Passion's Promise

by Danielle Steel

  “Sounds delightful, but unfortunately it’ll never happen. Not for a while anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “Can’t. My parole.”

  “What a bore.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, pulling her away from his ear carefully, and looking for her lips with his mouth. They kissed hungrily and long, and when it was over he chuckled again.

  “You’re right, my parole is a bore. I wonder what they’d say if I told them that.”

  “Let’s tell them and find out.”

  “I have a sneaking suspicion you would.”

  She grinned wickedly at him and he pulled the sheet from her body to look at her again.

  “You know what I love?”

  “My bellybutton?”

  “Better than your big mouth anyway. At least it’s quiet. No, be serious for a minute….”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I love you.”

  “Oooh, woman, don’t you ever stop talking?” He kissed her fiercely and tugged at a lock of her hair.

  “I haven’t had anyone to talk to in so long, never like this … it just feels so good I can’t stop.”

  “I know what you mean.” He ran a hand gently up the inside of her thigh with a passionate look in his eyes.

  “What were you going to tell me?” She lay watching him matter-of-factly.

  “Sweetheart, your timing is lousy. I was about to ravish your body again.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were going to tell me something.” She looked almost angelic.

  “Don’t be a tease. And I was going to tell you something before you interrupted me. What I was going to say is that it’s incredible how last week I didn’t even know you, and three days ago you appeared at one of my speeches, and two days ago I told you the story of my life. By yesterday, I had fallen in love with you. And now here we are. I didn’t think things like this happened.”

  “They don’t. But I know what you mean. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  “That’s what I mean. Feels like we’ve been hanging out together for years. And I love it.”

  “Have you ever felt like this before?”

  “Women! What an impertinent question. But for your information, no, I have not. One thing’s for damn sure, I’ve never fallen head over heels in love in three days before… and never with an heiress.”

  He grinned at her and lit a cigar. Kezia reflected gleefully that her mother would have died. A cigar in the bedroom? Before breakfast? Good lord.

  “Lucas, you know what you’ve got?”

  “Bad breath?”

  “Aside from that. You’ve got style.”

  “What kind of style?”

  “Gorgeous style, sexy style, courageous style, ballsy style … I think I’m crazy about you.”

  “Crazy, for sure. About me, in that case I’m damn lucky.”

  “So am I. Oh Lucas, I’m so glad you’re here. Imagine if I hadn’t given you my phone number!” The thought appalled her.

  “1’d have found you anyway.” He sounded totally confident.

  “How?”

  “I’d have found a way. Bloodhounds, if I’d had to. I wasn’t about to let you slip out of my life in one breath. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all night at that first speech. I couldn’t figure out if you were the writer who was coming to interview me.” It was delicious sharing the secrets of their first feelings, and Kezia was smiling as she hadn’t in years.

  “You scared me that first morning.”

  “Did I? Jesus, and I tried so hard not to. I was probably ten times as scared as you were.”

  “But you didn’t look it. And you looked at me so pointedly, I kept thinking that you could see whatever I thought.”

  “I wish to hell I could have. It was all I could do not to jump up and grab you.”

  “Masher.” She rolled closer to him, and they kissed again. “You taste of cigar.”

  “Want me to go brush my teeth?”

  “Later.” He smiled and rolled onto his stomach, the pink nightgown still tangled near his feet. He kissed her again and held her close in his arms, his body slowly taking hold of hers, his feet pressing her legs wide apart.

  “Okay, lady, you said you’d show me the town.” He sat naked in one of the blue velvet chairs, smoking his second cigar of the day, and drinking his first beer. They had just finished breakfast. And she looked at him and started to laugh.

  “Lucas, you look impossible.”

  “I do not I look extremely possible. And I feel better than hell. I told you, babe, no class.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “Having no class. Class is a question of dignity, and pride, and caring, and you happen to have lots of all three. I’m related to an absolute horde of people who have no class at all. And I met some people in SoHo who had tons of it. It’s a very strange thing.”

  “It must be.” He didn’t seem to care one way or the other. “So what are we doing today? Besides making love.”

  “Hmm … all right, I’ll show you the town.”

  And she did. She arranged for a limousine, and they toured Wall Street and the Village, drove up the East River Drive and crossed Forty-second Street to Broadway, pausing at the Stage Delicatessen for cream cheese and bagels. Then they followed their route north to Central Park and swooped past the Plaza, where they stopped for a drink at the Oak Room. Back down Fifth, and up Madison past all the boutiques, and all the way uptown again, where they halted the chauffeur at the Metropolitan Museum and got out and walked in the park. It was six o’clock when they wound up at the Stanhope for drinks, fighting the pigeons for peanuts at the sidewalk cafe.

  “You give a good tour, Kezia. Hey, I just thought of something. Want to meet one of my friends?”

  “Here?” She looked surprised.

  “No, not here, silly girl. Uptown. In Harlem.”

  “Sounds interesting.” She looked at him with a long, slow smile. The idea intrigued her.

  “He’s a beautiful guy. Nicest dude I know. I think you’d like him.”

  “I probably would.” They exchanged a sweet sunny look which reflected the warmth of the day.

  “It wouldn’t be too cool to go up in the limo though, would it?”

  He shook his head in answer, and picked up the check. “We can send Jeeves home, and catch a cab up.”

  “Bullshit to that.”

  “You want to go in the limo?” He hadn’t counted on that. Certainly not for a trip up to Harlem, but maybe she didn’t know how to travel any other way.

  “Of course not, you dummy. We can go up on the subway. It’s faster, and smarter. A lot more discreet.”

  “Well, listen to her. ‘Discreet.’ You mean you take the subway?” He stood up and looked down at her face as they laughed. She was full of surprises.

  “How do you think I used to go down to SoHo? By jet?”

  “Your own private Lear, I would think.”

  “But of course. Come on, Romeo, let’s get rid of Jeeves, and go for a walk.” The chauffeur tipped his hat and was instantly gone, and they strolled leisurely toward the subway, where they descended into the bowels of the world, bought tokens, and shared pretzels and a Coke.

  They reached the 125th Street station, and Luke held her hand as they climbed the stairs to the street.

  “It’s just a few blocks.”

  “Come to think of it, Luke, are you sure he’ll be home?”

  “Nope. We’re going to the place where he works, and I’m sure that hell be there. You can hardly drag him out of the damn place to feed him.”

  Luke seemed broader suddenly as they walked along, and more sure of himself than he had appeared all day. His shoulders seemed to spread, his walk almost rolled, while his eyes kept careful watch on passersby. He was wearing his familiar tweed jacket, and she was in jeans. But this was still Harlem. A long way from home. For her. To him, it appeared to be somethin
g he knew. He was wary, but only he knew of what.

  “You know something, Lucas? You walk differently here.”

  “You’d better believe it. Brings back memories of Q.”

  “San Quentin?” He nodded and they turned a corner, as Lucas looked up at a building and stopped.

  “Well, baby, this is it.” They were standing in front of a decaying brownstone with a half-burnt-away sign: Armistice House. But it didn’t look to Kezia as though it had been much of a truce.

  He let go her hand and put an arm around her shoulders as they walked up the stairs. Two raucous teen-age black boys and a Puerto Rican girl came roaring out of the door, laughing and shrieking, the girl running away from the boys, but not very hard. Kezia smiled and looked up at Luke.

  “So what’s so different up here?”

  Luke didn’t smile back. “Junkies, pushers, hookers, pimps, street fights, shankings. Same stuff that goes on anywhere in town, in any town in the world these days … except the neighborhood you live in. And don’t get any fancy ideas. If you decide that you like Alejandro, don’t come up here to visit after I’m gone. Give him a call, and he can come to see you. This isn’t your world.”

  “But it’s yours?” She was almost annoyed at the speech. She was a big girl. She had survived before Luke. Though admittedly not in the middle of Harlem. “And this is your world, I suppose?” she repeated. He didn’t look like he fit any better than she did. Well, not much better.

  “Used to be. But not anymore. I can deal with it though. You can’t. It’s as simple as that.” He held the door open for her and his tone of voice told her he meant business.

  The corridor, lined with- faded posters, smelled of stale urine and fresh grass. Graffiti doubled as artwork between the posters, the glass shades around light bulbs had been broken, and paper flowers hung limply from fire extinguishers. A tired sign said “Welcome to Armistice House! We love you!” And someone had crossed out the “love” and written “fuck.”

  Luke wove his way up a narrow staircase, keeping one hand in Kezia’s, but the tenseness was leaving him now. The once-upon-a-time street fighter had come for a visit. A social call. She laughed, suddenly reminded of the legends of the Old West.

  “What’s so funny, Mama?” He looked at her from his great height as she came up the stairs behind him, light on her feet, smiling and happy.

  “You are, Marshal Dillon. Sometimes you’re an absolute riot.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  “Yes, that’s so.” She leaned her face toward him and he bent down to kiss her.

  “I like that. I like it a lot.” He ran his hand across her behind as she joined him on the landing, and he gave her a gentle push toward a badly scarred door.

  “Are you sure he’s here?” Kezia felt suddenly shy.

  “I’m sure, babe. He’s always here, the dumb asshole. He spills his guts in this shithouse. His guts and his heart and his soul. You’ll see.” The name on the door said “Alejandro Vidal.” No promises, no slogans, and this time no graffiti. Only a name.

  Kezia waited for Luke to knock, but he didn’t. He kicked brutally at the door, and then opened it at lightning speed as he entered.

  “Qué …” A slight Latino man behind a desk rose to his feet with a look of astonishment, and then began laughing.

  “Luke, you bastard, how are you? I should have known it was you. For a second, I thought they were finally coming to get me.”

  The small, blue-eyed, bearded Mexican looked ecstatic to see him, as Luke strode across the room and threw his arms around his friend.

  It was several minutes before Luke remembered Kezia, or Alejandro even took notice, and it was just as long again before Kezia got more than a glimpse of the man, lost in Luke’s bear hugs. There had been a wealth of ¿ Qué pasa, hombre?’s and a fast flurry of Mexican curses. Alejandro’s pure Spanish, and the pidgin Luke had picked up in the joint. Jokes about “twice pipes” and someone’s “short,” and a variety of unintelligible dialects that were part Mexican, part prison, and pure Californian. The patois was a mystery to Kezia. And then suddenly it all stopped, and the kindest smile and softest eyes imaginable settled on Kezia’s face. The smile was a slow spread from the eyes to the mouth, and the eyes were the softest blue velvet. Alejandro Vidal had the kind of face you brought your troubles to, and your heart. Almost like a Christ, or a priest. He looked shyly at Kezia and smiled.

  “Hello. This rude sonofabitch will probably never remember to introduce us. I’m Alejandro.” He held out a hand and she met it with hers.

  “I’m Kezia.” They shook hands with ceremony and then laughter, and Alejandro offered the room’s only two chairs as he perched on his desk.

  He was a man of average height, but of slight build, and next to Luke he was instantly dwarfed. But it wasn’t his frame that caught one’s attention. It was his eyes. They were tender and knowing. They didn’t reach out and grab you; you went to them gladly. Everything about him was warm. His laughter, his smile, his eyes, the way he looked at them both. He was a man who had seen a great deal, but there was not a trace of the cynic about him. Only the understanding of the sorely tried, and the compassion of a gentle man. His sense of humor allowed his soul to survive what he saw. And while Luke and he made jokes for an hour, Kezia watched him. He was an odd contrast to Luke, but she liked him instantly, and knew why he was Luke’s closest friend. They had met long ago in L.A.

  “How long have you been in New York?” It was the first time she’d addressed him since they’d met. He had given her tea, and then succumbed to gossip and nonsense with Luke. It had been a year since they’d seen each other and there was much to catch up on.

  “I’ve been here about three years, Kezia.”

  “Seems like long enough to me,” Luke broke into the exchange. “How much shit you gonna take around this dump, AI, before you get smart and go home? Why don’t you go back to L.A.?”

  “Because I’m working on something here. The only problem is that the kids we treat are outpatient instead of live-in. Man, if we had a resident facility, I could take this shabby operation a long, long way.” His eyes lit up as he spoke.

  “You’re treating kids with drug problems?” Kezia was interested in what he had to say. If nothing else, it might make a good story. But more than the story, she was intrigued by the man. She liked him. He was the sort of person you wanted to hug, and she had only just met him.

  “Yes, drug and minor criminal histories. The two are almost always related.” He came alive as he explained the services the facility offered, showed her charts, graphs, histories, and outlines of future plans. But the real problem remained: lack of control. As long as the kids went back on the streets at night, back to broken homes where a mother was turning tricks on the room’s only bed, or a father was beating his wife, where brothers shot dope in the John, and sisters took reds or sold yellows, there wasn’t a lot they could do. “The whole point is to get them out of their environment. To change the whole life pattern. We know that now, but here it’s not easy.” He waved dimly at the peeling walls and amply made his point. The place was in very bad shape.

  “I still think you’re nuts.” But Luke was, as always, impressed with his friend’s determination, his drive. He had seen him beaten, mugged, rolled, kicked, laughed at, spat on, and ignored. But no one could ever keep Alejandro down. He believed in his dreams. As Luke did his.

  “And you think you’re any saner, Luke? You’re going to stop the world from building prisons? Hombre, you die before you see that one happen.” He rolled his eyes and shrugged, but the respect was entirely mutual. It amused Kezia to listen to them talk. To Kezia, Alejandro spoke perfect English, but with Luke he fell into the language of the streets. A put-on, a remnant, a joke, or a bond, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe a combination of them all.

  “Okay, smartass, you’ll see. Thirty years from now there won’t be a prison functioning in this state, or in any other state for that matter.” She caught “loco”
and “cabeza” in answer and then Luke flipped up one finger on his right hand.

  “Please, Luke, there’s a lady present.” But it was all in good fun, and Alejandro seemed to have accepted her. There was the faintest hint of shyness about him. Still, he joked with her, almost as he did with Luke. “And you, Kezia? What do you do?” He looked at her with wide-open eyes.

  “I write.”

  “And she’s good.”

  Kezia laughed and gave Luke a shove. “Wait until you see the interview before you decide. Anyway, you’re prejudiced.” They shared a smile three ways and Alejandro looked pleased for his friend. He had known immediately that this was no light-hearted fling, no one-night stand or casual friend. It was the first time he had seen Luke with a woman. Luke kept his women in bed, and went home when he wanted some more. This one had to be special. She seemed different from the others too. Worlds different. She was intelligent, and she had a certain style. Class. He wondered where Luke had met her.

  “Want to come downtown for dinner?” Luke lit a cigar and offered one to his friend. Alejandro took it eagerly and then looked surprised when he lit it.

  “Cubano?”

  Luke nodded. Kezia laughed.

  “The lady’s well-supplied.”

  Alejandro whistled and Luke looked momentarily proud. He had a woman who had something no one else on their block had: Cuban cigars. “How about dinner, big Al?”

  “Lucas, I can’t. I’d like to, but …” He waved at the mountain of work on his desk. “And at seven tonight we’re having a group for the parents of some of our patients.”

  “Group therapy?”

  Alejandro nodded. “Getting to the parents helps. Sometimes.”

  Kezia suddenly had the feeling that Alejandro was emptying a tidal wave with a thimble, but you had to give him credit for trying.

  “Dinner another time maybe. How long will you be in town?”

  “Tonight. Tomorrow. But I’ll be back.” Alejandro smiled again and patted his friend on the back.

  “I know you will. And I’m happy for you, man.” He gazed warmly at Kezia and then smiled at them both. It felt like a blessing.

  It was obvious that Alejandro hated to see them leave as much as Lucas hated to go. And Kezia felt it too.