Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (3 page)

“She lives!” Marshall exclaimed. “And here I thought you’d stand me up.”

“Never.” Natalie kissed his cheek and eyed her friend up and down. “What’s with the suit? Did you just come from work?”

“Oh, honey, did I.” Marshall waved his hand. “The bastards have no sense of decency. They kept us late sorting out some tragedy in the Castleman accounts. A kerfuffle that could have been averted had they done like I said and audited the shit out of Lord and Lady Castleman two years ago. You would have loved it. But Liberty would have my balls if I were late, so here I am in, in this frog suit.” He sipped his drink, his usual a gin and tonic, and gave her the once over. “But look at you, Ms. the Riveter! Are we in a time warp, or what? You’re 1945 all over! I feel like I’m in danger of being drafted. But seriously, love the hair.”

Natalie beamed. She had dug her dress out of a crowded rack at a vintage shop just last week, and it was a trifecta of a great find: it fit her petite size, cost twenty dollars, and no one else had found it first. It was classic 1940’s style, pale yellow with a purple flower pattern overlay, flowing skirt, buttons from hem to collar. She’d rolled her hair back from her face and pinned it, letting it fall in rich brown coils around her shoulders. Some black liner and red lipstick, and the reflection in her bathroom mirror had smiled at what it saw. Gone was the simple, unadorned accounting student, and in her place was someone from another time. A time where men were gentlemen, and where a woman’s silence meant mystery or allure. Natalie looked glamorous and so she let herself feel glamorous. When the waitress breezed past, she ordered a Harvey Wallbanger with a twist.

Marshall cooed. “You’re positively radiant, tonight! What gives?”

“Oh, nothing.” Natalie’s thoughts went to Julian Kovač. “Nothing,” she said again, her smile slipping, for nothing
did
happen with Julian the day before, and since she’d let him walk out the door with her customary reticence, nothing ever would.

“Well, if you’re this happy now, you’re going to burst when I give you your early birthday present.” Marshall patted a nondescript bag at his feet.

“What is it?”

“Tut tut, the show is starting.” The lights dimmed and the muted conversations around them quieted. “Suffice to say, if I were straight, I’d be getting lucky tonight.”

Natalie smirked. “You wish.”

Marshall had been two years ahead of her in the accounting department when they’d met. Their paths crossed regularly and they’d shared a class or two before he graduated last year. Natalie assumed they’d go their separate ways, but Marshall had insisted on a friendship. Through him, she’d met Liberty, and it was times like this, sitting in a dim little club, wearing a pretty dress and sipping a cocktail, that Natalie was grateful for her friends. Only through the sheer force of their personalities could she call them such, for had she been left to her own devices they would have abandoned her long ago. They each had loads of friends and it baffled her that they would take a plain, shy girl under their colorful wings.

There were no curtains on the stage, but a small ring of light appeared and then Liberty Chastain stepped into it. She too, was dressed in 1940’s era clothing, but it was the uniform of a showgirl in a seedy nightclub: torn fishnets, heels, a flimsy pink camisole over a black leotard. Liberty had spackled her dark hair to her head and blackened one eye for effect. Behind her, three other similarly dressed dancers struck languid, tragic poses. There was no MC, no introduction; the first strains of “Mein Herr” from
Cabaret
filled the tiny room and Liberty began to sing.

Marshall clapped his hands gleefully. “She dedicated this to me! It’s mine!”

Natalie smiled thinly. It was no surprise to her that Liberty had tailored her performance to Marshall. No surprise at all.

Liberty filled her performance with more angst and passion than Natalie thought the composers had initially intended. Instead of a sly, cheeky adieu from an inconstant woman to the man who should have known better, her rendition was ironic. Her Sally Bowles was chastising herself for yet another failed affair in which she had been unable to remain faithful. Every line was turned on itself, directed inward, and the result was, to Natalie’s imagination, truly spectacular. Too spectacular for the tiny venue and the tiny stage; Liberty should have been famous by now, Natalie asserted. By the time the final chorus came round, Liberty and her back up dancers were stomping their feet and bludgeoning the audience with the lyrics. The small crowd roared their approval.

“
Bravissima
!” Marshall cried between whistles. “I’m telling you, this girl is going to go all the way.”

Natalie agreed, dabbing at tears that always seemed to surface in her eyes when confronted with any ardent emotion.

On the stage, Liberty bowed and thanked the crowd. “You can’t get rid of me so easily. Let me wet my whistle and I’ll be back.”

She and her dancers exited the stage to thunderous applause, then the lights came up, and the crowd got down to business, smoking and drinking. A few minutes later Liberty, wearing a kimono over her Sally Bowles costume and with a cocktail in her hand appeared. She stopped to chat with other tables full of friends before finally flouncing into the chair next to Marshall.

“Hello,
darlings
!” she laughed, kissing Natalie’s cheek. Marshall leaned in for his kiss but Liberty smirked and gave his suit a once-over. “Who died?”

“Disco, and I’m still in mourning.”

She patted his cheek and then pinched it.

“What, no kiss?” he wailed.

“You’ll get over it. So.” Liberty lit a cigarette and blew the smoke up and away from Natalie. “What did you think? I’m so glad you’re here!”

“I am too,” Natalie said. “I thought it was amazing. You’re so gifted, Lib.”

Liberty beamed. “Thank you, love.” She turned to Marshall. “Well?”

“Pure magic, darling.”

“Thank you, my sweet,” she replied. “Wait ‘til you see my finale.”

“Well, don’t knock’em dead until I get back from the little boys’ room,” Marshall said, rising to his feet. “And if you see the waitress, tell her I want another G-and-T, like
yesterday
.”

“Yes, dear,” Liberty said.

“Sapphire,” Marshall said. “None of that shelf shit.”

“Such a diva.” Liberty’s gaze followed him as he wended his way gracefully between the tables. She exhaled twin plumes of smoke from her nose.

Natalie gave her friend a knowing look. “Liberty…”

“Yes, yes, I’m pathetic, I know.”
“But he’s so…” Natalie waved her hands, at a loss.

“I know, right? It doesn’t make any sense. Every time he opens his mouth and something affected pops out, it’s like he’s broadcasting how unavailable he is.” Liberty dropped her cigarette into Marshall’s depleted cocktail glass. It hissed as it struck an ice cube. “But can you blame me? He’s tall, gorgeous, smart, funny. He practically lives at the gym and he makes a ton of money.” She made a sour face. “I’m not in love with Marshall; I just want a man exactly like him.”

Natalie smiled at her friend. “You could probably find someone who fits that criteria if you didn’t go out with
Marshall
every night.”

Liberty snorted. “This from the woman who hasn’t been laid since…I don’t even know when. Ever?”

“Yes,” Natalie said, her cheeks burning. “Once. I told you about him.”

“Oh yeah,” Liberty said. “The blond nobody you boned on your trek up here.”

What Liberty called her
trek
, Natalie called her
escape
; a migration north from San Diego after her parents’ death. The young man she’d met in Santa Barbara smelled of beach sand and suntan lotion, but had been sweet and considerate. Not her romantic ideal, but then who could be? Marshall and Liberty assured her she would meet someone if she just made an effort, but she knew better. She joined them at bars and clubs for the sake of friendship, not to flirt tipsily with strangers, hoping to find a diamond in the rough with a poet’s heart. The odds of that happening, she thought, were slim to none. The characters in her books were better company.

Natalie cast her gaze to her drink.

“Oh, honey, I’m teasing you.” Liberty drained her own cocktail and contemplated the ice cubes that remained. “You’re in love with men who exist only in books, and I’m in love with a man who exists in my mind. We’re equally pathetic.”

Natalie was inclined to protest but Liberty had practically voiced her own thoughts out loud. And she couldn’t chastise Liberty too much over Marshall anyway. Liberty’s last boyfriend had been “a little too rough around the edges” and that was all she was willing to say about him—all that she would allow
anyone
to say about him without biting their head off. Marshall was sweet. Kind-hearted. A gentleman.

He’s safe,
Natalie thought, watching Marshall return.
And that’s what Liberty needs right now.
She was careful not to let her concern for her friend show on her face or Liberty would never forgive her.

Another round was ordered, another cigarette lit, and then Marshall turned to Natalie.

“Now, promise you won’t freak out. Since I’ll be at one of those atrocious conventions in Vegas on your birthday…” He reached under the table and pulled out a rectangular gift impeccably wrapped in red paper and tied with a purple ribbon.

“Oh, Marshall,” Natalie breathed. “That’s not what I think it is…”

“It’s
exactly
what you think it is.”

Natalie unwrapped the book. The hardcover was made of rough beige fabric, almost like burlap, with the word
Coronation
etched in black ink. Below that, a crown of straw in the same shaggy black strokes, and then the name Rafael Melendez Mendón.

“What is it?” Liberty peered over and read the cover. “Oh, gawd. Look at you two: a junkie and her dealer.”

“Oh my god!” Natalie threw her arms around his neck, nearly upsetting their table. “How did you get it so early? It’s not due for another three weeks!” She sat back, admiring her gift, her fingers itching to open it.

Marshall polished his nails on his lapel. “I have my ways. And a friend who owns a bookstore on Market who gets advance copies. He owed me a favor.”

“Oh, Marshall.” Natalie laid her hand over her heart. “It’s perfect.”

Liberty snorted. “You haven’t even read it yet. How can it be perfect?”

“Because Rafael Mendón wrote it,” Natalie said. “Of course it’s going to be perfect.”

“Is this the guy who no one knows who he is?” Liberty took the book and flipped to the back page, looking for an author photo. Natalie tensed, watching the proximity of Liberty’s cigarette ash to the pristine pages. “He’s the recluse that you’re so in love with, right?”

“Yes,” Natalie said, and snatched the book back. “But I’m not in love with him, for crying out loud. Like you said, no one knows who he is. But I am in love with his writing, I admit. And I’m not alone. His first book,
Above,
was nominated for the Pulitzer and he’s won the National Book
A
ward.
Twice.
And every single one of his novels has been an international bestseller.”

Marshall dabbed the corner of his eye with his tie and sniffed. “And we’re so proud.”

Liberty made a face. “If he’s won all those awards and whatnot, why is he in hiding? Wouldn’t he want to enjoy the fruits of his labor? That doesn’t make sense. Is he a weirdo?”

“Nah, he’s one of those tortured genius-types like Salinger,” Marshall said. “I’ve read
Above
and I have to admit, it’s pretty brilliant.”

Natalie beamed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, hon,” Liberty said to Natalie, giving her hand a squeeze. “But if I see you reading that goddamned book while I’m singing my finale…”

“I would never!”

“Good.”

Natalie grinned. “It’s too dark in here, anyway.”

Marshall and Liberty exchanged shocked glances, and then burst out laughing.

Natalie laughed along with them, but the night began to drag after
Coronation
was hers. Other performers took the stage but she only half-watched. Her eyes kept straying to the book. She ached to go home, curl up on the couch and fall into it, even if it meant another sleepless night. Having Mendón’s latest sit a tantalizingly few inches away from her was a pleasant torture.

Finally, Liberty excused herself to get ready for the finale of the evening. The room darkened and a single spotlight made a small moon on the stage. Liberty stepped into the circle of light, and the small club was saturated with her velvety voice.

The desire for her book fell away as Natalie listened to “Maybe This Time.” Liberty’s Sally Bowles wondered if maybe this time her man would stay, and the song conjured the memory of Julian Kovač walking out of Niko’s. Natalie felt each lyric strike her and sink in. She was almost twenty-three years old
.
Time to stop hiding in the stories of others; to stop taking her joys and triumphs from the characters in Mendón’s books and start creating her own. Time to find her own voice before every Julian Kovač who walked into her life walked right back out without her saying a word.