Summer Jazz

by Webb, Peggy

  She opened her mouth to vent her rage. Fortunately, a man with golden hair stepped out of the shadows and put his arms around the all-too gorgeous woman.

  "My wife and I loved your music, Miss Houston," the blond man said. "Hunter had told us about you, of course, and we've heard some of your recordings. But nothing had prepared us for your performance. You were electrifying."

  Mattie barely heard a word he said after "wife." She would be forever grateful to him for speaking. Otherwise she might have committed murder right there on the spot.

  She said, "Thank you." Or at least she thought she did. Hunter's grin was so wide and her legs were so weak with relief that she wasn't sure what she said.

  "Mattie." Hunter said, "I want you to meet my dear friend, Jessie Wentworth, and her husband, Dr. Blake Montgomery."

  Smiling, the stunning Jessie leaned toward Mattie. "Hunter grouched for a year because I kept my maiden name, but I've finally educated him in the ways of modern marriage. Fortunately, my husband wasn't so hard to convince. He knew from the beginning he was marrying a willful woman."

  Mattie felt an immediate kinship with the woman she'd so recently wanted to murder. She glanced from Jessie to Blake Montgomery. Judging from the expression on his face, Mattie guessed he would have approved of anything his wife wanted.

  "I'm delighted to meet both of you," she said. "Won't you come into my dressing room? It's a bit crowded, but it's better than standing in this dark hall."

  "You don't know what you're asking, Mattie," Hunter said. "If Jessie ever gets you cornered in there, she'll spend three hours talking about her children."

  Jessie laughed. "I've heard you wax eloquent on the subject, Hunter. Especially about your namesake."

  "Blake Chadwick Montgomery. Now, there's a kid who's worth talking about." He grinned. "Remind me to tell you about him sometime, Mattie. He has the finest pitching arm east of the Mississippi. Besides that, he has my brilliance and my good looks. He even has my charm."

  "And your modesty," Blake added. "Don't mind these two, Miss Houston. When they get together, they're irrepressible."

  "Call me Mattie." She liked these people. Immensely. She liked their friendliness and their warmth, and she admired the obvious love they had for each other. But she liked them most for the way Hunter was with them, smiling and relaxed and perfectly content to talk about children. No, not just content, she corrected herself. Eager. Proud. That streak of domesticity surprised her, especially in view of his playboy's reputation. The last ten years he certainly hadn't behaved like a man interested in having a family. There had even been a scandal, a paternity suit. She'd always wondered whether the child was his.

  Jessie linked her arm through Mattie's. "I'll go in and help you change. Hunter has planned a late dinner for all of us, and if we don't hurry I’ll soon be eating the hall carpet. Being pregnant does that to me."

  Hunter let out a whoop and scooped Jessie into his arms. "You're pregnant? Why didn't you two tell me?" He whirled Jessie before setting her back on her feet, then he clapped Blake on the back. "I envy you, old man."

  Jessie patted Hunter's cheek. "Your time will come, friend," she said softly. Then she whisked Mattie into the dressing room.

  “Now, tell me how you met Hunter, and don’t leave out a single detail.”

  Retelling the story, Mattie could almost believe that her feelings for him had never changed.

  o0o

  Dinner was a lovely affair. Dallas was spread out below them, neon billboards flashing, street lights stretching for miles, gaudy and bright and beckoning, pulsing with a kind of raw excitement that only Texas can generate. Inside the restaurant, the foursome discovered how much they had in common. They laughed at Hunter's wit and argued good-naturedly about Blake's philosophy. They talked of music and art and toys and happiness. They discussed merchandising and politics and travel.

  And all the while, Hunter and Mattie watched their two companions. Mattie saw the tender glances Blake gave his wife, and she felt envy. Hunter watched the way Jessie's hand kept stealing across the table to nestle in Blake's, and he felt deprivation. Mattie noticed how Blake's eyes lit up every time he looked at Jessie, and she longed to feel that loved. Hunter saw that Jessie glowed with contentment, and he was determined to put that same glow on the face of his Mattie.

  o0o

  After they had gone their separate ways—Mattie to her house, Hunter and his guests to his—her feeling persisted that something precious was missing from her life.

  She tiptoed into Papa's bedroom and gazed at the sleeping man. He looked so fragile in his sleep, his hair beginning to thin and his hands networked with delicate blue veins. He was all she had. And he was so old.

  She suddenly had a vision of her future, a vista of empty years stretching out before her, endless and lonely, with nothing but her music to stand between her and a sometimes cruel world.

  Bitterness rose in her. "Why did you do this to us, Hunter?"

  She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Papa stirred.

  "Mattie? Is that you, honey?"

  She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand. "It's me, Papa. I didn't mean to wake you."

  He sat up and propped himself against the headboard. Awake, he was once more the vital grandfather Mattie adored.

  "Didn't mean to fall asleep. How was the concert?"

  "It was marvelous. You're going to enjoy the matinee."

  "I know I will. Are you going to play my favorite song, Our Love Is Here to Stay?"

  "Yes. Why do you love that song so much, Papa?"

  "It expresses what your grandmother and I had. I wish you could have known her. My Mattie was something special. You're a lot like her, you know. Independent and spicy and beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. And I still miss her."

  "I wish I could have known her, too, Papa. I wish I could have seen the two of you together. Daddy and Mother never expressed their love openly. I sometimes wonder if they even loved each other."

  "William worshiped your mother. You, too. You were the child of that love, and don't you forget it, Mattie."

  "And my mother..." She left the sentence hanging. She felt guilty for probing. Her mother had been a special kind of woman, intense and high-strung and totally dedicated to her profession. But she had also been gay and lively and charming. Especially charming. Love welled up in her as she remembered her mother's charisma. Beside that glamorous appeal, Victoria's casual flirtations seemed insignificant, harmless manifestations of her exuberant spirit. Her aversion to loving touches, small hugs, and little pats on the cheek paled to nothingness. Mattie was lucky to have had such a wonderful mother.

  "Your mother was. . . different, Mattie. People have various ways of showing how they feel." He squeezed her hand. "You're not like her. Not even remotely. Be yourself, Mattie."

  "Thanks." She leaned over and kissed him. "Good night, Papa."

  After she left, Phillip Houston lay in the darkness and cursed Victoria Houston.

  o0o

  Phillip Houston and Mickey Langston sat in the front row of the concert hall. Mattie s rendition of Our Love Is Here to Stay sent chills up the spines of the crowd.

  "That's my granddaughter." Phillip's loud whisper carried three rows back.

  Several people loudly shushed him.

  "Wait'll you get a gander at my great nephew." Uncle Mickey's whisper was equally as indiscreet.

  More people hissed at him to be quiet.

  "He's fine, all right," Phillip answered. "He's nearly good enough for my Mattie." His proud whisper rose another decibel.

  Again, he was impatiently shushed.

  "Bunch of sourpusses," Uncle Mickey declared.

  "They obviously don't know who we are," Phillip Houston said.

  After the concert was over, everybody knew who they were. They proclaimed it loud and long, to anyone who would listen. By the time Mattie and Hunter had made their way back to the front of the hall, the lively gentleme
n were signing autographs.

  "They're having so much fun, I almost hate to interrupt them," Hunter said. "Maybe we should sneak into our dressing rooms and let them have their moment of glory."

  "Don't you dare, Hunter Chadwick. This is Papa's big moment. Watch." She strolled through the crowd until she was standing directly in front of Phillip, then she gave him a huge bear hug. "Papa! I'm so glad you came."

  Phillip beamed at the crowd. "See. I told you she's my granddaughter."

  Hunter joined them while the crowd laughed and vied for a place near the great jazz pianist. Some of them came close enough to touch her, others stood back and gazed in open-mouthed awe, and still others tried to satisfy their curiosity with questions.

  "How long will you be in Dallas, Miss Houston? I've heard you're moving here."

  "I'm going home to Paris day after tomorrow," Mattie said. The thought made her sad.

  "Are you really engaged to that Russian prince?"

  "Not yet," she said. She supposed a little white lie wouldn't hurt.

  "Do you dye your hair?"

  "No." She laughed at that one.

  "I've heard you're in love with a Texan. Is that true?"

  Her eyes were irresistibly drawn to Hunter's. "I don't have time for love," she said.

  The crowd gradually dispersed. Mattie said good-bye to Papa and Uncle Mickey, then escaped to her dressing room. She leaned against the door, thankful to be away from the curious crowd and even more thankful to be away from Hunter's probing eyes.

  Slowly she took the pins from her hair, then raked her fingers through the tumbled mass. She felt drained of energy, sapped of strength. It was just the usual letdown after a performance, she told herself. Certainly one man with sexy black eyes and a sometime-teddy-bear personality couldn't be the cause. She wondered if she'd made a mistake after dinner last night, agreeing to join Hunter at his lakeshore condominium for a little rest and relaxation after the performance today. How could an afternoon and evening with Hunter be restful and relaxing?

  Someone tapped on her door just as she was reaching for the zipper on her dress.

  "Come in," she called.

  "I'll help you with that." Hunter was through the door and already unzipping her beaded gown before she could protest. "I think I’ll take this as a permanent job."

  He slowly slid the zipper down, running his hands along her bare back, making an erotic experience of the simple task. Mattie studied their reflections in the dressing table mirror. They looked like any ordinary romantic couple, young, attractive, almost made for each other. It was a pity she couldn't believe the mirror, but it showed only the facade.

  Hunter's lips nuzzled her neck as he slid the dress down her shoulders. She caught it before her breasts were exposed.

  "Thanks, Hunter. I can take it from here."

  He ignored her. "As I said, this is going to be a permanent job. I plan to make your bugle beads my personal business." His eyes devoured her as he brushed her hands aside and lowered the gown to her waist. "And I don't plan to share them with anybody. Especially not that damn Russian prince."

  "That Russian prince story was blown out of proportion by the newspapers.” Somehow it seemed necessary to set the record straight. At least about that particular man. "We were never more than good friends."

  Hunter gripped her shoulders. "Is that true, Mattie? It's important to me."

  "It's true."

  They stood silently, their eyes locked, watching and waiting for some sign, a signal that would have bridged the gap between them. In that moment of truth they might have crossed the chasm of misunderstanding, but Hunter made a fatal mistake: He revealed his private hell.

  "One down and at least fifteen to go." he said.

  His words were the red flag, and Mattie became the bull. Her head snapped back.

  "How dare you!" She jerked herself free. Her hands shook as she pulled her gown over her bare breasts. "You're a fine one to talk about numbers. You've been in and out of every bed in Dallas. How dare you keep count of my lovers!"

  "Mattie, I'm sorry." He moved toward her.

  "Stop right there."

  He kept coming. One more step and she was back in his arms. He held her so tightly, she could barely breathe.

  "I admit to being a hypocrite. I admit to having double standards. But is that so wrong? A part of me still wants you to be the sweet innocent I fell in love with." He pulled her head down onto his shoulder and buried his face in her hair. "I love you, Mattie, just the way you are. I want you. No matter what."

  Mattie fought against her feelings of tenderness. She denied her feelings of love. With great determination she held on to her rage. And out of that rage came the courage finally to settle her old score.

  She lifted her head and looked up at him. "So you want me in spite of my fifteen lovers, do you? How would you like to be number sixteen?"

  Gazing into her ice-green eyes, Hunter cursed himself. He'd have given anything in the world to take back his words, but it was no use. They'd already been said. The wedge had been driven between them once more. The trust that had been blossoming between them was crushed under the harsh blow of reality. Once more he was forced to take Mattie on her terms.

  "You're on," he said grimly. "But be damned sure you mean it, because this time there won't be any back trouble to bail you out. Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes."

  He stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

  "I mean it, Hunter," she said to the closed door. "You'll rue the day you ever laid eyes on Mattie Houston."

  She jerked off her beaded gown and quickly dressed in peach-colored linen slacks and a matching silk blouse. She crammed her gown and makeup into her bag and left. Her heels tapped an angry staccato as she marched down the hall to Hunter's dressing room. Without knocking, she shoved open the door.

  "How does ten minutes suit you, Hunter?"

  He was wearing nothing except his tuxedo pants. "Fine, Mattie. Have a seat. The suspenders and cummerbund take longer than your dress." He unzipped his pants and stepped out of them.

  She pretended not to be impressed by him in his jockey shorts, but her eyes kept straying. And darned the luck, he would have to notice.

  "See anything you like, Mattie?"

  She licked her lips, certain he’d noticed that, too.

  "I never did trust a man who wore jockey shorts," she said.

  "It doesn't matter. Trust seems to be in short supply between us."

  "We have lust. That will suffice."

  "For the time being."

  She decided to let that remark pass.

  He finished dressing and took her arm. "Let's go."

  He marched her resolutely down the hall and into the parking lot. There he threw their bags into the trunk of his car, then pulled out onto the street. Mattie stared straight ahead, staunchly maintaining her attitude of not caring. Her chest was tight, and she felt as if there were no air left in the world to breathe.

  The late afternoon sun burned down on Dallas, scorching the asphalt streets until the heat seemed to rise up and smother the travelers. Even the air conditioning in the car couldn't dispel the suffocating sensation.

  Mattie longed for Paris. She longed for the Champs Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe. She longed for the fountains and flowers and bustle of busy people who didn't care whether she'd had fifteen lovers or none.

  Slanting her eyes toward Hunter, she stole a look at him. He might have been one of the stone statues in the Place de la Concorde, remote and cold. His expression froze her heart, and she shivered.

  "Cold, Mattie? I’ll turn on the heat."

  She was surprised he'd noticed. "Save the heat for the bedroom."

  His jaw tightened. Handling the car as if it were an angry stallion, he whipped down an exit ramp. Mattie saw that they were headed east, toward Ray Hubbard Lake and Hunter's condominium, just as they'd planned the night before.

  She wanted to yell, Stop the car and let me out. She wanted to scre
am, I take it all back. But it was too late. The car ate up the miles as Hunter ignored speed limits in his single-minded determination to reach his destination.

  In grim silence they arrived at his condominium on the lake.

  "This is it," he said. "If you can restrain yourself that long, I’ll unload the bags and we can get a bite to eat."

  She clenched her fists. "Fine. Making you number sixteen is not at the top of my list of my favorite things to do."

  Some small voice of sanity seemed to penetrate his consciousness.

  "Then why are you doing it?" he asked.

  She saw the change in him, noticed the softening of his face. It was almost as if he were offering her a way out. Almost, but not quite.

  "It's been a long time since Paris," she said, "and I'm a woman with an appetite." She got out of the car and slammed the door. Looking at him across the top of the Maserati, she added, "Lead on, Hunter."

  He stomped around to the back of the car and took out the luggage. He wanted to tell her to stop it, but couldn't. All this was his fault anyway. He was the one who had ruined a perfectly good weekend by bringing up the subject of her lovers. He had planned this weekend so carefully. He had meant it to be a time of love and healing. One careless remark had changed it into another of their pitched battles.

  Neither of them noticed the elegance of his apartment, all open spaces and gleaming glass and chrome tables and plush modern furniture. Nor did they notice the way the sun seemed to beam a benediction through the enormous skylight and the bank of windows facing the lake. They were too busy going through their separate hells.

  Hunter dumped the bags in one of the bedrooms, then went to the kitchen. Mattie sat stiffly on the sofa while he threw together peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. When he was finished he leaned across the bar to call her.

  The sight of her sitting there, looking so stiff and remote and somehow vulnerable, ripped at his gut. He wanted to call the whole thing off and start over, but it was too late.

  "Food's ready, Mattie."

  She walked toward him, moving as if she might break at every step. Holding her back very straight, she sat on the edge of her chair and bit into a sandwich. Hunter watched every move she made.