Envy (19 page)

He ran his finger down the page until he located the passage he sought. "Okay, listen."

"I'm listening."

"À full moon hovered just above the horizon and was reflected in the water at such a severe angle that its wavering spotlight spanned the entire breadth of the lake. But it shed a chill light. On the far shore, towering pines and denuded hardwoods were unmoving in the windless night, stark and still, like India ink etchings against the sky that had turned wintry just that day.`"

"I like it."

"To encapsulate, their conversation has been forced, stilted. Leslie hadn't asked Roark where they were going when they left the Sonic. On the drive to the lake, she hadn't uttered a peep.

... Jesus, did I write that?" He took

#a red pencil from his shirt pocket and #####325

made a slash through that line. "But by now her silence is beginning to wear on Roark's nerves. He wants to know what she's thinking."

He began to read again from the text. "`Roark withheld asking until his chest felt tight enough to crack. "What are you so quiet for?" His tone of voice should have pissed her off. It would have pissed him off if somebody who had been as glum as an undertaker all evening had implicitly accused him of being the source of some unacknowledged complication.

"`But when Leslie turned toward him, he saw only kindness in her expression. Instead of rebuke, understanding. And Roark was suddenly struck by how beautiful she was.

"Òh, the first time he saw her he'd thought she was pretty. Eye candy. He and the guys he'd been carousing with that night had picked her out of a crowd of coeds. Among themselves they had appraised her, lewdly remarking on the physical attributes that men lewdly remark upon. She had scored high.

"`But tonight she was beautiful to him in a way that had nothing to do with the pleasant arrangement of her features or the proportions of her figure.

She exuded a beauty that was deeper than her flawless complexion and rarer even than her extraordinarily blue eyes.

"`She radiated a beauty that wasn't particularly appreciated. By contemporary society's standards, it didn't have much value.

It wasn't sophisticated and cool, but homespun and warm. It made you feel loved and accepted despite your shortcomings, despite everything. Tonight Leslie was beautiful like you hoped your life partner would be.`"

When Parker stopped reading and glanced up at her, Maris managed only a slight nod and a motion for him to continue.

"Leslie asks him what had happened that day to put him in such a funk. Words to that effect."

Parker sent that page sailing over the armrest of the wheelchair and found the spot on the following page where he wanted to resume reading.

"`Roark talked for ten solid minutes. The words gushed out in an uninterrupted stream, as though all day his subconscious had been choosing them and arranging them into an order that would give them the most impact and would most eloquently express the

#level of his despair. ###############327

"`But eventually his dejection turned to outrage. He articulated the fiery internal argument he'd been having with himself, the argument that justified his anger toward Todd. "Fuck his apology!" He closed his hand into a tight fist.

"He can't undo the damage he's done that easily."

"`When he finished venting about Todd, he cursed the pompous professor for being such an unrelenting bastard, at the same time admitting to his fear of never reestablishing a rapport with Hadley and thereby guaranteeing a dismal grade on his capstone.

"`The words finally ebbed, then stopped altogether.

Roark fell silent again and hunkered down into his jacket, not for the warmth it provided but from shame for sounding like such a goddamn crybaby.`"

Again, Parker raised his head and looked at Maris. "Well? Should I trash it or continue?"

"Continue. Please."

"I'll pick up with Leslie's

response."

Returning to the manuscript, he read,

"`She waited until the smoke of his wrath had cleared, when it became noticeable that the cold from outside was seeping into the car. Her breath formed plumes of vapor between them. She spoke quietly as one would to a temperamental animal who was momentarily docile. "What happened today is a good thing, Roark."

"`He snorted, looked over at her.

"Good? How in God's name is it good? Not that I believe in God."

"`He knew she wouldn't like the atheistic remark. She was a devout believer who took offense at jokes made over anything

religious. Ordinarily she admonished him for making them and asked him to kindly keep his irreverent comments to himself. This time, she elected to overlook it.

"`"The reason you're taking this so hard is because your writing means so much to you."

"Ìt was a good point. He wanted to hear more.

"And because it means so much to you, you'll succeed. If you were able to shrug off the misunderstanding with Professor Hadley or laugh about it, then I would advise you to rethink your choice of career. You could dismiss this incident only if you had no

#passion for writing. ###################329

"`"What happened illustrates the depth of your passion. Your despondency over this ... what really amounts to a hiccup in the grand scheme of things ... demonstrates the level of your desire to write and write well. It hit you where it hurts most, which affirms that you're doing what you were born to do." She smiled. "I didn't need it affirmed. But perhaps you did. And if you did, then this experience was worth all the anxiety it's caused."

"`She reached for his hand and pressed it between hers. "Think about it, Roark, and you'll realize that I'm right."`"

When Parker paused, Maris said, "She's a very intuitive young woman."

"You think?"

She nodded. Noticing the sheets still lying in his lap, she asked, "How does Parker respond?"

"The way most men respond to any emotionally charged situation."

"Which is?"

"Well, depending on if we're stimulated to feel bad or good, we either want to strike something or fuck something."

CHAPTER 14

Maris cleared her throat. "I don't suppose Roark feels like striking something."

"Wasn't it you who suggested that I enhance their relationship?"

"It was."

"Okay, then. They kiss, and it gets predictably slippery. Roark opens her coat, cuddles up to her chest. She gives him access to some skin. `Velvety, warm,

fragrant woman skin,ìt says here. I'll work on that." He made a notation.

"He caresses her breasts. For the first time since they began dating, he uses his mouth. He kisses her nipples, teaching her something about arousal and the pleasurable possibilities that are available to a man and woman who are willing to explore them."

Maris's heart bumped inside her chest.

"Her scent. Her breath. The texture of her against his tongue. Combined with the day's frustration. The foreplay just isn't hacking it. The guy's dying

#here. So he guides Leslie's hand ####331

inside his jeans and, to put it delicately, she gives him a hand job."

"That's putting it delicately?"

The huskiness of her voice brought his head up and he looked across at her. "Compared to some optional phrases, that's pretty delicate, yeah."

"Okay."

"Roark tells her he loves her."

"Does he mean it?"

"At that moment? With all his heart."

Parker's somber face caused her to laugh.

"I'm sure. How does Leslie respond?"

"Ah," he said, frowning. "As it turns out, the hand job is her going-away present. She dumps him."

"Then and there?"

"It's right here in black and white."

"Hmm. Does she break up for the reasons stated in the first draft?"

"Yeah."

"Then she's being kind, isn't she? And smart.

As much as it hurts her, she's doing what she realizes is best for both of them, especially Roark. She's thinking first of him and his career."

"Maybe. But I gotta tell you, Maris, fresh after you've climaxed, it's a real bummer if the woman up and walks out on you."

"I suppose."

"Oh, yeah," he said, nodding sagely.

"Ask any guy."

"I'll take your word for it."

"In Roark's mind she's being a heartless bitch. He doesn't need her charity, and who the hell does she think she is? He's good and pissed." Maris was about to protest when Parker raised a finger to halt her. "At least initially." He picked up the remaining pages.

"Shall I?"

"Please."

"`The day had started off lousy and then it had gone to pure shit.

"`He thought about getting drunk, but could see no good purpose in it. Today's disappointments would carry over into tomorrow, and then he would have to confront them with the handicap of a hangover.

"`Besides, he hadn't earned an excuse to get drunk. That right belonged to a man only if he had a circumstance to celebrate ... or

#to mourn. One was allowed to lament a disaster ##333

visited on him by random selection, such as an act of God or a whim of Fate. But regret over his own culpability earned a man no such privilege. Responsibility for one's sorry situation couldn't be that easily removed.

"Às much as he wanted to lay blame on Leslie, on Hadley, on Todd, for today's miseries, Roark acknowledged that most of the blame, if not all of it, lay squarely with him.

"`Leslie was wise beyond her years and experience. Moreover, she was honest to a painful degree. Their individual desires were too discordant, their dreams too disparate for them to have a future together. Their goals conflicted now. In the future they would clash resoundingly. When the inevitable separation came, they would be left scarred and embittered.

"`The wisdom of her choice to return to her small-town aspirations and long-standing sweetheart didn't make it any easier to lose her now, but ending the relationship before it actually started would spare them future heartache. At least they had parted while all the memories were still sweet.

"`Professor Hadley had been well within his right to be perturbed. He didn't want any stupid students under his tutelage. He had probably been as upset with Roark for being duped by his roommate as he had been by the tardiness.

The professor's time was too limited, his instruction too valuable to squander on fools.

Taking Todd's word for something as critical as that meeting had been nothing short of stupid.

"`The challenge facing Roark now was to prove to Hadley that, all evidence pointing to the contrary, he was not an imbecile. He could learn from this experience. He must learn from it. If he didn't, he would be as foolish, as much a waste of time and effort, as Hadley believed him to be.

"`Today had been the first cold day of the season.

It was also the first day of Roark Slade's life as an adult. Without ceremony or sacrament, he had undergone a rite of passage. Whatever remnants of innocence he had awakened with this morning had been stripped from him. After today trust was only a word, a remote ideal that would never have a practical application in his life. From today forward, any belief he entertained would be contaminated by skepticism.

"`Roark wasn't aware of this transition

#until years later, when he leafed ######335

back through the pages of his personal history, searching for the defining moment when his life had ceased being charmed and became cursed. His search always ended on this day.

"`For months following that Tuesday before Thanksgiving, Roark would think about Professor Hadley and what he could learn from that embarrassing experience. He would reflect on all that he had learned from Leslie about himself as a man and a writer. He would think on that quite a lot.

"`But what he had learned about his best friend Todd, he avoided thinking about altogether.`"

When Parker finished reading the final page, he stared at the last sentence for a time, then let the sheet slip from his fingers and drift down to join the others. By now the floor around the wheelchair was littered with pages of manuscript.

Quietly, and without looking at Maris, he said, "That's it so far."

She slowly unfolded her legs and lowered her feet to the floor. She slid her palms up and down the tops of her thighs, then clasped her hands loosely, raised her shoulders around a deep breath, and released it gradually.

"All right, Parker. It goes against the company's policy as well as my own, but I'll give you a ten-thousand-dollar advance just to finish the manuscript. When it's completed, we'll negotiate the terms of a contract. If you decline our terms and sell the book elsewhere, the ten thousand must be repaid from the first proceeds you receive from the other publisher. If you accept, that initial ten thousand will be applied to the advance we ultimately agree upon. In the meantime, I suggest you get an agent."

"I suggest you get a grip on reality."

"That's a no?"

"Twenty-five thousand. Which barely covers my expenses. I've got to buy cartridges for my printer, paper."

"Mighty expensive paper," she said drolly. "Fifteen. That represents an act of good faith, considering that I don't even have an outline."

He mulled it over for several seconds.

"Fifteen, no first-proceeds clause, and the fifteen is not applicable to the advance finally agreed upon. In other words, the fifteen's mine no matter what. If Matherly Press can't

#afford to gamble fifteen grand, you should ######337

padlock the doors tomorrow."

He was right, of course, and, except for saving face, she saw no point in arguing it further.

The fierce deal-making could be reserved for the final contract negotiations.

"Deal. As soon as I return to New York, I'll have our legal department draw up a letter of agreement. For now, we have a gentlemen's agreement." She stuck out her hand.

He took her hand and used it to draw her closer to him. "By no stretch of the imagination are you a gentleman."

She leaned even farther forward, bringing her face very close to his and whispering, "Neither are you."

Laughing, he released her hand. "Got that right.

Do you want to take the rest of this with you?" He indicated the pages scattered over the floor.

"Please. I'd like my father to read it."

"What about your husband?"

"Noah usually handles the business concerns and leaves the editorial to me, but since I've become so personally involved in this book, I'm sure he'll want to read it, too."

Parker wheeled his chair backward so she could kneel down and gather the manuscript pages.

"I'd help, but--was

"No bother."

?--I like it this way. I've actually

entertained fantasies of you on your knees in front of me."

"Groveling?"

"That, too."

She looked up at him but wished she hadn't.

He wasn't smiling, wasn't teasing. The remark went beyond his typical innuendo.

"_Dirty fantasies," he added. "In some states I could be arrested."

"Stop it, Parker."

"Okay, I will."

"Thank you."

"When you stop looking like that."

"Like what?"

"Thoroughly fuckable."

"That's not a word."

"Thoroughly? Is, too."

"I should have you charged with sexual harassment."

"I'd deny it."

"That's the only reason I don't." She continued to gather the pages with quick, angry motions.

#Then she noticed the scar. #############339

He wasn't wearing socks, so his feet were bare inside a pair of docksiders that, sadly, looked new and unscuffed. The scar crossed the vamp of his right foot and crawled up his ankle to disappear inside the leg of his trousers. The flesh was raised and buckled.

"It only gets worse from there. In fact, that one is damn near beautiful compared to some of the others."

She looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Parker."

"No need to apologize. It's human nature to be curious over something that grotesque. I'm accustomed to stares."

"No. I meant I'm sorry for whatever it was that happened to you. It m/'ve been incredibly painful."

"At first." He affected an indifference she knew was false. "But after a few years I learned to live with it. Eventually the pain dwindled to a familiar ache. Except in cold weather.

Then it can hurt like a son of a bitch."

"Is that why you moved to St. Anne?

To escape harsh winters?"

"One of the reasons." He wheeled his chair around. "I'm going to get more cobbler. Want some?"

With all the sheets now in hand, she came to her feet. "No, thanks. I need to get to bed. I left an early wake-up call with Mike."

"Right."

In a matter of seconds, his attitude had turned frosty. She'd seen his scars, internal ones as well as those on his legs, and he couldn't tolerate that. He equated the scars to weakness, a limitation to his masculinity. Which was ridiculous.

Because, with the exception of those scarred legs, Parker defined maleness. He was broad through his shoulders and chest. As she had noticed the night they met, his arms were heavily muscled. Even his legs, what she could make out of them beneath his trousers, were muscular. In a private conversation with Mike, she had asked why Parker didn't use a motorized chair. He'd said that Parker wanted to stay as fit as possible and wheeling himself around helped keep his muscles toned.

He wasn't as classically handsome as Noah.

There was a distinct asymmetry to Parker's

#features, but the irregularities made ##341

his face arresting and interesting. The square jaw, stern visage, and a head of hair over which he exercised limited control, all contributed to an attractiveness that was altogether manly.

A manliness from which the safest distance for a married woman was full retreat.

"I'll be in touch soon, Parker."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said flippantly.

"Write your heart out."

"Yeah. Good-bye, Maris." He wheeled himself into the kitchen, never looking back. He might just as well have sprinted away from her. The door swished shut behind him.

Left standing alone in the empty, dim room, Maris felt awkward and a bit deflated. She didn't know what she had expected, but Parker's desertion seemed anticlimactic. She had what she'd come for--an agreement with him to finish _Envy. One more handshake to seal that agreement wouldn't have killed him, would it? He hadn't mentioned being around to see her off in the morning. She certainly hadn't expected a protracted and syrupy good-bye; nevertheless, she felt a bit crestfallen.

Honestly? She was sad to be leaving. When she should be eager to return to her turf, where the accents and the cuisine and the night sounds were familiar, she realized she dreaded tomorrow's departure.

The island had captivated her with its lavish landscape and its musical insects whose concert lulled her to sleep every night. At first she'd found the humidity cloying and almost unbearable, but she had actually come to like the feel of it against her skin. With its moss-laden trees that were almost as ancient as the surf, the island was otherworldly, entrancing, and seductive.

And so was Parker Evans. But she shoved that thought aside.

She noticed that the manuscript pages had actually grown damp within her tight grip.

Relaxing her fist, she shook her head with chagrin. There was no mystery as to the source of these sensual thoughts. They had taken root in her mind when Parker read that damned passage about slippery kisses and nipples and the pleasurable possibilities available to a man and woman willing to explore them.

She had planned to return to the guest

#cottage and read these pages for herself, but ##343

she changed her mind. They could wait to be read when she was back in New York, under

fluorescent lights, in familiar surroundings, behind the safe barricade of her own desk and heavy workload. They could be read when their author wasn't in the next room entertaining fantasies about her that he could be arrested for.

Before she left the solarium, she borrowed a Mackensie Roone novel from Parker's

library. She had a feeling that falling asleep was going to be difficult. The mystery would be a pleasant diversion. Deck Cayton could keep her company.