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“Come on, darling,” David said, taking her arm as she wrapped up against the chill to go out the stage door. “I’ll buy you a nice cup of coffee.”
“How about a sweet roll to go with it?” she asked with a wan smile.
“Whatever you like.” He checked his pocket. “Well, almost.”
She smiled gently. “Starving in garrets isn’t what it’s cracked up to be, is it?”
“How would you know?” he teased. “You’re on top.”
“Is that what I am? You really ought to come home with me.”
“Can I?” he asked, all eyes. “I’ll make the coffee.”
She relented. It would be nice to have company, and she didn’t really mind if David saw her deplorable apartment. He probably had one just like it. “Okay,” she agreed, and went out with him, oblivious to the glittering green gaze that followed them.
It was a nippy evening, although it wouldn’t be long until spring. Bett huddled into her tweed coat and led David up the long staircase to her apartment. The baby was crying, but the man who sang off-key was apparently resting his throat for the moment.
Bett opened the door and let David in with her. “Well, as they say, it ain’t much, but it’s home.”
“My God, you weren’t kidding, were you?” he burst out, staring around him. “What happened?”
“I had a very inefficient business manager,” she confessed. “He talked me into a bad investment, and also neglected to tell me about my taxes. I’ve got quite a bill with Uncle Sam.” She shrugged. “They were very nice about it, in fact. I guess they get used to dumb people like me.”
“I wouldn’t call you dumb, not the way you act,” he said kindly. He moved to the cabinet. “Is this the coffeepot?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes. Isn’t it the pits? But it works, all the same.”
“Old-fashioned,” he murmured, filling the basket with a filter and then dumping in a generous amount of coffee out of the can. “Boiling it on the stove.”
“Well, coffee is coffee.
He sighed. “I guess so.” He finished, turned on the burner, and sat down at the kitchen table across from her. “How did you wind up on the stage?”
“My mother convinced me that it was what I wanted to do,” she said, laughing. “I was torn between acting and driving a semi, and she decided that it was more ladylike to act. Honestly, though, I guess it just came naturally. There was never anything else that I wanted to be. How about you?”
“Same thing.” He made patterns on the table’s chipped surface with a long finger. “I started out playing a squirrel in our third-grade play, and I was hooked. I’ve never wanted to do anything else. I studied and worked and eventually became the practically unknown actor you see before you.”
“That’s not true,” she chided. “You were on one of the soap operas, I heard.”
“For six weeks, until they killed me off.” He propped his face in his hands. “I die well, you know.”
“Yes, I know. Too bad you have to do it offstage in this play,” she murmured on a laugh.
“I thought I’d do it with sound effects,” he said with an evil glint in his eyes. “Screams and groans and thuds, that sort of thing.”
“Cul would kill you,” she suggested.
“He already wants to, I think.” He watched her quietly. “But he’s really after you, lady. I’ve never seen a director ride anyone as hard. What have you done to make him so antagonistic?”
“I breathe,” she said simply. “It’s something I’d rather not talk about, anyway. Would you like some cake to go with the coffee? I just happen to have two slices left.”
“What kind?”
“Chocolate,” she said.
He grinned. “My favorite.”
She dished it up and he poured the coffee into the thick cracked mugs she’d found at a second-hand shop. “Isn’t this fun?” she laughed as they sipped and ate. “There I was, living on Park Avenue in a luxury apartment, wearing leather coats and buying silk lingerie…and I never knew what I was missing.”
“Must be hard,” he said with real sympathy.
She considered that, stirring her coffee idly, with a spoon after she’d added cream. “Do you know, it isn’t? I think I had my values all mixed up. Money and power and getting ahead were all I thought about. I’ve been noticing—forced to notice—how people live around here. It’s pretty sobering. I think I’ve changed directions, all at once.”
“Yes, it does make you think, when you see people so much less fortunate,” he admitted. “I haven’t had the kind of life you’ve had, not yet. But I hope that if I ever do make it, I won’t forget who I was.”
“I can’t see you forgetting,” she said, and meant it. “But you’re supposed to say `when,’ not `if,’ you make it.”
He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, I guess so. I get discouraged once a week and have to drown my sorrows in cheap wine.”
“We all get discouraged, it comes with the territory. Just don’t ever give up. Think through it. That’s what I’m trying to do. I like to picture how it will be on Christmas Day this year.” She sighed. “I’ll have paid off my tax bill, I’ll be in a hit play, and happy as anything.”
“No man in that picture?” he asked softly.
She shook her head with a tiny smile. “Nope. I’ve never inspired a man to propose. I don’t see it happening.” Not ever, because of the scars Cul had left on her. But she wasn’t telling that to a relative stranger.
“You might be surprised one of these days.” He finished his coffee. “Well, I’d better run. If we’re lucky we may actually get some sleep before rehearsal tomorrow. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“Come again,” she invited, her smile genuine. He was a nice man, and she liked him.
He nodded. “I’d like that. Good night, Bett.”
“Good night.” She closed the door behind his tall figure and sighed. It had been nice to have company.
* * *
After that, she and David became good friends. But their association had a devastating effect on Cul. He glared daggers at them every single day.
It didn’t help that being around Cul was bringing back old, unwanted sensations. He could look at her and make her tremble. She hadn’t counted on that reaction when she’d auditioned for the play. She hadn’t counted on the fact that he might want to direct it himself. She should have thought it through.
One night as they were leaving the theater she stumbled over a metal chair, and Cul caught her just in time to keep her from having a bad fall. She looked up into his green eyes and saw an expression in them that made her heart run wild. His hard fingers on her back held her close for an instant, while his eyes went to her soft mouth and stared at it. It was like being kissed; she could almost taste his lips as she had so many years before.
“Getting careless, Bett?” he asked under his breath. “Don’t fall, darling, it’s not the kind of part you can do with a broken leg.”
“I won’t,” she said unsteadily, and tried to smile.
He studied her slowly. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” she said.
But this time he wasn’t letting her talk him out of it. He herded her out to his Porsche and put her in the passenger side. Now what was she going to do, she wondered wildly. How could she let him see where she was living? The humiliation would be terrible.
“Come on, coward, direct me.”
She drew in a steadying breath. “Queens.”
He glanced at her, frowning. “I thought you lived on Park Avenue.”
“I did, while I was making money,” she said wearily. “I made a huge payment on my tax bill, Cul. I had to budget. The apartment—at least, my half of it—had to go.”
“Were you living with a man?” he asked.
“Janet would hate being called a man,” she said through her teeth. “And who I live with is none of your business.”
“It was once. I almost asked you to move in with me, six years ago.”
That was shocking, and her eyes told him so. “Me?”
“You.” He glanced at her mockingly as he navigated a turn. “If you hadn’t been a virgin…”
“Have you always had this hang-up about inexperienced women?” she asked bitterly.
“Just with you, oddly enough. I didn’t want to take advantage of what you felt for me. Especially since marriage wasn’t in my vocabulary.” He glanced at her again. “It still isn’t.”
“Don’t imagine I’m any threat,” she said as coolly as she could, clutching her purse on her lap. “I’m a career woman all the way these days.”
“You’re an up-and-coming star,” he agreed tautly. “I went to see you in that last Lewis play. You were good. Damned good.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, dazed. He didn’t give praise easily. In fact, he rarely gave it at all.
“Now where to?” he asked.
“Left, then right at the next corner,” she directed.
He pulled up in front of her apartment building and glared at it. He cut off the engine and pocketed his key.
“Cul, don’t come up,” she pleaded.
“I want to see.”
There was no arguing with him. Resignedly, she led him up the long flight of stairs to the door of her apartment. His face was rigid as she unlocked it and let him in.
His green eyes swept the surroundings with obvious distaste. “My God,” he breathed.
“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she defended, dropping her purse onto the couch. “It’s warm and dry, and I have neighbors who’d come running if I screamed. Besides, if you remember, the apartment I had in Atlanta was much like this.”
“That was different,” he growled. “You were struggling then.”
“I’m still struggling,” she corrected him, turning away. “Would you like a cup of coffee, or are the surroundings just too much for you?”
“Is that how I sound? Like a snob?” he asked softly.
She glanced at him while she filled the pot and set it on the stove to boil. She got down the cracked mugs. “You were never a snob, Cul.”
“I hope not.” He pulled out one of the chairs and straddled it. He looked devastating, his blond hair gleaming in the overhead light, his eyes almost transparent in his dark, rugged face. “I was born to money, but I like to think I’ve never looked down on people without it. My circumstances were an accident. I could as easily have been born poor.”
She’d forgotten until then about his background. One of his ancestors had been an English duke, and he had titled relatives. That straight, proud nose would have graced a family portrait, she thought, studying it.
The man who sang off-key had just started his nightly accompaniment to an opera recording, and Cul sat up straighter.
“Verdi?” he queried, frowning.
“Amazing that you recognized it.” She laughed. “He has a lot of enthusiasm, for a man who can’t sing. I’ve gotten quite used to hearing him.”
“He probably dreams at night about a career with the Met,” he murmured, not unkindly. “Not a lot of us get to fulfill our dreams,” he added, and his eyes were brooding.
“What did you want to do that you haven’t?” she asked as she poured the coffee. “You’ve made a name for yourself as a writer and a director, you have a play being made into a movie…. You’ve done it all.”
“Have I?” He took the cup from her and watched her drop into a chair. “Not quite, Bett. There was one thing I wanted desperately that I never had.”
“What?” she murmured absently.
“You, in bed with me,” he said softly. His eyes wandered slowly over her face and what he could see of her body. “I wanted you to the point of obsession.”
She felt the old hurt come back, full force. “How interesting. Was that before or after you humiliated me in front of the entire cast?”
He caught his breath at the ice in the calm little question. “Yes, I thought you were still bitter about it. I can hardly blame you. But at the time, it seemed the only way out.” His eyes held hers, and there was faint regret in their green depths. “You were in love with me. Too much in love. I had nothing to give you, except a few kisses in the moonlight or, at best, a brief affair. I had to break if off.”
“You might have just told me,” she returned.
“You’re a bulldog, Bett,” he replied with a faint smile. “It wouldn’t have worked. It had to be something drastic.” He shrugged. “Gloria was willing and handy. I knew your pride would save you.”
She laughed curtly. “Oh, yes, it sent me running for New York. Or hadn’t you considered what the cast would do to me afterward?”
The smile left his face. “What do you mean?”
“Your `girlfriend’ made a huge joke about my hanging like an albatross around your neck. She made me the laughing stock of the entire company.” Her eyes darkened with remembered pain. “I finally left because of it.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t consider that.”
“No, why should you? I was handy, and you needed someone to amuse yourself with, wasn’t that it?”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “No. Walking away from you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
“Were you so fond of juvenile adulation?” she asked with a laugh.
“It was more.” He finished his coffee. “I’m a single, not a double, Bett. I’ll live alone all my life, except for the occasional diversion. But not you.” He watched her quietly. “Someday you’ll marry and have those kids you used to dream about having. Three, wasn’t it?”
Something odd in his voice touched her and she frowned. But before she could question it, he checked his watch and rose. “We’d better get some rest. Rehearsals are grueling, aren’t they darling? Thanks for the coffee.”
