Chapter Twenty-Five

 

 

 

“I’m starving,” Lex said. He shoved himself off the edge of the plinth where the two of them had lain, crowded on either side of the man, who was occupied with the woman sitting on his face. “I think Cookie has some leftover rice pudding in the fridge. That might stave off starvation for a little while.”

Kelly enjoyed the view of his very fine backside as he bent to pick up his sweat bottoms, and her insides gave a little jerk of excitement when she realized that he was commando. She’d been in no condition to think about that when he’d removed them. As he watched her slip into her panties, he gave the face-sitting woman’s breasts a buss with just a flick of tongue and smiled, right proud of himself when Kelly pulled a heavy breath, but when she stroked the male’s erection and held his gaze defiantly, he literally growled at her. “Keep that up, woman, and the rice pudding will have to wait.” While they’d lain next to each other on the plinth, neither of them had spoken about what had just happened, no doubt both too stunned to say much, but as they made their back to the house, Lex glanced over at her. “Are you all right?”

She smiled. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“Well? Are you?”

“If you mean am I okay with what just happened, well, I’m not sure. If you mean am I going to bolt because of it, no.”

“Well, that’s good.” He pushed his way through the last of the thicket and out on to the main flagstone path. For a little while, they walked lost in their thoughts, then Lex spoke again. “Was it…?”

“Was it what?” she asked.

“Was it good?” There was a slight hint of a twitch along his jawbone, and he avoided her gaze.

“You know it was,” she replied. “It was amazing.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “How could I? I… Well, I never made love to a woman before, and we did make love, didn’t we?” He glanced up at her, but this time he didn’t look away.

“Oh, we definitely did do that, Lex. We made love, and it was truly amazing.”

Her answer was rewarded with another of his stunning smiles.

When they pushed their way into the kitchen, which was silent except for the sound of Cookie doing something in the pantry. Otherwise, the place was deserted. Lex raided the refrigerator, bringing out two bowls covered with cling film and two bottles of water, which he stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie along with two spoons that were considerably larger than dessertspoons. His table-waiting skills might have left a bit to be desired, but his enthusiasm more than made up for the lack as he laid everything out then sat down across from her, offering a wicked smile. “I have fantasies about eating rice pudding off your body.” He laughed softly. “Do you like that idea or did your pulse just jump because you’re anticipating another of Cookie’s culinary triumphs?” He was toying with her now, but before she could respond, he continued, “After I’ve licked my rice pudding off of every luscious curve and swell and arch of you, of course then I’d reciprocate by letting you eat yours off my”—he nodded down to his lap—“well, you get the picture.”

“Oh, I get the picture all right, in 3D Technicolor.” Then she leaned across the table into his hungry gaze. “That gives me an idea.”

When he glanced nervously over his shoulder to where Cookie was still rooting in the pantry, she quickly added, “Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing unfit for general viewing. But it might be just the ticket to push the envelope a bit, if you’re willing.”

“What do you have in mind?” he said, laying down his spoon and wiping nervous palms on his sweats.

“Just this.” She filled her spoon with a generous helping of rice pudding and offered it to him across the table.

For a long moment, he sat staring at her then at the spoon, as if she were offering him worms to eat. His pulse bounced against his throat, and the color had leached from his face.

“You don’t have to if it’s more than you can handle, but I won’t be touching you. It’ll just be the spoon and the food. Feeding each other is one of the age-old ways of connecting with a lover.” She nodded to the tempting spoonful and smiled encouragingly.

He took a deep breath, as though he was about to dive under water, then he leaned as far as he could across the table. One last gasp for courage, and he took the offered pudding into his mouth, breathing like he’d just run a mile. His first response was a startled grunt, but it was followed immediately by a soft moan and the fluttering of eyelids as the taste of the delectable treat hit his palate. “It’s good,” he managed. He spooned up a heaping helping and returned the favor, trembling just enough that he left a trail of pudding across the table, and the better part of what remained ended up on her chin and in her cleavage, but what did get to her mouth, she made an appreciative show of enjoying thoroughly with a flick of her tongue and a deep-chested sigh of pleasure.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she said, dabbing at the tops of her breasts with a swipe of her finger then popping the salvaged dessert into her mouth while he looked on wide-eyed.

He answered by leaning forward, pointing to his open mouth, and she shoved home another spoonful. The feeding frenzy was accomplished with childish giggles and teasing sloppiness. Lex was a different man when he was relaxed, when he laughed and joked, and Kelly would be the first to admit, he was a man whose company she enjoyed immensely. They made quick work of the pudding and made a half-assed effort to clean up after themselves, snapping each other with kitchen towels and wash cloths and chasing each other around the table, while being careful that no one actually caught anyone. Kelly’s cell phone rang amid the laughter and teasing. She’d forgotten she’d stuffed it in the pocket of the sundress, and she figured she was damn lucky she hadn’t lost it in the woods someplace. It was Myrna. She spoke without greeting.

“You need to turn on the radio to Talk About Town now.” Her voice was breathless and louder than usual, almost hysterical. Lex moved close enough that he could hear, though that wasn’t difficult in the once again quiet kitchen.

“Myrna, calm down, and tell me what’s going on,” Kelly managed before Myrna did just that, though certainly not calmly.

“Gale Ann Spaulding is talking about Lex, and if what she’s saying is true… Kelly, do you know if what she’s saying is true, because if it is, Christ! If it is, holy shit!” Before Myrna could finish the string of expletives, Lex reached for the radio on the credenza and tuned in Talk About Town, catching the vinegar and honey voice of Gale Ann Spaulding mid-rant.

“Alexander Valentine. Oh, that’s not his real name but, as I said at the beginning of today’s show, all shall be revealed. Of course, a lot of artsy-fartsy people use pseudonyms. We already know that Valentine’s little fiancée does. One has to wonder how often a pseudonym is just to cover up work one is too embarrassed to sign one’s name to, but that’s a topic for another time.”

“Stupid woman,” Lex said under his breath.

“Once I’ve told all, you’ll understand that Alexander Valentine, poor crazy Alexander Valentine, had other reasons for hiding his true identity.”

“Rubbish!” V rushed in from her office and reached to shut off the radio. Her face was nearly as white as the marble of Lex’s sculptures.

“Turn it off, V! Turn that bitch off.” Dillon rushed into the room with Cookie right on his tail and stopped in his tracks when he saw Lex and Kelly standing in the middle of the kitchen. ”It’s just trash talk, Lex. Turn it off and forget about it.”

“No!” Lex raised a hand. “Leave it.”

“Everyone has secrets,” Gale Ann Spaulding was saying, “and most of us are happy to respect other people’s secrets as none of our business.”

V muttered something that had to do with places where Gale Ann Spaulding could stuff her secrets and, once again, Lex growled a warning as she made another attempt to shut it off.

“The job of the press has always been to expose those secrets when they involve anything that affects the welfare of the public. While Alexander Valentine kept to himself, while he lived a secluded life and made an honest, if rather overpaid living—” 

“She would know about being overpaid,” Dillon interjected.

“—the press left the man to his work,” Spaulding continued. “But Valentine forfeited his right to secrets Saturday night when he chose to move once again into the realm of public figures and celebrities.” There was a slight pause and a rattling of paper, which was, no doubt for dramatic effect. Then Spaulding read without preamble, “Ellen Valentine-Vance Killed in Freak Auto Accident. 10-Year-Old Son Critically Injured.”

Lex moved back to the table and dropped into a chair as though he could no longer stand.

“This is a headline from The Oregonian from twenty-five years ago,” Spaulding said. “No doubt some of my esteemed listeners will remember that evening well. It was quite a blow to Portland’s movers and shakers, and much more of a blow to one little boy, who, as it turns out, wasn’t supposed to be with his mother in the first place that night, but I’m getting ahead of myself with our story here.”

“With our story? With our fucking story?” Dillon cursed.

Lex shushed him as the woman went on, her voice dripping smugness.

“On that cold February night, socialite and philanthropist Ellen Valentine-Vance picked up her son after his fencing lesson, a job that would have normally fallen to one of the family’s chauffeurs and, for reasons unknown, headed over Mount Hood in a pending blizzard, where she met an untimely death when the car she was driving spun out of control on US 26 near the Mount Hood Summit. The car careened off an embankment just out of view of passing traffic. The visibility, I’m told by those who remember that night, was pretty much non-existent, as any of you will know who’ve ever been caught out on Hood in bad weather. By the time the wrecked car was discovered, Ellen Valentine-Vance was dead. Her ten-year-old son, and only child, Alden Valentine-Vance II, was taken from the wreckage in critical condition and, on the way to the hospital, he lapsed into a coma, where he remained for six long weeks. Again, I emphasize, he was the only child and heir to the Valentine fortune. Yes, my dear listeners, you heard me right, it was the Valentine fortune the boy was heir to, not the Vance fortune because there was no Vance fortune, but I digress.

“Police reports say that the car hit an icy spot and rolled down an embankment where it was just far enough out of site to go unnoticed. The child was found outside the car unconscious, badly burned and suffering from hypothermia. Later reports would surface of possible foul play, of possible tampering with the car, of, well you know how people love their conspiracy theories.”

“Takes one to know one,” Cookie said.

“Six weeks later, when the poor child came out of the coma, the world had changed almost beyond recognition. He regained consciousness only to find his mother dead and his father already engaged to another woman. “‘I’m elated. My son who was lost has returned to me,’ Vance was quoted as saying—a quote from the Bible story of the prodigal son. Vance told the press that he would now have his son sent to a private facility where he would receive the rehabilitation he needed. No doubt Vance expected to have his son back and to resume a normal life as soon as he had recovered enough to be released, but sadly that was not to be.

“Talk About Town did some research, thinking it rather suspicious that there was no evidence of young Alden Vance II after his eleventh birthday—not so much as a graduation announcement—and certainly if the boy had died, there would have been at least a mention of it in the news after the scandal and speculation over his mother’s death. But there was nothing. Not a word written anywhere after the boy’s eleventh birthday. What we, at Talk About Town, discovered, will shock you. While Alden Vance the First died six years after that tragic accident from a heart attack, Talk About Town discovered that Vance’s jilted fiancée, Josephine Beasley—and, make no mistake, dear listeners, she was jilted—is very much alive and well and was more than willing to talk. Here’s what she told this reporter.”

A recording of a woman with a nasal east coast accent followed, and Kelly didn’t miss the way Lex flinched at the sound of her voice. “Believe me, all was never happy in paradise after young Alden’s return home. I thought at the time that he resented me taking his mother’s place, or at least that’s the way a young boy might have seen it. But you see, Alden, his father, and I were together a long time before Ellen’s death. I was his mistress. I gave him what Ellen refused him, a loving relationship.”

“Wicked fiend of a bitch,” V interjected.

“She wasn’t the problem, and you know it,” Dillon replied.

They all turned their attention back to the radio.

“Oh, Alden tried to keep it from his son, but the child was very perceptive. Nevertheless, he was still a child and he didn’t understand adult relationships, adult needs.”

This time Lex had to tell everyone to shut up as protests rose in the kitchen to a fevered pitch.

“Almost immediately after he returned home, the child began passing out and having some kind of fits or seizures when I, or anyone else, touched him. Oh, at first Alden thought it was the boy’s way of getting back at him for me, and he punished him for it, which only made matters worse, until he actually had to have the child taken by ambulance to a private hospital. We thought he was going to die. We really did.”

There was a sigh that was supposed to be sympathetic, Kelly figured, but they all knew better.

“After that,” the recording said, “his father took him to the best doctors, the best specialists, the best psychiatrists money could buy, but the child’s mental health continued to deteriorate until Alden was forced to hospitalize him then later institutionalized him for a time, where he was diagnosed with severe haphephobia. As you can imagine, the stress on our relationship was tremendous, and I found out that there was another woman, a nurse at the facility where Alden junior was being treated, and when I tried to force the issue, well, he ended the relationship. Then I went back home to Maryland. I didn’t keep track of what happened to the child.”

“For my esteemed listeners who haven’t yet connected the dots,” Spaulding’s voice cut in, “haphephobia is fear of being touched, fear of human contact. While Ms. Beasley may not know what happened after she left, we at Talk About Town know very well after looking into the matter.” She gave a satisfied little sigh. “After it became clear that the boy was not improving, and that he was not capable of interacting with people under normal circumstances, Vance had his son moved to some unknown location for his own protection. There were people who claimed to have seen him at his father’s hunting lodge, which just happened to be Mountain View, by the way, but most people just assumed he’d been institutionalized and eventually gone insane. No one was much interested. When Vance died six years later, the Valentine estate was sold off to some mysterious holding company, and that was the end of it, or so everyone thought.”

Kelly had dropped into a chair at the table next to Lex, who sat as still as the marble sculptures in his garden, shoulders stiff, mouth set in a tight, straight line, staring into the empty space in front of him. She wished desperately she could touch him, take his hand and offer him some support, but the best that she could do was sit there beside him while they all listened to the venomous delight in Gale Ann Spaulding’s voice as she finished her little expose for her adoring audience.

“One has to wonder when the inmates are running the asylum, what other secrets are being withheld from the public.” She paused to let that pithy little statement sink in, making sure her slower listeners got the asylum reference, then she continued, a hint of well-practiced sadness in her voice. “Oh, I’m sympathetic for poor young Alden, of course I am. But if Alden Vance II plans to enter the public domain in such a dramatic way as he most certainly did Saturday night, as he came to us all, deceived us all as Alexander Valentine, then he can expect the press and the public to take an interest. The public won’t tolerate being lied to, and they have the right to know who their heroes really are and what they represent. That goes double for the gold-digging harridans who shove their way into the lives of the mentally unstable and take advantage for their own personal gain.” Then in her best ‘I represent the interests of the people’ voice, she opened the show for callers.

As Spaulding’s loony fans began their rabid call-in, Dillon switched off the radio, plunging the room into stunned silence. It took Kelly a second to realize all eyes were on her. Lex stood, gaze locked on her, shoulders squared, jaw set like it was cast in iron. He nodded toward the radio. “Do you have a problem with this?” His voice was little more than a whisper, but in the silent room it was loud in its defiance.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She returned his look with defiance of her own. “Did you seriously think that I would?”

His shoulders relaxed and the tension drained from him like water. The collective sigh of relief in the room was audible. “No. I didn’t,” he said. On the table, he moved his hand so close to Kelly’s that there was another audible sigh in the room and her pulse jumped as though her heart were trying to escape her chest, not helped at all by the smile that suddenly split his face.

Then Dillon cleared his throat with a loud ‘eh-hem’. “While Kelly might not care about your deep, dark past, the public will.” He suddenly had everyone’s attention. 

“What do you suggest? You’re the spin doctor.”

“There’s nothing to spin,” Dillon replied. “Public sympathy will be on your side if you act fast. Clearly you weren’t trying to deceive anyone. Your efforts have always been self-preservation and peace. The audience is a sympathetic one, and will be more so if you come forward and tell your side of the story.”

V offered her agreement. “You need to speak to the press, Alexander.” She nodded out of the window. “You’ve got a captive audience right outside the gate.”

Lex paled visibly and his breath came in shallow gasps. But before he could protest, Dillon continued.

“You’re on your home turf. There are far fewer variables than there were the other night at the gallery. We could pull this off with you still inside the gate if that’ll make it easier for you. We can make sure that no one touches you. But we need to act fast.”

“All right.” Lex stood and straightened his hoodie. “You go tell them that I’m planning a press conference in…” He looked down at his watch. “Maybe thirty minutes. I need a shower.”

“Make it forty-five minutes,” V said. “For this, you need your fiancée beside you, and while Ms. Blake is a stunning woman, it’s best that we make the most of her features for the press.”

“Are you okay with that?” Lex asked, holding her gaze.

“I am.” She was more than okay with it, she realized, and the smile that Lex offered her in return made her even more okay with it. “I’m all yours, V.” She stood and followed the woman upstairs.