Something About Eve

by Debra Salonen

  Matt isn’t going to like this, Joy had predicted.

  Eve knew that for a fact. He’d already called back twice and even put his mother on the line once to try to talk Eve into staying put. But what the Rosses didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—was Eve’s deep-rooted insecurity. There was no way in hell she was going to be photographed looking the way she did at the moment, especially in a hospital bed.

  The Eve Masterson that millions of people saw on television each morning was an amalgamation—a product of thirty years of work. The hair. The smile. The rapier wit. Eve couldn’t help frowning at the contradiction her life had become. Here she was protecting her own image but wanting young women everywhere to know that outward appearances aren’t everything.

  She squeezed her eyes tight and wrapped her arms around her knees. Her world was on the verge of imploding, and there was very little she could do about it except hunker down and wait.

  Earlier that morning, when Matt had asked about the strange caller on her answering machine, Eve had panicked. What was she supposed to say? She wasn’t ready for him to know the truth.

  Eve’s head ached and her heart felt old and tired. She considered buzzing Joy to ask for a sleeping pill but decided against it. She’d need her wits about her in the morning.

  Where was Santa when she needed him?

  “DON’T WORRY, Ashley, I kept the receipts,” Deborah said as Ashley carefully eased her thumb under a piece of tape. Her aunt always took her gifts to a fancy wrapping center. “Last time we talked, you were into LL Bean, so I did the catalog thing this year.”

  Ashley’s excitement increased. There were cool things in that catalog. In fact, that’s where she’d ordered her dad’s sweater last Christmas. And she knew he liked it because he wore it a lot—and not just when he knew she was going to be around.

  She looked at her father. He occupied one of the two matching recliners—Grandpa had the other one. Although his eyes were trained on the scene before him, Ashley sensed his mind was somewhere else, and she had a feeling it was because of Eve Masterson.

  “Hurry up, slowpoke,” Ashley’s cousin Andrew said. He was four years her senior and full of himself.

  Ashley purposely drew out each movement.

  “Mother,” Andrew groaned. “She’s being a brat.”

  That seemed to get her father’s attention. He sat forward, the footrest of his recliner folding beneath the seat. “Hey, who you callin’ a brat, mister? You wanna talk about it outside?”

  Andrew leapt to his feet. “Snowballs to the death!” he cried.

  Aunt Deborah, who was holding Delia on her lap, intervened. “I don’t think so. Sit down, both of you. Ashley, honey, speed it up. The little ones—” she nodded at Andrew and Matt “—are getting antsy.”

  Snickering, Ashley whipped open the box. She found a fabulous cream-colored fisherman-knit sweater and black, cuffed hip huggers. “Your dad gave me the sizes,” Deborah said.

  Ashley reached across the distance and hugged her aunt—pesky little cousin and all. “Thanks so much. I love them both. Truly. I’ll wear them on the plane tomorrow.”

  Suddenly everyone went quiet. The air felt charged and awkward. Ashley held her breath waiting for someone to say something.

  “Whoa. It’s like someone farted in church,” Andrew said.

  Ashley slugged him.

  Her grandmother leapt to her feet and made a motion with her arm. “Come on, everyone. Pie and coffee in the kitchen.”

  The entire crowd piled out of the room—all except Ashley and her dad. “I blew it, didn’t I?” She couldn’t look at him. Her heart squeezed against her chest like someone was standing on her back.

  He crossed to where she was still kneeling and put his hand on top of her head. It felt as warm and comforting as a hug. She knew it was hard for him to get up and down, so she jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around his middle. Tears gushed from her eyes for no reason.

  “Don’t cry, baby,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s Christmas.”

  “I know, and it sucks,” she cried.

  He made a father sound. “Such language. What would Santa say?”

  She cried all the harder. “What if I have to move, Dad?” she blubbered against the fabric of his corduroy shirt—her gift to him, along with a new wallet. “I won’t fit in out there. All the girls are skinny and blond and perfect. I have big teeth and frizzy hair and a fat butt.”

  “Baby doll, what’s this all about?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. And that includes California,” he added dryly.

  She tried to smile for his sake. “Oh, Daddy, you don’t understand. You’re not a girl.”

  He frowned, his face full of worry. “Grandma and Aunt Deb are—”

  “Old, Daddy,” she whispered tersely.

  He looked as if he was trying not to laugh.

  “I’m serious, Dad. Mom thinks I should be able to adjust just because she wants it to be so. But I’m afraid. I won’t know anybody out there. It’s not like here. I have friends, my riding friends. We’re different from the perfect girls. But out there, it’ll just be me. And I won’t fit in.”

  Her father made a funny sound in his throat. “I think I know somebody who would understand, Ash. Eve.”

  “Eve?” Ashley hooted. “Oh, puh-leeze. She’s gorgeous. What would Eve Masterson know about being dumpy and shy?”

  “Eve Masterson?” Deborah chirped as she walked past with one of the twins. “Is she your client, Matt? Ohmygod. Jimmy, guess who Matt’s working for in Atlanta?”

  Ashley grimaced. “Sorry, Dad.”

  He gave her a stern look. “I wonder if it’s too late to take back that laptop.” A wink told her he was joking.

  Laughing, she took his hand and led the way to the kitchen. “You’re crazy. I’m going to call Eve and warn her that she’s hired a crazy man.”

  “Oh, trust me, honey, she already knows that.”

  Ashley wasn’t sure what he meant, but she knew better than to ask for details. His work was private and she’d already pushed her luck far enough for one night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MATT FINISHED PACKING and checked his watch. Still early. The house was quiet. He hoped to slip out and be on his way without waking his parents. Deb and her family had returned home last night; Alan had picked up Ashley a little before midnight. Matt and Ashley had managed to get in a little quality time playing video games before her stepfather had arrived. Since his parents were spending Christmas with Bo’s parents at the rehabilitation center, Matt had decided to return to Atlanta.

  Walking softly, he carried his briefcase and carry-on bag to the kitchen to microwave a cup of coffee. To his surprise his mother was standing at the stove. The image of her in a thick robe and slippers, her silver-threaded brown hair uncombed, brought back fond memories of Christmases past.

  “Hey, lady, what are you doing up? This is your chance to sleep in,” he said softly. Walking up behind her, he looped his arms around her middle and gave her a hug.

  The smell of bacon sizzling in the pan made his mouth water.

  “I know what airplane food is like. The least I can do is send you off with a good breakfast.”

  Matt glanced at the white enamel clock above the sink. “I should have time. Traffic can’t be that bad yet. It’s Christmas morning. Thanks, Mom.”

  He took a seat at the counter and watched her crack eggs into the pan. For as long as he could remember, his mother had been in his corner. She’d cheered him on after his accident, consoled him when his marriage fell apart. But lately, he’d sensed a bit of strain between them. “Mom, are you upset with me?”

  She whirled around. “Of course not. Should I be? What’d you do?”

  He snickered at her tone. “Nothing. I just wondered if you blamed me for Sonya’s decision to take Ash to California.”

  Irene sighed and went back to ladling hot grease over the glossy yellow y
olks in the pan. “Son, life throws us a few wrinkles from time to time. All you can do is get past them and keep going. Sonya and Alan seem very happy. You and Sonya were never a good match. If you ask me, Ashley is better off with two happy parents who don’t live together than two miserable parents who do.”

  Matt buttered the toast she put in front of him. “I agree, but how do we work it when we’re on opposite sides of the country? I barely see Ashley now and we’re in the same city.”

  Irene slid the eggs onto a plate then added six slices of bacon.

  “Perfect. As always. Thanks, Mom.”

  After refilling their coffee cups, she sat down on the stool across from him. “Matt, I’m no seer. I can’t tell you what will happen next week, let alone next year. But I do know that Ashley will grow up and make a life for herself, maybe thousands of miles from where you live. That’s the way life works. All you can do is give her the support she needs to make good decisions wherever she chooses to live.”

  Matt agreed with a nod as he ate.

  Neither spoke for a few minutes, then Irene said, “I have great faith in Ashley. She’s a pretty levelheaded girl, even if she worries more about her looks than I like, but I guess that’s the way with young girls today.” She made a dismissing motion with her hand. “I’m more concerned about you than Ashley. She, at least, seems happy some of the time.”

  “I’m happy, Mom. Last night was great. Didn’t I smile enough?” he teased.

  She snorted then rose and walked to the far counter where a vast array of sweets was assembled. After dinner last night, the children had gathered to frost Christmas cookies with their grandmother—a tradition Irene had started when Andrew had been a toddler.

  “I don’t mean laughing and smiling. Those are short-term happy. I mean joy. The kind that comes with loving someone and being loved in return.”

  Matt’s appetite vanished. He pushed his plate away and picked up his coffee mug. “Mom, that isn’t the kind of thing you can conjure up just because you want it.”

  She looked at him over one shoulder. “No, but you have to be open to it or you might miss it when your chance comes.” She put the lid on the Christmas tin she’d been filling and turned to face him. “You’ve closed off your heart, Matthew. That young physical therapist who fell for you was a case of bad timing. You had too much healing to do, but now, Matt. Now you could let yourself feel again.”

  Matt knew what she was talking about—whom—and he didn’t want to discuss it. He moved back from the counter and stood. “Mom, it isn’t going to happen.”

  Hands on hips, she faced him belligerently. “Why not? I like her. She’s not so uppity-up the way you described her. She’s a real person in an unreal job.”

  He walked to his mother and pulled her into an embrace. “Mom, you’re the best. I love you. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for Eve. I know she does, too. But drop the matchmaking. I’m flying back there today because she’s upset about some news story that broke.” He forced a chuckle. “If she’s that bent out of shape over the media finding out about her hospital stay, do you really think she’d date a private eye?”

  Irene sighed and shook her head. “Son, for a smart man, you are sometimes very obtuse. Did it ever occur to you she might have called just to get you back to Atlanta?”

  Matt stepped back. “No.” Maybe.

  She smiled then, and reached up to pat his cheek. “You’d better go. Eve needs you.” There was something smug about the way she said the latter, but Matt ignored it. “I want you to take these cookies to her. Tell her I said Merry Christmas and to get well soon.”

  Matt wedged the tin into his flight bag then gave her one more hug before leaving. She was wrong, of course. She only knew Eve through their telephone calls, which had been quite productive until Irene had suggested sending Eve’s chart to a geneticist doing research in the area of chronic anemia and other blood disorders. For some reason, Eve had declined. Adamantly.

  MATT’S FLIGHT from La Guardia was fast and relatively painless. He spent most of the time reading a new techno-thriller his father had given him for Christmas. Before he knew it, he was back in Atlanta.

  The weather was balmy—the high forties compared to the twenty-degree temperature he’d just left. His first dilemma was whether to go straight to Eve’s. He called the hospital, but someone new was on the desk at the hospital and refused to disclose any information about anything. The answering machine picked up at Eve’s.

  When his cab pulled to the curb of the apartment building, Matt paid the driver then stepped beneath the green and silver awning. He stood for a moment and took a deep breath. The air felt invigorating. He hadn’t been to the gym in weeks and really felt out of shape. My New Year’s resolution, he thought, turning toward the entrance.

  As he did, a small crowd surged out of nowhere. Before he could blink, two women with loud voices approached Matt asking questions he couldn’t hear. They were flanked by two men with cameras.

  Matt put his head down and shouldered his way to the steps. The doorman opened the door for Matt alone, blocking the others from gaining access.

  “Good Lord, Ray,” Matt exclaimed. “What the hell was that all about?”

  Ray gave a resigned shrug. “Started showin’ up last night. Lookin’ for Miss Masterson. Don’t know how they got this address. Big pests, if you ask me. Like I told Miss Masterson this morning, they won’t get past me,” the doorman said firmly.

  Matt’s stomach turned over. Had Eve been subjected to this circus? After handing the doorman a healthy tip, he hurried to the elevator.

  When he reached her floor, Matt used the extra key the locksmith had given him to let himself into the apartment. He opened the door quietly, not certain what to expect. The apartment was silent, except for the faint hum of the heating unit and the drip he’d meant to fix in the kitchen faucet.

  Stepping into the foyer, he closed the door and locked it. He bent down to place his bag on the floor, and as he straightened, he saw her. Asleep on the couch. The familiar old comforter pulled up to her chin. Her long black hair—clean and glossy—fell in messy disarray from the fuzzy red knit cap. Her hands—swathed in red mohair—were folded, beneath her cheek.

  Matt glanced at the answering machine. Four new messages. He took off his coat and walked to the leather recliner across from the sofa. He tucked his gloves in one pocket and sat down, draping the jacket across his knee. The apartment was warm. Something smelled different. Pine.

  Her little Christmas tree stood squarely in front of the fireplace. It wasn’t plugged in, but its cheerful greenery and bright ornaments gave life to the otherwise bleak room.

  With a long sigh, he kicked out his feet, easing the chair into a reclining position. A nap sounded just about right. He’d earned one.

  Through partially closed eyes, he stared at Eve a full minute.

  She liked my Christmas present, he thought, closing his eyes.

  EVE ESCAPED from her dream with remarkable ease. One minute she was alone in a dark hallway, lost and terrified. The next, she opened her eyes to a landscape of red fuzz.

  My mittens. The ones Matt gave me. She stretched as she yawned. She knew where she was.

  “Good to be home,” she muttered.

  “Huh?” a voice grunted.

  Eve’s adrenaline factor shot off the scale. Her panic dissipated the instant she saw Matt’s familiar shape in the chair.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice coming out in a peep.

  He pressed the chair into an upright position. “Merry Christmas,” he said, yawning. “I could ask you the same question. Did you have to move heaven and hell to get here so fast or just one?”

  Eve almost grinned, but his teasing had a peculiar edge to it. “There was a Medi-cab available so I grabbed it.”

  His eyebrows rose and fell. “Were the media sharks circling out front when you got here?”

  Eve’s stomach clenched. “Yes, but I’d called ahead a
nd the garage attendant kept them out. I didn’t see anyone.” Frowning, she asked, “Is it bad?”

  Matt shrugged. “I have no idea. Nothing to compare it to since I’ve never been mobbed by reporters before. But it wasn’t pleasant.”

  Eve looked at her hands. “No. It never is.”

  Matt rose and walked into the kitchen. Eve watched him go. Each time she saw him, she was struck anew by his size and grace—the combination seemed incongruous, but in Matt it worked.

  He returned a minute later with a glass of water. “Drink. Mom said you need lots of fluids. Preferably milk shakes and power drinks to put on a few pounds, but there’s nothing in the fridge.”

  Eve accepted the glass, her fingers brushing his as the exchange was made. Even that simple, innocent touch made crazy things happen in her extremities—toes, fingers, scalp—the works. She dropped her gaze to keep her emotions hidden. “Thanks,” she murmured between swallows.

  He returned to his chair. He hunched forward, apparently preparing to lecture her.

  Eve beat him to the punch. “I know you think I should have stayed in the hospital, but I couldn’t. You don’t know these people like I do, Matt. They’re tenacious. Driven. Somehow—bribery, treachery, flat-out bullying—they’d have gotten into the hospital, and I’m just not ready for the world to see me.”

  Matt looked truly baffled. “So what if someone sees you? You’re recovering from a serious illness. It’s not your fault you got sick. You’re human.”

  Eve shook her head. “There’s no way I can make you understand. You don’t live in this world. You don’t know what it’s like when your face shows up on the cover of every scandal rag at every checkout counter in America with questions about alien abduction or mystery diseases or drug problems.”

  Matt frowned.

  “I am my image, Matt. That is the awful truth. And I have to protect it, if I want to stay in this business.”

  He sighed. “Your image won’t do you any good if you’re dead.”

  “I know that. We should think about ordering in some groceries. I’m getting kinda hungry.”