by Jan Freed
She’d thought she was prepared to let him go.
But she’d been oh-so-very wrong.
THE FOLLOWING March and April were two of the worst—and best—months of Sarah’s life. The worst hours began at sunset, when the rest of the world went home to a family, or a loving pet, or the empty but comforting haven created by individual taste and personal mementos.
Sarah went “home” to the echo of her own voice, in a place decorated by someone else, filled with books left by myriad guests, scattered with framed photos of the Kaiser family. Even the clothes on her back weren’t hers—but Sarina’s. Or technically, Donna’s.
More and more, Sarah longed to go home to her apartment and sit in the furniture she’d selected, read the books of her choice. Gaze at the photo of her parents captured in a moment of rare accord.
She wanted to wear her own sophisticated grownup clothes and go to the grocery store, or the movies. Any place that wasn’t the guest house or Roosevelt High School. In that sense she truly empathized with teenage restlessness like Kate’s. Sarah’s imprisonment, albeit a privileged one, chafed and galled.
Her nightly routine rarely deviated. She would shower with peach-scented soap and shove back the memory of large hands slick with oil, gliding warm and appreciatively over her skin. She’d head for the kitchen and pull out a frozen dinner, bought and delivered by a friend only slightly warmer, pop it in the microwave and wait for the ding!
Then she’d shove back the memory of a small domed bell on a desktop, and stretch the process of eating from five minutes to at least fifteen. On a lucky night she had enough dirty laundry to make a full load, and she’d take it to the main house and kill another hour.
Homework wasn’t the chore it had been at first, but a welcome task more diverting than TV. On a lucky night, it would occupy as many as three hours. Four, if she had a test the next day. Her substitute English teacher, a pretty young woman determined to prove her worth, was a firm believer in pop quizzes. Sarah would study for multiple choice questions, shove back the memory of her first debate on the subject, and maybe watch a little of Letterman before bed.
At last she would accept the inevitable, brush her teeth and climb between cool sheets, where the memories were hottest, the loneliness coldest. And she would wonder how Jack was doing, was he happy, did he miss her at least a little? Was he dazzled by the beautiful women in his new industry, as they no doubt were dazzled by the handsome new screenwriter in their midst?
She knew he was living in the director’s Hollywood home, and that they were working closely—but not always harmoniously—on the rewrites. He hadn’t written or called her since he’d left. Her scraps of information were gleaned cautiously from Kate, lest she tell her brother that Sarina had been asking for details.
On a lucky night she didn’t toss and turn, or ache and need, or get up to make hot tea. On a lucky night, she fell asleep at a decent hour and woke up refreshed.
Which was good. Because her best hours during that endless March and April began in the morning. At school.
Her role of Sarina Davis had become a comfortable second skin, melding more each day with her old self to form a new identity. An apt process for the season when feathers molted, butterflies emerged from cocoons, and rejuvenation was the order of the day.
The result was a Sarah Davidson who was less cynical. Less quick to assume appearances were only masks for the person one wished to hide from the world. Sometimes that was true, yes. But not always. Not usually.
It had taken a motley collection of Roosevelt High School students to renew her faith in the basic decency of people, to restore her pride in her profession.
If Sarah hadn’t had her kids that awful spring, she would’ve surely gone mad.
RUSHING INTO the girls’ locker room, Sarah threw her gym bag on a bench and began changing into her “walking” clothes. She was late. Elaine was already outside on the track. Donna had called an emergency wrap-up meeting after school for the senior prom planning committee. With only ten days left until Abracadabra—You‘ re Outta Here! gave graduating students “a magical night to remember,” the committee was jittery about living up to the advance publicity.
With good reason. Ticket sales had gone through the roof once news leaked out that Alan Chaney would make an appearance. The hot new comedian-magician who’d grown up in Houston was on the fast track to stardom.
No one could believe the entertainer who’d recently hosted “Saturday Night Live” would book a lowly high school prom gig. Hadn’t he taken that paparazzo’s camera and smashed it on the sidewalk? Wasn’t his greatest illusion acting charming and sincere when in reality he was a conceited jerk?
Allowing herself a smug smile, Sarah dropped her Nike cross-trainers on the floor and sat to tie them on. She loved it when timing, know-how and luck converged to make things happen. With Donna as her mouthpiece, Sarah had contacted Alan’s agent and hyped the benefits of counteracting that nasty wave of negative publicity. Houston media sound bites of the prom would be picked up nationally, and the country would see what a nice man Alan really was, sacrificing big bucks to give kids in his hometown a true night to remember.
Sarah was thankful the negotiations and countless other aspects of Abracadabra had forced her and Donna to work closely together. Eventually, they’d talked about Jack. In the face of a misery surpassing her own, Donna had thawed, finally admitting she’d had no real claim on him. That he’d been honest, and she’d stubbornly refused to see they had no future.
Tugging up her socks, Sarah stood and headed for the exit leading to the track. Her own future was a big question mark. The Monday following the prom, John Merrit’s murder trial would begin. Getting there was no problem. Walking into the courthouse safely was another issue. Since initial efforts to find her had failed, that would be the most likely time for another attempt on her life.
Sarah suppressed a shudder, pushed through the door, and burst into the late afternoon sunshine with relief. Two steps outside she stopped to let her eyes adjust. The scent of fresh-mown grass, sweet with clover, wafted in from the athletic fields. Shrill whistles, barked orders and occasional laughter told of baseball, softball and track team practices in session. A balmy breeze ruffled her hair.
Ah, much better. It was hard to believe in the bogeyman amid such normalcy.
The red track was a happening place. She searched the two outside lanes—the only ones allotted for nonteam use at this time of year—and spotted Elaine. Look at that girl go! Arms pumping, head turning occasionally to smile and return a comment from passing runners, she was a far different sight from the shy teen who’d barely made it twice around the track in January.
For one thing, she’d lost all but about ten pounds of her excess weight. As her facial bone structure and nice curves began emerging from hiding, she’d no longer needed a companion to motivate her to exercise or eat properly.
Yet those were only cosmetic changes. Good for gaining acceptance in an appearance-oriented society. But by no means the secret to personal happiness. Sarah had worked with too many slim beautiful women who were also neurotic wrecks to believe otherwise.
Jogging slowly to the track, she experienced immense pride in her young friend’s deeper transformation. Elaine was much more assertive and confident than before. Her aura said, “I’m somebody worth knowing,” instead of, “Kick me.”
Too bad her newfound attitude hadn’t given her the courage to ask a boy to be her date for the prom. Elaine refused to attend alone, as Sarah had done for her own senior prom.
What do you expect, after telling her you were a miserable wallflower at your prom? a sarcastic inner voice jeered.
Sarah shook off her guilt and prepared to step onto the track beside Elaine. She was coming up fast with a wide, challenging grin.
Oh-ho! The kid wanted to take on the pro again, did she?
Sarah entered the outside lane and moved into a warm-up walk. Not enough time to do the job properly, but she never ignored a thrown
gauntlet. By the time Elaine moved up beside her, Sarah’s muscles had loosened enough to proceed as planned.
“Hi there,” Sarah greeted, slowly increasing her speed to match the girl’s. “How many laps have you done?”
“Ten, once I hit the mile mark. Want to race my last two?”
Hmm. Elaine was probably tiring.
“Okay, you’re on,” Sarah accepted, an idea forming. “But if I win, you have to go to the prom.”
Elaine’s brown eyes flashed. “I’m not going by myself! I already told you.”
“And I’m not deaf,” Sarah groused. “Sheesh, I’ll provide the date. And I promise he’ll be presentable.”
They thudded in silence, Elaine glowering.
“Well?” Sarah prodded. “We’re getting close to the mile mark.
“You’re not going to quit nagging me about this prom thing, are you?”
“Nope.” Sarah grinned unrepentantly.
“Oh, all right. But if I win, not one more word about next Friday, is it a deal?”
Yesss! “Deal.”
They were almost upon the mile mark now.
“Feet in contact with the track at all times,” Sarah recited the rules. “Don’t kill yourself trying to win. Stop if you have to.”
“Eat my dust,” Elaine answered.
The race was on!
Sarah hadn’t lost a bet with the girl yet, but it soon became clear this could be a major upset. Damn, Elaine’s legs were long. A serious advantage. And of course, her muscles were completely warmed up. Another big point in her favor. Maybe this hadn’t been so smart. Maybe—No.
Sarah narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin. She might be shorter. Her muscles might be stiffer. But she was older, tougher and meaner than any upstart eighteen-year-old. She found her stride and bumped it up a notch.
Damn, Elaine’s legs were long. She took a single step for Sarah’s every two.
At one lap they were neck and neck. Sarah’s muscles burned. Her lungs weren’t far behind. If she went any faster she’d break into a jog. She’d gone from perspiring delicately to sweating profusely and—oh, swell—they’d attracted an audience. Just what she needed. Witnesses as the pro went down.
Guys from the track team started calling out their names, cheering on one or the other. Elaine, the underdog, received the most encouragement. Sarah tuned it all out and focused on her goal. Pumped her arms. Ignored her burning muscles and lungs. Damn, Elaine’s legs were long.
Into the homestretch now. This was it. Unless Sarah grew five inches in the next eighth of a mile, Elaine would sit home on prom night and miss all the magic and fun. Miss a dance every girl dreamed of with fairy-tale wistfulness. Not going would make Elaine feel like a wallflower as surely as Sarah had been one in fact. She couldn’t let that happen.
It was time to eat the can of spinach, to duck into the phone booth and put on a cape, to separate the women from the girls. Sarah reached deep down inside her and found an eighth of a mile’s worth of grit.
Then she glanced at Elaine and said, “Eat my dust.”
ON SATURDAY, Sarah drove the land yacht for the first time since heading to Bruce Logan’s house.
If a killer was out there watching her now, which was highly unlikely, she would simply have to get shot. She’d promised to meet some of her kids at the mall to help with last-minute prom necessities. She’d done all she could using magazine photos and fashion catalogs to show examples of styles she thought would work. But some things needed to be eyeballed. No way was she bailing out on these kids at the critical hour.
Kate wasn’t sure about the color of a prom dress she’d put on hold. Fred had finally agreed to have his hair cut, but couldn’t be trusted to instruct the stylist properly. Elaine needed a magic wand top to bottom in order to be ready for Prince Charming when he escorted her to the ball. Grinning to herself, Sarah trolled the parking lot for an empty space, more proud of her recent coup than of getting a hotshot entertainer to perform at the prom.
Greg Lake, the cute Rice University student who took care of Mrs. Kaiser’s lawn and garden, had asked Sarah last week if the guest house would be available for rent when she left. This morning she’d struck a bargain. She would propose to Mrs. Kaiser the wisdom of leasing the guest house, recommending Greg as a tenant gardener, if he would escort a beautiful girl to a glamorous hotel ballroom next Friday to see Alan Chaney perform.
Both parties were thrilled with the agreement. Elaine was not quite as enthusiastic, since she was nervous about a blind date for the prom, but Sarah had won the race. Quite handily, too, as a matter of fact.
Spotting a woman loading packages in a car up ahead, Sarah clicked on her blinkers to stake her claim. Five minutes later, she entered the busy suburban mall.
Freedom! How sweet it was, if only for a day. Sarah stood very still and absorbed the wondrous sights, sounds and smells she hadn’t allowed herself in months.
The mother dragging a squalling toddler. What a cute little tyke. The couple clogging traffic outside the jewelry store. Wasn’t love grand? The husband sprawled on a bench, guarding his wife’s packages with a bored expression—until a pretty girl passed by. She probably reminded him of his daughter, sweet man.
A rap song played in Sam Goody behind Sarah. “When You Wish Upon a Star” warbled from The Disney Store ahead. She got all choked up. It was just so profound. Like the mingled scents of pizza, fried rice and fajitas drifting from the food court.
What a great big melting pot of a country this was! So many choices. So much personal freedom. How had she ever not liked going to the mall?
“There you are!” Fred’s deep voice broke into her musing. “You were supposed to meet us in front of the movie theater.”
Sarah beamed as he walked up with Kate and Elaine in tow.
“I told you she was probably out here,” Elaine said.
The three started squabbling, and Sarah took a moment to simply enjoy them all. She’d decided the rugged outdoorsman look would both suit Fred’s build and aid his image the best. The whiz kid had sold some stock from his impressive portfolio, and Sarah had ordered from Abercrombie & Fitch as well as Lands’ End catalogs.
He looked tall, broad and hunky in a blue chambray shirt, black jeans and black hiking boots. But the most startling change had occurred when he’d switched from Buddy Holly style glasses to contacts. Man-ohman! Good thing Kate had seen the light after he’d defended her honor so impressively. Ever since he’d uncovered those Mel Gibson look-alikes, the girls at school had forgotten they’d ever called Fred a geek.
Kate was lovelier than ever, mainly because she smiled a lot these days. In Jack’s absence, Fred had been a stable influence. What’s more, he adored her, and she blossomed beneath such unconditional approval. She suddenly wanted to look pretty and be smart. Her grooming and grades improved—which pleased Vera, who acted less crabby.
The Morgan women are holding their own, thank you very much, Jack. At least, the two Morgan women who bore his name. Sarah wasn’t doing nearly as well.
Elaine’s jeans were baggy, as was her T-shirt. A month ago they’d been snug. When she reached a level weight, her parents would replenish her wardrobe gladly. They were proud and impressed with her discipline the past four months. Her long chestnut hair had been glorious, but the new shoulder-length blunt cut was sophisticated and framed her oval face beautifully. With luck, they would find a dress to bring out the rich red highlights....
“Uh-oh. She’s got that look on her face,” Elaine warned.
“Which one of us is she working on now?” Kate asked.
“Quick! Last one in to Sam Goody has to be her guinea pig,” Fred teased.
“Okay, wise guy.” Sarah walked forward and hooked her arm through his. “Just for that, I think we should start with your haircut.”
The girls escorted him, moaning the entire way, to Visible Changes, where Sarah spent a good ten minutes telling the stylist how to do her job.
Forty minutes late
r, everyone agreed Sarah knew her stuff. Fred looked gorgeous. Clipped short—but not buzzed—from about ear level down, his black hair spilled over onto his forehead in a windblown outdoorsy look. Mmm-hmm.
“I am not letting you out of my sight,” Kate told him as they left the salon.
Fred looked over his shoulder at Sarah and grinned his thanks.
They checked out Kate’s dress next. Or, rather, the girls did. Fred was banned from the formal wear section, since Kate wanted to knock his socks off on prom night.
And she would, Sarah declared, seeing the emerald green strapless dress on the girl. His contacts would pop out, too. The color was great with her hair, and it made her eyes seem even greener. Buy it, she recommended.
Two down, one to go.
The lovebirds went off to the movies. Sarah and Elaine set out alone. After two hours and a growing sense of desperation, they hit the jackpot.
An off-the-shoulder gown in shimmery autumn brown. Tight in the bodice and upper waist, flowing fluidly from there to the floor. The color was perfect, as if custom dyed to match a strand of Elaine’s hair. For the first time since she’d lost the bet, her eyes sparkled at the prospect of going to the prom.
That’s when Sarah knew. Whatever she did in the future would involve helping adolescents feel good about themselves. Her job at WorldWide Public Relations had stroked her ego, not made her happy.
Funny how she’d had to become a teenager again to grow up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JACK POURED a dollop of oil onto his palm and rubbed his hands slowly together. The motion almost looked gleeful. Appropriate. He certainly felt gleeful at the moment.
His gaze traveled hungrily over the woman awaiting his touch. Where to start. So many delectable curves, all of them tempting. Her skin was pale, and as soft as moonlight looked. Would it feel different when slick? He reached out and—
“Yoo-hoo, Jack?”
Jack blinked. Sunlight chased the moonlit vision from his mind. He was back in Los Angeles, eating lunch on an outdoor patio with Gail Powers, executive producer of Swan Production Company, and Daniel Harris, director of Free Fall.
