by Diana Palmer
“Tim, you have to,” she said gently. “You want to get a good education, don’t you?”
“What for? I’m gonna die!”
“No!” She hugged him closer. “You listen to me, young man, you’re a long way from dying! You can’t die. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to lose one, especially my favorite one!”
He looked up at her cautiously. “Am I really your favorite one?”
She nodded.
He grinned. “That’s nice.”
“Isn’t it, though?” She ruffled his curly hair. “So let’s have no more talk about dying. I’m going to be on television!”
“We don’t have a television.”
“I have one, and a VCR,” she said, naming her new purchases. “I’ll tape it and you can come to my place one Saturday and watch it with me.”
“All right! I never knew anybody who was on television before, except for that guy who was almost killed down at the shelter.”
Her heart skipped. “At the shelter?”
“Yep. Don’t you remember? I told you about him, that man from Haiti who had AIDS. These big boys said he’d give it to somebody, and they shot him.” He grimaced. “He had to go to the hospital. My mama got real scared and said maybe we’d have to leave and live somewhere else, you know, where people don’t know about me.” He looked up worriedly. “Ivory, those boys don’t even live at the shelter, but they’re always around. I don’t want anybody to hurt my mama and my sisters.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, Tim, I don’t want any of you to be hurt.” She felt the worry right down to her soul. She couldn’t protect Tim. Neither could anyone else. “Oh, damn the stupid virus!”
“That’s what I say all the time.”
She rested her face in her hands propped on her knees and stared at the street. “If I get rich, I’ll give money to research,” she said. “We’ll find a cure, Tim.”
“That would be wonderful. Ivory?”
“Hmm?” she asked absently.
He grinned. “Got any gingerbread?”
She chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I asked Mrs. Horst to teach me how to make it all by myself, and yes, I have. It’s in the bag I left with your mother. Come on. We’ll have a slice.”
He followed her up the stairs to the shelter. None of her neighbors knew about Tim’s condition, which she supposed was a godsend. Not that it would have made any difference. She wasn’t going to stop bringing him home with her on occasion, regardless of any minuscule risk. And if her neighbors had a problem with that, she’d just move. She could afford to do that. She just hoped that Marlene didn’t find out how famous she was becoming and how much money she was making. Her mother would demand so much, Ivory would have nothing left to help kids like Tim.
Unfortunately for Ivory, Marlene had found out. Ivory was featured in one of the major fashion magazines, and an issue of it showed up in Harmony, Texas, in a beauty salon where Marlene was having her hair cut and colored.
One of the customers who knew Marlene casually had spotted it and was enthusing not only about the new collection Ivory had created, but about the woman herself.
“But your name isn’t Keene, Marlene,” the woman, a catty sort, said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “It’s Costello.”
Marlene laughed a little loudly. “Now it is,” she said quickly. “My mother’s maiden name was Keene.”
“Well, isn’t it odd that Ivory uses that name instead of her father’s?”
“Surely everyone knows that Ivory wants nothing to do with me,” Marlene said with assumed anguish. “She hasn’t even written to tell me about her success in New York. I had to find it out in a magazine! How ungrateful she is,” she added huskily. “And after all the sacrifices I’ve made for her. Children these days just don’t care about anything except themselves.”
“That’s the truth,” a middle-aged woman nearby agreed. “My son lives in Canada and can’t even be bothered to write to me!”
“I thought Ivory sent you a check every month, dear,” the catty woman reminded Marlene.
Marlene pushed her colored hair back from her still-pretty face. “Yes, she does,” she replied. “For appearances, you know, to make everyone think she hasn’t forgotten about me. That’s all it is.”
“She’s never been much of a daughter to Marlene,” the middle-aged woman told the catty one. “Everyone knows how much trouble she was when she was a girl, always causing heartache for her poor mother. She ran off to school without even a word, and never came back once to see Marlene.”
“I don’t remember Marlene ever going to see her,” the catty woman murmured.
“Well, of course not, I was never invited,” Marlene said huffily. She glared at the woman. “She’s washed her hands of me, hasn’t she?”
“If it was me, I wouldn’t let her get away with it, now that she’s a success,” the middle-aged woman said vehemently. “By gosh, I’d get on a plane and go up there and make her share that money. God knows, you deserve more than a puny little check once a month from that girl, after all you’ve done for her, Marlene.”
Marlene was considering the angles. The woman was right. She did deserve more than she was getting. If her daughter was famous enough to get in major magazines, then she must be worth big bucks. Ivory had been sending her that pittance when she was probably able to afford diamonds and furs for herself. Well, that wasn’t going to continue. A little prodding, Marlene decided, and she could get what she was entitled to and more. Yes. Much more!
Unaware of her mother’s plotting, Ivory was making the most of her talents as she worked feverishly on her fall and winter collection. It was hard to feel comfortable working with wool when the city was smoldering hot outside. The air conditioner wasn’t doing its usual job, either, and she was irritable from the heat.
“Sushi and hot tea for lunch?” Dee suggested.
She looked up from her drafting table. “Ice cubes and ice cream?” she countered with a grin.
“Done! Let’s try that new place...”
The opening of the door cut her off in midsentence as Curry walked in. He looked unapproachable somehow, and his face was unreadable, as well.
“Excuse us for a minute, would you, Dee?” he asked. “I need to talk to Ivory.”
“Sure.” She went out, closing the door behind her.
He stood just inside the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his narrow gaze encompassing the harried young woman at the table. Her golden hair was collar length now, wavy and clean, framing a face with a complexion any cosmetics company would have loved. Clear gray eyes stared at him from it.
“What’s wrong?” she asked gently.
He shrugged and a faint smile touched his hard mouth. “The time is growing shorter,” he said. “I want to see the new designs.”
She grinned. “I’ve outdone myself,” she said impishly. She pulled out her sketches and displayed them for him, watching his face to see how they registered.
He picked up the black crepe evening suit with its distinctive black onyx butterfly and the smile grew.
“Nice.”
“Thank you. It’s another variation on Dee’s suggestion, remember?”
“Yes. I’ll give her a raise. Let’s see the rest.” He perched himself on the edge of her desk and looked through the sketches one by one. Some he liked, some he didn’t. The rejects went onto the floor, and all Ivory’s protests didn’t faze him. Cost of production had to be considered, he reminded her, and the company was far from out of the woods yet.
While he was looking through the designs, the boy from the mailroom stuck his head in the door.
“Special delivery,” he told Ivory, handing her an envelope. “You have to sign.”
He produced a clipboard. She scribbled her name without looking at the return address, and he thanked her and left.
But when she saw the return address, she gasped audibly and Curry immediately turned his head to look at her and then the envelope.
She put her thumb over the return name and address, so that he wouldn’t see it: M. Costello, Harmony, Texas. “Who’s it from?” he asked casually.
“A...cousin,” she lied quickly. “Back home.”
He searched her flushed, anguished face. “Now it’s my turn to ask you what’s wrong. Why has this letter upset you when you haven’t even opened it yet?”
“It’s from my cousin Jane. Her husband, my cousin Claude, has been very sick,” she invented.
“Is this Jane the poor relation you’ve been sending money to?” he asked gently.
Her face felt on fire with the lies she was rattling off. “Yes! That is, it’s really for Cousin Claude. For his medical care. They don’t have much insurance.”
He wasn’t suspicious. He smiled at her gently. “You really are as sweet as you look,” he said softly. “Dee says they love you at the homeless shelter. And then here you are sending money to relatives in need.”
“You do the same thing,” she accused gently. “You take wonderful care of your mother.”
He chuckled. “She’s the only mother I have.” He nodded toward the letter clutched in her fingers. “Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Not just yet,” she said, slipping it into her pocket while all sorts of nightmarish thoughts revolved in her mind. “I’d rather wait until I get home, so that it doesn’t start me worrying if it’s bad news.”
“Odd woman,” he chided. He touched her hair lightly and his face became solemn. “We’ve become two people with problems instead of two people looking for solutions together, haven’t we?” he asked quietly. “Both of us have backed away, Ivory.”
She touched his hand where it rested on her shoulder and the eyes that met his were sad. “As you said, we both have responsibilities.”
He nodded and searched her expression. “I want you to meet my mother.”
Her heart jumped. “What?”
“She asked me to bring you when I visit her tonight.” His hand contracted on hers. “Do this thing for me,” he said quietly. “It will give her peace, to meet you. I want her to see your eyes, Ivory.”
“My...eyes.”
He nodded. “The windows of the soul,” he murmured as he looked into them. “I see shadows there, but among them, I see tenderness and compassion and love.”
She flushed. “You shouldn’t...!”
He bent and brushed his mouth softly over hers, teasing her lips until they parted. “Say the words,” he whispered.
The tender, aching tone brought back the most exquisite memories of one long night together. Her breath caught delicately in her throat. Marlene’s letter, Marlene’s threat, was momentarily forgotten.
“I love you,” she whispered huskily.
He smiled against her parted lips. “And I love you. Too much.” He kissed her softly, lifting his head before she could savor the warm pressure. “This isn’t the place, querida,” he whispered, indicating the glass walls that enclosed the office.
“You own it,” she pointed out. “If you can’t kiss the employees, who can?”
He chuckled as he got to his feet. “I have to set a good example. We wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m practicing sexual harassment.”
“Is it harassment if both people want it?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “We’ll discuss it later.” His eye narrowed on her face. “I bought a bolt of red satin,” he said suggestively. “Suppose we go to my apartment after we see Mama, and we’ll create a dress together.”
Her whole body burned at the way he looked at her. “Tonight?”
He nodded. His gaze slid over her and back up to her face. “It’s been a long time.”
She shifted restlessly. “And you’ve been out on the town every night,” she accused.
“You know better,” he replied simply. “I told you at the very beginning that if I had you, I wouldn’t have another woman. I meant it.”
Her face cleared. Her eyes widened as they searched his hard, solemn face.
“You’re hesitating.” He moved closer. He seemed so much taller when they were standing toe to toe, she thought as she looked up into his face.
“Am I?” she asked absently.
He touched her lips with the tip of his forefinger.
“You were a virgin until me. Were you chaste because you think of lovemaking as a sin?”
She touched his shirtfront, frowning. “My mother...had to get married,” she said. “You know, wealthy socialite families don’t like scandal,” she added quickly.
“Ah. And you didn’t want to be forced into marriage by your family because of a mistake.”
Her nails bit into his skin through the shirt. “It wouldn’t be a mistake,” she whispered without looking up.
He stiffened. She felt it and lifted her eyes to his face. There was a hesitation and she wondered why.
“But you’re careful,” she said, coloring a little as she recalled how careful.
“Too careful, perhaps.” He caught her fingers in his with a long sigh. “I married when I was twenty-four,” he said. “My wife died in childbirth. So did the baby. It was a long time ago, and I know it isn’t so dangerous these days. But it has left scars.” His fingers tightened. “She was a long time dying. She blamed me every second of it. Sometimes I can still hear her voice.”
Suddenly she understood more than she had before—so much more. She nuzzled her face against his chin. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You haven’t had an easy life, Curry.”
“Not like yours, certainly,” he mused, feeling the faint start of her body where it touched his. “I was nobody’s cherished child. My upbringing was harsh, brutal. It shaped me, I suppose. My father was forever promising things that he never did. He lied, always lied. Even love doesn’t forgive so many lies. I suppose I haven’t really lost my suspicion of people, my distrust. Except with you.” He kissed her forehead. “You’ve restored my faith in the world.”
She felt panic growing inside her. She managed a laugh. “I’m not perfect,” she began.
“You are to me.” He moved back with a gentle smile. “What do you think about a baby?”
Her heart stopped beating. “Wh...what?”
“Not right now,” he emphasized. “But a little way down the road, would you like one with me? I think I could face the risk now, with medicine so much improved. And you look healthy enough. Are you?”
“Yes, of course. I...” She laughed nervously. “I never thought of you as a man who’d want a wife and family. Or, did you mean...marriage?”
“I’m Catholic,” he said. “Not a very good Catholic, but I don’t believe in divorce, so I’m careful. Maybe not so careful, now.” He searched her eyes. “We love each other. It isn’t just physical with us. Do you like children?”
Her head felt as light as her feet. She smiled slowly. “Yes.”
He smiled tenderly at her. “So do I. When we’ve had time to get to know each other, we might consider making some plans.”
She knew she was barely breathing. “Oh, I’d like that,” she said huskily.
“So would I. I like the way your eyes look when you’re happy.” He checked his thin gold watch. “I have to go. I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll go by to see Mama. Then we’ll go home.”
Home. It felt like home when she was with him. But she was worried about the letter. Maybe it wasn’t anything upsetting. Maybe...!
She didn’t open Marlene’s letter until she was in her apartment. It was the letter she’d hoped she’d never receive. Marlene knew everything. She’d seen the article in the magazine. She wanted more money, as Ivory had suspected, a lot more. And she’d like to come to visit, she added as a threat. She’d like to do some real shopping. Sure
ly her only child would like to have Mama visit for a few days. After all, Ivory wouldn’t want Marlene to talk to reporters. Or anything like that.
Ivory felt as if cold sweat was running down her back. It was blackmail, of course, but how could she possibly refuse? She was just on the threshold of fame. If she didn’t do what Marlene wanted her to do, she was going to be destroyed in the press. She knew without a verbal threat that Marlene would hash up the past and make it something totally sordid. She recalled an incident that would make her look as if she had no morals at all, an incident that Marlene had instigated, that still gave Ivory nightmares.
No, it wouldn’t be a pretty story, and Marlene was an expert at concocting believable lies. She had a true gift for it. Ivory would have to send more money back home. And if she could steer Marlene through a small shopping spree and out of the city before Curry met her...that would be the easiest way to handle things. After all, there was no reason for him to have to see her mother, or even know that Marlene was visiting. If Ivory were careful, she could cope.
Now, of all times, when she and Curry were thinking of a future together, she couldn’t let the threat of her mother destroy it all. She had to clear her mind of panic. She could work it out. All she had to do was remember that she was a grown woman now, not a child. She had no reason to fear Marlene anymore. She could manage the older woman, if she just didn’t panic. One day at a time, she thought. One hour at a time. And right now, she was going to meet Curry’s mother. She had to let tomorrow wait and not try to anticipate it. First things first.
Having settled that in her mind, she went to dress for her evening with Curry. She chose one of her own designs, one of the black crepe suits with the black onyx butterfly surrounded by tiny Austrian crystal jewels in ruby, sapphire and emerald hues. She let her hair fall softly around her face and smiled at her reflection. She hoped Curry’s mother would be pleased, that she wouldn’t take an instant dislike to her. Curry wouldn’t let that stop him, but it would strain things between him and his mother; and, under the circumstances, that would never do. Ivory couldn’t bear to have him hurt any more than he was being hurt by the prospect of his mother’s imminent death.
