Unexpectedly, the thought frightened her, and she gave her head a little shake. "I'm talking too much about myself. You're hardly talking at all."
"Later," he said. "I've never talked to you; you wouldn't deny me the chance now, would you? What if I asked you"—his voice became casual —"to appear on my show? A young woman at the beginning of her career. ..."
"Oh ..." The word drew out into a long sigh. "Could I? I'm not a famous person; no one knows me. ..."
"I know you."
"But your producer-—Bo—doesn't he decide—?"
"I make the decisions. No one else. The show is 'Anthony,' remember? Leave it to me, my lovely Holly; I'll make you famous. People will forget about me—all they'll remember is that I'm the man who discovered Holly Lovell. My bewitching Holly; lovely and so very sweet, so full of life and excitement. ..."
"Oh, don't," Holly whispered. For some reason she felt like crying even though she was breathing rapidly and her heart was pounding. "Don't tell me things you don't mean. ..."
"I would never he to you. You're a dream I've longed for all my life. I
came to this house and found a vision, more exquisite, more warm and welcoming than I ever could have imagined; a desert flower, hidden away, waiting to be found. Thank God I found you. Dearest Holly, you would make the days bright and the nights even brighter for any man lucky enough—"
"Not any man," she whispered.
Tony moved along the couch until he sat beside her. "No, you're too precious to love any man . . . you have the whole world to choose from . . ." He touched his fingertips to her eyebrows, and lightly stroked them, again and again, following their curve to the soft skin beside her eyes and along the sides of her face to her chin, then moving back to her eyebrows, his light touch stroking the delicate outline of her face, past her mouth quivering at the corners, and down to her small chin.
Holly closed her eyes. She was melting; her body flowed toward Tony's. She began to lift her arms, to embrace him, but she was not sure, she didn't know what he wanted, so she lowered them, her hands in her lap, waiting. She felt heavy, barely able to move, sinking, as if a door had opened below her and she was falling through it into a darkness that had nothing in it but the touch of his fingers sending pulsing ripples through her body, to the soles of her feet and the palms of her hands and her mouth, open, waiting for him. "Tony," she whispered, loving the sound of it. "Tony . . . Tony. . . ."
Slipping his arm around her shoulders, he eased her back until she lay full length on the couch. He leaned over her, brushing her lips with his, forcing himself to go slowly. Very lightly, he brushed them again, barely a kiss, feeling them quiver beneath his. With feathery fingers, almost imperceptibly, he began unbuttoning the long row of tiny buttons that ran from her throat to the hem of her white dress, cursing the number of them, but patiently taking them one at a time. "Tony," Holly whispered, and made a slight move to sit up.
"Dearest Holly," he murmured. His hands held her down. "My sweet enchantress; you've woven a spell around both of us ... I won't hurt you, my lovely, lovely one; I promise I would never hurt you ... I only want to love you. . . ."
The top of the dress was unbuttoned and he slipped it back over her shoulders, sliding his hands slowly around her back, her skin warm and silken beneath his palms. She shuddered as he unhooked her brassiere, freeing her breasts, small and firm with a slight curve hinting at fullness. Just like Elizabeth's. . . .
For Holly the room had turned dark; there was a roaring in her ears like the sea when it thundered just before a storm. She was trembling;
sighing in little bursts; not thinking, just feeling. The cool air on her breasts was a caress and she waited for Tony's hands to hold them. In her mind she could feel his hands and his lips: she had never let any boy touch her breasts, but she had imagined an unknown, perfect man doing it—she had imagined Tony Rourke doing it—and now she waited, her nipples taut and puckered as if Ins hands and mouth were on them. . . .
But he did not touch her. Holly thought she would burst from the trembling of every nerve. Touch me, please touch me, Tony. Please kiss me; I can V stand it if you don 7. . . .
She opened her eyes and saw him watching her. holding his hands above her breasts, curved to match their curve. It gave her a little shock to see him. his eyes dark on hers, his hands held above her. refusing the caress she ached for. but she was barely aware of the shock before he her a small smile and bent again to her buttons, those tiny buttons that marched down the pure white of her dress. He slipped them from the small loops that held them, his hand moving slowly from one to the next until the dress lay opened on either side of Holly like the petals of a flower spread apart to expose its hidden center.
"My God." he murmured. "So fragile and perfect, like porcelain . . " He slipped his hands beneath the waistband of her pantyhose, lifting her and pulling them down, his hands burning on Holly's skin as. very slowly. he drew the sheer nylon down her thighs, her legs, and over her slender feet.
Silently he studied her. from her silken hair to her long legs. He was as taut as a wire, wanting to bite and tear into her. to pound her. but he devoured her first with his eyes, watching, with the faint smile that never left his face, the ripples of her muscles, the arched back that lifted her breasts to him. the plea in her eyes. She wanted him: she was begging him to take her.
He stood and tore off his clothes. When he turned back. Holly's eyes were closed— Just like Elizabeth, the first time —and he lay beside her. whispering her name as his tongue played in her ear. then kissing her nipples, taking them into his mouth, rolling his tongue over them, sucking until she was making small breathless gasps. He raised himself on his elbow and parted her legs, stroking the inside of her thighs, exploring her wetness with his ringer. And then at last Tony Rourke lay on Holly Lovell's slender body. Elizabeth, he thought, and ruthlessly thrust himself into her.
Holly cried out at the pain, like a knife twisting inside her. Desire fled: languor and sensuality vanished. Her eyes filled with tears, pain radiating through her as Tony moved inside her. What am I doing?
But then, through the pain, his name rang in her mind like a song. Tony. Tony was making love to her. For years she had dreamed it, and her dream had come true. So it had to be all right, it had to be wonderful and ecstatic and passionate. Because Tony loved her. She just had to wait for it to be wonderful; she had to be careful not to disappoint him, and then everything would be perfect, as it always was in her dreams.
She spread her legs wider and lifted her hips, even though that drew him in more deeply and made the pain worse. It didn't matter; this was what she had dreamed of. Opening her eyes, she tried to smile into his dark look. "Tony," she whispered. "I love you."
JLh(
.hey've asked me to stay over another day," Elizabeth told Holly on the telephone. "I'd rather not, but as long as I'm here, it probably makes sense. I'd be home late tonight or early tomorrow morning; what do you think? If you want me home, I'll be there this afternoon; I still have my ticket. Maybe that would be best; I haven't had a chance to spend much time with you this week, and anyway I'm awfully tired. I think I'll tell them I can't do it now; maybe another time."
"No, stay," Holly said. She shuddered as Tony's hand slid from her breast to her stomach and probed between her legs. She'd wanted him to leave last night so she could be alone and think, but the most he'd done was to slip outside and drive his car into the garage, closing the door behind it. Then he was beside her again, holding her, begging her to let him stay. "I didn't reserve a room because I thought I'd be going on to Houston . . . how could I know I would find you and my whole life would change? Dearest Holly, I can't bear the thought of leaving you; please don't send me away."
So they had gone to bed in her room, where Tony fell asleep in an instant and Holly didn't sleep at all. She hurt and her mind churned, and
all night long she felt tears running down her face before she even realized she was crying. Once she slipp
ed out of bed and went to her mother's room and crawled between the cool, smooth sheets of her mother's bed, but as she lay there, she realized that what she really wanted was to curl up in her mother's lap, and that confused her so much she carefully remade the bed and went back to her own room where Tony sprawled across her bed and she had to tuck herself in a corner, staring at the rectangles of her deep-set windows as they grew light with the morning.
When Tony woke, the sun was shining and he looked at Holly as if he didn't recognize her. But in a minute his eyes brightened, a huge smile broke over his face, and he said her name over and over, not just "Holly" but "Holly Lovell, Holly Lovell, Holly Lovell." And then he caressed her and lay on her as he had the night before. But no matter how hard she tried she couldn't get back that wonderful warm feeling of languor and longing that had made her strain toward him; she had to pretend, and she really didn't know how, and when he was inside her it hurt just as much as the first time and she didn't want him to see that, either, because she thought he'd be disgusted with her and leave.
But she'd wanted him to leave, she reminded herself. The churning in her stomach, and her confusion, made her want to cry again, even while Tony thrust deeper into her, harder and faster, until he groaned and finally lay still. He turned his head and grinned at her, without moving. But a little later, when the telephone rang, his hand was exploring her again.
"Stay another day," Holly said to her mother on the telephone by her bed. She swallowed hard. "There's no reason for you to hurry."
"Holly, what's wrong?" Elizabeth asked. "Did I wake you? I thought you'd be getting ready for school. Are you sick?"
"No, I ... I don't know. Maybe just a cold. I think I'll stay home today."
"Just a cold? Holly, something's wrong and I'm coming home this morning."
"No! I don't want you to! There's no reason! You don't have to come running home because of me; I don't want you to! Tomorrow is fine; I'll be fine; don't worry about me!"
"Well, if you're really sure. ..."
Holly heard the hurt in her mother's voice. Please come home. No, you mustn't . . . Oh, I wish I could ask you . . . But Tony's hand was between her legs and his mouth was on her breast and for the first time she felt some of the stirrings of the night before—and then she began to cry.
"I just have this stuffy nose," she said into the telephone. "But I'll be fine. And I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll call again later," Elizabeth said, and as soon as she hung up, she called Heather. "Something's wrong with Holly and she won't tell me and she doesn't want me to come home."
"But she was here for dinner last night and she was wonderful," Heather said. "And later Saul called to make sure she got home all right and she was fine. Are you sure she's not just sleepy or maybe annoyed because she thinks you're checking up on her?"
"Something's wrong, Heather. But I don't want to come rushing home when she's told me to stay away; I don't want her to think I don't trust her. Would you call her? Or would you mind going over there, just to see how she is?"
"Of course I will. Shall I call you back?"
"Yes, at the Stanford Court. Have them page me in the restaurant; I invited someone to breakfast to interview her for a column."
"Give me half an hour; I'm not dressed."
When Heather called, forty minutes later, she told Elizabeth there was no answer at her house. "I peered in the windows and couldn't see any sign of life. I'm sure she went to school. Do you want me to go check? I know her schedule."
"No; she'd think I was spying; she's so sensitive about her privacy . . . Either she's in school or she's in bed. Sleeping, probably; she said she had a cold. I'll call again in an hour. . . ."
"Listen, you've got a job to do. I'll call again and I'll keep trying. Don't worry, Elizabeth; everything is under control."
Thaddeus Bent, in his fifth term as a New Mexico state legislator, had visions of the governor's mansion dancing in his head. He considered himself shrewd, intelligent, discreet, a perfect judge of men. He liked power, though not responsibility, so he got reflected power by mingling with powerful men. Terry Ballenger boasted of knowing Rupert Murdoch, William Randolph Hearst, Barry Goldwater, and Keegan Rourke. Since it might be true, Thaddeus Bent was flattered when Ballenger began to pay attention to him.
Thaddeus was the first person Chet Colfax called when he and Ballenger arrived in Santa Fe. "Actually we're in La Cienega," he said on the telephone. "Sunrise Springs Inn. Away from the hustle of the city."
This was a joke, as they both knew how quiet Santa Fe was in March. But over the years Chet and Ballenger had let it be known that they sought privacy, especially the kind of privacy found in one of the stone
and wood cottages scattered about the thirty-five acres of Sunrise Springs, ten miles south of Santa Fe. "Dinner at seven," Chet said. "Been too long since we've seen you; we'll catch up on all the news."
"Do you want me to bring anyone else?" Thaddeus asked, reluctant, but thinking it was a proper question.
"Of course not; we want some private time with you."
"Ah." It was a sigh. Pride and thoughts of the governorship, with the right people behind him, sent a rush of good-fellowship through Thaddeus Bent. And it lasted all through dinner in the main dining room of the lodge, a friendly room where three men who understood each other had a friendly meal.
"No question, it caught us by surprise," Thaddeus said, rolling the fine bourbon on his tongue. "One lousy newspaper story; who would have guessed? Came through like a bulldozer; flattened half the members; shook up the rest. Everybody had a copy, seemed like, and then what's-her-name, the Aragon broad, came around waving the damn thing like a banner, saying public opinion would knock us off our butts and into the street if we didn't vote to move the town."
"What public opinion?" Chet asked. "Do-gooders in New York or Chicago have nothing to do with you."
Thaddeus dipped a cactus fritter into sauce. "You'd be surprised. People sending money, you know, and volunteering to come here! They come into our state, get a lot of publicity, tell us how to run our affairs, give us a bad name! Who the hell do they think they are?"
"Only out of state?" Chet asked. "No one from New Mexico?"
"Well," Thaddeus conceded, "some. These kids, you know, call themselves idealists, think they'll help the little guy, whoever the hell the little guy is—anybody with guts can make it in this great country, is what I say, if you just put your mind to it and don't lie around asking for handouts—and what the hell, you can't stop progress, right? Problem is, though—"
"We know the problem," said Ballenger. "You're being pressured. Volunteers. Money coming in. Mail. We understand; we sympathize. However, Chet has assured me he has utmost confidence in your ability to hold everyone in line for three more weeks, until adjournment."
"Well. . . ." Thaddeus looked modestly at his plate. "I like to think I merit Chefs confidence. And yours, too."
"Which is why Mr. Ballenger's Political Action Committee contributes to your campaigns," Chet said.
"Well, now." Thaddeus looked doubtful. "The election is a long way off. What I have to think of now is keeping in touch with my constituents
and learning how other states solve problems. Countries, too. The Europeans deal with a lot of the issues we face ... we could learn from
them."
"Absolutely. You should be able to travel wherever you think you can broaden your knowledge. And that requires money, and dedicated legislators often have trouble making ends meet. Mr. Ballenger believes, of course, that helping legislators do their best is part of our civic responsibility. And since it's cumbersome having to funnel money through a PAC all the time, he feels it would be appropriate for him to contribute five thousand dollars to your education fund, for studying new methods of governing in the years between elections."
"Five thousand dollars?"
"Ten," Ballenger said. "I'm afraid Chet confused you with our United Way donation, Thaddeus."
"Well, I'd think so. These are delicate matters; they require diplomacy, brains, a sense of duty, a love of the people of our great state . . . nothing comes easy, gentlemen."
"I also have a little place on Maui that doesn't get enough use," Ballenger added. "I'd be glad to have you take it over for a month or two; better if it's lived in." He pulled from his pocket a glossy folder of lavish grounds with private homes almost hidden by flowers and lush foliage. It lay on the table like a tantalizing centerpiece while the men sped up their eating and ordered coffee.
"How many are undecided?" Chet asked.
"It's close. I can't call it yet. The ones whose relatives got sweet deals on restaurant and gift shop leases are solid; they don't want competition. The ones who want more state parks are afraid controversy might delay the whole thing, so they'll probably stand firm. My committee believed the reports—they never checked to see if they were genuine or not—and of course a few of them found it worth their while to help push the vote along, so it's a safe bet they're okay. But everybody else—" He turned his hand over, palm up, palm down, a few times. "It's iffy. They've got so many bills to vote on before adjournment, they'll go however the wind blows, and that broad is making like a tornado with copies of that stinking column and letters from all over the country, and checks—! Jesus, you should see them. Five dollars, fifty, five hundred. ..."
"All right," said Chet, sounding like Rourke when he'd learned enough, and they chatted of other things through the rest of dinner and then sent Thaddeus home.
In the following afternoons and evenings, he and Ballenger met with Horacio Montoya and Jay Fowles and the others on their list, and Ballen-
ger made contributions to their education funds for a trip to Spain, one to Tahiti to inspect the workings of local government, and one to send a failing offspring of a legislator to a college where he would be sure to graduate. There were also promises that other legislators would receive special attention on the purchase of choice condominiums in the Nuevo Resort.
Private affairs : a novel Page 54
