Kathryn’s tune was unusually happy, and she was unusually loose singing it. Love was the theme for the evening, and anyone who didn’t believe her when she flashed her dazzling smile and cheerfully sang “The Best Things in Life are Free” didn’t have a pulse.
Jenny knew she wore a silly grin on her face as she watched Kathryn from one of the front row tables on the club floor, but after the week she’d had, she felt she deserved a night of unadulterated ogling, and she didn’t care how goofy she looked to anyone else.
It felt good to leave her cares outside and just enjoy the beautiful woman on stage—her beautiful woman. It seemed so long since she’d seen her perform, she’d almost forgotten she was a singer. Kathryn looked stunning in her shimmering red gown, and genuinely happy. It was an emotion that had been in short supply for both of them lately. Jenny knew Kathryn needed this night as much as she did. Soon, Forrester would be back in town and their relationship would be relegated once more to stolen hours in the afternoons, a thought that Jenny quickly put out of her head.
Dominic leaned in from behind and whispered in her ear, “Did you do this to her?”
Jenny smiled. “I hope so.”
“Keep it up. Happy is good, no?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That is her own arrangement, did you know?”
Jenny beamed with pride. “No, I didn’t.”
“She said it was a gift to me, but I think she does not tell the truth.”
Jenny smiled, and Dominic straightened, raising his hands in applause as the song ended. Kathryn nodded graciously to her boss and offered a playful wink to Jenny, who gladly returned the gesture.
The band launched immediately into the next song, causing the club owner to pat Jenny on the shoulder and quickly depart, as if staying would be an intrusion. His actions soon made sense when bright horns and smooth clarinets played the intro to “I Know Why (And So Do You).”
Jenny settled back in her chair to enjoy her own personal love letter. Kathryn had promised the last song would be just for her, but she didn’t need to tell her that. Jenny could hear it in the intimacy of her voice, see it in the smile that reached her eyes, and feel it in the way she gently caressed the mic stand with the same easy stroke she’d used on the length of her thigh. Jenny was lost in Kathryn’s love for her, something that, with all her training and experience in deception, Kathryn couldn’t hide.
Jenny bit her lip, as anticipation got the better of her and her silly grin turned into a bad case of I’ve-gotta-have-her-and-soon. She couldn’t wait to get back to Kathryn’s apartment. Tonight, they would reconnect. Their lovemaking would be slow and sensual as they explored each other by soft candlelight, and they would lay in each other’s arms until the dawn eased them gently into the next day. They would be strong, renewed, and united. Ready to face what lay ahead. They were in love, after all, and what was stronger than that?
Jenny thought back to the first night they’d met. She never could have guessed the path her life was about to take. Now, as she watched the object of her affection onstage, she could only hope the future would be kind to them.
She heard Dominic off to her left snapping his fingers and giving instructions, which she found odd, given the respect he had for his favorite performer. A turn to her right revealed the reason, as Marcus Forrester and an entourage of well-dressed men made their way to the large table on the exclusive upper tier of the club floor.
“Son of a bitch,” Jenny muttered and quickly faced forward. She looked at the stage where Kathryn went on with her song, with no change in her demeanor. She wondered if she knew their night was ruined. A slight nod and a smile in Forrester’s direction told Jenny she knew, and while she may not be able to hide her love, Kathryn could apparently transfer it, and Marcus Forrester was the lucky recipient.
After the song, Jenny watched Kathryn linger at the piano with her back to the crowd. Jenny tried to be strong. She took a deep breath and straightened as Kathryn prowled off the stage and headed toward her. As she approached, she never looked down. She kept her eyes focused on the table in the third tier. It was just like the night they met, red dress and all. The only thing missing was Cal at the table. She cringed when she thought of him—whoever he was. Thoughts of the impostor led to thoughts of her uncle, and soon the outside world began smothering her.
She stared at Kathryn’s hand as she approached, not able to ignore her, and not able to handle what she knew would be indifference on her face. As Kathryn got closer, a small white napkin appeared at her fingertips, and she tucked it into Jenny’s numb fingers as she passed.
The acknowledgment alone eased Jenny’s discomfort, but not even the warm, soft touch of Kathryn’s hand sweeping up her arm and across her bare shoulders as she passed could help the feeling of regret and disappointment at what they’d lost. It didn’t take long before resentment set in when she thought of who would be receiving her attention instead.
She imagined Kathryn arriving at Forrester’s table, where the grubby bastard would put his hands on her, kiss her lips, and parade her in front of his friends like a trophy. It was almost too much to bear. She gathered her purse and wrap before the mental image made her cry, and still clutching the napkin, she headed for the door. She wound up next to Smitty in the bar as she waited for the valet to hail a cab.
“Tough, isn’t it?” he said, as he twisted on his barstool and motioned toward Forrester’s table.
Jenny hadn’t intended to look, but curiosity got the better of her. She would soon regret it, as Kathryn was practically sitting on Forrester’s lap, with one arm intertwined with his and the other arm rubbing his shoulder as they laughed and interacted with the group. Kathryn was good. If you didn’t know better, you would swear she was enjoying every minute of it. Jenny quickly looked away in disgust and found Smitty’s amused eyes staring at her.
“Yeah,” she said, answering his question. “Too tough.”
He smiled. “You’ll get used to it.”
She stared at him. “Like you have?”
His amused grin disappeared, and he looked briefly back to the table. His jaw tensed, and Jenny had her answer. She patted him on the chest in mutual understanding as the valet signaled her taxi had arrived and she headed for the exit.
“Good night, Johnny.”
“Yeah. See ya, kid,” Smitty mumbled, as he twisted back to the bar and ordered another drink.
Jenny sat in the back seat of the taxi and silently cursed Forrester’s name as she headed home alone. He couldn’t have planned a more devastating disruption if he tried. Why tonight of all nights? She was angry, and for the briefest of seconds, Kathryn was included in her ire.
Couldn’t she just tell Forrester she had plans? Couldn’t she put their relationship first for once? Jenny closed her eyes and exhaled her disappointment. Of course she couldn’t. Kathryn was doing what she had to do, just like she always did, and rightly so.
Jenny deflated into the seat and looked at her hand. She’d almost forgotten the napkin strangled in her fist. She smoothed out the crushed white paper to find a ragged message scribbled in pencil: I’m SO sorry, was underlined. I WILL see you tonight! My place—please? Counting the minutes—love you.
Jenny stared at the note, feeling Kathryn’s obvious frustration. “I love you too,” she whispered. She was angry, and maybe a little jealous, but it wasn’t Kathryn’s fault. She had to be hurting as well.
“I’m sorry, driver,” she called to the front seat. “Jane Street in the Village.”
She would go to Kathryn’s apartment and wait. Maybe they could salvage something of the evening despite their bad luck.
By the time Jenny got to Kathryn’s apartment, she was resigned to the delay in their plans. She kept her emotions in check, which she felt was progress. Kathryn didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself, so neither would she.
Jenny was certain Kathryn had gotten the worst end of the deal. As bad as she felt about their ruined evening, Jenny couldn’t imagine the disappointment compounded by a night of make-believe with Marcus Forrester. He would put his hands on her, and Kathryn would pretend to like it. The charade would spur him on to more intimate behavior, and then—the thought of it made Jenny’s skin crawl. She didn’t know how Kathryn put up with it. But she did, and Jenny briefly remembered Kathryn’s sordid past as a prostitute, where she must have endured much worse than Forrester. At least she didn’t have to sleep with him.
She quickly pushed those thoughts away as she entered Kathryn’s apartment. The familiar surroundings welcomed her, and her annoyance lost some of its edge. It was only a matter of time, after all. Kathryn would be home before she knew it, and, in the meantime, she would take comfort in the embrace of her personal space.
She dropped her bag on the couch and inhaled Kathryn’s scent, which still hung in the air. For such a complex woman, Kathryn was materialistically simple. There was nothing extravagant about her manner of living, save the beautiful grand piano, which seemed wholly out of place amongst the modest furnishings in the rest of the dwelling. The polished piano bench was tucked neatly under the keyboard as far as it would go, and Jenny leaned on the exposed half with one knee and caressed the keys, wishing Kathryn were there to serenade her with something lovely.
The hours dragged on, and soon it was after midnight—still, no Kathryn. Jenny had exhausted her exploration of the apartment and was amazed at how little it exposed about her lover. On the surface, there was one personal photo in the bedroom—the one of her as a child on her mother’s shoulders. There was the small glass bottle collection on her vanity, and a curious group of seashells in a jar of water on the kitchen windowsill. The one bookcase in the living room was surprisingly uninformative, neatly ordered with a nonspecific collection of classic and contemporary novels—no genre favored over another, no hint of any one interest.
The lack of personal information reminded Jenny of her time spent at the Farm, working tirelessly to keep any telling characteristics from her fellow recruits. Surely that training couldn’t be that ingrained in Kathryn. Everyone needed a place to be themselves.
There were, however, two items of great interest to Jenny: an oil painting hung on the wall at the foot of the piano and a closed door in the hallway on the way to the kitchen. The oil was of medium size, with a plain wide gold gilded frame in the shape of a perfect square. The warm and inviting palate captured a small child taking a shell from an adult woman’s hand. The child reached with both hands, as children often do, and one could almost imagine the moments just after the captured scene as the child brought the treasure greedily to her body with uncoordinated fingers. It was a beautiful moment, filled with wonder and innocence, and Jenny could understand why Kathryn had it in such a prominent place in her home. It was signed E.K. Hammond, and Jenny wondered who in the family was the artist.
The closed room was not only a mystery but a temptation. The door wasn’t locked—Jenny had tried it—but she sensed it was shut for a reason, so she didn’t venture inside. She was sure Kathryn would share the mystery in her own time.
Directly across the hall was the cellar door that led to the back entry that Smitty and Kathryn used when they wanted to leave the apartment unseen, to avoid Forrester’s watchdogs. That door was locked, but the skeleton key waited patiently in the keyhole. Jenny was prone to the creeps, so she decided a dark cellar was of no interest to her on this night.
As another hour passed, she found herself still alone. Cozy had gone from comforting to claustrophobic as the walls closed in. Jenny had too much time on her hands. Too much time to think about what Kathryn was doing with Forrester, too much time to dwell on her damaged personal relationships, and too much time to realize that somewhere along the way, her life had spiraled out of her control. She tossed her third The Etude magazine on the coffee table and decided she’d learned enough about the artistic possibilities of good jazz and the string approach to Mozart.
She was annoyed again. This was going to be their night. Kathryn shouldn’t have said she could get away. She didn’t have that kind of control over her life. Forrester called the shots, and if he wanted her with him, she would stay. And why wouldn’t he want her with him?
“Fucker,” Jenny grumbled, the curse absolving Kathryn for her wishful thinking.
Jenny decided in her mood, it was probably better that Kathryn wasn’t coming home. She thought about leaving but knew Kathryn would be disappointed to come home to an empty apartment—if she came home. No need for both of them to be disappointed tonight.
She scribbled a note and took a bath. She was too worked up to sleep, so she grabbed a book and curled up in the lonely bed.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times …”
Forrester covered Kathryn’s naked body with his own. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and playfully nibbled at his chest.
“I’ve missed you,” he moaned, as he rocked into her.
Kathryn threw her head back and welcomed the rhythm with a pleasurable exhale. “Missed you too. You should have let me stay in Chicago. Look what we’ve been missing.”
Forrester laughed between concentrated thrusts, and Kathryn tightened her grip on his taut biceps. Moans of encouragement had the man straining to keep up with the demand, until Kathryn pulled him to her and guided him on his back. She straddled him and let her slowly grinding hips drive him crazy.
His cries of pleasure were tainted with the sweet frustration of greedy desire, and he grabbed her hips to take what he wanted—what he needed. She pulled his hands away, in complete control of his gratification, and he surrendered to his sublime torture.
Forrester turned his head and held out his hand. “Would you like to join us?”
Kathryn turned her head and watched for the response with great interest. Come on, she mouthed as she held out her hand as well.
Jenny refused.
Kathryn laughed and turned to Forrester. “I told you.”
Forrester laughed too.
The laughter grew louder and louder, until the noise was deafening.
Jenny’s eyes flew wide open as she gasped awake from the nightmare and sat straight up, her heart beating wildly.
“Son of a bitch!”
She immediately reached for the light and wound up sprawled out on the sheets on all fours. She was in Kathryn’s bed, still alone, but thankful she was awake and it was only a dream. She scampered backwards to the headboard and pulled her knees to her chest, her skin crawling.
“Cripes,” she exhaled, holding her spinning head.
The time read two thirty-four. “Kat?” she called out hopefully.
No answer.
She tried to shake off the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “It was just a dream, Jenny,” she told herself. “Just a dream.”
It had to be a dream. Kathryn told her she didn’t sleep with Forrester. Jenny’s mind reeled. Did she say she didn’t sleep with Forrester or she hadn’t slept with Forrester? Jenny tried to remember … she said didn’t. She paused again. Did that mean she doesn’t, period, or she hadn’t yet but may have to one day? And was this the day? The thought of it sent chills up her spine.
“God,” she said, as she shut her eyes tight against the possibility. She hugged her knees and rocked to the mantra it was just a dream … it was just a dream.…