Pirate's Gold (17 page)

“I just don't know when I'll finish with everything I have to get done. If you remember, I've got to put ‘Yesterday's Heart' into production immediately. Ted Bensen and I are going to run over the first scenes. They're a little tricky since the setting is the Depression. We have to be sure that the sites appear authentic and that there are no modern trappings to mar the effect.”

“Then I'll call you at the office.”

“Fine,” she agreed, standing. “I'll try and wrap up everything by five, if I can, and I'll bring the paperwork to La Jolla.”

She started toward the door, but his firm voice arrested her. “Maren?”

She turned inquisitively at the sound.

“Holly is living in La Jolla with me. I thought you'd want to know.”

“Your daughter? But I thought Rose had custody…”

Kyle willed back the rage that overtook him every time he thought about his scheming ex-wife. “She does,” he said. “At least, she has permanent custody for the time being.”

“So Holly is visiting you?” Maren's thoughts were confused. Hadn't she read that Kyle's daughter was recuperating from a near-fatal auto accident?

Kyle tensed. Anger flashed in his gray eyes. He was careful with his words, but Maren could read the quiet wrath smoldering beneath the surface of his gaze. “Holly will be with me a few months—longer if I get my way.” He set his cup on the table, and his shoulders slumped. “You must have read that Holly was nearly killed just before Christmas?”

Maren nodded silently, understanding for the first time the pain she had witnessed in Kyle's clear eyes. “It was a horrible accident,” Kyle whispered. “For a while I wasn't certain whether Holly would pull through it.” His voice had thickened, and he was forced to clear his throat. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that she'll be at the house.”

“And you still want me to come?”

“Of course.”

“Don't you worry about setting the wrong kind of example by throwing our affair in her face?”

“Are you worried about what she thinks about you?”

“Yes. Aren't you?”

“No.” He shook his head as if to relieve himself of a great sadness. “Holly and I don't communicate very well.”

“This won't help…”

“I think it will. Holly needs to see that I can care for someone other than myself,” he stated thoughtfully.

“And you're sure that I won't intrude?”

“Not a chance…”

Maren sighed in deliberation. Her love for Kyle overcame her fears. “Then I'll see you tonight.”

A relieved grin broke across Kyle's rugged face. “I knew you'd see things my way,” he said as he pulled a tie from the closet and knotted it around his neck before shrugging into his jacket.

“Your lack of confidence will lead to your undoing,” Maren predicted, with just the trace of a smile.

“No, I don't think so,” Kyle replied with a wink. He put his keys in his pocket. “I believe that my ‘undoing,' as you so aptly phrased it, will come from a beautiful woman with a razor-sharp tongue.”

Maren laughed, and the rich sound echoed against the rafters of Kyle's apartment. He took her arm, opened the door and held her tightly to his side as they walked to the elevator.

 

T
HE DAY WAS MORE HECTIC
than Maren had predicted. Jan called in sick, forcing one of the production personnel to answer the telephones. Maren worked with Ted Bensen on the proposed sites for the location shots on “Yesterday's Heart.” Of the three sites, only one was suitable for the Depression setting.

By the time Maren got back to the office, it was after three and her meeting with Elise Conrad and Kyle was scheduled for four. Fortunately Elise's office was nearby. Maren had just finished adjusting her lipstick and combing her hair, when the woman taking Jan's place stepped meekly into the office.

“Ms. McClure—I hate to bother you. I know that you're leaving, but this one guy keeps calling and insisting to talk to you.” She handed Maren a stack of telephone messages. They were all from Brandon. “He's adamant about talking to you.”

Maren disguised her dismay when she accepted the memos by smiling at the girl. “Thanks, Cary, I'll give him a call.”

After the young girl had exited, Maren glanced regretfully at the clock before sliding into the desk chair and dialing the phone. It was several seconds before Brandon answered.

“Hello, Brandon. My secretary told me you wanted to get hold of me.”

“Maren? What the devil took you so long?”

“I was out of the office,” Maren replied, wondering why she bothered to explain herself to him. “What's up?”

“That's what I'd like to know,” Brandon replied somewhat angrily. Maren could picture the indignant arch of his brow. “The physical therapist seems to think he's done all he can for me.”

“That's great,” Maren replied with genuine enthusiasm.

“Oh, yeah, you think so. Now you won't have to fork out for the therapy.”

“The money has nothing to do with it, Brandon. I was just relieved that you were back on your feet again.”

“If you can call it that,” he spat out.

Maren closed her eyes. The recovery she had been praying for obviously hadn't occurred. “Are you still having trouble?” she asked quietly.

“They told me I could never play tennis again.”

“They've told you all along that might be a possibility,” she reminded him softly.

“Tennis is more than just a game for me.”

“I know that, Brandon.”

“I was good. I was damn good! If it hadn't been for the accident…I'd probably have been number one last year.”

The guilt within her twisted in her heart like a dull blade. “And the physical therapist says you can't play?”

“Not professionally.”

“I assume the orthopedist concurs.”

“Who knows? I never can get a straight answer out of that guy! He seems to think that it's all in my head. Easy for him to say.”

“Have you talked to a psychiatrist?” Maren asked patiently, knowing the answer before Brandon replied.

“A shrink? Are you kidding? I don't need someone to psychoanalyze me, Maren. I need my legs back!”

“Wait a minute. The therapist says you can't play professionally. But you still can teach, right?”

“I don't know,” he pouted. “I don't want to teach. I want to play—I have to.”

“Maybe you will,” Maren encouraged. “Look how far you've come. A year ago you thought you might never walk again.”

“Well, it doesn't help to have the therapist back out on me.”

“Back out? What do you mean?”

“He seems to think that he can't do anything else for me. He wants to send me packing with a list of exercises.”

Maren tried to remain patient. “It sounds to me as if you're making real progress. You knew that it would come to this.”

“That's easy for you to say,” he shot back hotly. “You've never had your career…your entire life, ripped away from you, have you?”

Maren's free hand clenched into a tight fist. “No, Brandon, I haven't. But I know that you have to work with the doctors and not against them in order to make the most out of the situation!”

“Yeah, well, tell that to them.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

“Talk to the therapist, or get another. I'm on the verge of making it all work, I can feel it, but I've got to have help!”

“Why don't you talk to your doctors?”

“Because they won't listen to me! Damn it, Maren, is this too much to ask?”

Sighing, she replied. “No, it's not. I'm just not sure I'll have any influence.”

“People with money always have influence!”

Maren bit back the hot retort forming on her tongue. She'd never let Brandon know how expensive his treatment was. Nor had she told him how tight her own pocketbook was. She had hoped that he might recover more quickly if he wasn't burdened by the knowledge that her financial condition was far from wealthy.

“I'll see what I can do,” she agreed, glad that the trying conversation had come to an end.

“Good!” With this final remark, he hung up. Maren slammed the receiver into the cradle of the telephone.

Hot tears welled in her eyes as she thought about the hopelessness of her situation. “Damn it,” she mumbled to herself as she pounded a small fist on the desktop. “Damn it, Brandon, why won't you help yourself?”

Looking up to the ceiling, as if in supplication, her shoulders slumped with the weight of her guilt. Whether or not Brandon fought for his independence wasn't the issue. It made no difference. It was her burden to help him, and she would shoulder it with all the strength she could find.

Plucking a tissue from a box on her desk, she dabbed at her eyes and vowed to herself to find some way to get Brandon back on his feet and able to earn his own way in the world. There had to be a way to slowly help him support himself.

Kyle's vicious accusations the first night she had been with him entered her mind. “You still love him,” Kyle had accused, speaking of the unknown man who had wounded her.

“Not true,” she whispered in the office alone. Her voice caught. “The only man I love is you,” she said, wishing she were strong enough to confront Kyle with those same words.

 

B
Y THE TIME
M
AREN HAD
finished with the business in the office, she was already late for her appointment with Kyle. Ted Bensen had been bending her ear with production problems on the Mirage videos for nearly forty-five minutes before Maren could break away from him.

In the parking lot, before she could slip behind the wheel of her car, Joey Righteous had caught up with her, demanding information on his video for “Restless Feelin'.” He was angry, but Maren was able to calm him down by taking him into her office and reassuring him that the video would be finished by the time he left on his tour.

Snarls in traffic were another delay. By the time she made it to Elise's office, Kyle, Ryan Woods and the attorney for Sterling Recording Company had gone.

“We hit a snag,” Elise explained with a thoughtful frown. She was a woman of fifty-odd years with perfectly styled dark hair and snappy brown eyes.

“What kind of a snag?” Maren asked before dropping into one of the soft chairs surrounding Elise's desk.

Elise adjusted her reading glasses. “The price was reasonable. As a matter of fact, the entire offer on Festival seemed aboveboard.”

“I don't understand.” Maren stared at her attorney as Elise studied the legal document lying on the desk.

“It has to do with the employment agreement. I wanted Sterling to guarantee you three years of employment.
And
I wanted you to be able to purchase a large block of Sterling Recording Company shares with the money you'll receive for Festival.”

“Kyle wouldn't go for it?” Maren guessed.

“He was advised against it, by that Woods character and Bob Simmons.” Elise paused, seemingly intrigued with a particular clause in the contract. “Before I could convince them that we wouldn't budge on this issue, Sterling excused himself. Said he had to go back down to La Jolla.” Elise shrugged her round shoulders. “So this Ryan Woods told Sterling that under no circumstances was he to talk to you about the contract, not until he and I and Bob Simmons come to terms.”

“Bob Simmons is the recording company's attorney?”

“Right. He drew up the agreement.”

“So what should I do?”

“Nothing. Not until I sort this out with Simmons.” She tapped her pencil on the desk. “And I'm going to give you the same advice. I know you might come in contact with Sterling because you do business with him. Whatever you do, don't discuss this contract. Just until I understand what Simmons and Woods want.”

“You act as if you don't trust them,” Maren observed.

Elise shook her head and rubbed her jaw. “No—it's the other way round. They acted as if I intended to pull a fast one on Sterling Records. Can you imagine that?” Elise's dark eyes took hold of Maren's.

“I don't know why,” Maren stated honestly.

Elise waved off the serious mood. “Everyone's cautious these days, especially a person as famous as Kyle Sterling. He's a prime candidate for any number of lawsuits in his business. Someone complains about the copyright of a song—or bootlegged copy of an album…” Maren's heart seemed to stop beating, but Elise continued. “…or that Sterling Records stole another company's artist. Who knows? The point is, they have to be careful, and so do we. Until I get everything straightened out with Simmons, you should avoid talking about the offer—to anyone.”