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by Taras Ford

“No.”

  “Yes. Do you know what this weekend is?”

  “Don’t care.”

  “What kind of girl are you? First, you don’t like flowers and gifts. Then you don’t have a cell phone. And now you don’t know when Valentine’s Day is?”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

  “Interesting.”

  “I didn’t have a Valentine, so I guess I didn’t pay attention.”

  “Well, you can’t object to anything in Nantucket this weekend because it’s my turn to spoil you in honor of St. Valentine.”

  “Saint who?”

  “Where do you think Valentine’s Day came from?”

  “Nolen, I—”

  “It started in the Roman Empire when—”

  “Nolen, baby, I’ve got to go.”

  “St. Valentine was martyred for refusing to give up Christianity, so—”

  “Bye.”

  “Hello?”

  She’d hung up, but her call had softened his mood. Maybe the trip was indeed what they needed. He couldn’t help but be excited about a few days of having her all to himself. Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he relaxed in his chair, letting his anxiety slip away.

  Trish sat on the stool behind Todd, watching him photograph a strikingly beautiful model in a rainbow-colored sundress. The woman posed seductively in front of a blank white sheet, her auburn hair wild and teased.

  Large floor lights placed on either side of Todd showcased her creamy skin. A fan to the left blew her hair away from her face and caused the hem of her flimsy dress to twirl around her knees as Todd called out instructions for various poses. Between shots the model’s entourage tended to her hair and makeup Bored with the whole process, which she found too clinical and unimaginative, Trish left the room and headed to the other side of the apartment.

  The place was abuzz with all kinds of people. On her way to the kitchen, where she hoped to get away from the crowd, she passed a makeshift dressing room where another model was talking with the stylist working on her hair. They were concealed by partitions, but Trish could hear them clearly.

  “Did you see the latest little groupie he’s got hanging around here?" The stylist giggled.

  “What’s up with that country bumpkin outfit anyway?” The model snickered. “And that golden-yellow hair of hers is so out of a bottle. I’ve seen better dye jobs on Barbie dolls. Todd is really losing his touch.” Trish touched her hair, and then looked down at the overalls she wore over Todd’s white shirt. She loved the freedom of loose clothes, but she realized how unglamorous she must appear around these beautiful women.

  “You’re just jealous that he’s not serving you up,” the stylist said. “He’s got you shooting what, only fifty frames today? Giselle and Marla are doing three hundred each.”

  “And that pisses me off! I’ve sucked that man’s dick until I caught a cramp in my tongue, and this is the best gig he could get me,” the model said bitterly. “If I want to get into Fashion Week this year, he’ll probably make me swing from the chandelier and spin on my head before he gives me another shot!” She laughed, and the stylist laughed too.

  Shaking her head, Trish hurried away to Todd’s room, closing the door softly behind her. Of course she knew he’d slept with models and that they’d only been together for a couple of days, but he had seemed different from this shallow man who used his money and power to manipulate and abuse women for his own selfish gain.

  They hadn’t slept together. He said he understood. It was too soon for them. Now she had to wonder how genuine he’d be in a monogamous relationship.

  The ugliness reminded her of the way her father had paraded women in front of her mother—the younger, the better. Heading to the bathroom, Trish quickly lifted the toilet lid and threw up her breakfast. She wanted to be strong in her new friendship. It was her only shot at normalcy. But she didn’t want to be with a man who treated women so horribly or viewed them as sex objects. Flushing the toilet, she went to the sink, splashed her face with cold water, and sighed.

  Todd gave everyone a break and walked through the apartment, looking for Trish.

  Gabrielle, his next model, appeared in her robe, all dolled up. “You ready, lover?” she asked, touching his chest.

  Grabbing her hand forcefully, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t touch me, and don’t call me that in my studio. When I’m ready, I’ll let you know.”

  Gabrielle shot him a hate-filled glare and strutted away.

  Sweeping his hair from his face, Todd resumed his search. As he peeked inside the bedroom, disappointed to find it empty, he heard sobs coming from the bathroom. Closing the bedroom door behind him, he walked past the bed to the bathroom, where he found Trish gripping the sink with her head down.

  “Trish?”

  She turned her tear-streaked face to him, blushed, and turned away again. “Hi,” she said weakly, wiping her tears with her hand.

  “Trish, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No. Go back to work—”

  “Hey. Stop. Look at me. Talk to me, tell me what it is.”

  “I just heard some model talking about what she had to do to get a photo shoot with you. I know you had a life before me, Todd, but I can’t believe you would make women subject themselves to that type of humiliation.”

  Her words were a slam to his gut.

  Trish looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t judge you. I’m in no position to judge anyone.”

  “No, you’re right. I’ve taken liberties because of my power and connections, but with you, I’m different.” She shied away from his touch. “I wish you wouldn’t say that. If you’re different, then it’s because of who you are, who you want to be, not because of someone else.”

  “Not true. We meet people. They make us stronger. They heal us. That’s what you’ve done for me.” Trish looked up into his eyes. “It’s what you’ve done for me.” He nodded.

  “I can’t have sex with you. I’m not ready.”

  “And I understand.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  He pulled her into a hug. “Why don’t we wrap this up and just get out of here now?” Trish frowned. “You have work.”

  “I’m my own man in this business. I say to hell with the shoot, and let’s just go do our thing!”

  “Wait, did you hear?” Bet asked Sydney as they walked out of the studio together.

  “Hear what?” Sydney asked, balancing her bag on her shoulder.

  “About Emily and why she ran out of here earlier.”

  “No. What happened?”

  “Her father is Ben Mendoza the Director of the Dance Academy. He was attacked, beaten outside of his home. They had to take him to the emergency room. Someone said he was hit so hard in the throat they think he has a crushed larynx."

  Sydney stopped walking. “When did this happen?”

  “That's what I'm telling you. It happened this morning.”

  Madame Gustav had singled them out. Today was the last day of rehearsal for a week while she and the production team did casting interviews for the male leads. Sydney had spent most of the days learning her songs. She didn’t get much time with the girls. But she had seen Emily dart out early. She felt a cold shiver go through her. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “I—”

  “Sydney?” Portia approached.

  Bet waved and walked off. Portia smiled. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sydney asked. “I thought you would be in L.A.?”

  “I’m heading to the airport now,” Portia said, nodding toward the suitcase she was pulling. “You haven’t been back to our place in over a week, so I um, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Something wrong?” she asked Portia.

  “Do you have a number where I can reach you? I kind of figure you won't be at the apartment.”

  “I have a new one,” Sydney said, reaching into her backpack for a pen and paper.
She truly meant to give her the number, but the days just seem to jet by. She wrote it down on the back of a receipt for coffee in her purse.

  “Good. I can call you from L.A.”

  “Everything, Portia?”

  “I have something to tell you. I guess I should be the one to tell you.” Sydney slung her backpack over her shoulder and slipped her gloved hands into her jacket pockets.

  “Come on. Let’s head to the train.”

  “No,” Portia said. “I can’t talk with strangers around. We have to do it here.”

  “Fine.”

  “Ricky threatened me. He didn't want you to know. I can't keep this from you.”

  “Wait. Ricky did what?”

  Portia dropped her head. “He said he was hurting over you, and I was just trying to be a friend to him,” she said.

  Sydney touched her shoulder. “What’s going on? What happened, and why would Ricky threaten you?”

  “He's not who you think he is.”

  “What happened?”

  “We slept together,” she said sadly.

  “You slept together?” Sydney backed up, stunned.

  “It was one time, and I didn’t want it, but he insisted.”

  “He forced you?”

  “No. Well, not exactly.”

  Sydney couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’d do this to me, to us?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  “He made me.”

  “Portia, come on! This is Ricky we’re talking about. He’d never force you into sex, so why don’t you tell me the real story?”

  “So what are you saying?” Portia asked, her voice strained and eyes stretched wide. “Are you saying I did this on purpose?”

  “I’m saying that you should never have slept with my ex. It’s just low, Portia!”

  “I can’t believe you!” Portia shouted. “He took advantage of my friendship! I did nothing wrong.” Sydney looked away. “It’s a code, Portia. You just don’t do that to a friend. What’s wrong with you?”

  “This isn’t my fault. I wanted to come clean, and he wanted to keep this from you!”

  “I can’t do this with you now.” Sydney turned to walk out of the alley.

  Portia dropped her suitcase and raced after her, grabbing her arm. “We’re friends, best friends. I’m telling you that he took advantage of me, and I need your support. You know that I’d never intentionally hurt you. For God’s sake, I helped you when your own parent’s wouldn’t!” Sydney stared at the friend that she loved like a sister, saddened by her betrayal. “Go to L.A., Portia.

  We’ll talk when you get back. Right now I can’t look at you.”

  “What about Ricky? What about what he did?”

  “Ricky is free to do what he wants. I can’t say that I’m not upset that he would sleep with my best friend, but, Portia, it’s you and your destructive nature that makes me worried.” Portia narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “Go to L.A. When you come back, we’ll talk.” Sydney walked away, leaving Portia to catch her train alone.

  Sydney entered the penthouse, both emotionally and physically exhausted. Hearing Miles Davis’s trumpet blasting at full volume, she followed the sound to the office where she found Nolen drinking with the lights off. Sydney went straight to the speaker and turned it down.

  Even in the dark, she could see stress etched on Nolen’s face. Dropping her backpack, she climbed into his lap, throwing her legs over the arm of the large leather recliner.

  He leaned back in the chair and rubbed her back, holding a glass of whiskey in his other hand. Sydney buried her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his strong cologne, and slipped her hand into his suit jacket, wrapping it around his chest to snuggle him. Nolen lifted the glass to his lips, saying nothing as she clung to him, wordlessly seeking comfort and giving it at the same time.

  Chapter 15

  Getting to Know You

  “You know it’s not the season to be going to Nantucket,” Nolen said grumpily, looking out the window as the car he’d ordered drove them out of the private airport. “It’s twenty degrees, for Christ’s sake.” Sydney sat next to him, reading over her song lists for the play. She would have to memorize at least two of them before Monday. Xenia had cornered her when she’d arrived at the studio the day before, asking what her Valentine’s Day plans were. Sydney hadn’t bothered to respond. She’d just smiled and excused herself. She wouldn’t lie about her relationship with Nolen, but she definitely wouldn’t explain it either.

  She looked over at Nolen, who had been in a foul mood since yesterday. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Didn’t you hear me? I said that it’s twenty degrees, and who wants to be near the beach when it’s so cold?”

  “So he has a beachfront home?”

  Nolen shrugged and looked out the window again. “Yes.”

  Closing her folder, she tossed it onto the seat across from her and slid closer to him, sliding her hands across his shirt and feeling the muscles beneath the silky fabric. “Now tell me what’s really bothering you.”

  “Nothing,” he mumbled, still refusing to look at her.

  “You know what I think?”

  He said nothing, and Sydney kissed his tense jaw. “I think that being stuck at a beachfront hideaway with you, in the middle of winter, with no way for Annemarie to snatch you away from me, is a dream come true.”

  “You do?”

  She kissed his lips and then combed her fingers over his scalp. “I heard something at the studio yesterday.”

  “Did you?”

  “Ben Mendoza was mugged. He was roughed up pretty bad.”

  “Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.”

  “Don't say that. Nolen, I didn't want to ask, but . . .”

  “You think I had something to do with it?”

  “No. It's just, I don't know. I feel bad. He's really hurt.”

  Nolen shrugged. “I don’t like the idea of anybody hurting you, Sydney, or threatening you. I had nothing to do with it,” Nolen said. He looked back at her. “I don’t want you to have one moment of pain or regret for believing in us.”

  “I don't. Why would I? Nolen, as much as I've shared with you, I still don't know much about you, who you were before you were the great Nolen Adams,” she said.

  “There's nothing to know.”

  “When I unpacked my things the other day, I went into the room, your office. Your desk was covered with newspaper clippings.”

  His face darkened with anger.

  “There were stories about women, all kinds that have been conned by this man. The police had a name for him."

  “Cash Don,” he mumbled.

  “I didn't mean to invade your privacy. I feel bad for it, but I'm falling in love with you. Can't you share who he is to you?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you, you just won't understand.”

  “Tell me, Nolen. Whatever it is that makes you go silent on me, you need to share it, so we can move it out of our way.”

  Running his hand down her shoulder, he brushed his lips across hers and then cupped her breast.

  Sydney raised her hand and grabbed his. “Please don’t hide it from me now. Talk to me.” Pulling back, Nolen stared at her. Finally, he said, “He's my father. And although they have eighteen different aliases for him, no one has ever been able to uncover his true identity. When he was with my mother he was Ed Banks, and I am his prodigy, Nolen Banks.”

  “Wait, I thought your father is dead.”

  “He is dead.” Nolen snapped. “Someone is using his identity. I saw my father die. I know he’s dead.”

  “Huh? You saw your father die. As a kid? How awful.”

  Nolen closed his eyes and spoke through clenched teeth. “The problem is there have been these cons, the old cons he used to pull to raise money for his bigger score. I’m thinking maybe it’s an associate of his mimicking him. Either way t
he police never found his body.”

  “Why are you so sure he died, if the police aren’t?”

  Nolen put his hand over his. “In Vegas we’d hit the poker rooms. The money to get us in the door could have been enough to put food on our table for a year. But my father never provided for us that way.”

  “Why take a kid to a poker room?”

  “I could help. These people didn’t care that I was there. Hell a couple of them asked for him to put me up as a wager when his money ran low.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. But that was the only kindness he ever showed me.”

  Somehow she felt there was more to the story. Nolen wrapped his free arm around her and sighed. His voice cracked with pain and bitterness as he said, “A game went wrong, someone figured out my talent for helping him—counting cards. He sent me out the door before they came after him. I heard the gunshots. He’s dead. The police believed me when I told them the story. There were arrests. Thing is we never had a body, and when the feds stepped in my mother learned her marriage wasn’t a marriage at all. That Ed Banks never really existed. Our entire life, including my conception was built on a lie. My mother remarried soon after. We didn’t have the body to bury, in those kinds of situations you never do. From what I can tell she was the only woman he stayed with for a period of time. The only woman he was with that wasn't over forty and rich.” Sydney felt her stomach tighten as she digested what he was telling her. She rubbed his chest, trying to calm him while listening to the bitter tone in his voice.

  “I've been on the outside of my family because of my part in his crimes. After the shooting I was taken from my mother. For some reason she wanted me back. She and her new husband moved me and my infant brother out of Vegas. She suffered guilt I suppose. For what she let my father do to me, to us. She should have been stronger. She wasn't. She blamed me. They all did.”

  “How could she blame you? You were a child,” Sydney said and sighed.

  “I was no normal child.” Nolen slipped her a sly look. “At eighteen months I was talking in complete sentences, at two I was reading from the bible.”

  She double blinked. The limo drove over rough roadway causing them to shift a bit in the backseat. “Are you saying you were a genius?”