Lovers and Liars

by Brenda Joyce

  “What is it?” Rick demanded. “What’s happened?”

  “Rick, there’s no easy way—Janet died last night.”

  Rick went white and sat frozen.

  Jack put his hand on Rick’s shoulder. “She had cancer—there was no hope.” He watched Rick’s face; he saw the grief rising and the struggle to quell it. Rick leapt to his feet as his eyes grew watery, and he bolted. He ran into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

  Jack didn’t think about it. He went after him. He got his hand on the door and threw it open. “Ri—”

  “Get out,” Rick screamed. “Get the fuck out!”

  The kid was standing in the middle of the room, trembling, tears welling but not falling. Furiously he swiped with a fist at his cheeks.

  Jack reached him in two strides and enclosed him in a massive bear hug. Rick went stiff. Jack felt the warmth of his body and the hot surge of a choking anguish. Rick started to tremble. Jack hugged him harder. Rick started to cry.

  “It’s okay, let it out,” Jack said, fighting to push away the pain in his own gut, absolutely willing control. “Crying’s okay.”

  “She didn’t even say good-bye!” Rick sobbed.

  Jack rocked him and felt guilt. Poisonous guilt. He had known she was dying. He had known and ignored it. He could have done something. He could have let Rick see her. God.

  “Why didn’t she come and say good-bye?”

  “I don’t know, kid,” Jack said hoarsely. “I don’t know.”

  53

  It was a beautiful day. The sun was bright and warm, with a pleasant breeze pinching at the grass.

  Jack wore a dark suit and watched without expression as six hired pallbearers carried the casket toward the open grave. Melody and Rick stood at his side, Melody clutching a black bag, wearing a black dress, and glancing at him nervously. Rick was pale and silent.

  Jack looked at the almost black coffin being lowered and didn’t really see it. Instead he saw an old kitchen, wallpaper ripping and torn, stained and peeling linoleum floors, a table that wobbled precariously because one of the legs was too short. And the smell.

  Her smell.

  Thick, cheap musk perfume. Cloying.

  Janet.

  Janet nearly naked. What did a six-year-old know or care? A sheer red robe over stockings and garters, sending one of her men off. Jack shooting peas at him, laughing. Hitting the fat schmuck in the head.

  Jack!

  Laughing, racing out of the house.

  Too late. Janet had caught him, dragging him up short. A hard slap—right across the head.

  You bastard! Don’t you ever do that again!

  Jack squirming, fighting tears from the pain, thinking. I hate you! I hate you!

  I hate you. I hate you.

  Something deep and threatening tore at him from far inside, bubbling up. Excruciating tentacles of pain.

  I hate you.

  His breathing became choked. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Sweat dripped down his face. Salty. Tears blurred his vision; and feeling panic, he fought them, panting.

  I hate you. I hate you.

  His heart was pounding wildly. A tear escaped. He brushed at it, struggling as he’d never struggled before. For control. For a mask. To hold back emotions that were growing at an incredible rate. The tentacles were huge knives thrusting upward through his chest, cutting off his air, ripping open his heart …

  Jack heard an anguished kind of animal noise escape from someone.

  Himself.

  He turned, stumbling because for some goddamn reason he couldn’t see, Tears blinded him. He wasn’t aware of anyone or anything. Just the rapierlike pain in his chest, the possibility that he might have a heart attack, the need to find his car. Doggedly he ran.

  He didn’t hear Melody cry out.

  Blindly he found the Ferrari and was in it.

  “I hate you! I hate you!”

  He was pounding the steering wheel. Tears coursed down his face. He heard huge grotesque sobs. His sobs.

  “I hate that bitch! I hate her! I hate her!”

  Pounding, pounding, pounding.

  She never loved me, he thought, crying into his hands.

  All I ever wanted was some love. Just a kind fucking word, one word, one pat—like you’d give a fucking dog—one lousy nice word, one iota of approval …

  One fucking word.

  54

  When they got back to the Westwood condo there she was, Janet’s ghost.

  Jack stared, frozen, feeling faint.

  Janet’s ghost, only thirty years younger.

  She was dressed in skintight gold spandex, four-inch spikes, and black lace. A mane of dark blond hair. All that heavy makeup. Janet’s ghost looked him up and down insolently and suggestively, and then Rick shouted, “Leah!” and reality intruded, crystal-clear.

  Stunned, Jack watched Rick hug his sister. His sister. Their sister. This … whore.

  This spitting image of Janet.

  He felt sick.

  “I got the key from the manager’s office,” Lansing said, and for the first time Jack became aware of him.

  “Hi, bro,” Leah said, giving him another suggestive look. “Too bad we’re related.” She smirked.

  Jack got a grip on himself. “Hi,” he said, clearing his throat. “Thanks, Peter—I think.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” Lansing said, trying to wipe the amusement and pity out of his eyes. Melody ushered him out, closing the door.

  A tense silence filled the room.

  Rick was watching them both, standing close to his sister—protectively.

  “Rick, could you leave us for a few minutes?” Jack asked. He could see it now: Rick was going to side with his sister in any confrontation that occurred, and Jack had no doubt there were going to be many. To his surprise, Rick left without protest. The kid was really shook up over Janet’s death.

  Leah sauntered close, inspecting him lewdly. “You look just as good in person,” she commented. “Maybe better.”

  “Cut it out,” Jack flared up, grabbing her arm. “Cut out the hooker crap. I don’t like it.” He hated it. This near-image of Janet was making his insides roil.

  “Well, isn’t that too bad!” She had her fists on her hips and grinned. “You wanted to see me, remember, doll?”

  He had the traitorous thought that this was never going to work. “Look, Leah, I want to help you start over. There’s no need for you to sell yourself on the street.”

  She laughed. “Sure, I’ll take a handout. Too bad you didn’t pop up when I was eleven and turned my first trick.”

  He wondered if he’d throw up. Could he really be related to this whore? Nothing he had done, or ever been, compared to this. “First off, why don’t we get you settled in. You must be tired from the trip,” he said evenly.

  “I’m staying with you?” Her eyes slitted.

  He was in trouble—he knew it. “You need clothes,” Jack said, unable to delay the topic a moment longer.

  “You gonna take me shopping?”

  “What’s your size?” Jack asked instead. “Seven, eight?”

  “Right on. Five ten, one hundred and twenty pounds. All in the right places, I might add.” She patted a round buttock.

  Jack clenched his jaw. How was he going to hide this—for her sake as well as his own? “Look, Leah, I have no intention of taking you shopping while you look like you just finished a ten-dollar blow job. I’ll have Mel pick you up some jeans and a shirt, and then she’ll take you out.”

  “Do I embarrass you?” Her voice was saccharine sweet.

  “You embarrass yourself.”

  “You got what you asked for, big boy, so don’t go laying any crap on me.”

  “Let’s get you settled in,” he said firmly.

  “When do I get my money? Peter told me you’d give me a few grand to pay for my travel expenses.” She grinned. “He make that up?”

  “He didn’t make it up. You’ll get it as soo
n as you like.” What did he think he was doing? Panic punched him like a fist.

  “Now sounds good to me,” she said.

  “Tomorrow. Mel will have to go to the bank. I don’t have that much cash on me.” He paused at the door. “I assume you want cash?”

  “Of course,” Leah said airily. “I’m a cash-only business—you know that.”

  55

  Mary didn’t care what anyone thought.

  She had left the downstairs of a friend’s house, full of milling people. Tons of coke were going around, and everyone was drinking up a storm, She was high and very thoughtful. She’d walked upstairs and sought sanctuary from the masses.

  Anger was better than indifference, she told herself.

  What had happened yesterday at least showed that Vince was jealous, possessive. Wasn’t that better than nothing?

  He had hardly said a word to her since. He hadn’t come close enough to touch her either, but it had only been twenty-four hours since he had practically raped her on the kitchen floor. It hadn’t been rape, had it? She had been willing finally, if not aroused. How in hell could she get aroused in two minutes?

  She thought of Abe. She wished she were with him tonight, fucking his brains out. That man knew what to do to a woman. God, and he could hold it forever. He made Vince seem like a schoolboy. Of course, Abe wasn’t built like Vince; he wasn’t young and hard and perfectly muscled like Vince. Mary was trying to be fair.

  Still, with his money and his power and his cock he didn’t need any of those attributes. She smiled. He was sexy in a very different way. And he had made her come.

  Hopefully she would see him soon. And hopefully by then he would have his daughter—the cunt—under control. Mary would have her husband back. And then what?

  She shoved that problem aside. She concentrated on what she and Abe would do to each other the next time they were together, until her clit was swollen and aching. She was wearing a long skirt and boots, and she wondered if she dared to masturbate before going back downstairs and getting super high.

  “There you are.”

  Perfect timing, Mary thought, looking at Beth.

  “What are you doing?” Beth asked.

  Mary hadn’t told her about Abe. She knew Beth too well; Beth would be jealous and wouldn’t understand. “Thinking,” Mary said truthfully enough. She patted the bed next to her. “Come here.”

  Beth came eagerly, sitting beside her. Mary took her hand and placed it beneath her skirt, on her knee. She slid it up her thigh, back down, then up again, this time closer to her wet, wet pussy. Then she placed it there, holding Beth’s hand in place, arching her throbbing flesh against her. Beth slipped her hand under Mary’s panties, found her clitoris and started to stroke it. Mary gasped.

  She lay back on the bed, legs spread, as Beth ran to close the door. “There’s no lock,” Beth said hoarsely, coming back to kneel between Mary’s legs. She threw up Mary’s skirt and rid her of her pink panties.

  “I don’t care,” Mary said, moaning as the cool air stroked her nakedness.

  With her thumbs, Beth parted the heavy lips of Mary’s cunt. She lowered her head and slid her tongue between the folds. Licking and lapping.

  They shed their clothes and moved fully onto the bed in extreme haste. Beth kneaded her buttocks as she ate her, kneeling between Mary’s plump thighs.

  That was how Vince found them.

  He had been feeling guilty, of course.

  He had been feeling guilty ever since he had taken his own wife so brutally. He wanted to apologize but just couldn’t seem to do it. It was easier to be a coward and never bring up the subject again. Except—he still wanted to know.

  And now he did.

  They were so engrossed they never heard him calling Mary’s name. He stood in the doorway and stared at Beth’s bare bottom, her twat peeking out as she sucked his wife’s pussy with incredible vigor and noise. Mary moaned and writhed, her huge bare breasts gleaming above Beth’s bent dark head.

  He had an instant erection.

  Mary’s lover was a woman.

  He didn’t get farther than that thought. He had already unzipped his fly. This was his secret fantasy—every man’s fantasy—and his cock was huge and he had no intention of passing this up. He came up behind Beth silently and watched, fascinated and ready to come, as she lapped his wife’s swollen pink flesh.

  Mary’s eyes opened, and they stared at each other.

  Vince grabbed Beth’s hips, and unable to wait a second longer, he thrust into her.

  They all came at once.

  56

  Melody stole a glance at Jack.

  He sat silent beside her in the twenty-seat plane as it began its descent into Aspen. Ten days had passed since the funeral and there were only ten shopping days left till Christmas. But it didn’t feel like the holidays, she thought grimly. Jack was staring out the window. He hadn’t said more than a dozen words to her since they had left Los Angeles. Rick had pleaded to stay in L.A., and Jack had agreed reluctantly. Afraid to leave Rick with Leah, he had sent her to Palm Springs for a “vacation.” Leah was as happy as the cat that ate the canary.

  Melody tried not to look out the window as the plane circled mountain peaks, snow- and pine-capped, turning for descent into an impossibly small, snowy valley. She closed her eyes, hands tightening on the arms of her seat. She wasn’t afraid of flying, not really, but this was different. Flying some diminutive plane into a miniature hole in the mountains—she felt quite sick.

  Poor Jack.

  She wanted desperately to comfort him, to hold him, to ease his pain.

  It had happened. What she had been hoping for. Jack had broken down at the funeral, and although she had wanted to comfort him then, she had known he wouldn’t let her, wouldn’t want her or anyone to see him cry and grieve. An outpouring of all those emotions, and she wasn’t sure what they were. She just knew it was healthy for him to release them. He had been living with poisons in his system for years, and now he was finally letting them out. Like an infection that had to be lanced, letting all the pus drain away.

  Thank God.

  It was sad that Janet’s death had to be the trigger.

  Maybe tonight she would be able to get close to him.

  He’d had his hands full with Rick and Leah since the funeral, especially with Leah. They were openly engaged in what seemed to be a constant battle. Melody had offered to take him to dinner, the movies, anything, but he’d always turned her down. But tonight …

  Jack intended to go to the Kellers’ Christmas party with her. Afterward … afterward Melody would be there to hold him, to ease his sorrow any way she could. She hadn’t forgotten how it had been when they had made love, and she knew he would want to be with her again—she just knew it. And, God, she herself had barely been able to think of anything else since that day.

  He hadn’t even looked at her with any sign of intimacy since that afternoon. Hadn’t flirted (not that he’d ever flirted with her) or in any way intimated that anything had occurred between them. How could he be so dense? So callous? Didn’t he know her at all?

  Hadn’t that night meant anything to him?

  She was pretty certain that he hadn’t been with a woman since he’d made love to her. That had to mean something!

  She could vividly remember everything he’d done to her—intimacies she’d never experienced before. His tongue and lips in her most private places. Oh, God! She didn’t want to think that he made love like that to all women. It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. Was it?

  Jack cared for her. She knew he did. And he had made love to her and enjoyed it. She had seen his arousal. Didn’t that add up to them becoming lovers? It was only logical.

  Tonight.

  Tonight they would find each other, she was sure of it.

  The plane touched down, bounced twice, hard, and sped down the runway, brakes screaming. When the plane slowed Melody opened her eyes. Jack was looking at her, and he gave her a smile
that was an imitation of his real one. “We made it,” he said quietly.

  She smiled at him, looking into his eyes—he looked away.

  It was about eighteen degrees out. They emerged into fading winter daylight with twenty other passengers, down the stairs, into the warmth of the building, directly to baggage claim. The airport was as tiny as the plane, as the valley seemed—in the midst of the Rockies—improbably small.

  Melody saw her coming.

  Blond, long, lean, wearing jeans, after-ski boots, a huge Gerry parka. In her hand was a mike. “Jack Ford,” she cried, closing in.

  Jack turned away, and Melody moved protectively between them.

  “I’m with KXIS,” the woman said. “Please, Jack, a comment on North-Star’s announcement.”

  “No comment,” Melody said firmly, not even wondering what the announcement was, concerned only with shielding Jack.

  “According to inside sources, Berenger was Oscar material. Why do you think North-Star would cancel its release?”

  Jack turned, eyes wide with shock.

  “You didn’t know!” the woman cried eagerly. “It’s the first policy change since the takeover. North-Star will not release films that do not live up to its standards—do you want the quote? Shit—I had it somewhere!”

  “What!” Jack said hoarsely.

  “No comment,” Melody said firmly, grabbing Jack’s arm. “Jack, ignore her,” she said to him alone. “We don’t know what’s going on.”

  But the reporter heard. “You don’t know about the takeover?” She was triumphant. “North-Star has been raided by Glassman Enterprises. Do you want the quote on the Berenger cancellation?”

  Jack stared, shocked.

  Falling.

  Free-falling through space.

  “ ‘North-Star is canceling the release of Berenger because the film does not meet the quality standard that has made North-Star an industry leader,’ ”; the reporter read. “ ‘It is possible that with further editing the film may be released at a future, unscheduled date.’ ”; She smiled. “Any comments?”

  Falling.

  God, why now, after all these years?