Adam's Daughter (62 page)

She sat down on the bed and spread the
Tattler
before her. She turned the pages slowly, shaking her head and smiling at the tabloid’s lurid mix of stories.

“I will say this for you, Garrett,” she said softly. “You made me buy the thing.”

She leaned back against the headboard then glanced over at the phone. After a moment, she picked up the receiver and dialed Garrett’s house in Tiburon. After ten rings, she hung up.

She dialed Garrett’s office in New York. It rang seven times and she was about to hang up when Garrett’s voice broke in with an impatient “Hello.”

“It’s me,” she said. “Kellen.”

“I was just going out the door,” he said. “I wasn’t going to answer the phone. I’m g
lad I did.”

Kellen’s mind went blank. Her impulse to call was dissolving into uncertainty. “What are you doing at work so late?” she asked.

“Working hard. Trying not to think about you.” There was a long pause. “Why are you calling, Kellen?”

“You made me laugh. The story about the killer air conditioner.”

“Ah, yes. Wrote that headline myself.”

She took a breath. “I want to see you again, Garrett.”

“I can be there tomorrow.”

“No, I’m not in San Francisco. I’m in Portland on business. I’ll be here two days then I’m going to Las Vegas.”

“I’ll meet you there.” His familiar elegantly accented deep voice made her shut her eyes. “Las Vegas,” he said. “I’ve always wanted to see it. I’ve never gambled before. Have you?”

“No,” she said softly.

“Well, we’ll try our luck together,” he said.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-
THREE

Kellen sat in the car, searching for Garrett in the crowd exiting the terminal, afraid she would miss him. But she spotted him easily, standing out from the Bermuda shorts crowd in his three-piece suit and tie. She honked the horn to get his attention and as she watched him make his way toward the car her pulse quickened. If she had had any doubts about calling him, they had evaporated with the sight of him.

He tossed his suitcase in the back and got in. “It’s eight o’clock at night and it’s like a bloody oven!” he said.

“Welcome to Las Vegas in July. Maybe I should have asked you to meet me in Seattle instead.”

They looked at each other and for a moment Kellen tensed, waiting for his kiss. But he leaned back in the seat and yanked off his tie.

“No, this is fine,” he said with a smile. “I’m just happy you called. I’d have gone to hell itself if you’d asked.”

She maneuvered the car into the traffic. “That’s exactly what some people might call this place,” she said.

As they drove toward the Strip, they were both quiet. Kellen could see that Garrett was tired but she knew that he was waiting for her to set the mood and pace. She was the one who had called him. It was up to her to set the ground rules.

As they pulled onto the Strip, the sun was going down. The overwhelming kinetic neon of the casinos competed with nature’s own show, a sky streaked with blazing bands of red, orange and purple.

“My god,” Garrett whispered. “This is like being trapped inside a kaleidoscope.”

“I know,” Kellen said. “It doesn’t even seem real. Nothing in this town does.”

Garrett continued to gape as Kellen led him through the faux-rococo lobby of Caesar’s Palace, through the clamor and congestion of the casino. Upstairs, in the suite she closed the door and it was quiet.

Garrett glanced around the suite with a small smile. It was enormous, furnished in white and royal blue with chandeliers, marble, gilt, and statu
es, including a cherub fountain.

“How wonderfully decadent,” he
said.

She smiled. “Why don’t you shower? I’ll order dinner.”

A half hour later, Garrett emerged from the bedroom wearing a bathrobe, toweling off his hair and looking considerably revived. He looked at the dinner, at the candles and the bottle of wine. Kellen poured a glass and handed it to him.

He smiled. “Haute Brion. Plump white bathrobes. Gold telephone in the loo. You stage a fine seduction.”

When he leaned in to kiss her the smell of his clean skin was intoxicating. She brought her arms up to encircle his back. He pulled back slightly to look at her.

“No pressure this time,” he said. “I promise.”

They stood, holding each other for a moment, both uncertain what to do next.

“Let’s start with something easy
—- dinner,” Garrett said finally.

At first, conversation was strained while they ate,
but helped along by the wine and by Garrett’s stories about the
Tattler
, they both began to relax. By the time Garrett came to the end of a long funny story about one of his reporters, Kellen had tears of laughter in her eyes.

“It’s good to see you laugh,” he said. “Even if it does come at the expense of my fine publication.”

“Oh, Garrett, how do you expect me to take the
Tattler
seriously when you don’t?”

“But I do take it seriously,” he said. “Very seriously. I want the
Tattler
to succeed.” He paused. “So much so that I may have to finally admit that I’m wrong about its approach.”

“What do you mean?”

He took a drink of his wine. “The formula isn’t working here like it does in England or Toronto. Strangely enough, your idiotic brother understood that better than I did.”

Kellen tensed. “Ian?”

“Yes. He told me once that I underestimated American tastes. And he was right in a way. In London, the
Sun
is popular because the working class likes to shock the establishment. But in New York, the working class likes to think of itself as middle class. So scandals and bare-breasted women don’t sell. Especially to advertisers.” He smiled. “I did all my research about America but failed to take into account the upwardly mobile American ego.”

“Is the
Tattler
in trouble?” Kellen asked.

“It loses money. But its circulation has stabilized, so I suppose it can go on living off the British operation. The question is, how long can my ego continue to take a bruising? I was picturing myself as quite the media mogul.”

He was smiling in a self-deprecating way, but Kellen sensed he was more bothered by the
Tattler'
s situation than he wanted to admit.

“So what will you do?” she asked.

“I’m not sure. I still believe the city needs a good, blue-collar newspaper. Maybe I just need to rethink how the
Tattler
should fit in.” He grinned. “What do you think I should do with my smutty rag? Should I clean it up and go after my share of the brie and Chablis set?”

“I think you should trust your instincts. That’s what my father always said about running newspapers.”

“Sound advice.” Garrett poured out the last of the wine. “Shall we get another?”

Kellen smiled, shaking her head. “I’m half-drunk now.” She leaned back, closing her eyes and stretching her arms languidly above her head. She looked back at Garrett in time to see him watching her and she resisted the urge to pull the gaping neckline of her blouse together.

“So what were you doing in Portland?” he said.

S
ince Garrett’s return, they had not once discussed the newspapers. All she had was his one declaration that he now wanted her, not them. She wanted to believe him, not just for the security of the newspapers but for her own sake. She realized in that one moment that she had called him in the belief that they would take up where they left off in Carmel-—an affair, purely sexual and uncomplicated. But seeing him now, she knew that was not what she wanted at all. She wanted, with all her heart, to trust him enough to love him again.

“Learning,” she said finally.

She went on to tell him about her visits to the papers, about the problems she saw and the solutions she was considering. She told him, too, about the morning conversion plan to help the
Times
. He listened intently to all of it then leaned back in his chair.

“Your brother called me the other day,” he said. “He’s pressuring me to buy again. He’s lowered his asking price.”

“What did you say?”

“The same thing I told you. That I’m not interested.”

“You were right about him, Garrett. He’s crippled the newspapers.”

“But you’ll change that.”

She looked back at him, surprised.

“Eight years ago, I didn’t think you could,” he added. “Which is one reason I came in and tried to take over. But you’ve changed. I don’t know what it is exactly.
It’s as if you’ve finally grabbed ahold of what’s yours instead of waiting for someone to just hand it to you.”

His words were so unexpected that she could only stare at him.

“But Ian’s hard to fight,” she said. She fought back tears. “Sometimes I’m so angry at my father,” she said softly. “For leaving me with...”

She got up abruptly, went to the sofa and sat down, her back to him. After a moment, Garrett came over to her.

She turned to him, dry-eyed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know where that came from. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. Going to his newspapers, hearing so many people talk about him in the past few weeks.”

He took her into his arms and kissed her.

She looked at him. “Make love to me,” she said softly.

He eased her down on the sofa, his lips moving down to her neck. He undressed her slowly then took off his robe. She gave herself over to the luxury of selfishness, allowing him to do what he wanted. It was a new sensation for her; their lovemaking before had always been tinged with an urgent competitive tension. Now, he just wanted to please her, and she wanted to let him.

When it was over, she lay against Garrett’s chest, thinking about many things. About how much they had both changed in the last eight years. About Sara. And about how one thing had not changed -- the strange powerful bond she had felt with Garrett that first time in Paris was still there. She stared up at the blue-and-gilt ceiling, thinking about all of it.

It was only after she was about to drift off to sleep that she realized that not once had she thought about Stephen.

The next day, Garrett chartered a plane, saying he wanted to see the Grand Canyon. They sat silently, faces pressed to the window, as the plane swooped over the panorama of russet gorges and purple shadows. Far below, the Colorado River was a winding gold ribbon, glinting in the sun.

“I’ve never seen such colors,” Garrett said. He was leaning over Kellen to look out the window, and she reached up and ran her hand slowly through his hair. The tender possessive gesture surprised him and he looked at her.

“I have to go home tonight,” she said.

“I was hoping we’d have more time.”

“I have to get home. I’ve been away more than a month.”

“Well, I didn’t even get a chance to lose some money,” he said, trying for lightness. He smiled. “But I guess I can do that in New York, right?”

She turned away, on the pretense of looking out the window. He took her hand.

“I love you, Kellen,” he said.

She leaned her forehead against the glass, shutting her eyes. Her fingers intertwined tightly with his.

“I don’t know yet what I want from this, Garrett,” she said softly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I just know I have to be with you.”

He looked at her, saying nothing.

“We’ve got to be careful,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt Stephen. Please understand.”

Garrett looked at her for a moment then leaned forward and picked up the intercom. “We’re going back now,” he said to the pilot. The plane banked to the left and headed south. They were silent, both staring absently out the windows until Las Vegas appeared below, in the daytime just a smear of dull colors in the khaki-colored desert.

“Kellen, listen to me,” Garrett said. “I know I said I wouldn’t pressure you but there’s something I have to say.” He paused. “Maybe you don’t know what you want out of this, but I do. I don’t want you to just fall in and out of my bed whenever you feel the need. I want a future with you. Why in the hell do you think I came back after all these years?”