Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) (6 page)

chapter 5

T
here was a desk with a computer near the elevator. A security guard sat behind it to document who came and went.

He pointed, very courteously, toward Sal’s room door.

For a few seconds Naomi stood before it, hand raised to knock, a little scared, uncertain what to say.

“Hey.” Tired lines were etched around his mouth, but they melted into the dimples of a smile when he saw her. “I’m sorry, darling. Never meant to get you into trouble. He’s really pissed, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know.” She stepped past him into his room.

Sal raised his eyebrows.

“I didn’t bring any luggage,” Naomi said. “When I left DC I thought I’d go shopping here. I love to go shopping in London. But…” She hesitated and glanced at the open door. “I have the feeling Jon is not in the mood for Harrods. Would you like to go shopping with me?”

“Not really.”

Surprised, she blinked at him. For some reason this dry, calm response shook her; it was so unusual coming from Sal, who normally always did her bidding, and gladly.

He pushed his fists into his jeans pockets and shrugged, still standing in the open doorway as if he was afraid to be alone with her, afraid of incurring more wrath from Jon. “I’m really sorry, Naomi, but I don’t think I can go out with you. He’s right. I shouldn’t have left you alone; it was my fault you were bothered. I’m too upset to be good company now.”

His room was neat, tidy, nothing lying around, not even a shirt on a chair somewhere. It was a very nice room too, large and sunny, but nowhere near as grand as the suite she and Jon were staying in. There was only muffled traffic noise from outside; birdsong and the tinkling of a fountain were louder. She remembered the hotel’s yard from last year, and how much she had liked the white gravel of its winding paths.

“It wasn’t your fault. You said you would come back right away and keep me company. Only I left before you could return. Sal.”

He raised his head.

“Sal, I want you to do something for me. That reporter, the one who grilled Jon yesterday and who approached me in the lounge. You know who I mean?”

The corners of his mouth came down in disdain, but he nodded.

“I want to give him an interview, and I told him to call you about it. So when he does, make an appointment, okay? I’m ready for this. It’s time to move on.” Naomi could hardly believe these words had just left her lips. She could feel their residue on her tongue, the echo in her ears, and it seemed as if a distant door fell softly into its lock, leaving behind a kind of deafness, a muted, breathless silence.

“Time to move on.” Repeating it didn’t change anything; the phrase still fell dead.

Sal didn’t notice her surprise. Relieved, he took a deep breath. “All right. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. But, Naomi, we will have to be very circumspect. Let me handle it, okay? You know we have to watch what we want the press to know about the background of the whole thing; this could destroy Jon’s career.”

“Whatever.” Somehow, right at this moment, she could not muster any enthusiasm for Jon’s fame at all.

B
ack in the hallway, she was alone. The guard was still sitting by the elevators, but otherwise there was no movement. Most of the band would still be at breakfast now; she could hear their voices. She still had her purse in her hand from their early-morning stroll; and now, on an impulse, knowing full well what the consequences would be, Naomi walked up to the elevator and, as casually as she could, pressed the button.

With a frown, the security man was about to speak, but she said quickly, “Spa appointment. Be right back,” and he stopped.

It was that easy, and standing once again on the broad steps outside the entrance, she breathed in the warm, fume-scented London air.

She was free. For a fleeting moment Naomi wished Solveigh was with her to share the fun of a shopping trip, but Solveigh was back in Halmar, probably off work at the hotel by now, waiting for her baby’s birth. She and Russ had yet to celebrate getting married. Everything had been overshadowed by the shooting, even her best friend’s wedding to Jon’s producer. There had been a very brief civil ceremony back in LA, she knew, before Russ had sent her off to be with her family for the baby’s birth while he was touring with Jon.

Naomi recalled them sitting over lunch, right after the dull and unromantic procedure, and how she had suggested that Russ go to Halmar with her.

Russ had looked like an owl in his shock, his fine brown hair literally standing on ends.

“Are you out of your mind?” had been his words. “How could I ever do that? Thirty containers, Naomi, which means thirty trucks, and that’s not even our personal stuff! If one of them goes missing there will be no show! We’d lose millions!”

And Solveigh, her fingers knit through his, her new ring shining in the California noon sunlight, had nodded, a wrinkle of exasperation between her eyes. A wedding feast, she had informed Naomi, could always happen later, when the tour was over, when she didn’t look like a pig in a potato sack anymore, when there was time and she, Naomi, could hold the baby and be the godmother.

N
aomi would have preferred to be on Oxford Street. She liked the lively bustle there, the casual crowd, the tourists and the street vendors.

Before, when she had been just Naomi, an unimportant hotel manager from a small, Norwegian town, she had spent hours sitting on one of the benches there, a take-out container of Thai food in her lap, eating, watching, like a potted plant in the stream of life around her.

But for now, Brompton would have to do, and Harrods.

Tourist trap, she knew the Londoners called it, and sniffed in disdain when she professed her liking for it, overpriced, ostentatious.

She loved it. She loved the stupid splendor of the Egyptian floor and the marble restrooms; she even loved the silly souvenir department, and she could spend hours gawking at the artful displays in the food court.

“I’m a tourist,” she had said to the lady who ran the B&B where she had liked to stay, “so it’s okay for me to go there.”

And every time she had brought back a tea tin, a useless but cherished memento of another trip to London, bought and then forgotten on the top of her fridge.

Now, shopping for clothes, she used her own credit card, the one for  her own account, as if she felt she had to make a point, as if it was a short foray into freedom.

She needed a suitcase, or a bag, and another purse, shoes, and sandals. She took her time. A couple of times her cell phone rang, but she didn’t take it out to look to see who was calling.

Dresses, she wanted dresses, underwear, a couple of pairs of jeans, shirts, a jacket or two. And she was in the mood for a good manicure, massage and all.

Out of sheer willfulness she picked a dark red nail polish and later, when it had been applied, looked at her hands in astonishment. They looked elegant in a new, strange way, not like hers at all, as if they belonged to a strange, strong, independent woman; and she liked it. It made her buy the matching lipstick, and when the salesgirl offered to freshen up her makeup she let her do it, amused by the fact that she had not been wearing any in the first place. She saw a different self in the mirror, an enhanced and altered self, with an arrogantly painted mouth and skin as glowing as pale satin.

In a new, dark blue skirt, its hem well above her knees, and a cream lace blouse, matching high heels on her feel that clicked with every step, she returned to the hotel.

J
on was waiting in the lobby.

All by himself, a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, he was watching the door.

“Does it give you that much satisfaction,” he said when she walked up to him. “Is this something you need, to take off without telling anyone, leaving me in misery and fear?”

“Yes.” She wondered how long it would take Harrods to deliver her purchases.

“Yes?” A short, bitter laugh, then, “So this is what I get, Naomi? I have to live with this, you doing as you please in the face of danger?”

The lush red varnish looked even better in the muted light of the lobby; it had the satisfying gleam of blood now.

“Danger. That is all you can think about, isn’t it? Danger, Jon? I’m trying to get my life back, my life. Not yours, not Sal’s. Mine.”

Without waiting for a reply she left him there and returned to their rooms.

Jon followed, slamming the door behind him. “I’m so tired of your attitude. It’s not as if I’m locking you in or anything. I just want you to let me know when and where you’re going, and to take someone with you. Take LaGasse. Alan. For crying out loud, take Sal if it pleases you, but don’t run off on your own!”

Naomi ignored him. She opened the balcony door and stepped outside. Just below, cabs and buses had come to a halt because a woman had dropped a bag of oranges while crossing the street. They were rolling everywhere, sunny little orbs fighting for their freedom.

“What am I supposed to tell you, huh? What is it you want to hear? I’ll not apologize to Sal for shouting at him this morning. It was his job to look after your safety and he blew it. For that he deserves all the shouting I’m capable of.” Fury and fear made his voice sound rough, nothing like the famous singer’s at all.

One of the cab drivers had gotten out of his car and was helping the woman collect the oranges. She was awkwardly trying to hold them in the crook of her arm. The shopping bag was torn and useless, and when she bent down to pick up another one, they fell from her again. Intrigued, Naomi watched how the driver tossed the oranges into the taxi and waved to the woman, offering her a ride, and how she thanked him with a sweet smile. It was a meaningless little scene, but it lifted her spirits considerably.

With a sigh, she turned back inside and toward Jon. “I needed clothes. You were busy fuming and making dire plans with Art, Sal was too scared of you to go with me, and I didn’t want a bodyguard trailing me while I shop for underwear. And you can stop ranting now.”

“I’m not ranting! I’m…God, Naomi, why do you keep doing this? Why do I have to go through this again, and again: you gone, and I dumb-struck with panic because I don’t know if and when I’ll see you again?”

There was a knock on the door. Without looking Jon reached behind him and opened it, only to step aside in surprise. Two liveried men carried in her purchases, neatly bundled in the famous green sacks; and another one, right behind them, brought in the new suitcases, saying, “Madam, do you wish us to unpack for you?”

Distracted, Jon stood by as she directed them to the bedroom and gave her orders.

“You bought all this in the short time you were gone?” he asked when she returned. “And you got a manicure and a facial? How?”

Anger rose to pool between her temples. “Yes, Jon, I did. I was on a plane and at your concert during the last forty-eight hours, and then you go and have that fight with Sal about nothing and ruin the morning, and I felt like something nice, like some fresh clothes. You can go and fume somewhere else. I’m tired. I’m sad and upset, and I don’t want to hear you carry your fury into the bedroom where I’m going now to have a look at my pretty new dresses.”

“Is this what this is about? You wanted to go shopping, you wanted that more than anything else? Really? Well, baby, I would take you anywhere you want! You should have said something!” Helplessly, he spread his arms in a gesture of defeat. “I’ve never had a wife before; how am I supposed to know what you want if you don’t say so?”

With a little gasp, her anger flew away, only to be replaced by a resigned fatigue, a tired indifference, and the wish to be somewhere else.

“I don’t know, Jon. I don’t know why it is so important that you have to be told about every little step I take, who I talk to, or what I want. I just don’t know. All I do know is that I was able to take care of myself very well before we met again, and no one ever told me what to do. And I liked it that way.”

He trailed after her into the other room, where the hotel personnel were busy with her things.

Naomi, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, did not move away when he stopped right behind her, and so he laid his hands on her shoulders, rubbing them gently. “You look beautiful. That lipstick makes me want to stare at your mouth all the time; you are outrageously glamorous.” There was no response, so he plodded on, “I talked to Sal. I didn’t apologize, it’s true, but we talked. You will get your interview—he will see to it. But Naomi, why that reporter, I want to know? He isn’t even a real one, did you know? He owns a newspaper. I have no idea why he wants an interview with you. Do you know him?”

Her heart jolted a bit. “I don’t know anything about him, no.” The lie stuck to her tongue like a piece of chewing gum licked off the pavement, gritty and vile.

“And another thing, my love. If you really want to, you can talk to him alone. But I’d be more comfortable if someone was there with you. If you don’t want me or Sal, please take Art with you, or Sean, for all I care. It’s a pity Solveigh isn’t here.” His fingers toyed with a stray curl just behind her ear. “I’ll be right outside the door though, just to make sure he doesn’t drag you away to his lair. I would, in his place.”

For once his teasing did not have its usual effect on her; he could feel it in the stiffness of her stance.

Her hair smelled nice, like lavender and roses. It was in a pile at the back of her head. The mass of curls was right under his chin, tantalizing, inviting him to sink his hands into it, her body close enough for him to feel her warmth.

“That’s a lovely dress. My favorite color on you, rose.” He pointed at the one they were unpacking just then.

“I know.” She shifted as if to shake him off.

“Did you think of me when you bought it? Did you buy it because you knew I’d love to see you in this?” He could feel the bones in her shoulders move under his hands, fine, fragile like a bird’s.

“Yes. No.” With a sigh she signaled the valets to leave, which they did, closing the doors softly behind them.

Naomi moved away from him to hang up the last two shirts herself.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, “I really am. Baby, look at me. I’m just so scared. After what happened I want to make sure you’re really safe, and being on tour we’re exposed all the time; there are so many possibilities for someone to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry too.” Said so softly that at first, he thought he hadn’t heard right.

“I’m sorry I ran off again, Jon. I don’t know what makes me do that; it’s an impulse, a crazy urge to be free, and I don’t even know of what. Everything I want is right here, right in front of me.” She returned to him and laid her arms around his neck.

“This tour was a stupid idea.” It took him a moment to return the embrace. “It’s too early for you, the stress is insane, and we have only just started. We should have canceled the whole bloody thing and retired to Halmar, where you could heal in peace and regain your strength.”

For a moment she was tempted to agree, but then she replied, “No. No, Jon, we can’t do that. We need to step forward. I need to step forward. This is our life now, this here, you…” Her words trailed off into an exhausted silence.

“You know what?” Jon knew exactly what to do. “I think you need to lie down and sleep some more. All this stepping forward stuff is well and good, but it will be so much easier if you’re rested and not jet-lagged and tired. I promise, I’ll wake you for tea.”

She complained some more, mumbled how she wanted to go out for lunch later and enjoy the sunshine on the Embankment, take a walk down Regent Street and watch the bustle on Oxford for a while, but she did as he suggested.