Alone with Matthew and his children, Brooke and Tara’s mother Connie acted like a flighty teenager compared to her splendidly capable daughters. She wore a billowy smock dress with puffed sleeves and black Converse high-tops. Her complexion looked parched from the sun but her face was round and freckly. These were incidental, though. The main thing was the way she stared open mouthed at Matthew and giggled.
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After dinner he asked if she minded exchanging cars—his Mercedes M-series for her Prius. Matthew doubted he’d stay two nights in the city. “But you should have a car that seats all of you, in case. And so you can play while the boss is away. Shop at the outlets.”
Tucking Dexter and Ivy into bed, he explained his trip and when he’d be home at the latest. Dexter asked when Brooke was coming back. Standing just past the door, Connie said, “First thing tomorrow, right? For your swimming lessons.”
Packing his things, it occurred to Matthew that Brooke was closer to Dexter’s age than to his. But so what? He slipped his note to Brooke inside his shirt pocket. The minute he arrived at The Crosby Hotel he’d convince Jeffery to Fed-Ex a small package, same day delivery, saying he’d forgotten to put the new insurance card in the Mercedes. They’d want Brooke Logan to sign for it because she’d be there, in the swimming pool.
So no matter what Tara had told her, Brooke would read his apology for overreacting when she had disappeared under the waterfall. And his promise to treat her however she wished. He’d do whatever she wanted. Matthew apologized, too, for not saying how much he loved Brooke. He was rude not to answer her. His romantic history made him falter. He’d never remained interested longer than a TV series—before. He had never felt about anyone as he did about Brooke.
During the three-hour drive, however, Matthew wondered if he should rewrite the note. Most likely guilt boosted his over-the-top feelings; his desires had never felt guilty before. Though…he’d done nothing wrong, really. Except leave it up to her when she might be too young to know. The second she asked him to leave her alone, Matthew would. No questions. And if she constantly changed her mind—she wouldn’t be the first. Sasha had changed her mind constantly throughout their (literally) touch-and-go marriage.
Now Allegra…When Matthew had reluctantly phoned her last week, Allegra wasn’t changing her mind—it was stuck in overdrive. Before he spoke two words, she told him that the more she danced the closer she came to never dancing again. Every minute she was getting older, and the older she got the less she’d be able to dance. She could feel her abilities diminish with every heartbeat.
He started to interrupt her but she continued, saying she couldn’t keep time anymore. Everything was too fast. But if she didn’t dance, if she just let that go, she still felt propelled faster and faster to the moment when she would no longer be a dancer. She’d no longer be anyone. While she paused to cry, he asked if she was alone. Was there a neighbor nearby? The question infuriated her. She screamed and swore and hung up. Perhaps he should have taken responsibility—gone and rescued her, but after months of dealing with Sasha’s cocaine psychosis…Matthew just hoped Allegra was getting help from someone, somehow.
So maybe Brooke wasn’t his only guilty entanglement.
Soon he saw the city beckon, sheathed in gold still, the day was so new. He had burned a CD with lines from his screen test and practiced the one that everyone but Barbara found dubious. “…they won’t be using heroin-flavored bananas…” Sean Connery’s accent wasn’t perfect either, so Matthew had recorded Brooke saying the line. From years of the town’s summer theater, Brooke mimicked upper-class English as well anyone he’d heard.
Jeffery met him as the valet drove away his little borrowed car. “Good Lord, you look perfect, Matthew. What? Did you order the jeans and boots? The Brioni shirt?”
Matthew hugged his agent and received another sprinkling of compliments.
“Why are you surprised, Jeffery? I always work out. Two hours every morning. You know that.”
“I don’t think so, honey. Nobody works out like that without a more compelling reason than ‘staying in shape.’ Let me show you your suite and then come and have coffee in mine.”
“After I shower. And oh, wait.” Matthew pulled the note from his shirt pocket. “I forgot to include the insurance card when I switched cars with the babysitter.”
Jeffery would take care of that.
“Make sure Brooke Logan signs for it.”
“Wear those clothes to the meeting, please.”
“Duplicates,” Matthew said.
“And Matthew, everyone loves your entrances. That walk you have. But don’t, please don’t try that line. It’s not a good one.”
Matthew grinned and his large, sleepy-lidded eyes, which turned dark, almost black in shadows but shone bright blue in sunlight, brightened with mischief. “We’ll see. I’ve been practicing.”
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