Danielle Steel - Passion's Promise

“And …” He ran a hand through his hair and bit the end of a cigar that had been lying on the desk. It was almost midnight and he had been strolling the house in his shorts, barefoot and bare-chested. And … they want me to come out. Think you can handle that, Mama?”

“You mean come out with you?” It was the first time he had asked her.

“No, I mean stay here. I’ll be back by Christmas. But … it looks like they need me. Or at least they think they do.” There was something gruffer in his voice, pure macho, all man. And a vibrant chord of excitement that ran through his words, no matter how careful he was to conceal it. He loved what he did. The meetings, the men, the riots, the cause. He loved getting back at the “pigs,” and helping his brothers. It was what he lived for. And there was no room for Kezia in that world. It was a world of men who had lived without women for long enough to know that they could do without them, if they had to. They had a hard time learning to include them again. And this was one place where Luke wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t have considered taking her with him, not for a moment. Not when there was danger involved. Not after last time in San Francisco. Not after he’d almost been shot. She knew she had been crazy to hope that he was inviting her this time. He wasn’t.

“Yes, I can handle it, Luke. But I’ll miss you.” She tried to keep the sadness from her voice, and the terror, but he knew. She looked at him and shrugged. “So it goes. You’re sure you’ll be home by Christmas?”

“As sure as I can be. They’re afraid riots might start. But I think we’ll probably get everything straightened out before that happens.” Maybe. If. She wondered if he really wanted to, or if he’d rather play with the fireworks. But she knew that wasn’t fair. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Me too, but I’ll be okay.” She walked over to him and slid her arms around his neck. She kissed him gently on the back of the head and smelled the fresh richness of the cigar. He was going to “war.” Again. “Lucas …” She hesitated about saying it, but she had to.

“What, babe?”

“You’re crazy to do this now. With the hearing pending. And …” She was afraid to voice all her fears, but he knew them. He had the same ones.

“Oh Christ, Kezia, don’t start that.” He pulled away from her and stood up to walk across the room, half naked and puffing on his cigar, with a ferocious look on his face. “You just be sure you take care of yourself. And what fucking difference does it make what I do now, with the backlog of bullshit they’re going to throw at me at the hearing anyway? I’ve been doing this kind of thing since I got out of the joint. You think one more time will make a difference?”

“Maybe.” She stood very still and kept her eyes on his. “Maybe this one time could make the difference between revocation and freedom. Or between living and dying.”

“Bullshit. And anyway … I have to, that’s all.” He slammed the door to the bedroom and she wondered how close she was to the truth. He had no right to do this to her, jeopardize his own life and hers with it. If this trip cost him his freedom, or his life, what did he think it would do to her, or didn’t he think? The bastard….

Kezia followed him into the bedroom and stood looking at him as he pulled a suitcase out of his closet. She watched him with fire in her eyes, and a lead weight on her heart.

“Lucas … “He didn’t answer. He knew. “Don’t go … please, Luke … not for me. For you.” He turned to look at her then, and without exchanging another word with him, she knew she had lost.

It was the twenty-third before Kezia got the call she had feared. He would not be home for Christmas. He’d be gone for at least another week. Four men had already died in the Chino strike, and the last thing on his mind was Christmas, or home. For one brief moment Kezia found herself wanting to tell him what a bastard he was, but she couldn’t He wasn’t. He was simply Luke.

She didn’t want to admit to Edward that she was going to spend Christmas alone. It was such a lonely admission, an admission of defeat He would have tried to be sweet to her, and insisted she spend it with him in Palm Beach, which she would have hated. She wanted to spend the holiday with Luke, not with Edward or Hilary. She had toyed with the idea of flying out to California to surprise him, but she knew she wouldn’t have been welcome. When he was involved in his work, that was it. He wouldn’t have been amused or pleased by the gesture, and he probably wouldn’t have been able to spend any time with her anyway.

So she was alone. With a stack of engraved invitations, and red and green inked notes suggesting she stop by for a drink, or drop in on the city’s “best” holiday parties, the sort of invitations people would have given right arms and eyeteeth for. Eggnog, punch, champagne, caviar, pâté, amusing little stocking gifts from Bendel’s or Cardin. The cotillions were in full swing, if she wanted to check out the season’s debs, which she didn’t There was a rash of charity balls, a white tie party at the Opera, and a skating fete at Rockefeller Center to celebrate the alliance of Halpern Medley and Marina Walters. The El Morocco would be alive with the holiday spirit. Or there was always Gstaad or Chamonix … Courchevelles or Klosters … Athens … Rome … Palm Beach. But none of it appealed. None of it.

After mulling it all over in cursory fashion, Kezia decided it would be less lonely to be alone, than to be lost in the midst of empty hilarity. She was not feeling very festive. She thought briefly about inviting some friend over to help her spend Christmas day, but she never got up enough steam to ask anyone in particular, and could think of no one she really wanted to ask … only Lucas. And the others would be busy with whatever they had planned, just as right now they were busy at Bergdorf’s and Saks buying shocking pink slippers and parrot green robes, or drinking rum in the Oak Room, or helping their mothers “get ready” in Philadelphia or Boston or Bronxville or Greenwich. Everyone was bound to be somewhere, and she was actually alone. She and an army of doormen and maintenance men, each of whom had received his Christmas dues. The superintendent discreetly left a mimeographed sheet in the mail around the fifteenth of December. Twenty-two names, all waiting for bribes. Merry Christmas.

It was the afternoon of the twenty-fourth, and Kezia had nothing to do. She walked the length of the apartment in her cream satin robe, and smiled to herself. There was a mist of snow on the ground outside.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” The whispered words were for Lucas. He had kept his word and called every day, and she knew he’d call again later. Christmas by telephone. It was better than nothing. But not much. The silver-wrapped boxes on her desk were for him—a tie, a belt, a bottle of cologne, a briefcase, and two pairs of shoes. A collection of mundane gifts, except that she knew they would all make him laugh. She had explained all the “in” symbols to him when they first met, like translating the language of the country she lived in. Status-ese. The Dior ties, the Gucci shoes, the Vuitton luggage, and its ugly LV’s plastered all over the mustard and mud colored surface. It had made him laugh when she told him. “You mean those guys all wear the same shoes?” She had laughed back, nodding, and explained that the women wore them too. One style for the women, and one for the men. Varied styles would have created insecurity, so there was just one. One had a choice of colors, of course. It was all terribly, terribly original, wasn’t it? But it had become a standard joke with them, and neither of them could keep a straight face anymore as they passed a pair of Guccis on the street, or a Pucci dress on a woman. The Pucci-Gucci Set. It was something else they shared from their private vantage point. So that’s what she had bought him for Christmas. A Pucci tie, a Gucci belt, Monsieur Rochas cologne (which she actually decided she liked quite a lot), a Vuitton briefcase, and the indomitable Gucci shoes in black leather, standard model, and of course, a duplicate pair in brown suede. She smiled to think of him opening them all, and the look on his face.