Summer Jazz Page 5

  "I can hardly wait, Mattie."

  He was grinning broadly as he followed her into the rehearsal hall. But not for one second would he ever have admitted that his excitement was due to more than curiosity.

  o0o

  Mattie aimed her Porsche In the general direction of her garage and screeched to a halt. She hadn't stayed for the rest of rehearsal. Call it a brilliant move, a calculated ploy to make Hunter wonder what she was doing. Call it anything except what it was— cowardice. Seeing the Chadwick puppets again had brought back too many wonderful memories. How they had dreamed, she and Hunter and Fuzzy Wuzzy, his first puppet. How they had laughed, Hunter affecting a deep, rumbling chuckle for the puppet. No, she hadn't stayed. It had been too much.

  She tiptoed into the house, hoping to keep from waking Papa Houston. But he bounded down the stairs, did a brief karate kata, and gave a karate bow.

  She put her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. "Papa, you're incorrigible. What are you doing up? It's late."

  "It's always late for me. I'm getting older every day, and I don't want to miss a thing." He kissed her cheek. "Especially not a minute of seeing my beautiful granddaughter. How was rehearsal?"

  "Good."

  "How could it be otherwise with my sweet granddaughter there?"

  Mattie laughed. "Papa, I've never been sweet in my life, and you know it."

  "When a fellow gets to my age, he can say anything he pleases—as long as he knows the difference between what's true and what's not." He chuckled as they walked together up the stairs.

  "I won't be staying here tonight, Papa."

  "You don't have to report to me, Mattie, but I hope to the Lord he’s somebody I like. I didn't like that fellow you had at the party. Too much muscle. I never did trust anybody who looked like he could bench-press Texas."

  "Neither did I."

  "Then what in the heck did you invite him for?"

  "Appearances. I have to keep my tarnished reputation intact."

  Phillip stopped and put his hands on either side of her face. "Mattie. . . Mattie."

  He spoke with such compassion that Mattie wanted to hide her face against his shoulder like a child. She wanted to pour out her frustration and her unresolved anger. She wanted to be weak. She wanted to transfer her burden to him. She was tired of being strong. She was tired of rationalizing for Victoria. She was tired of despising Hunter. She was tired of the gay deceit. She was tired of hurting.

  Taking a deep breath, she shook off her weakness, blaming it on the tension at the rehearsal hall.

  "Papa, don't you worry about me. I'm a tough little hellion. Cut from the same cloth you are. Besides, I’ll just be next door. If I need any help. I’ll simply yell for Uncle Mickey Mouse."

  "You'll be with Hunter?"

  "Yes."

  Phillip was thoughtful for a moment. "I always did like that boy." He patted her cheek. "Good night, my sweet."

  Mattie pondered over whether to change out of her shorts into something more seductive. She wanted to make Hunter desire her, but at the same time she didn't want to seem overly eager. In the end she decided on a fragrant bubble bath, the denim shorts, and a short-sleeved cotton blouse. Perhaps they would evoke memories of those wonderful, lazy days on the beaches ten years ago. In a burst of sudden inspiration she even scrubbed the makeup off her face and pulled her hair back in a ponytail.

  She leaned close to the mirror and decided that in the dark she could still pass for eighteen. Almost. If you ignored her more-voluptuous curves and the tiny laugh lines next to her eyes.

  She flipped off her lights and waited beside her bedroom window. She knew the exact moment Hunter's car turned into his driveway. Her hands clenched on the arms of her chair, and she sat forward to watch him enter his house. His walk was still cocky. She used to love that walk. She could pick him out in a crowd simply by his walk.

  He tossed his keys into the air, caught them, and entered his house. She imagined that he was whistling. He always used to whistle. Sweat dampened her palms as she watched his progress through the house by the lights he turned on. Finally she saw the light in his bedroom window. He was there! Her heart pumped so hard, she could almost hear it.

  Any minute now he would call. She looked at the silent phone. The minutes ticked by. Why didn't he call? Maybe he was waiting for her to call him. She reached toward the phone just as it rang.

  "My bed's empty, Mattie."

  His voice sent shivers down her spine. She licked her lips. "I’ll be right over," she said.

  "Hurry, Mattie. It's been a long time."

  She gently cradled the receiver. Her hands shook. What did he mean—it's been a long time? Did he mean a long time since her, or simply a long time since he'd had a woman? Could it be that something had been missing from his life these past ten years? Could it be that his quest for love had been as futile as hers? Could it be that nothing and nobody had ever filled the emptiness after she'd gone?

  Rubbish, she told herself. This was revenge, not déjà vu. Tossing her ponytail defiantly, she walked outside.

  "Look out, Hunter Chadwick. Here I come." And with those brave words she crossed through the gap in the hedge between her house and Hunter's.

  o0o

  Hunter stood watching at his bedroom window. Mattie looked young and vulnerable in the moonlight. Soft. Seductive. Spirited. All the things a man could desire. Then why wasn't he feeling exuberant?

  Something was wrong here. As he watched her walk across his patio he tried to decipher his feelings. Why wasn't he excited about having one of the most beautiful, most talented women in the world coming blithely to his bed?

  Because it was Mattie. That was the problem. With Mattie, sex had been more than a brief pleasure. It had been an act of love. It had been more than a mere coupling of bodies. It had been a joining of two hearts.

  He struck the windowsill with his fist. What was he going to do about this latent attack of scruples? He dared not show his vulnerability, especially to Mattie. She'd broken his heart once, and he'd be damned if she'd do it again.

  In the halcyon days of their youth she had been so innocent, so trusting, so warm. Something precious seemed to shrivel up inside him as he heard her tread on the stairway. That was no innocent woman coming boldly to his bedroom door. His smile was cynical. So now the pot was calling the kettle black, was it?

  He saw his door open. The die was cast. Now was not the time for silly sentimentality. The woman entering his bedroom was not the girl he'd loved ten years ago. She was as worldly-wise as he.

  Mattie stepped into the room.

  "What took you so long?" he asked.

  "I can't sprint through that hedge as fast as I could ten years ago."

  The way she said it, breathless and laughing, with an odd little catch in her voice, drove a shaft through Hunter's heart. Oh, Mattie. Don't resurrect the past. His gaze lingered on the freshly scrubbed face, the ponytail, and he was bereft.

  He stood stiffly by the window, pulling himself together, telling himself that all the wishing in the world couldn't bring back their yesterdays.

  "Has age also diminished your ability to strip?" he asked.

  "No."

  Her voice was throaty, sexy. She actually lowered her eyelashes when she said it. Her hands trembled slightly on the top button of her blouse. Watching her, Hunter decided she was a consummate actress.

  o0o

  Each button she popped open sounded like a thunderclap to Mattie. She was tense and uncertain, and she didn't know why. Now that she had Hunter exactly where she wanted him, she didn't quite know what to do with him. She knew how to make men want her, all right. She knew all the seductive moves, all the subtle glances, all the suggestive words. She knew how to retreat, too, how to leave them laughing and thinking they'd had it all. And how to keep them coming back for more. But this was Hunter. This was the sweet teddy-bear man who still lived somewhere in her memories in spite of the terrible thing that had happened.

>   She undid the last button and let her blouse slide to the floor. To her overly sensitive ears, its landing sounded like the clap of doom.

  Slowly she lifted her face. Hunter was still standing beside the window, as remote and cold as one of Michelangelo's statues. And just as beautiful. For a moment the past and the present became one, and she felt such a surge of joy that she almost rushed across the room into his arms.

  The ambivalence of her feelings shocked her. How could she feel joy in the presence of the man who had betrayed her?

  Innocent, Hunter thought. Her eyes looked innocent. Why did she keep doing that to him? Why wasn't she acting bold and brazen and wanton? That innocent act was killing him. It was keeping him from lifting that flawless face to his and kissing her until her lips were bruised. It was keeping him from ripping that bra from her intoxicating breasts and drinking his fill of her. It was stopping him from throwing that miraculous body onto the bed and loving her till he was too exhausted to continue.

  He hardened his heart.

  "Take off the rest."

  She licked her lips and slowly unfastened her shorts. They slid down her perfect legs and landed in a heap at her feet.

  Mattie in black lace bikini panties and bra was enough to make angels turn in their haloes. Hunter had to sit down. He made a great show of pretended indifference as he sprawled in the armchair beside the window. He hoped the dark would disguise his almost-painful arousal.

  "I'm waiting, Mattie."

  She reached behind her back for the bra snaps. She felt cold. She felt lonesome. She felt small. And somehow she felt betrayed again.

  Her hands hesitated. "You always used to help me with this."

  Hunter couldn't stand it any longer. He didn't know whether she was acting, but it didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that he couldn't bring himself to take her as callously as if she'd never meant anything to him. He'd just have to do a little acting of his own. He flinched, stiffening his back.

  "Ouch!"

  "What is it, Hunter?"

  "It's my back. An old injury." He wiggled his back and moaned.

  "Lousy timing." She was smiling as she picked up her shorts.

  "You can say that again." He stood up and made a great show of trying to loosen his back. "It happens sometimes.”

  Mattie fastened her shorts and picked up her blouse, covering a giggle as she bent over. "Are you sure it's not that injury I gave you with the tennis racket?"

  He grinned. "Would I con you?"

  "I don't know. Would you?"

  "I would no more con you than you would con me."

  She laughed. "Then we're in trouble. Hunter."

  "That was quite a show you put on."

  "When?"

  "Just now. That innocent act."

  She started to say something, then changed her mind. Instead, she stood very still, watching him.

  "It was a show, wasn't it, Mattie?" Deny it. Tell me it was no show, Mattie. Tell me you still feel something for me. Tell me you can no more have casual sex with me than I can with you.

  The appeal in his black eyes was so strong Mattie almost told him the truth. She almost told him that what had started out as a game of revenge had become a dangerous attraction. She almost admitted that the old spark was still there, that something in her still reached out to him. But the truth would never do. She didn't think she could survive being hurt all over again. If Hunter had hurt her ten years ago, what would he do now, faithless womanizer that he was? No. The truth would never do.

  She tossed her ponytail and put a gay lilt into her voice. "Of course, it was a show. I've learned all sorts of interesting tricks in the last ten years." Her reprieve made her brave. She walked toward him with a sway to her hips so provocative, it would have sobered Skid Row bums. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she leaned over and whispered, "When your back gets well, I'll show you a few."

  At that moment Hunter could have choked her. He didn't want to hear about her tricks. He didn't want to know what she had become. Reading the headlines had been bad enough. He didn't think he could bear a demonstration. Something in him still wanted Mattie to be the innocent girl she'd been when he'd first known her. As unrealistic as it was, he wanted her to be the "good girl" he'd fallen in love with. Damned if it made any sense to him.

  "Go home, Mattie." He pulled her hands off his shoulders.

  "No."

  "No?"

  "That's what I said." She walked over to the bed and sat down. "If I go home. I’ll ruin both our reputations."

  "What do you intend to do?"

  "Sleep here." She patted the mattress.

  "Dammit, Mattie. You can't do that."

  "Why not?"

  He was temporarily at a loss for words. She grinned up at him. "Because it's my bed," he finally said.

  "You can sleep here, too. I won't bother you."

  "Good Lord, woman." He paced the floor, speechless. Every now and then he smote the air with his fist.

  "You've made a remarkable recovery," she said.

  He stopped pacing. "What?"

  "Your back. It seems to be all right now."

  There was nothing else to do but laugh. He stood in the middle of the room and laughed at the ludicrous situation. Mattie's mouth tilted up at the corners, and then she was laughing too. Their mirth made it seem like old times.

  "A pretty pickle we've gotten ourselves into," she said.

  "You might say these two old con artists have outfoxed themselves," he agreed.

  "What are we going to do about it?"

  "One thing's for sure. I'm not sleeping in that bed with you."

  "I didn't think you would."

  "You're sure you aren't going home?"

  "I can't. I told Papa I'd be gone all night. If I go home now, he's liable to think I'm an intruder and attack me."

  "Phillip probably would." He chuckled. "Do you still like cartoons, Mattie?"

  "I don't know, Hunter. I haven't seen Bugs Bunny in ... a long time."

  He opened a door in his entertainment center and rummaged around. "We've just shot a decent night's sleep; we might as well watch TV." He held two tapes aloft. "How does this sound to you—The Revenge of the Road Runner?"

  Better than the revenge of Mattie Houston. "Great," she said.

  He put one tape into his VCR and walked toward the bed. "Scoot over."

  "You aren't taking the chair?"

  "No. I always watch TV from my bed." One side of the mattress sank under his weight. "Does it bother you?"

  "No," she lied.

  "Good. Who do you think's going to win?" he asked as the Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote began their battle of wills.

  "Doesn't Road Runner always win?"

  "Yes. But just once I'd like to see old Wile E. Coyote win. I'm going to bet on him." He turned up the volume. "Go get 'em, Wile E."

  He was so like the fun-loving man she'd fallen in love with. "I'll take that bet. You know you're going to lose, Hunter." She pointed to the TV. "Did you see that? Road Runner's already winning."

  "That's okay. Don't you want to know what the wager is?"

  "You made me forget to ask."

  Hope rose in him. "How did I do that, Mattie?"

  By being so like the gentle man I once knew, she started to say. By being so close, you make me dizzy. By being so lovable, you almost make me forget the past. But she said none of those things. "By acting so silly."

  "Lady, you ain't seen nothin' yet." He hopped out of bed and pulled a tattered old mass of felt and fur from the top shelf of his closet.

  "Fuzzy Wuzzy!" Mattie said.

  "The same," Hunter said, affecting the puppet's deep, growly voice. "Who's that sleeping in my bed?"

  She laughed. "I'm not sleeping, Fuzzy Wuzzy. I'm watching TV."

  Hunter was delighted with her spontaneous response to the puppet. He continued the impromptu show. "Don't you know it's bad for your health to watch TV without eating? Have some potato chips." Working the puppet'
s hands, he whisked a bag of chips from a drawer of the bedside table.

  "You still keep chips beside your bed?"

  Hunter grinned. "Shh. Don't tell on us. Fuzzy Wuzzy and I like to eat in bed."

  "Don't you dare drop a crumb," she scolded the puppet as Hunter plopped Fuzzy Wuzzy beside her and climbed back into the bed.

  "I'm not worried about crumbs tonight," Hunter said, leaning against the headboard and propping his arms behind his head. "I'm not the one who'll be sleeping on them."

  "You were invited." She reached for the bag of chips.

  He caught her wrist and looked deep into her eyes. "Was I, Mattie?"

  She didn't want to lose what was happening between them now, so she told him the truth. "Not really, Hunter. It was all a game."

  "Why?"

  "I can't tell you."

  "Can't, or won't?"

  "Both."

  He turned her hand over and studied it. "Long, lovely fingers. Talented fingers." He bent his head and kissed the inside of her wrist.

  The gesture was so tender it made a small chink in the armor she had built around herself. "Don't."

  "Why not?" He massaged her fingers.

  "Because . . . you'll miss the cartoon." Deliberately she pulled her hand away. "See? Road Runner's winning."

  She was freshly scrubbed and smiling. And he almost believed she was still his Mattie. "Why did you leave?"

  "Did you see that rock fall on Wile E.? You're losing, Hunter." She pretended great interest in the cartoon, but he saw the fleeting look of pain on her face.

  He called himself fifteen kinds of fool for waiting so long to ask the question he should have asked ten years ago. "I lost a long time ago. Why, Mattie?"

  "Forget it. We can't go back."

  The truth resounded in the still room like a dirge. They both heard the death knell of a love lost.

  On the screen in front of them, Road Runner exacted his final revenge on Wile E. Coyote. Cymbals crashed and drums rolled as Wile E. met his fate beneath the screaming wheels of a train.

  Neither spoke as the tape blurred into a gray nothingness. Finally Mattie, the consummate actress, tossed her head, setting her bright hair aswing, and smiled at Hunter.