Reckless Games

by M. J. Lowell

  “Don’t worry, I’m here,” he said. It took me a moment to place the twangy drawl. Adam Navarro.

  “Do you even know who this is?” I asked.

  “The lovely damsel in distress I keep rescuing.”

  “I’m not in distre— how did you get my number?”

  “You called me,” he pointed out.

  “But I didn’t leave a message.”

  “I had a feeling it was you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist my magnetism for long.”

  In spite of everything, I had to smile. “It’s true. I was growing weak with the effort.”

  “Then allow me to put you out of your misery. A friend’s parents throw a New Year’s Eve bash every year, and it would be only fair if you came as my date.”

  “Fair?”

  “To you. You owe it to yourself. This pal’s dad thinks he’s Gatsby. Or maybe the party is Gatsby-themed this year. In any event, they always lay out a good spread. Hot and cold running champagne, piles of caviar, ice sculptures of romping forest creatures. And, of course, my company.”

  I’d purposely turned down three different jobs for New Year’s Eve because I hated the frenetic crowds, the forced gaiety. “I wasn’t planning to go out that night.”

  “Perfect,” said Adam, undaunted. “That means you’re free. Where shall I pick you up?”

  I stared at the phone in confusion. “I don’t even know you.”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked. “I’m single, I have no pets, no police record, two houseplants, both a checking and a savings account, and I tell stories for a living.”

  “You’re a con man?”

  “I’m a journalist. And I know what you’re thinking now.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re wondering how one man can have so much going for him, but I really am the whole package. How can you resist?”

  I surprised myself by saying yes. A voice of reason deep within me insisted on it, told me it would be good for me, a healthy distraction.

  And a couple of days later, on New Year’s Eve, I did my best to shake off my funk and got ready for the party. According to Adam, the attire was “Speakeasy Chic” and for once I had just the outfit – a vintage silver-spangled flapper dress that had belonged to my grandmother.

  My grandmother’s short-lived career as a torch singer was the stuff of family legend. She’d sneak out of her disapproving parents’ house after they were asleep to perform at clubs in the city, and one evening my grandfather was at a table right in front of the stage. It was love at first sight – they eloped that night – and every year on their anniversary my grandmother would put on a costume from her nightclub days and serenade my grandfather. They died less than a week apart, as if they couldn’t exist without each other. I’d always wondered what it would be like, to be so necessary to someone else’s happiness. To be so wanted.

  The flapper dress and a few of the other old costumes still hung in my parents’ bedroom closet, but I’d avoided going into their room since my dad died. Now I steeled myself as I opened the door and flipped on the lights, trying not to see my mother’s paintings on the walls, my dad’s shaving things on the sink in the bathroom, the paper band from a cigar on his dresser.

  He didn’t smoke as a rule, only on special occasions. When I was younger he’d always present the band to me, like a king bestowing a precious ring on his princess. The cigar itself had been crushed out half-smoked in an ashtray on the coffee table in the living room. Apparently killing himself had counted as a spe—

  Stop it, I told myself.

  The closet was still full of his clothes, still smelled like him, and I had to blink back tears as I pushed them aside to find the dress I needed. On my way out, I picked up the cigar band and slipped it onto my thumb. “I love you, Daddy,” I whispered.

  The air was crisp and dry, but there were storm clouds overhead and the weather report threatened snow. At the last minute I pulled on Mrs. G’s coat. Full-length mink said Jazz Age glamour a lot better than my black down parka, and it also went better with the dress.

  Adam sent a Town Car for me, and we met in the lobby of the building on Central Park West. His friend’s parents’ place turned out to be the penthouse, an incredible duplex apartment high above Manhattan with an actual ballroom and an enormous terrace. The crowd had the well-cared for look that comes with money – tanned skin from island vacations, flawless hair and makeup, exquisite clothes. A jazz band played as circulating waiters poured Cristal and passed silver trays of hors d’oeuvres – tiny blini mounded with blue-black pearls of caviar, tawny melon wrapped in prosciutto, Scottish salmon and gravlax on golden toast.

  Adam proved to be a charming, thoughtful date, making sure my champagne glass was never empty and introducing me to everyone he knew. It was easy being with him, maybe because he was so comfortable in his own skin, and I was surprised by just how much I was enjoying myself. As the evening went by, the empty sadness that had been my constant companion seemed to recede, at least for a little while.

  It was close to midnight when we both agreed we could use a break from the dance floor and some fresh air. I told Adam I’d meet him on the side terrace in ten minutes and went in search of my coat and a bathroom. Too bad you’re not a jewel thief, I thought to myself with a smile as I threaded through the crowd. Half of Harry Winston and practically all of Tiffany must have been on display, and most of the guests were too drunk to notice a missing ruby earring or one less golden bangle.

  I found my coat first and then a powder room off a long hallway. As I washed my hands, my own face in the mirror froze me in place.

  I looked like a stranger. My eyes seemed huge, my cheekbones unusually sharp. And there was something in my expression that was startling and disturbing and raw.

  Loneliness. The empty sadness was still with me after all.

  I shook myself, dried my hands, and pulled the coat tighter around my shoulders. Get a grip, Lucy, I chided myself. Head down, I unlocked the door and pushed it open, making my way back down the hallway.

  A hand on my shoulder stopped me. “That’s my coat.”

  My eyes moved up, past a diamond necklace nestled in deep cleavage to the face of a beautiful blond-haired woman. Mrs. G.

  She was smiling at me, not unkindly. “I thought I recognized you. So, you’re still in the rotation?”

  “Rotation?” I asked, confused. Slowly it dawned on me. She meant Rhys, she was asking if I was still one of the countless women in his orbit. I stiffened. “I’m not in any rotation.”

  A look of surprise crossed her face and then she nodded. “No, I guess you’re not really Rhys’s type. Not at all like Marina. Or me, for that matter. Joff, on the other hand – he always had a soft spot for the waifish ingénues.”

  My mouth was dry. “You can have the coat back,” I said.

  She laughed. “Oh, no worries, the insurance has already paid up.” Her smile turned mischievous. “My husband was appalled when he heard I’d been mugged and had it stolen off my back, but of course how could he blame me? No, you keep it. It’s…adorable on you.”

  Adorable was a description for a cute child, not a grown woman in a luxurious fur, but there was no malice in her tone, no sharp mocking edge. And with a start, I recognized something familiar in her expression. Loneliness.

  The next moment it was gone and the bright smile was back in place. “I’ll tell Rhys you said hello,” she said and moved past me.

  I felt sick. The music was too loud, the crowd suffocating. I needed air.

  I spied the French doors leading to the terrace, and hurried toward them. A few people were outside enjoying the view, but when I turned the corner I was relieved to see I had the side terrace to myself – Adam had yet to arrive.

  The towers of midtown danced with light against a sky that was low and heavy with the promise of snow. The buildings looked like gaudy props on a stage set, unreal, insubstantial. I could hear horns on the street far below – it was impossible
to escape the city’s chaos, even in this rarified atmosphere. There were so many lives crammed into these blocks, so many stories. I thought about Mrs. G with her diamonds and bright smile and haunted expression. So much unhappiness.

  I heard footsteps behind me and turned. It was Adam, carrying two fresh glasses of Cristal.

  I forced my own bright smile. “I was just thinking I could use some champagne. How did you know?”

  “I’m a mind reader,” he told me solemnly. “Your grandmother might have been a torch singer, but mine was a witch.” He smiled down at me, and it was as though I was seeing him for the first time. I noticed how tall he was, and how handsome.

  “Did she really have powers?” I asked, taking the glass he offered.

  “The power to make me do what she said or I’d get spanked. My own powers, however, are completely genuine.” The joking note left his voice. “That’s how I always know when you need rescuing.”

  I couldn’t help thinking of Sawyer, of his addict’s selfishness and callous indifference. Of Rhys, who’d made it plain from the beginning that everything was a game to him, who warned me not to fall in love. And here was this charming handsome man, who really did seem to have an uncanny ability to show up exactly when I needed him. I should give him a chance, I thought to myself.

  The countdown to midnight began inside – Ten! Nine! Eight! – and Adam’s face was suddenly very close. His hand came around to cradle my head and his fingers twined gently in my hair. He held me there as the seconds ticked away – Three! Two! One! – and then brought his lips down to mine. It was a sweet, tender, picture-perfect kiss.

  And I felt numb, just as I had with Nico. Distantly I heard the cries of “Happy New Year!” from inside and the crash of fireworks erupting over Central Park.

  Adam moved his lips from mine and slowly opened his eyes. His gaze was unfocused at first, and his thumb came up to caress the corner of my lips but stopped in mid-air. He took a step back and gave me a searching look.

  “It wasn’t there for you, was it?” he said. There was disappointment in his voice, but his smile was warm, undemanding.

  I felt a rush of gratitude toward him, for not making me pretend, for not making me lie. “No,” I admitted. “I’m sorry.”

  His smile turned rueful. “Here I thought I was irresistible, but it’s the other way around. You’re the irresistible one. From the moment I saw you at the Plaza, I kept thinking about you. And then running into you that day in Grand Central…it was enough to make me really believe in witchcraft.”

  “I wish I did feel that way about you,” I told him.

  “Oh, you will,” he said. “As soon as I get my grandmother on the phone.”

  We both laughed. Adam couldn’t know how much I wished I could fall for him, could fall for anyone so uncomplicated and kind.

  “Is there somebody else?” he asked.

  It was hard to meet his eyes. “No. Yes. I mean— let’s just say that there’s someone on my mind, but he definitely doesn’t find me irresistible.”

  Adam shook his head in disbelief. “Then he’s definitely a moron. Do you want me to talk to him for you?”

  I laughed again. “If only it were that simple. But—I appreciate you taking me out tonight.”

  Adam clinked his glass against mine. “The pleasure’s been all mine. Now, I’m going to head inside and spend some time drowning my sorrows. And when the inevitable conga line starts up, I am going to lead it through all four thousand rooms of this ridiculous apartment, and I would really like to have you by my side. We may not be soul mates, but we can conga together, can’t we?”

  “We absolutely can,” I assured him.

  I was smiling as I watched him turn the corner of the terrace, but my smile faded as his footsteps receded, buried under an avalanche of self-recrimination. He’d given me exactly the kind of kiss I’d been longing for, dreaming of, from Rhys Carlyle. Exactly the kind of kiss Rhys would never give me.

  And I’d pushed Adam away because I was in thrall to a phantom, a man who didn’t even know – didn’t even care to know – my real name. A man I should never have let into my life.

  Walls can be a fortress, or a prison, Aunt Breezy had said when The Tower card appeared. Rhys had been like the lightning on that card, destroying my carefully constructed fortifications like a pillaging marauder. And then he’d left me alone in the wreckage, searching for answers. Underscoring, emphasizing the fact that I was wholly alone. Why did you do this to me? I wanted to ask.

  “Damn you,” I said aloud. “Damn you, Rhys Carlyle.”

  But even as I spoke, something clicked inside of me.

  I’d been asking the wrong question. Instead of asking why Rhys had so thoroughly overwhelmed me, I should have been asking why I let him.

  I’d told myself it was because I was looking for answers about my father’s death, but that was only part of it. The truth was simpler, more fundamental. I’d used Rhys as an excuse to throw open the gates, made him both the reason and the means to free the desire I’d locked away for so long. I’d created Tuesday Granite for him, but she was really a part of me. Could still be a part of me.

  I’d been relying on Rhys to show me what happened next, when I should have been trusting in myself, shaping my own future.

  And what’s that supposed to be? scoffed that ever-present inner voice.

  I’m not sure, I answered, suddenly filled with a surging sense of excited anticipation. But I know I can figure it out.

  Snow had begun to fall, large fluffy flakes floating down. I tipped my head back and let them dance on my tongue, reveling in the cold pinpricks. It was a new year. I could do anything. Be anyone.

  I let the coat slip off my shoulders and felt the snowflakes on my bare skin. Cleansing me. Purifying me. Giving me back to myself. I spun around, the sound of my own laughter bright and sparkling. The fireworks streaked the sky above with color, and the lights of the city winked before me, inviting, promising.

  I’m ready, I thought as I turned to go back inside.

  Rhys Carlyle was standing two feet from me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Who was that?” he asked, his tone sharp. In the dim light, his eyes were almost the same blue-black as the night sky above us.

  “Who was who?” I asked reflexively. Inside, I was reeling. I’d forgotten the astonishing impact of his presence, how it heightened every sensation. Suddenly the flickering golds and reds and greens of the fireworks were brighter, the chill in the air more bracing against my bare arms and shoulders.

  “The man you were kissing. And what does he call you? Is he one of the privileged few who’s in on the secret of your real name?”

  The edge in his voice brought me back to my senses. I almost laughed – it was as if kissing Adam had made Rhys appear, conjured him up out of thin air – and now he was playing at jealousy. But I wasn’t fooled, not anymore. I knew better, knew this was only part of his game.

  “Why is that any of your business?” I demanded

  “Because—” he started. For the briefest moment I thought I caught a glimpse of the vulnerable young boy I’d seen so fleetingly before, but in the next second it was gone. My imagination was playing tricks on me, showing me what I wanted to see, not what was actually there. “You’re right,” he finished coldly. “It’s none of my business. Only my natural curiosity about who else you’re fucking.”

  My hand flew up to slap him, but he caught my wrist.

  “How dare you?” I seethed.

  “How dare I what?” he said, my wrist still clasped in his powerful grip. “A man has every right to protect himself when attacked.”

  “It’s not my fault you’re so- so- slappable.”

  “‘Slappable?’” he repeated, arching a single eyebrow.

  “You know what I mean. And you can’t just show up out of the blue and talk to me like that, not after disappearing for the better part of a month.”

  He pulled me toward him, so close our b
odies were nearly touching. His eyes bored into mine. “I didn’t expect recriminations from you, Tuesday. I thought we understood each other. What promises have I broken?”

  None, I realized. Absolutely none. “You promised to change my life.”

  “And didn’t I?”

  “Not in a good way. Not in any way I wanted my life changed.”

  That was a lie, and we both knew it, but Rhys had the good grace to say simply, “Are you certain about that?”

  I didn’t answer, didn’t know how to answer. I shook off his grasp and moved to stand by the balustrade, looking out at the night. Rhys gathered up the coat from where I’d let it fall and draped it over my shoulders before coming to stand next to me.

  We stood side by side, not speaking, as the city celebrated the new year far below us. Hold on to your anger, I told myself. Use it like armor. But I could feel the magnetic pull of him, drawing me in. My wrist still burned from his touch.

  “I hate the bloody holidays,” he said abruptly.

  “That’s not how it looked on Page Six,” I said. “Or on the cover of Us magazine. Or People. Or In Touch. Or Hello!”

  “Did I appear to be having fun?” he asked, as if he genuinely didn’t know.

  “You looked like you invented fun,” I told him.

  “That’s good, at least,” he said, more to himself than me. “I wasn’t. I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed this time of year.”

  Images of his exploits flashed through my head. “Yes, having Dom Perignon poured down your throat by a trio of topless models can be such a bore.”

  “You have no idea.” He turned to me, and I was startled to see that he looked— older. Tired almost. “It’s all just a shadow play. Dragging out the same stale stereotypes, conforming to everyone’s expectations of the tech wizard playboy.”

  “Oh? Then why do it?”

  “It’s partly marketing. Shareholders seem to think only a genius could behave so badly. There’s a deal I’m considering, and I’ll need their approval if I decide to move forward.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if the antics, the debauchery, went with his job.