The Wall (10 page)

and knocked against the wall, and she automatically caught it on the

return swing. 'Just what in sweet tropical hell are you doing here?'

'I knew that you'd welcome me with open arms,' Barry said warmly,

then coughed delicately at her glare. 'Um, could I come in out of the

wind and discuss this with you in a pseudo-rational and semi-

civilised manner?'

Sara backed up ungraciously, muttering under her breath, 'I'm feeling

about as rational as an avocado,' to which Barry choked out a laugh

that immediately died when she looked at him so fiercely that he fell

back a pace. She was for the most part a very mild person, but when

she lost her temper she was like a tornado bent on destruction. She

was not, Barry ascertained uneasily, in the best of moods at the

moment. The situation might get touchy.

'You didn't answer me, Barry,' Sara repeated grimly. 'What do you

think you're doing here? I'll give you five minutes—which is more

than you deserve, I might say—and then you get thrown out, so you'd

better start talking fast!'

'Would you really?' he asked, intrigued in spite of himself. She didn't

bother to reply but merely sat down on the couch and looked at him

with those large, determined eyes. He stared at her, assessing her

expression, taking in the slight tilt to the jaw and the firmly held

mouth. She would, he decided. He sat too, at one end of the couch,

and regarded her warily.

He was almost impossibly thin and tall, with a habit of moving

jerkily and talking fast. His sandy hair fell into his eyes continually

and one of his nervous mannerisms was pushing it off his forehead

with his left hand with a flick of his first two fingers. He did so now,

as he stared at her with his light blue eyes.

'Elise was wondering how you're doing,' he began, and Sara abruptly

threw her head back and laughed.

'And you came halfway across the continent to tell me that! I'm so

touched! Come on, Barry, you're wasting your time. Spill it!' she

ordered tersely. 'Why have you come when I expressly told you that I

didn't want to see, hear, think, or otherwise be reminded of yours or

anyone else's presence from California until I gave you word? You

fool, don't you realise that your arrival here could trigger off just

exactly the kind of interest that I don't need right now? What if the

press got word of me staying here? You know they've followed you

in the past. You could have destroyed this vacation, and if you have

I'll never forgive you! God, my first vacation in years!' she ended

disgustedly, shooting poison darts at him with her eyes.

He was watching her with a reluctant admiration. She was very

beautiful when she was angry, with her large hazel eyes spitting

brimstone, and her face vivid, animated. 'I had a time tracking you

down,' he admitted. 'Then Elise dragged out of her memory the name

Three Oaks, and from there it was relatively easy. I called around the

area and found a certain Sara Carmichael in residence, so I got the

first flight out. What a godforsaken spot!'

'Watch it!' he was warned sternly. 'So, now I know how, but you

haven't yet told me why?'

'You are going to flip, absolutely flip,' he told her, satisfaction oozing

from every thin, awkward line of his body. She had to smile at that,

reluctantly.

'I think I could "flip" right now,' she told him dryly, 'and it's not a

favourable reaction at the moment.'

'Yes, well,' he put in hurriedly, 'you'll love what I've got to say. Sara,

we've been offered a chance to do a television special, to be

broadcast nationwide! You wouldn't believe the monetary figures

that they quoted to me, it would just about blow your mind, it -'

Sara was interested in spite of herself, feeling a thrill of excitement at

the thought of her own television special. 'You have to be joking!'

'Babe, you are what is currently termed a "hot item" at the moment.

Everybody loves you and everybody wants you,' he said in a worldly

tone of voice. It was dropped the next minute when he laughed

delightedly. 'Can you believe it? Can you really believe it? I knew

you were big-time, love, but this is a godsend—think of the publicity

from that one night's viewing!'

Sara looked at Barry with amusement. Not only was this a high point

in her career, but it was a high point in his also. She was his first

major star, and his name would become very much in demand

because of her success. His career as an agent was skyrocketing right

along with hers. Feeling charged up, she stood suddenly and started

to pace around the room with long quick strides (seven
up,
seven

back,
five to the
front
door . . .). She shook her head impatiently and

turned to Barry once again. 'When do they want me to do it? she

asked jerkily.

'They want you to start on it right away. If you could pack this

afternoon, I could get you a flight back with me -'

'No way.' Her reply came out without any hesitation.

He blinked. 'What?'

'I said no way. I'm on vacation, a long, leisurely, much dreamed of,

badly needed vacation. No, I won't come back with you for any

amount of money or publicity that this world could offer me,' she

said calmly, and sat down to wait for the fall-out from the explosion

that inevitably came.

It wasn't long in coming. Barry argued, pleaded, stormed about the

room and nearly dissolved into tears, but she was adamant. Finally,

after nearly an hour and a half of hot argument, he sank down on to

the couch, defeated.

Sara was seated at the piano bench and leaning against the closed top.

She couldn't help but laugh at his total dejection as he sprawled all

over the cushions. She said, laughing, 'Look, Barry, if I'm such a hot

item, as you so sophisticatedly put it, then I can afford to be

exclusive, can't I? I can afford to pick and choose?'

'A television special,' he moaned into his hands. 'Goddamned prime

time!' This made her laugh even harder.

'Can't you get them to wait until I get back from vacation? I want to

do the programme, really -'

'—you could have fooled me!' he muttered, but she chose to ignore

the interruption and went on.

'—but on my terms. I would like to do totally new songs, at my own

discretion, except maybe a few of my best hits, which I'm sure they

would insist upon, and I want to have the last say as to whom I work

with. The money doesn't matter . . .' Barry moaned again,'. .. and I'll

start only when I get back. Surely that wouldn't be too hard to work

out, would it?'

'I don't know,' he said gloomily. 'It'll .probably take months to come

to an agreement.'

'Well, then,' she said serenely. He glowered at her from over one

hand. Sara abandoned her relaxed position and stood suddenly to

stare down at him with a fierce gleam in her eye. 'And I will not,

repeat not, do the special at all if you so much as send me a picture

postcard again while I'm here, do you hear? I mean it, Barry. I don't

want even a phone call.'

He winced. 'Oh; I hear all right. Haven't a choice about it, do I? Can't

I even drop you a line to let you know if they agree to your terms?'

She thought about it and then shrugged. 'All right, but only one letter.

If I'm bothered outside that one letter, I won't come within a mile of

signing a contract!'

They talked for some time more, then Sara led Barry gently but

firmly to the front door and shoved him out, in spite of his protests.

She leaned against the door, then did a happy little dance in the

middle of the living room floor. Live concerts were really a potent

charge emotionally, and concert tours were an excellent income

source, but she could reach more people in one television special than

she could in months of touring, though it might pay less. It was the

chance of a lifetime, a chance that many big-named performers

would give their eye teeth for, and it had dropped into her lap like a

ripe plum.

She need not have any doubts about the quality of the special. If

Barry could work out the creative terms that she had stipulated, then

she could be on the verge of doing one of the best creative

performances of her life. With the terms she had insisted on, she

could indulge in whatever style of music caught her mood at the

time. She was fairly sure that she could make her creative urges

known in a style that would appeal to her audience, though it might

differ from her past musical expression. And, she told herself

gleefully, I still have my vacation.

Then she remembered Greg.

IT was dusk when Greg finally came over.

Sara answered the door almost immediately when he knocked, and

she looked into a frowning face. 'Come in,' she invited, uncertainly.

He crossed the threshold promptly, though, and she breathed an

unconscious sigh of relief.

'You really should identify your caller before you so blithely open

your door,' he said tersely, and looked at her with something close to

accusation in his eyes. 'You didn't know that it was me just now, did

you?'

She felt taken aback just now, attacked, and was at a loss for a reply.

'Yes, thank you, and I hope you had a nice afternoon too,' she finally

murmured sarcastically. Her nerves were on edge. She had been

keyed up all day, and had been through such a variety of emotions in

a relatively short time, and to top it off, she had worried over her

feelings for Greg like a dog with a juicy bone. She was not exactly in

a calm state of mind.

Greg was glaring at her, however, and his mouth was held tight. A

muscle moved in his square jaw and, staring at it, she decided to back

down for now.

'Would you like some coffee?' she asked, taking a few steps to the

kitchen with an enquiring look over her shoulder.

He declined the offer with a quick shake of the head. 'I just stopped

by to let you know that I was outside. I'll go and look around for you

now.' Something about the way he spoke, something about the harsh

lines of his face and his tense glittering eyes made her react sharply,

goaded.

'Please, don't go to any trouble on my account,' she told him

mockingly, hurt by his inexplicable attitude. Her self-effacing act

stung him, she could tell, by his sudden stillness and quick jerk of the

head.

'Stop it!' he said coldly. Those dark eyes, she saw, had that same

repelling quality that they had contained the day before, and her heart

sank at the observation. He had erected the wall again. He was

blocking her out, right now. She hurt.

'Why should I?' She swung away from him and put some distance

between them. It didn't make her feel any better. 'You're the one who

came in here with a great big hostile chip on your shoulder about

something! So I didn't answer my door the way you would like me

to! I didn't ask for this kind of treatment, and frankly, if this is how

you're going to act about merely looking around outside tonight, I'd

rather you didn't!'

Something flickered in his expressionless face then. He put his back

to her and rubbed his neck in a tired gesture. 'All right, I'm sorry.

Look, it isn't you, it's me. I've—had a bad afternoon, that's all.' Sara

stood still, fighting the urge to go and put her arms around his waist.

It's too soon, she thought. I can't. We got too intense, for just a silly

argument. Not yet—I'm too unsure. Greg turned and caught the look

on her face and suddenly, jerkily as if he couldn't help himself, came

and put his arms around her in a rough embrace. Her arms went

around him as eagerly, and they just held each other tightly for a

moment. Her head had just sank to his broad chest as she felt an

overpowering wave of an unfamiliar emotion, and he jerked her away

as abruptly as he had pulled her to him. He stared down into her eyes,

holding her face with his two broad, calloused hands. She felt

shocked; the depth of torment she saw in those brown eyes rocked

her to the core. 'Look -' he started, then his lips came down on hers in

a crushing kiss, quick and unsatisfying. 'I'll come around and see you

tomorrow, okay?'

Sara's eyes were huge in her face. She didn't know what to feel,

whether to feel hurt, anger or sympathy. This man tore up her