Day Three

by Patricia Spencer

  Although Brenna was perfectly happy to remain cocooned in the beauty and restfulness of the little cottage by the sea and to have her grocery delivery be her only contact with the world, the morning after James and Gary arrived, they insisted she go into Portland with them.

  “A lovely light lunch somewhere,” James said. “A little shopping, window or otherwise. You need to get out.”

  Dr. J, swept from Daniel’s house with scarcely any cash on hand, needed to find a bank. Squeak needed more sleepers. Between her drool, mushy food, and other overflow, Brenna hardly had time to wash and dry her available clothes before the next load was needed. And Brenna herself wanted to go to a camera store. There were portraits to take.

  The excursion required logistical support, however. The RedRiver bodyguards were in place and had to escort them. There was the car seat to install in James and Gary’s rental car. The diaper bag had to be packed. Brenna’s days of simply walking out the door were gone. Ready to depart, finally, with Squeak snapped into her outfit and everything apparently set, Brenna sniffed the environs of her daughter’s hind-quarters.

  “Hang on, you guys. I think I’ve gotta put the kid through a wash cycle.” She took the baby to the bathroom, peeling off snaps as she went. She sat on the edge of the tub and ran the water until it was warm. James sat on the closed toilet seat beside her, grinning. Gary leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, clear of the splash zone.

  “I had no clue, James, that babies were so leaky,” she said.

  “Who would have thought, Gary? Li’l Bear fawning over a kid?”

  Brenna leaned over the edge, soaping Squeak’s bottom with a now-expert hand. “It’s scary, you know? Suddenly being a Mom. But…I like her. Even if she is teething and drooly.”

  “‘Like’ is an understatement,” Gary said. “You’re nuts about her, hardly letting anyone else hold her.”

  “I gave her to you at breakfast,” she said, patting the baby’s bottom dry with a towel. “And I saw you, trying to teach her to call you ‘Auntie Gary’.”

  Brenna re-wrapped Squeak, and soon the entourage of family and bodyguards rolled northward toward Portland, past old farmhouses, cottages, and open fields. Turning onto larger and larger roads, the trip didn’t take long.

  They stopped in South Portland first while Brenna picked up film and gear from Hunt’s Photo and Video Store, then ducked into a department store and spent more time than expected over baby clothes and supplies.

  Dr. J, so long deprived of life’s necessities, meandered the aisles with Gary, her eyes wide, jaw slack from the sheer availability of consumer goods. She spent little, however. Her habit of conserving her resources, and her lack of certainty about what she could obtain next, kept her frugal. She bought only one item—an outfit for Squeak that she couldn’t resist. “I never had a girl,” she explained.

  Finished there, they found a bank for Dr. J, stowed their purchases in the car trunk, and drove across the Casco Bay Bridge into Portland’s Old Port area.

  At Margaret’s suggestion, they would park the car downtown, explore the area on foot, then have lunch at Becky’s Diner, a local landmark on Commercial Street.

  With its numerous wharves and piers jutting into Casco Bay and its blend of modern and historical architecture, Maine’s largest city was a beautiful and easygoing center that enjoyed the benefits of a larger city without its aggravations. Though the greater Portland area had a population of only 230,000, it possessed thriving arts and music communities clustered around the Old Port shopping area.

  “This is very nice,” Brenna told James, as they ambled down the cobblestones of Wharf Street in the general direction of the diner. One of her two bodyguards was just behind her, barely out of earshot, and the other was ahead, guarding Gary, Dr. J, and Squeak. “I like Portland. Not too big, not too small. Waterfront. History. I’m glad you insisted we come out.”

  Gary, walking with Squeak in his arms and Dr. J at his side, poked into an art gallery. Brenna and James stopped, watching Gary through the front window, pointing out pretty colors to Squeak, who was entranced.

  James nodded. “It’s pretty peaceful. Not aggressive like New York or D.C., but—” He pulled a wrinkled piece of mail out of his back pocket, a creamy, almost-white envelope, and handed it to her. “The honor of your presence is being requested at the Kennedy Center. That guy Sam added a note, all over himself about you being the star of the show.”

  Brenna groaned. The envelope was already opened. Because she used James’ New York address as her contact point for credit card bills and such, he screened the few pieces she received, either tossing them, paying them from her bank accounts, or forwarding them to her.

  She pulled out the engraved invitation, a little thrill of hope coursing through her that Daniel may also have added a note. She scanned it, felt the disappointment. It was all in Sam’s hand. The documentary was complete. This was the dog-and-pony for the corporate sponsors that she had contractually agreed to attend when she signed all that useless paperwork with Daniel.

  Her heart fluttered. Daniel. He would be there of course.

  A million times she had wanted to call him. But what would she say? Hello. Then what? Had enough? Want me back? No, it wasn’t the sort of conversation you had over the phone. Too easy for him to hang up.

  She let her breath out, puffing her cheeks.

  Also, she was concerned about how Daniel would have handled the whole Maric issue in the documentary. No one who had not experienced Kavsak would be able to fathom what had happened. They’d see the surface, assume her to be so hard-hearted, so self-absorbed, that she had abandoned a roomful of babies in order to save her lover. The Bitch. The cruel, calculating, selfish bitch. Pity poor Squeak, with such a mother. “Shit,” she mumbled.

  “It’s time for the kick-ass dress, Bear.”

  Yeah, so she could look good while she slinked away from the Kennedy Center with her tail between her legs.

  “I don’t want to go.” She hated crucifixions. Especially her own.

  “But you are,” James said. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re finished hiding.”

  She looked away, irritated. Sometimes James was as imperious as their Dad. It was especially galling when he was right. “You know what, James? Some day I’d like to know how I always seem to get myself into deep shit.”

  James chuckled and gave a lock of her hair a gentle tug. “You live life fully, Bear. It’s messy.”

  Gary, Squeak, and Dr. J came out of the gallery. Brenna and James followed some distance behind. They were heading in the general direction of the diner, in no particular hurry.

  “You’re going to go to D.C. You’re going to look that man in the eye. And you’re going to tell him you love him. And while you’re at it, you’re going to make his boss happy. Very, very happy.”

  “Jesus, James. I walked away from Daniel. You think I’m going to amble up and say, ‘Secretly, I loved you?’”

  “Yeah, well. Your leaving was a blow to him. Necessary for you, but still a blow. But you’re better now. And he still loves you.” He draped his arm across her shoulder. “Believe me. I talk to him on the phone. And when you run an AIDS clinic, you learn to identify when a man’s putting a good face on underlying pain.”

  She walked silently alongside her brother.

  “Gary and I have had our moments, you know. Times when it looked easier to leave than to stay. The point is, you’ve got to stick. You didn’t have Ma to tell you this stuff, and Dad certainly didn’t help. But…when you love someone, you’ve got to hang around, do the slogging. Stick your neck out. Risk rejection.”

  They stopped. Up ahead, Gary was leading Dr. J into another shop.

  “You weren’t with Ari that long, so maybe you didn’t have time to figure it out. But Daniel was married for fifteen years, well past the honeymoon phase. He knows what it takes to succeed. Two partners, fully committed. Yes, sometimes one of them carries the load alone—and Daniel did that for
you, Bear. It just can’t be indefinite.”

  She stared at her shoes, understood that he was right.

  “For a man, it’s easier to be tough than to be kind. Kindness gets interpreted as weakness. There’s the risk he starts feeling used.”

  She lifted her head. “I didn’t use him,” she said. “I loved him. It was just…complicated.”

  “So tell him. Even if it’s too late and he’s moved on, don’t you think he deserves to know you weren’t just taking advantage of him?”

  Viewed from the Potomac River side, the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts hovered like a giant white manta ray, its marble wingspan sliding toward the water, its lights skimming across the lazy current like a glance cast ahead. On the land side, the Center sat atop a summit, giving it height to overlook the river.

  On the night of the premiere, Brenna accepted Sam Chisolm’s offer of a limousine. Two RedRiver bodyguards accompanied her, a man named Ross to her left in the back seat, and a woman, Jodie, riding shotgun with the driver.

  The sleek black vehicle turned off Virginia Avenue on its final approach. She leaned forward to look out the tinted windows and saw the line of cars ahead, dropping off tuxedoed and sequined guests and moving on. She felt a tremor buzzing through her like errant electricity. All the way across Washington, she had been fingering the smooth black stone she had brought back from Maine—a talisman to keep her grounded, a reminder that she could center herself and find a place of peace.

  While she was keen to see what Daniel had created from her footage and the journey they had shared together, she was uneasy about immersing herself in images of Kavsak. She would experience a wave of recollection. She fretted that it would be too much and that she would flip out, flash back, disgrace herself.

  And how would Daniel have handled her encounter with Maric? The concern kept nagging her. Would she be able to hold up her head in public after the final credits rolled and the house lights came up again? There was a reception afterwards. She’d be in the crosshairs, easy game.

  Most of all, she was fretting about seeing Daniel again. So much lay between them. History. Sex. Emotional intimacy. Her mental instability. And Squeak. If nothing else tonight, she wanted to assure him that he could remain part of her baby’s life. Dr. J had often remarked upon his tenderness and unabashed affection for her. He wanted children. This was a way she could give something back to him. It would be good for Squeak, too, to have him in her life.

  The limousine rolled up the incline and stopped smoothly at the Hall of States entrance. Jodie got out first, sharply assessing the drop-off area. Ross got out on the street side and came around to open the door.

  Brenna tucked the stone in her small beaded handbag. This was Daniel’s big night, a world premiere, the culmination of an extremely difficult project that had literally nearly killed him. The least she could do was be Brenna Rease, American Royalty. Make an entrance, smile, glad-hand CEOs and EBS board members. Make Daniel’s boss very, very happy.

  The latch clicked and the car door swung open over the red carpet.

  Showtime, as Gary would say. She smiled inwardly, grateful he’d urged her to stop over in New York City on her way back to Washington from Maine. Glad he’d schlepped her all over the city to find the perfect dress, and arrange the right hairdresser for a good styling. If she was going to crash and burn, at least she’d look good as she went down.

  Lord, she hoped there was no slobber on the shoulder of her expensive wrap. She hadn’t been able to resist one last cuddle with Squeak before she left her at home with Dr. J. She swung her stockinged legs out, ankles together, and set her heels on the carpet. Ross offered a hand and she stood.

  Whatever happened tonight, she resolved, she’d take it like a man.

  Cry by herself afterwards—Margaret’s tinkering had left her with smooth-flowing waterworks.

  She took a breath, straightened her spine, lifted her chin. She strode forward, right down the center of the red carpet toward the glass doors, her hair floating with each step, her wrap flowing gracefully around her.

  Ross and Jodie fell in behind her.

  She was on.

  Standing in the Hall of States beside Sam and his wife Mae, EBS board members Sol Esterman, Nancy Portway, and Jim Lance, and a cluster of high-powered corporate CEOs who commanded enormous discretionary funds, Daniel glanced at the entrance doors again. He’d had weeks to get used to the idea that his relationship with Brenna had taken a new direction, but it still wasn’t going to be easy to see her.

  It wasn’t as if she was going to hit him in the face with the butt of a rifle, he told himself ruefully. All he had to do was say Hello. Thank you for coming.

  “—don’t you think, Daniel?”

  Rufus Something, from IBM or Microsoft, interrupted his wandering thoughts.

  “I’m sorry,” Daniel said, trying to focus. “I didn’t—”

  Behind Rufus, the entrance doors swung open.

  Brenna.

  Head erect, she breezed in in full female glory, wearing a black knee-length evening dress that accentuated the curve of her waist and hips, and a shimmering blue and green wrap. Her legs were endless, long and shapely, tapering to delicate ankles and high heels.

  She stole his breath.

  He stared. He felt the tide of hormones, the ripple and collapse of every interlocked molecule in his body. His heart tumbled chaotically in his chest.

  She scanned the crowd. Saw him. Halted so abruptly the man and woman behind her nearly ran into her. For a split second, she lost her composure. She brought her hands up, clasped her evening bag in front of her like a small beaded shield.

  “Ah!” Sam exclaimed. “She’s here!”

  Ever since Brenna had called to confirm she was attending the premiere, Sam had been beside himself with star-struck anticipation, proclaiming how sensational the event was going to be, dropping her name with one CEO after another as if she were a personal friend. The old man had seen the final cut of the documentary and was convinced it would sweep every major award. Brenna was his ultimate statuette, a living, breathing prize, awarded before the program was even broadcast.

  Sam led off, trailing a cluster of CEOs eager to meet her.

  Brenna’s eyes shifted to the approaching group. She drew her shoulders back. Re-cloaked herself in the Rease Persona.

  Daniel stood there as if his gleaming wingtips had been epoxied to the carpet while Sam and the others eddied around him. Christ. He’d made no progress in getting over her. He’d merely put in time.

  Brenna turned to Sam, focused on him and his coterie. She smiled brilliantly, as if she had re-found long-lost friends. Stepping forward, she extended her hand to Sam. He took it, beaming, falling all over himself, introducing Mae and one by one drawing the others to the fore. Brenna leaned earnestly forward, looking into each face, warmly enclosing each extended hand in both of her own, making each person feel like the center of her universe.

  Daniel had never seen her like this before. Here was the stunning beauty who knew the allure she possessed—and the role that people expected her to play. This was the charisma she had used unwisely during her youth. Her magnetism, full bore, was the social equivalent of lethal force.

  He swallowed the lump in his throat and managed to get out of paralysis mode to go join the others. The floor of the Kennedy Center vibrated underfoot as he crossed the distance to her.

  Listening with rapt attention to a portly older man with a comb-over, she glimpsed Daniel over the man’s shoulder. “Daniel!” she exclaimed, excusing herself, drawing the attention of the others in the circle. She held her hand out, palm down.

  Daniel caught it.

  Her clasp was very gentle for something charged with such high voltage.

  She drew him into the circle. “The man of the hour!” she announced. “Now, we all know men who dare cover war,” she said confidentially, making the guests feel part of an inner circle of cognoscenti “—but Daniel is the only one
who has the co—” She stopped abruptly, letting the gathering think she was going to say cojones “—courage to go with me.”

  She chuckled with the others, tweaking her eyebrows up, successively landing her striking green gaze on each individual in the group. “I can’t wait to see how he’s pulled order out of my chaos.”

  “Don’t let her fool you,” he rejoined, grateful she’d helped him find his social footing again. “I just had my editor, Marga Velazquez, string Brenna’s pictures together. Marga said the footage practically assembled itself.”

  He was jostled at the elbow, squeezed aside.

  Hugh Driscoll interposed himself between him and Brenna, sliding his eyes down her body. “I’m Hugh Driscoll—” He extended his hand.

  Brenna’s smile dropped a notch. She shifted at the waist, leaning away. She offered a single hand.

  Driscoll grasped it proprietarily. “—Currently, I’m Vice-President of Documentary Production at ‘Brand X’. I’d love to have you on board.”

  To Daniel’s ears, it sounded like a sexual invitation.

  “I’m not interested,” Brenna said, pulling her hand from his overly-long grasp.

  She didn’t like him, Daniel realized. Her assessment had been instantaneous.

  And no wonder. Driscoll’s gaze kept returning to her cleavage, modest as it was with scarcely a hint of rise revealed.

  The house lights flickered.

  “Let’s mosey,” Sam said. “See if we can find some good seats.”

  Of course, they were reserved.

  Driscoll offered Brenna his arm.

  “No,” she said, closing the space to Daniel and resting her hand on his elbow. He crooked it, and she slipped her hand in. “You go ahead.”

  Daniel fell back, allowing the board members and CEOs to precede them into the theatre.

  “Prick,” she mumbled, when the others were out of earshot. “I can smell men like Driscoll a mile off.”

  That’s my girl, he thought. Then corrected himself. Just because her breast was pressing against his arm and he was close enough to catch the subtle scent of expensive perfume behind her sparkling earrings, it didn’t make it true. “Aya’s old boss,” he said. Pretender to my throne. Well, let him have it. He’d left his letter of resignation on Sam’s desk, to be discovered Monday morning.