Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) (7 page)

Jon watched how she peeled off the skirt and blouse and kicked off her shoes, how she pulled the clips out of her hair and then curled up under the blanket, her eyes closing while she was still muttering about the things she would miss. Carefully he closed the curtains until only a small sliver of light remained, an arrow pointing toward her like an invitation, and left her to sleep.

chapter 6

I
t wasn’t what Parker had hoped for.

In the more imaginative of his dreams he had envisioned a small table in the corner of a quiet restaurant, a niche where he could stare all he wanted and talk to her in private, dropping the pretense of a newspaper interview, just the two of them, alone.

Walking into the hotel’s lobby now though, he realized it had really only been that, a dream, and there was no way for him to make it a reality.

Sal Rosenberg was there to welcome him and lead him to the breakfast room with the beautiful view of the garden.

On the phone, when he had called to ask for the meeting, Parker had been taken aback at how easily it was agreed to. He had been expecting obstacles: requests for credentials, at the worst a security check, but no; Jon Stone’s wife had expressed the wish to talk to him, and all those important, powerful people around her bowed to her demands.

Of course they wouldn’t let her off their publicity leash, that much became clear as soon as he followed Sal out onto the terrace.

She was there, it was true, and so lovely the sight shook his heart, but an entire posse of men surrounded her.

Parker stopped on the step leading down to where Naomi was sitting like a queen holding court. The table had been set with a shining, heavy silver tea set. There were trays with little cakes and sandwiches, linen napkins and fine porcelain, a bowl of cream and a vase with flowers. It was all so elegant and civilized that he wanted to puke right then and there. She was wearing a dress that seemed made for her, the pale rose giving her skin a soft glow, the thin silk layers of the wide skirt flowing around her legs like water in the dawn. Her hair was not unbound, but she was wearing it in a loose ponytail that at last allowed him to see the glossy curls.

Behind her stood Jon.

The Master, up close, and with the smirk of a pleased cat on his face. His hand rested on her shoulder in a negligently possessive gesture, his posture one of easy pride. He seemed cut from a gentleman’s magazine cover: well groomed, well dressed, and so good-looking Parker wanted to slap his face. Grudgingly he had to admit that they were indeed a stunning couple, both with black hair and those dark eyes, setting off each other’s attractiveness very well.

There were two other men, the same he had seen with Jon just before the sound check, and they were duly introduced, but he chose to ignore them. She was offering him the seat across the table with a flick of her wrist, rings flashing, making Parker wonder if it was intentional, to remind him of who she was.

His wife, and now Jon was sitting down beside her, as was Sal, closing the ranks around her in protection.

H
e had prepared his questions so carefully, so well thought out to wheedle all the information he wanted without seeming to pry; and here were these savvy publicity sharks, monitoring every word that came out of his mouth.

He hadn’t even taken out his notepad before Sal’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and Jon’s fingers drummed impatiently on the immaculate tablecloth. Only Naomi, her hands folded patiently in her lap, waited for him to get sorted, a tiny smile on her lips.

“So,” Parker asked, “I’ve always thought if I got a chance to do an interview with you, this would be my most important question.” He laid the pen down next to his teacup. “Do you like champagne?”

Her eyelids fluttered. The men surrounding her shifted, but no one interfered.

“I do.” A flash of amusement from the corners of her eyes, unnoticed by Jon.

A waiter came to pour their tea and offer cream and lemon. She declined and asked for coffee instead, which was procured instantly.

“You worked with your husband on the movie soundtrack, correct? You wrote the lyrics? I recall there was an album about twenty years back that had your lyrics on it too. How did that come about?”

She took a breath to answer, but before she could say anything Sal replied, “It was a collaboration of young artists. Jon wanted to try something new, and this worked well.”

He watched how she took one of the cupcakes and placed it on the dainty plate in front of her, where she pushed it around with the fork.

“How interesting. So how did you meet? You were living in Geneva back then, if I’m informed correctly, and Mr. Stone in LA?”

This time she was faster. “I sent some lyrics I’d written to his office. Sal…”—a small wave of her hand—“Sal contacted me after that. We got together, decided we could work on this, and did.”

It was fun to watch the faces around her, and the tension in them. He decided to push a little.

“I’d like to learn a little more about you, and have you confirm my facts. You have a grown son, is that correct?”

Wrong direction, he saw that right away by the shuttering of her expression.

“Mrs. Stone’s private life is not the subject of this interview,” Sal said.

But this was what he wanted to know. So, carefully, realizing these men were even sharper than he had supposed, Parker formulated his next question. “We were going to talk about the shooting. So may I ask about that now?”

A reluctant nod from her, a tightening in Jon’s shoulders.

“How do you feel now? It’s been five months, and your injuries were substantial. The tour is only starting out.”

“I’m fine.” A small smile, a slight softening of demeanor. “I’m looking forward to it, very much.”

This, Parker thought, was like plowing stones. “So what exactly happened? We all saw the footage of the shooting, but you have never given a statement yourself.”

He could see sadness laying itself over her lovely face like a veil. She seemed lost in her memories, reliving that day, living through the hurt again, feeling the pain. Her hand, the one holding the fork until just now, sank to her lap.

“We were awarded Oscars for the movie soundtrack that night,” Naomi said slowly, “Jon and I. We wanted to go out and celebrate. I remember we were standing backstage, debating where to go, and Jon saying to me I should go ahead; he had to do another interview. I remember…” She lowered her head. “I remember kissing my husband and watching him get into the car. And then…” Again she hesitated. “And then I woke up in the hospital, and everything hurt. That’s all.”

“But you do know who shot you.” The moment the words were out of his mouth he could have smacked himself. Her reaction though was interesting. Without moving at all she seemed to gather herself together, removing herself from everyone around her, even from Jon.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Your husband is a very famous man. His affairs before he married you were notorious. How do you feel about this? Being shot down by one of his former mistresses?” He knew right away he had overstepped, and the interview would be ended before he ever got a chance to really talk to her. She did not even have to say or do anything; it was as if Jon was so finely tuned to her that he knew exactly what she wanted.

“I think this is over,” he said, very calmly and courteously but with finality too, “And you’ll have to excuse us.”

“We hardly spoke at all!” Parker felt like a fool. “I’ve hardly asked you anything. This is not enough to write an article!”

“Well, then there won’t be an article, right? It’s not as if we asked for it.” Jon held out his hand to Naomi, who took it without hesitation and rose with him. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Hamilton, and thank you for your interest. I think my wife needs a break now.”

They walked away, his arm around her just like the day in the parking lot of the arena, his head bent toward her. She had his complete attention.

Sal gave him a sarcastic glance as he dropped into the chair Naomi had just vacated. He picked up the cupcake she had been playing with, gave the white icing a brief inspection, and then bit into it with relish. “Normally I don’t eat this sweet stuff,” he said around the cake, “but these are awfully good. You should have one.”

“That wasn’t an interview. That was a farce.”

Sal shrugged. “She really wanted this. She explicitly asked for you. But it seems that in the end she still can’t talk about it. You’ll just have to live with it.”

Resigned, Parker tucked the notepad back into his pocket. Regretfully he gazed at the doorway, wondering if he’d ever see her up close again and wondering, even now, how he could achieve that.

“I would,” he confessed, “really have loved to write her story. There’s so much more here than meets the eye.” He flinched a little at Sal’s loud bark of laughter.

T
he room was dark. Someone had closed the balcony doors against the rush hour traffic; it was cool and dim inside, quiet, peaceful.

Naomi pulled her hair out of the band holding it into a ponytail and shook it, as if that simple act could liberate her from her thoughts and the uncomfortable feeling the brief interview with Parker had left behind. She dropped onto the couch.

Jon had closed the door and was standing in front of her, waiting, but it seemed she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him just yet.

“You want too much too fast,” he said softly. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard? This friggin’ interview was the worst idea ever. For God’s sake, Naomi. Why?”

Silently, she shook her head.

“Darling, why can’t we just take it easy and have some fun, try to find our footing again? Things aren’t what they were before.” his words died at the way she looked at him: exhausted, sad, and defeated.

“I remember,” Naomi began, her voice so small and broken that Jon wanted her to stop again right away, not take on the terrible task of speaking at all. “I remember how we stood there, backstage, and everyone was there. Russ and Solveigh, Sal, Art and Sue, Joshua…” she broke off again. Her hands knotted tightly in her lap, the fingers white and bony. “Joshua. But he was gone before it happened. He left with Harry and his wife and their kids. They wanted to surf early the next morning.” Tears were pooling in her eyes as she looked up at him. “Jon, just think, if he had been there…”

“No, don’t even think about that. Don’t go there, Naomi; it didn’t happen! Baby!” He sank down on the carpet beside her and took her hands in his. “Please. Don’t torture yourself like this.”

“You kissed me,” she went on, undeterred. “You kissed me before going off to that TV interview; and, Jon, I wanted to drown in that kiss.” A ghost of a smile slipped across her face. “In that one instant I thought I finally had it all. You, my life with you, and my Oscar.”

“Yeah, you really hugged that little guy. Didn’t even let go of him to kiss me, as I recall.” It was a lame attempt at a joke, but it made her press his fingers slightly in acknowledgment.

“Sean and Sal were with me, and we walked out to the car. Sal asked me something, I don’t remember what it was, and I wanted to reply. Only I never got the chance. That’s all.”

And it was. As easy as that, he had to admit; it was as easy as that. One
bullet for her, the other for her bodyguard. She had been hurt; he had 
died, as if someone had taken a red pen and drawn a final line through their lives, ending everything.

“When I woke up in that hospital room and saw you there, saw you crying and looking as old as the hills in your grief, Jon, all I wanted was to go back to those beautiful places I’d been while I was in a coma and forget everything. And then my father came in…”

“Yes.” Even now, months later, he could feel the cold fury churning in his bowels at that scene.

“And then I wanted to die for sure. I know I nearly did. I thought I did. For a while, there was only quiet and peace.” Some animation returned to her face. “I was in the loveliest forest, Jon. There was moss under my feet, dark blue ponds like mirrors, and trees…trees like I have never seen in this world. It felt like being on another planet, in a different universe. Someone was with me, walking by my side, someone I knew I could lean on if I faltered, someone who loved me deeply and cared for me; but I could not see him. And I felt safe. I wanted to stay, but he said I couldn’t. It wasn’t a dream; it was more than that. Somehow I knew if I reached that forest’s edge I’d get to a beach, and then I’d be allowed to move onward. Only I couldn’t, even though I wanted to very much. They sent me back.” She fell silent, lost in her thoughts, far away. There was a soft yearning in her eyes, a distance he knew only too well, one that broke his heart over and over again. No matter how hard he tried, he could never completely grasp her; she always seemed to have one foot in a different dimension.

“But you belong here, with me.” Saying it was like plodding up a steep, stony hill. “You can’t be anywhere else, not even in another room. Don’t you know that? Don’t you know how much I need you?”

That brought her back. Gently she touched his face, brushed over his lips with her fingertips. “I know, my love. That’s why I’m here; that’s why I came to you now. I took all the loneliness I could bear, and for as long as I could. A moment longer would have been terrible torture.” A small shrug. “It was torture from the moment the car pulled out of the gate and onto the road, when I could still see you standing in the doorway.”

“Ah, you stupid chick,” Jon breathed. “Why, then? Three weeks, Naomi, and I nearly died. I was in that house all by myself, and it felt just like it did back when you walked out on me, pregnant with Joshua. It was like a tomb, no life, no light, no love. Everything left with you.”

“Jon.”

And with that small word, his name, softly spoken in her gentle voice, something seemed to shift, the universe realigning itself into order.

“Please don’t talk of dying or being in a different world anymore, Naomi. I know the burden is mine; my misspent life is the reason for what happened. If I…” He was still holding her hand, and now he pressed it in his anguish. “If I had kept my mind after you left me, when I thought everything had ended, if I hadn’t wasted myself on senseless affairs, no love, no feelings…”

“Stop.”

“Everything is different now. We’re married; you can’t just run away every time things get difficult. We have to stick it out together, Naomi; we really do. You allowed me back into your life. You took me back, so many years later. You, Joshua, and I—we’re a family. There is no running, and there is no cheating. I’m laying down my soul for you, and in return I want you to come to me and lean on me when life gets hard for you, and not walk away. If this is going to work then that’s how it has to be.” Jon realized he was on his knees, pleading, but this time she didn’t pull away. Her hand was warm, her fingers tightly around his, holding on.

“Jon, I lied to you,” Naomi said.

“What?”

The silk of her dress rustled like a brook when she leaned forward to be closer to him. “I lied. I told you I hadn’t met that reporter, Parker, before. But I did.”

“Yeah, I know you did, at the lounge. That’s where all the grief originated, Sal leaving you up there. It’s not important.” The skin of her throat and cleavage was as pure as a pearl, and he wanted to reach out and touch it; but she was looking at him so earnestly that he resisted.

“Yes, but before that. He was on my plane, and he tried to charm me with champagne. He tried very hard.” She touched his face again to make him listen.

Jon shrugged. “So he wanted to wheedle an interview out of you even then. Doesn’t surprise me. You didn’t have to keep that a secret, darling. That was to be expected.”

“No.” For an instant she hesitated. “That wasn’t it.”

“Not it?” A cup of coffee, Jon wanted coffee badly, and he deplored that he had passed on the assortment of sandwiches on the terrace. They had looked very inviting indeed. Wincing a little he got up and brushed off his trousers. Room service it would have to be; at this time of day there could be no idea of walking down the street.