Chloe (23 page)

“You don’t want much, do you?” She made her voice light and teasing, but her heart throbbed in her ears. She’d hoped Drake was her one friend. Not once in their years together had she ever felt any other attachment to him.
How do I get out of this?
She drew her hand from his.

“I’m making you nervous, aren’t I?” he asked with a repentant smile.

She looked away. The Negro jazz trio that played each evening was gathering in the corner. “Me?” She shook her head and smiled falsely. “I don’t have a nerve in my body.”

“‘Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,’” Drake said.

Chloe couldn’t decide if he were mocking her or himself. She sipped her cold club soda. The trio began playing, “The Man I Love.” Setting down his drink, Drake offered her his hand. She rose and he led her to the small dance floor. She let him draw her close and move her effortlessly around to the music of the fox trot. His embrace wasn’t seductive or suggestive. He never tried to kiss her while they danced. He just seemed to enjoy dancing with her. Drake Lovelady had become such an integral part of her life that Chloe had ceased to wonder why he was there. Could he really want to marry her? Did his reasons make any sense?

The song ended and they sat down. The police commissioner waved to them from the next table and several Democratic congressmen nodded from farther on. She saw their speculative glances and wondered how many people watching them here tonight expected her to marry Drake.
I’ll never marry again.
She was absolutely sure of this, but didn’t know why.

Just then her father and a pretty young redhead in a flashy green dress entered the speakeasy. He settled the woman at a table distant from them. Chloe knew why he did this. He didn’t want to introduce her to one of his many women.

Then he came over to shake hands with Drake and pinch her cheek. “Chloe, tomorrow mornin’ you talk to Jackson. He’s set up somethin’ for you to do in the afternoon. It’s a public relations outin’ featuring the wives of Democratic congressmen. I want you to go along and get into any photos the press take. They always put you front and center ’cause you’re the prettiest Democrat in town.” He chuckled.

Chloe nodded, keeping her eyes from shifting toward her father’s date, who looked much younger than Chloe. Once again she tried to put her father’s philandering out of her mind. Why should she mind? Her mother evidently didn’t.

He turned to go. “Oh, I just heard from your mother.”

Chloe looked up, foolish hope zinging to life. “Yes?”

“She called tonight to tell you Bette just got over the measles.”

“Measles?” Foolish hope died instantly—to be told news about her daughter secondhand by her father! Hot shame flooded Chloe.

“Your mother said she didn’t want to worry you,” he explained, “so she waited till the crisis passed.”

Chloe nodded woodenly. She’d seen her daughter a month ago at her child’s eleventh birthday party. Bette had stuck close to her grandmother and stared at the ground every time Chloe addressed her. The worst of it was that it reminded Chloe of the way she’d behaved as a child around her absent mother. She’d been raised by her grandmother and Minnie’s. Mrs. McCaslin long ago had called it the Carlyle tradition. But it was more like a curse. Would every generation see trouble between mother and daughter? Would there never be peace?

Her father went back to his date. Drake asked Chloe to dance again and she rose with a smile. She could lose herself in music and laughter, couldn’t she?

“Don’t be sad,” Drake murmured. “We’re doing the best we can. Even Solomon said it: ‘Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die.’”

Chloe chuckled, as she was supposed to. “Why not?”

About one in the morning, Drake drove Chloe home. She’d begged off from going to another speakeasy that included a casino. She couldn’t bear another dose of fun tonight.

Drake handed back her key after he’d unlocked the front door and then drew her gloved hand to his lips. “Good night, princess.”

She didn’t like his nickname for her, but she merely nodded and walked inside. She shut the door and locked it. Drake’s unexpected proposal had destroyed her peace. Was she frightened at the thought of marrying again or of the idea that she might marry Drake not from any feeling of love but rather because he’d finally worn down her resolve?

The phone in the hallway rang. The sound sent waves of fear through Chloe. Who would be calling at this hour? Had Bette had a relapse or complications with measles? Chloe jerked the phone to her ear. “Yes?”

“Chloe, is that you?”

Roarke McCaslin’s voice rushed over the phone line to her, clear and unmistakable. The unlooked for voice set off a gale of sensations and weakened her knees. She leaned against the wall. “Roarke?”

“It’s Kitty. Chloe, she’s in critical condition.”

“What’s wrong?” Chloe had trouble drawing breath.

“Bad booze. The doctors don’t know what . . . what the outcome will be. She told me not to call our parents, but she wants you, Chloe. She told me to call you.”

“Where are you?” Chloe’s hands shook as she pulled the note pad and pen to her on the hall table.

“A private hospital in upper Manhattan.” He gave her the name and address.

“I’ll leave right away.”

“I don’t know what you can do for her.”

“I can be there.” She hung up. For a moment, she held her face in her hands. This couldn’t be happening, not to Kitty. Kitty had continued her law career in New York City. Chloe had lunched with her whenever she shopped on Fifth Avenue. But their lives had become so different and Kitty had seemed progressively . . . unhappy, dissatisfied under her almost frantic gaiety. Every meeting had depressed Chloe. Now this.

In the end, Chloe had her chauffeur drive her to New York. It took the rest of the dark hours and into the next day. He delivered her to the hospital in mid-morning. Once there she sent him away to reserve a room for her at the new Benjamin Hotel and told him to drive home after doing that. She’d use public transport in the city. He tried to remonstrate that her father wouldn’t like that, but she ignored him and went through the entrance. The hospital was small and smelled, as all hospitals did, of formaldehyde and Lysol and other odors Chloe couldn’t distinguish and didn’t want to. With the help of an aide, she found Kitty’s room . . . and Roarke. He sat in a chair by the bed. His face looked flattened, as if all hope had been lost.

Fear like a specter rose in her. Was Kitty going to die? Roarke’s name was all Chloe could say. At the sound he stood up and stared at her. The sight of him gazing at her coursed through her like warmed wine. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Over five years had passed since she’d seen Roarke’s face. Chloe quashed the urge to throw her arms around him. His expression was easy to read.
He doesn’t want me here. Don’t embarrass him or myself.

“Chloe,” he murmured.

To escape his relentless gaze, she looked to the bed. Kitty lay very still, her eyes shut. Her skin was sallow and her face looked puffy, unnatural. “How is she?”

Roarke visibly pulled himself together. “Not good. The doctors think she got some wood alcohol in a cocktail someplace. They think it’s damaged her liver. That’s why her skin’s turned yellow and she’s holding fluid.”

This can’t be happening.
“What are they doing for her?” Tears crowded her throat. She pushed them down.

“There’s not too much they can do.” Each stark word obviously cost him. Roarke slumped back into his chair and lowered his head into his hands. He looked like he wanted to lie down and die.

She resisted the urge to kneel beside him and smooth back his tousled hair.

“They’re giving her a diuretic, trying to get the bloating and toxins out of her system and they’ve catheterized her to move this along.”

Chloe approached the bed and took Kitty’s flaccid hand. “Is she . . . asleep?” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word
coma
.

“She’s weak. She comes and goes.”

Kitty’s eyes fluttered open. Her mouth tried to form a word. Chloe reached for the bedside table where a metal pitcher of water and a glass with a straw stood ready. She poured a small amount of water. Before she could do it herself, Roarke was up opposite her, lifting Kitty’s head. Chloe slid one hand into Kitty’s hair. Her hand brushed Roarke’s. Sparks darted through her hand and up her arm. She concentrated on the task at hand. She gently nudged Kitty’s lips with the straw. “Take a sip, Kitty. Then you’ll be able to talk.”

Kitty obeyed and drank one, two shallow swallows. Then she leaned back against Roarke’s arm, looking up into Chloe’s eyes. “You came.”

Chloe clutched the glass with both hands then. “As soon as I could get here.”

“Glad.” Kitty looked as if saying those few words exhausted her. Roarke lowered his sister’s head. She rolled it against the pillow, restless, pained. “Roarke here . . . alone.”

“I’m here now.” Before she dropped it, Chloe put the glass down on the bedside table. “I won’t leave until you’re well enough to go home.”

“Might not go home. So weak.” Kitty shut her eyes.

Chloe felt electric shocks flash through her.
Kitty, you can’t die. You can’t leave me . . . us.

Roarke and Chloe’s eyes met and held. “Chloe, I . . .” He faltered and turned. Chloe looked away.

A slim, young doctor followed by an older, stout nurse walked into the room. “I’m just making rounds. Has she been conscious at all?”

Roarke turned to him. “She just spoke a moment ago.”

“Good. Her heart’s strong. That’s a plus. But her liver has suffered damage. The good thing about livers however is that they can right themselves if given time.”

“How long . . . When will we know?” Chloe ventured.

“I honestly don’t know, madam. She’s young and strong and that may be enough to counteract the damage done to her liver. But we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Chloe wanted to shake a better answer out of him. But she refrained from asking anything more. This wasn’t his fault. The doctor and nurse left them, already discussing the next patient. “How long have you been here?” Chloe glanced at Roarke and then away.

“All night.”

“Do you want to go home for a while? Take a shower, eat breakfast?” They both kept looking at Kitty. Were they fearful of what their eyes might find or reveal if they dared look at each other?

“No, I can’t leave.”

She didn’t press him. But they weren’t speaking like people who had been parted for years. Unlike that night at the theater, their time apart now melted away as a vapor. Did Roarke even remember abandoning her to Drake that night in Harlem? Probably it had meant nothing to him. After that, he’d never called and she’d never had the nerve to call him. “I can’t leave either.”

He stretched his arms over his head. “But a cup of coffee might help. Will you stay with her while I get one and call my office? I’ll try to bring you back one, too.”

“Sure. That would be good.”

Roarke left, promising to return soon.

Within minutes, Minnie walked into Kitty’s hospital room. Feeling as if she were in a dream, Chloe stood. Minnie hugged her tightly. “Chloe, you look prettier than ever,” she murmured, appearing loathe to look at Kitty.

“And vice versa.” It had been nearly six months since she’d met Minnie for coffee in the Village. Chloe gazed at Minnie with new eyes. Today, her old friend looked the picture of success—marcelled hair, fur coat, a designer dress in royal blue, scarlet lipstick, and expensive perfume. Minnie had become everything she’d wanted. For one awful second, Chloe wanted to claw her old friend’s eyes out. She doused the flash of virulent envy. What she’d done with her own failed life wasn’t Minnie’s fault.

Minnie drew the other chair in the room nearer to Chloe’s and sat down. “This is tough.”

Chloe tried to get her mind to settle down. After many years of sporadic and casual contact, Kitty and Minnie, as well as Roarke, had come together now that one of their lives hung in the balance. She knew she’d been the one to distance herself from Minnie and Kitty. But Roarke had caused it. “Did Roarke call you?”

“No, I called Kitty’s office and her secretary told me.”

“Why did you call her office?” Chloe sat down on the edge of her chair.

“Because if you recall, she’s my lawyer, silly.” Minnie finally glanced at Kitty.

“Sorry.” Chloe realized they were both speaking softly, as if at a wake. She swallowed down the fear.

Minnie shrugged. “Kitty was supposed to go over a new contract along with my agent.”

Somehow it was both wonderful and dreadful to be reminded that Minnie needed an agent and a lawyer.
Of the two of us, Minnie, you did best. I’m glad for you.
But envy over Minnie getting what she wanted while Chloe hadn’t still pinched. Maybe that explained the infrequent, brief meetings over the years.

“Kitty always takes too many risks.” Minnie sounded grim.

Chloe didn’t quite know what risks Minnie meant. Once before Minnie had mentioned that Kitty went too far and too fast with men. But Chloe didn’t want to bring that up now. She bowed her head. “I feel so helpless.”

Minnie nodded, clutching her black purse with black-gloved hands. “This year would have been your twelfth wedding anniversary.”

If anyone else had said this, Chloe would have been resentful. But she understood; her wedding anniversary had been Minnie’s day of emancipation as well as hers. Minnie and she had been innocents together long ago. An impression from their past flickered inside Chloe. Once more she heard Minnie giggling beside her in the darkened bedroom upstairs at Mrs. Rascombe’s so many years ago. “I remember.”

“Me, too. What I still can’t believe is that you ended up in Washington with your father. You’ve never told me why.” Minnie looked straight into her eyes.

Minnie’s question floored Chloe. She wasn’t prepared for this level of honesty, not for speaking the truth out loud. It had been too long since Chloe had done that with anyone. She shook her head. “Minnie, I . . .” She shrugged and looked at Kitty.

As if on cue, Kitty opened her eyes and whispered, “Minnie, I thought I heard your voice.”