At first she was not sure that she should go. For one thing, she wasn’t at all sure she liked the idea of going to a party with David Saunders, since apparently there was already some nasty gossip going around about her living in with him.
A bit of the awe she had felt for the Beautiful People waned. If they could say things about her like that, when they didn’t know her, had never met her until today, perhaps David wasn’t being too critical in his books about them.
“You never believe one word I write, do you, Jamie?”
“Of course I do,” she told him, busy once again at her typewriter.
“No, seriously. Here I am, practically ordering you to go to that party with me tonight and you don’t even act excited.” He came over to her, his voice light but somehow worried. “I’d think a girl would have some reaction when invited to attend a party in hell.”
“What?” She saw that he seemed to be quite serious.
“When I said you obviously don’t believe a word I say in my books, I mean it. If you believe in my great message, Jamie, you won’t consider going with me tonight under any circumstances.”
He could be very annoying, this complicated man.
“What makes you so sure I want to go?” But she found she could not look at him, into his steady, worried eyes.
“They’ve bewitched you,” he said almost sadly. “And once I hand you over to them—”
“You aren’t handing me over to anybody!” She glared at him from her desk, her face flushing. “Frankly, I found that woman very rude and I’ve no intention of showing up at her house!”
She began typing furiously, glad she’d said that, and pleased that she meant it. It was true; she’d be very, very interested in seeing Thorne once again, surprising him by showing up on the arm of David Saunders. It might even be fun, “accidentally” running into Thorne that way. But the memory of Rhonda Miles’ insolent, silver-colored eyes, cold and unfriendly as winter’s last days, stayed with her.
No, she would not go to that party, not even though David actually seemed to think it settled that she go with him.
“One thing is very important,” he told her, “and that is for them not to hurt you.”
“Mr. Saunders, nobody is going to—”
“David. We agreed on David and Jamie, remember?”
“David, then. Nobody is going to hurt me because I’m not going to put myself in a position where—”
“So you’ll have to be dressed to the teeth,” he said. “You can probably find something in town that might do, although I doubt it. These women shop in Paris and show it off here. But with your eyes and figure, you’ll make whatever it is look great.”
She tried to shake her head no; she even stood up and pointed her finger in his face at one point, but it did no good. David wanted her to go and the truth was—she wanted to go.
“You can’t possibly buy me a dress,” she told him firmly. Her mother would—What would her mother do? Not do, but think, if she knew? “I’ll go with you to the party but you’ll have to let me go as I really am,” she told him.
“Which is poor.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling a little, “which is poor.”
He grinned at her. “I adore you, little Jamie. And I’m going to take you to the Cinderella ball so go and get dressed. It isn’t my fault you won’t let me wave the magic wand of money and buy you a knockout dress to wear tonight!”
“But what about the chapter. You said you wanted to mail it—”
“The chapter can wait until tomorrow,” he told her easily. “This book is going to be so good—in fact, it’s already so good that they’re going to snatch it right up. You’re my good-luck charm, Jamie, and as long as I have you, I’ll be rich, popular and successful.” He bent down and lightly kissed her cheek, there by her desk. “Go and prepare thyself, lass. Tonight, you take the jet set by storm!”
She sat for a long time in front of the dressing table, there in the upstairs corner bedroom that had been assigned to her. Outside, Aspen had begun its evening’s activities; the ski slopes were empty now, with the early darkness, and lights were on in the old houses like this one. Far up the mountainsides, the expensive chalets gleamed with lights; people were having cocktails, dressing, preparing to have a dinner cooked by someone else. One of the richest and most written about families in the world had been spotted on the slopes that day, a politician, his wife and two of his cousins. The town was electrified over the oncoming exhibition and the rush of celebrities who were coming to see it. Even this early, every apartment, every chalet, every house, even every sleeping room—was rented.
All because of Thorne Gundersen, the friendly, blond, sympathetic young man she’d met in the morning moonlight, there on that frozen slope. It had seemed rather like a dream; all day she had not been able to shake that feeling, nor the feeling that the unexpected meeting with the internationally known playboy (for he’d been called that) had caused in her. It had been nothing they had talked about, for their conversation had been mostly limited to his talk of other ski lodges, other mountains, other parts of the country. It had been casual, almost formal conversation, but she’d sensed that he was watching her, that he felt, as she did, some tremendous and unexplainable pulsation going on, as if an inexplicable chemistry had taken place.
The thought of seeing him tonight made her feel almost giddy. She went through her clothes, the ones she’d moved from her room over the bakery to this spacious, old-fashioned room in David Saunders’ rented house. There were two dresses she tried on, turning this way and that to look, and seeing only the rather dull color and the provincial cut of both of them. Finally, when it was time to leave with David, she appeared in the study wearing a simple gray tweed skirt and a short red cashmere sweater.
“Jamie,” David said, standing up, a martini in his hand, “may I say that you look—”
“I’m very sorry,” she said quickly; “you see, when I’d tried on both of my—”
“Lovely,” he said evenly. “Perfect, in fact. A stroke of genius. The little secretary, the one who brought a dying writer’s dead brain back to life, shows up looking like a well-scrubbed schoolgirl. They’ll adore you, my sweet. Come on, let’s not be too fashionably late. It might be clever, you know, for us to show up on time, instead of having them all standing around, waiting for our grand entrance.”
Suddenly she was afraid. The way he put it, the way David talked about it, she’d be walking into a den of lions. Besides, she could imagine what some of that nasty gossip must include: according to all of David’s books, people in the world’s most sophisticated set frequently, if not often, drifted from sex partner to sex partner, always living under the same roof with their current mate.
Even Thorne had thought that of her, at first. As she remembered, he hadn’t seemed at all shocked, either. David was right about one thing, most certainly; they did things a lot differently here from the way they did them back in Fond du Lac!
“Jamie? You look pale—did I say something to frighten you?”
She managed a wan little smile. “You’ve said everything to frighten me, David. I’m scared to death.”
He laughed, putting down his glass and taking her hand.
“Good. You’ve got a far better chance of surviving if you’re scared of them. Don’t forget, little one—they’re absolutely capable of chewing you up into pieces and then spitting you out. Each and every one of them is in love with one person only—himself or herself. Their beloved is the reflection in the gilt-edged mirror.”
David drove very fast once they were out of Aspen. His car was a smooth little Jag, low and powerfully built. He stepped on the gas as they began to climb the mountain road and the car sped forward like a shot.
The night was clear and very cold, although the car was infinitely warm and cozy. Jamie shut her eyes against the outside beauty and tried to remember just why it was she’d decided to let David convince her to go. A mental picture of Thorne, his china-blue,
intelligent eyes watching her over breakfast, came into her mind.
Be honest, she told herself. You’re on your way to that party because you’re hoping to run into him. And somehow, going in on the arm of David Saunders seemed a very good way to make Thorne notice her. Not that he hadn’t already, she thought, smiling.
“You’re looking very smug,” David said from beside her. “I’m beginning to have a very strange premonition. I’m beginning to feel that you’re going to be able to survive them all. I think you’ve got great powers, Jamie.”
She opened her eyes, letting the sky and the cold, bright stars fill her vision.
“And I think you’ve got a lot of blarney.”
But she had to admit she did feel a certain strength, a kind of lovely realization that, by a twist of fate, the lonely little girl who was resigned to being forced to go back home was suddenly the awaited-for guest at one of this famous resort’s most-talked-about parties.
At least David said it was talked about, and he was the one who knew. On the fast drive up the mountain road, he “clued” her, as he put it, as to whom she’d be meeting.
“Rhonda you already met, and you know her to be a tigress, right?”
“I suppose you could say that, yes.”
They were leaving Aspen behind them, winding their way up one of the big mountains, where lighted chalets laced the mountainside with blazing lights. “And you’ve met my buddy, the doctor. Mel’s okay; he’s completely sane and very dedicated to his practice. I’d say his only fault is that he likes to hang around with people like Rhonda Miles.”
She looked at him quickly. He was basically a kind man, she felt certain. It wasn’t like him to talk so unkindly about anyone.
Then, suddenly, she remembered a character from one of his most famous novels. The man had been secretly in love with a woman who was, by any standards, hard and, in this case, cruel. To cover up his guilt for harboring such a love, he continually pretended to loathe the object of a passion he neither understood nor cared to nurture.
It was, Jamie realized with a start, entirely possible that David Saunders felt that way about the rude, cold-eyed, beautiful Rhonda Miles!
It was Rhonda’s chalet they went to, a beautiful wood and glass house built on the side of one of the mountains, with Ajax directly north of it. There were cars parked everywhere, in the front and side yard, near the mountain’s precarious edge, up and down the road that led to the huge, sprawling house. Rhonda, according to David, owned this house; she made a sizable fortune yearly just from renting it out while she played around in various summer resorts. Her money came, as most of the money in Aspen did, from inheritance; Rhonda’s story was sadly like many of the women’s thereabouts. Her parents had been divorced for many years and they’d both married many other people in the meantime. Actually, Rhonda had no family.
“Only money,” David said grimly, pulling up in front of the chalet. “And look what some of it will buy!”
The front door opened as if on cue and suddenly a woman seemed to half tumble out. Her dress was cut, to Jamie’s way of thinking, shockingly low and it was revealingly see-through. A well-dressed man appeared in the open doorway, grabbed her bare shoulders and began kissing her.
“Don’t mind them,” David said dryly, “they just happened to get drunk a bit early.”
As they walked into the foyer, Rhonda seemed to swoop down on them, a drink in her hand. She wore stunningly chic satin pants with a barely see-through, cream-colored blouse that showed off her supple body to perfection. Her flaming hair hung down her back, giving her a certain wanton look as she took David’s arm.
“Welcome, darling. I’m sure you’ll find a lot of material for your book here tonight. We’re all going to be especially wicked for you!” Her silvery eyes glanced Jamie’s way. “How nice that you decided to come.”
“Thank you.” The feeling of excitement Jamie had experienced briefly when the big house had first come into view left her. She definitely felt unwelcome, and her young face must have shown that, because in a matter of seconds, three men came to her rescue.
“All right,” David said finally, after eager self-introductions, “take her. I hope I’ve taught her enough about how to watch out for vultures.” He teasingly kissed Jamie’s hand. “Enjoy yourself, my dear, and if you need me, you’ll probably find me sitting at the bar, drinking only ginger ale, since I need a clear head to work in the morning.”
Jamie was brought a drink, which she politely refused, a plate of catered, delicious food, which she picked at, and coffee, which she sipped, her hazel eyes looking around the large room as the three men all tried hard to impress her.
“What did you do for David, getting him back to work?” one asked, his slightly bloodshot eyes admiring. “I’d like for you to do for me whatever it was.” He finished his drink. “Was it black magic or what?”
“I’m afraid it had nothing to do with magic,” Jamie said, very small in the middle of that masculine circle that had surrounded her. “Mr. Saunders was simply ready to go back to work, that’s all. I had nothing at all to do with it.”
“I don’t believe you,” the one in the middle said, leaning toward her. “I think it must have been your beautiful eyes—”
Suddenly her heart seemed to stop. Thorne Gundersen had just come out of one of the rooms, a game room of some sort, followed by a bevy of young women. They were all young and beautiful, and they all wore the unified stamp that said they were rich, spoiled and pampered.
He had seen her too and was now watching her, standing very tall over the eager, bobbing heads of his little groupies, watching her with surprise and then pleasure in those shockingly blue eyes.
They smiled at each other, over the heads of others, the cocktail glasses, the hum of conversation, the darted glances to see who was here and with whom and what was she wearing. Many of the women seemed to be wearing next to nothing, with their expensive, immodest gowns, but Thorne had no eyes for any of them as he made his way toward Jamie, having deftly excused himself to get away from his little admirers. On his way across the room, people stopped him, older women and some men, eager to speak to him, to let others hear them call him by his first name.
Somehow, he broke the circle of men around Jamie and put one strong arm around her waist almost intimately.
“You always seem to turn up at just the right time,” he told her, then, bending to her ear, he whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”
FOUR
“I can’t,” she heard her own voice saying, “I—couldn’t possibly.”
He had put his arm around her waist and he was skillfully but steadily moving her out of the men circle, into the crowded, busy room and across it, toward the wide, glass patio doors. When they reached these, he turned her rather swiftly around so that she faced him, holding her lightly in his strong arms, his tanned face just inches away from her own.
“Of course, you can. You can do absolutely anything you choose to.”
A woman in a see-through dress that exposed her breasts completely came up behind Thorne, sliding one pretty arm around his wide shoulders. He turned to her, annoyed.
“We were just leaving,” he said, grabbing Jamie’s hand.
But halfway across the room, toward what looked to be a hallway, David swooped down on them. His face, Jamie saw, looked very annoyed, as if somehow she had done something wrong.
“There you are, Jamie dear. I’ve some people waiting to meet you. They’re panting to meet the magical girl who got me working again.” He nodded pleasantly enough to Thorne, but his eyes seemed to hold a cold warning. “How are you, Thorne? I haven’t seen you since that evening in Paris. Magot’s, wasn’t it? You were with a model or something.”
“I think she could be classified as Or Something,” Thorne said, smiling. “You don’t mind if I borrow your secretary for a while do you?”
“I mind very much indeed,” David said lightly. He took Jamie’s other hand. “There are at least twent
y people gathered over there waiting to meet her. So if you’ll kindly excuse us—”
The feeling rising inside Jamie suddenly identified itself: it was anger.
“If you don’t mind,” she said, holding up both of her imprisoned hands, “I’d rather not be carted off by either of you!” She managed to smile politely at them both. “Excuse me; I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
She felt a definite sense of indignation, walking away from them. She had been nervous about coming here, nervous once she got here, and now she was beginning to wish fervently she had not come at all. She had often thought of parties, when she lay in bed in the little room over the bakery. Her aunt and uncle always retired early; even so, there would often be the sounds of her aunt’s sobbing on into the long night. Gradually, after the pain of her cousin’s death began to wane somewhat, Jamie would find herself thinking of the happy parties being held in those lovely mountainside houses, wishing that, instead of lying in the narrow little bed, listening to the sounds of weeping, she could be happy again, full of life again, able to laugh again. The parties had seemed so exciting to her back then.
But now that she was actually present at one, it was somehow all wrong. The women were, some of them, coarse and loud, their not-always-pretty bodies shamefully exposed to the men. Most of the people there seemed rather drunk and silly to her.
Halfway across the room, a tall, friendly young man with large glasses grabbed her arm and asked her if she wouldn’t like some grog.
“Some what?” She glanced behind her, over to the far side of the room. David was walking away, away from Thorne; his back looked stiff and rather angry. And Thorne headed straight for the bar, side-skirting Jamie, not looking her way. At the bar, he threw his arms around the shoulders of two girls, both of whom looked up at him adoringly.
“Grog,” the young man said. “It’s really a whammo of a drink.”
“No, thank you,” she said, and somehow she got away from him, across the wide, beautiful room crowded with milling, drinking, laughing, calling-to-each-other people, out of there and through a door and into a sort of hallway where it was dim and quiet.
Precious Moments Page 4
