Acts of Love
Page 45
374 ~ Judith Michael
complete without you. I kept turning around to tell you something, or to ask what you thought about something, or to share a smile at something amusing. I told myself it was impossible to feel that way after only one week together, but that was the way I felt. I think you've felt the same way. Your letters were very careful, but I thought that came through, maybe because I wanted so desperately to believe it. And if you could write that you need me, you must feel the same way."
"Yes." She kissed him, softly at first, then with the passion she had held back for all the months in Sydney. "I love you, I need you, I want you. I stop thinking about you and then, all of a sudden—"
"You stop thinking about me? How can that be.''"
They smiled, so filled with happiness it did not seem possible. "When I'm working," she said. "And I'll bet you do the same. I hope you do."
"Then and only then." He leaned back, studying her face. "My love, have you done everything you needed to do? After tonight, the most incredible triumph, a double triumph, you must feel you've proved almost anything you would need to prove."
"To do what?"
"To marry me. To be my partner, my friend, my wife. To become part of my life and let me be part of yours. To depend on me and let me depend on you. To build a life . . . my God, to be everything Constance hoped we'd be."
Jessica laughed. "The ultimate reason."
He grinned again. "Shall we do it for her? Or because we finally got as smart as she was and found each other and love each other. And because we know, as she did, that we'll be greater together than apart. For all those reasons, and probably a few hundred more. Enough to last a lifetime."
"In New York?"
"Yes. And Sydney, if you want. And London or Cape Town or Papua New Guinea, if that strikes your fancy. And Lopez for restorative holidays. My love, we can do anything we want. I can't give up New York entirely, and I think you should come back and conquer it again. But we aren't tied to it. You and Hermione will want to work together again; maybe the three of us will work together. Why not? I want you to star in Kent's play; we can do that in New York and then think about doing something here with Hermione."
"One of your plays," Jessica said.
His eyebrows rose. "Thank you. We'll talk about it. Does that mean
yes? That you'll come back with me? That you truly believe we can do all that, and much more?"
There was a long silence. The theater seemed alive with echoes of all that had happened that night: the shuffling of feet and rusding of programs, the breathing of hundreds of people, the words spoken on stage, the work behind the scenes, the applause. My life, Jessica thought. My place.
But it was not enough. She laid her hand along Luke's face, his dearly loved face, and her fingertips recognized the warmth and texture of his skin, the prominent bones that sculpted his features, the heavy brows above eyes so intent on hers. / need this, too. Luke is my life and my place, as much as the theater. I would never be whole without him.
She smiled, and Luke said, "What?"
"Once I said I'd never be complete without the theater. Just now, I thought I would never be complete without you."
He took her in his arms. "Thank you for that. I think I've been waiting all my life to hear those words, and a very long time to hear them from you." Their arms were around each other, their lips barely touching. "I love you, my darling," he said, and their lips met and all the passion they had known on Lopez swept them up as the applause had earlier; desire clamored within them, denied for so many months, overwhelming them now.
"This is not the place," murmured Luke.
Jessica laughed sofdy. "It was all right for Helen and Rex."
"Helen and Rex only make love in the audience's imagination. We're going to make love in real life, in a real bed, if we can find one."
She kissed him. "I have a house. You're always coming to my house, have you noticed that? Luke, my darling, we have to go to the party upstairs. But later—"
"Later we'll go to your house and make love and let nothing interfere, all night, all day and evening . . . well, you do have to get to the theater. We'll make an exception for that." They stood up, close together, their bodies reluctant to separate. "And as soon as we can, we'll go to New York and make love in my house. This is an equal opportunity marriage. Which reminds me." He bent down and retrieved her cane and handed it to her. "I'd like to get married right away. In Sydney. We'll have a small, very private ceremony and eventually take a trip to some small, very private place. Would that be all right with you? Or did you have ladies-in-waiting and a cast of thousands in mind?"
"I hadn't thought about it." She smiled mischievously. "But you're the
376 ~ Judith Michael
famous director; are you sure you don't want a milling crowd scalping tickets to your wedding? All of New York's reporters and producers and actors and theater critics and—" She stopped.
"—and gossip columnists. No. None of the above. I want you. And, very briefly, friends to stand up with us. Definitely Hermione. Perhaps Whitbread. I gather from glowering looks that Edward would not be agreeable. And then, my darling, you. Only you. For now, for always. When can we do this?"
"There's no performance on Monday."
He laughed, and the joy in his laughter rang through the empty theater. "Monday. Our wedding day."
They turned away from the rows of empty seats stretching into the shadows and Luke paced his steps to hers as she limped backstage, past the dressing room and long row of makeup cubicles, past the tables of props and Dan Clanagh's small desk, past the cables snaking across the floor, past the storerooms, and so to the outside door. Luke held it open for her, but she stopped for a moment in the doorway. Behind her was the stage, in readiness for tomorrow. Ahead of her was the world with all its diversity and challenge, its troubles and triumphs, waiting for her to come back. Because together she and Luke could do anything. She believed that now.
Luke put his arm around her shoulders and she looked up, meeting his eyes. They were still in the doorway; they were still backstage. Everything at once, everything together. Dearest Constance, Jessica said silently, thank you for helping me find my way home.
(i::intinued from front flap)
kesitan' :;'.ep al. a time, Jessica makes her journey La. 1' to her art, Lack to tke man wko has so stea '(.I.-,i 'oved ana believed in ker, bacK to a kfe ricker and fuller tkan any ske kad imagined possible.
Judith Michael is tke pseudonym of a kus-
kand-and-wife writing team, Juditk Barnard and Mickael Fain. Tkey live in Ckicago and Aspen.
Jacket design by Whitney Cookman
JACKET ILLUSTRATION PY KAREN BaRNES/
Wood Ronsaville Harlin. Inc.
Al'THOR photograph BY NORA FELLEK
Crown Publishers, Inc.
New York
3/97
kttp://www. ranclomnouse.com/
ISBN 0-517-70324-6
70324
i63"70324'
This book made available by the Internet Archive.
Table of Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Pages
Back Cover