Starcrossed Hearts

by Star Crossed Hearts (lit)

  "No." Dane looked away, filling his lungs and then exhaling slowly as if he could purge the pain from his body. "You’re the exception. That’s why it was so asinine of you to react the way you did."

  "But you didn’t see it through my eyes. You didn’t see the woman I have waited for my entire life in the arms of--the man she was crazed over when I met her. You wanna talk about who hurt Jessie? Look in the mirror, Pierce. She worshipped the ground you walked on. And you turned your back." Purposefully, he grabbed the beer from the mantel and drank it down, crushing the can and propelling it into the wastebasket. "She is everything to me. Do you get that? Everything."

  "And you are so damned insecure, you still worry that you can’t keep her. It kills me that you have so little faith in her. You don’t come close to deserving the devotion she has for you. I’ve seen that devotion, I’ve seen that passion she has, and it’s made me want to die. It’s made me want you to die." Dane paused and took a ragged breath before continuing. "Yes, I love her and yes, I still want her. But in case you haven’t noticed, I love her enough to step down. I made a pact with the devil himself, my life for her happiness. Because I know, Mac, I know as I know my own obsessions and fears, that if she knew about this, knew what you now know, knew about us slamming each other over her, she would die of grief."

  Mac stared at him for a long moment. He was right about that, Jessie would surely suffer if she knew of the discord between them.

  "Look. I won’t lie. It crossed my mind, only a hundred times or so, laying in that stinking hospital over there, I could ask her to come home with me, ask her to be with me, vow to protect her, promise to give her the best damned life. But I didn’t. So just stop wagging that self-righteous tongue at me. I’m the one who talked her out of going home. I’m the one who put her on that fuckin’ plane to New Zealand."

  Dane shifted his leg on the ottoman and groaned. When he spoke again, his voice was again calm and controlled.

  "Anyway, it hurts to yell. Could you--could you just come over here and sit down please? You’re making me nervous."

  "I’m making you nervous?" But Mac complied. There was something about Dane’s definitive tone that compelled him to sit down and listen.

  Dane picked up the journal and turned it in his hands, viewing it from various angles. "These words, Mac, they weren’t meant for anyone to see. Not you, not Jackie, especially not Jessica. They were for me. Some people take drugs to get them through the days and nights when there’s nothing else.

  "Now, I won’t say I’ll try to be a good boy and stop loving her. You should know, it just doesn’t work that way. But she can never know about this, about today, not ever. And the only way she’s gonna know is if you tell her."

  Mac looked at the floor, his throat seeming to grow tighter by the minute. Dane was quiet for a time, now slowly sipping his beer, mulling over his next thought.

  "I meant what I said, about us being friends. I never thought it possible, to be honest. You are the last jerk on earth I wanted to get close to. You beat me hands down at my own game. And you don’t play dirty. You make me sick with your morality, your reason, and you’re a lousy drinker. You are forever making me look bad. But the night your son was born, it occurred to me that I didn’t have to compete with you, and, I won’t. You have my word, Mac."

  "Why should I believe you?"

  Dane peered at Mac, his eyes conveying an honesty so powerful, so bold that Mac was shaken. The machismo image, the usual cocky arrogance was, at least temporarily, stripped away, and Mac knew he needed no further assurance.

  With great effort, Dane leaned forward and extended his hand.

  After a moment, Mac reached out, his own hand cautious and hesitant. "Why do I get the feeling you’re going to toss me right over the back of that couch?"

  Dane’s serious face split into a wild grin as he grasped Mac’s hand. "There’s just one little word of caution," Dane added as Mac sat back down. "If you ever, ever take off on her again, I’m only giving you twenty-four hours to get back. After that, she’s fair game."

  "You won’t ever have to worry about that."

  "I won’t. It’s you who should worry, pal."

  Twenty-four

  Lightning Strikes

  Anticipation crackled throughout the theatre like unleashed electricity as the seal was broken on the final envelope. The reading of the winning film title prompted immediate, thunderous applause.

  "Accepting the award for Dane Pierce is co-star and Best Actress Nominee, Jessica Taylor-MacKendall."

  On stage, Kevin Costner was handed a gold statuette as he waited.

  Best Picture. Dane’s Lost Season was the Very Best Picture of the Year! Jessica had to remind herself to breathe as she accepted the Oscar from Costner. He kissed her cheek in the process, nearly sending her reeling to the floor; he was wearing Dane’s cologne.

  At the podium, she leaned forward to the microphone with a grin. "Mac darling, you were right, it is scarier on live TV."

  When the applause and laughter had quieted to her satisfaction, her voice took on a serious tone. "I’ve been asked to make a brief announcement. As some of you know, a terrible…accident occurred last Saturday morning and Dane was critically injured. However," she held up her hand to quiet the now murmuring crowd, "however, after several hours of surgery, Dane is doing well, is as ornery as ever, and is watching us right now, I’m told." There was an enthusiastic response from the audience, and Jessica waited patiently for it to subside.

  "When Dane first told me about Lost Season, he said although the story had been done before, it had not been done by him. I remember thinking that if all it took was arrogance and obstinacy, Lost Season was sure to be a hit." The audience laughed. "But, of course, I was only partly right. Perhaps arrogance and obstinacy got the story into script form, but it was diligence, courage, determination, dedication to the art, not to mention nastiness, stubbornness, crude, despicable behavior…and lots of hard liquor that brought Lost Season to Oscar tonight." Again she paused for quiet. "Moreover, it took a work ethic many of you have never seen." Clearing her throat, she unfolded a white sheet of paper.

  "Dane would like to thank…the Academy." To this there was an uproarious response, for it was well known among Dane’s colleagues that he had clashed with the Academy on many occasions. "And…and the following." Jessica read from the list, painstakingly written out by Dane, of the many professionals who had helped bring Lost Season to the screen. The list was not over-long, but included both Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker, and soon Jessica turned it over.

  "Also. My dear, beloved mother and father, who I know are here with me tonight; my wonderful children, who, by the time they are old enough to watch Lost Season, will not recognize their decrepit old dad; my friends, Roxie and Tom, always there when I need them; Jessica MacKendall, a constant pain in the ass, for believing in me when no one else would, and my brother Mac MacKendall, for letting me wear the white hat once in awhile."

  Her cheeks glistening, her body trembling, Jessica felt Kevin return to her side and gently grasp her elbow.

  "From everyone involved with Lost Season, thank you!"

  They walked off the stage, Kevin whispering in her ear, "You should have gotten Best Actress, dammit. And what did he mean by ‘a pain in the ass?’"

  "I am," she said simply, reaching on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Thanks, Kevin." Grasping the heavy, faux Oscar she left him to join her husband backstage.

  ~ * ~

  To some, it may seem unorthodox to picnic at the beach so soon after a funeral. But to a small group of mourners who once called Jacqueline Spencer their friend, a Sunday afternoon picnic was just the right thing to do, the Jarrick house the right place to be. Tom fired up the barbecue and Roxanne pulled out all the stops with mai tais and daiquiris sporting tiny, paper umbrellas. The large redwood deck was the perfect place to relax and watch the children running along the beach in the wind.

  Jessica freed her hair from its barrett
e and, closing her eyes, let the breeze drag it away from her face. Despite the festive mood of the party and the afterglow of Dane’s big win the night before, she was absorbed with the earlier events of the week, the year. She could still see the faces of Jackie’s parents in the chapel, their dour and accusing glances in her direction as she sat between Dane and Mac.

  The family had insisted upon an open casket, but neither Jessie nor Dane approached it that grim Thursday morning. And now Mac sat beside her, painstakingly constructing a dime store kite.

  "You’d think I’d remember how to do this…" he murmured, carefully untangling the kite string and attempting once more to thread it.

  "How did she look, Mac, when you went up there?" Jessie asked softly.

  His fingers continued to work, his eyes never leaving the kite. "She looked beautiful, and peaceful."

  "What was she wearing?"

  "She was wearing some pink thing. Conservative. Pink lipstick. And a gold cross necklace."

  "Did you touch her?"

  "No."

  Jessie sipped on her straw. The real question, her biggest concern, could not be answered by Mac. Jackie was the only one who knew the answer, and Jackie was dead and buried.

  "There. Does this look right?"

  Jessie turned to look at the kite Mac held up for inspection. "It’s exquisite, darling."

  "For a buck twenty-nine, it should be." He stood up and hurried down the redwood steps to the sand, calling out for Megan and Alex.

  Jessie watched them for a moment, then turned her gaze back to the deck and Dane, who was dozing in the chaise lounge. He was wearing cutoffs and sunglasses, and Jessie decided he still looked sexy despite the cast on his leg and the bandages.

  Roxie joined them from the house, tripping on the patio door track and nearly tossing a platter of hors d’oeuvres onto the deck. Dane’s hand shot out to steady her, and he forced a grin to hide the pain in his shoulder.

  "You okay Roxanna?"

  "Just my usual, clumsy self," she said, squeezing his hand. "Thanks."

  Tom appeared in the doorway behind her, wearing an enormous chef’s hat the wind was threatening to carry away.

  "Actually, she’s not her usual, clumsy self. She’s a new, clumsy self," he advised them with a smile.

  "Oh stop," she warned, shooing him away. "It’s not for sure."

  At her comment, Dane sat forward and lifted his glasses. "Oh-oh."

  Jessie, too, turned questioning eyes on her friend. "Do you think--?" she asked.

  "Well…I was going to wait until later to tell you guys, we just used one of those drug store kits…but…"

  "Oh my God! Rox!" Jessie jumped up and hugged Roxie. "That’s incredible!"

  They sat down together, giggling, and Dane lay back, shaking his head. He looked up at Tom.

  "You ready for this…again?"

  "Oh yeah. I think I’m more ready than she is."

  Roxie’s face turned more serious. "I wanted to tell you that day at Macy’s. I was going to tell you at lunch, but then when she showed up…" She glanced hesitantly at Dane, then back to Jessica. "…all talking about babies, and acting like she was pregnant, well, I just didn’t think it was the right time."

  Jessie nodded, her face feeling hot despite the breeze. Roxie kissed her on the cheek and went back into the house with Tom, leaving Jessie and Dane alone on the deck.

  Dane raised his good arm and propped it behind his head, lazily regarding Jessica in her chair across from him. Jessica, however could not seem to keep her eyes on any one thing. On the beach, Mac was running about like a mad man trying to get the kite to fly amid a waterfall of giggles from his daughter. From inside she could hear Roxie lamenting that the potato salad was too salty. Still, Dane stared.

  His voice was low but loud enough for her to hear when finally he spoke. "She wasn’t, you know."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. Jackie. There was no baby."

  Jessica’s mouth suddenly became dry. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, tried to appear calm and collected but at last gave up and went to him. She sat at the edge of the lounge and stared at him. He knew. He knew about her fear, the terror that had been eating away at her heart for days. She took his hand.

  "Thanks," she whispered.

  His only answer was a subtle nod.

  ~ * ~

  "So the police think she was despondent over your breaking off the engagement. You didn’t tell them about all the other stuff?" Mac asked as they dined on the deck in the late afternoon.

  "I just didn’t think it needed to be told. She really suffered. It would prove no point. But if you want the record set straight…" Dane said.

  "No. That’s the last thing I’d want to do. I still can’t believe it. Whatever happened to Ron Jenkins?" Mac wanted to know.

  "He skipped town before I could get to him. Back in Nevada, I’m sure. Please, forgive me if I seem rude, but I’m starved. I feel like I haven’t eaten in six months."

  "You haven’t. Chow down, pal."

  Dane put together a second hamburger and turned his attention to Charlene, who had arrived late and was now quietly joining them.

  "I didn’t recognize you earlier. I apologize for ignoring you."

  She eyed him coolly. In Jessica’s simple, Hawaiian print dress and her rich, deep, rosy-blonde hair falling into luscious curls, she looked softer and more feminine, and for the time being, she refrained from smoking.

  "‘S’all right," she remarked, lowering her eyes away from his almost intimate stare.

  Mac stood and took his fussing son from Jessica’s arms, and soon had him back asleep on his shoulder. "The magic touch," he murmured, sliding into his chair while maintaining the rhythm of his stroke on the baby’s back.

  Dane gazed upon them nostalgically for a moment, then turned his attention back to Charlene. "So, what’s next for you? Mac says the two of you are traveling next week."

  Charlene stared at her brother briefly. "Maybe," she offered, casting her eyes down. "He thinks I need professional help. And I do, but not the kind he means." Clearing her throat, she nervously wound a paper napkin around her finger. "I owe you all an explanation. I know how I must have seemed, but…I’m not a prostitute and I don’t do drugs…anymore. And Cory is not the spoiled rotten kid he was at home. We both sorta expected the wrong thing."

  Mac watched his sister thoughtfully; Charlene continued.

  "Our father…promised me some money. I came out to get it. I work in a halfway house in St. Paul for runaways like me. They desperately need cash to keep going…they saved my life, and I wanted to repay them. Cory’s never known what it’s like on the streets, and I hated him for all his luck and wealth. I realize now that luck has little to do with it."

  She paused again, stealing another glance at Mac, her eyes apologetic.

  "So really, I can go home and take care of myself. We even have children in the house, not legally, of course, but they have no place else to go. They’re like, homeless, you know? They’re tough kids, but I like working with them."

  "Why don’t you stay here for awhile?" Mac said quietly.

  "In L.A.? L.A.’s a pit."

  "St. Paul is a pit."

  "True, but it’s my pit and I have friends there."

  "You have family here."

  "I don’t want to sponge off you, Cory. And I never told you how sorry I am for what I did. I was just so filled with hatred. Please forgive me."

  Jessica looked at her sister-in-law with forgiveness.

  "Look, we can put together some funds for the house. It’s not a problem. Just…hang around for awhile." Mac’s voice was sincere.

  "No. I don’t want your money." Charlene’s defenses went up.

  Dane sighed heavily, painfully adjusted his leg, then nonchalantly leaned forward on his fist.

  "Say, Mac. Not to change the subject, but you wouldn’t know of anyone looking for a job…all things considered, my affairs are a mess. Everything went to hel
l when Pete moved out."

  Jessica smiled at his use of the term "affairs," and he winked in her direction.

  "I need someone who can help look after Alex and manage my estate. Or maybe that’s manage Alex and look after my estate. They can’t be afraid to handle a tough little kid."

  Mac shook his head slowly. "No, can’t think of anyone off-hand."

  Dane turned innocent, questioning eyes on Charlene.

  "How old is your son?" she ventured, cautiously allowing their eyes to meet.

  "Seven."

  "He’s a hellion, Char," Mac put in.

  "I beg your pardon?" Dane demanded in mock irritation.

  "Couldn’t be any worse than my brother was," Charlene teased. "I’d like to meet him."

  "He’s crashed in the bedroom upstairs. Maybe you could give us a ride home later. If…" he added smoothly, "you’re not busy." His voice wrapped her like fine silk.

  Charlene considered his offer, squirming uneasily on the bench beside him. Dane flashed her an intriguing smile, his eyes emerald and shining. She colored, turning to Jessica for support.

  Jessica gave her a barely perceptible shrug and reached beneath the table to squeeze Mac’s leg. Charlene took a deep breath and turned back to Dane with a hesitant smile. "I, uh, guess I can do that."

  "That would be nice. You know, I really do need to get another car. Alex is getting a little big for that backseat. I was thinking about a Jag XJ-5. What do you think, Jess? Mac?"

  Before Jessica could deliver a scathing comment, Dane turned away and casually slid his arm along the top of the railing behind Charlene.

  Mac and Jessica turned to one another and shared a common, unspoken, joke.

  "And so it begins," Mac murmured, watching Dane’s animated movements as he imparted some seductive tale to Charlene. Jessica could not hear Mac’s words, but her thoughts mirrored his, adding only the word "again" to the end.

  ~ * ~

  "Life’s full of beginnings and endings, isn’t it?" she asked as they drove away from Tom’s driveway, their two sleeping children strapped into the backseat of Jessie’s new Lexus.

  "Yup. I never realized that more than the week Dev was born."