Hot Shot (5 page)

When she was twenty, she fell in love with a thirty-year-old investment analyst and they began to discuss marriage. Free love floated in the air of the early seventies like oxygen molecules, but the man was so intimidated by her father that he attempted no more than chaste kisses. When she finally gathered enough courage to tell him that she wasn't averse to deepening their relationship, he said he had too much respect for her to sleep with her and she would only hate herself afterward. Several months later she discovered that he was sleeping with one of Paige's friends, and she ended their relationship.

She tried to accept the fact that she was the sort of woman to inspire respect rather than passion, but as she lay in bed at night, she lost herself in sexual fantasies. Not proper fantasies with soft music and romantic candlelight, but raunchy scenarios involving swarthy desert sheiks and brutally handsome white slavers.

And then Kay developed lung cancer, and nothing else mattered. Susannah dropped out of college to care for her mother and tend to her father's increasing demands. Kay died in 1972, when Susannah was twenty-one. As she watched her mother's coffin being lowered into the ground, she experienced both grief and the terrible foreboding that her own young life had just ended with as much finality as Kay's.

On a sunny April day in 1976, two months before her wedding to Calvin Theroux, Susannah met her sister Paige at a small, weathered restaurant tucked away from the city's tourists on one of San Francisco's commercial fishing piers. It was an unusually busy day for her, but she didn't appear either rushed or flustered. Her sage-green suit looked as fresh as if she had just put it on minutes before, instead of at seven that morning. She wore simple gold clips at her ears, and her auburn hair was pulled back into a soft French twist that was a bit severe for a woman who had only the month before turned twenty-five.

Although Paige was already ten minutes late, Susannah didn't fidget as she waited. She gazed at Russian Hill in the distance and mentally rearranged her schedule.

Paige's voice interrupted her reverie. "I've got a million things to do, so this had better not take long."

As she looked up at her sister, Susannah firmly repressed her irritation. Paige was prickly at best, and it would do no good to antagonize her before they'd even had a chance to talk.

Her mind flashed back to the time when they were young children, and she had smuggled Paige small toys and chocolate-covered cherries after Joel had punished her. But then one day Paige had told him what Susannah was doing, and Joel had put a stop to any more errands of mercy. Susannah still didn't understand why her sister had tattled.

Paige tossed her knapsack on the floor and took the opposite chair. While she was getting settled, Susannah studied her sister's appearance. Even in worn blue jeans and a faded Mexican cotton top, Paige was extraordinarily beautiful. Her nose was petite, her lips as pouty as Kay's had been. She had Joel's blue eyes, and lush blond hair that fell halfway down her back and always managed to look as if some lusty young man had just rumpled it with vigorous lovemaking.

At the age of twenty-two, Paige was as modern as Susannah was old-fashioned. She was tough and cocky, with a longshoreman's mouth and apparently unlimited self-confidence.

Susannah ignored the familiar stab of envy that always passed through her when she was with her sister. She gestured toward the menu. "The abalone is really wonderful here. Or you might enjoy the avocado stuffed with crab."

"I'll have a hamburger," Paige replied indifferently.

Susannah placed her own order for mahi mahi, a fish she'd grown fond of during her frequent trips with Joel to Hawaii. As the waiter moved away, she broached the subject of their meeting.

"Did you think about what I said on the phone? Tonight is Father's fifty-eighth birthday party. I know it would please him if you were there."

"Did King Joel tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. I'm certain of it." Susannah was certain of no such thing, but she had to end this estrangement between them. Right now her sister was living in a shabby one-bedroom apartment with a would-be rock singer named Conti Dove.

Paige impatiently pushed her hair away from her face. "Don't you ever get tired of running around playing Miss Goody-Two-Shoes? Fuck off, will you?"

Susannah's impassive expression gave no hint of how much she disliked hearing those tough, ugly words coming from her sister's lovely mouth. At the same time, she thought how exciting it would be if, just once in her life, she could toss those rude words at somebody. What would it be like to be so free? What would it be like to have life stretching ahead like a blank canvas—unplanned and waiting to be filled with bold, exciting strokes from one's very own brush.

"He's your father," Susannah said reasonably, "and this estrangement has gone on long enough."

"Exactly twenty-two years."

"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about your leaving home."

"I didn't leave, Susannah. His Highness kicked me out. Not that I wasn't getting ready to split anyway, so you can wipe that pitying look off your face. The best thing that ever happened to me was getting out of that mausoleum." Paige pulled a cigarette from a pack she had tossed on the table and lit it with a cheap plastic lighter. Susannah looked away.

Cigarettes had killed their mother, and she hated seeing Paige smoke.

"Look, you can stay around and play Queen of the Castle to Daddy's King if you want—

waiting on him hand and foot, giving him birthday parties, taking all the shit he hands out

—but that's not my scene."

Definitely not, Susannah thought. Within the space of eighteen months, Paige had flunked out of college and had an abortion. Joel had finally lost patience and told her she wasn't welcome in the house until she was ready to start acting like a responsible adult.

The waiter arrived with their food—broiled mahi mahi for Susannah, a burger and fries for Paige. Paige sank her teeth into her hamburger. As she chewed, she refused to look at the creamy amandine sauce that covered Susannah's fish, refused to think about how wonderful the mahi mahi must taste. Since her father had ordered her out of Falcon Hill, Paige couldn't remember having eaten anything more exotic than an anchovy pizza. The bite of hamburger she had just swallowed settled heavily in a stomach already churning with years of resentment from growing up in the shadow of an older sister who was perfect—an outsider who had taken her place in her own father's heart when she had been too young to defend herself.

Paige watched as Susannah delicately set her fork on her plate. Susannah had begun to remind her of those nineteenth century portraits she had studied in her art history class before she'd flunked out of college—portraits of thin, juiceless women who spent their lives languishing on chaise longues after giving birth to small blue-lipped infants. A deceptive image, Paige admitted to herself, since Susannah seemed to have an endless supply of energy, especially for good works such as saving her younger sister from a life of rock 'n' roll and sexual debauchery.

Paige could barely resist the urge to reach across the table and rumple that always-tidy auburn hair, rip away that carefully tailored suit. If only Susannah would scream or yell once in a while, Paige might have been able to get along with her better. But Susannah never lost control. She was always calm and cool, Daddy's paragon of a daughter.

Susannah always said the right thing, did the right thing, and now she was capping her accomplishments by marrying exactly the right man—Mr. Calvin Stick-Up-His-Ass Theroux.

Paige was absolutely certain that Susannah was still a virgin. A virgin at twenty-five!

What a joke. An image flashed through her mind of the bride and groom climbing into bed the night of their wedding. She saw Cal Theroux flashing that spectacular smile of his and easing up Susannah's nightgown just to the top of her thighs.

"Pardon me, darling, but this won't take a second."

Paige imagined Susannah picking up her reading glasses along with the latest issue of
Town and Country
from the bedside table and speaking in that quiet, carefully articulated voice of hers. "But, of course, dear. Just tap me on the shoulder when you're finished."

Across the table Susannah spotted the cynical smile on her sister's face but decided to ignore it. "The party starts at eight," she told Paige. "All his old friends will be there, and I know they'll think it's strange if you don't show up."

"Tough shit," Paige snapped. "Get off my ass, will you?"

"Paige—"

"Look, you're not my mother, so stop acting like you are."

Susannah hesitated. "I know you still miss her. I don't mean to nag."

"He won't even notice that I'm not there." Paige tossed down her half-eaten hamburger and stood. "Listen, I've got to go. See you around sometime." She snatched up her knapsack from the floor and made her way through the dining room. Her swaying blond hair, along with her tight-fitting jeans, attracted the attention of most of the male diners.

She favored several of them with a seductive smile before she walked out the door.

As Susannah watched Paige disappear, she wished for the thousandth time that the two of them could have the close loving relationship other sisters shared. It would be so wonderful to have someone to confide in—to be silly with.

But then Susannah was never silly with anyone. For her the daily business of living required great seriousness. As she paid the check, she remembered how often she had listened to Paige giggling with her friends, and she felt another stab of envy toward her rebellious sister.

"I hope everything was satisfactory, Miss Faulconer?"

"Excellent as always, Paul. Thank you."

Susannah slipped her credit card back into her purse and got up from her chair. As she left the restaurant, her posture was perfect, her movements contained and graceful. She bore no resemblance at all to the little girl who had once been so enchanted with a bundle of dancing balloons that she had unlocked the protected gates of her own life and—for a few glorious moments—run free.

Chapter 3

Falcon Hill had been built in the style of an opulent French manor house. In addition to marble bathrooms and polished teak floors, it contained five fireplaces with Louis XV

mantels, an oval-shaped morning room, and a well-stocked European wine cellar.

Susannah paused inside the arched entryway to the dining room to check the last-minute arrangements for her father's birthday celebration. The handpainted wallpaper was softly illuminated by a matching pair of antique chandeliers sparkling with a waterfall of crystal prisms. Sprays of white flowers spilled from the low Georgian silver bowls. The antique linen tablecloth and twenty matching napkins had been purchased at auction in London a decade earlier. Each piece bore the gold-embroidered crest of Czar Nicholas I.

Susannah had just finished adjusting one of the floral arrangements when she heard Cal's voice in the foyer. She went out to greet him and to straighten his tie, just as she had straightened her father's tie a short time before. Cal and her father were alike in so many ways. Both were commanding presences, both utterly self-assured.

"You look lovely, darling," Cal said, openly admiring her black evening gown. It had an off-the-shoulder neckline surrounded by a wide white organdy ruffle. When she'd put it on, she had thought the combination of the frothy neckline and her bare shoulders made her look as if she had just climbed naked out of a vat of whipped vanilla nougat.

He chucked her under the chin. "You look like a beautiful, graceful swan."

Just her luck, she thought. Cal ate vanilla nougat, but she had never known him to eat a swan.

She turned away abruptly and led Cal toward the living room. He kissed her again—a neat kiss, precisely on target, as neat as the crease in his trousers, as exact as the part in his hair.

"Do you remember me telling you about the problems I was having with Harrison's region?"

He kept his voice low in case there were any eavesdroppers lurking about, and without waiting for her answer, launched into a detailed account of his latest success at work. She needed to speak to the cook, but she listened patiently. Serving as Cal's audience wasn't something she minded. In public, her fiancé was both discreet and modest to a fault, and it was only when he was with her that he dropped his natural caution. Sometimes she thought he didn't really enjoy his triumphs until he had spread them out before her.

After the guests arrived, dinner progressed agreeably. She had seated Cal and her father close together. Although only forty-two, Cal was a senior vice-president, and insiders considered him Joel's probable successor, especially in light of his upcoming marriage to Susannah.

She noticed how handsome the two men looked sitting at the other end of the table. At fifty-eight, Joel was nearly as lean and fit as her fiancé, and his ice-blue eyes hadn't lost a bit of their sharpness. Age had given his face more character than it had possessed on the day he pulled her from her grandmother's closet. The cleft in his chin had deepened, and his square jaw was sharper. Although his blond hair had darkened at the top and grayed at the temples, it hadn't thinned, and he was still vain about it.

Cal's triangular face was much narrower than her father's, broad at the forehead but tapering from the cheekbones down to the jaw. A gray streak, like a lightning bolt, cut a dashing path through the center. He was always tan from sitting behind the helm of his French-made racing sloop, and he had a ready smile that flashed white teeth and oozed confidence.

"Wonderful dinner, Susannah," Joel said, lifting his glass in her direction. "You've outdone yourself." He gave her their private smile, and she felt as if someone had tossed a shower of gold stars over her head. Her father could be difficult and autocratic sometimes, but she loved him deeply.

The plump, aging Italian countess at her side finished a generous wedge of chocolate truffle cake. "You thin girls are so lucky," she said in heavily accented English as she gazed at the barely touched piece of cake on Susannah's plate. "I have to watch every bite I put in my mouth."