by BETH KERY
“No, I haven’t,” Niall said as she glanced in admiration at the handsomely renovated historic building. “They just reopened it last year, didn’t they?”
Meg nodded. “Vic gave Tim and me the nickel tour the last time we visited him,” she said, referring to her husband. “Do you want me to show you and Niall around, Mom, or would you rather wait for Vic to do it?”
“Oh, you do it,” Ellen said with an impatient wave of her hand. “We won’t see Vic until the curtain opens, and he’ll be too distracted to be any good to us during intermission.”
They were descending the elegant, winding staircase following Meg’s tour when Meg paused abruptly on a step.
“Well I’ll be—”
Niall’s eyes flickered down the stairs to find the source of Meg’s sudden discomposure. Her gaze landed on one of the most famous faces in Hollywood.
“Meg! Oh, Ellen . . . you’re here, too! How wonderful to see you both.”
“Jenny.” Meg acknowledged the stunning woman with a nod as she neared.
“What are you doing here, Jenny?”
Jennifer Atwood’s full, sensual lips widened into a smile at Ellen’s blunt question even though Niall got the distinct impression that she was fighting the urge to frown. Niall had never seen a movie star up close before, and was amazed to see that Jennifer Atwood was impossibly more gorgeous in real life than she was on the big screen. What interested her more by far, however, was Jennifer’s connection to Vic’s family.
“I don’t think you two have met my wonderful husband, Max Blake. Max, meet Meg Sandoval and Ellen Savian,” Jenny said as she swept her hand toward a man who looked perfectly prepared to join Jennifer on the glossy cover of a magazine. “Max is a producer. I’ve told him about Vic’s wonderful work. Max thinks Vic’s plays would adapt marvelously to the big screen.”
Ellen snorted, but Meg took a more diplomatic approach. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Max,” she said as she shook his hand. “I have to tell you that I sincerely doubt Vic will be interested in doing a screenplay. I would have thought you knew that, Jenny,” Meg challenged gently.
Jenny chuckled as though recalling the adorable, ornery antics of an old pet. “So Vic is still playing the rebel against Hollywood? God, you’d think he was an old hippy the way he rebels against anything that even hints of the ‘establishment.’ ”
Max seemed to notice Meg’s stiff, offended expression even if Jenny chose not to. “To each his own, I say,” he said with a dashing grin. “I can’t tell you the number of times a day I fantasize about thumbing my nose at the establishment and escaping to the country like Savian did.”
Ellen’s stare at Max Blake was frankly disbelieving. Clearly she couldn’t picture the man who stood in front of her with the perfectly tailored cashmere blazer and the artfully tousled curls doing much of anything in Avery, South Dakota, but become irate because he kept losing his cell phone coverage.
Meg, on the other hand, just seemed vaguely amused when her eyes met Niall’s. “Niall, I apologize for not introducing you earlier. Jennifer, Max, meet Niall Chandler.”
When Niall saw Jenny’s eyes lower over her in cool appraisal, she intuitively understood that she and Vic had once been lovers.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Niall said. “I’ve always admired your work.”
“Have you?”
Jenny’s smile looked warm, but wasn’t her tone a little condescending, as if it was considered in poor taste for Niall to mention her celebrity status? Maybe it was just Niall’s insecurities that made it seem that way. It was difficult to stand next to a divine creature like Jennifer Atwood and think of her having shared Vic’s bed and maintain her normal confidence. Niall scoured her memory, trying to recall if there had ever been any mention of the famous actress dating a certain sexy, reclusive, talented playwright, but she came up short. Niall had never been one to follow the entertainment industry too closely.
Jenny’s beauty fascinated her, Niall had to admit. She was almost as tall as Meg and Ellen. Her figure was slender and willowy, perfectly suited to the sophisticated black designer pant suit that she wore with a white silk camisole beneath it. Her breasts filled out the front of her jacket amply without subtracting from the lean, graceful lines of her body. Her dark hair was styled like a 1940s Hollywood film goddess, parted on the side and falling loose and sleekly curled below her shoulders. The eyes that studied Niall speculatively were a striking shade of light brown and amber.
“Well, I suppose we better take our seats,” Jenny said after Niall and Max had exchanged a handshake. “Please tell Vic we’ll be there to celebrate his opening at the party at Mina’s afterward. Max went to school with someone who’s a patron of the Hesse, so he scored us an invite.”
“Just what Vic needs tonight,” Meg muttered under her breath as she watched Max lead Jenny down the stairs.
“Hmmph,” Ellen grunted sourly. Her sharp, light gray eyes looked suspicious as they followed the stunning actress across the theater lobby. “Vic needs her like he needs a daily dose of arsenic.”
From the little that Niall had seen of Jennifer Atwood, she had to agree wholeheartedly.
Still, Meg’s frank expression of worry bothered her. Would the situation warrant concern if what was between Jenny and Vic was a thing of the past?
And was arsenic by any chance addictive in addition to being deadly?
Niall supposed a mother did indeed know best when Vic slid into the empty seat next to her just seconds before the curtain rose. His thick hair stood up haphazardly, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. He looked harried and rumpled and utterly gorgeous in a well-cut blazer, brown dress pants, and an off-white chambray shirt. His collar was unbuttoned, and Niall spied his pulse beating rapidly at his throat.
He gave Meg a dry glance when she leaned forward and gave him a big sister stare of dark amusement. Ellen just gave him a brisk wave before she turned her full attention to the stage.
“Sorry I’m late,” he whispered as he picked up Niall’s hand and gave her a quick, warm kiss on the back of it.
“It’s okay,” she assured him softly as she squeezed him back in shared excitement. He met her eyes briefly and gave a small grin before he hunched his big body down in the seat, spread his long legs as far as the confining space allowed, and turned his total focus to the production.
Niall turned her attention to the events on the stage as well, but her heart went out to the man next to her. He seemed so tense, so anticipatory. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to put so much of yourself into a creative endeavor and then sit by and watch as months . . . maybe even years . . . of hard work unfolded before your eyes. She was always nervous and proud of the exhibits she planned at the museum, of course. But this was different.
This was like watching an aspect of Vic’s soul brightly illuminated on a public stage.
No wonder he got so worked up, Niall thought in awe at the culmination of the first act. She’d been held spellbound by the scenes between Sissy, the character played by Eileen Moore, and David, who was being played by an actor Niall had frequently seen in supporting roles in films. The dialogue crackled with wit. The sexual tension between the two characters was so taut as to be nearly tangible. But aggression and anger also laced almost every interaction between them, creating a potent, fascinating brew of love, lust, and rage that seemed ready to explode on the stage at any given moment.
It soon became very clear to Niall that the title of the play, Alias X, referred to the identities that people took on in order to shape themselves to their lover’s desires. The X referred not only to an artificial, nameless existence but also to the mysterious, sometimes beautiful, often ugly, unknown depths to which human beings could sink if they sacrificed what was genuine for the sake of another’s love.
Niall felt a little dazed by the intermission. She was glad that Vic took her hand and led her into the noisy lobby, because she needed the guidance.
“C
an I get you anything?” he asked solicitously when he turned to face her. “I don’t think they sell Scotch at the concession stand, but I’ve got a bottle in my office. Just happens to be your brand, too.”
“I don’t need anything.”
She wondered if her heart was in her eyes, because he started to say something and then abruptly paused as he looked down at her.
“What?” he drawled.
“The play is amazing, Vic,” she said softly. But she meant that he was. And Niall thought he probably knew it when a slow grin curved his lips. Did he have any notion of how beautiful he looked at that moment . . . how happy?
She had assumed that he would go and have some terse exchange with one of the technicians or the stage manager during the intermission, but instead he spent the short break with them. Niall was only vaguely aware of Ellen and Meg approaching, and then the steady line of well-wishers who followed to offer Vic congratulations that were entirely too enthusiastic to be feigned. Not that Niall would have guessed otherwise. The electric intellectual vitality of the play had transferred to the audience. It was obvious in the expressions of the people who approached Vic, but also in the energy level of the lobby as people engaged in lively conversations about what they’d seen thus far.
Most of Niall’s attention centered on Vic, however, as he patiently listened while a newspaper critic gushed or made that subtle rolling motion with his jaw as a Hesse board member raved. He glanced up once and gave Niall a quick wink when a particularly garrulous city council member walked away glowing, not seeming to notice or care that Vic had barely uttered two syllables during their entire exchange.
“Guess what they say about Chicago being called the Windy City because of its politicians is true,” he murmured into her ear before he kissed it.
Pride for him swelled in Niall’s breast, mixing with a host of the other emotions that had been ignited by his soulful, volatile play. He introduced her to everyone who approached. He put his arm around her while Ellen detailed every item that she’d ordered at the restaurant.
“Vic, there’s something—” Meg began, but just then the lights dimmed, signaling that the intermission was over. Niall got the distinct impression from the concerned expression on Meg’s face that she’d been about to tell him that Jennifer Atwood was attending his play.
When Eileen Moore came onto the stage a minute later, Niall suddenly recalled what Vic had said about sleeping with her after he’d suffered a serious breakup with a woman he’d planned to marry. Her unease deepened. Had Vic been engaged to Jennifer Atwood? And more important . . . was he still in love with her?
TEN
The second portion of Alias X held the audience even more spellbound than the first. Niall had never seen a production that was so carnal, so volatile, and yet so intellectually thought-provoking at the same time.
During the second half she began to better understand Vic’s use of symbolism in his minimalist set design. She recalled what he’d said when they made love in her new condominium. I’m a guy. I like the visuals. Niall didn’t know if it was because he was a male or not, but as a scholar in the arts, she recognized the genius behind his vision for set design.
Vic planned to meet Niall, Meg, and Ellen at the opening night party after he took care of some business at the theater. They paused outside his office after he’d given them the backstage tour of the Hesse to which Meg hadn’t had access.
“You know the opening night party is going to be at Mina’s?” he asked Niall.
Niall smiled at the dry edge to his tone and nodded. She knew of the place. It was a posh restaurant with a clublike atmosphere that overlooked Michigan Avenue. Vic caught her grin and smiled back. Just like that, Niall knew that someone else had made the opening night party plans and Vic was resigned to spending his special night at such a trendy, fashionable venue.
She saw something else in that quick flash of his eyes as he smiled at her, though. He looked forward to tonight—to them making love after almost a week’s abstinence. And Niall was more than ready for it, too, especially given the near to bursting feeling she had in her chest cavity every time she glanced at Vic or touched him after watching his amazing play.
Vic abruptly grasped her hand. “We’ll just be a second,” he muttered to Ellen and Meg before he dragged Niall back into his office and slammed the door behind him.
“Vic, what—”
But he cut her off as he swept down and began to devour her with his mouth. He bent over her, drinking from her thirstily before he grunted impatiently. Niall felt him strengthen his hold on her and her feet rose off the ground. Her hands gripped desperately at his shoulders, instinctively recognizing she might be swept into uncharted, tumultuous territories by the magnitude of their combined desire.
By the time Vic slid her body erotically down the length of his lean body and set her boots back down on the ground, both of them were out of breath. Niall thought she would overheat at her core when he spread his hand over her breast and massaged and shaped it to his palm.
“You’re spending the night at my place tonight,” he stated firmly.
Niall moaned softly in pleasure at his touch and nodded.
“Don’t plan on getting any actual sleep, though.”
Niall laughed throatily and pressed her belly against his iron-hard erection. “Sleep wasn’t on my agenda, I promise you.”
He stared down at her for a few seconds, his features rigid. “I guess we should go get this over with,” he said regretfully.
“You should try to enjoy yourself. You deserve to celebrate. You’ve done a phenomenal job.”
He sighed and parted from her with a look of regret. “Niall?” he said as she turned toward the door.
“Yes?”
“Did you really like it?” he asked, a grin tilting his lips, as though he found it amusing that he wanted her reassurance.
“I thought it was incredible,” she said feelingly.
“It wasn’t exactly pretty.”
“Pretty?” Niall repeated slowly. “No . . . I don’t suppose it was. But it was very human. And there were parts of it that were”—she paused, searching for the right words—“astonishingly beautiful,” she finished softly.
His brushed his thumb tenderly across her cheek before he kissed her once more.
Ellen and Meg didn’t bat an eyelash when Niall and Vic returned to the corridor looking flushed, mussed, and entirely pleased with themselves. Ellen just patted her son’s cheek fondly as they said their temporary farewells.
“Got no reason to be grouchy tonight, do you, boy? You got yourself a winner there,” she stated baldly. She’d glanced over at Niall, who was encircled in Vic’s arm, and winked mischievously. “The play wasn’t half bad, either.”
Vic looked down at Niall. “My mom always does pick the winners,” he said in a low rumble. Then he kissed her unashamedly as Meg and Ellen looked on with identical smirks on their faces.
Niall walked out of the theater a minute later and breathed deeply of the refreshing, cool air. “The city looks beautiful tonight, doesn’t it?” she asked, genuinely amazed at the surreal uniformity of the midnight blue sky, the sharp, crisp outlines of the buildings against it, how vibrant and colorful the lights from the high-rises were.
Meg laughed softly and took her arm as they headed to get a cab. “Oh, honey, you’re in it deep, aren’t you?” she murmured fondly. She laughed when Niall gave her a look of puzzlement.
When they arrived at the private room at Mina’s, Niall was a little surprised at how crowded it already was. She realized that she knew several people there. Many patrons of the theater were also sponsors for the museum. She was glad that she didn’t have to depend entirely upon contacts that Meg and Ellen had made through Vic’s earlier productions in order to socialize, and could introduce them to some interesting people as well. The overall atmosphere of the party was buoyant and energetic, just as it should have been on the night that symbolized the pinnacle of achievem
ent for a company that knew they had a hit on their hands.
The three of them were chatting with an eclectic group consisting of Caesar Ramirez, Vic’s lighting designer; Marcus Alvion, a CEO for MarketTech, a Chicago-based company that supported the Hesse and who also sat on the fund-raising committee for Niall’s museum; and Mya Shore, a friendly, outgoing young woman who was an entertainment writer for the Chicago Tribune, when Eileen Moore joined them.
Eileen greeted Ellen and Meg with a kiss. She regarded Niall curiously as Meg formally introduced them, but without any of the rancor that she’d shown that evening at The Art. Perhaps she had no time for animosity, as aglow as she was with the evening’s success.
And she deserved it, Niall acknowledged. Her performance had been electrifying, and she told Eileen as much. She and the actress were in the process of feeling each other out, deciding whether or not they liked each other, when Vic entered the room. He received such loud, resounding applause from the partygoers that the regular diners in Mina’s restaurant must have thought a bomb exploded. He grinned slowly, waved, ducked his head, and turned aside to speak to the man who accompanied him into the room. Niall knew instinctively that while he appreciated the crowd’s sentiment, it couldn’t be over quickly enough for him.
She also noticed that Eileen clapped louder than anyone else in their group, and that the expression on her face as she stared at Vic bordered on idolatry.
Eileen stiffened even more than Niall did when Jennifer Atwood suddenly appeared out of the crowd and touched Vic’s elbow. Even from her distance across the crowded room Niall saw the marked change that overcame Vic’s countenance as he looked down at her. Jennifer went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“That bitch,” Eileen hissed softly as her clapping slowed to a stop. “She’s got nerve coming here on Vic’s special night after what she did to him.”
“What did she do to him?” Niall asked, not at all sure she really wanted to know.
