“Suppose you wait a few hours, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know, and a lot more besides. Within reason, of course.” His voice sounded deep and husky, and there was laughter peppered in with the unmistakable fatigue.
“What exactly do you mean?” She held her breath, waiting, hoping. She had just had the fright of her life, and now it sounded like … she didn’t dare hope. But she wanted it to be that.
“I mean get your ass out here, lady. I’m going crazy without you! That’s what I mean! How about catching the next plane out here?”
“To San Francisco? Do you mean it?”
“Damn right, I do. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight anymore, and I’m all through out here. And it’s been too fucking long since I’ve had my hands on your ass. Mama, this has seemed like five hundred years!”
“Oh darling, I love you. If you only knew how much I’ve missed you, and just now I thought … I picked up the paper and …” He cut her off quickly with something brittle in his voice.
“Never mind, baby. Everything’s okay.” That was what she had wanted to hear.
“What are you going to do now?” She sighed as she spoke.
“Love the shit out of you and take a few days off to see some friends. But you are the first friend I want to see. How soon can you be here?”
She looked at her watch. “I don’t know. I … what time’s the next plane?” It was just after three in New York.
“There’s a flight that leaves New York at five-thirty. Can you make it?”
“Jesus. I’d have to be at the airport no later than five, which means leaving here at four, which means … I have an hour to pack, and … screw it, I’ll make it” She jumped to her feet and looked toward the bedroom. “What should I bring?”
“Your delicious little body.”
“Aside from that, silly.” But she hadn’t smiled like this in weeks. Three weeks, to be exact. It had been that long since she’d seen him.
“How the hell do I know what you should bring?”
“Is it hot or cold, darling?”
“Foggy. And cold at night, and warm in the daytime. I think … oh shit, Kezia. Look it up in the Times. And don’t bring your mink coat.”
“How do you know I have one? You’ve never seen it.” She was grinning again. To hell with the headlines. He was all right and he loved her.
“I just figured you had a mink. Don’t bring it.”
“I wasn’t planning to. Any other instructions?”
“Only that I love you too goddamn much, woman, and this is the last time I’ll let you out of my sight.”
“Promises, promises! I wish. Hey … will you meet me?”
“At the airport?” He sounded surprised.
“Uh huh.”
“Should I? Or would it be cooler if I didn’t?” It was back to that again. Being cautious, being wise.
“Screw being cool. I haven’t seen you in almost three weeks and I love you.”
“I’ll meet you.” He sounded ecstatic.
“You’d damn well better.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The baritone laugh tickled her ear, and they hung up. He had fought his own battles with his conscience during the last three godawful weeks, and he had lost … or won … he wasn’t yet sure. But he knew he had to have Kezia. Had to. No matter what.
Chapter 17
The plane landed at 7:14 P.M., San Francisco time. She was on her feet before the plane had come to a full stop at the gate. And despite earnest pleadings from the stewardesses, she was one of a throng in the aisles.
She had traveled coach to attract less attention, and she was wearing black wool slacks and a black sweater; a trench coat was slung over her arm, dark glasses pushed up on her head. She looked discreet, almost too discreet, and very well-dressed. Men checked her out with their eyes, but decided she looked rich and uptight. Women eyed her with envy. The slim hips, the trim shoulders, the thick hair, the big eyes. She was not a woman who would ever go unnoticed, whatever her name, and in spite of her height.
It was taking forever to open the doors. The cabin was hot and stuffy. Other people’s bags bumped her legs. Children started to cry. Finally, they swung open the doors. The crowd began to move, only imperceptibly at first, and then in a sudden rush, the plane blurted its contents like toothpaste onto the ramp. Kezia pressed through the other travelers, and as she turned a corner, she saw him.
His head was well above all the others. His dark hair shone, and she could see his eyes from where she stood. He had a cigar in his hand. His whole being wore an air of expectation. She waved and he saw her, joy sweeping his face, and carefully he eased through the crowd. He was at her side in a moment, and swept her high off the ground in his arms.
“Mama, is it good to see you!”
“Oh Lucas!” She grinned in his arms, and their lips met in a long, hungry kiss. Paparazzi be damned. Whatever they saw, they could have. She was finally back in his arms. The other travelers moved around them like water around rocks in a stream, and there was no one left by the time they moved on.
“Let’s get your bags and go home.”
They gave each other the smile usually exchanged by people long used to sharing one bed, and took the escalator down to the baggage claim, her small hand clasped firmly in his large one. People caught sight of them and watched them go hand in hand. Together, they were the sort of people you notice. With envy.
“How many bags did you bring?”
“Two.”
“Two? We’re only staying three days.” He laughed and gave her another hug. And she tried not to show the flash of pain in her eyes. Three days? That was all? She hadn’t asked him before. But at least it was that much. At least they were together again.
He plucked her bags from the turntable like a child snatching furniture out of a dollhouse, propped one suitcase under his arm, grasped the other by the handle in the same hand, and kept his other arm around Kezia, squeezing her tight.
“You haven’t said much, Mama. Tired?”
“No. Happy.” She looked up at him again, and nestled in close. “Christ, it’s been such a long time.”
“Yeah, and it won’t ever be that long again. It’s bad for my nerves.” But she knew it might be that long again. Or longer. It might have to be. That was the way his life was. But it was over now. Their three-day honeymoon had just begun.
“Where are we staying?” They were waiting outside for a cab. And so far, so good. No cameras, no reporters; no one even knew she had left New York. She had made one brief call saying that she was taking two days off from the column before she’d call in to report. They could run some of the extra tidbits she hadn’t had room for in the column that week. That would tide them over until she got her mind back on Martin Hallam again.
“We are staying at the Ritz.” He said it with grandeur as he tossed her bags into the front seat of a cab.
“Is that for real?” She laughed as she settled back in his arm.
“Wait till you see it.” And then he looked worried. “Baby, would you rather stay at the Fairmont or the Huntington? They’re a lot nicer, but I thought you’d worry about …”
“Is the Ritz more discreet?” He laughed at the look on her face.
“Oh yeah, Mama. It sure is discreet. That’s one thing I like about the Ritz. It is discreet!”
The Ritz was a large fading gray house in the heart of the mansions of Pacific Heights. It had once been an elegant home, and now housed castoffs; little old ladies and fading old men, and circulating in their midst the occasional “overflow” of houseguests from the sumptuous homes nearby. It was an odd mixture, and the decor was the same: crooked chandeliers with dusty prisms, fading red velvet chairs, flowered chintz curtains, and here and there an ornate brass spitoon.