by Billie Green
Amanda jerked her head up and saw the face she had seen so often on the screen of a darkened theater gazing at her with those famous drooping, sexy eyes.
Delores Carey was still beautiful. The fact that she had gone slightly zaftig didn't affect her famous sensuality one whit. Her red hair was hidden by an outrageous flowered bathing cap that matched the sarong-type swimsuit molding her ample curves.
"Miss Carey," Amanda said, smiling in pleasure. "It doesn't really matter, does it? With you here, no one would notice if I were wearing fig leaves."
The older woman laughed. "I like you. Come out and talk to me."
Pulling herself up to sit on the side of the pool, Amanda grabbed the towel she had brought from her room and blotted her long hair. Then she moved to sit on the adjacent lounger.
"Would it be gauche to say I've seen every movie you've ever done and loved them all?"
"Only if you add that you saw them all on the late, late show."
"I don't suppose a Delores Carey revival would be less offensive?" Amanda asked, laughing.
"Only slightly." She sighed. "Don't ever get old— what's your name?"
"Amanda... Amanda Timbers. I'm the new bookkeeper."
"What an amazingly dull occupation for someone with your looks," she said dryly. "Well, Amanda, as I was saying, never get old. Do yourself in at the age of twenty-nine. Old age is a self-inflicted wound."
"You don't look over twenty-nine, but if the daily tabloids are right, you are. But that didn't keep you from getting the Oscar for The Dark Backward, which happens to be my favorite movie of all time."
"I played an aging hooker," Delores said. "What kind of role was that? If they hadn't had to apply makeup to make me look older, more dissipated, I'd never have taken it."
"You loved it," Amanda said accusingly. "I can tell by your voice."
Delores laughed. "You're right. I loved it. I think I was finally playing myself."
"I don't believe that, but you were wonderful anyway. Are you between pictures? Is that why you're here?"
"How kind of you. I am probably permanently between pictures. The only ones offered now are the kind that have me playing some sweet old lady who buries people in her petunia bed or hangs them neatly in the cellar. No, I'm here because of a chronic condition. You laymen call it loneliness. I just got rid of gorgeous young stud number nine hundred and seventy-eight. Actually he got rid of me, but I don't pine for him."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. All men are snots, but I'm sure you know that. And age has nothing to do with it. There are simply young snots and old snots. This one I don't miss at all. No foreplay, absolutely none," she said, leaning toward Amanda. "The only thing he had going for him was enthusiasm—youth is so vigor-eras—and the size of his—"
Amanda gave a choking cough. "I think we can leave the rest to my imagination," she said, laughing. "What are you doing at this pool? I thought there was one on the other side that the guests use."
"There is, complete with manufactured waterfall. But they're all so boring over there. The most interesting conversation I would get there is what type of spoon to use with caviar," she said, her voice malicious. "Silver gives the caviar a metallic taste, you understand. It must be mother-of-pearl or nothing."
"I don't think I've ever seen a mother-of-pearl spoon," Amanda said, enjoying the conversation. "Why couldn't you use stainless steel?"
"It wouldn't leave a metallic taste, of course. But, my dear Amanda, consider the aesthetics," she said, raising her perfect nose. When Amanda laughed, Delores said, "No, I much prefer the employees and the loonies." She waved to a man walking toward them.
"And so does John. Don't you, darling?" she said as he joined them. "Don't I what?"
At first glance, the man lowering himself to a chair on the other side of Delores looked to be in his mid-fifties, but on closer observation Amanda saw the fragility of age beneath the surface. He was probably in his seventies but still very attractive. With his iron-gray hair and hawklike nose, he would stand out in any crowd.
"Don't you prefer to be with the employees and the loonies rather than the obnoxious bunch of people staff calls the guests?" Delores asked.
Amanda thought she saw him wince at Delores's phrasing, but then he said, "I prefer to be anyplace where there are beautiful women." He eyed the actress lasciviously. "Now introduce me to the lovely mermaid."
"This is Amanda Timbers. She's the new bookkeeper, but right now she's entertaining me. Amanda, this is Mr. John J. Pike. Tycoon extraordinaire. Watch out for him, dear, he pinches."
"Lies. Vicious lies. I do much more patting than I do pinching."
Delores rose. "Time for me to take a swim."
"You only do it because you know we all enjoy watching you," John accused.
"That's true," she said before stepping gingerly into the water.
"You look slightly star struck," John said, smiling at Amanda.
She turned to him. "That's the way I feel. She's wonderful."
"You'll get no argument from me." He leaned back in the padded chair. "And how do you like Greenleigh so far?"
"I haven't been here long enough to get my bearings. So far it's been very exciting. Ginny said I'll come to think of it all as normal." She laughed. "Even if there were no people, the sheer luxury of the place would be overwhelming."
"It's fancy all right," he said, his voice dry.
"John J. Pike!"
They both turned. Amanda sucked in her breath as she watched Danny walk toward them. The black bathing suit he wore exposed the hard strength she had only suspected in the kitchen. He looked tough, but symmetrical, a streetwise Hercules.
As he drew nearer Amanda studied his face, searching for a key that would pull everything together. She needed some point of reference. But there was nothing, nothing that told her he was incomplete.
When he reached them, he sat cross-legged on the tile beside the lounge chairs. "John J. Pike, you promised—"
"Manners, Danny," John said. "I want to introduce you to Amanda Timbers. She'll be living here. Amanda, this is Daniel Phillips."
His face was solemn as he extended his hand. His grip was strong. "Hello," he said quietly.
"Hello, Danny."
He kept her hand in his, his gaze traveling slowly over her body then back to her face. She could feel his gaze on each feature, taking in the slim, straight nose, the dark, wide-set eyes, lingering on the fullness of her lower lip.
She was relieved when he released her hand at last and turned back to John. "She's very pretty," he said.
John laughed. "That she is, Danny. That she is," he agreed. "I take it you're ready for that swimming match?"
Danny nodded, his gray eyes steady.
Amanda stared after them as they walked away. Sooner or later she would accept his disability, she assured herself. She had to. She didn't know why it was so important; she only knew that it was.
"God, that Danny is gorgeous."
Amanda glanced up to see Delores drying off with an enormous pink towel as she watched Danny execute a perfect dive into the pool.
"Sometimes I find myself flirting with him before I remember," she said, lighting a long, brown cigarette. "Then he'll say something totally young and disarming and I feel like a dirty old woman."
"I'm sure he enjoys talking to you," Amanda said, staring at her hands. She didn't want to talk about Danny; she didn't even want to think of him. "Have you been at Greenleigh long?"
"Only about two weeks. There's a whole new batch of people here. John is an old friend and most of the staff is the same, but Danny is new and so are several others in B-North. You see that young man in the green bathing suit?" Amanda glanced at the other side of the pool, then nodded. "I think he became too fond of his English sheepdog."
"Delores!" Amanda gasped. "How do you know that?"
"I don't," she said as though that didn't matter: "I made it up, but look at him. Doesn't he look a prime candidate for bestiality
? I had a butler once—"
"Please," Amanda said, laughing weakly. "Don't tell me about your butler. Aren't there any people here who don't have deviant vices?"
Delores looked down her nose as only Delores could do. "Why on earth do you think I come here? The most interesting people in the country are here."
"Since you're here, I'll accept that."
"Me? No, I'm afraid not. Haven't you noticed that all the really insightful, really profound women of the past century have been gay?" She shook her head in regret. "And I am so determinedly heterosexual, I despair of ever being truly interesting."
Amanda laughed. She had never heard anything so outrageous said so beautifully. "You're wrong. You're totally interesting, deviant or not."
"Deviant is in the eye of the beholder," Delores said, stretching luxuriously, "just as normal is. Oh, God, Virgie and Peter are fighting again."
The two people who had captured Delores's attention were standing at the end of the pool, both young and attractive, both shouting violently. The girl, her black hair pulled up in a knot on top of her head, was small but curvaceous, the pink bikini she wore leaving almost nothing to the imagination. The young man with her was only a few inches taller and looked slightly emaciated.
"They just naturally rub each other the wrong way," Delores said. "You would think their problems would cause a bond—given the similarity."
Amanda was not a natural gossip; it made her uncomfortable. But she had the distinct feeling that she was about to gossip whether she liked it or not. She was right.
"Virgie is a nympho," Delores said casually, lying back on the lounge chair. "And Peter is a drug addict. They kicked him out of medical school because of it."
"Virgie! Peter!" she called, waving to get their attention. Virgie responded with a digital gesture that made Delores laugh. Peter turned away from the girl and walked toward them. He looked extremely young and vulnerable, but as he drew closer, Amanda saw that his eyes were old. Old and sad and cynical.
"Hello, Has-Been," he said as he reached them.
"Hello, Junkie," Delores responded, laughing throatily.
Staring down at Delores, he studied her famous features. "I don't suppose you've read the Robert Frost poem about aged actresses, have you? His advice was to buy a few friends to keep you company in your later years." He raised a brow in inquiry. "I haven't seen a penny."
"And you won't," she said firmly. "Now stop being a show-off and meet Amanda, new member of the family. She's into books."
"So you're a literary person," Peter said as he sat down. "A lot of you seem to go around the bend."
"Not that kind of book, I'm afraid," Amanda said. "I'm a bookkeeper, and I think it's too dull a profession to cause many breakdowns."
"No, you're right. Bookkeepers always skip to South America with the money."
As he spoke, Peter watched Virgie from the corner of his eyes. His face grew stormy as she pulled off the top of her bikini and threw it to a group of cheering young men. "Everyone has problems," he said, his voice moody. "I think the world would be a lot better off if we were all insensitive, unintelligent boobs. It's the sensitive ones who always pay."
Amanda shivered. She was almost glad when John and Danny returned.
"I'll have to leave you all now," John said. "Nabors finds me so interesting, he insists on checking me every day. It was nice meeting you, Amanda. I hope you enjoy working here."
"We were supposed to go horseback riding," Danny said when John had gone. "Do you think John J. Pike is getting old?"
"We all get old, Danny," Peter said. "But don't worry about John. He'll probably outlast all of us. I'd offer to go riding with you, but I have an appointment with the shrink. When I'm late he makes me talk about my pubescent years to punish me."
Amanda watched Peter stand, then caught the look in Danny's eyes. It was not disappointment; it was emptiness.
"I could go riding with you." The words were out of her mouth before she realized what was happening. She immediately bit her lip.
Danny turned to her. "Do you ride?" he said, his voice soft and slow and slightly hesitant. "Really ride? Miss Carey says she rides, but she doesn't. She won't even let her horse trot."
"You ungrateful wretch," Delores said. "I spent an hour on that stupid animal last week."
Danny gazed at her earnestly. "You looked awfully. .. awfully pretty in your riding clothes."
Delores leaned down and kissed him on the cheek, then glanced at Amanda. "They're born knowing how to handle women. Watch out for him. He'll have you cleaning the stables or something equally revolting if you're not careful."
"Can you really ride?" Danny asked again, turning back to Amanda.
"Yes, I really can," she said in resignation. "Give me thirty minutes to get dressed and I'll show you. Where should we meet?"
"At the stables," he said, standing, his eyes warm with pleasure.
She inhaled slowly and forced a smile. "Okay, it's a date."
Chapter Three
Why in hell had she offered to go with him? Amanda's movements were stiff and awkward as she made her way to the stables. This was all she needed, she thought, to be babysitter for a—a...oh hell, she didn't even know how to describe him in her thoughts. She swung her dark hair around impatiently. She had pulled it up in a ponytail and was dressed in jeans, T-shirt and riding boots.
As she neared the stable, she saw Danny waiting beside two horses. He, too, had changed into riding clothes, only his looked like something Prince Charles would wear to play polo. She glanced away quickly from the hard, attractive body.
"I told Max to give you Ariadne," he said, his voice soft and husky. As he spoke, he didn't take his eyes from her and the intensity of his stare made her uncomfortable.
"That's very good, Danny," she said, then winced slightly. She had meant to sound cheerful, but the words had come out overly hearty and even condescending.
Biting her lip, she mounted the horse and let him lead the way. Behind the stables were acres and acres of open field, and she relaxed slightly when she saw they were heading in that direction. Maybe if they rode fast enough she wouldn't have to make conversation.
For a while, she could feel him watching her, then as though he had assessed her ability, he gradually picked up the pace. Following his lead, she spurred her horse on. Soon they were racing across open country.
It felt good to be on a horse again, she thought suddenly. The wind in her hair, the feel of the powerful animal beneath her, brought an unexpected excitement to her blood. She was ready for this. It had been a tense day, and this was just the release she needed. Exhilarated, she laughed aloud as she bent forward and the scenery blurred softly.
They must have ridden several miles in a circuitous route before Danny slowed the pace then pulled his horse to a stop beside a wooded area. When he dismounted, Amanda, for a moment, simply sat in the saddle. Then feeling slightly foolish, she slung her leg over the saddle and slid down, tethering her horse beside his.
"I like it here," Danny said quietly as he moved a little way into the woods. "The gardeners never work here."
"It's nice," she said shortly, bending down to remove a piece of grass from the strap of her boot.
Suddenly Danny dropped to his knees beside a tree. Startled, Amanda glanced around. They were miles from Greenleigh. Please, she thought in panic, please don't let him have a fit. How did she get herself into these situations? She was simply not equipped to handle the mentally handicapped. Why didn't they make his keeper stay with him?
Danny turned around, cupping something in his hands. "Look," he said softly, a strange quality in his voice.
She glanced quickly, nervously at his hands, then away. Th slowly she looked back again. In his large nan is he held a tiny blue flower. The contrast—delicacy cradled by strength—took her breath away. When she stepped closer, he handed it to her as though it were a great treasure.
"Look at its petals," he said softly. "It's like a... a.
.." He tensed as he seemed to struggle to find a word. "A miracle," he finished triumphantly.
Suddenly, unexplainably, she wanted to cry.
For a moment, he studied her face in silence. "Why don't you like me?" he asked quietly. "Is it because I'm one of the loonies?"
"Don't say that!" she snapped, her voice harsh. "Don't ever say that word again."
Rocking back on his heels, he examined her face in curiosity. "Miss Carey says it all the time."
"I don't care," she whispered tightly. "It's a cruel word."
"I've made you sad." The words were soft and slow, and there was deep regret in his voice, as though he were sad for her.
Amanda inhaled deeply, feeling again the unreasonable tears spring to her eyes. Then, awkwardly, she sank to sit beside him, staring at the flower in her hand.
After a moment, he said quietly. "Can I help?"
She gave a harsh laugh. "I don't think so. I don't like myself very much right now, Danny." She glanced away. "You see, I've just discovered I'm not a nice person—not nice at all." She met his eyes and her voice was husky when she spoke again. "I don't know how to deal with you. You're different, and that difference makes me uncomfortable." She leaned her head against the rough bark and said, her voice cutting, "And above all, Amanda must have her comfort."
He picked up her hand gently. "You're wrong, you know," he said quietly.
She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. "How do you figure that?"
He stared at the sky, his strong face troubled. "I make you uncomfortable...but—" He broke off and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "But it matters to you." He snapped a stick between powerful fingers. "I wish I could say it right."
He had said it just exactly right, but she couldn't tell him so. There was too much emotion between them. It had to calm down or explode.
"I thought we were supposed to be riding," she said, her voice purposely light. "If I sit here much longer I'm going to take root."
"Then you would be a flower, and I would pick you," he said, laughing as he stood up. He took her hand to help her up, but his strength surprised them both, and as he gave her a jerk, she was pulled hard against his chest, knocking the breath from her.
