by Summers, Amy
For just a moment she considered the tempting idea of letting Tom make the change with the high command, as they half-affectionately, half-indignantly called Dr. Pruitt, the managing director of the environmental consulting firm they both worked for. But she hadn't spent the last year toughening herself for nothing. She had to stay and see it through.
She reached out to give Tom's hand a firm squeeze before shaking her head and rising to hurry along his departure. "Thanks, Tom, but as I said, it isn't necessary."
But she knew Tom had seen her hesitation, and, protective bear that he was, he was ready to come to her aid. He stood but didn't move toward the door.
"That guy hurt you badly," he said softly, his eyes steady on her. "I remember what you were like when you first moved up here. You could hardly look a man in the eye."
She stood silently, staring down at her moccasin-clad feet.
Though be didn't touch her, his affection was evident in his fierce tone. "I won't let that happen to you again," he promised. "No matter what you say, I'm going to see that you're not hurt."
She stared at him in surprise. "Oh no, Tom," she insisted, afraid her ambiguity had encouraged a dangerous misunderstanding. "It isn't the same man, honestly. Don't do anything silly."
"Don't you do anything silly," he retorted gruffly. With a final shake of his head, he stomped out the door into the foggy night.
"See you in the morning," Thawn called. He waved as he let himself into his battered old Volkswagen, then backed out of her driveway. Thawn watched the headlights fade into balls of glowing fire in the thick fog. Then the taillights, tiny pinpoints of red, disappeared into the blackness.
Why couldn't she fall in love with someone like Tom Sutton? A relationship with a man like him would probably lead to marriage, would provide the sort of warm, loving companionship that could nurture a family. Wasn't that what she'd always wanted?
She had let Tom walk away, but when she looked into the brilliant blue eyes of a schemer like Mark or the cold gray gaze of Rafe Armstrong, she was spinning off into a rainbow, soaring through the clouds on a sunbeam. The only trouble was, they had their feet planted quite solidly on the ground.
With a deep sigh she turned back into her little house and began to clear away the dirty glasses, taking them to the sink to rinse. But in the silvery water that rushed from the faucet she saw the blue-green depths of the pool that lay like a shimmering jewel in the center courtyard of the apartment building where Mark had lived.
When she'd first seen that pool and encountered the exotic singles life-style that Mark's neighbors enjoyed, she'd thought she had finally found the Hollywood of the legends.
She had arrived in Los Angeles at the age of twenty-three, still wide-eyed and naive. Getting a job with the county had been a lucky stroke, but the biological testing she was involved in took all her time and energy. Working weekends and evenings, she had found herself with less of a social life than she'd had back home.
Then excitement had flared. Gromeyer Studios asked for a consultant for a sequence involving dolphins they were filming for an adventure epic. The senior biologist who usually answered such requests was on vacation, and Thawn was chosen for the job. She drove out to Burbank, her heart in her throat.
The dolphins were well trained. She had no problem with the technical details. Still, the day passed in a whirl of confusion.
She felt very out of place among the grips, cameramen, and harried assistant directors, who always seemed to be asking her to get out of the way or to be quiet while the film was rolling. When a handsome young assistant to the assistant producer asked her to come with him for coffee, she gratefully followed him to the studio cafeteria. Her memories of Mark and the rest of that day were very vague. Too much had happened to her all at once. He had been only part of it.
But when he had called her a few days later and asked if she would like to grab a hamburger with him, she was flattered.
Thinking back now, she decided that her quietness had attracted him. She'd been a good listener. Every word that had come from Mark's lips had fascinated her.
She was sure he'd liked that. His ego had needed stroking at that time. Stuck in a relatively menial position, he had hungered for a chance to prove his worth. Having someone believe in him utterly must have been very satisfying. It was a faith hard to find in the competitive atmosphere in which he worked.
They began to date regularly, and before Thawn knew it they were committed in a way that she was sure would lead to love and marriage.
She had assumed he felt the same way. And actually he might have. But his values didn't quite jibe with hers.
The Hollywood parties they attended were a thrill at first. In the beginning she and Mark seemed to be hanging on to each other for support, wandering about the carefully trimmed gardens and exquisitely decorated drawing rooms, their mouths agape at the sight of famous faces. But as Mark's talent began to be recognized, he gained more confidence, and eventually Thawn felt like a follower rather than a participant.
It was, "Hey, Fernando, loved your last picture," and "Listen, if they can get backing for a story about dancing gumdrops, these guys can swing anything..." while Thawn stood in the background, smiling whenever anyone looked her way, feeling totally inadequate.
She blamed herself. She knew she should push herself forward, take part in the conversations that ricocheted around her. But somehow she never could.
The scene seemed to move too quickly, like a merry-go-round that wouldn't slow down to let her aboard. Just when she thought she'd picked up on an idea she could comment on, the conversation would reverse gears and speed off in a new direction.
But through it all she had never lost the belief that Mark loved her. He told her so often enough. If he forgot she existed when they came near other people "in the business," well, that was her own fault. She would have to work on being more assertive.
At times she had suffered pangs of doubt. Long weeks had passed when, involved in some project that consumed his every waking thought and action, Mark had seemed to vanish from her life.
But he was ambitious. She had understood that.
She could have understood it all, accepted it all, if only he had understood her.
Coming out of her reverie and throwing down the dishcloth she'd been using to dry glasses and plates, Thawn reached for her pea jacket, shrugged into the heavy coat, and headed outside into the swirling fog.
The air felt like a thick, wet blanket of gray wool, smothering the seaside community in a mysterious veil. Thawn walked across the asphalt street, then onto the cold, crunchy sand. She could hear the waves breaking on the sandy shore, but she couldn't see a thing.
Still it was comforting to walk alongside the huge, uncaring sea. Petty human emotions seemed so insignificant beside it. And what trouble they caused!
Against her will, her thoughts returned to the last Hollywood party she and Mark had attended together. Rafe had been there. So had Matty, a young scriptwriter who was a special friend of Mark's.
Thawn always had the uneasy feeling that Matty felt she, instead of Thawn, should be on Mark's arm. But though Mark respected Matty's thorough knowledge of the film world and enjoyed her company, he often denigrated her tomboyish looks and lack of physical grace. Matty knew as well as anyone that Mark felt no amorous inclinations toward her, and sometimes she expressed her resentment with venomous remarks directed at Thawn.
That evening was no exception. Mark had warned Thawn that he wouldn't have much time for her at the party. "Glenda Sayers is producing a sci-fi thriller that's right up my alley," he told her as they stepped out of the Mercedes he couldn't really afford. "I can't risk getting any more than an arm's length away from her all evening."
"Do you really think you can win a job that way?" Thawn asked doubtfully.
Mark threw back his blond head and roared his amusement. "This is Hollywood, baby," he teased. "You gotta pay for what you want, one way or another."
Y
ou gotta pay for what you want.
The phrase had reverberated through her for weeks afterward. But she had felt calm and unsuspecting as she walked expectantly into the gorgeous split-level home in Beverly Hills.
All the beautiful, talented, and desperately hopeful people had gathered together around a sparkling blue pool, soaking in the sun as they basked in the greater light of famous stars.
"Pimps and whores," Matty had whispered vindictively in Thawn's ear. "Nothing but a bunch of pimps and whores."
Thawn pulled away from the woman's clutching fingers, repelled by her cynicism.
"What's the matter, Matty?" she said caustically. Taking a guess at the reason for Matty's bitterness today, she asked, "Did they hire someone to rewrite your script for Lost Angel?"
The woman nodded, her short brown hair bobbing on her forehead. "You got it, baby. They said my stuff didn't have enough bite."
Thawn laughed shortly. "They obviously don't know how to mine your natural reserves, do they?"
Matty looked at her, surprised. "Hey, there just might be some fire in you yet," she said speculatively. Then her green eyes narrowed. "But I wonder if you've got the guts to go out there and blow the whistle on lover-boy."
"Lover-boy?" Thawn had no idea what she was talking about.
Matty nodded, her eyes bright with malice. "You do know he's been sleeping with her every night this week, don't you?"
Suddenly Thawn realized she was talking about Mark. Her first impulse was to deny the accusations. She turned to look at Mark, who was sitting beside Glenda Sayers. The woman was a good ten years older than he was and slightly pudgy in her persimmon silk jump suit.
A smile curled her lips. "Come off it, Matty," she began. But before she could complete the statement, Glenda leaned toward Mark, her crimson lips parted and inviting. Mark smiled as he bent to complete the kiss. It lasted for a long, long time.
Thawn was shaking when she turned back to Matty, her eyes pleading for reassurance. "No," she whispered.
For once Matty seemed to feel some pity. Embarrassment swept over her hard features, and her voice was gruff when she spoke. "Don't take it so hard, you idiot. It happens all the time. He doesn't do it because he wants to but because he'd do anything to get a job on her picture."
Thawn stumbled into the house, searching blindly for a way out. In just moments her world had been shattered. Viewing that scene had forced her to face doubts that had been lurking in the back of her mind for months.
She walked down to Beverly Boulevard and hailed a cab back to her apartment. It was after midnight before Mark showed up.
He admitted everything readily. "It doesn't mean I don't love you," he assured her. "This has nothing to do with our relationship. It's strictly business."
He grew annoyed with her, unable to understand why his using sex to get a job on a film should bother her so much.
"Women have been doing it for centuries," he argued. "Every one of you uses your body to get all you can."
She stared at him as if at a stranger. How had she deceived herself for so long? She knew she didn't have any hope for happiness with this man.
Later, when she'd thought through the whole business, she'd realized Mark wasn't really such a bad sort. He had always been very good to her. He'd even loved her, in his fashion. The atmosphere of the film world was the poison, with its belief in living for today, of trying everything once, of doing anything you could to get that big break. In that environment sex became just another form of currency. And, as Mark always said, you gotta pay for what you want.
At that moment she had known she had to leave Hollywood. She had run just as fast as she could.
But, she admitted to herself ruefully now as she turned in the fog and headed back toward the dim glow cast by her porch light, she hadn't run quite fast enough or far enough.
Jacqui Blatts was a writer she'd met from time to time at parties. When the woman had shown up on her doorstep, claiming to have witnessed the scene between Mark and Glenda at the party and wanting to see what she could do to help, Thawn had been too full of agony to see through her act. She'd been only too glad for the shoulder to cry on. In no time she'd told Jacqui everything.
Only later, when she saw the scandal rag on the newsstand with the blaring headline producer “Glenda Sayers sells it like it is”, with a picture of Mark and Glenda kissing and Thawn's name quoted as a source, did she realize that the curious ethics of Hollywood had caught her once again.
At least the story had produced one good result, she told herself grimly as she opened the door to her cottage. Mark had stopped calling her, stopped begging her to come back.
In fact, he'd seemed almost beyond anger in his last call. He claimed she'd ruined his career. For a long time after that, his name had been absent from the show business gossip columns.
It still hurt to think of him. But Thawn hoped he hadn't been too badly wounded by the article. He had talent and deserved a chance.
You gotta pay for what you want.
She'd paid, too. But she'd learned to stay away from show business people. Now if she could only make sure the lesson stuck.
Early the next morning Thawn picked up Tom and drove her little Fiat across the coast road, taking the hills and curves as though she knew them by heart. To her left was the ocean and the black, craggy rocks of the shore. To her right were rolling hills, with granite-faced mountains behind them. This was her favorite stretch of land, from Morro Bay to the south through San Simeon and Big Sur to Monterey at the north. This was where she'd found the peace to heal her wounds. And this was where Rafe Armstrong wanted to build his country hideaway.
She flashed a sure smile at Tom's sleepy face. "Up late last night?" she asked, her voice teasing.
"Couldn't sleep," he agreed. "Unrequited love will do that to you."
A quick glance reassured her that he was smiling. She relaxed.
"There it is, just ahead," she warned him, then pulled off onto the dirt road that led to the Armstrong property.
There were no signs of activity at the trailer. The curtains were drawn at the windows, and Thawn wondered if Rafe and his friend were still in bed.
She averted her gaze, determined to ignore the trailer as she got out of her car. "The site is on that rise," she told Tom, pointing. They walked out onto the sloping hill.
Tom's eyes lit up at the sight of the extensive outcropping, and without another word he fell to work with his rock hammer and knife, carefully prying out chunks of the chalky substance.
Thawn watched him for a few minutes, but she knew he could work for hours without opening his mouth to do more than grunt in answer to her questions. Besides, she had plenty of her own work to do. Picking up her clipboard and the contour maps she'd brought along, she made her way down to the rocky shore to begin checking the mapping of the land there.
She worked for some time, attacking the cliff face with her rock hammer to study the mineral composition on a clean break, looking for signs of faulting or landslides, ancient or incipient, and checking the stability of the cliff. She compared these and other geologic features to those indicated on the contour maps. On the whole she found few indications of structural problems.
Thawn's work went smoothly. The cool breeze off the sea invigorated her, and she began to wonder if Tom had made a decision yet.
Leaning back on her heels, she brushed her golden hair from her eyes, at the same time letting her gaze sweep over the ocean, calm and shot with silver in the early morning light. Suddenly a dark bobbing object caught her eye. At first she thought it was a sea lion or an otter, but as she watched it curiously, it came closer to shore, and she realized it was a man.
She stood watching him emerge from the low, foamy waves. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax, to quiet her raging pulse. But she knew it was no use. Rafe was coming out of the sea, and the thought of seeing him again sent the blood racing through her veins.
He wore a black skintight wet suit that was cu
t off at the arms and legs, exposing his bare skin to the icy waters, and now to the chilling air. His tan skin had darkened further in the cold, and drops of water clung to him, glistening like jewels on his elegantly muscular body. Her gaze slid over his arms and along his naked thighs, and she felt a tingle of response rising in her.
"Are you crazy?" she demanded as soon as he was near enough to hear her over the crashing waves. "Swimming alone in this cold water?"
His grin was a slash of white in his dark face. He shook his head, sending a shower of cold water from his thick dark hair.
"I tell you what," he called back. "Next time I'll take you with me."
He was close enough for her to see the pearls of water that still clung to his spiky lashes, emphasizing his brilliant gaze.
"No you won't," she retorted. "I may go for a dip in July or August, but I'm not insane enough to want to swim in ice water on a day like this."
Actually it was warm for an early spring day, and the sun was shining. Thawn had worn a light pink sweater, which outlined her slim figure, and her best-fitting jeans. Belatedly she wondered why she'd dressed so carefully. When Rafe's admiring gaze raked over her, she felt guiltily that she knew the answer.
"It's not so bad once you get used to it," he answered, but she could see that his thoughts were elsewhere.
"But what were you doing out there?" she asked, still unable to understand such foolhardy behavior.
"Exploring." His eyes lit up with teasing humor. "Getting to know my beach. Did you know there's a flat area out along the point?" He gestured toward the jagged rocks that spilled out into the sea like a giant's rock pile. "I'll bet seals use it when they're in the area."
He dug into the pocket of his wet suit. "Look what I found."
It was a rock the size of a golf ball, dark, lustrous green, and as smooth as soap.
"This looks like real jade," Thawn cried, delighted. "There used to be a lot of jade along the coast here, but you seldom find a piece as big as this anymore."
Rafe watched her with a slight smile. "Keep it," he said when she tried to hand it back to him.
