Passion's Promise (31 page)

..." He met her lips with his own and after a moment she pushed him gently away with a look both happy and sad on her face. "Luke ... I have to go."

"I know." He was sober now too, and helped her on with her coat. "Just take it easy." She nodded, kissed him, and was gone.

The church was already filled when she got there, and Edward was waiting discreetly near a door. He signaled silently to her, and she joined him, slipping a hand inside his arm.

"You look lovely." His voice was a whisper and she nodded, as he tightened his grip on her arm. They were ushered up the main aisle, and Kezia tried not to see the casket draped in a blanket of white roses.

Mother Benjamin sat piously in the front pew with her widower son and his two children. Kezia felt the breath catch in her throat as she saw them, and she wanted to scream "Killer!" at the bowed head of her friend's mother-in-law. "Killer! You killed her, with your fucking threats of divorce and taking the children . . . you . . ."

"Thank you." She heard Edward's subdued voice as the usher showed them to a pew near the middle.

Whit was standing three pews ahead.

He looked thinner, and suddenly more openly effeminate in an over-tailored Cardin suit that clutched at his waist, and seemed to hang too closely across his back. She suspected the suit had been a gift from his friend. It was not the sort of thing Whit would have bought for himself.

Marina was there too, with Halpern, looking embarrassingly .happy in spite of the setting. They were getting married at New Year's in Palm Beach. Marina looked as if her troubles were over.

Kezia found it hard not to cast the eye of Martin Hallam about, looking for people, tidbits, stories. But she couldn't hide behind him anymore. Now he was dead too. And she was simply Kezia Saint Martin, mourning her friend. The tears ran freely down her face as they carried the casket down the aisle, to the maroon limousine that waited outside. Two policemen had been detailed to redirect traffic around the long snaking line of limousines, not a single one of which was rented. It was all the real thing. And as was to be expected, an army of press lay in wait for the mourners as they left.

It was hard to believe that it was all over. They had had so much fun in school, had written to each other from their respective colleges. Kezia had been Tiffany's maid of honor when she married Bill, had laughed at her when she was pregnant. When did the end start? When did the drinking make her a drunk? Was it then, after the first baby? Or after the second? Was it later? Had she been before? The awful part was that now it seemed as though she had always been that way, always lurching, vague, dropping "Di-vine"s like rabbit pellets everywhere she went. It was this Tiffany that leapt to mind, the drunken, vomiting, confused Tiffany . . . not the funny girl in school . . . that mock salute at the door that last day . . . that ... see ya ... see ya . . . see ya. . . .

Kezia found herself staring blankly at the backs of people's heads and felt Edward guiding her slowly out of the pew. It was a long wait at the line where she shook hands with assorted relatives. Bill looked officious and solemn, dispensing small smiles and understanding nods like an undertaker instead of a husband. The children looked confused. Everywhere people were looking around, checking out who was there, what they had worn, and clucking and shaking their heads over Tiffany .. . Tiffany the drunk . . . Tiffany the lush . . . Tiffany the ... friend. And it was aU so much like Kezia's mother's funeral that it was unbearable. Not only to her, but to Edward. He looked gray when they left the church at last. Kezia took a deep breath, patted his hand and looked up at the sky.

"Edward, when I die, I want you to see to it that I'm tossed into the Hudson, or something equally simple and pleasant. If you do one of these numbers for me, I'll haunt you for the rest of your life." She was not entirely joking. But Edward looked at her with an unhappy expression.

"I hope I won't be around to worry about it. Do you want to go to the cemetery?" She hesitated for a moment, and then shook her head, remembering her promise to Luke. This had been bad enough.

"No, I don't. Are you going?"

He nodded painfully.

"Why?" Because he ought to. She knew the answer too well. That's what killed people like Tiffany.

Ought to's.

"Really, Kezia. One ought . . ." She didn't wait to hear the end of it. She merely leaned over, kissed his cheek, and started down the steps.

"I know, Edward. Take care."

He had wanted to ask her what she was doing later, but he never got the chance, and he didn't want to impose on her. He never did. It didn't seem right to trouble her. She had her own life to live, but it had been such a wretched day. Such a bad day for him. It all reminded bun so much of Liane. Of that godawful, unbearable day when. ... He watched Kezia slip easily into a cab, and wiped a tear quickly from his cheek. He was smiling a small, appropriate smile when she looked back at him from the rear window.

"How was it?" Luke was waiting for her with hot tea.

"Horrible. Thanks, darling." She took a sip of the tea before she took off the black Saint Laurent coat, and with her free hand pulled the dark mink hat from her head. "It  was ghastly. Her mother-in-law even had the bad taste to bring the kids." But Kezia had been at her mother's funeral too. Maybe that was just the way things had to be. As painful as possible to make them seem real.

"Do you want to go out to dinner, or have something sent in?"

She shrugged, not really caring. Something was bothering her. Everything was.

"Baby, what's wrong? Did it hit you that hard? I told you. . . ." He looked at her unhappily.

"I know. I know. But it's upsetting . . . and maybe something else is bothering me. I don't know what. Maybe it's seeing all those fossils who still think they own me. Maybe it's growing pains. Ill be okay. I'm probably just depressed about Tiffany."

"You sure it's not something else?" He was troubled, more than she knew.

"I told you, I don't know. But it's no big deal. There have just been a lot of changes lately . . . quitting the column . . . you know. It's time to grow up, and that's never easy." She tried to smile but his eyes didn't answer.

"Kezia, am I making you unhappy?"

"Oh, darling, no!" She was horrified. What a ridiculous thought. And what the hell had he been worrying about all afternoon, she wondered. He looked lousy.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. I'm positive, Lucas. Really." She leaned over to kiss him and saw sadness in his eyes. Maybe it was compassion for her, but what she saw touched her deeply.

"Are you sorry about having given up the column?"

"No, I'm glad. Honestly glad. It just feels odd when things change. Makes one insecure. It does me, anyway."

"Yeah." He nodded and stayed silent for a long time as she finished her tea, her coat now tossed on a chair, the black dress she wore making her look more severe. He watched her and it was a long time before he spoke again. There was an odd note in his voice when he did. The bantering of earlier in the day was gone.

"Kezia . . . there's something I have to tell you."

She looked up, all innocence, trying to smile. "What is it, love?" And then she joked, "You're secretly married and have fifteen children?" She spoke with the confidence of a woman who knows that there are no secrets one.

"No, you jerk. I'm not married. But there's something else."

"Give me a hint." But for once she didn't look worried. It couldn't be important or he wouldn't be bringing it up now. He knew she was upset about Tiffany.

"Babe, I don't know any way to tell you, except to put it to you straight. But I have to tell you. It just can't wait anymore. I'm up for a revocation hearing." The words fell into the room like a bomb.

Everything smashed and then stopped.

"A what?" She couldn't have heard him correctly . . . couldn't have. She was dreaming. This was one of his nightmares and she'd overheard by mistake.

"A hearing. I'm up for a hearing. About my parole. They want to revoke me for conspiracy to provoke disturbances in the prisons. In other words, agitation."

"Oh God, Lucas. . . . Tell me you're joking." She closed her eyes and sat very still, as though she were waiting, but he could see her clenched hands shake in her lap.

"No, babe, I'm not kidding. I wish I were, but I'm not." He reached out and took both her small hands in his. Her eyes opened slowly, drowning in tears.

"How long have you known?**

"There's been a threat of it for a while. Since before I met you, in fact. But I never believed it would happen. I got confirmation of the hearing today. What really did it, I think, was the San Quentin work strike. They got pissed enough to grab my ass this time." That, and kill Morrissey.

"Jesus. What'll we do?" Her face looked limp as the tears flowed in silence. "Can they prove you were involved in that strike?"

He shook his head in answer, but he didn't look encouraged. "No. But that's why they're so pissed. Now they'll try to get me on anything they can. But we'll do our damnedest I have a good lawyer. And I'm lucky. A few years ago, you couldn't have an attorney at hearings to revoke your parole. Just you and the board. So, cheer up, things could have been worse. We have a good lawyer, we have each other. And they can't object to our life-style, it's as clean as they come. We'll just have to do what you do with these things. Wait it out till the hearing, and then put up a good fight"

But they both knew that the key issue was neither the fight, nor his life-style. He was accused of agitation. And it was all true. "Come on, Mama, hang tough." He leaned over to kiss her, taking her into his arms, but her body was stiff and unyielding, her face bent as the tears continued to flow. He saw her knees shake as he looked down at her lap. He felt as though he had killed her. And in a way, he was right.

"When is the hearing?" She expected to hear that it was the next day.

"It's still more than six weeks away. January eighth, in San Francisco."

"And then what?"

"What do you mean, 'and then what?*" She was sitting so still that she frightened him.

"What if they make you go back?"

"That won't happen." His voice was deep and subdued.

"But what if it does, dammit, Luke?" Her shriek of pain and fear slashed through the silence.

"Kezia, it won't!" He lowered his voice and tried to calm her, while fighting his own desperation. This was not at all what he'd planned. But what could he expect? He should have known this from the beginning. He had led her gently away from her home, into his, and now he was sitting there telling her that their house might burn down. The look in her eyes made her an orphan again. And her pain was his doing. He felt the weight of it like a cement sack around his heart.

"Darling, if s not going to happen like that. And if it does—and that's only an 'if—then we live with it. We both have the balls to do that If we have to." He knew he did. But did she? Not the way she looked then.

"Lucas . . . no!" Her voice was a barely audible whisper.

"Baby, I'm so sorry. . . ." There was nothing more he could say. The thing that he'd feared for so long had finally happened. Only the joke of it was that before Kezia he hadn't feared it the same way. Hadn't feared it at all. He had regarded it as a potential price to pay, a possible inconvenience. He had had nothing to lose . . . and now he had it all ... and it was all on the line. And she had to pay the price with him. But she had to be told. Alejandro had told him that for weeks, and he had stalled, and evaded, and lied to himself. There was no lying now. The notice lay crumpled in a ball on the desk. They had taken the matter out of his hands . . . and now look at the mess. ... He lifted her chin gently with one hand, and sought her lips tenderly with his. It was all he could give her, what he felt, what he was, how he loved her. They still had another six weeks. If no one murdered him first. 

For Thanksgiving, they had hot turkey sandwiches in their room at the hotel in Chicago. The revocation hung over then- heads, but they had fought hard to ignore it They rarely discussed it, except once in a while, late at night They had six weeks till the hearing, and Kezia was determined not to let the threat of it ruin their life. She fought for gaiety with an almost unbearable determination. Lucas knew what was happening to her, but there was so little he could do. He couldn't wish the hearing away. His own nightmares were back, and he didn't like the way Kezia looked. She was already losing weight. But she was game. She made the same old jokes, they had a good time. They suddenly made love two and three times a day, sometimes four, as though to stock up on what they might lose. Six weeks was so short.

When they went back to New York, there were only five left

"Kezia, you don't look well. You don't look well at all."

"Edward, my darling, you're driving me mad."

"I want to know what you're up to." The waiters swished past them and poured more Louis Roederer champagne.

"You're prying."

"YES, I am." He looked sour, and old. She looked tired, and far older than she had so briefly before.

"All right. I'm in love."

"I assumed that much. And he's married?"

"Why do you always assume that the men I go out with are married? Because I'm discreet? Hell, I have a right to be that, I've learned that much over the years."

"Yes, but you don't have a right to indulge in sheer folly."

No, just a right to misery, darling, and shitty rotten luck. Right, Edward? Of course. Or is it just a right to duty and pain? "Folly, in this case, dear Edward, is a beautiful man whom I adore. We have more or less lived and traveled together for more than two months now. And just before Thanksgiving, we found out . . . that . . ." Her voice caught and her heart trembled as she wondered what she was doing . . . "We found out that he's sick. Terribly sick."

Edward's face suddenly looked pinched. "What sort of sick?"

"We're not sure." She was into it now. She almost believed it herself. It was easier than the truth, and it would get him off her back for a while. "They're attempting treatment, and at this point he has about a fifty-fifty chance of living. Which is why I don't 'look well.' Satisfied?" Her voice was ripe with bitterness, her eyes dulled with tears.