“Most of the time she’s impossibly spoiled, nasty, witchy and—”
“But not,” Jamie said sweetly, “all the time. Ready to go, David?”
For some unaccountable reason, she dreamed of birds that night, white and beautiful, soaring over mountains. She, in her dream, stood somewhere at the bottom of a great mountain, watching. But those were birds; Thorne was a man, made of flesh and blood that would splinter and gush when he fell, going down that run at an incredibly fast speed—
She woke up with a jerk. It was late, later than usual, nearly eight-thirty, but David had told her she was on vacation, now that the novel was finished. Vacation with pay, he’d told her. How very nice, she thought as she got out of bed. There would have been free hours to spend with Thorne, to go to the slopes with him, to watch him practice. Perhaps she could have gone to his house to cook for him.
Except that he hadn’t called and wasn’t likely to. She knew what it was he wanted: he wanted her to convince David to stop trying to “meddle” in the exhibition. He wanted her to get David to “lay off.” There was a knock at the door and Emma came in, carrying a tray.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Jamie told her. “I’m used to getting my own breakfast, you know. But it was very sweet of you.”
Usually, when Emma brought the trays in at teatime, into David’s study, she put the evening papers on the tray, but this morning, there were none.
“If you’re wonderin’ about the papers,” Emma said, pulling the blinds up, letting in the bright sunshine, “he’s got them downstairs.” Her eyes looked evasively the other way. “Mr. Saunders wants you to join him downstairs after you’ve braced yourself with coffee.”
“Braced myself? Emma—what’s happened?” Fear, cold and quick as a sharp steel knife, touched her heart. “Has there been an accident?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, no—nothin’ like that. You’d better go and talk to him. But no sense in gettin’ all riled up.” But at the door, she turned with sorrowful eyes. “It’s my fault,” she said, and quite suddenly she burst into tears. “I should never have—said to her what I did. I thought—I thought you were a different type, but you aren’t. I never should have talked to that newspaperwoman!”
“Emma—you mean you told Lydia Markin about that night you saw me on the stairs with David? But that wasn’t—that was perfectly innocent!”
The woman nodded miserably. “I know that,” she said, “now, I know that. But I was afraid you’d come between him and Miss Miles—she loves him and needs him, only he don’t know that.” She shook her head. “Now, I’ve caused all kinds of trouble for you and him—and Rhonda Miles is going to get the wrong idea and be unhappy—” She blew her nose. “I ought to be punished for my tongue,” she said.
Jamie skipped her usual morning shower so that she could get downstairs as quickly as possible. She had planned to spend the day with her friend Donna; now she was faced with the prospect of some kind of trouble before breakfast.
David was in the living room; the floor was covered with scattered newspapers.
“I can’t believe how many papers carry that viper’s column,” he said, as soon as Jamie came into the room.
“What’s been said about us?” She walked closer to him, remembering the vicious face of the newspaperwoman when she’d watched Jamie leave the Lodge with Thorne, when she’d watched them at parties together, when she’d told Jamie she hadn’t been able to “figure out whose girl you are.”
He tossed a paper at her. “Nothing, except that she’s made it sound like the usual. And there is nothing at all usual about you.”
The paper was wrinkled beyond repair; Jamie struggled to get it straight. “David, you aren’t being very clear, you know. I can’t even find—” She saw it then. “Tattle-tales,” was the name of the column, and in it various hints were made as to the identity of people who were doing various forbidden things, but toward the bottom of the gossip, names were suddenly used, real names.
“Thorne Gundersen, that beautiful dreamer who believes he can successfully ski down Silverlode Run next week, has done it again—broken a heart, that is. He was seen dumping his current girlfriend, who went running right back into the arms of her bossy, but benevolent employer, with whom she lives, by the way. Could it be that this very sassy lady is traveling to Vegas with her oh-so-rich boss before very long, and that ex-lover T. G. is going to be on board the private jet, too? Ho hum—he’d tired of her anyway.
She felt the blood leave her face. Then, in a sudden rush of anger, Jamie poured herself a cup of coffee from David’s breakfast tray.
“No one listens to her.” Her small hand trembled on the cup. “Do they? David—do they? I mean, everyone knows it’s all rubbish and—and dirty lies—don’t they?”
He shrugged. “The thing is, my little buddy, this happens all the time around here. People shift sex partners like they’d change clothes; it doesn’t have any meaning for them, most of the time, because they’re zombies, zombies going through some kind of ritual, eating the best food, wearing the most expensive clothes, driving the best cars—and they’re zombies.” He came over and put his hands on her shoulders. “But you, Jamie dear, are not. And that is why it makes me so damned mad to make it sound usual, because you’re a very unusual girl. I may have to throttle that broad,” he said darkly.
She drank her coffee, looking out at the mountains. Thorne was probably out there today, on the far side of Ajax, practicing.
And he had very likely seen the morning papers.
TEN
The coffeehouse was crowded; it was nearly noon. Jamie had decided to visit Donna after she’d reread that nasty item in the paper once again. Finally, because David had said it was futile to complain or try to do anything about it, she’d put on her coat and left David’s house to walk the few blocks to town and the little place where Donna worked.
For a change, her friend didn’t look as if she was about to break into a hearty laugh. In fact, when she plopped beside Jamie in the back booth, her round face looked plainly worried.
“I read the paper this morning. I was hoping you’d come in; if you hadn’t, I was going over to Saunders’ house and talk to you.” She pressed Jamie’s hand. “I know it’s all a lie. You ought to sue.”
“I’m all right,” Jamie said. “Donna—tell me about your man, about your wedding.”
They talked for the better part of an hour, the two of them, heads close together, there in the noisy, busy cafe. Donna was quitting her job, she said, at the end of the day; she’d stay an extra hour to make up for this “gab session” with Jamie.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you and Thorne,” Donna said finally. “I just never believed he was using you. That’s why I’m glad I’m marrying a nice, simple busboy from the Lodge, who’ll take me back to New Jersey and a big Irish family.”
Jamie suddenly felt a vast sense of unhappiness wash over her. She had very definitely made up her mind not to be hurt because Thorne was obviously through with her. After all, she had walked out on him, too, if one wanted to come down to the common, nasty level of which lover left first. She pushed the feeling away.
She had told herself the agony of losing him through death would be so terrible that this little pain of simply losing him because she didn’t want him to risk dying—that she could take.
And she was taking it. She was doing fine, even looking forward to the trip to Las Vegas. Thorne was going to five, for the time being at least, until he found some other crazy way to destroy himself. In the meantime, there was always the possibility that someday he might seek her out and want to begin again.
Or was that just more of her romantic wishful thinking, as David liked to call it?
“Thorne didn’t use me in the way you’re thinking,” Jamie told her friend. “It wasn’t like that, not at all.” She smiled. “I’m very glad I met him.”
“Have you watched him practice on the runs lately?”
“No.”
It had troubled her, that he did not seem too interested in practicing daily.
“They’re saying he’s in very bad form. That he drinks too much and behaves as if he’s lost his mind.”
Once again, Jamie had that feeling of worry come to her. Yes, yes, he had been behaving oddly. It was true that he partied far too much for a man who ought to stay in tip-top shape, no matter what, since every nerve in his body was going to be tested if he went down that mountain as fast as a train. It’s going to be okay, she told herself. David won’t let that happen!
But when Jamie got back to the house, she found out that even David—with all his good intentions and the relative power and influence he had—might not be able to do one single thing to ban that exhibition.
There were reporters there from various papers; apparently his agent had called a press conference. David, charming and relaxed, introduced Jamie to them all.
But when they’d left, when he finally sank into his favorite chair and raised his head to look directly at her, she saw that he was very tired and his eyes held a bitter look.
“I’m not sure it’s going to work, Jamie.”
She was emptying ashtrays—the reporters had all smoked like stevedores. Suddenly she realized what he was telling her. He didn’t mean his book; it had nothing to do with his book.
“David—you said—you said you could stop it! You said you were sure—”
“I didn’t say I was sure!” He got up and went to the window. It was turning very cold outside, with new snow expected that evening. In Aspen, people were saying the weather conditions would be perfect for the try down Silverlode. “How could I promise you a thing like that?”
“But you—seemed so confident—” Horror was washing over her. What if he couldn’t stop Thorne? What if—
“I was confident, a lot more confident than I am right now.” He turned to look at her. “Maybe I live in a dream world. Anyway, my erstwhile buddies from the papers seem to think there’s not the remotest chance that this carnival is going to close down simply because a man’s life is at stake!” He shook his head. “But I’m not giving up. First, I’ll talk about nothing else on the Vegas trip; I’ll get everybody all geared up, get them on a new high. They love causes—most of ‘em spend half their lives collecting money to give to charity, when they haven’t the least idea of what the word really means.”
I can’t carry this burden, Jamie thought, and she suddenly realized something she hadn’t known for sure before. She loved Thorne; not in the groupie, hero-worshiping, childish way David seemed to think she did, but in a profoundly troubling way that was making her choose between her own life and Thorne’s.
She chose her own. She chose not to let his death destroy her, because, like herself, he had a choice to make.
But why is he choosing to wipe himself out?
She went over and gently kissed David’s cheek. “I know you’re going to try. Good night, David.”
His voice stopped her at the door. “Jamie? If I can’t stop him, and if he doesn’t make it—what then? Are you going to fall apart and quit working for me and all the rest of it?”
“I’m not going to stay around to watch him, if that’s what you mean.”
She took a long bath and got into her robe. She’d pack for the Las Vegas jaunt in the morning; Rhonda had called and left a message that she was having all her guests picked up early in the morning. But shortly before seven, as Jamie was seriously considering taking a long walk, even if the snow was coming down heavily, she saw Rhonda’s green Porsche pull up in front of the house. Good, she thought. I’ve given David all the help and comfort I can; now he needs more than just friendship and goodwill. He needs a woman to love him.
They were putting lights up and down other mountains, probably so people could stand there and watch Thorne practice. She sat on her bed, looking at the strings of glittering amber that lined the mountainside. I can’t help you now, my love. Only God can help you now. I can’t get you down that run safely.
She slept, dreaming, as the amber lights from the mountain shone upon her face, of shattered pieces of glass.
It was a remarkably well-equipped jet; not as large as a commercial plane, of course, but so plush inside that David began making bad jokes about it at once. He found a seat for Jamie, settled himself next to her and proceeded to tell his jokes.
Jamie listened with only half an ear; she was watching for the arrival of Rhonda. She wished she dare ask David where he and Rhonda had gone the night before, and what they had talked about—after all, the two of them were friends and she wanted him to be happy as much as she wanted Thorne to live. Because in a sense she loved them both.
Suddenly, the now-familiar green Porsche appeared on the runway, going at a breakneck speed. It was Rhonda, of course, zooming for dear life out toward the jet and her merry guests.
“What an entrance,” David said dryly from beside her. “And she’s got company, if you haven’t noticed.”
She hadn’t, but now Jamie leaned closer to the window to look. Her heart seemed to stop, then began pounding in a mixture of joy and deep worry.
It was Thorne, sitting beside Rhonda, both of them having a high old time, nearly late for the party she was giving. Rhonda got out of the car, tossing her gorgeous coppery hair over her shoulders, and then she put her arm around Thorne, so that they appeared to be hugging. And there beside her, David suddenly got very angry.
“Damn him—he’s had a go at you and now he’s after Rhonda. I ought to get off this plane and punch his face.”
“It’s all right,” Jamie said quietly. “Stop getting so excited and stop being so jealous.”
“I am not jealous.” He looked at her. “And why aren’t you reeling with jealousy yourself? After all, you’re still in love with that ape, aren’t you?”
She ignored his question, watching as Rhonda, her arm still around Thorne, came up the steps to the plane. Thorne stumbled once and nearly fell, then he began laughing as if he knew some secret joke. He’d obviously been drinking but he was far from drunk.
“It’s all an act,” Jamie said suddenly. She looked at David, who was busily pretending not to care by way of reading a magazine. “David—she keeps glancing up here at the plane to see if you’re looking.”
“Well, I’m not,” he said, turning the page.
Rhonda was now hugging everybody, laughing a lot and looking around for champagne. There at the plane’s entrance, near the bar, Thorne looked over Rhonda’s head, directly at Jamie.
It was a second of absolute silence for her; it was as if all the sounds in that plane were shut off, even the revving of the speaker system; somebody had been saying five minutes before takeoff.
The world became, in that instant, a place of joy again for her. When he looked into her eyes from perhaps ten feet away, over the heads of the others, there were only the two of them. She held her breath; it was as if he were speaking to her silently, desperately.
“Would you like a drink?” It was David’s voice. “Frankly, that weird display of instant love was a bit too much for me.”
The moment was gone, lost in the sudden surge of voices, people milling around carrying glasses, a pretty stewardess serving trays of sandwiches and coffee.
“Just coffee, thanks.” She wondered if that was the absolute end of them, of Thorne and herself, or if there might be another moment. No matter what, he had no business being on this plane.
David said as much when he came back with a drink for himself and coffee in a paper cup for Jamie. He sat down and, ignoring the Fasten Seat Belts sign, proceeded to talk to her in a low, earnest voice. Under other circumstances, it would have been amusing to watch this poor man, this man who loved Rhonda but perhaps didn’t know it, this good, wise man who had been like a loving brother to Jamie.
“It could be insanity,” he said. “Just because he skis, it doesn’t mean he’s got all his bolts in right.”
“He’s sane, David. And you’re still being
jealous, which is foolish.”
“I’ve no reason to be jealous,” he said somewhat smugly. “As a matter of fact, the lady proposed to me last night, in her car.”
So that’s what had been going on between the two of them—Rhonda had asked David to marry her!
“You ought to be very complimented and grateful,” she told him. “Instead here you are, looking fierce and grumpy and very—nasty.” She whispered the last word, because Rhonda was coming toward them, smiling. She looked perfect; her hair was lovely and sleekly clean, her clothes just right for the elegant-yet-humble theme of the trip, which simply meant the people going on the plane wore jeans and jean jackets, most of them, and expensive, hand-tooled boots. But on board the plane, beer and coffee and even mixed drinks came in plain paper cups, and the sandwiches were thick, “cowboy” style, and the hostess on board, hired for the flight there and back, had been asked to wear Western clothes, which included tight jeans and a cowgirl hat pushed off her pretty forehead.
“Having fun, darlings?” Rhonda leaned over them, smiling. “We’re getting a game of blackjack going. Why don’t you join us?”
“I never gamble,” David said, finishing his drink.
Rhonda smiled woodenly. “We all know that, darling. See you later.”
They all had to go to their seats as the plane taxied and got into position for takeoff. But as soon as they were airborne, all the guests, or at least most of them, were either gathered around the bar or else already losing large sums of money by gambling in the rear of the plane.
“Lord,” David said wearily, closing his eyes, “they can’t even wait to make fools of themselves until we land. Tell me when Sally Von Lieber takes off her bra and tries to take bets on the size. She does that all the time, and that,” he said, “is when I want to get off this airplane.”
Precious Moments Page 13
