The doorman swept open the door for her, and she pulled her balloon down low beside her, feeling suddenly silly, as the elevator man attempted not to notice.
“Afternoon, miss.”
“Afternoon, Sam.” He wore his dark winter uniform and the eternal white cotton gloves, and he looked at a spot on the wall. She wondered if he didn’t ever want to turn and face the people he carted up and down all day long. But that would have been rude. And Sam wasn’t rude, God forbid. For twenty-four years, Sam had never been rude, he simply took people up and down … up … and …
down … without ever searching their eyes … “Morning, madam” … “Morning, Sam” … “Evening, sir” … “Good evening, Sam”…. For twenty-four years, with his eyes rooted to a spot on the wall. And next year they’d retire him with a gold-plated watch and a bottle of gin. If he didn’t die first, his eyes politely glued to the wall.
“Thank you, Sam.”
“Yes, miss.” The elevator door slipped shut behind her, and she turned her key in the lock.
She picked up the afternoon paper on the hall table, on her way in. It was her habit to keep abreast of the news, and on some days it amused her. But this was not one of those days. The papers had been full of ugly stories for weeks. Uglier than usual, it seemed. Children dying. An earthquake in Chile, killing thousands. Arabs and Jews on the warpath. Problems in the Far East. Murders in the Bronx. Muggings in Manhattan. Riots in the prisons. And that worried Kezia most of all.
But now she glanced lazily past the front page, and then stopped with one hand still on the door. Everything grew very still, she suddenly understood. Her heart stopped. Now she knew. The headline on the paper read: Work Strike at San Quentin. Seven Dead. Oh God … let him be all right.
As though in answer to the prayer she had spoken aloud, the phone came to life, and dragged her attention away from the riveting headline. Not now … not the phone … what if … Mechanically, she moved toward it, the paper still in one hand, as she distractedly tried to read on.
“’Lo …” She couldn’t take her eyes away from the paper.
“Kezia?” It didn’t sound like her.
“What?”
“Miss Saint Martin?”
“No, I’m sorry, she’s … Lucas?”
“Yes, dammit. What the hell’s going on?” They were both getting thoroughly confused.
“I … I’m sorry, I … oh God, are you all right?” The sudden terror still caught in her throat, but she was afraid to say anything too precise on the phone. Maybe he was in a bad place to talk. That article suddenly had told her a great deal. Before she had suspected, but now she knew. No matter what he told her, she knew.
“Of course, I’m all right. You sound like you’ve seen a ghost. Anything wrong?”
“That’s a fairly apt description, Mr. Johns. And I don’t know if anything’s wrong. Suppose you tell me.”
“Suppose you wait a few hours, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know, and a lot more besides. Within reason, of course.” His voice sounded deep and husky, and there was laughter peppered in with the unmistakable fatigue.
“What exactly do you mean?” She held her breath, waiting, hoping. She had just had the fright of her life, and now it sounded like … she didn’t dare hope. But she wanted it to be that.
“I mean get your ass out here, lady. I’m going crazy without you! That’s what I mean! How about catching the next plane out here?”
“To San Francisco? Do you mean it?”
“Damn right, I do. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight anymore, and I’m all through out here. And it’s been too fucking long since I’ve had my hands on your ass. Mama, this has seemed like five hundred years!”
“Oh darling, I love you. If you only knew how much I’ve missed you, and just now I thought … I picked up the paper and …” He cut her off quickly with something brittle in his voice.
“Never mind, baby. Everything’s okay.” That was what she had wanted to hear.
“What are you going to do now?” She sighed as she spoke.
“Love the shit out of you and take a few days off to see some friends. But you are the first friend I want to see. How soon can you be here?”
She looked at her watch. “I don’t know. I … what time’s the next plane?” It was just after three in New York.
“There’s a flight that leaves New York at five-thirty. Can you make it?”
“Jesus. I’d have to be at the airport no later than five, which means leaving here at four, which means … I have an hour to pack, and … screw it, I’ll make it” She jumped to her feet and looked toward the bedroom. “What should I bring?”
“Your delicious little body.”
“Aside from that, silly.” But she hadn’t smiled like this in weeks. Three weeks, to be exact. It had been that long since she’d seen him.
“How the hell do I know what you should bring?”
“Is it hot or cold, darling?”
“Foggy. And cold at night, and warm in the daytime. I think … oh shit, Kezia. Look it up in the Times. And don’t bring your mink coat.”
“How do you know I have one? You’ve never seen it.” She was grinning again. To hell with the headlines. He was all right and he loved her.
“I just figured you had a mink. Don’t bring it.”
“I wasn’t planning to. Any other instructions?”
“Only that I love you too goddamn much, woman, and this is the last time I’ll let you out of my sight.”
“Promises, promises! I wish. Hey … will you meet me?”
“At the airport?” He sounded surprised.
“Uh huh.”
“Should I? Or would it be cooler if I didn’t?” It was back to that again. Being cautious, being wise.
“Screw being cool. I haven’t seen you in almost three weeks and I love you.”
“I’ll meet you.” He sounded ecstatic.
“You’d damn well better.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The baritone laugh tickled her ear, and they hung up. He had fought his own battles with his conscience during the last three godawful weeks, and he had lost … or won … he wasn’t yet sure. But he knew he had to have Kezia. Had to. No matter what.
Chapter 17
The plane landed at 7:14 P.M., San Francisco time. She was on her feet before the plane had come to a full stop at the gate. And despite earnest pleadings from the stewardesses, she was one of a throng in the aisles.
She had traveled coach to attract less attention, and she was wearing black wool slacks and a black sweater; a trench coat was slung over her arm, dark glasses pushed up on her head. She looked discreet, almost too discreet, and very well-dressed. Men checked her out with their eyes, but decided she looked rich and uptight. Women eyed her with envy. The slim hips, the trim shoulders, the thick hair, the big eyes. She was not a woman who would ever go unnoticed, whatever her name, and in spite of her height.
It was taking forever to open the doors. The cabin was hot and stuffy. Other people’s bags bumped her legs. Children started to cry. Finally, they swung open the doors. The crowd began to move, only imperceptibly at first, and then in a sudden rush, the plane blurted its contents like toothpaste onto the ramp. Kezia pressed through the other travelers, and as she turned a corner, she saw him.
His head was well above all the others. His dark hair shone, and she could see his eyes from where she stood. He had a cigar in his hand. His whole being wore an air of expectation. She waved and he saw her, joy sweeping his face, and carefully he eased through the crowd. He was at her side in a moment, and swept her high off the ground in his arms.
“Mama, is it good to see you!”
“Oh Lucas!” She grinned in his arms, and their lips met in a long, hungry kiss. Paparazzi be damned. Whatever they saw, they could have. She was finally back in his arms. The other travelers moved around them like water around rocks in a stream, and there was no one left by the time they moved on.
“
Let’s get your bags and go home.”
They gave each other the smile usually exchanged by people long used to sharing one bed, and took the escalator down to the baggage claim, her small hand clasped firmly in his large one. People caught sight of them and watched them go hand in hand. Together, they were the sort of people you notice. With envy.
“How many bags did you bring?”
“Two.”
“Two? We’re only staying three days.” He laughed and gave her another hug. And she tried not to show the flash of pain in her eyes. Three days? That was all? She hadn’t asked him before. But at least it was that much. At least they were together again.
He plucked her bags from the turntable like a child snatching furniture out of a dollhouse, propped one suitcase under his arm, grasped the other by the handle in the same hand, and kept his other arm around Kezia, squeezing her tight.
“You haven’t said much, Mama. Tired?”
“No. Happy.” She looked up at him again, and nestled in close. “Christ, it’s been such a long time.”
“Yeah, and it won’t ever be that long again. It’s bad for my nerves.” But she knew it might be that long again. Or longer. It might have to be. That was the way his life was. But it was over now. Their three-day honeymoon had just begun.
“Where are we staying?” They were waiting outside for a cab. And so far, so good. No cameras, no reporters; no one even knew she had left New York. She had made one brief call saying that she was taking two days off from the column before she’d call in to report. They could run some of the extra tidbits she hadn’t had room for in the column that week. That would tide them over until she got her mind back on Martin Hallam again.
“We are staying at the Ritz.” He said it with grandeur as he tossed her bags into the front seat of a cab.
“Is that for real?” She laughed as she settled back in his arm.
“Wait till you see it.” And then he looked worried. “Baby, would you rather stay at the Fairmont or the Huntington? They’re a lot nicer, but I thought you’d worry about …”
“Is the Ritz more discreet?” He laughed at the look on her face.
“Oh yeah, Mama. It sure is discreet. That’s one thing I like about the Ritz. It is discreet!”
The Ritz was a large fading gray house in the heart of the mansions of Pacific Heights. It had once been an elegant home, and now housed castoffs; little old ladies and fading old men, and circulating in their midst the occasional “overflow” of houseguests from the sumptuous homes nearby. It was an odd mixture, and the decor was the same: crooked chandeliers with dusty prisms, fading red velvet chairs, flowered chintz curtains, and here and there an ornate brass spitoon.
Luke’s eyes danced as he led her inside toward a twittering old woman who hovered nervously at the desk. She wore a cup of braided hair over each ear, and her false teeth looked as though they would glow in the dark.
“Good evening, Ernestine.” And the beauty of it was that she looked like an Ernestine.
“Evening, Mr. Johns.” Her eyes took in Kezia with approval. She was the sort of guest they liked. Well-dressed, well-heeled, and well-polished. After all, this was the Ritz!
He led her into a decaying elevator run by a tiny old man who hummed “Dixie” to himself as they rose, swaying, to the second floor.
“Usually, I walk. But I thought I’d give you the full show.”
A sign in the elevator announced breakfast at seven, lunch at eleven, and dinner at five. Kezia giggled, holding tight to his hand.
“Thank you, Joe.” Luke gently patted his back and picked up the bags.
“Carry the bags for you, sir?”
“No, thanks.” But he quietly slipped a bill into the man’s hand, and led Kezia down the hall. It was carpeted in dark red, and the walls were lined with elaborate sconces. “To your left, babe.” She followed his nod to the end of the hall. “Wait till you see the view.” He fitted his key in the lock, turned it twice, set down the bags, and then pulled her close. “I’m so glad you came out. I was afraid you’d be busy or something.”
“Not for you, Luke. After all this time, you must be joking! Well, are we going to stand here all night?”
“Nope. We sure as hell aren’t.” He picked her up easily, and carried her over the threshold into a room that made her gasp and then laugh. She had never seen so much blue velvet and satin all in one place.
“Luke, it’s a riot. And I love it.” He set her down with a smile, and she looked at the bed with wide eyes. It was a huge four-poster with blue velvet hangings and a blue satin spread. There were blue velvet chairs and a blue satin chaise longue, an old-fashioned dressing table, a fireplace, and a flowered blue rug that had seen better days. And then she noticed the view.
It was a dark expanse of bay, lit on the other side by the hills of Sausalito, the lights on the Golden Gate twinkling as traffic sped by.
“Luke, what a fabulous place!” Her face glowed.
“The Ritz. At your feet.”
“Darling, I love you.” She walked into his arms and kicked off her shoes.
“Lady, you couldn’t love me half as much as I love you. Not even a quarter.”
“Oh shut up.”
His mouth came down gently on hers and he lifted her onto the blue satin bed.
“Hungry?”
“I don’t know. I’m so happy I can’t think.” She rolled sleepily onto her side, and kissed him on the side of his neck.
“How about some pasta?”
“Mmmm … sure….” But she made no move to get up. It was one in the morning, her time, and she was content where she lay.
“Come on, Mama, get up.”
“Oh God, not a shower!” He laughed and slapped her on the behind as he pulled back the sheets.
“If you don’t get up in two minutes, I’ll bring the shower to you.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” She lay with her eyes stubbornly closed and a sleepy smile on her face.
“Oh wouldn’t I?” He was looking down at her, love and tenderness rich in his eyes.
“Christ, you would. You’re such a meanie. Can’t I take a bath instead of a shower?”
“Take whatever you want, but get up off your ass.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him, without moving an inch.
“In that case, I’ll take you.”
“After we eat. I didn’t have time for lunch today and I’m starving. I wanted to wrap everything up before you got out.”
“And did you?” She sat up on one elbow and reached for a cigarette. This was the opening she had been waiting for, and suddenly there was tension in her voice, mirrored in his eyes.
“Yeah, We wrapped everything up.” The faces of the dead men flashed through his head.
“Lucas …” She had never directly asked him, and he had not yet volunteered.
“Yeah?” Everything about him seemed suddenly guarded. But they both knew.
“Should I mind my own business?” He shrugged and then slowly shook his head. “No. I know where you’re going, Mama. And I guess it’s your business to ask. You want to know what I’ve been up to out here?” She nodded. “But you already know, don’t you?” He looked almost old and very tired as he spoke. The holiday atmosphere had suddenly faded.
“I think so. I think I knew without knowing, but then this afternoon …” Her voice trailed off. This afternoon? Only then? It seemed years ago. “This afternoon I saw the paper, and the headline … the San Quentin work strike, that was your doing, wasn’t it, Luke?” He nodded very slowly. “What will they do to you for that, Lucas?”
“Who? The pigs?”
“Among others.”
“Nothing. Yet. They can’t pin anything on me, Mama. I’m a pro. But that’s part of the problem, too. I’m too much of a pro. They can never pin anything on me, and one day they’re going to screw me royally. Out of vengeance.” It was a first warning.
“Can they do that?” She looked shocked, but not really as though she understood.<
br />
“They can if they want to. Depends how badly they want to. Right now, I figure they’re pretty pissed.”
“And you’re not scared, Lucas?”
“What would that change?” He smiled a cynical little smile, and shook his head. “No, pretty lady, I’m not scared.”
“Are you in danger, Lucas? I mean real danger?”
“You mean my parole, or other kinds of danger?”
“Either.”
He knew that she had to know, so he answered her. More or less. “I’m not in real danger, babe. There are some very angry people involved, but the ones who’re the most pissed are the least sure I had anything to do with it. That’s the way I run those things. The parole pricks won’t even try to do anything to me for a while, and by then they’ll have cooled off. And any of the hotheads involved in the strike who don’t dig my views are too pissy-eye scared of me to even flip me the bird. So, no, I’m not really in danger.”
“But you could be, couldn’t you?” It hurt to think of it, to realize it … to admit it. She had known that about him from the first. But now she was in love with him. It was different. She didn’t want him to be some hotshot troublemaker. She wanted him to lead a peaceful life.
“What are you thinking of? You looked a thousand miles away for a minute there. You didn’t even hear me answer your question.”
“What was your answer?”
“That I could be in danger crossing the street, so why get paranoid now? You could be in danger. You could get kidnapped for a fat ransom. So? So why go crazy about could I be in danger, or could I not be in danger. I’m sitting here, I’m fine, I love you. That’s all you need to know. Now what were you thinking?”
“That I wish you were a stockbroker or an insurance agent.” She grinned and he let out a burst of laughter.
“Oh Mama, have you got the wrong number!”
“All right, so I’m crazy.” She shrugged in momentary embarrassment and then looked at him seriously again. “Luke, why do you still get involved in the strikes? Why can’t you let it go? You’re not in prison anymore. And it could cost you so much.”
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