Reign (36 page)

His metaphysical musings were delightfully interrupted by Ann stirring next to him. Her eyes opened, and he saw for a moment that she did not know where she was. In a second, clarity came, and she sighed and smiled, then leaned over and kissed him.

"Good morning," she said.

"It is indeed," he agreed. "The best morning I've had in a long time."

"It was wonderful," she said, "to fall asleep in your arms. I didn't think it would ever happen, and in a way I always knew it would."

"I knew too. I love you, Ann."

"I love you."

She hugged him, and in another moment they were together, their bodies molded as one, and they made love again. This time there was less of the feeling of discovery that had added such a sweet sense of tension to their joining of the night before, but that was more than made up for by the sheer joy that now possessed them both. To wait so long and then find that their sexual coupling was so perfect, only a physical extension of the love that had remained all those years, was more than either could have asked. But it had been true, and it had been wonderful. In Dennis's arms, Ann was able to forget the terrors of her husband's death, and in Ann's arms, Dennis found the peace he needed as well.

Finally they lay, sweating and happy, the covers thrown back from the bed, looking at each other's bodies. "You look wonderful," Dennis said. "You look like a girl."

"You're an actor, but it's all right. And you look damned good yourself. How do you keep your stomach so flat?"

"A carefully designed program of exercise, diet, mental tension, pressure, and guilt. It works wonders. Now, how about some breakfast to fatten us both up?" He picked up the phone and pushed two numbers, then waited.

"Who are you calling?"

"Sid." Ann gasped, and pulled the sheet over her body. "Don't worry," Dennis laughed. "It's not a picture phone."

"But I don't want him to know that I'm —"

"That you're here?" He broke off and turned his attention to the phone. "Sid. Could we have two breakfasts please? Big ones . . . Yes, that's right. Two." Then to Ann, "How do you like your eggs?"

"Poached," she said, with a sigh of acceptance.

"Poached . . . sure, orange juice is fine. Thanks, Sid." He hung up the phone and smiled at her. "Sid is my right hand. He knows more about me than anyone else, maybe even me. He is also as circumspect as a clam."

"But, Dennis, I work with him. How will he act when he knows about us?"

"He already does. Now don't look so surprised. Over the years I talked about you a lot to Sid. There are a lot of lonely nights on the road when all you want to do is talk. And remember. He knows how I feel about you. He has for a long time."

"It's just that it's been such a short time since . . ."

"Since Robin's death. I know. But I can't tell my feelings to wait
another
two months. This is the 1990's, Ann. No one is going to criticize us for being in love."

She nodded, though her discomfort with the situation was evident. With all his heart he wanted to make her more comfortable, wanted to remove that look of doubt that wrinkled her lovely features. "And no one," he said, "is going to criticize us when we get married."

He didn't know what to make of her reaction, which began with wide-eyed surprise just short of shock. Then she laughed as if she had not believed what he had just said. "Married?"

"It's what we should have done twenty-five years ago. Things would have been very different for both of us. Better."

"Dennis, I —"

"Don't say no, Ann. You do love me."

"Yes, of course I love you . . .”

She paused, and in the silence he thought he could hear his heart pounding with dread. "I hear a 'but' coming."

"It's too soon," she said, and he thought he saw tears forming in her eyes. "It's just too soon. Oh, Dennis, I love you, how much I love you, but we can't get married now, not now."

"When?"

"
Please
, don't push me," she pleaded. "Sometime, I swear it. I want to marry you, Dennis. But it's too soon."

"Then you will?" he asked, touching her soft hair.

"You know I will."

"That's all I ask," he said. "It doesn't matter when. I've waited all these years, I can wait a few more months. And don't worry about what people will think. I can be as circumspect as Sid can. No one even has to know." He kissed her tenderly, and thought he had never tasted anything so wonderful as her mouth. Then he smiled. "We'd better get dressed."

Her face fell. "God, I'm going to look real businesslike in the dress I wore last night. So much for keeping secrets."

"Don't worry about it."

"I could call Terri . . . she probably hasn't left yet . . . ask her to bring . . .”

~ * ~

And then it hit her — Terri. She had realized, when she made her decision to spend the night with Dennis, that Terri would certainly know, but her need to be with Dennis had completely freed her mind of seeing her daughter afterward, that snide look of Terri's, the dry and bitter words that Ann tried not to hear in her mind. Perhaps, she thought, it would be better to call, ask her to bring a change of clothing. The girl could not be nearly as vicious over the phone as she could be in person.

"I'll get a shower," Dennis said. "Go ahead and call her if you like, but frankly I liked that dress last night." He kissed her again and vanished into the bathroom.

She steeled herself, pulled the covers higher over her body as if Terri could see her, and dialed her number, but there was no answer. Had she left already? Ann wondered. But no, it was only seven o'clock, and they never left the house before seven-thirty. It was possible that she had had breakfast out, but not likely. No matter how Terri criticized Mary, their live-in maid and cook, she had always loved her very English breakfasts. Ann hung up the phone, and waited for Dennis to finish his shower.

When Sid brought breakfast, she tactfully remained in the bedroom until he had gone, then joined Dennis in a breakfast nook that overlooked the plaza below. "Much cozier than the dining room," Dennis said, and Ann agreed.

"Do you eat this way every morning?" Ann asked, looking at the table filled with eggs, sausage, home fries, bagels and toast, and fresh fruit. "Your arteries must be as thick as cream."

"Not really," he said. "Robin always had big breakfasts, but she was able to work it off and not gain any weight. I usually just have a little fruit and some toast. But this morning calls for something a bit more festive."

The mention of Robin was disturbing. Ann could imagine her sitting across from Dennis where she was sitting now, eating like a trencherman, filled with life and happiness, at least before Ann had come along and unintentionally changed everything, making her jealous enough to kill, if what Dennis thought was true.

"I'm sorry," Dennis said. "I shouldn't have mentioned her."

She shook her head. "No, it's all right. It's a part of your life, like Eddie's a part of mine. Neither one of them will go away, not ever. But it's all right. I don't think we'd ever want them to."

"No," Dennis said. "They won't go away. But they don't have to come between us."

After breakfast, they sat and continued to talk, trying to make up for years of separation, and Ann knew that despite the guilt, despite her upcoming confrontation with Terri, despite everything, she was happy. At nine o'clock Ann told Dennis that she had better go down to the office.

"Do you want me to walk you down?"

"No," she said quickly. "I want to go in alone."

They decided to have dinner together again that weekend, and she kissed him at the door, then stepped into the hall. He waved, smiled, and closed the door rather reluctantly, she thought. She was glad of it.

But now she was alone, alone in the halls of the Venetian Theatre, and although she knew that Dennis would make good on his promise to bring it to life again, now, with the closing of that door, it once more felt full of phantoms. No matter how she struggled to shake off the feeling, the oppressiveness hung in the air like mist. She bit back her dread and began to walk the short distance down the hall to the elevator.

When the woman came around the corner, Ann nearly leapt in shock. At first, seeing the spare frame, the manly shoulders, she thought for a moment that it was Robin. But a second later the drawling voice, full of derision beyond her years, told her that it was even worse than a ghost.

"Well, not letting any grass grow over the grave, are you?"

It was a cruel and vicious and all too usual thing for Terri to say. "And what are
you
doing here," Ann asked, unable and unwilling to launch a rebuttal. "Same as you, I suppose. Like mother, like daughter."

Ann's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? You spent the night here?" The girl nodded. "With Evan?"

"No, with
Marvella
. I've gone dyke."

"Terri —"

"Please don't tell me you're shocked, Mother. I hate to laugh so early in the morning. Of course with Evan. And how about yourself? Was it Curt? Or John? . . . no, I hardly think John. Sid? No,
Donna's
got him sewed up. Why . . .”Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Could it be rather the grieving widower? Were you able to ease his sorrow?"

"All right, that's enough."

"How long has it been, two months? Maybe you could still use the funeral flowers for the wedding."

"
Goddam
it, that's
enough
from you!" Ann was trembling. "What have I done?" she said. "You tell me what I've done to deserve this from you? Go ahead.
Tell
me."

For once Terri was silent. Her face still wore its studied look of contempt, but she seemed quelled. Then she took a deep breath. "You have done nothing, Mother. You are innocent.
Te
absolvo
. Things are between you . . . and your conscience." She gave a little wave before she turned toward the stairs. "Have a nice day."

~ * ~

I can have her now. I can have her any time.

She is so absurd. She thinks she is clever in her ironies. But instead she wears her heart on her sleeve. Her feelings are plain for all to see, yet her mother ignores them. The source of her anger, her pain, is so obvious. She wants what her mother has.

The little whore is jealous.

But she will not have to be for long. No.

I shall give her what she wants.

I shall give her the Emperor
.

The following Monday evening, Terri Deems was working alone in the costume shop. She would not have had to, but she had fallen into the habit of avoiding her mother whenever possible, and knew that Ann would be home that night.

She simply could not abide to be in the same room with Ann. The previous week Terri had remained in her own room in the evenings, making excuses to take her own car to Kirkland rather than ride with Ann. The weekend hadn't been bad, because her mother had been away for most of it. Although she hadn't asked, and Ann hadn't offered the information, Terri assumed that she had spent it with Dennis Hamilton. Fine, she had told herself bitterly. Get it while you can. Besides, her mother was forty-three already, and her looks weren't going to last forever. Maybe if she married Dennis, Terri wouldn't have to see her again. Ann could live in Dennis's palace and give Terri the house. That would be fine with her. Mothers were a bitch anyway. At least hers was. A bitch and more.

She sighed and turned back to her sketching. She liked the costume shop, both the dry and calming presence of
Marvella
, and the utter silence when she was alone there. She was alone tonight.
Marvella
had taken Whitney to a birthday party for one of her friends from day care. At first she had been hesitant about leaving Terri alone in her domain, but the girl had been so excellent an assistant that she had finally agreed. "Don't get too fancy with anything,"
Marvella
had warned her, "and make damn sure everything's put away when you're done — one thing I hate's coming in and not being able to find shit." Terri had smilingly agreed, since she didn't even plan to touch a needle that evening. Rather she was working on her designs for the chorus of
Craddock
.

It had been
Marvella's
idea for her to work up a few designs for the show. The principals' costumes, of course, would be designed by
Marvella
, but if Terri's designs were good,
Marvella
told her that some would be used, and she would get an associate costume designer credit, a title well worth having, particularly under the aegis of
Marvella
Johnson. If only, she thought, she did not have her mother to thank for having gotten her the job.

Damn! Thinking about Ann had made her extend a bodice too far. She erased the offending line and redrew it, her thoughts returning to her mother again.

What had she ever done to deserve Terri's contempt? Ann had asked in all seriousness. Nothing, mother, absolutely nothing, and perhaps that was the problem.