If I Can't Have You

by Patti Berg

  Instantly, the stark photos in Charlie’s books of Carole’s silk-clad body lying lifelessly on white-satin sheets filled Adriana’s mind. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Her eyes were closed as if in sleep. Her hands were folded over her chest, as if she’d done nothing more than lie down to rest.

  “Trevor and I were out on one of the terraces watching the fireworks when Charlie showed up,” Janet related. “He told us that Carole had committed suicide sometime during the night.”

  “I’ll never forget the horror in Trevor’s eyes,” Charlie said. “I remember his words, too, although they didn’t make any sense. ‘I’ve failed,’ he said. I expected him to go off and get a drink, but instead he just walked away. He wanted to be by himself, and I didn’t bother stopping him. Janet was crying, and I couldn’t leave her. Not then.”

  “I felt like Carole’s death was all my fault,” Janet said. “If I hadn’t begged Trevor not to go with her, things would have been different. I was so sure of that.”

  “It’s not true, though,” Charlie insisted. “We learned later that Carole had attempted suicide several other times—and failed. None of us realized how depressed she was.”

  “If she hadn’t hidden the fact, maybe we could have helped her,” Janet said. “Maybe I wouldn’t have been so selfish in wanting to keep Trevor away from her. At the time, though, all I could think of was that she had died, and I was responsible.”

  “She asked me to get her something to drink,” Charlie said, gazing reflectively at his wife. ‘I needed something strong, too, so I went inside to the bar. I wasn’t gone long, but I couldn’t find her when I got back.”

  “I’d decided I wanted to die,” Janet said. “It seemed like the easiest thing to do. I didn’t want to think about what had happened to Carole. I didn’t want to deal with any of my problems any longer, so I walked down to the Poseidon Pool, stood at the edge for the longest time, and then I walked into the water. I don’t remember anything else until Charlie was holding me in his arms.”

  “I was frantic,” Charlie said. “I’d searched everywhere, and then I heard the splash in the water and saw Trevor swimming toward Janet. I ran down the stairs and down to the pool.”

  Charlie hesitated, and cleared his throat. He reached up and wiped his eyes, then continued. “I thought she was dead. I can’t tell you how happy I was when she started talking. Trevor and I took her inside, got her something to drink. She was feeling better then, until she realized her diamond necklace was gone.”

  “My parents had given it to me,” Janet added. “I thought I must have lost it in the pool, and Trevor said he’d find it for me. But he never came back.”

  Adriana saw the trembling in Janet’s lips, heard the quiver of sorrow in her voice.

  “I had another breakdown after that,” Janet said. “I felt responsible not only for Carole, but for Trevor’s disappearance. If he hadn’t gone searching for that necklace...” Her words trailed off. “I came here to Magnolia Acres. It was the best place for me at the time, at least until the doctors found the right medication to treat my depression. Charlie stuck by my side until I was well. We were married not too long after that.”

  “I tried searching for Trevor when Janet was well, but I wasn’t successful,” Charlie said. “Finally I wrote a few books on what I knew of Trevor’s life. I left out the parts about Janet’s attempted suicide, and Trevor going back to the pool for her necklace. I was afraid of what people might think. It’s so easy to find fault with someone if they can’t defend themselves.”

  “I didn’t care about the necklace after that,” Janet said. “I wanted Trevor to come back, that’s all. I wanted him to see how happy I was, to let him know that if he hadn’t pushed me away—pushed me in Charlie’s direction—I might have spent my life wanting someone I couldn’t have.”

  “We owe everything to him,” Charlie said. “We always wished he’d return.”

  “I’ve wished that, too,” Adriana said. “Many times.”

  “I’d like to show him what we did to Magnolia Acres. We bought this place when Charlie returned from the war. I didn’t want to act anymore, and it seemed like it would be the perfect place to raise children. Of course, we weren’t blessed with any. We wanted to share it with others, though. It’s such a beautiful place. Most of the people living here were actors at one time, and we try to make it nice for all of them.”

  Charlie got up and walked slowly to the window. “And they’re all going to be expecting hamburgers and fireworks soon.”

  Janet reached out and took Adriana’s hands. “I hope we’ve told you something that will help, Miss Howard. I don’t mind if people know about my suicide attempt. It’s past history. I just want the truth to be told about Trevor. Some of the books don’t paint a pretty picture of him. He did drink a lot. He loved women. But he was the best friend I ever had—until Charlie. He saved my life in more ways than one. I don’t know what happened to him, but I’ve always hoped that he found a new life with the mystery woman he’d fallen in love with.”

  Adriana hoped the same thing.

  And she wished that her dreams of being Trevor’s mystery woman would come true.

  Chapter 28

  Adriana swept her fingers over the green-and-yellow body of the Duesenberg, remembering photos taken in the thirties of Trevor and his favorite car. Whenever she touched it, she sensed his closeness, although she knew that couldn’t be. Trevor Montgomery had disappeared in 1938. He was probably dead. Yet, she could almost smell the faint scent of tobacco on the seats. Chesterfields, maybe. The brand Trevor had always smoked.

  That was impossible, though. A cigarette hadn’t been smoked in that car for six long decades.

  She touched the pale green leather of the driver’s seat and the slight indentation where his back had always rested. She opened the door and climbed inside, smoothing her hands over the steering wheel. The fragrance of musky cologne wafted around her, so strong, so real, that she could see Trevor sitting in the seat, one hand on the wheel, one arm extended over the back, his fingers playing with a woman’s hair—her hair—which blew gently in the breeze as they navigated the winding turns of Highway 1.

  Only a memory, she told herself.

  No, not a memory. A dream.

  And dreams like that don’t come true.

  That’s enough folly for tonight, she told herself, as she left the car and walked toward the house. It was late, well past midnight, yet she wasn’t tired. Instead of going inside to bed, she strolled to the edge of the grass and stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the beach.

  For one instant she thought she saw a man standing in the moonlit waves, his white jacket swirling about him. But there was no man, only a gathering of foam on the water.

  Taking off her shoes, she walked down to the beach and put her toes in the outgoing surf. She shivered in the cold night air, and curled her arms around herself, wishing someone else was there to keep her warm. She didn’t want someone else, though. She wanted Trevor Montgomery—but the man she’d long been in love with, the dashing, daring movie idol, no longer existed. He would never hold her. He would never love her.

  Except in her dreams.

  She walked back up the stairs, across the terracotta patio, and into the house that she loved because it held so many memories of Trevor. He felt so close, so real when she moved through the rooms where he once had walked, when she touched little things that he once had touched. For nearly eight years the small adobe had eased her loneliness and brought her comfort at night. Tonight, though, she felt empty, as if her heart had been torn away. She felt lost, as if she was destined to wander forever in search of the one she loved.

  She turned on the lights in the living room, and for just one moment she thought she saw a desolate looking man sitting on the sofa skimming through her books. She thought she saw tortured eyes looking up at her. There was no man, though. Only books about the life of Trevor Montgomery.

  In the kitchen, she made a cup
of Earl Grey and searched the refrigerator for something sinfully rich to stir into the tea. But there was nothing sinful inside. Nothing fat, or sweet, or salty. Her father wouldn’t have approved.

  Suddenly, that didn’t matter. Suddenly she wanted to go shopping and fill the icebox and cupboards with chocolate chip cookies, black walnut and chocolate macadamia nut ice cream. She wanted to go to McDonald’s for a Big Mac and fries—but she didn’t know why.

  Her impulsive thoughts made no sense at all.

  Taking the cup of tea, she walked back through the living room and down the hallway. When she passed the bathroom, she thought she glimpsed an ebony-haired man shaving in front of the mirror. She stopped, turned on the light, and realized the room was empty, but the musky smell of aftershave drifted about her again. She gripped the edge of the door as a blinding vision flashed in front of her eyes.

  A man stood at the mirror in tight black Levi’s and nothing more. With straight razor in hand, he shaved away the hint of a mustache, and smoldering brown eyes gazed into the crystal-clear glass and smiled—not at his reflection, but at her.

  “Trevor,” she whispered.

  The hallucination shimmered like a summer-day mirage, then vanished.

  She forced herself not to cry. Not over a dream. Tears should be saved for real happiness, real sorrow, not for illusions of how she’d like life to be.

  Taking another sip of her tea, she watched the mirror, hoping the vision would return. One minute went by. Two. And then she gave up, turned off the light, and went to her room.

  She put Captain Caribe in the VCR, and lay back on her bed to watch Trevor swinging from the yard-arm and teasing his lady. It was impossible not to love him. He was everything a woman could want—and more. Dashing. Daring. Tender and warm. He was a hero in every sense of the word.

  But he’d disappeared a long time ago. He couldn’t step out of a movie to love her any more than he could walk through her door and tell her he’d been suspended sixty years in time—waiting to become part of her life.

  Oh, Trevor. You’re just a celluloid dream, and I’m a crazy woman.

  At two in the morning, she climbed from the bed, pulled a white-satin gown from a drawer, and began to dress for the night.

  She peeled off her pale blue silk blouse, her navy pin-striped slacks, a lacy camisole, and slid the negligee over her head. Her fingers brushed lightly over her legs as she removed her panties, and a jolt of desire whipped through her limbs, her stomach, her heart, leaving her weak and gasping for breath.

  She grabbed hold of the bedpost as other sensations breezed over her skin.

  For one moment she felt a strong pair of hands whispering along her legs and lightly caressing her thighs. She felt warm lips teasing her belly and powerful arms pulling her into their embrace as intense brown eyes gazed deeply into hers. She tasted salt water and whiskey on her tongue, and felt a sensual mouth slanting expertly over hers as it coaxed her to fully enjoy the kiss.

  She heard a deep, refined voice with a touch of bad-boy charm whispering. “One step at a time, Adriana. I’m in no hurry. No hurry at all.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away. Where could those feelings have come from? she wondered. Where was the man who’d held her and loved her and made her envision all those erotic and impassioned sensations?

  He doesn’t exist, she told herself. He’s just a powerful dream taking over the mind of a gullible, love-starved woman.

  She didn’t want to think of the dream and visions any longer. They’d come on too strong, and they frightened her. She needed to forget them, and go back to her lonely, stable existence.

  Crawling into bed, she pulled the covers close to her chin, turned out the light, and tried to sleep. But the bed felt too big, too empty. As much as she wanted to forget all the things she’d imagined, they were already too much a part of her life, and pretending that someone loved her was so much better than being alone.

  She rolled over and touched the pillow beside her, picturing a lock of ebony hair hanging over a sleeping man’s brow. Trevor’s brow. She imagined the lightness of his breathing, warm hands reaching for her in his sleep, and snuggling close to each other in the center of the bed.

  “Good night,” she whispered, as she kissed her finger and touched it to the pillow.

  The musky fragrance of aftershave clinging to the lace-edged case wrapped around her, not imagined this time, but real.

  She smiled, then pulled the pillow close, and went to sleep holding a dream in her arms.

  oOo

  The scent of strong French roast and frying bacon swirled through the bedroom, waking Adriana from her deep, dream-filled slumber.

  “Mmmm, smells good,” she whispered.

  Pushing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and stood in the middle of her bedroom, waiting for her eyes to clear. Rubbing the morning chill from her arms, she followed the heavenly scent down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” she sang, but the joy left her voice when she confronted an empty kitchen. No skillets sat on the stove. No bacon had been made or coffee perked.

  It was only a dream—but a pleasant one.

  Her stomach growled, and she felt the overwhelming craving for a rich, cheesy omelet fried in real butter. She wanted thick slices of crispy bacon and croissants slathered with raspberry preserves.

  She wanted to share them with the hallucination she’d seen in the bathroom last night, the man in tight black Levi’s with shaving cream covering his cheeks.

  He was only a dream—but she needed him.

  Going back to her bedroom, she turned the radio on and the strains of “The Way You Look Tonight” from Swing Time echoed around the room. She hummed as she made her bed, grabbing hold of the bedpost, pretending it was Fred Astaire and she was Ginger Rogers as she swayed back and forth, then let go of her partner and waltzed—all alone—around her bedroom.

  When the music stopped, she realized what she’d done. She’d danced. She’d never done it before—not by herself, not with Harrison, not with anyone. She’d felt too awkward, too inhibited. But it felt so right this time, as if she’d been taught by an expert, someone who’d held her close, and didn’t mind when she stepped on his toes.

  Folly, Adriana. Pure folly.

  Still, it made her smile as she went into the bathroom, showered, brushed her teeth, and, with a lightheartedness she hadn’t experienced in a long time, readied herself for the day.

  She took a tuxedo-style jumper from the closet and laid it on her bed, then went in search of a pair of black-velvet sandals—something from the forties—that she’d bought years ago and had never worn.

  It was dark at the back of the closet. She reached for the string on the overhead bulb, and ripped the ring off the end when she turned on the light.

  The old plastic ring slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor, rolling somewhere to the back of the closet.

  Getting down on her knees, she pulled the shoe box she was looking for from the very back, and saw the ring wedged in a crack in the baseboard.

  She reached for it, and the baseboard slid sideways.

  Pushing the plastic ring on her finger to keep from losing it while she tried to repair the baseboard, she shoved aside clothes to get closer to the wall, and heard a sudden, faint voice.

  Marry me, Adriana. Marry me.

  She shivered at the sound, at the feel of lips brushing lightly across her mouth.

  Breathing became difficult. Her heart began to pound. The voice wasn’t real. It wasn’t.

  “Marry me, Adriana. Marry me—now.”

  The fragrance of roses wafted around her, and in her hands she saw a huge bouquet of long-stemmed red and white roses. She closed her eyes to rid herself of the vision, but sounds came to her instead. A violinist played the song she’d been dancing to, a minister spoke words she’d heard only in movies: “I pronounce you husband and wife.”

  She touched the plastic ring on her
finger, and saw another hand touching hers, strong, bronzed fingers sliding the ring on her hand. She heard other tenderly spoken words. “I’ll give you diamonds the size of walnuts next time.”

  She looked up through tear-soaked lashes and instead of seeing the clothes, she saw a wavy vision of Trevor Montgomery.

  “I love you, Adriana,” he whispered. “Forever.”

  The words rang out loud and clear, stronger than any words she’d ever heard.

  Other things came to her, too. Stomping grapes on the beach. Skinny-dipping in the ocean. Making love behind a mummy case. Those weren’t dreams—they were memories.

  Had it really happened? Had she married Trevor Montgomery and forgotten?

  He’d disappeared sixty years ago, though. He’d disappeared after Carole Sinclair committed suicide, after he’d gone to his home—this home—and, as Janet had told her, written a letter.

  Trevor’s words came to her. “If anything happens, I’ll leave you a message.”

  A message. She tried to smile through her tears. He had been here. He’d proposed to her here in the closet.

  She wasn’t crazy.

  She pushed aside the baseboard and peered into the darkened hole.

  A yellowed envelope rested inside. She took it from its hiding place, and staring up at her were the words: For Adriana.

  Her fingers trembled as she opened the envelope and began to read:

  Adriana,

  I love you. That’s the one thought that has kept me going these past twelve months—that, and the thought of being with you again.

  You’re my life, Adriana. Without you, I feel I’m but half of a man. With you, I’m whole.

  I live on the memories of our days together. Quiet walks on the beach, a drive along the ocean. Teaching you to dance and loving the feel of you floating in my arms. Our wedding, and our wedding night, when we made love and promised we’d never be apart.