Now You See Her (21 page)

“Oh, don't worry,” Candra sneered. “I'm too adult to brawl over a man, though that's probably what you were used to before you met me. Isn't that what your beer-swilling, country-fried little southern girls do?”

Sweeney cleared her throat. “Actually,” she said to Richard's back, “I was born in Italy.”

“Who gives a fuck where you were born!” Candra screamed. Sweeney peeked around Richard's back and saw tears running down Candra's face, ruining her perfect makeup. “You're an unsophisticated hayseed, so he should feel very comfortable with you! But I promise you, you'll never sell another piece of
work at
my
gallery, and no one else in town will touch you either after I—”

Sweeney felt Richard's temper snap. He took a single step toward Candra as the elevator lurched to a stop and the doors slid open. Her face blanching, Candra backed away from him.

“You're damn right I feel comfortable with her,” he said in a tone so low Sweeney could barely hear him. “You don't know how great it feels to be with a woman who doesn't crawl into bed with every swinging dick she meets, the way you did. Yeah, I knew about all your men, every one of them, but you know what? I didn't give a damn, because I didn't give a damn about you. I do give a damn that you aborted my baby, though. Do you know what
hate
means, Candra? That's the best I feel about you. I warned you what I would do if you did anything to harm Sweeney's career, and I meant it, so you'd better think long and hard about any step you take.”

He towed Sweeney out of the elevator and clamped his arm around her waist again. He had taken two steps when he halted and swung back to Candra. “By the way, I've just added another condition to the settlement. Sweeney is released from any agreement with the gallery, without penalty, effective immediately.”

“Damn you, you can't keep adding conditions—”

“I can, and I have. Your only hope of getting the gallery is if you meet those conditions. If not, within three days you won't have to worry about Sweeney's career, because I'll replace you at the gallery and bar you from the premises.”

“I'll kill you if you do,” Candra shrieked, sobbing. The only other people in the small lobby were the super and a guy who lived on the second floor, but they were staring, not wanting to miss a second of the excitement. “The gallery is
mine
—
”

“No,” Richard interrupted. “The gallery is mine. Until you sign those papers the gallery is mine, and if you wait much longer, it will always be mine.”

C
HAPTER
    T
WELVE

R
ichard ushered Sweeney out onto the sidewalk, leaving Candra weeping in the lobby. He had driven himself, she saw as he led her down the street to where he had parked the Mercedes. The neighborhood wasn't the best, sort of residential going-to-seed, but neither was it the sort where such a car left parked on the street would be stripped bare within ten minutes.

They were both silent as he unlocked the car and opened the passenger door for her. She got in, trying to think what she could say. She had just learned more about Candra, and the reasons for their divorce, than she had ever wanted to know. She was a little shaken, but more for Richard's sake than her own.

He pulled the car out into traffic. “I'm sorry,” he said gruffly, after another minute of silence. “I know
one of the reasons you didn't want to get involved with me was because you wanted to avoid scenes like that.”

“It wasn't your fault; it was hers.” The traffic light ahead of them turned green. She looked down at her hands. “I'm sorry too. About—about the abortion. I didn't know.”

“She did it over two years ago.” His mouth was a grim line. “I didn't find out about it until right after you moved to the city. I put her out of the town house right then, and filed for divorce the next day.”

“You wanted children?” Stupid, she berated herself. Of course he had wanted the child, even after the fact, or he wouldn't have been so upset on learning about the abortion.

“Not by then. Not with her. Her pregnancy was an accident. But once she was pregnant—that was different. It existed. It was my child.”

Sweeney couldn't imagine being Richard's wife and aborting his child. She had never thought of children in relation to herself, period. She especially couldn't imagine her father caring what happened to any of his offspring, unborn or born. “How did you find out?”

“She told me. We were arguing, she was drinking—she told me.”

The second traffic light turned green as they approached. He glanced at her. “I think I need you in the car with me from now on.”

Understanding that he needed to change the subject, she relaxed back against the seat. “Where are we going?”

“To a little diner I know, nothing fancy.”

“Good. I don't do fancy very well.”

The little diner was across the river in New Jersey. They made it to and through the Holland tunnel in record time, which made Sweeney feel a little smug. If he had doubted her about the traffic lights, he couldn't now.

They managed to snag a booth in the diner, which couldn't have changed much since the 1950s. Over eggs and coffee she said, “I thought the gallery was Candra's.”

“She ran it. I own it.”

“You were going to buy one of my paintings from your own gallery? And pay commission?”

He shrugged. “If Candra doesn't sign the papers by the deadline and I keep the gallery, commission doesn't come into it. She'll sign, though. It's in her best interest.”

“What if she doesn't? She was furious to find you with me, and she might make the divorce as difficult as possible.”

“I'd break her,” he said softly. “She wouldn't have a dime left, and she knows it.”

Something else occurred to her. “I wonder why she was going to my apartment.”

“She isn't stupid, and she knows me too well. She could tell I was interested in you, that day in the gallery, and she figured it out almost immediately. A few days ago she came to the town house and made an offer: if I upped the settlement amount, she wouldn't prevent any future sales of your work. She didn't like my counter offer.”

“I can imagine.” And she could; Richard would make a dangerous enemy. “But still, why come to me?”

“To ask you to convince me to raise the settlement.”

“Then why act so shocked to see us together, if she already thought we were involved?”

“Until then, she was just guessing. And thinking I was interested in you isn't the same as seeing us together so early in the morning, at your apartment.”

Not to mention Candra had immediately realized Richard's presence thwarted her plan to ask Sweeney for assistance. Sweeney said, “I've made things more difficult for you, haven't I?”

“By existing? Yeah, you have.” He eyed her over the table. “You keep me awake nights, you worry me, you drive me crazy.”

She nudged his leg with her toe. “I'm serious.”

“So am I, sweetie.”

She frowned at him, diverted. “You're saying my name funny. What're you doing to it?”

“Nothing,” he said, but he smiled.

Deciding she wasn't going to get anything out of him right now, Sweeney looked out the window of the diner, indulging herself for a moment by watching faces. A stooped old man, with tufts of hair on his ears and in his nostrils, walked by holding the hand of a chattering preschooler, a little girl wearing a dainty yellow sundress and a perky ponytail. The indulgent smile on his face shouted “grandfather.” Or maybe “great-grandfather.” Next was a young woman carrying her toddler in a backpack. She
strode along as if she had a world to conquer, but she had tied a red balloon to the frame of the backpack and the baby's chubby little hand had managed to grab the string; he was staring in wonder at the balloon, which bobbed every time he moved. His eyes were round, his lips a perfect pink bow, and his cornsilk hair stood straight out like a dandelion. Sweeney watched until they were out of sight.

She applied herself to her eggs for a moment, then snorted as she remembered something.

“What?” Richard said, and she marveled at how fast they had settled into the shorthand communication of longtime couples.

“‘Beer-swilling, country-fried little southern girls.'” she said, and they both began laughing.

*   *   *

Candra couldn't stop crying, even though she knew it was stupid. She caught a taxi to the gallery, blubbering all the while. The cabdriver kept eyeing her in the mirror, but he didn't speak much English and she made it a point not to encourage chatty cab-drivers anyway.

She had one tissue in her purse, and it was inadequate for the repair job needed. She blotted her eyes instead of wiping them, to keep from destroying the remnants of her makeup, but more damn tears kept falling.

Damn him. Damn Sweeney. Damn both of them, for looking so ... so together. She couldn't believe
Sweeney,
of all people, could be so sly and sneaky, or could lie so effectively. When Candra remembered her phone call to Sweeney the morning after the
McMillan fiasco, she burned with humiliation. Richard had probably been with her then; they might have just gotten out of bed, and afterward they had probably laughed about the phone call.

Candra hurt, in a way she had never imagined she could hurt. Until now, though she had known she had lost him, in a way he had still been hers, because no one else had taken her place. Now someone had, and she knew, finally, irrevocably, deep in her bones, that Richard was gone. She had lost him, thrown him away, and she would never love anyone else the way she loved him. Still loved him, even now. He was the strongest person she had ever known and she couldn't stop admiring him even when that strength was turned against her. Was Sweeney capable of understanding, of appreciating what she had, or was she so damn inexperienced she had no idea?

That inexperience was what had drawn Richard to her, of course, because God knows she had no style, and her conversation often bordered on the absurd. He had even admitted as much. Candra couldn't understand what men saw in her, but even Kai said Sweeney was “cool.” She was pretty enough, Candra supposed, if you could overlook the fact that she often had paint in her hair and didn't know what day of the week it was.

She couldn't imagine Richard finding that attractive. He was so organized, so logical and work-oriented, she would have thought Sweeney would drive him mad within two days.

Her nails dug into her palms. Today Sweeney
had . . . glowed. Candra closed her eyes against the remembered shock of stepping out of the elevator and seeing Richard and Sweeney together. Sweeney wore the look of a woman who had been well and truly loved the night before, and perhaps that morning, too—and, knowing Richard, several times during the night.

Candra couldn't believe she had made such a fool of herself. Screaming like a fishwife,
crying,
for God's sake. Richard had known why she was there, of course. Now she wouldn't have any chance of getting to Sweeney, not that Sweeney was likely to listen to her after that little scene. She had blown her last chance to get the settlement reinstated. Now her only hope was Carson, and it looked as if he needed nudging.

Kai had just opened the gallery when she got there; no customers had come in yet, thank God. She paid the cab and hurried through the door before anyone she knew saw her.

Kai stared at her, eyebrows lifted. “Rough morning?” he silkily inquired.

“Go to hell.” She sailed past him into her office and got her cosmetic bag from the desk, then went into the bathroom. She winced when she looked in the mirror. Her face was blotched, her nose red, and her eyes looked like raccoon eyes. She needed to completely remove her makeup and start over, but she didn't have any cream with her. She did the best she could with wet paper napkins, and applied cool compresses to her eyes and face to take down the swelling and even out her color.

Kai sauntered in as she was reapplying her foundation. “Do you mind?” she snapped.

He ignored her protest and propped his rear end beside her on the vanity, crossing his arms over his chest. “There, there. What's Richard done now?”

“What makes you think this is about Richard?” She blew her nose and threw the tissue in the trash, then repaired the smudges.

He watched her take out her compact and dab powder over her face. “Because he's been making you dance to his tune for a year now, and you have a temper tantrum every time things don't go your way.”

“I do not ‘dance to his tune,' or anyone else's,” she said furiously.

“Of course not, darling.”

“I'm not your darling, and don't forget it. You're just an occasional lay.”

“My, we are in a snit, aren't we? He must have refused to reinstate the settlement.”

She whirled on him, mouth working with rage. “How do you know anything about the settlement?”

“There was a message from your lawyer on the answering machine. She strongly advises you to sign the papers posthaste, before you lose your ass and can't pay her. She didn't say so in so many words, of course, but that's what she means.”

“How dare you listen to my messages!” She sounded like a Victorian maiden, she thought in disgust.

“It was on your business machine, darling, not your home machine. Perhaps you should instruct
your attorney not to leave personal messages at work—assuming you'll be here much longer, that is.”

“If I am, you can bet you won't be, pretty boy,” she snarled. She jerked open the door. “Get out.”

He went, with a sulky look on his pretty face. Candra took a deep breath, fighting the urge to sit down on the toilet lid and bawl. She had to get control of herself. She had totally ruined things this morning by being emotional, and now she would have to pacify Kai. She didn't feel like having sex, but it would probably take that to get him over his pout.