Season Of Passion Part 8

"d.a.m.n."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing."

She dialed Felicia back in San Francisco, and her friend sounded grim. "You'd better get a hold of yourself, Kate. You're getting out of hand. I told you this would happen when I read the book."

"I thought you were just saying it. And who gets known with a book, dammit? Who sells paperback and film? Jesus, I know writers who sell on the back shelves of the dime store forever."

"And you're crying that that's not you?" Felicia was exasperated and Kate sighed again.

"No, I'm not crying that that's not me. I just don't know what to do, Licia. I've hardly seen anybody in six years, and this guy is coming up here from L.A. to discuss hundreds of thousands of dollars with me. I'm so d.a.m.n scared I can't see straight."

"Come on, baby, you can deal with this." Her voice softened as she thought of Kate. "You're a pro. You're a h.e.l.l of a writer, a beautiful girl, you're twenty-nine years old, and you're on the threshold of success. Christ, you could meet this guy wearing burlap and a mudpack and you'd do fine."

"That's about all I've got to wear."

"That's your own G.o.dd.a.m.n fault. You haven't let me send you anything in years."

"I don't wear anything. Anyway, what to wear is not the problem. What to say ... what to do ... he wants to talk publicity. Jesus, Licia, I can't deal with it." She was near tears and chain-smoking nervously.

"What exactly did he say about publicity?" Felicia sounded intrigued.

"Nothing exactly. He just mentioned the possibility of it. But he didn't explain."

"You're d.a.m.n right he didn't." The deep, husky laugh rang in Kate's ears. "Has it ever occurred to you that he doesn't know if you have three heads or two, or if you wear curlers and pink suede sneakers to church?"

"Which means that I have about two and a half hours to come up with curlers and pink sneakers. Wait, I have an idea." Now Kate was laughing too. "I'll get Tillie to stand in for me." Felicia laughed.

"Nope. You face the music. You meet the guy. He is your agent, after all. He isn't going to throw you to the lions, and he can't make you do anything."

"What'll I say to him?" It had been six and a half years since she'd been alone with a man.

"He's not going to rape you, Kate. Not unless you get very lucky."

"You're terrific. Dammit, how did I get myself into this?"

"Your big mouth, your fine mind, and your typewriter. But it's a h.e.l.l of a good combo." Kate sighed again in answer, and Felicia shook her head with a grin. The earthquake was just beginning. And the aftershocks might be felt for months. Even years.

"Anyway, I'd better get off the phone and find something to wear."

"Yeah. And Kate?"

"What?"

"Zip up your fly."

"Oh shut up." She was smiling when she hung up, but the palms of her hands were drenched. What if he did put the make on her? What if he was a pushy jerk? What if ... She sat outside in the sunshine for half an hour, trying to calm down, thinking. Of the book, of Tom, of Felicia, of Tygue. Why had she written it? Because she had had to. Because the story had been tearing her up inside and she had needed to get it out, and she had. It was a beautiful book and she knew it. But she hadn't expected this. She had wanted the book to sell, but she hadn't expected it to affect her life. And now what? Once she opened the door to publicity, her secluded life would be over, all her efforts to protect Tygue futile. But it was too late now and she knew it. She had just finished dressing when Stu Weinberg rang the bell. She took a deep breath, stubbed out her cigarette, looked around the living room, and walked to the door. She was wearing black slacks and a black sweater, and a pair of expensive Italian suede loafers that had survived the years. She looked very tall and very thin, and very serious as she opened the door.

"Kate Harper?" He looked a little uncertain, and not at all the way she'd pictured him. He was about her height, and had bright red hair. He was wearing Levis and a beige cashmere sweater. But the shoes were Gucci, the briefcase Vuitton, the watch Cartier, the jacket slung over one arm was the cla.s.sic Bill Bla.s.s. All the status accouterments of Los Angeles. But he had the face of a kid, and ten thousand freckles. It made her smile and she had to laugh at the idea that this was the guy she had entrusted her career to for six years. Maybe if she had seen him, she wouldn't have. He looked about twenty-two. But he was forty-one, the same age as Felicia.

"Stu?" She smiled at him from the doorway.

"I know, I know. You want to see my driver's license and you want to tear up your contract immediately. Right?"

"Hardly. Come in." She waved him inside, wondering if the house looked shabby or merely comfortable. She watched him summing her up, and then casting a quick eye around the room. He looked intrigued. "Coffee?"

He nodded, and put his jacket and briefcase on a chair as he looked out the window. "It's a beautiful view here." She stood very quietly for a minute, and was surprised at how peaceful she felt. He wasn't the enemy. He was a harmless man who wanted to help her make money. And he looked like a nice guy.

"It is pretty. And I'm glad you came all this way to see me."

"So am I."

She poured him a cup of coffee and they both sat down.

"Kate, can I ask you a crazy question?" The way he smiled made her like him more. He looked like one of Tygue's friends, not like an agent.

"Sure, what's the crazy question?"

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

"You said it when you looked out the window. It's pretty. It's peaceful. It's a good place to bring up kids."

"Bulls.h.i.t."

She laughed at his bluntness and took a sip of coffee. "Not at all."

"Tell me something else? Would you have come to L.A. if I hadn't come here?" With a small smile, she shook her head. "That's what I thought. Why?"

"Because I'm a hermit, and I like it. When I lost my husband, I just ... I stopped going places."

"Why?"

"I'm busy here." He was coming too close. Suddenly she was scared again.

"What do you do?" The eyes were quick, busy, probing, but not unkind.

"I write, I mother. I teach. I'm busy, that's all."

And scared. Oh Jesus, was she scared. But of what? He couldn't figure it out. Men maybe? People? Life? Something. He couldn't put his finger on it. But it was in her eyes.

"You don't look the part. Did you ever model or act?" Bingo.

"No." She shook her head nervously, smiling as she lit another cigarette. Dammit, there was something about her. And he knew she was lying. The way she sat, moved, walked, all of it spoke of something else. Breeding. Training. Modeling? Or maybe she'd been a stewardess. But she hadn't sat in this nowhere town all her life. And he had noticed her shoes. Eighty-dollar shoes. In s.h.i.t Town, U.S.A. But whoever she was, she was going to thrill the publishers, if he could pry her out of her sh.e.l.l. That was why he had come up to see her, to find out just how marketable a property she was. And now he had his answer. Very. If she'd cooperate. He smiled gently at her, and sipped his coffee, thinking she'd look great on TV.

"How many kids do you have?"

"Nine." She laughed at him nervously again. "No, seriously. One. He just acts like nine."

"What's his name?"

"Tygue."

"How does he feel about his mom being a huge success?"

"I don't think he's figured all that out yet. As a matter of fact," she sighed and let her shoulders relax for a minute, "neither have I."

"You don't need to worry about it for a while, Kate. In fact, you don't need to worry about it at all. We'll handle it for you. All you need to do now is look over the contracts, and then spend the next month enjoying yourself. You know, buy new curtains, a new ball for the kid, a bone for the dog ..." He glanced around innocently and she laughed. He had gotten the message: she liked the simple life. But she also knew that he was refusing to take that seriously.

"What happens when the book comes out?"

"Nothing for a couple of weeks." He was stalling her.

"And then?"

"Then you make a few appearances for the book, do a couple of interviews. No more than you can handle."

"And if I don't?"

"The book suffers. It's as simple as that. It's statistically proven." He looked serious as he said it.

"Is it in my contract that I have to?"

Regretfully he shook his head. "No. n.o.body can force you to do any of it. But it would be a big mistake for you not to, Kate. If you had buck teeth, a big nose, and crossed eyes, well, then I'd say that maybe you ought to consider skipping any appearances, but under the circ.u.mstances"-he looked at her with a rueful smile-"you could do a h.e.l.l of a good job, Kate." And he didn't give a d.a.m.n what she said, when he watched her walk across the room again, he knew she'd been a model. What intrigued him most, though, was the impenetrable shield around her. He had never sensed that on the phone. Now he wondered why he had never been curious about meeting her. He had to confess, though, that he had never expected her to be a biggie, not until the last book. A Final Season. He hadn't thought she'd been capable of a book like that. "We can talk about the publicity stuff later. Why don't we check out some of the points they'll want in the contract first?"

"Okay. More coffee?"

"Thanks." He devoured five cups of coffee in the two hours it took to sort out the contracts. And now she knew more than ever why she liked him as her agent. He was suddenly the same man he had been on the phone for all these years. He explained every possible inference, statement, danger, benefit, every line, every word, every nuance. He did one h.e.l.l of a good job.

"Jesus, you should have been a lawyer."

"I was. For a year." The kid? Howdy Doody with the freckles a lawyer? When? She grinned at the thought. "I hated it. This is a lot more my speed."

"Mine too." She thought of the three hundred and fifty thousand dollars again.

"You've got that look, Kate. Just don't let it go to your head."

"Not a chance, Stu. Not a chance." She said it with a rocklike certainty and a faintly bitter smile. "This is strictly for new curtains and a bone for the dog."

"Glad to hear it. But just in case you pull up outside my office in a new Rolls, say in three months-what do I get for being right?"

"A kick in the pants?"

"We'll see." He grinned broadly.

She heard the car pool roll up outside then. It was already five-fifteen. They had worked hard. "Would you like to stay for dinner?" Dinner. Meat loaf, macaroni and cheese, carrots and Jello. The idea made her want to laugh, but he was shaking his head and looking at the flat-faced Roman-numeraled watch that looked like a Dali painting draped over his wrist.

"I'd love to, Kate. But I have a dinner date at eight in L.A."

"Beverly Hills, I hope."

"Is there anywhere else?" They laughed together, and Kate walked to the door to greet Tygue. Stu Weinberg watched the boy come in, throw a quick hug around his mother, and then come to a sudden halt when he saw him.

"Hi, Tygue. My name's Stu." He reached out a hand but the boy didn't move.

"Who's he?" Tygue looked almost stricken.

"This is my agent from Los Angeles, sweetheart. Don't you have a better h.e.l.lo than that?" Tygue looked as frightened as his mother, and Stu instantly felt for the boy. He looked as though he were as unaccustomed to strangers as Kate.

Tygue grudgingly approached and held out a hand. "'Lo." His mother glowered, and Stu slowly put the contracts back in the briefcase.

"Well, Kate, nothing left for you to do but relax." She had signed everything.

"What about the other matter?"

"What?" But he knew. Let her say it. Let her try it out.

"The publicity."

"Don't worry about it."

"Stu ... I can't do it."

"Can't or won't?" His eyes were very hard on hers. "Won't."

"Okay." He sounded very calm. Too calm. And all the while, Tygue watched silently. "You mean it?"

"Sure. I told you. No one can make you do it. You're foolish if you don't. But it's your book, your decision, your royalty check, your career. It's your trip, baby. I just work for you." He made her feel small somehow, stupid and cowardly. If he had known, he'd have been pleased.

"I'm sorry."

"Then think about it. And I'll keep the publicity directors of both the publishing houses off your back until you decide. Okay?"

"Okay." He let her feel that she had won something, but she wasn't sure what. They shook hands at the door, and she watched as he backed a long plum-colored Jaguar out of her driveway.

She waved from the doorway, and Tygue watched her as Stu smiled at them both from the car. All three of them suddenly knew that everything was about to change.

CHAPTER 9.

"You survived it?" Felicia called after Tygue had gone to bed.