Danielle Steel: Passion's Promise

“I … I’m sorry … Mark, Bill is out of town and if you could just drive me …” She belched loudly and Gloria rushed forward nervously while Mark shrank backwards with a look of disgust.

“Tiffany?” It was Bill, with his usual vague smile.

“I thought … you were …” Mark and Gloria faded into the background and Tiffany’s husband took her arm and escorted her as swiftly as possible from the halls where the last of the party was fading. She was too noticeable in the thinning crowd. “I thought….” They were moving through the lobby now, and she had left her bag on the banquette. Someone would take it. “My bag. Bill, my …”

“That’s right, dear. We’ll take care of it.”

“I … oh God, I feel awful. I have to sit down.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and her bag was forgotten. He was walking too fast, it made her feel worse.

“You just need some air.” He kept a firm grip on her arm and smiled at passersby, the director on the way to his office … good morning … morning … hello … nice to see you…. The smile never faded, and the eyes never warmed.

“I just … I … oh.” The cool night breeze slapped her face and she felt clearer, but her stomach rose menacingly toward her throat. “Bill….” She turned and looked at him then, but only for a moment. She wanted to ask him a terrible question. Something was forcing her to say it. To ask. How awful. Oh God, she prayed that she wouldn’t. Sometimes when she was very drunk she wanted to ask her brother the same thing. Once she had even asked her mother, and her mother had slapped her. Hard. The question always burned in her when she was this drunk. Champagne always did it to her, and sometimes gin.

“Well just get you into a nice cozy cab, and you’ll be all set, won’t you dear.” He gently squeezed her arm again, like an overly solicitous headwaiter, and signaled the doorman. A cab stood with open door before them a moment later.

“A cab? Aren’t you … Bill?” Oh God, and there was the question again, trying to fight its way out of her mouth, out of her stomach, out of her soul.

“That’s right, dear,” Bill had leaned over to speak to the driver. He wasn’t listening. Everyone spoke over her, around her, past her, never to her. She heard him give the driver their address and she grew more confused by the moment. But Bill looked so sure. “See you in the morning, darling.” He pecked her cheek and the door slammed shut, and all she could see was the doorman’s face smiling at her as the cab pulled away. She reached for the knob to open the window and frantically rolled it down … and the question … the question was fighting its way out. She couldn’t hold it back any longer. She had to ask Bill … William … Billy … they had to go back so she could ask, but the cab was lunging away from the curb and the question sailed from her mouth with a long stream of vomit as she leaned out the window. “Do you love me? …”

The driver had been paid twenty dollars to get her home, and he did, without a word. He never answered the question. Nor did Bill. Bill had gone upstairs to the room he’d reserved at the St. Regis. Both girls were still waiting. A tiny Peruvian, and a large blonde from Frankfurt. And in the morning, Tiffany wouldn’t even remember that she’d gone home alone. Bill was certain of that.

* * *

“Ready to go?”

“Yes, sir.” Kezia stifled a yawn and nodded sleepily at Whit.

“It was quite a party. Do you realize what time it is?”

She nodded and looked at the clock. “Almost four. You’re going to be dead at the office tomorrow.” But he was used to it He was out almost every night in the week. Out, or at Sutton Place.

“And I can’t lie in bed till noon like all of you indolent ladies.”

All of them? “Poor, poor Whit. What a sad story.” She patted his cheek as they swept out the door and onto the deserted street. She couldn’t lie in bed in the morning either. She had to start researching that new article, and wanted to be up by nine.

“Do we have anything like this on the agenda tomorrow, Kezia?” He hailed a passing cab and held the door open for her as she gathered up her blue satin skirt and settled onto the seat.

“God, I hope not. I’m out of training after the summer.” Actually, her summer hadn’t been so very different. But at least it had been blissfully devoid of the Baron.

“Come to think of it, I have a partners’ dinner tomorrow night. But I think Friday there’s something at the El Morocco. Are you going to be in town?” They were speeding up Park Avenue.

“As a matter of fact, I doubt it. Edward is trying to talk me into some deadly dull weekend thing with some old friends of his. They knew my father.” That was always a safe thing to say.

“Monday then. We’ll have dinner at Raffles.” She smiled easily and leaned back onto his shoulder. She had lied to Whit after all. She had no plans with Edward, who knew better than to try to rope her into a weekend like the one she had described to Whit. She was going to SoHo. After tonight, she had earned it … and what did a little lie to Whitney matter? It was all for a good cause. Her sanity.

“Raffles on Monday sounds fine.” She’d need new material for the column by then anyway. And in the meantime, she could manage to get enough information by calling a few friends for a “chat.” Marina was always an excellent source. And now she was going to be an excellent item as well. Her interest in Halpern Medley at the Maisonette had not gone unnoticed by Kezia. Nor had Halpern seemed indifferent to Marina. Kezia knew why Halpern was so interesting to her friend, and it was hard to blame her. Going broke was no fun, and Halpern was a most attractive remedy for what ailed her.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow or the day after, Kezia. Maybe we can sneak in a quick lunch. Lutèce, ‘21,’ we’ll think of some place amusing.”

“I’m sure we will. Want to come up for a quick brandy, or coffee, or eggs or something?” It was the last thing she wanted, but she felt that she owed him something. Eggs if not sex.

“I really can’t, darling. I’ll be half blind at the office tomorrow as it is. I’d better get some sleep. And you too!” He wagged a finger at her as the cab drew to a halt at her door, and then kissed her ever so gently on the rim of her mouth, barely touching her lips.

“Good night, Whit. It was a lovely evening.” The preceding message was taped in Television City, Hollywood….

“It’s always a lovely evening with you, Kezia.” He walked her slowly to the door, and waited for the doorman to unlock it. “Keep an eye on the papers tomorrow. I’m sure it’ll be full of us. Even Martin Hallam will undoubtedly have something to say about that dress.” His eyes smiled at her appreciatively again, and he pecked her on the forehead while the doorman waited patiently. It was fascinating the way they had stopped pretending years before. A peck here and there, a grope, a feel, but she had claimed virginity long since, and he had greedily bought the story.

She waved as he walked away, and rode sleepily up to her floor. It felt good to be home. She unzipped the blue satin dress as she walked through the living room and deposited it on the couch where it could lie until Monday. Until doomsday for all she cared. What an insane way to make a living. It was like a lifetime of Halloween, trick or treat … getting all dressed up for a daily masquerade party to spy on your friends. This was the first “season” when it had rankled right at the beginning. It usually took a few months to get to her. This year, the restlessness had come early.

She smoked a last cigarette, turned off the light, and it seemed as though only a few moments later the alarm was ringing. It was eight o’clock in the morning.