Season of Passion Page 9

  The something in her heart caught again. Harder this time. This was ridiculous. She was playing games with herself. Why was she so damn jumpy today?

  I wrote it all down inside.

  I'd better go take a look. And then she looked down at Tygue with a tender smile, and her voice softened again.

  Thank you for my beautiful garden, sweetheart I love it and I love you. She stooped for a moment and held him tight, and then hand in hand they walked toward the house, with Bert loping along beside them as best his stumpy legs would allow. Want a cup of coffee, Tillie? But the older woman shook her head.

  I've got to get home. Jake's kids are coming by tonight for supper, and I've got some things to do. The usual understatement. Jake had nine kids. There would be dinner for twelve. More, if assorted boy friends and girl friends came too, which they often aid. Tillie was always prepared.

  She got into her truck with a wave, and then hung out the window. You going up to teach again this week, Kate? It was funny she should ask, and Kate looked at her with a barely perceptible frown. She always went twice, but she had wondered the same thing herself on the way home today. She just didn't feel like going the second time this week.

  Can I let you know tomorrow? It wouldn't alter what she paid Tillie a set amount, once a month, to baby-sit twice a week. It was easier just writing one check a month, and the arrangement suited them both. If she decided to go to a movie in the evening, she just dropped Tygue off at Tillie's place on the way, and picked him up on her way home. Tillie didn't charge her for that, he was just like one of the grand-kids. But Kate hardly ever did that. She spent her evenings at the typewriter. And going out at night still made her long for Tom. It was easier to stay home.

  Sure, call me tomorrow, or the day after if you want, Kate. The day's yours, one way or the other.

  Thanks. Kate smiled and waved, as she gently pushed Tygue ahead of her into the house. Maybe she would take a day off, and skip seeing Tom later in the week. Maybe she could plant some more things in the garden with Tygue. What a super idea Tillie had had. Why didn't she think of things like that?

  What's for dinner? He threw himself on the kitchen floor with Bert, spewing mud around him on the clean floor as his mother grimaced.

  I'm going to make you eat mud pies, kiddo, if you don't get into the bathroom and get clean in about fourteen seconds. And take Bert with you.

  Come on, Mom ' I wanna watch '

  You'd better watch some soap and water, mister, and I mean it! She pointed determinedly toward the bathroom and then Tillie's message caught her eye and she remembered the call from New York. It turned out to be from the New York office of the agency she used in Los Angeles to sell her books. All the publishers were in New York, so her agent just shipped her manuscripts there, and let the eastern office handle it. Her Los Angeles agent did hold her hand a lot, and would get into the act if she ever sold a film, but the very thought of selling a film made her laugh. That was the stuff of writers' fantasies. Only novices believed they really had a chance. She knew better now, and she was just damn grateful to sell a book now and then, even if it was only for a lousy two thousand bucks every three years. It helped pad out the small income she still got from Tom's investments.

  So she wrote her book, and sent it to the agent in L.A., who would then mail it on to New York. And then New York would take two months even to tell her they knew she was alive, and after that with any luck at all they sold the book. Then she got a check from them, and twice a year she got royalty statements from the publishers. It was no more exciting than that. The first time it had taken them almost a year to sell her book, the second time it had taken them that long to tell her the new book stank and they couldn't sell it. This last time they had told her they were hopeful. But they had taken almost two years to sell it. That had been a year ago. And it finally would be out in another month. All of which was reasonable by publishing standards. She knew that publishers sometimes sat on a book for two or three years before publishing it. She had been given an advance of three thousand dollars, and that would be that. It didn't even disappoint her anymore. Just a nice polite print run of five thousand books, and eventually she would see it in her local bookstore if she took the trouble to go down there to look for it. And a year later it would be out of print. It would go as quietly as it had come. But at least she'd have written it. And she was pleased about this one. It was a little unnerving to think this book might actually sell. Its subject was a little too close to home. She had almost hoped it wouldn't sell, in case someone remembered her. But how could they? Publishers didn't advertise the work of relatively unknown authors. And who was Kaitlin Harper? No one. She was safe. The book was a novel, but there was a lot in it about professional football, and the kind of pressure that was put on the players and their wives. Writing it had done her good. It had freed her of some of the old ghosts. There was a lot in it about Tom, the Tom she had loved, not the Tom who had snapped.

  Mom, did you start dinner yet? His voice woke her out of her reverie. She had been standing by the phone for almost five minutes, thinking about the book, and wondering what the agency had wanted. Maybe something was wrong. A delay. They wouldn't bring it out in a month after all. They'd make her wait another year. So what? She'd gotten her advance. And she had been playing with an idea for another novel anyway. Besides, her real life was car pools for Tygue and mud on the kitchen floor. What difference did it make that she was a writer? Except to her.

  No, I haven't started dinner yet.

  But I'm hungry. He was suddenly whining and dirty a tired little kid. He had worked hard all day, and it was starting to show. But she was tired too.

  Tygue the word was a sigh on her lips will you please take your bath, and then I'll get dinner. I have a phone call to make first.

  Why? From child to beast in one quick minute.

  But he was only six. She had to remind herself of that at times.

  It's for business. Now come on, sweetheart. Be a sport.

  Oh ' all right ' He left, grumbling, with Bert sliding along behind him, nibbling at his heels. But I'm hungry!

  I know. So am I! Damn. She didn't want to snap at him. It was twenty to six. She dialed the agency's number in Los Angeles, wondering if anyone would even be there. If not, she'd call New York in the morning. But the phone was answered quickly, and the receptionist put her through to the man she normally dealt with: Stuart Weinberg. She had never met him. But after speaking for years on the phone, they felt like old pals.

  Stu? Kate Harper. How've you been?

  Fine. She always imagined what he looked like, young, short, thin, nervous, and probably good-looking, with very dark hair and expensive Los Angeles clothes. Tonight he sounded as though he were in a good mood. How've you been, out there in the boonies?

  We're not that far from L.A. The boonies, what a thing to say! But they were both laughing. It was a game they played whenever they spoke.

  Listen, she went on. I got a call from Bill Parsons in New York. The message is a little garbled, but it says to call him, or call you if I got back too late to call him, which I did. I didn't even think you'd be in this late.

  See how hard we work for you, madam? Burning the midnight oil, working our fingers to stumps '

  Stop You're making me sick.

  Sorry. I just thought I deserved a little sympathy.

  Mom! I'm hungry! The voice warbled out from the bathroom with suddenly loud splashing sounds, and Bert started to bark. Jesus.

  Cool it in there!

  What? Weinberg sounded momentarily confused, and Kate laughed.

  Crazy hour around here, I'm afraid. I think my kid is drowning the dog.

  Fine idea. He chuckled and Kate rumbled for a cigarette. She didn't know why, but he was making her nervous.

  Stu?

  Yes, ma'am? There was something funny in his voice. The way Tygue had sounded at breakfast, before planting his surprise garden.

  Do you know why Parsons wanted me t
o call you?

  I do.

  Well? Why was he doing this? It was killing her.

  Are you sitting down?

  They're not going to publish the book? Her heart sank. She could already feel tears well up in her eyes. Another bomb. She'd blown it again. She'd never publish another one. And this one had been so good.

  Kate There was an interminable pause as she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to force herself to listen to him. Today has been a fairly incredible day, love. Parsons closed a deal in New York. And I closed one out here. Your publisher sold your paperback rights, and I sold your movie. Her mouth opened, her eyes filled, and no sound emerged. And then suddenly everything happened at once. Tears, words, confusion, chaos. Her heart was pounding and so was her head.

  Oh my God. And then she laughed in the midst of it all. Oh my God!

  Kate, you won't remember a thing I tell you, but we'll talk again tomorrow. In fact, we're going to be doing a whole lot of talking in the next weeks and months. Contracts, plans, publicity. Lots of talking. And I think that you should come to Los Angeles so we can celebrate.

  Can't we do it over the phone? Panic had crept through the elation. What was happening?

  We'll discuss everything later. Anyway, the paperback rights sold for four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. And there was another endless pause I sold the movie for one twenty-five. You have to split the paperback money with your publisher fifty-fifty, but that's still one hell of a figure.

  Good lord, Stu, that still makes two twenty-five? She was dumbstruck. What did it all mean?

  All told, you stand to make three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not to mention royalties, the exposure, and what this could mean for the future of your career. Baby, this could be a quick ride to success. In fact, I'd say you're already there. Parsons spoke to the hardcover publisher today, and they're upping the second print order to twenty-five thousand copies. For hardcover, that's beautiful.

  They are? It is?

  Mom, I need a towel!

  Shut up!

  Take it easy, Kate.

  Yeah I don't know what to say. I never thought this would happen.

  This is just the beginning.

  Oh God, and then what if someone remembered about Tom? What if someone made the connection between her and what had happened six and a half years ago? What if '

  Kate?

  I'm sorry, Stu. I'm just sitting here, trying to absorb it.

  You won't be able to. Just sit there and relax, and we'll talk tomorrow. Okay?

  Okay. And Stu ' I don't know what to say. I' it just knocks me out' it's ' you '

  Congratulations, Kate.

  She blew out a long sigh and grinned at the phone. Thanks. It took another minute to get to her feet after she hung up, and even begin to gather her thoughts. Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Jesus. And what about the rest of it? What did he mean, this was only the beginning? What'

  Mom! Oh Lord.

  I'm coming!

  And there, in the bathroom, was the reality of her life. Tygue Harper was sitting in the bathtub with his dog, wearing a cowboy hat, and splashing three inches of water into the hall.

  What the hell are you doing? She could hardly stand up on the wave of soap and water swishing under her feet on the bathroom tile. For chrissake, Tygue! Anger exploded in her eyes and the boy looked suddenly hurt

  But I made you a garden!

  And I sold a movie! I ' oh Tygue ' She sat down in the river on the bathroom floor, grinning at her son, with tears spilling from her eyes. I sold a movie!

  You did? He looked at her somberly for a moment, as she grinned through her tears and nodded. Why?

  Chapter 8

  What do you mean it makes sense to you? It had been three days since the news, and she was on the phone to Felicia for at least the seventeenth time.

  Kate, for chrissake, you're talking about making a fortune. He's not just going to mail those contracts to you. He wants to explain them to you. Felicia was trying to sound soothing, but she was failing dismally. She was too excited to sound anything but elated, and pushy.

  But why here? All these years we've dealt perfectly happily at this distance. And ' oh shit, Licia. I should never have written the, damn book. She sounded agonized.

  Are you crazy?

  What if someone finds out? What if there's more of that bullshit that almost drove me nuts six years ago? Do you have any idea what it was like to be constantly hunted by reporters? They lived outside the house, they squeezed into my car with me, Jesus, they practically knocked me down the stairs. Why the hell do you think I came down here?

  I know all that, Kate. But that was a long time ago. It's not news anymore.

  How do you know that? How does anyone? Maybe those maniacs would revive it. What if they found out where Tom was? What would that do to Tygue? Just think of it, Licia! She paled at the thought, but in her office in San Francisco Felicia was unsympathetically shaking her head.

  You should have thought of that when you wrote the book. The fact is, it's a damn good book, and it's a novel, Kate. No one is going to know it's true. Will you please relax for chrissake? You're driving yourself into a frenzy for nothing.

  I won't see Weinberg.

  You're being impossible, dammit. But Kate had already hung up, and was frantically dialing the agency in L.A. He might not have left yet. He said he'd arrive around three. It wasn't quite noon. But his secretary told her he had left an hour before.

  Damn.

  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 damn 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 hell 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 goddamn 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 damn 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 hell of a good combo. Kate sighed again in answer, and Felicia shook her head with a grin. The earthquake w
as 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 Carder, the jacket slung over one arm was the classic Bill Blass. 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?