Time After Time (6 page)

Leah had just stepped into her shoes when Johnny called the five-minute warning.

She pulled open the door to her dressing room and walked to the side entrance of the stage. The band was playing a hot, jazzy Gershwin tune. As she stood waiting, she felt her stomach tighten into familiar knots of tension.

Suddenly the lights in the club dimmed and an obese tuxedo-clad man stepped up to the microphone. "Okay—okay, calm down," he said to the audience with a chuckle. "We won't make you suffer any longer. Now... the moment you've been waiting for... our own—
Leah French!"

When the spotlight swung in her direction, Leah stepped onto the stage. Loud applause and enthusiastic shouts greeted her. Looking out over the smoky club, she smiled and threw the audience kisses until the noise died away.

The band began to play behind her and, right on cue, she went into her song. It startled her to hear the low, sultry sound of her own voice. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she couldn't carry a tune. But tonight she could. And she carried it very well as she sang the soft love song. Every word was exactly right, as though she had rehearsed dozens of times.

The excitement in the nightclub reached her, spurring her on as she reached the last lingering note. After a brief, electric moment, the room erupted with applause. Shouts of "Atta girl, Leah!" mingled with the more sophisticated "Brava!" reflecting the mixed audience. The top of society sat next to the working class. Speakeasies were very democratic, Leah thought with a smile.

Before the applause died away the band swung into a bouncy number filled with sexual innuendo. The lyrics and the coy, slightly naughty expression on her face as she sang brought enthusiastic hoots and loud laughter.

For almost an hour Leah sang. Then, just as she began her last number, she spotted him at the bar, and her heart jerked in her chest.

As she sang, Leah let her gaze drift over the dark, slicked-back hair, the hawk-like nose, the broad shoulders whose power even the elegant tuxedo couldn't hide and the narrowed, piercing green eyes. She stared, and felt as though she were looking at her lover.

Then suddenly she knew that was exactly what she was doing. She was staring at the man who was her lover. And she also knew that she had been unconsciously looking for him since the minute she walked on stage.

I remember you,
she thought, sending a silent message across the room.
I remember you well, my love.

Scenes and emotions flashed through her mind. Cold champagne and warm, naked flesh pressed close to hers. Stolen nights away from the excitement and bright lights that she had once thought were all-important to her. Vitality and strength rippling beneath her urgent fingertips. Long, slow walks down a country road. Her body being pressed down into the softness of fallen leaves. Achingly beautiful moments. Moments of desperate need.

Sweet heaven, she thought, her heart swelling with pride. With his looks he could have any woman he wanted, but he wanted her.

Then she blinked twice. No, she told herself in confusion. This was Mr. Gregory. Vice president...

Vulcan...the Frown...Captain Bligh.. .Universal Air. But no matter how hard she tried to deny it, she knew she was tied in some way to the man at the bar.

Turning back to the rest of the audience, she put everything she had into the remainder of the song. When she finished, the applause was simply noise to her. It no longer had the power to thrill her. Only one thing, one man, could do that now. Smiling and waving to the audience, she returned her gaze eagerly to the bar.

He was gone.

At some time during the song he had left. Her bottom lip trembled slightly as a deep emptiness took hold of her. The spotlight faded, and in darkness she turned and moved off the stage. She felt drained and weary as she walked down the hall and opened the door of her dressing room.

When the door closed softly but firmly behind her, Leah spun around in a startled movement. And before she could even say his name, he had pulled her into his arms. His lips found hers instantly, and there was nothing tentative about the kiss. Undisguised hunger and deep need were expressed in every movement. His tongue probed urgently, taking her breath away, shocking her with its familiarity.

I
can't,
she thought in panic as she began to pull away. "No—don't," she murmured. "We can't—you don't know what you're doing."

"What the hell, Leah," he coaxed, his voice deep and husky, his breath warmly enticing on her lips. "It's only a dream. Go with it."

It's a dream, she repeated silently, testing the thought. It was only a dream. Her growing need urged her to accept the premise. Yes, she thought eagerly as she melted against him. Yes, it's only a dream.

With a groan, his restless mouth moved to her throat. "I've been wanting to do this for so long," he said in a rough whisper. "Every time you walked into my office—so efficient, so distant, so damn beautiful—I had to fight to keep from pulling you into my arms and throwing you down on the couch."

The feel of his mouth on her neck sent excitement shivering through her body. "What office?" she murmured, grasping his shoulders to keep him close.

"Who knows?" He cupped both her breasts, pushing upward so that the rounded flesh swelled above the top of her dress. "Who in hell cares?" he added as he pressed his mouth to her trembling softness.

His breathing grew harsh and quick as he pulled her down with him onto the chaise longue. His hunger for a touch, a kiss, seemed to be as compelling as her own. When she undid several buttons of his white silk shirt and pushed one hand inside, his muscles tensed instantly: then he shuddered and covered her hand with his, pressing it closer to his heated flesh.

"Leah—oh, Leah," he murmured hoarsely as he pulled her tightly against him.

She glanced up, studying his face. Raising his hand, he outlined her lips with one finger. "You look stunned," he whispered.

She nodded slowly. "I feel stunned. Stunned...and a little silly."

"Silly?"

"I didn't know false eyelashes were so heavy...and awkward," she said, smiling up at him. "I feel as if I'm bumping into you with them."

His chuckle had a deep, rich sound. "At first, when I realized there was enough oil on my hair to keep the New York subways running for a week, I felt silly, too."

Her answering laugh was hesitant and slightly breathless. "But not now?"

"No." His voice was clipped and intense as he pushed the silver straps from her shoulder and leaned down to test the smooth flesh with his lips. "No, silly is not what I feel at all," he whispered harshly.

Her eyelids drifted down, her head dropping back weakly as she savored the sensation of his mouth on her body. She felt his touch in every pore, on every square inch of her flesh. It became a part of her, as necessary to her existence as the air she breathed.

Suddenly, behind them, the door crashed against the wall as it was thrown violently open. Leah pushed herself away from Paul and jumped to her feet, quickly straightening her dress. Behind her, Paul stood slowly, with deliberation. They both stared at the two large men in black pin-striped suits who stood in front of the doorway.

"Charlie... Ed," she gasped, raising a hand to her throat as her heart began to pound.

The two men moved apart, leaving a gap between them that revealed a third man. Although he was not much more than five feet tall, confidence and power

emanated from every inch of the newcomer. In the corner of his mouth, a fat cigar was clamped tightly between his teeth. His expression was calm and steady as he chewed on the cigar and stared at Leah. His smooth, unattractive face was known to every character, major or minor, in the Chicago underworld.

It was Louie the Lump.

Walking slowly to the vanity, he put his cigar out in ajar of cold cream. "Hello, Leah," he said, ignoring Paul. "Betcha didn't expect to see me tonight."

"Louie," she said weakly, "No—no, I didn't. I thought you were out of town."

"I got back this morning and decided to catch your show. It was great.... You got class, baby." He paused for a brief, chilling second, and his lips curved upward in a smile. "You also been cheatin' on me—with Mr. Fancy Pants here. That ain't nice, Leah. Did you forget who owns you? I bought you with a movie contract and a diamond necklace." He paused. "It was a fair deal. And what Louie buys stays bought. If it don't, Louie gets very unhappy. And you know what happens when Louie is unhappy."

Without glancing at his two large, silent employees, without changing his pleasant expression, Louie said quietly, "Shoot him."

Leah's mouth went dry with fear. "Louie—Louie, you can't do this. Listen to me, you can't shoot him. He's my boss."

The breathless statement brought a frown to Louie's wide lips. "You saying he bought my club without my knowing about it?"

"No—no, he's not my boss here," she stammered, moistening her lips nervously as she stared at Louie. "At Universal Air—never mind, it doesn't matter. You just can't do this to him. I'm the one who's been cheating on you, Louie. It's me you should shoot, not Paul."

"Shut up, Leah," Paul said sharply.

She glanced at him for a long moment, the desperation of her love showing in her brown eyes. Then she turned back to Louie. "I'll do anything you want me to—I won't ever see him again. I promise, Louie."

His laugh was not a pleasant sound. "That's right, sugar, you won't. Not unless you want to swim to the bottom of Lake Michigan. Because that's where your man's gonna be in an hour. Right down on the bottom, with little fishes feeding on his... eyeballs."

He glanced at the two men and gave a short nod.

Charlie and Ed pulled guns from under their coats and leveled them at Paul. As she watched helplessly, Leah felt perspiration break out on the palms of her hands. The next few seconds seemed to drag out for a small eternity. At the last moment, at the moment when she saw tension in Ed's hand, she threw herself in front of Paul.

She heard him shout,
"No—Leah!"
Then hot,

piercing pain seemed to jerk her backward, into her

lover's arms.

* * *

It was only after Leah's third cup of coffee that the dull, hung-over feeling began to fade. Her neck was stiff from sleeping on the couch, and she had prob-

ably caught cold because she hadn't turned down the air conditioning.

That stupid, stupid dream, she thought, gazing into her coffee as though mesmerized. It had been even worse than the first one. Leah hadn't even fought this time. She had simply gone along with it.

"And on top of that, I probably blew a movie contract," she muttered, pushing her chair back and standing.

Later, as she gave her long blond hair a light touch of hair spray, she stared at her face in the mirror. For a moment bright red lips and false eyelashes were superimposed over her own image.

She shook her head in irritation, pushing the vision away. "I don't want to think about what it meant," she told herself aloud for the third time that morning. "I don't want to think about Freud and his sneaky little theories about wish fulfillment."

Stalking into the living room, she picked up her briefcase and purse. "I simply want to have nice, normal dreams about stalking madmen and walking into the office naked," she added, her frustration almost comical as she slammed the door on her way out.

By midmorning, although she hadn't forgotten her adventures in the Roaring Twenties, she had managed to summon up enough humor to laugh at them.

Louie the Lump? she thought, giggling as she bent over her work. It was as ridiculous as her being a gun moll, or Mr. Gregory being a Fitzgerald-style playboy.

One thing Leah avoided thinking about was the scene with her boss in the small dressing room. Every time it flashed into her mind she felt heat rising in her face. And other places, she admitted ruefully. She disliked the thought that she was secretly sexually frustrated, and that those frustrations were causing the disturbing dreams.

She frowned in irritation. This silent debate was getting her nowhere, she decided obstinately. She would be better off forgetting the entire thing.

Which, of course, was easier said than done. At lunch Leah, Bitty and Shelley decided to try a Chinese restaurant that had recently opened nearby. They easily found a table in the half-empty dining room and got down to the main purpose of the luncheon: gossip.

Leah had never considered gossip a female occupation. She considered it a human one, and as long as it didn't turn malicious, she enjoyed listening, simply because she was intrigued by her fellow human beings.

"Have you seen Faith's new man?" Bitty asked as they handed the menus back to the waiter.

"What
is
this?" Leah asked. She gingerly picked up something from the appetizer plate the waiter had brought with the menus.

"It's an egg roll," Shelley said, grabbing one and taking an enthusiastic bite. As she chewed her expression grew bewildered. "No—no, it's definitely not an egg roll," she gasped, reaching frantically for a glass of water.

The other two women dropped the things back on the plate, mentally crossing the restaurant off their lists.