by Patricia Kay
Sam smiled across the table at her. "You look awful tired tonight. Why don't I go home now? Then you take a couple of aspirins and go to bed. Okay?"
But after he left, Ronnie sat at the table and continued to stare out the window for a long time. The conversation with Sam had crystalized her situation in her mind. This limbo couldn't continue. Alex had asked her to wait awhile, and she had, although she'd known nothing would come of the waiting. Now two months had passed, and nothing new had developed, and until she could put this unhappiness behind her, Ronnie knew she'd continue to feel miserable.
I'm not the kind of person who can sit and wait, she thought. Maybe some women could but not me. Besides, Alex hadn't made any commitment to her. He hadn't made any promises. He'd never even said he loved her. Doubt settled like a storm cloud around Ronnie's heart. She was a fool to mope around, hoping and waiting. She had to take action. Otherwise I'll be no good to anyone, least of all myself, she thought.
Lifting her chin, she stood up, walked into the living room, picked up the phone, and dialed.
"Alex?" she said. She took a deep breath. "Alex, there's something I want to say, and I don't want you to interrupt me until I've said it."
"Ronnie, what's wrong?"
She heard the alarm, and yes, the fear, but she bit her lip and plunged ahead. "I'm through waiting, Alex. I can't live this way any longer. I have to get on with my life. And I think if you're honest you'll agree it'll be best for everyone if we say goodbye and part as friends. I want to remember what we had together this past summer. I don't want to remember our relationship as one of unhappiness and pain."
"Ronnie, please—"
"I've made a decision. I want you to stop calling me. I ... I don't want to see you again."
Chapter 11
Alex slammed the receiver down, tension and frustration knotting the muscles in his neck and shoulders. Maisie had given him the runaround again. Ronnie wasn't in, she'd said. How could he talk to Ronnie if she refused to return his phone calls? And she'd gotten an answering machine, so that when he called her at home, all he ever heard was her voice on the taped message.
Listlessly, he walked over to the window of his apartment. The windows faced Central Park, and as he looked down he could see people everywhere. It was one of those cold, clear, crisp November days that usually made him so glad to be alive.
The last month had been hellish. He felt torn apart. Part of him longed to throw some clothes in a suitcase, throw the suitcase in his car, and take off for Juliette and Ronnie. The other part of him knew he had to stay right here in the city. He was desperately afraid if he left, even for a few days, Margo and Christopher would be gone when he got back.
He clenched his right fist and punched it into his left palm. The force of the blow hurt, but he ignored the pain. It felt good to hit something. Damn Margo! Why was she toying with him? Did she enjoy making him suffer? And surely she knew he was suffering.
In less than four weeks, it would be Christmas. I'm not going to wait a minute longer, he thought. I'm going to go over there and tell Margo in no uncertain terms just how it's going to be. I'm going to insist upon joint custody. And I'm going to tell her that if my name isn't on the birth certificate, I want her to allow me to legally adopt Christopher. If I have to offer her every penny I have to get her to agree to my terms, I'll do it. But he frowned as he thought about money. Margo had been acting strange about money. That first time they'd talked, she'd insinuated she wanted child support from him, but when he'd tried to pin her down about how much and how often, she'd evaded his question, saying, "Oh, we'll talk about all that later..."
If only this could all be resolved with money. A feeling of hopelessness crept over him. What would he do if he lost both Christopher and Ronnie? Maybe Ronnie had meant what she'd said. What if he pushed Margo, and she simply boarded a plane for Europe with Christopher?
On and on the questions raged in his mind. There seemed to be no answer to his dilemma. But there has to be an answer, he thought. I can't take much more of this. I'm going crazy. Even the excitement of rehearsals hadn't helped him forget his problems. Each day he'd go to the theater and wish his personal drama could be resolved as neatly and satisfactorily as the drama on the stage.
The only two bright spots in his days had been his conversations with Ronnie and his visits with Christopher. Now one was gone. Would the other be gone soon, too?
* * *
"Daddy! Daddy!" Christopher's voice piped excitedly, and his brown eyes sparkled. "Ducks!"
Alex smiled. Keeping a firm grip on the boy's hand, he kept pace with his son's short steps until they reached the edge of the pond. "Would you like to feed them?" he asked.
"Yes! Yes!" Christopher jumped up and down while Alex bought a bag of popcorn from a park vendor. A young mother grinned at them. Her own small, blonde daughter cavorted happily around her feet. Alex grinned back. When he was with Christopher, he felt almost happy, and he would forget about everything else, at least for a few hours.
I guess you can't stay depressed all the time, he thought. As Christopher squatted on the grass and threw pieces of popcorn to the squawking ducks, Alex stood, content just to watch. Finally, Christopher stood up.
"Finished, son?" Alex said softly. A jet whined overhead, pointed in the direction of LaGuardia. Alex squinted upwards. The sky looked as blue and as clear as Ronnie's eyes. There was a dull ache in his chest. Oh, Ronnie, I need you so much. I can't stand it without you.
Christopher nodded and said, "Uh huh." Then he lifted his arms. "Carry me?" he asked hopefully.
Alex reached down and lifted his son into his arms. The child put his left arm around Alex's shoulders and turned his face to Alex's. "Wuv you, Daddy."
Alex's heart twisted. "Love you, too, sport." He closed his eyes tightly for a minute. Christopher needed him. In the end, it all boiled down to that. Christopher was a small, dependent child, and he needed Alex. Ronnie was a grown woman, strong and capable, and she could manage just fine without him, as she'd shown him over the past weeks.
Alex stood still, hugging his son tightly. People walked past, the ducks quacked and squawked, small children whooped and hollered in the background, but Alex stood unseeing.
If I did push Margo, what's the worst thing that could happen? he asked himself. She'd leave. But if she had intended to go back to Europe, she'd have done it by now. She wants something else; she's just been waiting for the right moment to spring it on me. Well, I'm not going to wait a day longer to find out what it is. I'm going to walk out of this park and over to her apartment, I'm going to open the door, and I'm going to force her to give me an answer.
Today.
* * *
When Kate called and invited Ronnie for Christmas, Ronnie only hesitated a few minutes. So what if Alex were there? New York City was enormous. She wouldn't be likely to run into him. Kate didn't live in Manhattan—she had a small apartment in Brooklyn. Why not go?
"Oh, Ronnie, please come," Kate pleaded. "We'll take in some shows, stay up all night and talk ... just like we used to."
Ronnie thought about Christmas with her brothers. About their comfortably settled lives. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll come. I'm due some vacation, anyway."
They agreed that Ronnie would come two days before Christmas and stay until after New Year's.
"I'll take you to a party New Year's Eve," promised Kate. "A photographer friend of mine is giving it, and it's sure to be a blast. We'll have a great time." Then she laughed. "Bring some sexy clothes. Maybe we'll meet some guys."
"You're just what I need right now," Ronnie said.
"I thought you sounded a little down. What's wrong?"
Ronnie heard the genuine concern in her friend's voice. "Oh, nothing much. Just a broken heart, that's all."
"Well, if that's all!"
Ronnie laughed in spite of herself. "Oh, Kate. I feel better just talking to you. When I get there I'll tell you all about him."
"Good. Sister Kate
will brew pots and pots of tea and give lots and lots of sympathy, and before you know it, you won't even remember old what's-his-name!"
* * *
Margo's eyebrows lifted. "Well, you two are back much earlier than I thought you would be!" she exclaimed. "Didn't you have fun?"
"Fun!" Christopher shouted. His cheeks were red from the cold December air, and his black hair stood up on end as he snatched his red wool cap from his head and raced toward his mother.
"I wanted to talk to you, Margo. That's why we came back early."
Her golden-brown eyes glittered. "I don't have much time," she said. "I've been invited to an opening; then we're all going on to a party."
Alex noted the shimmering dress of chocolate brown satin, so complimentary to her bright hair and creamy skin. She hadn't changed, he thought. Still flitting from place to place in a constant round of parties, openings, dinner parties, house parties, you-name-it. His resolve hardened. Christopher deserved better.
She smiled, sinking gracefully onto the white sofa. Reaching for the black lacquered cigarette box on the glass coffee table, she extracted a slim cigarette, carefully and slowly lighting it with the heavy silver lighter provided for guests. She inhaled slowly.
"I thought you quit smoking," he commented.
"I did." Her topaz eyes studied him. "Now, what was it you wanted to talk about?"
"Christopher," he said bluntly. "But I'd rather not talk in front of him."
Christopher had plopped onto the white carpet and was tugging at his boots but still hadn't managed to take them off.
"Christopher, darling. Go see Sylvia and Patty," Margo said.
Without protest, Christopher got up and ran off in the direction of the kitchen.
"Okay," she said. "Talk."
"Margo, I'm through fooling around. I want to know what your plans are. Are you going to willingly allow me to be a part of Christopher's life, or am I going to have to fight you?"
Her lips quirked up at the corners, and she took a long drag on her cigarette before answering.
"It's funny you should ask," she drawled. "Yesterday I made a decision." She paused, and fear clung to the recesses of his mind like fine cobwebs in dark corners.
She tilted her head, then said, "I'm going back to Europe next week."
* * *
Five days before Christmas a small parcel arrived in the mail. Ronnie took one look at the return address and knew the package was from Alex. She placed it on the kitchen table. It sat there for two days before she could muster up enough courage to open it.
Finally, calling herself a fool for the flicker of hope she'd couldn't extinguish, she tore the brown paper off the box and opened it.
With a gasp of pleasure she lifted the exquisitely carved ivory statuette of lovebirds sitting side by side on a jade branch. Nestled into the straw packing was a small white envelope.
With trembling hands, Ronnie slit the flap and withdrew the folded sheet of paper. When she opened it, two tickets fell out. She picked up the tickets. Her heart thudded against her chest. They were tickets to Signposts. Orchestra seats. December 26th. Ronnie knew it was literally impossible to get tickets to Alex's new play. She'd read that opening night and every other night for months to come had been sold out for weeks. Alex's fans didn't wait for the reviewers. They'd waited long enough for a new work by Alexander Summerfield. She looked at the note. It said:
Veronica,
Please come to the opening of my play. I sent you two tickets because I thought you might like to ask your friend, Kate. I know she lives here in the city.
Without you this opening wouldn't have been possible. You were a part of the struggle to get Signposts into shape—you should share in the excitement of opening night.
I hope you like the lovebirds. Merry Christmas, and I'll look forward to seeing you December 26th.
Alex
Ronnie stared at the note and the tickets. Why had he sent them? The only reason she could think of was that he wanted to let her see for herself the way things were with him and Margo and Christopher. Because Ronnie knew if he really loved her, if he'd been able to work anything out, he'd have come to Juliette to see her.
But those lovebirds. Was that symbolic of something? Pain knifed its way through her as she thought of seeing Alex again ... an Alex surrounded by admiring fans ... and someone else. Someone with red hair and tawny eyes.
She should just throw the tickets into the wastebasket and forget the whole stupid idea. She couldn't go. She couldn't put herself through that agony.
But she tucked the tickets into her purse. She didn't have to make any decision now. Tomorrow she'd leave for Kate's, and then she'd still have three days before she had to decide whether she'd go to the opening or not.
But in her heart she knew she'd go. No matter how much it would hurt, no matter how many tears she'd shed afterward, she simply had to see Alex again.
* * *
The air vibrated with expectation and the hum of voices taut with excitement. The hum of the audience filtered through the heavy curtains. Stagehands whispered frantic last-minute instructions. Roustabouts scurried back and forth—adjusting the scrim, checking the props, marking items off on their clipboards. Jenny Campbell, the leading lady, stood in the wings in front of Alex. Her eyes were closed, and she took deep, measured breaths, exhaling through her mouth. Organized pandemonium, Alex thought. Tension fueled each person's movements.
Alex's own stomach felt as if people were racing around in it. But his nervousness wasn't entirely due to opening night jitters. No. He'd been in this state of agitation for six days now. Ever since he'd sent Ronnie the tickets.
Would she come? She had to be there. He'd thought about writing to her—a real letter—not that brief note he'd sent, but then he knew he couldn't tell her what he had to say in a letter. He had to see her face. He had to make her understand. And there hadn't been enough time to go to Juliette because of the opening and Christmas.
"Alex?"
Alex turned his head. Matt Oliver, the director, gave him a quizzical look. Alex grinned. "I was daydreaming."
"Curtain's going up in three minutes," Matt said.
Pent-up energy crackled around them. Suddenly, stillness settled over the people backstage. The stage area cleared, and the lights were dimmed.
Alex took a deep breath as the pulleys began to lift the trembling curtain, exposing the sea of expectant faces.
* * *
Ronnie held her breath as the curtain lifted, revealing the dimly lit set. The spotlights went up, the floodlights were turned on, and Jenny Campbell walked lightly onto the stage.
The audience clapped, and Ronnie's heart pumped harder. Oh, she hoped this play was a hit for Alex. He deserved it. She didn't allow herself to think any further, and soon, despite her inner torment, the enchantment and power of the story enfolded her.
The first act was wonderful. Ronnie had forgotten how amusing some of the scenes were, even though the subject was serious. The relationship between Elaine, played by Jenny Campbell, and Jack, played by Oscar Holland, a magnificent actor, reminded Ronnie of her own relationship with Alex during those first weeks he'd been in Juliette.
As the curtain fell on Act I, the applause was deafening. All around her, Ronnie could feel the approval of the audience, and a bittersweet happiness gripped her. She shook her head when Kate asked her if she wanted to walk out to the lobby before Act II started.
In Act II, when Jack begins to draw away from Elaine, lured by the tempting Maria and everything that comes with her, Ronnie felt Elaine's pain. Tears threatened to spill over as Elaine bravely pretended not to care that Jack preferred flash over substance. In many ways, the story seemed to parallel Ronnie's own life.
At the next intermission, she sighed and turned to Kate. "Want to go out to the lobby and get a glass of wine or something?"
Kate grinned. "You a mind reader?"
The two women stood, merging with the crowd as they slowly made th
eir way out to the lobby. Standing off to one side of the crowded area with glasses of wine, they observed the crowd.
"I love watching people," Kate commented. "All shapes and sizes. Aren't they something?" She chuckled. "Look at that one over there!" She pointed to a young man dressed in silver pants and vest, combined with a white chiffon shirt and high white boots. He wore a large diamond stud in his right ear.
Ronnie smiled, but her eyes restlessly searched the crowd. She wanted to see Alex. She didn't want to see Alex. Then her stomach lurched at the sight of dark hair threaded with silver. But when the man turned, he wasn't Alex. She took a sip of her wine. Her stomach felt like a whole football team was scrimmaging inside.
All around her she heard the hearty laughter and bright chattering of a crowd enjoying themselves. "The play's going to be a hit," she said.
"Yes. Old what's-his-name is talented, I'll give him that," Kate said wryly. Then she muttered under her breath, "But he's also damn stupid."
Ronnie squeezed Kate's arm and said, "Let's go back in. I don't want to miss any of the third act."
Settled back into their fourth row aisle seats, Ronnie soon lost herself in the story. The third act was the most crucial, she knew. Alex had explained about the slow build-up that takes place all through the first two acts and how in Act III the story reaches its crisis point.
"This is the most important part of the play, Ronnie," he'd said. "If I make a wrong move, I could lose the audience here. And if they're disappointed here, then it doesn't matter how good the story has been up to now."
And now Ronnie understood exactly what he'd meant. She held her breath as Maria craftily threw tidbits and Jack took them. She ached as she watched Elaine suffer but never let on to Jack that she was suffering. Ronnie gripped her hands tightly in her lap. Yes. Elaine was right. Who wanted a man because he pitied you? A woman with any guts wanted a strong man, someone who recognized her worth and was willing to fight for it.
When Jack finally saw the truth, finally understood that Maria was glitter and Elaine was gold, Ronnie's own heart beat just as fast as Elaine's, and the tears rolled down her face. She jumped to her feet with the rest of the audience and clapped until her hands hurt. The actors took curtain call after curtain call, and then the messengers flooded the center aisle, and Ronnie watched as dozens of bouquets of flowers were offered to the actors.
