Thorn was surprised at that. He arched an eyebrow and put down the pen he'd been toying with. “In all my years, which are considerable, no one has ever thought to ask me that. Fascinating.” He paused to give the matter some thought. “I'm not sure I can put this in a way you can understand.”
“Try me,” Elizabeth said lifting her chin defiantly.
Thorn's eyes lit up; he obviously enjoyed the sparring. Simon did not.
“I began because I enjoyed the challenge and the pride in collecting something valuable. A man has nothing of greater value than his soul. But now…I think it's what I'm meant to do. It's who I am. It's why I'm here. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said. “We feel the same way.”
“Do you?”
“We're here to stop you,” she said. “That's who we are.”
Thorn smiled, amused. “Pity,” he said as he leaned back in his chair. “Time is not on your side.”
“We still have a day left.”
Thorn grinned. “Less than that.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and smiled as if she had the most wonderful secret in the world. “You're not the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve.”
Thorn arched an eyebrow in expectant pleasure. “I look forward to it.”
What in God's name was she talking about? Simon gripped Elizabeth's arm and edged her toward the door.
“Me too,” she said as if they were arguing about next week's football match.
When Simon had finally led her out of the room and out of Thorn's home, he turned to her and asked, “What was that all about?”
“I don't know,” she said angrily. “He makes me cranky.”
Simon ignored that and led her further down the street. The farther away from Thorn they got, the better. “And the tricks we have up our sleeves?”
“It's a bluff.”
Simon sighed, although he knew that was going to be her answer.
Elizabeth surprised him and stopped walking. “Daddy always said, when you get a handful of nothing, bet 'em like you got 'em.”
She looked up at him with such fierce resolve he almost believed her.
“Yes, but wasn't your father a rather poor poker player?” Simon said as kindly as he could.
Elizabeth's face crumpled. “I was hoping you wouldn't remember that.”
~~~
Jack leaned back against the warm sand and felt it cling to his wet skin. The sun hung low in the sky and cast a bright yellow path from West to East along the surface of the ocean. Betty walked back and forth along the shore as the gentle breakers foamed around her ankles. She looked up and waved at him. He lifted a sandy arm and waved back. It was the beginning of their goodbye.
He knew after dinner with Simon and Elizabeth that it had to end. Hell, he knew before then. Even before Cross' warnings, he'd sensed deep down inside that this couldn't be. He'd thought losing her the first time had been hard, but it was nothing compared to this. Every moment was a torture.
She walked toward him, her hips swaying as her feet dug into the softening sand.
“That was great,” she said, bending down to pick up a towel and drying off. “We sure don't have that in Fort Wayne.”
When she'd asked him to come here today, he should have said no. He should have broken it off right then and there. But he hadn't. He wanted one last day, one last day to sear everything into his memory including the pain. He deserved that and more.
Betty wrapped the towel around her as if she'd just come from the shower and sat down next to him. The setting sun made her skin look like gold. She leaned in to Jack and bumped him with her elbow. “You in there?”
She smiled at him and the wind blew a wet tendril of hair across her eyes. She brushed it away and tilted her head. “John?”
“I'm fine,” he lied. How many had he told? “Just,” he said, nodding toward the ocean, “it makes you think.”
She leaned into his side and wrapped an arm across his back. He felt her soft cheek rest on his shoulder as she gazed out at the ocean. It was wonderful and perfect and he'd never been so miserable.
He'd been a damn fool to have started it in the first place. Deep down, he must have known it would end this way. Could only end this way.
God, he'd been so selfish. He'd wanted her and everything else had fallen away. He'd put all the people he cared for at risk, the whole damn war at risk, just to be near her. And he was being punished for it now. If he'd just stayed in the shadows that day in the alley or walked away any of the days since, this wouldn't hurt so damn much. And, of course, he thought with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, in the end, he'd ended up hurting her the most. Or he would, when he finally found the courage to say goodbye.
Just one more sacrifice for the war.
He felt Betty shiver and burrow closer to him for warmth. “What do you think for dinner tonight? Maybe that little Italian place again?”
“I can't,” he said and she leaned away. Jack sat up and pulled one knee toward his chest. “My sister and husband have some event or something, and I'm supposed to go and be supportive.”
Betty was disappointed, but she tossed her head to the side. “That just means more meatballs for me.”
“I'm sorry,” he said, wishing she could know how much and knowing she never would.
Every scenario - his staying, her leaving and none of them could be. This could never be.
“That's okay,” she said waving it off. “We can go tomorrow.”
“Sure,” he said. He brushed some sand from her shoulder. “I'll miss you.”
“It's just one night, silly.” She leaned in and kissed him. Just a quick, reassuring kiss, but he caught her cheek in his hand as she started to pull away. He looked into her eyes and then down to her lips and gently guided her mouth back to his. Her lips were soft and tender.
When the kiss was over, she eased back and looked at him in such an odd way. Whatever it was in her eyes, it passed. She smiled and turned back to watch the sun kiss the horizon. He watched her and felt his heart ache and knew that it would never go away.
Chapter Sixteen
Simon and Elizabeth went over everything they'd seen, everything they'd learned again, looking for some clue, any clue to help them save Alan. There must have been something they'd overlooked. Elizabeth refused to accept anything else.
They'd called Alan to see if they could look at his copy of the contract, but of course, he didn't have one. “Paperwork was never my strong suit,” he'd said.
She and Simon talked in circles through the rest of the afternoon until a knock on the door interrupted them. A messenger carried in several large boxes, a bouquet of flowers and a note from Alan. They were cordially invited to his house for cocktails, formal attire required. God only knew what Alan was planning for his last night. Or what he saw as his last night, Elizabeth corrected herself. Even if he saw it that way, she wasn't ready to give up. For now, though, all they could do was stay with Alan and be there when the time came and hope for a solution.
Elizabeth reread Alan's note, looking for some clue as to what he had planned for tonight, but all it said was something about “cocktails and fun”. Formal fun.
Simon still had his tuxedo, but Elizabeth's only formal dress was still in need of repair. Of course, Alan knew that and had taken the liberty of sending several gowns for her to choose from. A small token of thanks, the note had said, for their friendship.
Every dress fit perfectly, not too surprising considering Alan was hardly a novice when it came to women's figures. Elizabeth settled on the pale gold silk brocade floor length gown. The red was too wicked city woman and the black, well, she refused to think about how that one made her feel. Alan had also sent a white fur stole. Elizabeth wasn't comfortable with the idea of wearing fur, but it was a cool evening, by Los Angeles standards, and she couldn't bring herself to do anything to insult Alan's generosity.
At six o'clock the front desk rang letting them know that a car had ar
rived for them. Alan had certainly thought of everything.
The drive to his home was quiet. Simon tried to reassure her that the night wasn't over. They would stay with him through the night and when midnight came, they'd find a way. She just wished Alan didn't seem so resigned to it all. He obviously loved being a movie star, but if he just had something else to live for? Or someone, she thought as the car turned up Camden Drive. Walking down the side of the road was a familiar figure. It was the girl who'd been at Alan's the other day. Elizabeth had a hunch and called for the driver to pull over.
“What on earth are you doing?” Simon asked as she jumped out of the car.
She poked her head back in through the open door. “Following a hunch. You go ahead and I'll catch up.”
“Elizabeth—”
She pointed at Grant's driveway barely one hundred feet up the road. “It's right there. I want to talk to the girl. Alone.”
Simon swallowed his protest and nodded curtly. Elizabeth closed the door and the car pulled away.
Elizabeth hurried to catch up. “Wait!” The girl either didn't hear her or didn't want to talk and continued down the street. Elizabeth lifted the hem of her dress and dashed across the street. “Girl from Alan Grant's!”
Finally, she stopped and turned. Elizabeth waved to her and caught up.
She looked at Elizabeth with a worried expression, taking in the dress and the fur. “Are you his girlfriend?”
“Alan's? No. Just a friend. A good friend.”
The girl glanced nervously up the street and frowned. “Who's he?”
Elizabeth followed her gaze. Simon stood at the end of the driveway, watching and waiting, and trying to be discreet. “He's my husband.” She waved him away. “Ignore him. I'm more interested in who you are.”
The girl's forehead creased and she nervously tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. When she looked back up at Elizabeth with her pale blue eyes, Elizabeth knew she couldn't be anyone else. “You're his daughter, aren't you?”
Her wobbly chin was all the reply Elizabeth needed. “Grace,” she said and fresh tears started to spill.
Elizabeth slipped an arm over Grace's slender shoulders as they trembled. “It's all right, honey. Let's go on up to the house.”
Elizabeth eased her around, but she shook her head. “They'll just send me away again.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Not this time.” She hugged her to her side. “Trust me?”
Grace looked a little dubious, but she nodded.
“Good.”
Elizabeth led her up the street to where Simon waited for them. He arched an eyebrow and offered a tentative, “Hello.”
Grace gave him a weak smile.
“Would you keep her father occupied,” Elizabeth said with a not so subtle nod toward Grace. “While we have a little chat?”
Simon's eyes widened in surprise. “Of course,” he said and gave Elizabeth his patented what are you doing now? expression. She returned it with a glare and he knew enough not to press the point.
Grace sniffled loudly. Simon’s attention shifted to the girl. He frowned and then reached into his tuxedo jacket, pulling out a handkerchief. He held it out to the girl. She looked at it uneasily until his expression softened. “It will be all right,” he said gently.
She smiled gratefully and took the handkerchief. Elizabeth gave Simon's hand a quick thank you squeeze which earned her a don't make me regret it look.
The three of them silently walked up the drive. When they reached the front door, Peter was standing there looking very uncomfortable.
“I'll take responsibility,” Elizabeth assured him.
Peter looked anxiously from the girl to Elizabeth and then to Simon.
“Is there a place where the two of us can talk?” Elizabeth asked.
Peter frowned, but nodded and escorted them to the study. Grace looked around the room anxiously and wouldn't sit until Elizabeth told her it was all right. Elizabeth brought her a glass of water from a carafe by the desk. She took a tiny sip. Poor kid, Elizabeth thought, as she took off her ridiculous fur stole and sat down on the ottoman. She looked closely at the girl. Her clothes were simple and conservative and her tears were certainly genuine.
“How long have you been trying to see him?”
“About a week,” Grace said, putting the glass of water on the end table. “I came all the way from Philadelphia.”
“That's a long way.”
The girl nodded proudly. “I saved up. Momma didn't want me to come, but said I had a right to meet him.”
“You've never met?”
Grace shook her head. “I just found out who he was.”
Elizabeth heard Simon's voice in her head. A gold digger? The mother looking for money and sending the child? People probably tried to put the touch on men like Alan Grant all the time.
Grace seemed to sense Elizabeth's train of thought and said quickly, “I'm not here for money or anything like that. I just…I lived my whole life not knowing my father and then I find out who he is. And, I know it's silly, but I felt like I kind of did know him. From his movies.”
Elizabeth nodded. “It's not silly.”
“And then I had enough saved and I wanted to see for myself if the man I saw up there is who he really was.” Her cheeks trembled. “But he won't even see me. I just want him to see me.”
Elizabeth covered Grace's hand with hers. “And he will.”
Ten minutes later when Elizabeth finally joined Simon and Alan in his living room, she wasn't sure whether to just cry or cry and then hit someone. The poor girl endured nights with relatives who thought she was foolish for trying and days waiting for her father to let her in the front door. That ended tonight.
“So glad you could join us,” Alan said as he held up a drink for her and gestured to Simon. “Your husband’s been about as much fun as an empty bottle of gin. Barely said two words. We still have a few hours before the premier though…” Her expression swiftly wiped the smile off his face. “What's the matter?”
“That's what I was going to ask you,” Elizabeth said. “I just had a very interesting conversation with a very distraught young girl.”
Alan started to put the drink he'd offered her down and decided to drink it himself instead. “I appreciate your concern—”
“My concern?” Elizabeth was not going to be put off. “That girl is your daughter.”
No matter how practiced an actor Alan was he couldn't hide the shame and the pain he felt in that moment. Elizabeth tried to make sense of it, to come to Alan's defense in her head, but she simply couldn't.
“There is nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already said to myself,” Alan said.
“You’re an ass,” Simon said.
“Including that.” Alan put his empty glass down and stared into the crystal for a moment. “It's far better this way, don’t you think? Considering my rather imminent demise.”
“No, I don't think.” Elizabeth tried to control her anger. “All she wants to do is see you. To see her father. Doesn't she deserve that at least? Don't you love her at all?”
“Of course I do!” Alan said and then again more softly. “Of course I do.”
Simon shook his head, glowering at Alan. “What sort of man abandons his own child?”
“She was better off without me,” he said quickly. “They both were.”
Alan picked up and put down his empty glass.
“I don’t believe that,” Elizabeth said.
“I am not a hero,” Alan said softly. “I am not that man you see up on the screen. I am flesh and blood and flawed.” Alan’s blue eyes filled with deep pain and regret. “Feet of clay, my dear, feet of clay,” he said before walking a few slow paces to a chair and sinking into it. “I want to see her very, very much, but now…” He shook his head. “She deserves far more than I can give her.”
“You're her father.”
“I am a dead man,” he said.
Elizabeth looked at thi
s man she'd so admired and saw the truth. “You're afraid.”
“Yes,” he said in a voice barely more than a whisper. “I am a coward. I ran away from her and her mother years ago and I haven't stopped yet.”
“It isn't too late,” Elizabeth said. “She's amazing.”
Pride flashed across Alan's face before he shoved it away. “All the more reason to send her away. If Thorn should see her…” He shook his head, dispelling the thought.
“Go see her,” Elizabeth said. “Just spend a little time with her and we'll keep her away from Thorn, I promise. Give her an hour. You owe her that at the very least.”
Elizabeth could see his resolve weakening. “My father died when I was seventeen. And I would give anything to see him again, even if it was just for an hour.”
She held out her hand to Alan. “She's waiting.”
Alan took her hand and stood. He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “Oh, Lucia.”
Alan's eyes were wet as he nodded and took a deep, bracing breath. He walked to the door and paused. He didn't turn back, but asked, “You'll wait?”
“We'll be here.”
~~~
Alan spent the next hour talking with his daughter. What they said, Elizabeth didn't ask, but when they saw him again, Alan looked like a man who'd just learned Santa Claus was real — stunned and delighted and unsure of his strange new reality. He seemed ready to face anything, even Thorn. Maybe he finally had something real to live for.
Peter dropped off Grace at her aunt’s house and came back to take Alan to the premiere. Elizabeth was a little surprised he still wanted to go, but as he put it, tonight could be his final performance as Alan Grant and he was going to enjoy it.
As their limousine pulled onto Hollywood Boulevard, Elizabeth could see the giant searchlights scanning the night sky in the distance. Huge ten-foot cutouts of showgirl's legs caught in mid-kick were strung up along the street lamps like Christmas decorations. The sidewalks were packed with people trying to get a glimpse of their favorite star.
They drove past the theater and Elizabeth strained to see out of the back window. Grauman's Chinese Theatre was magnificent. The front part of the façade rose nearly one hundred feet in the air and was flanked by two gigantic coral red columns that were capped by wrought iron masks and a bronze roof. Between the columns an enormous dragon carved from stone and two giant Foo Dogs guarded the entrance. Standing over the main entrance was a thirty-foot pair of showgirl legs and the signature sign of the movie premiering, “Chorus Girl!”
The Devil's Due Page 17
