"Enough!"
"How fast do you think Mac would change his mind about Charlene and have you locked up instead? But we both know that’s not necessary, don’t we darling? As soon as I am Mrs. Dane Pierce, I could care less about your crazy, black-hearted affliction. And I’ll make you forget her, too. You’ll see."
"You’re not a quarter of the woman she is. You’re not fit to wait her table. And married or not, journal or not, I won’t be sharing my bed with you. Even I won’t lower myself that much. You’re pathetic."
Despite her callous behavior and strong words, Jackie cringed at Dane’s spiteful loathing.
Dane left the house, seeking cold air to cool his burning soul. How could he have walked into Jackie’s treacherous scheme of blackmail and deceit? His head ached with visions of his discovery of her malice; of finding out that Ron Jenkins was actually Jackie’s half-brother, an ex-con just released from Nevada State Prison. It was Jackie, not Charlene, who’d wreaked havoc on the lives of his friends; who’d harassed the only woman he’d ever truly loved, and her husband; a man he’d come to love like the brother he’d never had.
He wasn’t afraid to face jail. Jackie could be very convincing, especially since she’d made certain everyone had seen the bruise she’d gained the night he’d stumbled onto her plan. Dane Pierce had never struck a woman in his life; he could barely fathom that she would go so far as to inflict an injury upon herself in order to blackmail him...and yet she had. He remembered staring in horror at Jackie’s smiling face, her fingers delicately touching the tiny cut beneath her eye.
"Perfect," she’d whispered illogically, a madness behind her devious smile. He already suspected that he’d been silently accused of the deed. And he had been the last one seen adjusting the light over Mac’s head. Had he not also been the one who’d had access to the Lotus, the night of the Christmas party, when his "fiancée" had been found in the arms of his former enemy? Jackie had stacked the evidence well, and he’d played right into her plans.
Yes, he would have gone to prison to protect Jessie and Mac; it was his fear of losing Jessica’s love that had forced him to submit to Jackie’s treachery. He couldn’t bear for her to know the secrets he’d harbored, the hurtful words he’d scribbled. Charlene’s arrest had been timely and convenient, although it afforded him not relief but tremendous guilt. He’d practically dialed the police for Mac that dark afternoon. He had put an innocent woman behind bars to serve his own purpose.
Dane sighed heavily, the cold air turning his breath into fog.
~ * ~
He had been the Editor of the Sterling High Enterprise. His classmates had fully expected Dane to go into journalism as a vocation, but it was the call of the footlights he’d answered, changing his major to dramatic arts when he’d entered Cal State. Aside from trying his hand at a couple of screenplays, Dane had abandoned the literary scene, focusing all his energy upon becoming an actor. He’d married Rita after a whirlwind romance and she had supported his efforts by working as a secretary for a small production company. It wasn’t until the death of his parents that Dane once again put pencil to paper.
His therapist had suggested it. Dane had lost several months of his life wallowing in a black hole of depression. The loss of his beloved mother had caused a vast emptiness that nothing could fill; neither Rita nor his career could bring any kind of substance back into his world. The doctor had handed him a small, leather bound book filled with blank pages. He’d been writing in it ever since; his deepest feelings, his nightmares, his joys. And yes, his hand had formed the words that would have sent Cory MacKendall into the proverbial cornfield.
He remembered it well. He had put Jessica into the cab that morning in Amande, sending her home to Mac. He’d fought depression the entire day, and had returned to the spot on the beach where she’d led him the night before; where they’d made love on the sand and had slept together until morning. And there he had sat, writing in the journal, pouring his heart into the small book until he felt some solace.
Jackie had discovered the journal and had immediately read it, cover to cover. He wasn’t sure if she had hatched her scheme before or after, but had brought her threats to light the evening he had suggested they call off the engagement. Life had been living hell ever since. He had thought that Charlene’s incarceration would at least deter Jackie from perpetuating her deranged pursuit of terror; would afford him some small semblance of peace from the constant fear that Jessica was in danger. But the ache had grown stronger; the gnawing in his stomach had intensified until he was in unceasing agony. Could he tolerate the lie? Could he go on living with the knowledge of Charlene’s innocence…and Jackie’s guilt?
The air grew more frigid as the sun dipped behind the canyon hills. Searching the dusky sky for the first star, none appeared to him and he turned back toward the house.
Dane’s expression was formidable as he walked slowly back into the house. Jackie seemed to be busy in the kitchen, and he leaned against the doorframe to watch her, his eyes now calm and determined.
"I’ve changed my mind," he stated simply.
"What do you mean?"
"I’m not going through with it. You can do what you want with the journal, I’ll suffer the consequences. I won’t tell them what I know about your guilt, but I won’t confess to your lies either. So, it’s over. I want you out by morning."
"You can’t be serious."
"I am. I can’t believe I let it go this far. But it’s over, Jacqueline. I’ll give you enough cash to keep you for a month. Better start packing."
"I don’t think you’ll want me to go when I tell you what I found out today."
"There’s nothing you can say to change my mind."
"How about this? I’m pregnant, Dane. The baby is yours."
"That’s impossible. If you’ve gotten yourself knocked up, you can’t hang it on me."
"You’re the only one, Dane. And my doctor told me that vasectomies are not always successful. Did you ever get tested after you had yours? Surely the big, brash Dane Pierce would never worry about birth control. Well, honey, get ready for number four. Or maybe, number five?"
Her implication was not lost on Dane. Quickly he walked to Jackie and grasped her by the hair, forcing a scream from her lips.
"You tell anyone, anyone at all about this, and I’ll make you hurt. You understand? I don’t want you breathing a word about it. I’ll get the truth, Jacqueline. I swear it. In the meantime, you sit tight, extremely tight. You clear?"
Jackie nodded, and he released her hair. Without looking back, Dane sought out his car and left the estate.
~ * ~
"Does he sleep in that thing?" Roxie asked as she watched Jessica adjust Devon’s legs in the baby carrier she wore strapped to her chest.
"He loves it. Sure makes shopping a lot easier." She glanced into a shop window at an evening gown on display. "God, I need to get a dress. The Oscars are coming up, and I’m still fat. Mac thinks I’ve lost all the weight, but he’s not the one squeezing into my clothes."
"Don’t be stupid. I’ll make you a dress. How’s he doing, anyway? Any news on a hearing?"
"I don’t know. He doesn’t talk about it. He hasn’t been himself since that day. He’s okay, but not great. It’s a tremendous burden for him." Jessica pushed the thought from her mind. "Let’s go into Macy’s. I need to find a little jacket for Dev."
After oohing and ahhing over the tiny windbreakers and car coats, Jessica selected one and the girls headed for the cashier. Jessica slowed her pace and Roxie looked around for the cause of her hesitation.
"Here comes trouble," Jessica murmured, spying Jackie Spencer entering the baby department. "Could she have known we were in here?"
"No way! I never told her we were coming here. This is weird. What would she be doing in a children’s shop?"
They watched, seemingly unobserved, as Jackie lovingly examined tiny layette items. Inevitably, she spotted them and approached. She seemed friendlier than
usual, and invited the girls to join her for lunch. Unable to come up with a viable reason to decline, Jessica and Roxie soon found themselves listening to Jackie’s prattle over salads.
"So I want to know: why were you in the children’s clothing?" Roxie inquired, stabbing at her lettuce aggressively. "You having a kid now or something?"
Jackie’s face froze and Roxie choked on her chuckle. It was obvious that she’d struck some chord, some element of truth, and even Jessica blushed at the overwhelming strain that passed around the table.
"I…didn’t mean to pry," Roxie murmured, looking down at her plate.
"Alexander needs some things. Dane isn’t much good at looking after a kid, you know?" Jackie responded. But the words she spoke were not the words she communicated; Jessica looked at Jackie’s stomach expectantly.
She’s pregnant. She’s cheated on Dane. Unless…
"Well, I expect you and Dane will want to have children someday, so he’d better learn, right? It’s about time, he’s had three already. Pass the salt, Roxie?" Jessica’s voice was cool and steady. Did Jackie even know about Dane’s sterility?
Jackie flashed her a knowing smile. "Yes, we do. And the doctor thinks there’s no reason why we can’t."
Jessica put down her fork, and turned to Devon, asleep beside her in the booth. "Roxie, I just remembered I have to pick up Mac’s tux. We have to get going."
"It was great seeing you guys! We should get together more often." Jackie beamed at Jessica, her mission so obviously accomplished, subtly caressing her abdomen as she spoke. Her gesture was not lost on Jessica, who watched from the corner of her eye as she packed up Devon’s things and awkwardly moved from the booth.
They ducked back into Macy’s and began sampling perfumes at the cosmetics counter. Jessica was counting the seconds until Roxie made a comment, getting only to seventeen before it spilled from Roxie’s lips.
"You think she’s pregnant?"
"Yes."
"You think it’s Dane’s?"
"Well, she sure wants me to think it is. And I can’t think about it. Because if it’s true…"
"You’re right. Don’t think about it. That’s exactly what she wants."
"She doesn’t know about what went on between Dane and I; she only assumes it."
"He could have told her."
"He wouldn’t. Now help me find something. Something fresh and seductive."
~ * ~
At Paramount, filming was winding down.
Dane seemed more obsessive than ever, checking and re-checking the details, the cameras, the props. The grips and technicians made faces behind his back, angrily muttering about the tension and Dane’s lack of trust. A heated argument had ensued between Dane and the property master, and Dane had sent the man packing mid-morning; Dane had remained raw and edgy. The climax of the film’s story was next to be filmed.
~ * ~
The "senator" is in his office, waiting for a courier to bring news of the election. He is sitting on his desk, staring out the window, his back to the camera. A gun lies ready on the desk; it is his opponent, not his page, who enters the room and picks up the gun.
"It’s over," the opponent says, aiming the gun at the back of the senator’s head.
"Yes, it is," the senator responds, not turning to face the opponent.
A close up is now focused on the senator’s face, filling the entire screen with his expression of sadness. We hear the gun being cocked, we see the senator’s expression tense in fearful anticipation as the gun clicks and doesn’t fire, then clicks again with an explosion. He closes his eyes as the camera fades to black.
"Okay. That’ll be a print." Dane climbed down from the camera boom and saluted Mac. "Excellent performance, Senator." He turned toward the crew. "Now let’s do the dead guy. We start with a close up on the trickle of blood on the tile floor…Phil, I need more blood. This guy just blew his lousy brains out! It looks more like he cut himself shaving. Get busy!"
Mac stepped into the shadows, watching Dane’s feverish energy with both respect and regret. He wondered if Dane really did have an ulcer, and if so, he decided it was warranted.
Wandering to a nearby telephone, he called home and left a message for Jessica, then returned to watch his colleagues complete the scene with the dead congressman on the floor.
Soon Dane was beckoning to Mac to join him outside.
Dane lit a cigarette and leaned back against the stucco building, running a hand through his unruly hair before turning to Mac. Mac grimaced at the sight of the smoke but held his tongue.
"Look pal, I need a favor." Dane seemed almost shaky, unnerved about something. A small paper bag had been hastily stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, and hung precariously as its contents did not quite fit. Mac eyed the package curiously, but turned his eyes back to Dane’s.
"You’ve got it. Shoot."
"I’ve gotta leave. There’s one last scene to be shot, and I want you to handle it. Then, take a look at the dailies for me and see what you think. I’m behind schedule or I wouldn’t ask you, Mac."
"Of course, if you think I can do it."
"Shit. You could do it with your eyes closed."
"Are you okay, man?"
"No. My stomach’s wasted. My head’s a mess. I’ve got to see my doctor or I won’t live to see this God damned film on the screen."
Mac stared at him in surprise. It was unlike Dane to be so candid about his health; he sounded too serious for the smile that was curling on his lips.
"You don’t mind if I call you at home tonight?" Dane questioned, taking a long drag off the cigarette.
"I’ll expect it." Mac’s eyes again went to the small package that didn’t quite fit into Dane’s jacket. Dane noticed his interest and tapped the bag lightly.
"That asshole prop guy left this here. I have to drop it off on my way out." Dane started toward his car.
"You--take care." Mac shook his head, then called out to Dane. "Hey. If there’s anything else I can do…"
"Forget it. I’ll land on my feet. Thanks, brother."
Mac returned to the studio and put together his best efforts to direct the final scene, truly appreciating for the first time Dane’s talent for making things happen. Briefly studying Dane’s dog-eared copy of the script, struggling to decipher the hen-scratched margin notes, he turned to the AD with a look of concerned amusement.
"He must be kidding."
~ * ~
Dane hid self-consciously behind dark glasses and a baseball cap as he waited for the nurse to show him into Dr. Segal’s office. Despite her most beguiling smile, she was unable to coax a return grin from Dane as she led him down the hall to see the doctor.
"Sit down, Dane. Do you want the bad news or the bad news?"
"Hit me, Doc. I’m already on the floor."
"Your ulcer is worse. There is probably more tequila in your veins than blood, and your heart is working overtime. You’re back with the coffin nails, too, aren’t you? I might suggest an overdose of Valium. It would be faster and more painless than the way you’re doing it."
"You can cut to the bad news anytime."
"Well, unless you have additional surgery, and even then it’s doubtful, you couldn’t possibly father a child, Dane. I’m sorry."
Dane’s eyes locked onto the doctor’s momentarily, seeking the truth in his eyes.
"Sorry? You’re certain, Doc? I’m absolutely sterile, right?"
"Yup. Have been since I performed your vasectomy three years ago. There’s been no change."
Dane nodded slowly to himself, and a bemused smile pulled at his lips. The news was met with mixed emotions; most of them joyful.
"Now. I’m going to give it one last try, Dane, because I like you. I know you’ve had a rotten year, and you’re such a God damned dervish you never slow down. But if you don’t, if you don’t give up the booze, and the smokes, and start eating some decent food, you’re going to die. Do you hear me? D-I-E. You’ll be dead. You’ve got three
beautiful children, you have no business even thinking about having more, especially in the condition you’re in. I suggest--"
"Thank you, Doc. Your wisdom and…compassion are greatly appreciated. And just as soon as I get through this shit I’m in, I’ll turn it around. I promise."
"Don’t promise me, son. Just take care of yourself."
Dane nodded and shook Dr. Segal’s hand. And he was grinning, the nurse noticed, as he trotted briskly from the office.
~ * ~
"Sergeant Denehy? Mac MacKendall. I need to talk to you about dropping the charges against my sister."
Jessica paused at the stove, her ears trained on Mac’s voice as he spoke into the kitchen phone.
"That’s right. I think I’ve made a mistake. No, I don’t want it to go to trial…Well, I’m going to send her home. Yeah. Okay. Tomorrow morning? Fine. Thanks."
Now Jessica turned to him. "You didn’t tell me you were going to do that."
"I was afraid I would change my mind again."
"You thought I would change your mind?"
"I don’t know. It’s done. I can’t live with myself like this. She’s my sister…She needs help, not prison." He paused, not looking at her. "I’m going to take her back to Minnesota and get her some help."
"She doesn’t want your help."
"How do you know? If Christine needed help, you’d be there, right?"
Jessica didn’t answer, instead turning back to the stove to stir the stew she was cooking. It’s not the same, she thought with irritation. How could he even consider comparing Chris with Charlene?
"You’re mad now?"
"No."
"Jess, try to understand how I feel! She’s my sister."
"You said that." Jessica began sloshing stew into their bowls.
"I really thought you’d understand."
"Mac, she terrorized us! She tried to kill you! She has not only disgraced your family, she’s committed a serious crime! I’m sorry I’m not enthusiastic about putting her back on the street. She needs help, all right, but I doubt if you can help her."
Starcrossed Hearts Page 40
