“That was some story about the two of them. Did you read it?” the cabbie persisted.
“Yeah,” Kyra answered, throat dry with a disturbing mixture of need and pain.
“Pity that woman had to use him like that to get the story. I wonder if they’re going to sue her.”
“I’m getting out here,” Kyra said, handing him the fare and bolting from the cab.
Lost in the crowd bustling around her, she looked her fill at the divine Tallis lording over Times Square and shuddered.
She’d never had a chance. From the moment he’d touched her she was doomed to suffer, and she couldn’t help figuring it was her just desserts. After all, hadn’t she fully intended to use him in the way the papers, and David himself, had intimated?
Voice and Vibe had gone ahead with her version of the article, but had insisted it be ghostwritten. She’d signed away her rights to a byline to fulfill her agreement, and she’d only done it for Gil. If it weren’t for her loyalty to him, she wouldn’t have submitted the article at all. Now that it was out, she didn’t intend to read it.
For two weeks she’d held her ground and refused to pick up a copy. Passing the city’s ubiquitous newsstands was like running the gantlet. Today, instead of turning away as she walked past, however, she rubbernecked and came to a skidding halt.
There he was in all his glory.
Naked.
The shot was taken from the back, and she picked up the magazine. As if in a trance, she stood there, tracing her finger along the curve of his ass while her core turned to liquid heat.
“Shit,” she whispered.
“You gonna buy that or what?”
Kyra didn’t look away from the cover as she forked over the money.
Reluctantly tearing her eyes away from David’s body and his smoky stare, she read the headline, “Tallis Bares it All”, and the byline, Kyra Martin.
What the…?
Her phone was out of her purse and she had Gil on the line before she could think the words speed dial.
“Yeah,” Gil answered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Kyra?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you wouldn’t want to, you know, be reminded.”
“What made them change their minds?”
“Tallis wouldn’t let it go to press unless we gave you credit.”
That made her pause.
“Why would he care?”
“There’s a letter here for you. From him.”
“I—I don’t want it. Throw it out.”
“Are you sure? I mean, he seems pretty broken up about what happened.”
Kyra’s laugh was bitter.
“He deserves to feel bad.”
“Well, he did have one message for you, in case you didn’t want the letter.”
“Oh, God.”
She leaned against a section of scaffolding along the side of a building under reconstruction. Posters announcing his album release had been plastered on the wooden boards covering the windows. She just couldn’t get away from him.
“He wanted you to know the cover picture is for you.”
“Arrogant prick,” she muttered.
Gil whistled low. “You are pissed.”
“No shit.”
“Look, Kyra. We’ll talk more later. We’ve got requests pouring in from artists who want you to do their interviews.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Kyra!”
“I’m serious. I’m too disgusted. Me writing this stuff seems almost cannibalistic after all this. It’s too ironic. I can’t stand it.”
“Well, you get some rest. We’ll talk more when you’re feeling better.”
“I gotta go, Gil. You take care.”
“You too, Kyra,” he said.
The call disconnected, leaving her adrift in misery. She was falling apart, and had been for weeks. When would the pain stop?
Clutching the magazine to her chest, she walked the remaining blocks to the studio. The dim lights and music would get her through. God, how she hoped they would help her forget.
Chapter Fourteen
The article was a smash success. Now she couldn’t go by a newsstand without the laser blue of his eyes boring into her, and to make matters worse, it seemed no matter what she did, she couldn’t avoid Times Square.
She wondered if he’d read the article once it hit the stands, and decided she couldn’t afford to care. Her life had been in chaos for another month. She’d gotten back from her first session at the studio to find the paparazzi camped once again outside her apartment door. She couldn’t so much as sneeze without them knowing, it seemed.
Past boyfriends were interviewed, and each came up with outrageously false stories about their sexual exploits together. Rather than ruining her career, however, the publicity had fed back on itself, creating a demand from attention-seeking celebrities who wanted to ride on her coattails. She’d decided to turn them all down. Every single one of them.
Every time she wrote she thought about David. Every time she saw someone with his coloring and build walking down the street her heart leapt and then plummeted to her toes. Her life was turning into a waking nightmare. His face haunted her dreams, and she had stopped turning on the radio.
Yesterday they’d released a single of the song he’d finished recording that day in London. The female DJ had mentioned Kyra’s involvement and speculated on the action the Iso booth must have seen to inspire the hot number.
She fiddled with another line of the song she was writing on a yellow lined pad, and sighed. It would be better if she could hear how the words went with the melody, but her fingers just couldn’t take it. Over the past month she’d played until her left hand was raw and bleeding. The antibiotic ointment and finger cots could only help just so much.
Her stomach rumbled and she glanced at the time. 10:30 p.m. No dinner again. She wasn’t in the mood to eat anyway. Better to just go to bed now and not torture herself with the late-night show she usually watched.
Gil had called to warn her that David would be a guest. If she stayed awake she’d only be tempted to turn it on, and the last thing she needed to see were the man’s lips making love to a microphone. It would only make her cry, and he wasn’t worth it.
Teeth brushed, face washed, pajamas on, she padded back through the living room past the television. The thing beckoned like an evil black monolith. What kind of masochist was she that she’d actually consider watching it?
She’d heard he’d reconnected with his sister. Would he talk about their reunion? Before she knew what she was doing, the remote was in her hand and the set was flickering to life.
A dog food commercial was all that stood between her and the host’s banal opening monologue. At least tonight he didn’t make a risqué joke at her expense. She supposed it was out of respect for David’s appearance.
“Tonight, my guests will be Tony-Award-winning puppeteer, Carlos Sweet! Musician, David Tallis! And the always lovely Brooklyn Animal World trainer, Wendy Hartley!”
Kyra rolled her eyes. The last time the woman was on, she’d lost half her costume to a cranky cheetah in a “wardrobe malfunction”. Poor David. If he wasn’t careful he might end up with a well-deserved case of rabies.
“Ooh, testy, testy, Ms. Martin,” she mocked herself in a lilting imitation of David’s accent.
She stood, remote in hand, through two commercial breaks and the puppeteer’s amusing interview with his Broadway “skit mate”, Skeeter the Squito, telling herself she’d turn off the television and go to bed.
Any minute now.
“Although my next guest has won six Grammys, he hasn’t been on this show in seven years. The single Kyra’s Song, from his album, Reveal, debuted at number one. I give you, ladies and gentlemen, the man who knows more than one use for a mirror…David Tallis!”
The crowd catcalled and women screamed as the light came up on David on the music stage. Dressed from head to toe in
black, an unruly lock of his hair curling darkly against his uncharacteristically pale brow, he sat alone on a stool with his guitar.
“This one’s for Kyra,” he said hoarsely.
He strummed the guitar strings and Kyra swore she could feel his fingers playing over her nipples. Her knees went to water and she sat down on the floor to watch as David made love to her over the television.
As he sang he stared into the camera, and it reminded her of how he liked to look at her when their bodies were joined. The blue of his eyes projected passion and regret, showing her his feelings more than the two dozen roses in her trash ever could.
Singing the last line, about love and forever, his voice cracked with emotion. Without knowing how she came to be there, Kyra found she was kneeling in front of the television, her fingers tracing the fullness of his lips.
“Bastard,” she whispered.
* * * * *
The lights went down and David wiped his face. The commercial break gave him the opportunity to compose himself before walking over to the dreaded interview couch.
He wanted to do this about as much as he wanted to have a root canal, but Jenny had come up with the idea and he had to agree with her assessment. If Kyra wouldn’t answer his calls or see him, this was the only way. Even if she didn’t see the interview herself, surely someone would DVR it and make her watch it. He hoped.
For weeks his parting remarks and that horrible kiss had haunted his memory. He’d been certifiable. How could she forgive him? He couldn’t even forgive himself. Still, he had to try. His life was shattered without her. If he could, he’d gladly spend the rest of it making it up to her.
The host walked back on stage, and David took his mark. The cameraman signaled, and that was all the time he had to think before he was shaking hands with the puppeteer and sitting on the hot seat.
“Welcome!” the host said jovially.
The man’s smarmy smile made David’s skin crawl. How could he have ever compared Kyra to his ilk?
“Thank you for having me,” David said, and took a sip of water the crew had provided. Its lukewarm lemon flavor soured his mouth and he had to resist the urge to spit it out.
“You’ve had a wild ride,” cough “over the past few months. Why don’t you tell us about it?”
“Are we talking about the album or my love life?” he deadpanned.
The host laughed along with the audience.
He wished he could deck the man, but he knew if he wanted this interview to have the desired outcome he had to play along.
“Well, let’s start with the album. Kyra’s Song went number one this week. That must make you feel good.”
“It’s always nice when people like what you do. I have great fans. I wouldn’t be here without them.”
The audience cheered obligingly.
“Well, the fans obviously adore you,” the host continued, “but, you’ve been reluctant to be in the spotlight for some time. Can you explain why?”
“It’s true, and I’ve done a lot of thinking about this over the past couple months.”
The host nodded. “Have you concluded anything?”
“I’ve always courted fame with what you call gusto. The only reason I can come up with is that I was searching for a larger-than-life identity to make up for the one I’d lost.”
“Well, the ladies in the crowd—and a few men, if those tall tales about you and your manager are true—would say you certainly don’t need to compensate for anything,” the host said laughingly.
David felt his jaw harden, even as he tried to smirk at the man’s inappropriate response to the very serious point he was trying to make. He wouldn’t have put up with it for five seconds if it weren’t for the idea that Kyra might be watching.
“There’s only one woman I’m interested in sharing those intimate details with,” he answered in clipped tones, before taking another sip of water.
“I understand you’re in the dog house with that woman. Your girlfriend, Kyra Martin, is that right?”
“Justifiably, yes.”
This was the part he had arranged with the show’s producers beforehand, so he was ready for the question when it came.
“If she were here now, what would you say to Kyra?”
He searched for the camera. Looked straight at it, and tried to visualize her green eyes looking up at him.
“I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I—I love you.”
The crowd went berserk and David blew out a breath. He could only hope Kyra’s reaction was half as enthusiastic. That was all they had time for before the woman from the zoo had to come out with her baboons.
* * * * *
Kyra saw David before he spotted her.
Paparazzi lay in wait outside the doors along with a gaggle of fans holding autograph books and CDs. One man had a green dragon he wanted the puppeteer to sign. A group of animal rights activists chanted from across the sidewalk. With the hubbub, so far nobody had recognized Kyra. She’d worn a baseball hat in an attempt to blend in with the crowd outside the television studio.
Making his way through the crowd, David answered questions, even posed for pictures for the paparazzi, and signed autographs. One woman asked him to kiss her cheek and he gave her a squeeze with his arm around her instead. He took photographs with adoring fans for at least fifteen minutes. She’d never heard of him being so generous. Was this all for her benefit? To show what a changed man he was?
Inspiration hit and she sidled up to a television tabloid reporter. His eyes widened in recognition and he turned to face her. Before he could blurt out the first question, she grabbed his mic and swiveled toward David. If he wanted to show her just how much he’d changed, she’d damn well give him the opportunity.
“Mr. Tallis!”
He hesitated, sharpie poised over a CD. She could almost hear him thinking he was hallucinating. He moved the pen across the liner notes and she called out again.
“Mr. Tallis! Over here!”
The line of his shoulders went rigid, and he turned. Before his eyes met hers she nearly dropped the mic and ran away. She was still so damn raw from the things he’d said, she didn’t know if she could hide her hurt.
The corners of his mouth started to tilt up when he met her eyes. Just as quickly, a cloud passed over his features. His approach was wary, as if he knew what she planned to do, but had decided to submit to the licks he knew he deserved.
Kyra steeled her resolve. If he wanted to do penance, he had no idea of the number of Hail Mary’s she could dish out.
“Yes?” he asked.
The tabloid crew took a step back and trained a camera on the two of them.
“Is it true Kyra Martin had you both followed so she could further her career with your sexcapades?”
He flinched and she tilted the mic at him.
“No. She had nothing to do with that.”
“But you do admit it’s rather convenient for her, all this publicity?”
“Kyra…” he pleaded.
She gave no quarter.
“Answer the question.”
“I imagine it has been rather difficult for her.”
He had no idea.
“If you had the opportunity to do it all over again, would you say she’s a liar and a whore? Or would you just choose one of the two?”
Those in the crowd who’d realized what was going on let out a collective gasp. He closed his eyes and a flush stained his cheeks. She knew he was wishing the pavement would swallow him up, and she almost caved. Instead she clenched her jaw and waited for him to regain his equilibrium.
He opened his eyes and begged her with his baby blues. “I’m sorry. What I said…”
She raised an eyebrow.
“What I said was inexcusable.”
“You’re right,” she said, her voice tough as nails.
He swallowed hard and nodded once in understanding.
Kyra turned and handed the mic back to the stunned reporter, reluctant to meet Dav
id’s eyes again. If he so much hinted that he was going to cry, she might cave.
Blowing out a breath she made herself face him and…
He was walking away?
“Honey, you can’t just leave!” a woman advised and blocked his path.
Kyra crossed her arms under her breasts to watch the scenario unfold.
As if choreographed, the crowd formed a circle with Kyra in the center.
David stood motionless, his back to her. He must have given the woman who’d stopped him a bemused look because she stood on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear.
Slowly, he pivoted, understanding written across his features. He walked back over to Kyra, and his hands came up in a supplicant gesture.
“Please forgive me?” he asked.
As predicted, the sheen in his eyes was her undoing.
“It’s going to take some time.”
It was the best she could do.
Relief washed over his features.
“Thank you. Even if we can’t be…like we were, I hope you’ll be in my life.”
“Do you think we can’t be?”she asked, needing to be certain of his intent.
“I hope we can. I don’t want to presume.”
He was adorable when he was flustered. Adorable. That was a word she’d never thought to apply to him before. Sexy? Definitely. Handsome? Without a doubt. Infuriating? Absolutely.
Kyra bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She reached up to brush the lock of hair from his forehead in a welcoming gesture.
“I think we make beautiful music together,” she whispered for his ears alone.
The worry lines marking his forehead disappeared, and a smile broke across his features. The light in his eyes bathed her in his joy.
His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her close. The kiss was an apology and a promise. Its gentle whisper told her she was cherished. Her answering arms lifted to draw him closer, letting him in and telling him that in at least one corner of her heart he’d already been forgiven.
Sheet Music Page 14
