A Different Kind Of Forever (28 page)

The lights blinked. The second act was beginning. They filed back in, and the rest of the show went off beautifully. After the final curtain, Sam French came on stage for a bow, and called up Diane. She ran up the steps of the stage, heart pounding, and her eyes blurred with tears as the audience rose to their feet. She beamed, bowed, and saw Quinn in the third row, smiling and applauding.

Afterwards, the crowd lingered in the lobby, where a long table of champagne glasses and hors de oeuvres was set up. Diane was bowled over by the response of the audience. Quinn stayed beside her as people she had never seen before told her how wonderful she was, how talented, how much they had enjoyed the evening.
 

Diane didn’t need alcohol to feel drunk. She was giddy with power and triumph. Every nerve was alive, every sense heightened. Quinn was more than a shadow behind her. She could feel every touch of his hand, every movement of his against her skin. She looked into his eyes and saw openly, for the first time, desire. Something akin in her answered.
This is why
, she thought fleetingly,
men must make love after war, why victory must be answered with sex
. She wanted Michael so badly the ache in her groin felt like a lead weight. Every time she turned and saw Quinn, his green eyes alive and smoldering, she felt her throat tighten.

It was midnight before the crowd thinned. Her daughters all had kissed her goodbye. Faculty and friends were beginning to leave. The cast had joined them from changing backstage and there began a serious discussion of the show, the mistakes, the triumphs. The press was still there, and a few other theater people, including Sam Levinson who began to talk to Diane about bringing her play to the New School, just as a round table reading at first, but after that, who knew?

She had turned away from Levinson for a moment, and saw, just through the glass doors that opened to the courtyard, a figure standing, backlit by the lampposts outside. A man, his breath a cloud in the cold October air. Diane knew the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head.

“Michael.” She said his name aloud, in disbelief. The night was wide and black behind him. He was wearing a black leather coat, long, almost to the ground. His hair spilled over his collar, and his face was white, haggard. He stared at her, saw her mouth frame his name. He did not smile or move toward her. He stood. Watching.

“Michael,” Diane said again, her eyes not leaving Michael’s face. Levinson said something, and she looked at him, her face frozen. “I’m sorry. I’ll be right back.” She smiled automatically. Beyond Levinson she could see Quinn, talking to someone, glancing at her, smiling, turning away. Diane looked back to Michael, but he was gone. Her eyes searched frantically, and she went across the lobby and pushed the heavy glass doors open, running out into the courtyard. She caught a flash of black and saw him, in the dimly lit building across from her, walking down an empty corridor. She ran after him, through the doors and down the hallway. Her shoes echoed against the tile floor as she half-ran into the semi-darkness. She drew a deep breath. The hallway was empty.

“Michael?”

He stepped out from a doorway, and she ran to him, heart pounding. As he caught her his mouth took hers, and everything melted away, all the weeks of darkness and loneliness. He pushed her against the slick wood of the door, and he was cold, the rough cotton of his sweater, the leather coat, but her hands were beneath his clothes, and his skin was hot and smooth.
 

“Michael, where were you?” She whispered roughly, hoarse with wanting. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His eyes were close, burning. “I didn’t know if I’d make it.” His voice was strained. “I literally ran to the airport in London. I called Angela from the plane and had her leave her ticket for me at the window. I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted to surprise you.” His hands were on her face, tracing the line of her lips, smoothing back her hair from her forehead. “God, I missed you so much,” he murmured, burying his face into the soft of her hair.

She reached for the doorknob and turned, the door fell open, and she pulled him inside. He pushed the door shut, and reached under her clothes. He had her tight against the wall and the zipper of her pants slid open and his hands pushed her clothing away and it fell, down around her feet, and she stepped out of them to wrap her leg around his hip. She could feel him, stiff beneath his jeans, hard against her. They were silent, frantic, and her fingers fumbled as she released him, sweetly alive in her hands. His breath was ragged, their mouths locked together. Then he gripped her around her waist and lifted her, her legs came around him as he plunged into her, and a cry leapt from her, and in seconds she was coming, biting the leather shoulder of his coat. He was making a noise, deep, guttural, as he pushed her against the rough cinderblock wall, and he climaxed suddenly, a hard, violent shudder. They leaned against each other, breathing harsh and unsteady, and Diane loosened her legs and her feet touched the hard tile floor, and as she tightened her arms around his neck, she felt the warm stickiness of him trickle down the inside of her leg.
 

The only light in the room came through the open blinds at the window, a streetlight, and she strained to see his face. She kissed his lips, and felt tears on his cheeks.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Did I?”

“No. Oh Michael, no.” She kissed him again, her lips against his mouth.

“The play was wonderful,” he whispered. “It was so great, they loved it. I am so proud of you. I was afraid I’d miss the curtain. I raced over from Kennedy. I almost didn’t make it.”

She pushed his head away, trying to see into his eyes. “You saw the play?” she asked. “You were here all along? Michael, why didn’t you find me? At intermission? I’ve been out there, all this time, talking to all those people, and you didn’t try to find me?”

He stepped away from her then, and she felt the cold air rush in against her bare skin.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were here, Michael?”

She could see him in the pale light, not his face, but the shrug of his shoulders.

“You were busy,” he said quietly, and he turned away from her, out through the door.

She leaned back against the wall, stunned and frightened. He was leaving. She bent down and felt for her clothes, pulling them up, and she ran out after him. She felt her hair falling around her face, and she pulled out Rachel’s chopsticks, flinging away the hair pins as she ran down the hall. He was at the glass doors, going back outside into the courtyard, and she followed, fear crowding with sudden anger. How could he leave?
 

She pushed through the glass doors after him, running, and called his name sharply. He stopped and turned, and a breeze caught his coat and it billowed around him, and the light behind him threw his face into sharp relief. He looked dark and beautiful, a fallen archangel, and her heart leapt to her throat, but she was angry now, wounded and afraid, and she stopped within a foot of him, her body shivering in the sudden cold.

“What the hell was that?” she lashed out. “Is that what you flew all the way over here for? Couldn’t you find anybody to fuck while you were in England?”

“No,” he shot back, “but apparently you could.”

“What?” She was incredulous. “What did you say?”

She heard her name, and she glanced away from Michael to see Quinn, running toward her.

“Diane. Are you all right?” As he reached her, he took her by the shoulders, his hands gentle as they touched her face, pushing away her tousled hair. “You look a fright. Are you hurt? What happened?” He turned to Michael, angry, challenging. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

Michael pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and squared his shoulders.

“I’m Michael.”

Quinn looked back at Diane, saw the flushed cheeks, the wildness in her eye, and he knew, in that moment, that he had lost her.

“Ah. Well.” He took a deep breath. “Diane, Levinson wants to know. Next summer? Will that be all right with you?”

Diane nodded.
 

“Fine. I’ll tell him. There are some people back there, though, you should say good-bye to.”

“I know, Quinn. I will. Just give me a minute, okay?”

“Yes.” He looked at her, shivering, her teeth beginning to chatter from the cold. “Look, take my jacket –“

“No, Quinn.” She crossed her arms, hugging herself. “I’m fine.”

He turned and walked quickly back into the building. Diane watched him go, and heard Michael’s voice, cold and calm.

“Well, isn’t he protective?”

She turned to him. His face had closed down, click, a blank page.

“The tabloids in London were full of you two. They ran an item about the great Quinn Harris at a theater on 13th Street. You took him to see Rachel, didn’t you? They didn’t know who you were. Then there was a dinner, for Derek Shore. They had a picture. They still didn’t know who you were. They said you were the woman Quinn Harris was kissing at two in the morning in the lobby of the Pierre Hotel. They said you were the reason he wasn’t spending his time in Manhattan, working on his play. I didn’t believe it. Angela told me all the rumors, but she said you denied everything. I believed you, of course. Even after you told me you couldn’t come to England, I believed you.”

She could see his eyes, dark and full of pain, and her mind became suddenly clear. The tears that had been threatening were gone.

“But I saw you.” His voice was tight, controlled. “At intermission. After the show. I watched you. He couldn’t keep his hands off you, could he?”

“I couldn’t come to England because of Emily,” Diane said calmly. “She found out about us. She was so angry. She said terrible things. Then she left. She stayed at Kevin’s. I couldn’t leave, Michael. I couldn’t.”

His jaw moved, clenched. “What about Harris?”

“Quinn asked me to marry him. He said we would be good together. He said we wanted the same things. He said he loved me.”

Michael’s voice was deathly quiet. “What did you say?”

She took a step toward him. She could feel him, the heat and energy from his body, and it soaked into her skin, pulling her. “I told him that I didn’t love him. I love you. Michael.” She took another step, and she was against him, and her arms crept around him, under the leather of his coat, and she felt him flinch, as though she had struck him.
 

“I love you, Michael.” she said again. His eyes closed, and his arms tightened around her, and she could feel the tension and anger and fear leave his body.
 

“I should have told you,” she whispered. “I never should have let you go all the way to England without knowing. I’m sorry.” She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “I didn’t realize until after you were gone. All I could do was wait for you to come back, and hope you hadn’t found somebody else.”

“Somebody else?” He asked in quiet amazement. “How could there be anyone else?”

“Because you were over there, and it was terrible and you were all alone, and you didn’t know, Michael, that I loved you. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you couldn’t wait for me.”

“Wait for you? I love you. And I will love you forever, Diane. Your loving me or not won’t change that. Your being with me or not won’t change it. Nothing will change that.”

“Oh, thank God. I’ve been so unhappy without you. Please, don’t leave again. There is so much I need to tell you. Are you home for good? Please say you’re home.”

He shook his head. “No. I’m flying back tomorrow. For another week. It’s such a long story. Listen.” He kissed her, hard. “You have to go back. There are people in there who can help you, right? Help with your play? I know how this business works. Go back in there and play nice. Those people are your future, you know?”

“No, they aren’t. My future is right here. But you’re right. I have to say good-bye to people. To Quinn.”

“I’ll be at the house. I’ve still got the key. Take your time, okay? I’ll wait for you.” He kissed her again. “I’ll wait.”

“Yes. Give me a few minutes, but I’ll be there.” She pulled herself away from him and walked back into the lights and noise, smoothing her hair. People turned and smiled and reached for her. She answered automatically, saying the right things. Quinn was back at her side, not touching her. And when she finally said good night, he held her coat for her and walked her out across the parking lot, standing beside her in the cold.

“So, I suppose you’re quite sure about all this?” He asked her.

She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I love him. Ever since I met him, I’ve been trying to talk myself out of this. Really. But in spite my best arguments, I want to be with him. Everything just feels so much better when I’m with him. So, yes, I’m sure.”

“I thought that I was the one,” he said.

“You could have been. If I hadn’t met him, you would have been. You’re a wonderful man, Quinn. I’m so sorry.”
 

Quinn hugged her gently and kissed the top of her head. “If you need anything, you’ll call me, right?”

She nodded, feeling a sudden sadness.

“I know. Thank you, Quinn.” And with that, she got into her car and drove home to Michael.

He was asleep when she got home. The black leather coat was a lump on the floor, and his shoes were in the hallway. He was stretched out on her bed, fully clothed, sound asleep. She undressed carefully, pulled on flannel pajamas, and covered him with an old quilt from the closet. Then she unplugged the phone beside the bed and crawled next to him, curling her body next to his. She was exhausted, but she lay there quiet, happy, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the heat of his body next to hers.

She awoke late, slid from his side, and padded into the kitchen. She made coffee, and picked up the phone. She called Rachel. Then she called Sam French to tell him she would not meet him for lunch. Sam was still flying high and told her they didn’t need to meet at all, that last night’s performance had been perfect, and he would see her that evening. She took her coffee back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, watching Michael as he slept.