Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

“Just because you’re a freak of nature, Lucas Johns, does not mean you vent your problems on …”

“Aww, now now. Nothing wrong with being a pygmy.”

She looked at him awesomely and sniffed. “I ought to punch you in the eye, Mr. Johns, but I’m afraid I might hurt you.”

That set the tone for the evening. Light, playful, companionable. He was easy to be with. And it wasn’t until the espresso was served that they both grew more pensive.

“I like this town. Do you come down here often, Kate? I would if I lived in New York.”

“I come down once in a while.”

“What for?” He wanted her to tell him the truth. They couldn’t even begin till she did.

And she wanted to tell him that she came down for parties, for balls, for dinners at the White House. For inaugurations. For weddings. But she couldn’t say any of it. No matter what.

“I come down on stories occasionally, like this. Or just to see friends.” She caught a glimpse of something disappointed in his eyes, but it was fleeting. “Don’t you get tired of traveling so much, Luke?” She was once again the poised Miss Saint Martin. He was beginning to think it was hopeless.

“No, traveling is a way of life for me by now, and it’s for a good cause. How about some brandy?”

“Oh God, not tonight!” She cringed at the memory of the headache that had finally left her at dinner.

“Tied one on that bad last night, huh?”

“Worse!” She smiled and took another sip of coffee.

“How come? Having a good time?”

“No. Trying to numb myself through a lousy one, and I guess I had a lot on my mind. Everything kind of got away from me.”

“Like what did you have on your mind?”

You, Mr. Johns…. She smiled at her own thought “Can I blame it on you and say it was the interview?” A look of sheer female teasing danced in her eyes.

“Sure, you can blame it on me if you want I’ve been accused of a lot worse.” So she had to “numb” herself to get through the party. Interesting. Very interesting. At least she wasn’t in love with that asshole. “You know something, Katie? I like you. You’re a very nice woman.” He sat back and smiled, looking deep into her eyes.

“Thank you. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the last couple of days. And should I make a terrible confession?”

“What? You flushed your notebook down the toilet back at the office? I wouldn’t blame you a bit, and we could start all over. I’d like that.”

“God forbid. No, my ‘terrible confession’ is that this was my first interview. I’ve always done more general pieces. But this was a new experience for me.” She wondered if all writers fell a little bit in love with the first person they interviewed. Inconvenient if the first person happened to be the tattooed lady at Ringling’s.

“How come you’ve never done an interview before?” He was intrigued.

“Scared to.”

“Why would you be scared? You’re a good writer, so that doesn’t make any sense. And you’re not shy.”

“Yes, I am. Sometimes. But you’re difficult to be shy with.”

“Is that something I should correct?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, you’re just fine the way you are.”

“So what’s so scary about interviews?”

“It’s a long story. Nothing you’d want to hear. What about you? What frightens you, Luke?”

Damn. She just wouldn’t give. He wanted to stand up and shake her. But he had to look cool. “Is this part of the interview? What frightens me?”

She shook her head, and wondered what he was thinking.

“A lot of things frighten me. Fears can create a lot of confusion. Cowardice frightens me, it can cost someone a life … usually someone else’s. Waste frightens me, because time is so short. Otherwise, nothing much. Except women. Oh yeah, women scare me to death.”

After a moment of tension, there was laughter in his eyes again, and Kezia was relieved. For a minute she had felt him coming at her with both barrels, but she decided that was only her own paranoia. He didn’t know she was lying. He couldn’t possibly know, or he would have let on by now if he did. He wasn’t a man to play games. She was sure of it.

“Women frighten you?” She was smiling at him again.

“They terrify me.” He tried to cower in his seat.

“Like hell they do.” She started to laugh.

“Yeah, okay. You’re right.” They laughed and talked easily for another hour, as the brief tension between them eased again. She succumbed to a glass of brandy at last, and then followed it with another espresso. She wanted to sit there with him forever.

“There’s a place I go to in SoHo in New York. The atmosphere reminds me of this. It’s called The Partridge, and it’s a funny little hangout for poets and artists and just nice people.” Her face lit up as she told him about it, and he watched her talk.

“Is it an ‘in’ placer?”

She laughed out loud at the thought. “Oh no, it’s an ‘out’ place. Very ‘out.’ That’s why I love it.”

So, the lady had her haunts, did she? The places where she went to get away, where no one knew who she was, where…. “Then I’d probably like it, Kate. You’ll have to take me there sometime.” He slipped the suggestion in casually as he lit another cigar. “What do you do with yourself in New York?”

“Write. See friends. Go to parties sometimes, or the theater. I travel a bit too. But mostly, I write. I know a lot of artists in SoHo, and sometimes I hang out with them.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“I see other people … depends on my mood.”

“You’re not married, are you?”

“No.” She shook her head decisively, as though to confirm it.

“I didn’t think so.”

“How come?”

“Because you’re careful, the way women are who’re used to taking care of themselves. You think about what you do and say. Most married women are used to having someone else do that kind of thinking, and it shows. How’s that for a classic male chauvinist remark?”

“Not bad. But it’s also a very perceptive thing to say. I’d never thought of it that way, but I think you might be right.”

“Okay. Back to you now. My turn to interview.” He seemed to be enjoying it. “Engaged?”

“Nope. Not even in love. I have a virgin soul.”

“I’m overwhelmed. If I had a hat, I’d take it off.” They both laughed again. “But I’m not sure I believe you,” Luke went on. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t even have an old man?” What about the faggot in the newspaper picture, baby? But he could hardly ask her about that.

“Nope. No old man.”

“Is that true?”

Her eyes rose to his then, and she looked almost hurt. “Yes, it’s true. There’s someone I enjoy a lot, but I … I just kind of visit him … when I can.”

“Is he married?”

“No … just sort of in another world.”

“In SoHo?”

Lucas was quick to pick up on things left unsaid. She nodded again. “Yes. In SoHo.”

“He’s a lucky guy.” Luke’s voice was oddly quiet.

“No, he’s a funny guy actually. A nice guy. I like him. Sometimes I even like to imagine that I love him, but I don’t. It’s not very serious between us, and never will be. For a lot of reasons.”

“Like what?”

“We’re just very different, that’s all. Different goals, different views. He’s quite a bit younger than I am, and headed in another direction. It really doesn’t matter. Mostly, it’s just that we’re different.”

“Is that so bad? Being different?”

“No, but there are different kinds of ‘different.’” She smiled at her own words. “In this case, different backgrounds, different interests … just different enough to make it too different, but I still like him. And what about you? An ‘old lady’?” The term always seemed funny to her, as though it should refer to someone’s grandmother, and not his inamorata.