful day. I can't believe I've been cooped up every afternoon with this play, missing most of the spring. Let's run."

They ran across the grass like children, skirting flower beds and sculptures and clusters of trees, dodging other students, until they came to the parking lot where Valerie had left her car. "Better," she said, breathless and laughing. Exhilarated, she put her arms around Nick and kissed him. "I can't bear to stand around all day, doing things in bits and pieces. It always seems like nothing is happening."

He kissed her eyes and mouth and the tip of her nose. "Are you sure you want to go to the Baylands?"

"Yes! I've never been there and you promised a million birds. You promised a picnic too. Do we have food in your backpack?"

"We do. A feast. Are you driving or am I?"

"You. You know the way."

In the car she settled back and let out a long sigh. "Freedom. We've been rehearsing too long. Weren't you bored today?"

"I'm never bored watching you. And I learned something. You and Hypatia are two of a kind."

"Oh, no." She glanced at him. "How?"

"Hypatia wants to have things happen."

There was a pause. "You mean when she says she wants to get married, only it's not for love but to have something happen. But I'm

not like that; I'd never get married just to have something happen, and you know it. If that's the only way you think we're alike, you're not being very scientific, my learned friend."

"What about buying whatever you want.> That's Hypatia in a nutshell. Or she asks her papa to do it for her."

"But I don't buy men and I wouldn't ask my papa to buy me one. Come on, Nick, you know I wouldn't."

"You're right. I do know it. Hold on, I have to decide where we turn, somewhere along here..."

He was trying to shift the conversation, she thought. He got in deeper than he wanted, and now he doesn't want to talk about it anymore. Which is fine with me. But he does think I buy too many things, and keep looking for things to happen. Once he said my ruling passion was pleasure. Well, what if it is? Why can't he just accept me for what I am, instead of thinkingi so much? She studied him, his face absorbed and stern as he looked for landmarks. She loved it when he drove her car; she loved it when he took charge. He definitely aaed older than the other men she knew, including Rob Segal, who was, she had to admit it, very young. But, still, Rob was charming, in spite of being young, or maybe because of it, and he was the most gorgeous man she had ever known. He would be like a cool, shady hollow after the bright heat of Nick Fielding.

They drove in silence until they reached the yacht harbor at the end of Embarcadero Road and Nick parked the car. "We'll come back," he said, leaving his pack on the seat. 'TSIo picnicking around here."

"What is around here?" Valerie asked, shading her eyes and looking at what seemed to be desolate marshland on both sides.

"I told you: birds. Come on, the place closes in an hour."

Hand in hand they walked past the duck pond and through the Nature Center to a railed boardwalk that seemed to float a few feet above the marsh. Walking along it, Valerie began to see the life around her. At first she had to strain, but as her eyes sharpened she began seeing more, until suddenly everything was alive. A mouse swam through silvery-green water plants; insects crawled along the red-orange parasite that grew on the plants; waterfowl threaded their way through tall cordgrass; and schools of fish sped by in military formation. All around the marsh, black-crowned herons guarded their nests, white-tailed kites and marsh hawks wheeled above, coming in low to snatch insects from the surface of the water, soaring up and out, then turning and diving again and again to the bay.