Random Hearts

BOOKS BY WARREN ADLER

Banquet Before Dawn

Blood Ties

Cult

Death of a Washington Madame

Empty Treasures

Flanagan's Dolls

Funny Boys

Madeline's Miracles

Mourning Glory

Natural Enemies

Private Lies

Random Hearts

Residue

The Casanova Embrace

The Children of the Roses

The David Embrace

The Henderson Equation

The Housewife Blues

The War of the Roses

The Womanizer

Trans-Siberian Express

Twilight Child

Undertow

We Are Holding the President
Hostage

SHORT STORIES

Jackson Hole, Uneasy Eden

Never Too Late For Love

New York Echoes

New York Echoes 2

The Sunset Gang

MYSTERIES

American Sextet

American Quartet

Immaculate Deception

Senator Love

The Ties That Bind

The Witch of Watergate

Copyright ©
1984
by Warren Adler.

ISBN 978-1-59006-093-3

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced
in any form without permission. This novel is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, incidents are either the product
of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Inquiries: WarrenAdler.com

STONEHOUSE PRESS

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

It began to snow at dawn. By noon, Washington looked like a
toy village in a department store Christmas window, the people like tiny
rosy-cheeked dolls bundled in their winter clothes. The world was shrouded in
white, clean and silent. Only the roar of the low-flying planes groaning as
they labored to lift themselves through the heavy layer of gray snow clouds
brought Lily the message of a harsher reality.

She paid the taxi driver and moved quickly into the airport
terminal, her carryall slung over her shoulder. She kept her head down, looking
neither right nor left, heading directly toward the Southair gate. After the
silence of the snow-covered streets, the terminal was alive with sound.

She could not deny the anxiety that gnawed at her. This
journey was a new move, outside their accustomed pattern. She thought of
Edward, and her stomach knotted. What she dreaded most was being recognized by
someone they both knew. Not now. Not before she was ready. Their objective was
to be in control of their lives. Hadn't they managed successfully for more than
a year?

Through the crowds, near the numbered Southair gate, she
saw Orson leaning against a wall, the collar of his trench coat up, his wavy
brown hair moist with melting snow. Like her, he, too, seemed tense. Yet the
sight of him calmed her, quickening her heartbeat with anticipation. It had
always been that way. From the first moment, his effect on her had been
powerful, life-changing.

He did not move forward but stood waiting, gathering her
into his arms when she came close enough. He was a head taller, and the heavy
coat, smelling of damp as she nuzzled close against it, affirmed his great
comforting presence.

"God, I'm scared," she said, her voice muffled as
he patted her woolen hat, which was pulled to the eyebrow line over her dark
deep-set eyes.

From the pocket of his trench coat he pulled out a single
pink sweetheart rose. She took it and smiled.

"Feel better?"

She nodded, inhaling the scent.

"We're delayed. Damned snow. About half an hour at the
gate. Another half an hour on the ground."

Picking up his suitcase, one of those compact leather ones
guaranteed to fit under the airline seat, he led her to the counter where he
produced his tickets for the clerk. They passed through the security check. In
the boarding lounge they found seats alone near the window wall, which looked
out on a mass of swirling snow. Outside, the Southair 737 was parked like a
hoary ghost at the mouth of the passenger chute.

"A few hundred feet up and it's nothing but sun and
blue skies," he said. She lay her head on his shoulder and felt the caress
of his fingers against her cheek. Reaching up, she stroked the back of his
head.

"Four days alone. Imagine," she whispered, her
eyes moistening with emotion. "Days." For them, time was always a
gift. They were used to measuring their time together carefully—they had only
the morning hours at the apartment, their clandestine hideaway. Yet, Lily
thought, wrapped in the safety of Orson's arms, even time itself seemed
enriched.

"And Edward?"

"He thinks I'll be in L.A. A round of fashion shows. I
told him I hadn't found a place to bunk. Besides, he's absorbed in work.
They're all busy jockeying for power when the session opens. He'll barely have
time to think, much less miss me." Edward was an Administrative Assistant
to Congressman Robert Holmes of Iowa, a man with a thirsty ego and soaring
ambitions. No. Edward would not be a problem. Poor Edward, she thought sadly.
But how could he possibly understand?

"Will he call the store?" Orson asked.

In his mind, she knew, he was the principal creator of
scenarios. "No. He rarely does."

"And will you call him?"

"I told him not to expect me to." She had been
hesitant on that point but did not expect it to be a problem. Besides, she
wanted to strike the worry from her mind. "Let's not think of them. Not
for four days." She sighed. "Can we try?"

"We can try. Unfortunately, it's inescapable."

"Where were you six years ago?" she asked.

"Married," he answered softly. "Safe."

"And now?"

"We'll have four days to talk it out," Orson
said.

"I know."

Her stomach lurched as she projected the future. Poor
Edward, she thought again, helpless, innocent, so perfectly secure in their
marriage.

"Viv thinks I'm on the Concorde to Paris."

"Won't that be trouble?" She looked up at him to
search his face but could find no trouble there.

"So we're in the clear," she said, relieved.

"For the moment." He sighed, surely drinking of
what was impending, of what they still had to go through, perhaps hurting
others and themselves. Then, inexplicably, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"On the flight we're Mr. and Mrs. Calvin
Marlboro."

"Who?"

"At the ticket counter I saw these signs—Calvin Klein
and Marlboro cigarettes. Not very original, but I can't think of anything.
Anything but you."

"And I, you."

"Is it possible to love someone so completely?"

"Yes..." She paused. "Unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" he asked, showing a mock pout.

"An error in timing but not in intensity."
Lifting her face, she kissed him on the tip of his nose.

"How do you feel?" he asked suddenly.

"Fine. It's too early yet."

Suddenly a voice blared over the speaker: "Fifteen
minutes to boarding. Sorry for the delay, folks."

"Good," Orson said. "If things go well, we
can be having a cocktail on the beach by five. You'll love the place. The unit
looks out on the water."

"Were you there with her? With Viv?" She had
wanted to ask him before but had hesitated, knowing he had been to Key West before with his wife.

"Of course not. This is ours. Once we went there for a
party. I remembered the name: Fulton's Beachside."

"Just you and me, kid," Lily said. "Well,
almost." Her fingers touched his eyes, which closed automatically. She
loved to touch him there, to caress his long lashes.

"Oh, that." He smiled, opening his eyes and
showing little nests of happy wrinkles. She started to draw his head down for a
long kiss, but he held back, his eyes furtive.

"Coward," she said.

"Cautious."

Above all caution, she thought. It had underscored
everything from the beginning. Honored in the breach, she thought wryly.
Passion was more powerful than caution, they had learned.

"I know we're ready. We've got to resolve it
somehow," she said with exasperation.

"We'll have four days to mull it over."

"And over and over?"

"No. We'll have to decide."

"Until you called, I had resolved not to tell you. To
take"—she paused—"well, measures. Then when you said it's time, I
knew you had to know."

"When I called you at Trudie's cocktail party, I was
certain. Exactly then."

"You took a chance. Edward was still working."

Even telephone calls between them were deliberately rare.
She remembered that his voice had frightened her.

He moved his hand along her sleeve until their fingers
entwined. Between them, there was never enough touching.

"I was standing there, looking through the fog of
smoke, watching the people. I had had three martinis, but I was dead sober. Viv
was off in a corner talking to some woman. In the background I heard this buzz
of conversation. Someone was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear what
he was saying. I just wanted to be with you. Just with you. Always. I ached for
you. No point hiding it forever. It must be confronted. We have to think of
ourselves, of our love. We'll go away. With clear minds, just the two of us,
we'll plan what we must do and how. I remembered Fulton's Beachside, and I
called you."

"Here I am."

"I told you I'd always know when the time had
come."

"And I'd know."

"Well, it's time."

"You may get sick of me in four whole days. Ninety-six
hours. We've never had such continuity."

"And you may get sick of me."

"Never. I'll never be sick of you. Never in ten
lifetimes. Because I'll love you through ten lifetimes. No. Through ten
eternities."

"There can't be ten eternities."

"Stop being a lawyer."

"That's another thing. I'm going to change that,
too."

"What will you be, then?"

"Something I can do that means I'll be around you all
day long. Day and night. Something. We'll figure it out at Fulton's
Beachside."

"Maybe we can be paid to make love." She laughed.
"To each other. Then we don't have to go anywhere, do anything."

They were silent for a moment. She nuzzled a kiss on his
neck.

"I'm being overly demonstrative."

"The hell with it."

He bent down and kissed her on her lips. Opening one eye,
she saw a woman smile and quickly turn away.

"You electrify me, you know that."

"Uh-huh."

From the very moment she had sat down beside him on the
Eastern shuttle, he electrified her. A strange, powerful feeling had surged
through her body, a feeling that he, too, admitted experiencing. Like two
chemicals in separate containers reacting by osmosis. Was it random selection?
Or did it have an inevitability about it, a design? Had it lain embedded, just
beneath the level of conscious thought—some life-changing force suddenly
revealed through what appeared to be coincidence? Wasn't it everyone's secret
wish? Everyone's search? Connecting was like finding the other half of one's
self, the missing part. So why couldn't it have happened before we both were
married? Why now? Providence playing practical jokes, she had told him. How
else to explain it? I don't believe in providence, he had countered. What then?
They decided, finally, on Kismet, and the hell with it. It was beyond
questioning. It had happened.

She looked into his eyes. They were rich brown, but
sometimes in very bright light they were tan, like those of some droopy-eyed
puppy, full of innocence. Sometimes long moments, maybe hours, passed as they
locked onto each other's gaze and said nothing, as if it were the most
concentrated excitement in the world. Which, of course, it was.

Because of the movement of people in the lounge, her eyes
drifted. A profile made her heart jump, but when the man turned fully, the face
was unfamiliar. She nevertheless ducked her head below his shoulder.

"What is it?"

"I thought it was somebody we knew. God. I wish all
that was over."

"Soon," he said.

"Will it be the same without the danger, the sense of
adventure?" Thoughts like that troubled her. What happened after was as
much on her mind as the impending wounds to be inflicted on Edward and Vivien.

"We'll know when we get there," he teased. It
always amazed her that the intensity of their conversation was mostly focused
on themselves, their situation, their personal options, their love. As if
nothing else was meaningful or existed—not careers or money or things. Only
their unfortunate attachments intruded.

They had this single dilemma: hurting Edward and Vivien
and, of course, little Ben, Orson and Vivien's son. Affairs like this were
usually triangles, another woman, another man. Theirs was a quadrangle.
Counting Ben, a pentagon. Five lives. Now six. If only the others were
mean-spirited, cruel, uncaring.

"Looks awesome," a man said, standing before the
window and watching the swirling eddies of snowflakes. The framed wall reminded
her of a huge Jackson Pollock hanging in a vast gallery. It was not all
monochromatics; there were colors in it as well, the reds, greens, and blues of
airplanes' insignia. Apparently the powers who ran things were undaunted by the
blizzard, and the periodic roar told them that planes were flying.

"Maybe it would be easier to go away and never come
back. Just disappear. Mr. and Mrs.... What was that name again?" She
shifted her eyes from the window.

"Calvin Marlboro," he said.

"But what would my name be?"

He looked around the lounge, searching for a name.

"How about Godiva?"

She giggled, looking at the poster on the wall that hawked
Godiva chocolates.

"I'd like that. Can I ride through the streets naked
on a horse?"

"Only if I'm with you."

"You think we can do it on a horse?"

"Hell, we've done it everywhere else."

That was another marvel of their relationship, the
limitless sexual energy. That was why he had finally rented the apartment where
they could have a place to be together. Not a moment was ever wasted. They were
without inhibitions or secrets or barriers. They shared an intimacy so powerful
that sometimes they seemed like one person. They had even tried to express
themselves in written words; read aloud, the paper was quickly destroyed. A
secret life. That was what they had, a rich, glorious, delirious secret life.
When she thought about it, any resolution frightened her. Would what they had
resist change? Yet it could not go on like this. Not now. Biology had mysteriously
intruded. Had it been oversight or design? Or deliberate forgetfulness? He had
asked for no explanations.

"Does this happen to other people?" she asked,
after they had been silent for a long time.

"I hope so," he whispered.

For a time it became oddly silent in the lounge, and the
snow outside swirled in great clumps of white, obscuring any view.

"Suppose they close the airport?" she asked.

"They fly in this weather. They're fully prepared with
all kinds of equipment."

An ear-splitting roar reminded them, once again, that the
planes were flying. Groups of passengers began to drift toward the entrance to
the passageway. An old woman in a wheelchair was being moved through the knot
of people, followed by a woman holding a baby. A group of men in uniform moved
into the lounge.