Any Given Moment (The Alexandra Chronicles Book 3)

by Laura Van Wormer

  "And last, but not least," Monty thundered as a conclusion, "the Bible says that a man who lies with another man like he would lie with a woman should be put to death."

  "Leviticus," Elizabeth said. "Where it also says, 'For every one that curseth his father or his mother shall be surely put to death.'"

  "So which do you prefer, Monty," Georgiana said, "death by fire or hanging?"

  No one was eating at this point. Everyone's face was flushed.

  "Look, Monty," Elizabeth said, "let's just conclude this discus­sion with the fact that we live in a democracy and the majority of Americans are in favor of gays being a regular part of our armed forces."

  "Oh, polls!" Monty cried. "The little lady wants to talk about polls!"

  "I find it so interesting," David said, "that America's so-called most popular radio talk-show host thinks the same way the Nazis did."

  "Oh, boy, here we go!" Monty said, throwing his hands up. "The old Nazi defamation trick."

  "It's no trick," David said. "Like you, the Nazis were willing to do anything to preserve a system that insured their superiority."

  "We're talking about gays in the military," Monty said.

  "I'm talking about the only other military organization that banned homosexuals," David continued. "And the Nazis didn't just take gays off to the extermination camps, as you might recall. Or perhaps gays are the only group that fat-ass southern crackers like you like to discriminate against?"

  "Maybe people like you cause people to discriminate in the first place," Monty said.

  David was out of his chair in a moment and on top of Monty. The two men fell backward with a crash and Monty, grabbing at the table on his way down, pulled the tablecloth and about a third of the dinner with him. Georgiana and Elizabeth sat there in shock, but Patty was on her feet in a moment, standing over them, pulling them apart and scolding them as if they were her children.

  "Get off him, David," she commanded in a voice none of them had ever heard her use. Sheepishly, David rolled off Monty and stood up, food falling to the carpet.

  Monty, lying on his back, with a plate mashed to his chest, struggled to get up. "That's what I get for engaging in a discussion with an adolescent with a chip on his shoulder."

  "Fuck you!" David yelled, as he stormed out of the room. In a moment, they heard the front door slam.

  After another moment, Elizabeth started to laugh.

  "I guess it is a little funny, isn't it?" Monty said, getting up and peeling his plate off his chest.

  "Everything but the way you think," Georgiana said sharply. All eyes went to her. "Mental illness," Georgiana said. "Is that really what you think homosexuality is, Monty?"

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "Then I second David's sentiments," she said, pushing back her chair and walking out.

  The remaining three were silent. The candles were still burn­ing, though skewed halfway across the table. Elizabeth finally reached for her glass of wine. "Here's to you, Patty, the only other person who has sense enough not to take Monty's vaudeville poli­tics seriously."

  "Hear, hear," Patty said.

  They clinked glasses and drank, as Monty righted his chair and sat back down at the table.

  "You do look pretty silly, I must say," Elizabeth said.

  "I meant what I said," he growled, scraping food off his coat with a knife.

  "Yes, I know," Elizabeth said patronizingly, "and we all know you wouldn't let a homosexual within a hundred miles of you."

  He snapped his head in her direction. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Elizabeth shrugged, smiling into her glass and taking a sip of wine.

  45

  David had stormed out of the apartment after dinner and Geor­giana had retired to the Hillingses' bedroom suite, refusing to have further contact with Monty. As for the talk-show host, he quietly cleaned up the mess in the dining room while Elizabeth and Patty washed dishes in the kitchen. The women were done long before Monty, who, last Elizabeth saw, was on his hands and knees doing something to the rug with a cleaner and rubber gloves.

  Montgomery Grant Smith may be a lot of things, but a man who didn't know how to cook and clean he was not.

  Elizabeth went back to check on Georgiana. The Hillingses' suite consisted of a bedroom, dressing room, and bath. Georgiana was in a robe, sitting at the dressing room table applying cream to her face.

  "I just wanted to make sure you were all right," Elizabeth said.

  "Oh, I'm fine. Sorry not to have helped with the cleanup, but I think I need to steer clear of our great American phenomenon of the airwaves. Honestly, have you ever?" She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. "When you make a mistake, Georgiana, by golly you make the very worst one you can find." She looked at Elizabeth's reflection. "What's the matter?"

  "Oh, nothing," Elizabeth said, pulling her hair up off her neck.

  "Have I offended you?" Georgiana asked.

  "Me? Why, no."

  "I hope not," Georgiana said. She turned around. "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

  "What?"

  "My being here—that discussion, my sexuality and everything."

  "Good heavens, no," Elizabeth said.

  "Because if it does, you just say the word and I'll move to a hotel."

  "Georgiana!" Elizabeth said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I am so sorry—my mind was somewhere else and you leapt to the wrong conclusion. I was disturbed by something else—someone else—and I assure you, it is not you. As a matter of fact, I wanted to tell you how glad I am you're here, and to say that Patty's in absolute seventh heaven."

  "I like her." Georgiana smiled. "I can't even imagine what it would be like to grow up with a mother like her."

  "I know," Elizabeth sighed, letting her hand fall from Georgi­ana's shoulder. Georgiana looked up at her and Elizabeth paused and said, "I'm upset about Monty."

  "Good Lord, why bother?" Georgiana asked, beginning to wipe the cold cream off with a tissue.

  "Because I like him," Elizabeth said frankly. "And it makes me upset to think I could like him—and yet I do. He's been great during this whole thing."

  Georgiana gestured to the chair. When Elizabeth sat down, she said, "Let me tell you something about Montgomery Grant Smith. I'm hardly an expert—thank God—but I do think I have a pretty good fix on where he is."

  "And where is that?" Elizabeth said.

  "I think he was the fat kid in the class, if you know what I mean."

  Elizabeth nodded. "He's the first one to admit it."

  "And I think he developed a mouth to protect himself because of it. So I don't know about you, but I have always had a soft spot for the kid everybody picked on, no matter how old. In fact, I'm not sure I would have, well, made that mistake with Monty had he been any different."

  She thought a moment before continuing. "There was some­thing going on between us that night, something that had to do with my knowing that even if I were straight, I would not have been seen talking to a man like that, and yet I was talking to him and I was enjoying myself. No matter how much of a loser he was as a kid, there is something else in him—and that is the potential to be great."

  Elizabeth was looking at her strangely. "What are you saying?"

  "I'm saying that I see something great in Montgomery Grant Smith, and I know that is what attracted me to him."

  "Are you joking?" Elizabeth asked, after trying to comprehend what Georgiana was saying.

  "No, I'm not joking. The question is, will he ever break out of his cocoon and take some risks—personally, emotionally, you know what I mean. Grow up and be a full-fledged adult."

  "He made a play for you," Elizabeth pointed out.

  "Which, if you think about it, is the safest thing he could have possibly done: chase after the only woman he knows for sure has no interest in him."

  Elizabeth didn't say anything. She sat there, legs crossed, hands folded on her knee, thinking.

  "He's extraordinarily naive, you kn
ow," Georgiana said. "He's like an adolescent."

  "I don't think he had an adolescence. Or a childhood. His father died when he was young."

  There was a knock on the bedroom door.

  "Come in," Georgiana called.

  Patty popped her head in. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but David Aussenhoff's on the phone and he'd like to talk to you, Elizabeth."

  "Okay, thanks," she said, getting up.

  "Patty, come in, I want to talk to you," Georgiana said, standing up. She waved her into the dressing room and sat her down in front of the mirror. "How's the wig working?"

  "Great," Patty said. "It's so comfortable, I forget I have it on."

  "Well," Georgiana said, going to the closet, "when I was home, I saw one of my wigs from a movie and I thought, We should try that one on Patty, too. I think she's really meant to be a blonde."

  "As dark as I am?" Patty asked the mirror, looking at her chest­nut brown hair and deep brown eyes.

  Georgiana had opened a small case and was lifting out a plati­num blond wig. "Oh, God, now I'll really look like Madonna," Patty said. "It'll look so fake."

  "With your coloring, it's not supposed to look real, but it should look stunning." She was working with Patty's hair, putting it up and pulling the hairpiece down. "Yes," Georgiana declared, "I was right, this is a wonderful color for you. Look. You're absolutely to die for—your husband's going to go crazy, I assure you."

  Georgiana was right, she did look fabulous! Ten years younger. Her bone structure was more pronounced, her eyes were wonder­fully large, lustrous.

  "I wanted you to try this on because I'm seeing my New York hair colorist while I'm here."

  Patty's expression changed to fear.

  "And Franco will do your hair for free the first time. He'll do that for a friend of mine. One of the privileges of being a walking advertisement for him," she added. "And if you decide you don't like it, you can put a dark rinse through it until it grows out again. There's only one drawback: once you go blond, it's going to take upkeep, which means going to a colorist and doing a rinse at home in between professional touch-ups."

  The bedside phone was ringing. Georgiana went over to answer it while Patty sat in front of the mirror, smiling, wondering if she would ever dare color her hair.

  Georgiana picked up the Hillingses' personal line.

  "Hello, Georgiana?"

  "Alexandra?" Georgiana said. "I thought you'd still be at the studio."

  "I am, but I'm afraid I have some bad news."

  "Are you all right?" Georgiana said, gripping the telephone. "It's not about me, it's about you. Do you know what the ‘A wire’ is in a newsroom?"

  "No."

  "It's the nickname for the unofficial news, the gossip coming in from other newsrooms around the country. There's a rumor on the A wire tonight that you're about to be outted."

  Georgiana went numb.

  "It looks as though it's coming out of Los Angeles. Nothing firm yet, we're checking. The report is that somebody is hawking an ex-lover of yours to the tabloids, print, and TV. The story is she'll swear you're gay. That's all we know, but I'm afraid it doesn't look good."

  Georgiana sank to the edge of the bed.

  "I'm sorry about tonight, David." Elizabeth was talking on the telephone in the study, twisting the cord around her arm and then unwinding it.

  "Tomorrow night?" he said.

  "Tomorrow night," she agreed. "And I'll see you in the morn­ing. Sleep well."

  “I love you," he said.

  "I love you, too," she said, and hung up. She turned around and found Monty standing in the doorway.

  "I'm going back to my hotel now," he said. "I think the rug's going to be all right. I'll get somebody to come over tomorrow and look at it."

  Elizabeth nodded, folding her arms over her chest.

  Monty sighed and took a step forward.

  "I'm sorry, Elizabeth, I was way out of line. I was angry." He locked eyes with Elizabeth. "That guy really gets to me for some reason. I'm sorry. I'll apologize to him tomorrow morning. I'll apologize to everyone." He paused for a moment. "You hate me, don't you?"

  Elizabeth shook her head. "Of course not."

  "I don't know what's happening to me," he said. "I feel like I'm about to have a nervous breakdown."

  She didn't say anything.

  "I'll see you in the morning." He turned to go and she let him.

  After hanging up with Elizabeth, David picked up the phone again and dialed California. "Suz?"

  "Davey, thank God! I've been waiting for you to call. I couldn't stand it! I don't even know what's wrong between us. Why did you leave the way you did this morning? You were so cold and awful and I love you! You know that, don't you? That I love you?"

  "I know," he said, lying back on the king-size bed, his arm beneath his head.

  "Davey, what is it?" she said, nearing tears. "I've packed all my stuff and I'm ready to move back to my apartment. I can't stay here when you're like this—hating me."

  "I don't hate you," David said. "I was just upset."

  "But what did I do?"

  "Look, Suz, I called to apologize for my behavior. It's not you, it's me. I don't want you to move back to your apartment. I want you to stay."

  There was a long silence. He could imagine her clutching the telephone, tears streaming down her cheeks. She cried easily when her feelings were hurt.

  "When I get home," he continued, "we have to sit down and have a long talk—about our pasts. It was the herpes thing that upset me. I think it just hit me how little we actually know about each other—and yet we're supposed to be getting serious."

  "I am serious," she sniffed.

  "Yes, I know. But we need to talk about some things."

  "Okay," she said. "Okay. How is it going there?"

  “Very well. It looks like I've already been able to help out the Hillingses some."

  "Oh, good, I'm so glad, honey," she said. "You've been so unhappy about it all. And Creighton Berns won't find out, right?"

  "We sure as hell better hope he doesn't," David sighed.

  "Elizabeth?" Patty said softly, touching Elizabeth's shoulder.

  Elizabeth's head jerked up. She had dozed off in one of the chairs in the study. Shaking her fatigue off, she looked at her watch and then at Patty.

  "Something's wrong with Georgiana," Patty whispered. "She got a phone call and she got very upset and asked me to leave. She's in there crying, I can hear her through the door. I thought maybe you might be able find out what's wrong."

  Elizabeth was on her feet in a second.

  46

  "Hello, I'm Elizabeth Robinson," she told Alexandra Waring, who was standing at the front door of the Hillingses' apartment a little after one-thirty in the morning.

  The anchorwoman looked tired and worried, but nonetheless she smiled as she said hello and shook Elizabeth's hand. Elizabeth led her into the study and closed the door behind them. "She's more angry than anything else, right now."

  "Well, she's scared," Alexandra sighed. "Can you blame her?"

  "It's Creighton Berns, isn't it? Behind this outing thing?"

  Alexandra nodded. "From what all my sources can tell me, it looks like it."

  There was an awkward pause. "She gave me your number only because I insisted."

  Alexandra waited, her expression unreadable.

  "She was very upset—I couldn't calm her down," Elizabeth continued. "But she said it wasn't her career she was upset about, it was losing... well, she said now she could never—" Elizabeth stopped and started again. "You see, she thought she might have finally found someone she really—"

  The anchorwoman's slight flinch made Elizabeth stop. She was making a mess of this!

  Elizabeth threw up her hands. "Look, Alexandra, I care a lot about Georgiana and what happens to her. Just tell me, did I do the right thing by calling you?"

  "Yes," Alexandra Waring told her.

  "Come in." Georgiana was lying across the
bed with her Filofax and a tear-stained pad on which she had made notes of what she needed to do, phone calls she needed to make.

  "Hi," Alexandra said softly, closing the door behind her.

  "Oh, dear God," Georgiana said, "you're the last person who should be here." And then she began to cry, hiding her face in a pillow.

  Then she thought she heard the door being locked, and she raised her head to look. Alexandra was standing by the door, still dressed in her clothes from the newscast.

  Georgiana sat up straighter.

  Alexandra slipped off her suit jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. Then she kicked off her shoes.

  "What are you doing?" Georgiana whispered.

  "Getting comfortable," Alexandra answered, hiking up her skirt and pushing her panty hose down and over her feet.

  Georgiana gave a nervous laugh and wiped tears away with the back of her hand; she watched as Alexandra took off her bracelet, her necklace, and her earrings, placing them carefully on a small side table.

  Alexandra smiled at her, but Georgiana could see that her hands were shaking as she undid the buttons on her blouse.

  "You shouldn't do this," Georgiana said.

  "I have to do this," Alexandra said, slipping off her blouse.

  Just as Georgiana had imagined, she was lovely—strong, slender arms, a flat tummy, breasts firmly harnessed in a pretty white lace brassiere.

  "I cannot let Creighton Berns win," Alexandra said, looking at her. "I will not let him take you away from me." She unhooked her skirt, stepped out of it, and tossed it on the chair. She had great legs. As she climbed onto the bed, Georgiana was amazed at how timid she felt. Alexandra touched the side of her face softly, and then leaned forward and gently kissed her.

  Georgiana was completely flummoxed now. "I—I don't under­stand."

  Alexandra bent to kiss her neck as she pushed the Filofax away.

  "Alexandra," Georgiana tried again.

  "What?" Alexandra whispered, looking into her eyes.

  "What are we doing?" Georgiana's hand slipped along the edge of the white lace bra.