Facets (42 page)

“I’ve been lucky.”

“You’ve been smart. You saw an opportunity and took advantage of it.” Her hands made an admiring circle of his chest before meeting near his navel. “What’s it like being a model?”

“Tedious. What’s it like being an artist?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a real one yet.”

“You had an exhibit at
Facets
last winter.”

“It wasn’t much. Just a few pieces.”

“They were beautiful.”

“You saw them?”

He nodded. “Put on a duster and a Stetson and a pair of sunglasses. Didn’t look a bit like myself.”

“You saw my work but you didn’t see me?”

The smugness disappeared from his voice. “I wanted to, Pam. I wanted to see you so much I could taste it. Then I thought of John, and I thought of how well things were going for you, and I couldn’t risk ruining that.”

“What’s changed from then to now?”

“You. You’re getting ready to graduate. It’s a whole chunk of your life I’ve missed. I had to see you before you moved on.”

“Oh, Cutter,” she sighed. She kissed his throat and the underside of his jaw before letting her mouth rest on the pulse point at his neck. She had always loved that spot. It was a bellwether of his state, slow and steady when he slept, strong and steady when he woke, less steady but stronger than ever when he wanted her.

He wanted her now.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

She did. His eyes were dark and hot in the night. He lifted her thigh over his, slid his hand to cover her bottom, and drew her forward. His entry was smooth; she was moist and ready for that, but the sense of utter fullness stunned her. She closed her eyes to savor the pleasure.

“Look at me,” he repeated.

When she did, he began to move, and the pleasure of that was so intense she thought she’d die of it. Over and over she breathed his name. She held tight to his arm, which held her tight to him. Then, sure she was dreaming since nothing had ever felt so good as his slow, deep stroking, she dropped her hand to his belly, then lower to clutch at the course hair that hit hers at each thrust. She breathed his name louder this time, a cry when her climax began. Her arms went around his neck. She held on for dear life while it shook her. By the time awareness returned, Cutter was at the end of his own release. She watched him as he fell back to the bed, panting, eyes closed, skin glossy with sweat.

When the panting eased, she put her thumb to the corner of his mouth. “I love you so much.”

He snagged her neck with an elbow and pulled until she lay half over him. “Didn’t use anything, Pam.”

It was a minute before she realized what he meant. “It’s okay.”

He opened an eye. “You take something?”

She nodded.

He opened both eyes. “Do you date much? Hillary would never tell me.”

“She couldn’t. I never told her. But there’s no one special, Cutter. The guys I know are just friends.”

“Students?”

“At Tufts, mostly. I take my academic courses there. Sometimes there’s a party or a lecture, and it’s nice to be with someone.”

“You’re on the Pill.”

The accusation was mild, but it was there. She put her forearms on his chest and swallowed before she spoke. “I never heard from you. I wasn’t sure if I ever would. Once I learned what you were doing, I thought for sure you’d forget me. You were with so many people. So many women.”

“I wasn’t.”

“WelI, I thought you were. I thought you had a really busy and exciting life of your own and didn’t need me anymore. There were times when I felt so empty inside, and I thought that maybe if I was with someone it would help, only it didn’t.” She paused. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wondering how often she’d have to say those words. She felt guilty about so many things.

Cutter held her head to his chest. His voice was gruff. “Don’t keep saying that. I can’t blame you for what you did. I may be jealous, but I don’t have the right.”

“Have there been many women?”

“No.”

“One, two?” She raised her head. “Would I know them?”

He studied her face and smiled gently. “No. And I won’t tell you their names. It’s irrelevant.”

“Are they my age?” When he didn’t answer, she asked, “Are they models?”

“Pam.”

“They must be beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Are they good?”

He flipped over and pinned her to the bed. “I’m not telling you a damn thing,” he growled playfully. “It doesn’t matter who they are, how old, how pretty, how good. I had to drive for five hours, sit outside in my car for another two until the cops staking out the Stop sign left, climb a fire escape, jimmy open a window, and then sit with my hands between my legs until I couldn’t take it anymore and woke you up. If I’d wanted any of them, would I have done all that?”

Of course he wouldn’t have, she realized, and that made her feel a little better. “The guys I was with were awful. I couldn’t respond, not the way I do to you. One of them asked if I was frigid. The other kept apologizing because he couldn’t make me come. No man does it for me like you, Cutter.”

“No?”

She shook her head.

He watched her, half-smiling, then trailed a look down her body. “You’re so beautiful.” He scooped her close. “Holding you is like holding heaven.” He rolled to the side and framed her face with a hand. “You’re so good. Sensitive and kind. I’ve never been able to understand how you could be related to John.”

“I’ve dreamed that I wasn’t. It was wonderful.”

“Do you see him much?”

“As little as possible.”

“I was surprised you went to school here. I thought you’d want to go away.”

“I did. Until I met Monique.” She told him about that summer and how it had changed her direction. “I’ve been back to Paris every summer since. Monique is wonderful. She was the one who pushed me into having the show at
Facets
. If it had been up to me, I’d have stayed as far from John as possible. But she said I was a fool, that I had a contact most artisans would die for, that there was no reason why I shouldn’t use
Facets
to launch my career. And I realized she was right. It was only fair that I should get something out of the grief John has caused. Besides, part of
Facets
is mine. It may not be a big part, and I may not have any say for another three years, but I am a St. George. Daddy would have wanted me to have the show there.”

“I’m surprised John let you.”

“He wasn’t wild about the idea until I told him I’d go elsewhere.”

“Did you? Good girl!”

“He’s a bastard, Cutter. They hate him at the mines. He treats them well, but there’s always a price to be paid. He likes being able to pull strings and make people dance to his tune.”

“Does he bother you here?”

“No. He calls once in a while just to remind me he’s around. God forbid I should forget.” But that was exactly what she wanted to do just then. Cutter was there. To spend her time with him talking about John seemed a sacrilege. “Tell me about your work, Cutter. Tell me how it happened.”

He skated a hand down the slope of her hip. “Didn’t Hillary tell you that?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

With a bit more prodding, he told her about the two men in the bar, the initial shoot, the contract, the early assignments. She asked question after question, and when the answers he gave were too vague, she told him so. She felt she was emerging from a four-year vacuum. Nothing was too trivial, nothing too mundane. She wanted to know what was in his mind when he posed, how long the sessions went, whether he preferred studio layouts to location shoots. She wanted to know which ads of all the ones he’d done he liked the best and why. She wanted to know whether Girard Jondier wore his own clothes, what kind of camera Brian Webster used, whether Cutter’s hair stylist was gay, and where Cutter spent Thanksgiving and Christmas. She made him describe his apartment. She asked whether people recognized him on the street. She wanted to know whether he still read a lot, and when he said yes, she wanted to know what.

She was surprised when he told her. “You used to like fiction.”

“I still do. But I haven’t had much time, lately, and nonfiction takes precedence.”

“Why books on business?”

“Some of the people I’m with are heavyweights. It helps if I can understand what they’re saying.”

“Wow,” she said with a smile. “If Daddy could only see you now.”

“If he could only see you,” Cutter echoed, then paused. “Do you think he’d have minded us, Pam?”

“Not for a minute.”

“Me neither.” He paused again. “Does your mother?”

That was harder for Pam to answer. “I don’t think so. I’ve mentioned you a lot. I’m not sure she takes it in. Bob says she does.”

“Bob?”

“Grossman. Her psychiatrist.”

“The same one? He’s been working with her all this time?”

“Uh-huh. I think he’s sweet on her.”

Cutter frowned. “Is that legal?”

“Perfectly. He’s divorced.”

“Is it ethical?”

“She’s a paraplegic. What can happen?”

“Lots.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Brian has a friend who comes to watch him work sometimes. The guy was hit in ’Nam and can’t walk. He always comes with one girlfriend or another. He has a really active sex life.”

Pam tried to picture Patricia with Bob. “I don’t know, Cutter. I can’t see it with my mother. Even if she can feel things down there, she isn’t the passionate type.”

“How do you know?”

He had a point. “I don’t.”

“Would that guy who thought you were frigid believe you if he saw you now?”

She laughed and draped an arm on his shoulder. “Probably not.” She kissed his chin. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Giving me hope for my mother.” But he was always good at things like that. “I worry about her. I wouldn’t mind it at all if she and Bob had something going. She deserves a little happiness.”

“So do you,” Cutter said in a voice that was low and concerned. “Where to from here? What happens after graduation?”

“I’ll be working.”

“At
Facets
?”

“With the designers. I want my own line.”

“Will John give it to you?”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll go elsewhere.”

“Even if he starts making threats? That’s his way, Pam. You know it as well as I do.”

“But at some point, it won’t work. I’m not a child anymore.”

“Age has nothing to do with it. He’s a madman.”

“But it’s not fair. It’s not right.” The old anger returned, the old sense of injustice and helplessness. It was never far from the surface. “Nothing is right, where John is concerned.”

“
Facets
is right,” Cutter pointed out. “It’s turning a handsome profit. The dividends paid to stockholders have increased steadily over the past few years.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve seen the prospectus.”

“Do you own any stock?”

“A little.”

She grinned. “That’s great! Buy more, Cutter. He’ll
croak
.” Then her grin faded and she wanted to cry. “Such small victories. I want a big one.”

“Someday.”

“When?”

“Someday.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. It was too vague, too far off. “What do we do in the meantime?”

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “We grow. You make a name for yourself. I make money.”

“I’d rather have you than a name for myself.”

His voice was harder when he said, “You need a name. It’ll give you power.”

“And the money? Do you need it?”

“Yes.”

“You never used to.”

“It was a pipe dream then. Now it’s real.”

“It’s just money. It buys things.”

“It buys power.”

She felt a chill. She’d grown up knowing people with money and power. Her impression had been that one corrupted the other. John was a perfect example. “Does it mean so much to you, having power?”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t used to. I can remember when you didn’t want to be a supervisor at the mine. You didn’t want the responsibility.”

He turned his head on the pillow. His eyes were dark as the night and hard as his voice. “We’re not talking being supervisor at the mine anymore. The stakes are higher. And they’re within reach. I’m making good money. Good money is self-perpetuating. I’m starting to think that it’d be nice to have as much as I can get.”

“You were never money-hungry.”

“I am now.”

She felt an ache inside. The Cutter she’d known had simple tastes and desires. Most of them had focused on her. “Is making money more important than our being together?”

Angry, he came up on an elbow. “We can’t be together. He won’t
let
us be together. It’s not safe.”