Passion's Promise

by Danielle Steel

  “How long has it been since you’ve been out, Kezia?”

  “Out of what?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, asshole. You know what I mean. Out of this house. Outdoors. In the fresh air.” He eyed her directly, but she avoided his gaze.

  “Oh that. Actually, not for a while.”

  “How long is a while? Three days? A week?”

  “I don’t know, a couple of days, I guess. Mainly, I’ve been worried about being swarmed by the press.”

  “Bullshit. You told me three days ago that they didn’t call anymore, and they haven’t been hanging around the building. The story is dead, Kezia, and you know it So what’s keeping you home?”

  “Lethargy. Fatigue. Fear.”

  “Fear of what?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “Look, babe, a lot of things have changed for you, and very brutally and suddenly at that. But you have to get back to doing something with yourself. Go out, see people, get some air. Hell, go shopping if that’s what turns you on, but don’t lock yourself up in here. You’re beginning to turn green.”

  “How terribly chic.” But she had gotton the point.

  “Want to go for a walk now?”

  She didn’t, but she knew that she ought to. “Okay.”

  They wandered toward the park in silence, holding hands, and she kept her eyes down. They were almost at the zoo before she spoke.

  “Alejandro, what am I going to do?”

  “About what?” He knew, but he wanted to hear it from her.

  “My life.”

  “Give yourself time to adjust. Then figure it out. It’s still much too fresh. In a sense, you’re in shock.”

  “That’s what it feels like. Like I’m wandering around in a daze. I forget to eat, I forget if the mail has come, I can’t remember what day of the week it is. I start to work, and then my mind wanders and I look up and it’s two hours later and I haven’t finished the sentence I was typing. It’s crazy. I feel like one of those little old ladies who burrow into their houses, and someone has to keep reminding them to put the other stocking on, and to finish their soup.”

  “You’re not that bad yet. You cleaned up those chestnuts pretty quick.”

  “No. But I’m getting there, Alejandro. I just feel so vague … and so lost….”

  “All you can do is be good to yourself, and wait till you feel more yourself.”

  “Yeah, and in the meantime I look at his stuff in the closet. I lie in bed, and wait to hear his key in the door, and I kid myself that he’s in Chicago and he’ll be back in the morning. It’s driving me goddamn nuts.”

  “No wonder. Look, babe, he’s not dead.”

  “No. But he’s gone. And I’ve come to rely on him so much. In thirty years, or ten adult ones anyway, I’ve never relied on a man. But with Luke, I let myself go, I tore down all the walls. I leaned all over him, and now … I feel like I’m going to fall over.”

  “Now?” He tried to tease her a little.

  “Oh shut up.”

  “All right, seriously. The fact is that he’s gone and you’re not. You’re going to have to pick up your life. Sooner or later.”

  She nodded again, dug her hands deeper into her pockets, and they walked on. They had reached the horse carriages at the Plaza before she looked up.

  “It must be quite a hotel,” Alejandro said. In a way, it reminded him of the Fairmont.

  “Haven’t you ever been in it? Just for a look?” She was surprised when he shook his head.

  “Nope. No reason to. This isn’t exactly my part of town.” She smiled at him and slipped her hand through his arm.

  “Come on, let’s go in.”

  “I’m not wearing a tie.” The idea made him nervous.

  “And I look like a slob. But they know me. They’ll let us in.”

  “I bet they will.” He laughed at her, and they marched up the steps to the Plaza, looking as though they had decided to buy the place on a lark.

  They walked past the powdered dowagers eating pastry to the strains of violins in the Palm Court, and Kezia guided him expertly down the mysterious halls. They heard Japanese, Spanish, Swedish, a flurry of French, and the music that reminded Alejandro of old Garbo movies. The Plaza was more grandiose than the Fairmont, and much more alive.

  They stopped at a door while Kezia peeked inside. The room was large and opulent with the endless oak paneling that had given it its name. There was a long elaborate bar, and a lovely view of the park.

  “Louis?” She signaled to the headwaiter as he approached with a smile.

  “Mademoiselle Saint Martin, comment ça va! Quel plaisir!” “Hello Louis. Do you suppose you could squeeze us into a quiet table? We’re not dressed.”

  “Aucune importance. That is not a problem!” He assured them so magnanimously that Alejandro was convinced they could have arrived stark naked, and possibly should have.

  They settled at a small table in the corner, and Kezia dug into the nuts.

  “Well, do you like it?”

  “It’s quite something.” He looked a bit awed. “Do you come here a lot?”

  “No. I used to. As much as one can. Women are only allowed in at certain times.”

  “A stag bar, eh?”

  “You’re close. Rhymes with …” She giggled. “Fags, darling, fags. I suppose you might say this is the most elegant gay bar in New York.” He laughed in answer and took a look around. She was right. There were a number of gay men scattered here and there—a very large number as he took a second look. They were by far the most elegant men in the room. The others all looked like solid businessmen, and dull.

  “You know, Kezia, when I look around a place like this, I know why you wound up with Luke. I used to wonder. Not that there’s anything wrong with Lucas. But I’d expected you to hang out with some Wall Street lawyer.”

  “I tried that for a while. He was gay.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. But what did you mean when you said ‘when you look around a place like this’?”

  “Just that the men in your set don’t knock me out.”

  “Oh. Well, they don’t knock me out either. That was always the trouble.”

  “And now what? You go back to the old world?”

  “I don’t know if I can, or why I should bother. I think most likely I’ll wait for Luke to get out.” He didn’t say anything, and they ordered another round of scotch.

  “What about your friend Edward? Have you made peace with him?” Alejandro still shuddered at the memory of the half-crazed voice on the phone at the Fairmont after the hearing.

  “After a fashion. I don’t think he’ll ever really forgive me for the scandal. It makes him feel like a failure, since in a sense he brought me up. But at least the papers have cooled it. And people forget. I’m already old news.” She shrugged and took another swallow of scotch. “Besides, people let me get away with a lot. If you have enough money they call you eccentric and think you’re amusing. If you don’t have the bucks they call you a perverted pig and an asshole. It’s disgusting, but it’s true. You’d be aghast at some of the things my friends get away with. Nothing as mundane as my ‘outrageous’ love affair with Luke.”

  “Do you care if people get upset about Lucas?”

  “Not really. It’s my business, not theirs. A lot has changed in the last few months. Mostly me. It’s just as well. Edward, for instance, had this illusion of me as a child.”

  Alejandro wanted to say “So do I,” but he didn’t. She had that quality about her; it had something to do with her size and her seeming fragility.

  They left after their third round of scotch, on equally empty stomachs, both high as kites.

  “You know what’s funny?” She was laughing so hard she could barely stand up, but the cold air had sobered them both a little.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I don’t know … everything is….” She laughed again, and he wiped tears of cold and mirth from his
eyes.

  “Hey, you want a horse buggy ride?”

  “Yes!” They piled aboard and Alejandro instructed the driver to take them to Kezia’s. It was a cozy carriage with an old raccoon lap robe. They snuggled under it and giggled all the way home, insulated by the raccoon and the scotch.

  “Can I tell you a secret, Alejandro?”

  “Sure. I love secrets.” He held her close so she wouldn’t fall out. That was as good an excuse as any.

  “I’ve been drunk every night since I got back.”

  He looked at her through his own haze of scotch and shook his head. “That’s dumb. I won’t let you do that to yourself.”

  “You’re such a nice man. Alejandro, I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  They sat side by side and rode the rest of the way to her house in silence. He paid for the hansom cab and they rode up to her apartment, giggling in the elevator.

  “You know, I think I’m too drunk to cook.”

  “Just as well. I think I’m too drunk to eat.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “Kezia, you should eat …”

  “Later. Want to come to dinner tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here. With a lecture.” He tried to look grave but couldn’t master the expression and she laughed at him.

  “Then I won’t let you in.”

  “Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow …” They both collapsed in the kitchen with mirth, and he tipsily kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow. And make me a promise?”

  “What?” All of a sudden he had looked so serious.

  “No more drinking tonight, Kezia. Promise?”

  “I … uh … yeah … okay.” But it was a promise she was not planning to keep.

  She saw him to the elevator, and waved cheerily as the door closed, before coming back to the kitchen and bringing out the rest of last night’s fresh bottle of scotch. She was surprised that there was only an inch or so left.

  It was odd, but as she poured what was left into a tumbler with one ice cube, the vision of Tiffany’s funeral flashed into mind. It was a dumb way to die, but the others all left such a big mess. At least drinking wasn’t messy … not really … not very … or was it? She didn’t really give a damn, as she smiled to herself and drained the full glass.

  The phone was ringing but she didn’t bother to answer it. It couldn’t have been Luke. Even drunk she knew that much. Luke was away on a trip … in Tahiti … on a safari … and there were no phones there … but he’d be back at the end of the week. She was sure of it. Friday. And let’s see … what was today? Tuesday? Monday? Thursday! He’d be home tomorrow. She opened a fresh bottle. Bourbon this time. For Lucas. He’d be coming home soon.

  Chapter 30

  “Child, you look awfully thin.”

  “Marina just called it ‘divinely svelte.’ She and Halpern just walked by.” The wedding had been held over the New Year’s holiday in Palm Beach.

  Edward slid onto the banquette beside her. It was their first lunch in almost two months. And now she looked so different it shocked him.

  Her eyes were sunken into her head, her skin looked taut on her cheekbones, and there was not even luster where once there had been fire. What a price she had paid. And for what? It still horrified him, but he had promised her not to discuss it. That was the condition on which she’d accepted his invitation to lunch. And he wanted so much to see her. Maybe there was still a chance to regain what they’d lost.

  “Sorry I was late, Kezia.”

  “Not to worry, love. I had a drink while I waited.” And that was new too. But at least she was still impeccably groomed. Even more so than usual, in fact. She looked almost formal. The mink coat she so seldom wore was thrown over the back of a chair.

  “Why so dressed up today, my dear? Going somewhere after lunch?” Normally, she played it down, but not today, and the rare appearance of the mink coat surprised him.

  “I’m turning over a new leaf. Coming home to roost, as they say.” Luke’s letter that morning had insisted that she at least try her old stamping grounds again. It was better than sitting home sulking—or drinking, a new habit he didn’t know about. But she had decided to try his advice. That was why she had accepted the luncheon with Edward, and dragged out the fur coat. But she felt like an ass. Or like Tiffany, trying to dress up disaster with breath mints and fur.

  “What do you mean by ‘turning over a new leaf’?” He didn’t dare mention the Luke Johns affair, she might have walked out on the spot. And he was afraid of that. He signaled the waiter to order their usual Louis Roederer champagne. The waiter looked harassed but showed he understood, with a smile.

  “Oh, let’s just say that I’m making an effort to be a nice girl, and see some of my old Mends.”

  “Whitney?” Edward was a little taken aback.

  “I said I was being nice, not ridiculous, darling. No, I just thought I’d ‘come back’ and take a look around.” The champagne arrived, the waiter poured, Edward tasted and nodded approval. The waiter poured again for both of them, and Edward lifted his glass in a toast.

  “Then allow me to say welcome home.” He wanted to ask if she had learned her lesson, but he didn’t dare. Perhaps she had, though … perhaps she had. And in any case, her little misadventure had certainly aged her. She looked five years more than her age, particularly in a simple lilac wool dress and her grandmother’s remarkable pearls. And then he noticed the ring. He glanced at it and nodded approval. “Very pretty. Something new?”

  “Yes. Luke got it for me in San Francisco.” Something pinched in his face again. Bitterness. Anger.

  “I see.” There was no further comment, and Kezia finished her drink while Edward sipped his champagne.

  “How is the writing these days?”

  “It’ll do. I haven’t written anything I like in a while. And yes, Edward, I know. But looking at me like that won’t change a damn thing. I know all about it.” She was suddenly sick of the constant arch in his brows. “That’s right, darling, I’m not writing as well as I should. I’ve lost twelve pounds since you last saw me, I lock myself up at home because I’m terrified of reporters, and I look ten years older. I know all about it. We both know I’ve had a rough time. And we both know why, so stop looking so fucking shocked and disapproving. It’s really a dead bore.”

  “Kezia!”

  “Yes, Edward?”

  He realized then from the look in her eyes that she had had more to drink than he’d thought. He was so stunned that he half turned in his seat and eyed her intensely.

  “Okay, darling, what now? Is my mascara on crooked?”

  “You’re drunk.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “Yes, I am,” she whispered back with a bitter little smile. “And I’m going to get drunker. How’s that for a fun day?” He sat back in his seat with a sigh, searching for the right words to say, and then he saw her. The reporter from Women’s Wear Daily, eyeing them from across the room.

  “Damn.”

  “Is that all you can say, love? I’m turning myself into an alcoholic and all you can think of is ‘damn’?” She was playing with him now, evilly, meanly, but she couldn’t help herself. She was shocked when she felt his grip on her arm.

  “Kezia, that woman from Women’s Wear is over there and if you do anything, anything to catch her attention or antagonize her, I’ll … you’ll regret it.” Kezia laughed a deep-throated laugh and kissed his cheek. She thought it was funny, and Edward felt the sinking feeling of events slipping away from him, out of control. She wanted to bait everyone; she didn’t want to “come home.” She didn’t even know where home was. And she was worse than Liane had ever been. So much more brazen, so much stronger, tougher, m***ore willful … and so much more beautiful. He had never loved her more than now, at this instant, and all he wanted to do was shake her, or slap her. And then make love to her. Right in the middle of La Grenouille if he had to. The ideas suddenl
y running through his mind shocked him, and he shook his head as though to clear it. As he did, he felt Kezia patting his hand.

  “Don’t be afraid of silly old Sally, Edward, she won’t bite you. She just wants a story.” He found himself wondering if they should leave now, before they had lunch. But that might make a scene too. He felt trapped.

  “Kezia….” He was almost trembling with fear, and all he could do was take her hand in his, look into her eyes and pray that she’d behave herself and not create a scene. “Please.” Kezia saw the pain in his eyes, and it was like scalding oil on her soul. She didn’t want to see his feelings, not now. She couldn’t handle her own, let alone his.

  “All right Edward. All right.” She looked away, her voice subdued again, and noticed the WWD reporter making little notes on a pad. But there would be no further story. Only that they had been seen. She was not going to make trouble. They’d all had enough. “I’m sorry.” She said it with the sigh of a child, leaning back against the banquette, as relief swept over Edward. It made him feel tender again.

  “Kezia, why can’t I help you?”

  “Because nobody can.” There were tears trembling on her lashes. “Just try to accept that there isn’t a hell of a lot you can do for me right now. The present is what it is, and the past happened, and the future … well, I don’t see it too clearly right now. Maybe that’s the trouble.” She often found herself wondering now if this was what Tiffany had felt. As though someone had stolen the future. They had left her the large emerald ring and the pearls, but no future. It was hard to explain it to Edward. He was always so certain of everything. It made him seem far away too.

  “Do you regret the past, Kezia?” But he looked up with horror at the reaction in her eyes. He had said the wrong thing again. Lord, it was hard to talk to the girl. Crucifixion over lunch.

  “If you are referring to Lucas, Edward, of course I don’t regret it. He’s the only decent thing that’s happened to me in the last ten or twenty, or maybe even thirty years. What I regret is the revocation. There’s nothing I can do about it now. There’s nothing anyone can do. You can’t appeal a revocation of parole. It’s totally pointless.”