Winner Takes All

by Sandra Kitt

  “What?” she coaxed in a whisper, already prepared for the worst.

  “We can’t go on this way, Jean. I feel like I’m seriously losing control of my life. I think it’s beginning to affect my work. Even the studio is becoming concerned. They want to do something about it.”

  She blanched, her eyes widening. She felt the heat of a blush rushing over her face.

  “I get that…” She could barely get the words out.

  “Here you go. Iced tea for two!”

  She jumped. The waiter had startled her again.

  Patrick set his glass aside. Jean stared into hers.

  “So this is it. It’s over. I guess the Force has not actually been with us after all,” Jean said, managing humor and a shaky smile.

  Patrick was staring blankly at her. “What?” He sounded puzzled.

  “Like you said last week. No one’s to blame. These things happen.”

  A furrow of confusion cleaved across his forehead. He reached out and grabbed both her hands, so hard her eyes rounded and her mouth dropped opened.

  “Jean…Jean! What are you talking about? What do you think I’m trying to say? No! I’m not breaking up with you. I’m pissed off because we can’t seem to plan real quality time together. Uninterrupted, leisurely, chill time together. Not a few hours that just dropped into our lap and we have to go for it or it disappears! I need more than that. I want more than that. Don’t…don’t you?”

  She still didn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat was about to close up with emotion. Her tongue was rooted to the roof of her mouth. She nodded. And she kept nodding until she could force it out.

  “Yes, I do.”

  The allusion wasn’t lost on either of them, and they both chuckled nervously.

  Patrick abruptly pushed his chair back and stood up. His tight grip on her hands forced Jean to stand as well, and he pulled her into his arms. They hugged tightly. They stroked each other’s back. Patrick was whispering something close to her ear, but Jean wasn’t listening. She was burrowed into his arms and chest, a safe harbor. He pulled back just enough to capture her mouth, beginning to kiss with an intense intimacy. Jean broke the kiss, glancing quickly around.

  “We’re in a public place,” she whispered.

  Patrick’s grin was resolute. “Ask me if I care.” He began kissing her again. But it had to stop. They may very well not have cared that other customers were watching in amusement, but one man was bold enough to shout, “Take it somewhere private, Mac.”

  They came to their senses and sat back down.

  “This is a preemptive strike,” Patrick said, speaking quietly to her across the table. “Before things really get bad. Trust me, they will. To be honest, I thought you’d have had it with me, us, long before now and would call it quits.”

  “No, that’s not true,” she said, vigorously shaking her head.

  “Good,” he said on a great exhalation of relief. “Listen. It’s all my fault. My life is a mess right now, and there’s no end in sight.” He stared at their hands clasped together, his thumb caressing across the top of hers. “There’s something important I have to tell you about my trip to Philly. And I will, soon. It’s just another brick in the wall. I’m honestly afraid to see what’s going to happen next. But you’re the only person I feel safe with, Jean. The only person I feel I can really trust. I’m not giving you up.”

  “Patrick,” she said, “I don’t believe any of it is your fault.”

  He raised her hand to kiss the fingers. “You’re sweet to say that, but I have to accept some responsibility. From the start, as soon as I got the news I’d won all that money, I could have done things differently. I should have kept my mouth shut or left town for parts unknown. That’s what I’m about to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He finally sat back and drank from his tea, finishing nearly half of it like a man dying of thirst.

  “My management team decided I’m getting a little too much attention. I’m a little too hot right now. Too high profile. The ratings are phenomenal, but it’s the sort of attention that can turn against you in a heartbeat. Fans are notoriously fickle. They love you one minute, and then want to watch you drown in quicksand the next. The ESPN station is suggesting getting ahead of the curve.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Blowing town for a while. I like the idea, frankly. I’m seriously in need of a break. Some downtime away from the public eye…and lawsuits.”

  “So what do they suggest?”

  Patrick sighed, slouching in his chair, finally beginning to unwind.

  “Well, the official line is that I’m going to be on assignment. Purpose and place undisclosed, of course. I’ll be out in the field, maybe for a week or more.”

  “Okay.”

  “But the truth is, my plan is to really drop out of sight someplace where no one knows who I am and they don’t care. I’m working on disappearing somewhere remote, in the middle of an ocean. The only people who’ll actually know where I am is my mom and my sister in case of emergency, and you.”

  “That will be so great for you…”

  “Jean, you’ll know because I want you to come with me. That’s what makes this whole idea so beautiful. We will be together. And no one will know where.”

  Again, she couldn’t speak. After so many off and on days of wondering where she stood with Patrick, he had perfectly outlined the importance of her place in his life.

  “Are you sure you…”

  He groaned in the back of his throat, closed his eyes, and leaned across the table to press his forehead to hers. “I don’t want to say that’s a foolish question, but that’s a foolish question. I haven’t been so sure of anything in a hell of a long time.”

  Chapter 14

  Jean heard not a sound from the rooms behind her, all of which had sliding doors that opened to the tiled deck, the beach just a few hundred yards beyond. There was the gentle swoosh of seawater lapping on the shore. No waves, no surf. She drew up her knees as she reclined on the lounger and peered from beneath the brim of her straw hat. The red grosgrain ribbon wrapped and tied around the hat trailed a bit from behind, tickling the skin at her neck and shoulders. Jean briefly closed her eyes, took in a long deep breath, and slowly exhaled.

  Is this what heaven is like?

  As she’d done since she and Patrick arrived in Turks and Caicos two days earlier, she sat looking out at a world that was not to be believed. She’d never been to the Caribbean before. On this eastern side of West Caicos, there were no speedboats with grinding, revved-up motors, no cruise ships off in the distance, no Jet Skis…no nothing. Patrick had said it was just what he wanted. Jean knew it was also what he needed. They both did.

  It was time away from life in the fast lane, where nothing ever seemed to slow down. Time away from the kind of interruptions that couldn’t be helped, but which hampered the time they had together. Time away from the crushing manipulations of perfect strangers. The fact that Patrick had insisted she travel with him on his bogus assignment did much to convince Jean his feelings for her were sincere. Ten days away could be time enough, she felt, to figure out where they were headed.

  Patrick had taken full control of how they were going to drop out of sight by making all the arrangements. The studio would pay him vacation time, but Patrick paid for where he and Jean would stay and how they would get there. Jean enjoyed the private car service only because it guaranteed that they would be the only passengers. Unlike city cabs, the private car drivers weren’t chatty. An excellent practice at 6:00 a.m. headed out to JFK. Taking a private jet for the first time seriously upped the ante! It couldn’t get any better than being escorted through a tiny terminal and boarding the jet from the tarmac…with the pilot greeting you at the bottom of the steps.

  This was unlike the helicopter experience, which was more intimate and bas
ic, more down-to-earth in its own way. Boarding the Citation M2 light jet finally gave Jean a sense of what money could buy for the wealthy. And yet, she still didn’t attach to Patrick the moniker of “superrich,” even though he was. The difference was, Patrick never behaved any differently. He’d only come to learn that having a lot of wealth meant he had access to more benefits and amenities. It didn’t change who he was. But he was learning how to enjoy what he had.

  The sun was already up when they took off. Just the two of them in what Jean had come to see as a baby plane. As soon as they were airborne, she could see the tension ooze out of Patrick’s pores, leaving him so relaxed that in an hour, he’d fallen asleep. She let him. She understood what the past several weeks had been for him. And for her. She hoped that the time away would restore his balance and give Patrick perspective on his future. He woke forty minutes later to tell Jean all the things he wanted to do while they were on Turks and Caicos. Nothing. She didn’t much care as long as they were doing nothing together.

  She’d come to learn, however, that Patrick was very good at surprises. And even though he knew that surprises were not her strong point—they made her feel unmoored and helpless—Patrick’s revelations were always fully that: wonderful surprises. They didn’t land at Providenciales Airport but flew on for another fifteen minutes to Lettsome Airport on Virgin Gorda, BVI. While the pilot arranged for refueling, Jean and Patrick caught a cab to a beachfront restaurant called CocoMaya for lunch. It was open-air, with an on-the-sand lounge area—no shoes required—and an upper level that overlooked the sea and a beachside marina.

  They were served fresh shrimp and salmon, salads, panko onion rings, and dragon board sushi. Patrick ordered prosecco.

  “It’s barely noon.”

  “Your point?” he asked, raising his brows above the sunglasses.

  “Isn’t it too early for that?”

  He grinned woefully at her. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

  Jean shrugged. “I’m just not used to cocktails and sparkling wine at high noon.”

  The waitress served their drinks, and Patrick held out his glass so they could clink the rims. “We’re not driving. Nothing to worry about.”

  Jean was almost delirious. She was never going to confess to Patrick that he made her feel special. Princess came to mind, except it was so corny and trite. Special was good enough.

  “How did you know about this place?”

  Patrick thoughtfully crunched an onion ring before responding. “I know a lot of people. And a lot of people I know do things like island hop in the Caribbean in the summer or fly to Europe for a weekend.” He watched her for reaction.

  “A great life if you can get it.”

  “Maybe, but not all the time. Then it loses its specialness if you take it for granted. What makes it so special now is that I can do some of these fun things with you, Jean. I’m really enjoying surprising you.”

  “Well, I’m not going to pretend I haven’t loved every minute. But…”

  “Yeah, I know. You’d be just as happy if we hung out in Prospect Park or did a foodie tour in Jersey City…”

  She laughed sheepishly. “Busted.”

  Patrick looked out over the blue Caribbean, the breeze ruffling his hair. “You know, I think this is the happiest I’ve been in, like, weeks.”

  “Really?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “Don’t you know why?” he asked, turning his shaded gaze back to her.

  “You’re not at work? You don’t have to wear a suit? Hordes of young women aren’t camped out in your building lobby hoping to meet you?”

  He silently stared, and Jean waited for a sharp and funny reply. Patrick shook his head. “We walked back into each other’s lives. And suddenly mine began to make sense.”

  Jean couldn’t think of a single intelligent thing to say. She didn’t want Patrick to know she felt exactly the same way.

  When they’d finally arrived that first afternoon, they’d left their luggage in the master bedroom and immediately gone for a walk on the beach, leaving their shoes behind in the grassy knoll below the deck. Patrick picked the direction, but it didn’t matter. There was the sense of having stepped into another world, a time warp where deadlines, car services, upscale restaurants, ten-hour workdays, five-hour nights of sleep not only didn’t exist, they had no meaning.

  Once they’d explored the area and realized that, while they could see a number of expensive, private retreats around them, they could not hear their neighbors, Patrick put his arm around her waist and suggested, “Let’s pretend we’re the only people left on Earth,” as they’d stood staring out to sea.

  Yes, let’s.

  Jean had realized on their first full day that it was easy to become hypnotized by the setting. The pristine sand, the aqua sea, and the marine-blue sky with white clouds were soothing. Earth, sea, and sky…the edge of the world.

  Jean repeated this to herself so as to forestall the inevitability of returning to their real world. On that first night, the housekeeper and cook from the management company prepared them an alfresco dinner of grilled scallops, asparagus, and corn, melon for dessert, and a wonderful pinot grigio that certainly suggested they were in paradise. But they informed the middle-aged woman, originally from the nearby island of Haiti, that they preferred to make their own meals for the duration of their stay. The kitchen had been well stocked. Jean knew that request must have been due to Patrick’s desire not to leave the estate unless an emergency warranted it. He had completely shut down and he wanted—needed—to stay that way until they had to return home.

  Afterward, that first night, as the dusk rolled in and they enjoyed the last of the wine, they relaxed in a stupor in sturdy beach chairs on the sand, tired and lulled into peace. Off to their left, they suddenly heard the high-pitched, excited babbling of a very young child, a little girl speaking in French. Eventually a young couple appeared, walking just far enough behind the little girl so as not to hamper her sense of adventure and freedom.

  She trotted along on her short legs, holding a yellow plastic pail in one hand and blue plastic shovel in the other. The parents said something. The child ignored them, running as fast as she could and having an imaginary conversation. Jean and Patrick exchanged amused glances, watching the approach. The young child was almost abreast of them when she tripped and did a spectacular belly flop onto the soft sand. The parents didn’t hurry to rescue her. The little girl did not cry. She laughed. Whatever had been in the pail had spilled out. She looked inside, then turned the pail upside down and shook out the rest of the contents.

  Jean spontaneously got up and walked the short distance to the little girl. She crouched to her level. “Do you need help?”

  Rather than becoming afraid or turning to run to her parents, the child regarded her with wide-eyed curiosity.

  The parents were almost upon them. They stopped and said a friendly hello to Jean. They waved to Patrick, sitting lazily with his long legs stretched out, waving back.

  “We are just a few houses down,” the man pointed, speaking in perfect English with a French accent.

  “We’re here,” Jean said, pointing to the house on the rise behind Patrick.

  Jean turned back to the child. Without saying anything, she scooped sand into her hands and dropped it into the pail. The girl held out the shovel.

  “Ici.”

  Jean thanked the little girl, in English, and looked to the parents to see if they objected. Not at all, it seemed, as they watched the exchange.

  Jean and the little girl took turns shoveling into the pail until it was full. But when the little girl tried to lift it, she grunted and heaved under the weight in a comical way that had all the adults smiling and chuckling.

  “She is Lily,” the woman said, pointing to the child. And then introduced herself and her husband.

  Jean did the same
for her and Patrick.

  “Jean,” the girl repeated, testing out the sound.

  Jean nodded. “That’s right.” Then she spoke the French version of her name.

  The couple and Lily became their only acknowledged neighbors. But only by chance did they see or have brief interactions with them. And it all was exclusively between Jean and Lily, the French parents more circumspect about being overly familiar with her and Patrick. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that while they all liked one another, they were also all there for the same reason: to tune out and be allowed to enjoy their vacation.

  Later, when she and Patrick lay in bed whispering in the dark, the night absolutely black beyond the open doors, he’d put his arm around her, coaxing her to put her head on his arm as they lay facing each other.

  “You were amazing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With that little girl. Lily.”

  “Isn’t she cute?”

  “So are you. I thought she’d be afraid because you’re a stranger.”

  “Why? No one’s afraid of me.”

  Patrick responded after several very long moments. “I am,” he said quietly.

  Jean chuckled, rubbing her hand across his chest. “Yeah right.”

  Stretching languidly, Jean put aside the book she’d brought with her. She hadn’t managed to get past the first dozen or so pages, constantly distracted by the desire to stare out to sea and absorb as much as she could of this peaceful, stress-free place and being genuinely alone with Patrick.

  Can we say divine?

  Can we say magical?

  Jean finally moved, rising from the lounger and heading into the bedroom, through the deck doors that were open to the warm air. She took off the straw hat and placed it with her sunglasses on the bureau. She quietly approached the bed. Patrick was still asleep. The top sheet had long since been kicked aside, and he was sprawled on his stomach, naked. She regarded him, privately enjoying the masculine build of him. He had not been an active athlete for many years, but he was still toned, fit, and well proportioned. Jean undid the clasps of the swim top and removed it, dropping it to the floor. She was stepping out of the boy-brief bottoms when she was thrown off balance as Patrick’s long arm hooked around her waist and hauled her backward. She fell onto the bed next to him.