Passion's Promise (29 page)

"Kezia, are you all right?"

And now it was back to that again. "Yes, Edward, I'm fine. Honest. Well have lunch next week when I get back, and you can see for yourself. I'll even meet you at La Cote Basque."

"Dear lady, how kind you are."

She laughed at him and they hung up after a few moments of business: they had some new tax shelters to discuss.

"Luke looked up from his reading with a quizzical eye.

"Who was that?" He knew it had to be Edward or Simpson.

"Edward."

"You can tell him you'll have lunch with him sooner. If you want."

"Are you sending me back?" They had been gone for ten days.

"No, you jerk." He grinned at the look on her face. "I just thought we'd go back tomorrow. You've got your work to consider, and I have to commute to D.C. for
the
rest of the week. There's a series of closed meetings for the moratorium that I want to attend, and I can catch another speaking engagement or two down there. Washington seems to love me." The checks had been coming in with pleasing regularity. "I just thought we'd settle down in New York for a couple of weeks."

She laughed at him, relieved. "Are you sure you can stand staying anyplace for that long?"

"I'll sure try." He slapped her behind as he walked to the bar and poured himself a bourbon and water.

"Luke?" She was lying on the bed, looking pensive.

"Yeah?"

"What am I going to do about the column?"

"That's up to you, babe. You've got to make up your own mind on that. Do you dig writing it?"

"Once in a while. But not lately. Not for a long time, in fact."

"Then maybe it's time to quit, for your own sake. But don't give it up for me. Do what you want. And if you've got to stick around New York covering fancy parties, then you do that. You've got to take care of your business too. Don't forget that."

"I'll see how I feel about it after next week. I'll do my usual thing when we go back to New York. Then I'll see how it feels." With Luke commuting to Washington, she'd have plenty of time to hit her old circuit.

After four days in New York, she had been to the opening of a play, the closing of a theater, two lunches for ambassadors' wives, and a charity fashion show. Her feet hurt, her mind ached, and her ears were numbed by the constant flow of idle gossip. Who gave a damn? Kezia didn't. Not anymore.

"Lucas, if I ever hear the word 'divine' again, I think I'm going to throw up."

"You look tired." She looked more than tired. She looked drained, and she felt it.

"I am tired, and I hate all that fucking shit." She had even made it to a meeting of the Arthritis Ball that day. Tiffany had passed out in the John. And she couldn't even use it for the column. The only good piece of information she'd picked up was that Marina and Halpern were getting married. But so what? Who cared?

"What are we doing this weekend?" If he told her that they were going to Chicago, she would have a fit of hysterics. She didn't want to go anywhere, except bed.

"Nothing. Maybe I'll go up and see Al. Want to have him for dinner?" He was sitting on the edge of the bed and looked as tired as she.

"That, I would love. I'll cook something here." He smiled at the domestic exchange and she picked up on what he was thinking. "It's neat, isn't it, Luke? Sometimes I wonder if you love it all as much as I do. I've never lived like this before."

He grinned at her, knowing how true that was.

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. And I probably love it even more than you do. I'm beginning to wonder how I survived without you before this." He slipped into bed beside her, and she turned off the light. He had his own keys to the apartment, and used the answering service as his, she had cleaned out a closet for him, and the maid had finally even smiled at him. Once. She called him "Mister Luke."

"You know something, darling? We're lucky. Incredibly lucky." She was pleased with herself, as though she had caught a falling star in her hands.

"Yes, baby, we are." Even if only for now. . . .

"Well, gentlemen, I propose a toast to the demise of Martin Hallam."

"Lucas, what does she mean?" Alejandro looked puzzled and Luke looked at her curiously. This was the first he had heard of it.

"Kezia, does this mean what I think?"

"Yes, sir. It does. After seven years of writing the Martin Hallam column, I quit. I did it today."

Luke looked at her, shocked. "What did they say?"

"They don't know yet. I told Simpson today, and he's going to handle the rest. They'll know tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" It wasn't too late to reverse the decision.

"I have never been so sure in my life. I don't have the time for that garbage anymore. Or the inclination to waste my time doing it" She saw a strange look pass between Luke and Alejandro, and wondered why no one seemed impressed. "Well, you two are certainly a lousy audience for my big announcement.

Phooey on both of you."

Alejandro smiled and Luke laughed.

"I guess we're just kind of shocked, babe. And I suddenly wondered if you're doing it because of me."

"Not really, darling. It's my decision. I don't want to have to go to those shitty parties for the rest of my life. You saw how tired I was this week. And for what? It's just not my thing anymore."

"Have you told Edward?" He looked worried, and Alejandro was looking daggers at him.

"No. I'll callhim tomorrow. You're the first two to know after Simpson. And you're a couple of creeps."

"I'm sorry, baby. It's just sort of a shock." He lifted his glass to her then, a nervous smile on his face. "To Martin Hallam then." Alejandro raised his glass in response, but his eyes never left Lucas* face.

"To Martin Hallam. Rest in peace."

"Amen." Kezia drained her glass in one gulp.

"No, Edward. I'm sure. And Simpson agrees. It's a diversion I don't really have time for anymore. I want to stick with serious writing."

"But
it's
such a drastic step, Kezia. You're used to the column. Everyone's used to it. It's become an institution. Have you given this decision adequate thought?"

"Of course I have. For months. And the fact is, darling, that I don't want to be an 'institution.' Not that kind of institution. I want to be a writer, a good one, not a gossip monger amongst fools. Really, darling, you'll see. It's the best possible decision."

"Kezia, you're making me nervous."

"Don't be ridiculous. Why?" She swung her foot as she sat at her desk. She had called him right after Luke left the house for a morning of meetings. At least Luke had come around, after the first shock. And Simpson had applauded the decision, and said it was high time.

"I wish I knew why you make me nervous. I think it's because I get the feeling I don't know what you're up to, not that it's really any of my business." But he wanted it to be. That was the rub.

"Edward, you're going to make yourself senile worrying about nothing." He was beginning to annoy her.

Constantly.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" It was almost an accusation.

"Going away." But he didn't dare ask where. And she didn't volunteer the information. They were going back to Chicago.

"All right, all right. Dammit, Kezia, I'm sorry. It's just that, in my mind, you will always be a child."

"And I will always love you, and you will always worry too much. Over nothing."

He had made her uncomfortable, though. After they hung up, she sat silently and wondered. Was she crazy to stop writing the column? At one time, it had been so important to her. But not anymore. But still . . . was she losing touch with who and what she was? In a way, she had done it for Luke. And for herself. Because she wanted to be free to move around with him, and besides, she had outgrown the column years ago.

But suddenly, she wanted to discuss it with Luke. He was gone for the day. She could call Alejandro, but she hated to bother him. It was a queasy feeling, like leaving the dock in the fog, headed for an unknown destination. But she had made her decision. She would live by it. Martin Hallam was dead. It was a simple decision really. The column was over.

She sat back at her desk and stretched, and decided to go for a walk. It was a gray November day, and there was a nip of winter in the air. It made her want to throw a long wool scarf around her neck and run to the park. She felt suddenly free of an old wearisome burden. The weight of Martin Hallam had finally slipped from her shoulders.

Kezia grabbed an old sheepskin jacket from her closet and slipped tall black custom-made boots under her carefully pressed jeans. She dug a small knitted red cap from the pocket of her jacket, and took a pair of gloves from a shelf. She felt new again now. A writer of anything she wanted, not a scavenger of social crumbs. A small smile hovered on her lips, and there was a mischievous gleam in her eye as she headed for the park, with long strides. What a marvelous day, and ft wasn't even lunchtime yet. She thought about buying a picnic to eat in the park, but decided not to bother. Instead, she bought a small bag of hot roasted chestnuts from an old gnarled man pushing a steaming cart along Fifth Avenue. He grinned at her toothlessly and she waved at him over her shoulder as she walked away. He was sweet really. Everyone was. Everyone suddenly looked as new as she felt.

She was well into the park and halfway through the chestnuts when she looked ahead and saw the woman trip and fall on the curb. She had spun out into the street close to the clomping feet of an aging horse pulling a shabby hansom carriage through the park. The woman lay very still for a moment, and the driver of the carriage stood and pulled at the horse's reins. The horse seemed not even to have noticed the bundle near his hoofs. She was wearing a dark fur coat and her hair was very blond. It was all Ke-zia could see. She frowned and quickened her pace, shoving the chestnuts into her pocket, and then breaking into a trot as the driver of the hansom jumped from his platform, still holding the reins. The woman stirred then, knelt and lurched forward, into the horse's legs this time. The horse shied, and his owner pushed the woman away. She sat down heavily on the pavement then, but mercifully free of the horse's legs at last.

"What the hell'sa matta wi'youse? Ya crazy?" His eyes bulged furiously as he continued to back his horse away and stare at the woman. Kezia could only see the back of her head, as she shook her head mutely.

He mounted his platform then, and clucked his horse back into motion, with a last flick of his middle finger at the still-seated woman, and a "Stupid bitch!" His passengers were obscured beyond a scratched and smoky window in the carriage, and the ancient horse continued plodding, so used to his route that bombs could have shattered near his feet and he would have continued in the well-worn groove he had traveled for years.

Kezia saw the woman shake her head fuzzily and kneel slowly on the pavement. She ran the last few steps then, wondering if the woman had been hurt, and what had caused her to fall. The dark fur coat was fanned out behind her now, and it was obvious that it was a long and rather splendid mink. Kezia heard a dry little cough from the woman just as she reached her, and then she saw her turn her head. What she saw made her stop, shocked by who it was and how stricken she looked. It was Tiffany, her face gaunt yet swollen, her eyes puffy, yet her cheeks were pulled inward, with painful lines near her eyes and mouth. It wasn't yet noon, and she was already drunk.

"Tiffany?" Kezia knelt beside her and smoothed a hand over her hair. It was uncombed and disheveled and there was no makeup on the ravaged face. "Tiffie . . . it's me. Kezia."

"Hi." Tiffany seemed to look somewhere past Kezia's left ear, unknowing, unseeing, uncaring. "Where's Uncle Kee?"

Uncle Kee.Jesus, she meant Kezia's father. Uncle Kee. She hadn't heard that in so long . . . Uncle Kee . . . Daddy . . .

"Tiffie, are you hurt?"

"Hurt?" She looked up vaguely, seeming not to understand.

"The horse, Tiff. Did it hurt you?"

"Horse?" She wore the smile of a child now, and seemed to understand. "Oh, horse. Oh, no, I ride all the time." She stood up shakily then, and dusted off her hands and the front of her long black mink coat.

Kezia looked down and saw torn gray stockings and one bruised black suede Gucci shoe. The coat gaped a little and Kezia caught a glimpse of a dressy black velvet skirt and a white satin shut, with several rows of large gray and white pearls. It was no outfit to be roaming the park in, nor was it an outfit for that time of day. Kezia wondered if she'd been home the night before.

"Where are you going?"

"To the Lombards'. For dinner." So that was where she'd been. Kezia had been invited there too, but had turned down the invitation weeks ago. The Lombards. But that had been last night What had happened since?

"How about if I take you home?"

"To my house?" Tiffany looked suddenly wary.

"Sure." Kezia tried to put an easy tone in her voice, while holding Tiffany up firmly by one elbow.

"No! Not my house! No. . . ." She bolted from Kezia's grip then and stumbled, and was instantly sick at Kezia's feet and over her own black suede shoes. She sat down on the pavement again and began to cry, the black mink trailing sadly in her own bile.

Kezia felt hot tears burn her eyes as she reached down to her friend and tried to pull her up again.

"Come on, Tiffie . . . let's go."

"No ... I ... oh God, Kezia . . . please . . ." She clutched at Kezia's denim-clad legs, and looked up at her with eyes torn by a thousand private demons. Kezia reached gently down to her and pulled her up again, as she saw a cab swoop around the bend from which the hansom cab had appeared only moments before. She held up a hand quickly and hailed it, and then pulled Tiffany closer. "No!" It was the anguished wail of a heartbroken child, and Kezia felt her friend trembling in her arms.

"Come on, we'll go to my place."

"I'm going to be sick." She closed her eyes and sank toward Kezia again, as the cabbie darted out and threw open the door.

"No, you're not. Let's get in." She managed to slide Tiffany onto the seat and gave the driver her own address as she rolled down both windows to give her friend air. It was then that she noticed that Tiffany wasn't carrying a handbag.