Lady Be Bad (5 page)

"Who's that?"

"You, of course."

"Think so?"

"I know so."

Closing her eyes, her chin resting on the
back of the bronze statue that was balanced on her knee, Marlayna
easily drifted back in time, back to the last day she had seen her
husband

"For heaven's sake, Noah, stop shouting!
It's only the sports page!"

"You could have waited to cut out that
coupon, Mimi. Is it too much to ask to read the baseball
scores?"

She grabbed the newspaper from the
stranglehold his hand had on it. "I'll tape the damn thing back
together."

"Don't bother, I'll read it at work."

"Then why all the fuss?"

Noah had muttered something profane, counted
aloud to ten and then picked up his orange hardhat from the dining
room table. "Come on, walk me to the door, and kiss me
good-bye."

"No."

"What do you mean, no? You know I can't work
unless I get a kiss from you."

"Tough."

"Getting a kiss from you lately has been
tough."

"What do you mean by that crack?"

"Oh, hell, Mimi. We can talk about this
tonight. "I'm going to be late and you already are."

Marlayna jumped when her mind vividly
replayed the slam of the front door six years ago. Six years almost
to the day. August thirteenth. A day that, at least to her, would
live in infamy. A day on which all dreams and hopes were
shattered.

It was four thirty-five on Friday, one half
hour to quitting time, and the emergency room at Grady Memorial
that had been oddly quiet all day suddenly exploded into activity.
Eight ambulances, sirens wailing, screamed into the receiving
doors, carrying construction workers who had been caught when a
brick wall had collapsed. Three of the men were red blankets — dead
on arrival; five others were in serious condition. One of the five
was her husband.

Squeezing her eyes tighter, Marlayna was
able to see two Noah Drakes. The first was the half-angry,
half-teasing man who had tried and failed to get a good-bye kiss.
Six feet of broad-shouldered, tempered muscular strength that had
made love to her the first time with such tender care and concern.
He had a wonderful smile that reached his brown eyes and a deep
cleft in his square chin.

That was the picture of Noah she treasured,
the one that remained so disturbingly real that the man actually
seemed to have shadowed her all these years. An image so unlike the
other one — the one of her husband lying on an ambulance gurney,
his body impaled with tubes and wires, his face bruised and
bleeding, features distorted by dust and dirt.

She had learned the facts of the accident in
the
Atlanta Evening Journal.
Preliminary findings indicated
no criminal negligence; the brick wall was reported toppled by a
sudden gust of wind. A breeze that instantly extinguished three
lives and sent five men to intensive care. Marlayna had ceased
being a hospital employee and joined the other wives to wait for
word on their husbands.

All received reports but her. None of the
nurses or doctors would answer any of her questions; none would
even look her in the eye. Finally, after over a dozen hours, one
doctor did come out and speak.

"Mrs. Drake."

"How is he? How's my husband?"

"As well as can be expected," was the
doctor's vague response. "I think you should go home."

"Home? But I want to see Noah."

"He doesn't want to see you." The
physician's hand had squeezed her shoulder. "I'm afraid patient
information is not extended to couples who are separated."

"Separated? I...what...I don't
understand."

"Please, Marlayna, just go home. You won't
be allowed any special privileges."

A heavy sigh shook her body. "I never wanted
anything special. Oh, maybe just to give Noah that good-bye kiss he
so dearly wanted."

Just a kiss. A simple puckering of two lips
pressed against two others. She had longed for that kiss every
morning and every night for six years. Longed for the kiss. Longed
for the love. Longed for the man.

Marlayna's fingers flowed along the sculpted
beauty that was the metal unicorn. Unicorn—a mythical beast. Had
their happiness been mythical, too? Had all the love, all the
laughter, all the sharing, all the caring, all the planning been
nothing but a sham?

She chucked the unicorn under his chin. "I
bet every divorced woman in the world has asked herself that
question and never been able to answer it! Maybe my whole problem
is that I cling to the past. Maybe I should say the hell with it
all. The hell with Noah Drake. I could always learn to kiss some
other man!" Her stomach rumbled in both alarm and annoyance. "Oh
hell, maybe I should just get something to eat!" Dragging herself
off the chair, she went in search of something more nourishing than
shattered dreams and unfulfilled desires.

Her opinion of the duplex's kitchen hadn't
altered since the day she had first inspected the rather austere,
clinical environment. Marlayna wrinkled her nose at the black
granite countertops, white wood cabinets and appliances and black
and white tile on the floor and walls. She flipped the overhead
fluorescent lights on, then quickly turned them off, deciding that
her dinner would be much more palatable under the illumination
offered by the softer range hood light

As usual, her housekeeper, Pearl Hardy, had
stocked the twenty-four-cubic-foot double-door refrigerator with
something from every aisle in the grocery store. And, as usual,
Marlayna ignored the wrapped cheeses, the cartons of low-cal
yogurt, and the various gourmet deli containers in lieu of her
favorite — baloney and mustard — making a major concession in using
Pearl's white wine Dijon variety of the condiment.

She unscrewed a jar of pickles and munched
her way through some baby gherkins, while deftly coating slices of
diet wheat bread with the brown mustard.

"Don't forget the catsup. I can only eat
baloney with mustard and catsup."

The stainless steel knife fell from suddenly
numb fingers, spangling the black countertop yellow brown. "Noah?"
Holding a sharply drawn breath, Marlayna whirled around but found
that the only companion that haunted the kitchen was a looming
stretch of dusk gray shadow that slanted through the west
window.

"Take a deep breath and count to ten," she
ordered and dutifully followed her own instructions. "This always
happens when you think about him. You are fine. There is no reason
to call Bellevue and have men send you a straightjacket to model."
Marlayna concentrated all her energies on peeling the red wrapper
off the luncheon meat.

"But you still haven't put on the
catsup!"

"There's nobody here who wants catsup," she
loudly responded to the deep masculine voice. "There's nobody here
but me."

"I'm here. I'm always just behind you."

Marlayna lifted another pickle from the open
jar and spoke to it. "Do you know what's going on? I do. I just
spent nine days modeling fur coats in the Mojave Desert, in
triple-digit temperatures with two mean, disgustingly smelly
camels." Even white teeth snapped through the sweet vegetable. "I'm
just having my hallucination a little late. You know how traveling
through time zones scrambles one's brain."

"So, I'm just a hallucination?"

"Yup." She slapped a piece of bread on top
of the baloney. "Just a mirage. A figment of the old
imagination."

"Can this figment of your imagination set
your body on fire?"

Marlayna felt a warm caress disturb the
ebony hair that curled against her nape. She closed her eyes when
sudden flash of heat arced inside her stomach, sending a molten
stream of longing snaking slowly downward.

She recalled what it was like to touch and
be touched by Noah. The feeling came back fresh and alive. Her lips
were too sensitive, nerve endings all exposed; her nipples grew
hard, pushing urgently against the soft sweatshirt material of her
jacket.

Noah wasn't even here, yet he could so
easily seduce her — easily, artfully, creatively, imaginatively. He
touched her in her dreams each night. All the memories kept coming
home. Everything had come back. Everything but Noah Drake.

Swallowing convulsively, her tongue washed
around a dry mouth. "I'm afraid, dear phantom that you can still
set me on fire. You know you've been a wonderful fantasy lover for
the last six years. But that will soon come to an end."

"I'm still owed that kiss, Mimi."

Snapping off the meager range hood light,
Marlayna took her sandwich in one hand and the jar of pickles in
the other. "Next week, you can have your kiss." She elbowed open
the black cafe doors and, without looking back into the shadows,
added: "I may owe you a kiss, Noah Drake, but you owe me a
baby."

“Here's that sexy perfume you requested, an
oldie but a goodie." The heel of Sylvia Davies's taupe lizard skin
sandal kicked Marlayna's apartment door closed. "I couldn't believe
it when you called and actually
asked
for something." She
held out the petite monogrammed Lord & Taylor shopping bag.
"Especially when something, even with my discount, comes to one
hundred dollars an ounce!"

"Wow, really…I only ever had samples."
Marlayna laughed at Sylvia's bobbing eyebrows. "Hey, I finally
begin to spend a few bucks and everybody gets apoplexy." She linked
their arms. "You should have heard Paul when I asked to keep some
of the lingerie wardrobe I modeled Wednesday."

"That's because this new you is such a
sudden transformation. You've never spent money on anything but the
bare essentials, and you've always tried to refuse or return
pre-offered clothing. Now in the space of a week—" Her right hand
made a fluttering gesture, then returned to pat Marlayna's arm.
"Oh, well, I've always wanted to see a caterpillar explode from the
cocoon and try butterfly wings."

"That's another reason I asked you to come."
Marlayna led Sylvia into the crisp white decorated master bedroom.
"I'm not quite sure what this novice butterfly should pack for
tomorrow's flight."

Sylvia's amber eyes blinked at the confused
jumble of clothing that nearly obliterated the pink rosebuds that
bloomed across the white satin comforter. "I see that you like to
work in a state of controlled hysteria."

Marlayna blanched, her skin defying its
sun-toasted tan to turn ash gray.

"Hey!" Sylvia pressed her into a seated
position on the tapestry foot bench and pushed her head between her
knees. "Come on, sweetie, don't faint.” She bent to inspect
Marlayna's color. "That's better. What happened?"

"That word." Marlayna murmured and then sat
up. "Hysteria." She took two deep breaths. "A neurosis whose
victims appear calm on the surface but suffer from hallucinations,
mental aberrations and uncontrollable fear and panic." Her mouth
made a feeble attempt at a smile. "I looked it up. That's me. Ms.
Hysteria."

"But Paul said your shooting schedule this
past week included the best work you've ever done."

"My face has been lying to the camera for
years," came her sighing rejoinder. Haunted eyes latched onto
Sylvia's confused expression. "I'm getting very good at lying, my
dear friend. Lying without ever having to say a word."

Sylvia settled on a second bench at the foot
of the king-size bed. "I'm not quite sure what to do. Should I slip
out into the kitchen on the pretext of making tea and call the men
in the white coats? Or should I just sit and listen?"

Marlayna smiled. "Sit and listen and then
make tea and call the men in the white coats." She balanced her
elbows on denim-covered knees, fingers folded under her chin. "I've
. . . I've been talking to Noah."

"You called him?"

"Uh . . . no."

"He called you?"

"No."

"Hmmmm ... I don't quite understand."

"That's the hallucination and mental
aberrations part."

"How do you like your tea?"

She turned her head toward Sylvia. "You
think I'm crazy."

Amber eyes flicked over an anxious face.
"No, I don't. As I recall, I once shared my bed with three rather
vivid specters that were George, Sam and Brian. Sam took the
longest to get rid of, damn him. I kept whipping up biscuits,
making each batch flakier than the last, and leaving them on the
kitchen table with the butter and honey he'd asked for. And do you
know, those biscuits would be gone."

At Marlayna's silent inquiry, Sylvia shook
her head. "He wasn't eating them; I was. Only I never remembered
doing it until my bathroom scale registered five pounds more!" Her
index finger tapped against her temple. "The brain is an
interesting organ, much more powerful than the heart or the glands.
Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Shoot."

"What is it you fear the most?"

"Finding out that Noah never loved me and
our marriage was a sham."

"Can this happen?"

"Yes."

Sylvia hesitated. "If it actually does
happen, what is the worst result?"

Marlayna opened her mouth, then closed it.
"Well, I guess..." Her hands slapped her thighs as she straightened
her spine. "I guess the worst has happened — divorce."

"Then that takes care of that particular
fear. Any other fears?"

"Gwen Kingman."

"The lipstick princess?" Sylvia laughed.
"Come on, you must be joking."

"Have you ever met her?"

Sylvia nodded.

A shaky hand rumpled her highlighted ebony
curls. "Is she --" Marlayna swallowed around the rapidly growing
lump that blocked her throat. "Is she charming? Special? Desirable?
Attractive?"

"Yes. To her father. Not particularly.
Maybe." The platinum blonde reached to grab her friend's hand.
"She's twenty-three, Marlayna, a very young twenty-three. An
adolescent who giggles and gushes and goshes. Who bounces and
bubbles and brags. When King Arthur's not waxing lyrical about his
anti-wrinkle cream, he waxes about his little princess."