Before she could reply, he walked off to hail a man standing beside the pool, only to be replaced by Solveigh, who asked, “And where is Brad Pitt? They promised, didn’t they?”
They were standing in the doorway to the garden, gentle music drifting from the band on the other side, where a dance floor had been placed beneath a white pavilion.
Beautifully dressed women floated by, some casting glances at Naomi, some drifting toward Jon, but he never reacted. He turned to look for her and smiled to see her with Solveigh, obviously at ease with her surroundings. Naomi gave him a tiny, secret smile and moved her hips slightly so he could see her legs through the thin material, and any concentration he might have had for the conversation around him vanished. Even as he walked toward her, she came to him, her body moving gracefully with the swirling skirt.
“Dance with me?” Naomi asked. “I would like to be in your arms a little, even if only on the dance floor. Do you think we could get them to play something nice?”
“I’ll make them, if it’s your wish.” Here it came again, the single, half-raised finger to get the attention of an attendant, who was instantly by his side to hear what Jon had to say. He did it unconsciously, without even realizing how incredibly arrogant it might appear to onlookers.
He was so used to being obeyed right away. The music changed, the band picked up the charming tune of a slow, dreamy rumba rhythm that fit wonderfully with the sultry dusk of the Los Angeles evening.
He pulled her a little too close for decorous dancing, but she did not mind at all, loving the feel of his suit through the chiffon and the warmth of his body against hers.
“Sal said you are ruining me with all the glamour and wealth. I think he’d rather have me hidden and lonely in Halmar. What do you think?”
It took him some time to reply.
“He has a point. I’m scared to death someone will come and try to take you away from me, and who knows, maybe there’s somebody out there who will appeal to you. Someone not as dumb as I am, who won’t spook you again and again.” A brief pause, then: “So yes, I like to see you safely tucked away where no one gets to see you but the locals who know you as a withdrawn, reticent girl, and those elderly Minnesotans who go there to explore their roots and are much too old and tired to get it up sufficiently to meet your high standards and please you.”
“Stupid! How can somebody as brilliant and successful as you be so stupid at the same time? You drive me to tears with your stupidity.”
The music changed into something faster and funkier and Naomi stopped dancing. She excused herself and left him with Russ and Art.
It took her a while to find him when she returned from the powder room, and when she did she stood very still, hidden in a doorway, watching the picture presenting itself to her. He was in a quiet side room of the hotel, quite apart from the party, talking to a woman in his low voice, leaning close to her and touching her hair in a tender, thoughtful way.
“No. That’s not going to happen, Sophie. I’m only here for a short while, and then I won’t be coming back for a long, long time. You need to let it go, dear.”
“But surely,” she pleaded. “surely you aren’t telling me it’s over? You can’t mean it, Jon. Not after what we had together. You can’t just drop me like that, you’re breaking my heart. It can’t be because of that Norwegian girl? What’s so special about her? She’s older than I am. If you want to live somewhere else, we can go together, darling, please…”
“Sophie, I can’t. I’ve made a commitment, and I will stick to it. She’s the mother of my son, and I will not leave her.”
“A commitment,” she repeated with a bitter laugh. “Yes, well, pay her handsomely and then pull out. You can’t mean this. We belong together, and you know it.”
Naomi took a careful step back and waited for his reply.
She heard him sigh. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m tied to her in every way, and I would not leave her for anything or anyone in the world. She’s the one I will marry, and that’s it. It’s as final as my last breath.”
The stranger grabbed Jon’s sleeve, but he moved away.
“Don’t do this, Jon,” she begged. “Don’t leave me. Come back to me. We were good together until you left, and I’ve been waiting for you to return. You don’t need to marry her for a grown son’s sake. Just pay her off and keep her quiet. Don’t sell yourself like that. You haven’t seen her for how long? Twenty years? You can’t tell me you truly love her; it’s only your hard-headedness. If you need to, live it out, then come back to your senses and to me. You know your place is here, not somewhere in the Norwegian countryside.”
There was no response from him.
“Tell me, Jon,” she heard Sophie’s voice. “Tell me to my face you never cared for me. Do it, and I’ll walk away from you right now.”
He took a long time replying. “You were the best thing that happened to me in a very long while, Sophie.”
“Ah.” Her head went down. “But it wasn’t enough. I’m worth more than a brief call from some airport or other to tell me it’s over. Well, you are no better than all the others after all.” There was no response, so she plodded on. “And now what? You go back to that Norwegian village and marry a hotel clerk? Is that your future, Jon?”
“Yes.” Naomi closed her eyes at the firmness in his voice. “Yes, Sophie. I’m going back just as soon as I can. I will not stay here a day longer than necessary.”
Naomi retreated, wildly upset and at a loss what to do. For a while she stood, watching the bustle around her. She felt as if she were standing outside a snow globe where people were swirling to the sound of music that had somehow gone out of tune. From the corner where she was standing she could see Jon, hands deep in his pockets, return outside into the brightly lit garden and the company of Art, who asked where he had been hiding. She did not follow. Instead, she made her way slowly to the bar inside and Sal, who was sitting there by himself nursing a drink. He pushed his glass in her direction without a word and watched as she took a big gulp. They were quite alone; most of the guests had chosen the garden and the balmy night air.
“So. A moment of peace amid all the turmoil, eh? And you pick me to share it with?”
Her head swiveled toward the noise of the party.
“Where did you leave the Jonman?”
A small shrug of her shoulders, a slight tightening of her lips.
From the corner of his eye Sal could see Jon coming toward them, his step easy and his smile bright, but he saw how Naomi’s tension did not slip away from her.
“There you are, Baby.” Jon’s hand caressed her bare back. “I was looking for you. Want to go home? Enough of the tumult?”
She glided from her perch directly into his arms. “No, let’s dance some more.”
His smile widened in delight as he led her away. Sal, alone again, held up his hand to order another drink.
It took five weeks to finish the recording, and Naomi relaxed into the rhythm of their life in LA. She didn’t go to the studio with Jon every day but preferred to stay at the house, enjoying the beach and the sunshine. Most of the time she was on her own in the huge mansion and spent many hours wandering through the rooms, imagining how she would redecorate them if she came to live here again. The roof terrace outside the bedroom was the subject of most of her attention. Often after Jon and the others had left she went back up there and stood staring at the unused space, turning it into a lush outdoor room in her mind. A place for her to work, lounge, and look out over the sea. A retreat.
Sal, at her request, brought her a stack of tabloids every day, which made Jon ask if she now had a new interest in Hollywood gossip. Sal inquired acidly if she was waiting for pictures of her chiffon dress, but she gave no explanation, so he sat patiently while she leafed through them, only to discard them quickly.
“You’ve been very lucky so far,” was Sal’s verdict, “and you know it. You need to tell him.”
Again, her shoulders went up in
that gesture of denial he had come to know so very well, and he let it drop.
Jon took her down to the little beach house a few times, at her request, and Naomi pocketed the stones from the porch to bring them back to the garden of the Malibu house, where she placed them by the stone bench with all the others she had collected
Standing once again in the house where he had spent so many years in solitude, Jon recalled the day he read Joshua’s letter and his feelings then, just to keep them alive in his heart, along with the miracle of its outcome. He knew he would not be coming out here again, having decided to sell the house.
It felt strange to have time on their hands to stroll down Rodeo Drive together, just the two of them, just like in London. Jon talked seriously to her about writing for others and of the offer from Harry to write a movie script for him, but she demurred.
“I started writing because of you. You know it. I was vacuuming my room, and despite the noise, I heard this voice on the radio that made me drop what I was doing and sit down and write those lyrics, for you to sing them. And you did. You do. That’s all, Jon. Don’t push me.”
He shook his head at her, but she continued, “Think about it. I know what you go through to put a new album on the market, the talk shows, the cameo appearances, photo sessions and fan clubs, interviews, God, the touring! Just imagine, we would be apart most of the time! Why can’t we just settle down, write some beautiful stuff, raise a new family, and sit in the sun?”
He mulled it over while they were sitting in a beach restaurant over cocktails, swirling the lemon in his glass.
“It is good to be here. And I want to return. But really, I think we need to go home now. I feel restricted here, and under constant observation. Don’t you like to be able to just step out of your house and meet only friends and neighbors, no fans or photographers?” As if to emphasize her words, a flashlight exploded in their faces.
“We’re going,” Jon announced abruptly. “Pack some things, we’re leaving tonight. We’ll go to New York.”
She was too perplexed to rise. “What do we need to do in New York? I don’t want to do any sightseeing. Really, Jon, if we can leave then let’s head home!”
He rose from his seat. “And so we will, but on the way we’ll stop in New York.”
“Why, for God’s sake?” Exasperated, she ignored the photographer who was hovering just outside, waiting for another good shot.
Jon tossed some money on the table. “Don’t you want to see where I grew up? Where I used to live before I became a star? Don’t you want to meet my family?”
He loved the look he got from her, open-mouthed, speechless for once, and how she followed him without resistance to the car and let him drive her home.
Joshua was delighted at the news.
“Does that mean I have cousins I don’t know yet?” he asked on the plane. “And more grandparents, too? Uncles and aunts?”
One uncle, Jon explained, and an aunt, and sadly, only a grandmother. But yes, there were cousins of both sexes, and close to his age. And, he added, his gaze on Naomi, he thought it was a good idea to meet them before they came to Halmar for the wedding.
“You really are such a self-absorbed bastard,” Naomi said after Joshua had plugged in his earphones, “You vanish to Geneva to kidnap my parents, and you never even think to tell me of your family. And now, a few weeks before we get married, it suddenly occurs to you to visit your mother?”
He grinned at her. “You never asked.”
She could not decide whether or not to be furious at him.
“Does she even know you are getting married? Does she even know where you were for the past five months? Did you talk to her at all, Jon?”
He shifted uncomfortably, knowing very well she had caught him out once again. Naomi would not let this rest, and he would get a hiding from his mother, too.
“Well, yes and no. I called her when we arrived in LA and told her I had found you again. I thought it would be a nice surprise to drop by with you and Joshua—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jon! That’s not the way to do things! You can’t just dump us on her and say, ‘Hey Mom, this is my future wife, and by the way, here is your grandson.’ She’ll have a heart attack! God, but you can be so stupid sometimes!”
“Yeah, yell at me.” He did not look at her. “I know. Only there never was the right moment, and really, little beast, I’ve never gone through this before. It seemed like such a good idea, showing up with you, surprising them all…”
Naomi threw up her hands in exasperation. “At least book us into a hotel. We can’t show up on her doorstep and demand shelter as well.”
“Did that,” he replied, relieved that he had done something right at least.
Since they were in New York anyway and had a day to kill before Jon’s mother would see them, Joshua insisted they visit Juilliard, a request that surprised Naomi. “You take him, Jon,” she said, “I’ll take a stroll down Fifth Avenue. I know you’ll be talking about music the whole time anyway.”
She could see he didn’t like the idea of her alone on the streets of Manhattan very much, so she told him not to fret, and please, could he maybe stop treating her as if he were a sheik from the Middle East and she one of his harem?
His eyes twinkled in appreciation. “Yeah, Baby, now that is a nice thought. I could build you a palace with a wonderful garden and buy you some nice, strong, good-looking eunuchs, and you would lie around naked all day by your pool, nibbling figs and honey cakes, and I could come around whenever I want, and you would be there, and I could have you anytime. Oh yes, what a lovely fantasy. And I would have all those incapable men stand by and watch. Ah, and they unable to perform… Me, the only one to give you pleasure, and you, on your silk cushions, the heat of the sun on your skin, and I would put a diamond-studded anklet on you to proclaim who you belong to…”
“Like hell.” A smile played around her lips. “As if you could. You would hate the idea of other men, eunuchs or not, seeing me like that. And anyway, an anklet alone wouldn’t do at all. There would have to be a lot more, and chiffon skirts as well. And oh, don’t forget the steady supply of chilled champagne. And some ladies to keep me company, preferably well versed in singing and entertaining. And at least one of your strong male slaves would have to be very accomplished at massage. Rose oil, too.”
His breathing quickened a little and his concentration drifted for a moment away from the orange he was peeling.
“Oh no.” She laughed at him. “Don’t even think of it. I’m going out. You, wake up your son and take him to that school and shake up the poor professors with your appearance. God, but I wish Solveigh was here! It would be so much more fun with her around.”
But Solveigh had declined to return to Halmar any time soon. For her, Los Angeles was heaven, and she could not bear to be parted from Russ. Jon had commented on it over their last meal together, offering to advise Russ on how to propose and buy an engagement ring, and Russ had been more than willing to go right then and there to get her one, but Solveigh had refused. Blushing very becomingly, she had said, “Not yet. And certainly not with Jon in tow. I can do without his comments.” It had not been, they noted, a rejection.
For the first time since she had gone to London to see the concert, she was all alone in a big city, free to do as she pleased.
The high-rise buildings of Manhattan cast shadows on the streets below even though it was noon, and a cool wind blew through the straight canyons. The noise was deafening, even worse than on Oxford Street or around Piccadilly in London. It seemed as if a police car or an ambulance came tearing past almost every minute, their horns and sirens blasting their way through the incredible traffic. The smells of a hundred different types of food assaulted her. Hot dogs from street vendors and all kinds of Asian cuisines, the delicious invitation of a deli at every corner, the scent of fresh bread from the bagel shops and cake from the pastry counters, coffee and the aroma of fruit juices, all mixed up with the stink
of exhaust fumes and the evil blasts that rose from the grills of the subway system. The fast movement of the pedestrians confounded her, and she stared in amazement at elegant, executive women, dressed in grey suits with leather laptop cases slung over their shoulders and sneakers on their feet, thick socks over their nylons, rushing past, phones to their ears, seemingly always on the run.
She loved it. With a paper cup of coffee in her hand, she stood on the sidewalk and breathed in the turmoil, listened to the noise around her, and had the eerie feeling that the city was talking directly to her, telling her its stories in a rhythm all its own. Staring at the people around her, without realizing it, she began to make up stories about them and their lives, their secret wishes and dreams. For the first time ever, words fell together for her without the constant hum of Jon’s music in the background, words shaping themselves into something more than lyrics, running on and on, weaving a ribbon of many colors. Coffee forgotten, Naomi listened to the plot unfolding in her mind, quivering at the possibilities. A novel? She hardly dared touch that thought yet. Very carefully she tried to step back from it, but it would not let her go, clinging to her like a needy kitten.
“I need a new laptop,” she said out loud, and a man walking past her at that moment, a well-groomed stranger in a hand made suit, gave her an amused glance.
Later, on their drive through the city and across the Brooklyn Bridge, Jon told them about his childhood, how he had grown up in the same house where his mother still lived with his sister and his two nieces after his father had died and his sister, Valerie, had kicked her husband out.
The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy) Page 17
