The Wall (21 page)

walked into Greg's house, from the back door. He was there, smiling

a quick greeting to her as he stood by the counter, sipping coffee. She

wished she could smile back at him as she nodded in response to his

offer of coffee.

He handed it to her, and she cradled it in her hands for warmth,

covertly studying his relaxed face. She said to him, her heart

thumping strangely, 'A slight problem has come up in my work,

Greg, and I need to make an overnight trip back home to take care of

it. Do you think you could possibly drive me to the airport this

afternoon?'

In spite of a cowardly impulse making her want to stare into the

murky black depths of her coffee, something impelled her to watch

his face for a change of expression. It came. His face slowly grew

rigid, tense, the jaw muscles bunching spasmodically once before his

expression turned to stone. His body had sprung into rigidity too,

coming upright from the counter. He nodded once, briefly,

swallowed his coffee, and walked with measured steps to the door of

the hallway, and it was his very lack of outward response that

bothered her so deeply.

The wall had snapped up into place again.

GREG didn't protest; Sara wished he had, instead of looking at her so

emotionlessly. He didn't utter a word about it, and she eventually

went up to her room to pack an overnight bag with a leaden heart.

She wasn't exactly sure what had happened inside him, but she knew

that if she were to walk out the door right now with all her

possessions, he wouldn't lift a finger in objection. It hurt.

She quickly had everything she needed in a small bag with shoulder

straps, and she carried it down to deposit it on the floor in the hall.

Unhappiness ate at her insides, but she determinedly wore a casual,

normal expression. It was hard, but she managed it.

Lunch was unspeakable. She could barely force the food down past

her resisting throat in the face of Greg's unrelenting silence and

rigidity. When she mentioned the time of the afternoon flight, all he

did was nod absently, his eyes shadowed, looking as if he were far

away.

When he went into the hall to put her luggage into the car, he stopped

suddenly, and she collided into his back. He turned, gripped her arm,

and apologised, but his head was still facing her one overnight bag,

and his apology lacked emphasis. Then he asked her sharply, 'Is that

all you're taking?'

Her eyebrows shot up, and she felt puzzlement when she looked into

his face. 'Of course—it'd be stupid to take anything more. I'm only

going to be gone overnight, and I'm staying at my apartment.'

He closed his eyes and, incredibly, a look of relief passed over his

features. Then he started to shake his head slowly and chuckle. 'What

a total, stupid, idiotic fool I am!' Then he was holding her and kissing

her hard, just like she had wanted all morning. He rubbed his cheek

against hers and it was smooth and fragrant. She liked his aftershave.

'Sara, you'll have to forgive me for acting like an idiot this morning.'

'Okay,' she said simply, and gave him a sweet smile. She was still

acting casually, but in truth, his sudden approachable behaviour was

making her want to sing from pure happiness and relief.

He leaned his forehead on hers. 'I got the bright idea that you were

leaving this morning and not coming back,' he confessed softly,

rubbing his thumb along the base of her throat. Sara started to laugh

at that and he grinned wryly, self-mockingly.

'But you're driving me to the airport and I'm leaving my car here!' she

exclaimed in protest against such illogical and erroneous thinking.

'I know, I know. It didn't sink in at the time, but only when I saw

your luggage and realised that you were leaving most of your clothes

here did I realise how stupidly I'd been thinking.' He had bent and

was exploring her neck with his mouth as he spoke, and she closed

her eyes.

'You're right, you are a stupid fool,' she sighed. 'Mmm! We have to

leave if I'm going to make my flight.'

He murmured reluctantly, 'I suppose so. Are you sure you have to

go? Couldn't you . . . stay for an afternoon nap?' She leaned against

him fully, and his legs parted to take her weight.

'I'd like to, but I can't. I promised them I'd be there by tonight,' she

whispered, and he slowly straightened up. It wasn't necessarily true.

She could have had Barry send the contract to her by registered mail

for her signature, even though he preferred her to sign in his

presence. But she was feeling the need to get away from Greg's

drugging influence. She needed to take time to be by herself, to think

things out. And, she thought, it would probably do him a world of

good to have time alone too. At the moment, though, all she could

feel was regret for having ever made the plane reservation. All she

could think of was the shadowed room upstairs and the things she

had learned from Greg last night.

But he was pulling away from her, with one last kiss, saying

resignedly, 'If you have to go, you have to, I guess, and I'm not

making things easier for you.' No, she thought, you've complicated

my life infinitely from the moment I first met you, Greg Pierson.

You've messed up all the order, and the peace, and you've driven

away my isolation, so why do I feel so terrible? What happened,

between the magic of last night, to the shadows of the day? It was at

the moment unanswerable, and she sighed.

Her depression seemed to manifest itself physically, and she felt

draggy, worn down. She wanted to sleep.

They delayed until finally there was no more time to waste, and she

had to board the plane. She turned to Greg and opened her mouth to

say goodbye, but the words were never uttered. He took her

shoulders roughly in a way that somehow spoke of desperation, and

hauled her hard against him for a quick, intense, starving kiss. Then

he was letting her go and backing away. For a moment all she could

do was just stand and stare at him walking away, shaken, scared for

some reason, and so totally alone she could have died from it.

She turned too and quietly boarded the plane.

Southern California was a climate shock to her senses. She called a

taxi and gave him her home address, settling back in her seat to blink

bemusedly at the blinding sunlight and the glaring traffic noises. This

was what she had missed for the first few nights in Michigan! It was

incredible. She had dressed wisely, putting on a light dress

underneath an autumn coat, and she had shrugged that off some time

ago. The Los Angeles traffic was crazy, the air dense with smog, the

freeways winding and intersecting. She felt as if she had been

through a major war by the time she had let herself into her spacious

apartment. It was empty.

It was a shock as she looked around the light, tastefully decorated

penthouse apartment. She had never even given a thought for its

emptiness before. It had been a haven then, a place to run to when

everything got hectic. She could shut the door and be alone. Now it

really struck her just how alone she really was. Greg was two

thousand miles away.

It was early evening, but she was so tired out, she crawled into bed

and fell right asleep.

Sara shot up and grabbed for the ringing phone, knowing

immediately who it must be. No one else was aware that she was

back, unless he had blabbed it out to someone. 'Hello, Barry,' she

sighed.

'Hey, are you all right?' he asked, instead of greeting her. 'You sound

as if you have a cold.'

'It's no cold. I was taking a nap. The flight wore me out,' she replied,

glancing at her luminous clock. 'All flights flatten me, you know that.

Sorry I didn't call to let you know I was here—it slipped my mind.'

She felt lethargic, heavy, as if she had a fever, and her mouth tasted

like lead. She shouldn't have gone to sleep. She hated it when she

slept too heavily and woke feeling this way.

'Don't worry your little mind about it, love,' she was told calmly.

'Have you had supper yet? Elise is fixing a great meal, and we

thought you could come over for it. It'd give us a good chance to talk

about things.'

'All right,' she agreed listlessly. Her head was aching.

'You sure you're all right?'

'Don't coddle me, Barry,' she told him irritably. 'You know I hate to

be fussed over.'

'Well, okay. See you around seven-thirty? 'Bye.'

Sara weaved her way to the bathroom and stared at her reflection

with disgust. Her face was flushed and her eyes too bright. A

reluctant hand to her forehead told her that she definitely had a fever,

and she cursed fluently. She took out a thermometer and found it

wasn't as bad as she had first thought. She only registered a hundred-

degree fever and, having done it many times in the past, she popped a

couple of aspirin in her mouth, grimacing at the bitter chalky taste.

She never stopped unless she was literally dropping in her tracks, and

she had worked ten and twelve-hour days with temperatures such as

this.

Not really caring how she looked, Sara dressed casually for dinner;

the only trouble she went to was to take the time to coil her hair into

a knot. She did take the effort to hide the blue shadows under her

eyes, but the make-up went on like cake and she rubbed it off again.

Her skin looked papery white, and felt dry to the touch.

Elise answered the doorbell and stood surveying her thoughtfully

after inviting her in. She was a thin, small woman, with reddish hair,

high cheekbones, and snapping brown eyes. She tended to wear

heavy makeup. 'You look terrible,' she told Sara brusquely.

She didn't bother to deny this. She sank on to the cream couch

gingerly, feeling the throb of pain at her temples. 'I feel worse than I

look,' she said dryly, accepting a glass of wine. 'If you can imagine

that.'

Elise excused herself so that she could go and check on supper, and

Barry ran a critical, assessing look over Sara's half-reclining body.

'It's a good thing that the network's officials didn't get a look at you

like this. They'd have ran so fast in the other direction, we wouldn't

have seen them for dust!'

'Thank you, my loyal agent and manager, for those kind and

understanding words of wisdom,' she muttered, then had to laugh.

She had just told him that afternoon that she couldn't stand to be

coddled, and he had just taken his cue from her. 'Where's that

contract that you're panting to have me sign?'

Barry's eyes lit up and he went to go and get the paper. They spent

the rest of the time before dinner discussing the different terms of the

contract, and Sara had to admit that it was very satisfactory. All her

own specifications had been met, and the fee ended up being very

enticing. Barry spoke of the negotiations with his own satisfaction

evident in his voice. He had the right, she granted; he'd done a good

job.

Still, she found herself very reluctant to sign the paper. Barry had

gone into the dining room to help Elise with the final preparations,

and she sat alone on the couch, looking at the rectangle of white

before her. Once she signed, she would have an obligation to fulfil.

Did she really want that, after all?

She could have sworn she had effectively put Greg out of her mind,

but unbidden, it seemed, his dark visage swam before her. She didn't

really understand it. All of her being longed to be back on that quiet

and lonely shore two thousand miles away, walking hand in hand

with a big silent man, a loner, with a stalking dog at her feet. All she

wanted to have was the reassurance of his presence, for now and for

the rest of her life.

But she wanted this. She couldn't give up this life. She wanted to go

out on that stage and perform in front of millions of people, with

dynamic music, pouring everything she had into it. She wanted to

know that people could hear her songs, to know that she was able to

communicate to someone in this way. She wanted to make music

and, like any true artist, she wanted to be appreciated for that.

Sara slowly picked up the ballpoint pen that Barry had laid down,