Susan Phillips - Glitter Baby

The house was damp and nearly as cold as the cab. Dropping her suitcase, she pushed up the thermostat and then kicked off her shoes. With her coat still on, she walked down to the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and tossed in two Alka-Seltzers. As the tablets fizzed, the cold from the brick floor seeped through her stockings. She was getting into bed, turning up her electric blanket, and not moving until morning. First, though, she’d take the hottest shower she could stand.

She waited until she was in the bathroom before she pulled off her coat and her clothes. After she pinned her hair on top of her head, she slid open the shower doors and let the hot water wash over her. In six hours she would force herself to get up and run in the park, no matter how bad she felt. This time she wouldn’t crumble. She’d go through the motions one day at a time until, finally, the pain would be bearable.

When she’d dried off, she pulled a beige satin nightgown from a hook next to the shower. She’d forgotten to turn on her electric blanket, so she slipped into the matching robe. The temperature change from Mykonos was too drastic. Even though she’d just gotten out of the shower, she was already cold. The sheets were going to feel like ice.

She pushed open the bathroom door and fumbled to tie the sash of her robe. Odd. She thought she’d flipped the light on before she’d come into the bedroom. God, it was freezing. The windows were rattling from the blizzard kicking up outside. Why hadn’t the furnace turned-

She screamed.

“Stay right where you are, lady, and don’t move.”

A whimper caught in her throat.

He sat on the far side of the room with only his face visible in the patch of light from the open bathroom door. His mouth barely moved. “You do what I say and nobody gets hurt.”

She stumbled backward toward the bathroom. He lifted his arm, and she found herself looking down the long, silver barrel of a gun. “That’s far enough,” he said.

Her heart jumped into her throat. “Please…”

“Let go.”

At first she didn’t understand what he meant. Then she realized he was talking about her robe sash. Quickly she dropped it.

“Now the robe.”

She didn’t move.

He lifted the gun so that it was aimed at her chest.

“You’re crazy,” she gasped. “You’re-”

The hammer clicked. “Take it off.”

Her hands flew to the front of the robe. She opened it and slipped her arms out. The fabric made a soft, hissing sound as it dropped to the floor.

He lifted the barrel ever so slightly. “Let your hair down.”

“Sweet Jesus…” Her hands fumbled with the pins, and as her hair came down, drops of water splattered on her bare shoulders.

“That’s nice. Real pretty. Now the gown.”

“Don’t…” she pleaded.

“Pull down the straps slow. One at a time.”

She slipped down the first strap and then stopped.

“Go on.” He made a sharp gesture with the gun. “Do what I tell you.”

“No.”

He sat up straighter. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

“Don’t push me, Teacher Lady.”

Fleur clamped her arms over her chest.

Shit , Jake thought. Now what was he supposed to do?

“Just hold me for a minute, okay?” she said.

He set the pearl-handled Colt on the table next to the bed and walked over to where she was standing. Her skin was like ice. He opened his parka and put it around her, then cuddled her against his flannel shirt. “You’re no fun.”

She gave a choked sob.

“Hey, are you crying?” She nodded against his jaw. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I guess my timing wasn’t too good.”

She shook her head, too dazed to figure out how he knew about Butch Cassidy and her fantasy.

“It seemed like a good idea,” he said, “especially when I couldn’t decide what to say when I saw you.”

She spoke against his flannel shirt. “Bird Dog can’t resolve this for us. We have to settle it ourselves.”

He tilted up her chin. “You’ve got to learn to separate fantasy from reality. Bird Dog’s a movie character. I like playing him-he gives me a chance to get rid of my aggressions-but he’s not me. I’m the one who’s afraid of horses, remember?”

She stared up at him.

“Come on, you’re freezing.” He led her over to the bed and pulled back the covers. In a daze, she settled between the cold sheets. He quickly divested himself of his parka and boots. Still wearing his shirt and jeans, he slid in next to her. “The pilot must be out on your furnace,” he said. “It’s colder than hell in here.”

She reached over to flick on the light. “Why wouldn’t you take my calls? I went crazy. I thought…”

“I know what you thought.” He settled his weight on his forearm and looked down at her. His face twisted. “I’m sorry, Flower. The press was everywhere, and all the old stuff came back to grab me.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t think straight. I let you down.”

“When did you figure out it was Alexi?”

“I’d give anything to say I knew it right away.” He gazed blindly across the room. “But I’m an old pro at trying to blame you for things I can’t handle. It was a week before my head cleared enough to figure that out.”

“A week?” Just about the time she left for Mykonos.

He brushed his thumb over the corner of her mouth and whispered, “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

He looked so tortured, she couldn’t stand it, so she glared at him. “Darned right you will. Starting with diamonds.”

His voice caught. “As many as you want.”

She bit his thumb.

He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger. “I still can’t figure out how he managed to do it. That manuscript was never out of my sight.”

Now she was the one who looked away. “Yes, it was. The night I read it. You went outside, remember? I was alone with that manuscript for hours.”

“Don’t be a brat.” He caught her chin and turned it toward him. Then he kissed her again. Her heart swelled. Even though he didn’t understand how it could be otherwise, he knew she hadn’t betrayed him. He was taking her loyalty on faith.

She cupped that tough, stubborn jaw. “Someone got into the house and photographed the manuscript while we were walking along the ocean that first day. I found the negatives after he died.”

“You found them?” His head came up. “What did you do with them?”

“Burned them, of course.”

“Damn.” He looked annoyed.

She couldn’t believe it. She came up on her elbows. “Damn?”

“I wish you’d talked to me first,” he muttered. “That’s all.”

She couldn’t help it. She pulled the comforter over her head and screamed.

For a moment there was silence. Finally he tugged at the comforter. When he got as far as her nose, he peered down at her. “It’s going to mean a lot of rewriting, that’s all.” His bottom lip looked as sulky as ever.

She nodded toward the Colt. “Is that thing loaded?”

“Of course not.”

“Too bad.”

The windowpanes rattled. He moved the gun out of reach. “Your various friends started calling me after the tabloid article appeared. When they realized how screwed up I was, all hell broke loose. Kissy flew back from her honeymoon. God, that woman can cuss. Simon threatened to go to the newspapers and tell everyone I was gay. Michel hit me.” Fleur looked at him sharply, and he threw up his hands. “I didn’t hit him back. Honest to God.” He sank back under the covers with her. “Even some cretin named Barry Noy got hold of me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“God is my witness.” He stroked her hair. “Do you have any idea how many people love you?”