Always Box Set

by Ward, Susan

  On one side of the patio I spotted Georgie and Patty, and on the other my father with Gloria close at hand. I would have preferred to bypass the circle around the senator, but I couldn’t. Duty called. In fact, it was staring at me with eyes filled with displeasure. Nothing new, but that didn’t mean I wanted to irritate my father further.

  I continued my smiles and handshake introductions through the crowd as I moved toward him.

  “Jack Parker,” I said, offering a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  The words and gestures were well-practiced. From the age of six, my father’s first election campaign, I’d been instructed how to do this and told never to cross a room without pressing as many palms and giving my name as frequently as I could. I often wondered why people responded so warmly to me, but they did.

  I was almost to my father, saying to a city councilman “…yes, causes like these are important to support. The arts need patrons…” when my eyes locked on her and the scripted words in my head left me.

  Standing alone on the far side of the room was a girl—no, strike that, a woman, because even at eighteen I could tell she was older than me and not just in a chronological way. There was the essence of life experience in her eyes, as if she’d lived more than I had, which contrasted sharply with the dew of innocence about her.

  I estimated her to be twenty-three and definitely totally a woman, even with her delicacy, a look of fragility like a little girl.

  I was still talking to the councilman beside me, mumbling what I hoped were appropriate responses to his never-ending stream of comments that kept me from my father, doing my familial duty so I could cut out and quickly cozy up to her.

  In that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to finish my obligation here and move on to her. I didn’t run across girls like that every day; hell, I doubted I had ever run across someone like her before anywhere in Santa Barbara.

  I tried to discern why this vision of loveliness held me spellbound. It was more than her looks—petite, lean Audrey Hepburn build. Marilyn Monroe rack tastefully covered by a pink angora sweater set and what I knew were long legs hidden under a pencil skirt. Jet black loose curls cut chin length à la Jackie Kennedy. Bedroom brown eyes. The lightest olive skin I’d ever seen. A dainty, sensual mouth holding a gentle smile—breathtakingly beautiful, and yet different.

  Exotic.

  Mysterious.

  Aloof and unapproachable in her elegant composure and stunning display. Her posture was such it screamed don’t approach me. I couldn’t imagine why any woman would want to look inaccessible, especially a young woman and one so gorgeous. I’d never experienced that look on a woman before, and in shock, I grew aware it made the want to cross the room to her even stronger. It was magnetic, not repelling, and I couldn’t shift my gaze away.

  I stared at her with the full pressure of my eyes, and never once did she look at me. In fact, she owned the entire room—I wasn’t the only one transfixed by her—and she made eye contact with no one.

  She just stood there alone, holding court over us all, and bothered by no one. Jesus Christ, who was this girl? It became my number one priority to find out before the night was over.

  “There you are, Jack,” I heard my father say loudly. I dragged my stare from the vision against the far wall and politely excused myself from the councilman to go to my father.

  “Sorry I’m late, Pop,” I murmured apologetically.

  He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, the weight of it feeling like lead as he gave me a firm pat. “That’s all right, Jack,” he said, and then shifted his gaze to a member of the circle around him I knew to be press. “Here’s the future voice of reason for our country. My son, Jack. Once he finishes Harvard and gets a little experience practicing law, he’ll be unstoppable.”

  The cameras went off like they always did when Jack Sr. put me on display, and whether anyone agreed with his assessment or not, they smiled like they did.

  Next came the questions.

  “How do you feel about your father announcing he’s running for another term as US senator?”

  “Excited that he’ll get another six years to do great things for the country and our state.” I recited the line drilled into me.

  “You’re not worried about the polls?”

  Dad laughed. “I don’t keep track of the polls, and the citizens of California on election day is the only poll that counts.” Then he summoned his own dazzling Parker smile. “The confidence of the people I serve and the support of my son is all that matters to me.”

  The cameras and the questions continued in such a rapid fire that a full twenty minutes had passed before I could pause long enough to look at her again.

  My mood plummeted instantly.

  She was gone.

  “What are your thoughts on Senator Kennedy and his presidential aspirations?”

  There was a break in the voices around me and I realized, belatedly, that question had been addressed to me.

  “Oh, there will be a Jack in the White House”—I paused to display a mischievous grin—“someday.”

  Everyone laughed, but the Q&A supplied by Dad’s campaign manager always worked brilliantly. Especially when delivered by me.

  The lights were flickering, signaling that intermission was done, and damn, I hadn’t had a drink, I hadn’t gotten to say hello to George and Patty, and I hadn’t figured out who my goddess was.

  I was smiling, walking beside my father to our seats, when he leaned in to me and fiercely whispered, “Damn it, Jack. When I tell you to be somewhere, you be there at the time I order. I work hard for the easy life you get to live. The least you could do is support me when I need it. Don’t let it happen again. Are we clear?”

  There was no point in arguing and he was, in fact, right, so I said, “Sure, Pop. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

  “See that it doesn’t.”

  “It won’t.”

  But we both knew that it would happen again.

  I was cavalier about everything, though laying the blame for that solely at my feet would have been wrong because Pop had made sure my life was easy, prided himself on that, and nothing corrupted a boy faster than an easy life, money in his pocket, girls throwing themselves at you because of who you are, too much time to think—and oh, a beautiful stepmother trying to get into your boxers, feeding an ego that didn’t need feeding.

  A good life, far from perfect and definitely corrupting. It made me ripe for the picking by a woman who understood the kind of man my life had made me.

  We settled into our seats in the theater—upstairs private box, of course—and as I tried to keep up with the spirited conversation around me, I scanned the crowd, alternating between trying to spot George and my mystery girl.

  George and Patty. Lower level. Last row. Crappy seats. Thanks, Pop, you could have had your people treat Georgie better. The girl was nowhere in sight. I would have liked to have seen her in this setting.

  The interior of the theater was designed to look like a small Spanish village. The walls were painted with murals of a home front, black iron lattice work, and etchings of greenery. The ceiling, a hundred feet high, had been crafted in a twilight blue speckled with lights that looked like stars, more dramatic when the interior lights were dimmed.

  Magical and ethereal. I was eight before I knew that it wasn’t the sky above me when I was here, but only an illusion of paint and light fixtures. And that sumptuous girl, ethereal as well, would have looked perfect in this backdrop. But no, she wasn’t here. I’d carefully scanned each seat looking for her.

  Ethereal.

  Yes, she was that.

  In a room full of people, she had just disappeared.

  I turned my attention to the performance on stage, disappointed the evening wasn’t going to end the way I hoped it would. Then I noted the splash of pink mixing with the black on stage. The world famous Sciarilo String Quartet. Three men. One unforgettable
pink sweater hidden behind a violin.

  I anxiously scanned my program. Lena Mansur. Jesus H. Christ. The girl of my dreams was a renowned violinist. No wonder everyone had stared at her, but her identity made it stranger that no one had approached her. I would have expected her to be surrounded in the courtyard as the other musicians had been. It was odd that she hadn’t been.

  As I watched her play, even if I had not had an extensive education in music, I would have known she was extraordinary. And the way she looked as she expertly, gracefully moved the bow—I didn’t expect it to get me even hotter in my trousers for her, but it did.

  It’s just how it works when you’re staring at perfection. There was not a chance she was leaving the theater for the night without meeting me. Whatever it took, once the performance was done, I’d figure out a way to get next to her. What I’d do then was anyone’s guess.

  She was out of my league.

  I wasn’t too arrogant to know that.

  But I was too small-town naïve to know that sometimes two people were worlds apart for a reason.

  Five

  At the end of the concert, the second the ovation died down I was on my feet, ready to hightail it out of the box. The space backstage that held a small reception area and the performers’ dressing rooms would most likely be my last opportunity to meet Lena. But Pop was pressing palms like he always did, speaking to everyone, and the slow process through the crowd was agony.

  The anxiety in my body was new—I’d never felt before this bludgeoning urgency to pursue a girl—but I liked the feeling and I couldn’t deny it. It had built from the moment I saw her, through her hour on stage, and now was like a bullying presence inside me, taunting that if I didn’t move quickly I’d miss her. And while I didn’t completely know yet why she was so extraordinary, I did know that only a foolish guy would miss his chance with her.

  Backstage, I made the rounds with my father, thanking the musicians who’d donated their time for the function, wondering why Lena wasn’t in the circle surrounding us and how long I had to stay not to overly irritate my father when I cut out.

  Through smiles and charming comments, my gaze frantically searched for her. She’d faded away, disappeared on me again. I hadn’t seen her since I’d gotten to the reception area, but I’d chalked that up to too many bodies in too small a space, but it was odd, very odd, that she hadn’t joined the rest of the members of the quartet in the meet-and-greet line.

  I was standing beside Pop, enduring endless minutes of being photographed, half convincing myself to let it go, when my gaze locked on her again.

  Standing alone against the far wall of the theater near the exit, she was almost completely hidden by people, stunningly aloof, only this time Lena’s gaze met mine and the slightest hint of a smile, betraying how obvious I was to her, rose to her lips.

  A single smile.

  Not even fully claiming her lips.

  I could feel it at once—like hell I was walking away from this.

  I leaned in to my father, my eyes never wavering from her. “We’re done here, aren’t we, Dad? May I leave now?”

  When I wanted something quick from the senator, politeness always worked best. Smiling, he turned to me, spotted Georgie across the room, and then nodded.

  “Fine, son. Fine.” He gave me one of his affectionate only-in-public pats on the back. “Not too late. I head out early in the morning. Early tonight. Got it?”

  “Sure, Pop. Whatever you say.”

  I disengaged from the cluster around him and moved toward the exit, not Georgie. I was halfway across the stage when my father stopped me with his arm, spinning me back to face him. He looked anxious and annoyed.

  “Go through the main exit, Jack. Not past her. I don’t want the press catching a photo of you with Lena Mansur.”

  The words and the way he said them brought me up sharply in a variety of ways. Anger, since his tone had been harsh and dismissive of my feelings. Protective because I was already starting to think of her as mine, and the unspoken censure was the last thing she should have inspired from anyone. And curiosity—why not a picture with Lena? She was a world-famous musician and a beautiful woman, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something about her I didn’t know and it was the reason why no one ever approached her.

  My gaze shifted to her. She was standing elegant and proud, but after my father’s words, the way she stared out at us all held clearer meaning. Her sultry orbs screamed I won’t be cowed by you.

  I hadn’t spoken word one to her yet, but my father’s condemnation sent fire through my veins, especially since it was now obvious that what was happening here in regard to Lena wasn’t right and certainly not kind.

  “I won’t be rude to avoid a potentially unwanted press opportunity for you,” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care what you think of her, or what anyone else thinks for that matter. She deserves courtesy as much as anyone here.”

  I started to move and his hand tightened. “You don’t understand, Jack. Don’t defy me in this. You don’t know her history—”

  “I don’t need to,” I said, interrupting the senator for the first time in my life. “Jesus, Pop, where’re your manners and your decency?”

  I managed to get free of him without looking like I was shaking him off, but by the time I got to the exit she was gone. I did a fast search of the reception area, not finding her, then I exited the building.

  The black cars were lined up waiting to transport the special attendees, but Lena wasn’t in sight.

  Was she already in a car?

  I moved down the line, checking backseats and finding no one. Then, in a near dark section of the rear parking lot close to the building exterior, I saw a puff of smoke and a hint of a pink sweater.

  My pulse rocketed in my veins.

  She knew I’d follow.

  She was waiting, discreetly, for me.

  As I neared her, she said, “The senator warned you against speaking to me, didn’t he?”

  Her voice was low and husky, with a melodically whispering quality at odds with her question.

  I raked my unruly blond hair back from my face, and said, “Nope, can’t do it.” I grinned. “I can’t think of a way to answer that one. So I won’t.” I extended my hand. “Jackson Parker. You were marvelous tonight.”

  She didn’t take my hand, but her eyes widened. “You didn’t have to introduce yourself. I must have heard your name a hundred times as you crossed the patio during intermission. You do have a way of making your presence known. Which makes it doubly surprising you were willing to be so openly obvious in your interest in me. Given where you were, of course.”

  Her response wasn’t one I’d even anticipated, and in fact, it still felt like the chase was on even though I’d finally caught her.

  With my thumb and index finger I rubbed my chin. “Why should it surprise you? You’re a beautiful girl.”

  She accepted my compliment without a hint of bashful modesty. Something else I wasn’t accustomed to.

  She took a slow drag of her cigarette. “You didn’t answer my earlier question.”

  “Oh, I’ve forgotten it.”

  She laughed. “It doesn’t matter. Something tells me Jack Parker does as he pleases, and what he pleases always works out for him. That is why you tried to lure me from the wall earlier. Even though I wouldn’t take the bait. You are used to getting what you want.”

  She was amused by me. My overt, almost fanlike fascination with her must have been glaringly obvious, and though it should have annoyed me, instead it made my pulse jump because I realized she’d been watching me, too.

  Before I could rally a clever comeback, she added, “Or maybe you just wanted to irritate your father. I’m not sure which. Either way, it isn’t good. Not for you. Not for me.”

  She stomped out her cigarette and stepped from the wall. A driver hurried forward to open a door for her. She was almost in her car befor
e I caught up to her and said, “If it’s not good, then why did you wait out here to meet me? That is what you did, isn’t it?”

  She turned back to face me, her gaze sparkling and the smile fully on her lush lips. “Of course. I wanted to meet the man with the beautiful blue eyes. It’s been entertaining. Lovely. But you’re too young for this to go any further. Go home, Jackson Parker. Your father was right. Run quickly from me.”

  She climbed into the car, leaving me there staring after her. She was unlike any girl I’d ever met, and she’d just brushed me off and told me to leave in an unflattering manner.

  The driver waited.

  The door didn’t close.

  To this day I’m not sure why I did it.

  Without being invited, I followed her into the backseat and settled close beside her, and I could tell by her expression she wasn’t surprised by my move. The door closed and we sat in silence until the car began to pull from the lot.

  We were halfway down State Street to the beach without a word from either of us, though I could feel her studying me and she wasn’t the least bit concerned about me knowing. The warmth of her gaze made me uncomfortably alert, and since I wasn’t sure what direction to go or what to say in this circumstance, I switched my focus to finding a drink. I suspected I’d need one with wherever we were going with this.

  There was a bar and I poured myself a tall scotch, bypassing the opened champagne she was sipping from a delicate crystal flute.

  “I didn’t follow you to annoy my father,” I announced, sounding less mature and more peevish than I wanted to be.

  She touched the rim of her glass and studied me over it. “Did I say that you did? It was only a question.”

  “A wrong question, but you’ll figure that out about me before we reach the hotel. That is where we’re going, isn’t it? Your hotel?”