“Hello, doll,” Mr. Owl said.
“Mr. Doll,” Mr. Fox added with a smile for Simon.
“You two look nice all cleaned up,” Elizabeth said. Although, Mr. Owl's tuxedo was a little rumpled. She tried to smooth down one of his shoulder pads that insisted on popping up.
“That's not the suit,” Mr. Fox said. “That's his hump. They're very close.”
“Thank you, Master,” Mr. Owl added in his best Igor impression.
“Has Grant arrived?” Simon asked, clearly hoping to interrupt their two-man show before it had a chance to move into the second act.
“I think I saw him back by the bar.” Mr. Fox jerked his head toward another room.
Simon didn't waste any time and put his hand on Elizabeth's back and escorted her away. “Thank you.”
Elizabeth turned as they walked away. “See you boys later?”
They both blew her kisses and then turned and blew each other kisses.
Despite the fact that waiters carried well-stocked trays of champagne around to the guests, the back room with the bar was packed with people. She and Simon tried to navigate through the crush, but it was too much.
“I'll see if I can find him,” Simon offered.
Elizabeth gratefully let him swim upstream and filtered out into the hall to wait. Not a bad place to kill five minutes she thought as she noticed the artwork. The art on the walls should have been in a museum — a series of bas-relief bronzes by Matisse, a sketch by Picasso, and sculptures by Taft. It was an astonishing collection.
Elizabeth leaned in to get a better look at the Picasso.
“Beautiful, aren't they?”
She startled at the voice and turned quickly around.
Mr. Thorn smiled kindly at her. “I didn't mean to frighten you.”
She swallowed and pushed her heart back into her chest. “It's all right. Yes, they are.”
“It's a pity he has no idea what he has,” Thorn said admiring the sketch. He caught her questioning eye and continued. “He knows their value, monetary value, but the beauty and passion of collecting is lost on a man like Roth.”
Elizabeth moved down the hall to the Matisse. “Do you collect art too?”
“Not art,” he said. “But I do enjoy collecting.”
She could feel him looking at her and turned around. It was an odd sensation. It wasn't like when the other men looked at her. Those looks made her blush. This wasn't prurient although there was desire in his dark eyes.
He smiled and stepped closer. “I collect butterflies. A curious avocation for a man in my position, I suppose. Perhaps even distasteful?”
The idea should have offended her — the thought of the poor defenseless creatures pinned to a wall was instantly overridden by the sheer beauty of them. It was wrong, but they were so very beautiful.
He was standing close to her now. She could feel the power of his physical presence next to her. “Such delicate creatures,” he said leaning down slightly. “The more beautiful they are the more difficult they are to find.”
She found herself nodding, staring up at Thorn, a hazy sort of feeling making her brain gauzy.
“Elizabeth?”
“Hmm?”
She felt a hand grip her arm and turn her away from Thorn. Alan Grant stared down at her, angry and worried.
“We were looking for you,” Elizabeth said, feeling the fog start to lift.
His expression faltered. “I'm sorry.” He seemed to be apologizing for far more than being difficult to find, but she still couldn't think clearly. He shifted his gaze to Thorn, and his eyes that had been so tender a moment ago flashed with anger. “I told you to stay away from her.”
Thorn was unimpressed. He put one hand casually in his pocket. “So you did.”
Alan straightened his back and set his jaw. “Stay away.”
Thorn smiled, but there was no humor or warmth in it. “It must be tempting. A simple trade.”
Alan shook his head. “Never.”
Thorn shrugged. “Well, should you change your mind, there's still time. Although,” he added with a sad shake of his head, “Tick-tock, Alan, tick-tock.”
What on earth were they talking about? Her mind was clearing, but the obvious history between the two men left her feeling like she'd missed a few important scenes in a movie.
“There you are!” a voice bellowed from the end of the hall. Sam Roth waved his cigar at Thorn. “Been looking for you.”
Elizabeth felt relieved at Roth's sudden appearance, but she wasn't even sure why.
“Leo's here and he's feeling generous. Come on.” Roth nodded toward Elizabeth and Grant in a cursory greeting.
Thorn turned to Elizabeth. “I'm sure we'll talk later.” He smirked at Grant as he passed. “Grant.”
He joined Roth at the end of the hall and they disappeared into the crowd.
“Are you all right?” Alan asked tipping Elizabeth's chin up to look into her eyes.
“I think so,” she said. Her head was still a little swimmy. “I do have one question though.” He looked at her expectantly. “What the hell was all that about?”
“Not here.”
Elizabeth wanted to demand answers, but already her memory of the last few minutes was beginning to muddle.
Alan took her hand. “Come along, my dear Lucia.”
He led her back into the main room where the Jazz quartet was playing “All of Me.” Alan pulled her into the crowd and joined the dancers. “It's best if you pretend nothing happened.” He took them into a graceful turn. “I'll explain everything later. Just try to avoid being alone with him, would you?”
Elizabeth didn't need to be reminded. The details of their encounter were fuzzy around the edges, but the heebies on her jeebies hadn't gone away. She would give Thorn a doublewide berth.
As the song ended and another began, she heard a throat clear behind her. She knew that cough. Simon.
He stood behind them, fists on hips, cranky on face.
Elizabeth looked up at him with a small smile and waved her hand in front of Grant. “Found him.”
“So good of you to come tell me. I've been fighting that damn crowd for the last ten minutes looking for him. I—”
“I have just the thing to cure what ails you,” Alan said and then maneuvered Elizabeth into Simon's arms, whose pique immediately started to ebb.
“I won't be far. We'll talk later,” he added to Elizabeth. He started to leave and then turned back and addressed Simon, “Oh, and one more thing. Keep her away from Errol Flynn. Wandering hands.” He looked Simon up and down and added. “Come to think of it, you might want to stay away from him too.”
With that Alan slipped into the crowd.
After a beat to recover, Simon pulled Elizabeth to him and they started to dance.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
Elizabeth briefly considered telling Simon about her encounter with Thorn, but dismissed the idea immediately. Simon would not be happy and she wasn't honestly sure what to tell him. She trusted Alan could explain it better than she could. “I'm not sure. But, I think we'll find out soon.”
~~~
Betty was murder on the clutch of her 1930 Model A, but she loved to drive. Despite the painful occasional grinding of gears, Jack was happy to sit back and watch her. She sat up straight and leaned toward the wheel, clearly loving every moment and the freedom of having her own car. It was an adventure each time, she'd said. And, as Jack gripped the edge of his seat as she sent them lurching through an intersection, he would have to agree.
“Most men want to drive,” she said, turning to him with a smile.
He could see why, but he wouldn't have missed the look on her face for anything. “I'm not most men.”
Her broadening smile said she agreed.
As much as he was enjoying the wild ride, he did have to wonder where they were going. After dinner, she'd asked if he was willing to get his feet wet. Not having the slightest idea what she meant, he'd rea
dily agreed.
Now that they were speeding west toward the beach, he wondered just what she had in mind. It was past ten o'clock at night when they reached the Santa Monica bluffs not too far from the pier. They started down the long slope of the California Incline that would take them from the cliffs above to the long flat sandy shoreline. After a few more miles, she made a u-turn and parked along the ocean-side of the road.
“I think this is the place.” She climbed out of the car and came around to the passenger side. He opened his door and waited. Just what did she have in mind?
She grinned playfully at him, steadied herself on the side of the car and started to take off her shoes. In his mind's eye, she didn't stop there. In reality she did. He looked at her curiously and she nodded toward his shoes. “Well…?”
He began to untie his shoes and take off his socks. “Are you going to tell me what we're doing or just toy with me?”
Betty simply arched an eyebrow in challenge. Jack laughed and put his shoes and socks inside the cab of the car and stepped out onto the sandy edge of the shore. Betty shook her head and knelt down at his feet. She rolled up his trouser legs to mid-calf and then stood back to admire her work.
“You might want to roll up your sleeves too.”
He took off his jacket and undid his cuffs. She pulled a blanket from the backseat and held out her other hand to him.
“It's a little late for a picnic, isn't it?” he asked.
She just smiled, took his hand and led him out onto the beach. They trudged through the soft white sand, their feet slipping a half step for every step they made. The moon lit the shore ahead of them and Jack could just make out the silhouettes of a half dozen other people as they stood on a crest of sand above the shore's edge.
Suddenly, they disappeared and Betty yanked on his hand, urging him to hurry. “Come on!”
They quickened their pace and reached the end of the dry sand at the top of a small bank leading down to the water. In the wet sand beneath them thousands of small, silver fish wiggled and flopped along the shore.
“Grunion!” Betty said. “I've always wanted to see this.”
People ran in and out of the lapping waves as more fish came and then were pulled back out to sea. Some people had buckets and some gunnysacks and tried to scoop up handfuls of the fish as they washed on shore.
Jack had heard about grunion runs before, but he'd never seen one. The fish came on shore to spawn at high tide for several nights after the full moon. They wriggled up the beach as far as they could and then back out to sea. Some people stood by with flashlights while others tried to capture as many fish as they could. Grunion were small, maybe six inches long, but supposedly made for good cooking. The buckets full of fish some of the men caught would feed their family.
Betty tossed their blanket onto the dry sand and started down the small hill, her laughter caught in the cool ocean breeze. Tiptoeing along the edge of the gentle breakers, she tried not to step on any fish. She bent down to try to grab one, but they kept slipping through her fingers. She laughed and waved for him to join her.
The fish had long silver streaks along their sides and bellies that reflected the moonlight. They flipped and wiggled in a huge mass along the sand as far up the coast as they could see. Each wave washed some away and the next brought more to shore.
Betty giggled as the fish danced at her feet. She turned to face the water and the wind lifted her hair back and the moonlight touched her face. She was breathless and beautiful.
“Amazing, isn't it?” she said turning back to face him.
Cold waves lapped at his feet and Jack felt a burning in his chest. “Yes,” he managed to say. “Amazing.”
She smiled at him again and then turned away to chase the fish. Jack watched her for a moment and then joined the fray. He scooped one up and held it aloft triumphant. “Got one!”
She looked back and it squirted out of his hand. He tried vainly to chase after it. Betty laughed and then screamed as a large wave came and splashed them both. They waded in and out on the edge of the frenzy before walking back up the small hill and huddling together on the blanket. Before long someone had built a large bonfire in the middle of the broad expanse of dry sand. People made their way to it and sat down to warm themselves against the night.
Jack felt Betty shiver next to him. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the fire.
He stood and held out a hand to her. Her cool fingers slipped in his and he helped her stand. When they reached the group by the fire, Jack asked if they could sit and dry their clothes. The man, who didn't speak any English said something in Spanish and then just smiled and gestured to a spot by the fire.
Jack put the blanket down and rested his back against a large log. Betty leaned into him for warmth and he pulled her close to his side. They listened to the crackling of the fire and the waves breaking in the distance. It was so quiet and calm and felt slightly surreal after the manic excitement by the water.
Jack took both of Betty's hands, so small and chilled, between his own, rubbed them gently and blew on them softly. “Still cold?” he asked after a few minutes.
She shrugged and shook her head, but he could tell she was. “Here,” he said as he gently maneuvered her to sit between his legs and lean back against his chest. He flipped the end of the blanket up over her exposed legs and wrapped his arms around her middle.
“Better?”
He felt her nod against his chest and he wondered if she could feel the pounding of his heart. One of her hands came to rest on his thigh. He put his hand over hers and wished it could always be like this.
The fire blazed on into the night and the long shadows danced on the sand. A bottle of something made the rounds a few times and one of the men took out his guitar and played a series of classical Spanish songs Jack had never heard before.
Betty nuzzled into his warmth and he let his lips graze the crown of her head. How long they stayed that way, content to just be in each other's arms, Jack couldn't say, but he knew nothing so perfect could last forever.
He did everything in his power to delay the end of their evening, but the hours passed and the night grew late. The fire burned down low and slowly everyone made their way back to their cars and their homes and the reality of tomorrow.
Jack held her hand as they walked up the path to her house. He looked down at their hands, twined together and wondered how he'd ever be able to let go.
They walked up the few steps to the small landing at her front door. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand. She dug into her purse, found the key and unlocked the door. She pushed it open, but then paused and turned around to face him. The yellow glass from the porch light made her pale skin a warm, golden color. The glow from the streetlamp behind him caught in her eyes and looked like starlight. Jack was never at a loss for words until now. She literally took his breath away.
Her eyes traveled over his face, dipping down to his mouth, which had suddenly gone dry, and then her gaze fell shyly to the ground between them. “I guess this is goodnight,” she said.
“Yeah.” His voice was husky and soft. And he was an idiot. Say something, idiot. “I…”
She looked up at him, unsure and nervous. “You…”
“I had a great time,” he said. Complete idiot.
She smiled, relieved at having something concrete to respond to. “I did too. It was…”
“Yeah,” he said again. He'd never had a problem talking to women before. Why on earth did he feel like this now? Like his limbs were attached to some else's body.
“Aw hell,” he said and took a long stride that closed the gap between them. Before she could react, he grabbed her arm with one hand and slid his other behind her head and pulled her to him and kissed her.
He caught her mouth in a surprised little “oh” and nearly stopped. He felt her hands grip the fabric of his shirt, but she didn't push him away; she pulled him closer. And he was lost.
He poured everything he couldn't
say into that one kiss. When finally, she pulled back he was breathing heavily and happy to see she was too. He caught his breath and slowly released her, hoping he hadn't gone too far.
She looked down again, afraid to meet his eyes. Her fingers untwined from the fists they'd made in his shirt. Nervously, still half dazed, she touched the corner of her mouth. When their eyes met again, it took all of his self-control not to take her in another kiss. But he'd be damned if he was going to screw this up.
“I should go,” he said.
She looked at him, that same shy unsure beautiful light in her eyes. She bit her lower lip and he nearly reached out to her.
Betty ducked her head and stepped back into the open doorway, disappearing into the darkness for a moment before turning back to him. She rested her head against the door jam, her hand playing with the edge of the molding. “Or,” she said, her eyes catching his briefly. “You could stay.”
He knew he shouldn't. “Maybe,” he said, taking a step closer and looking into her eyes. “Just for a little while.”
She stepped back into the darkness and her door opened further inviting him in; he could do nothing else and stepped into the darkness with her.
Chapter Twelve
Simon was growing impatient. Whatever secret Grant and Elizabeth shared started to eat away at him. He'd endured banal conversation and feigned an interest in a half-dozen people he wouldn't remember in the morning for long enough.
He went to collect them and demand that they tell him what was going on. The two of them were off to the side by the hall, laughing and drinking as if there was nothing wrong in the least.
“I think it's time we leave,” Simon started, “and you—”
Simon was interrupted by a slight commotion a few feet away. A young man, who couldn't have been more than seventeen, barged into the room. He was sorely out of place. His suit was brown and wrinkled and far too big for him. He mumbled an apology and tugged at his collar. He ran a dirty hand through the fringe of his hair as his eyes darted around the room, searching for someone.
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