Valentine (17 page)

He grinned, shaking his head. “No, thanks, I’m trying to quit.”

Derek roared with laughter and took the other man by the arm. “Man, this is
unbelievable!
Come with me, uh, Neil—there’s somebody you just
gotta
meet!”

As the big man hustled him out of the room, he pretended confusion. “Oh, yeah? Who?”

“My
date
, man!
Sharon!
She’s—you’re gonna freak, man!—she’s a
screenwriter!
”

He freaked. “No kidding! That’s amazing, Derek! That’s—that’s
unbelievable!
”

Sharon sat at the little table by the dance floor, staring at the star. The Oscar-winning actress had arrived a few minutes ago, just after Derek had taken off to powder his nose. Now she and her husband were joining a crowded table across the room, obviously movie people. God, Sharon thought, if I could just get up and go over there, introduce myself, tell her about the script—

“Hey, babe, you’re not gonna believe this! Look who I ran into!”

She turned her head and looked up at Derek, and at the tall, dark-haired stranger beside him. She smiled absently. “Hello.”

“This is Neil,” Derek said, pulling over another chair from a nearby table and signaling for the waitress. “Guess what? He’s looking for screenplays!”

Sharon blinked, looking more closely at the man. “How do you do, Neil? I’m Sharon Williams.”

The man named Neil smiled at her, then glanced over at Derek and the chair he’d produced. “May I?”

“Please do,” Sharon replied, and Neil and Derek sat on either side of her. She turned her full attention on the new arrival. “So, you’re in the movie business?”

The waitress arrived to take their order. By the time she arrived with fresh drinks, Sharon had all but forgotten that Derek was at the table with them.

“. . . so I’ve only been in town a few weeks,” Neil was telling her. “The film section of the company is new—we were strictly theatrical, you know, Broadway and so forth, but now we’re branching out. And I’m the acquisitions department. I’m just settling in here, getting to know everybody in the industry—”

Sharon looked over at the movie star across the room. “Do you know her?”

He followed her gaze. “Uh, no—but if I had a property that was right for her, I could certainly get it to her people. . . .”

She laughed. “Well, what a small world this is! I’ve just completed a new screenplay that would be
perfect
for her, and I have several other things as well. Of course, a couple of them are already under option, but I’d love to show you some of my work.”

“That would be great,” Neil said, producing a
small notepad and a pen from his jacket pocket. “I’ll call your agent tomorrow—”

“Oh, I’m not—currently—being represented,” she said quickly, smiling and shrugging her shoulders in her very best “you-know-how-it-is” attitude. She rolled her eyes. “Agents! But I’ll tell you what, Neil . . .”

Derek had wandered off to the men’s room again. By the time he returned, she’d made the date to meet Neil here—minus Derek—in three days. Neil was apparently unavailable until then.

As he rose to leave, Neil clapped Derek on the back, shook Sharon’s hand, and thanked them for the drink.

“I’m glad I ran into you again, Derek,” he said. “Thanks to you, Sharon and I may be able to do some—business.” He looked directly into her eyes when he said that. “Good night, Sharon. It was nice meeting you.”

She smiled. Yes, she thought as she watched him go, it was nice meeting
you!

He spent the next three days watching her, and once he even called her to confirm their date. He followed her to the beach with Derek, and to a party at a house in Laurel Canyon, and to a restaurant where she had dinner with a group of people. Then, on the evening of
February 13
, the night before Valentine’s
Day, he put on his new Ralph Lauren suit and arrived at Patchoulie a few minutes before her. He managed to get the same table they’d been at three nights before. Just before she arrived, he patted the pocket of his jacket that held the valentine card he’d bought for her, and smiled.

It was so simple, really. . . .

She’d dressed with special care this evening. The red dress was provocative without being too much, and her hair was loose around her shoulders. She knew she looked good, and that knowledge was reinforced by the expression on Neil’s face the moment he saw her. Good, she thought. It’s working.

“Hello again,” she murmured as she sank into the seat beside him.

“You look sensational,” Neil said, smiling.

“Thank you. So do you. I hope you like to dance, Neil. I feel like dancing tonight.”

“Sure, but, uh, where are your scripts?”

She smiled her best smile. “Back at my place. You can see them later. But first, may I have a drink?”

They ordered, and later they danced. He held her close on the dance floor, and she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She’d already decided how this was going to go: he was certainly attractive, and he was obviously interested in her—and his production
company was looking for properties. This man had fallen out of Heaven and landed at her feet!

She smiled and pressed closer against him.

Three hours and several drinks later, he was in bed with her. He followed her in his car, and by the time she opened her apartment door they were half undressed.

They made love twice. Then, when he was certain she was asleep, he slipped out of her bed and stole away, carefully propping the valentine card on the pillow next to her. Inside the card he’d written a note that read:
Mr. Avnet has an early meeting, but he requests the pleasure of Ms. Williams’s company on a Valentine’s Day picnic. Be ready at noon. Bring this invitation—and your best screenplay. N.
His phony last name was the name of an actual entertainment mogul.

At nine o’clock that morning, he called her. She sleepily accepted his invitation. He hung up and drove to a spot high in the hills above the city, an isolated country road beside a forest. He parked beside the road, took a shovel from the trunk of the Mercedes, and hiked up to the tiny clearing in the woods he’d discovered shortly after his arrival in Los Angeles. Among the trees near the clearing, he went to work. He dug a hole six feet by three feet, four
feet deep. He propped the shovel against a nearby tree and walked back down the hill to his car.

He went back to his room, showered, and changed. Then he drove to a nearby mall. In the trendy gourmet shop he bought a basket filled with country paté and Cajun chicken sandwiches and strawberries and champagne. In the record store he bought a portable cassette player and one tape. In the sleep shop he bought a large blanket. His last stop was the candy store.

She took a last look at herself in the mirror: yes, she was ready. She’d thought about calling her parents, but then decided it could wait until after the picnic. Perhaps by then she’d have some news for them. If Neil liked the screenplay as much as she thought he would . . .

He drove up in his Mercedes just as she arrived on the sidewalk outside her building. When she got in beside him, he leaned over and kissed her. She handed him the valentine card.

“My invitation,” she said, affecting a formal tone.

He laughed. “Thank you, ma’am.” He took the card and put it in his pocket, and they were off. She sat with the screenplay on her lap, smiling over at him as they headed for the freeway.

It was a beautiful day, warm and cloudless, and it seemed to get better as they left the freeway and
drove up the winding roads into the hills. She had no idea where they were going, but she relaxed in her seat and left the details to him. She asked about his early meeting at the production company, and he smiled and said it had gone well. He named a famous director and told her that they were working on a possible deal.

At last they arrived on a small road high in the hills. There were trees above them, and the city lay far below. A few more miles, and then he slowed and parked by the side of the road. They got out, and Neil reached into the backseat for a large basket and a blanket.

“My, you seem to have thought of everything,” she said.

He grinned, took her by the hand, and led her up into the trees. A few minutes’ walk and they emerged into a small clearing. The sun bore down on the almost perfect circle of bright green grass.

“Well, here we are,” he said.

“Oh, Neil, it’s lovely! How did you ever find this place?”

He winked and began laying out the blanket.

First, he served the champagne. Then he brought out the paté and the sandwiches and the strawberries. They ate together in the clearing, talking and laughing comfortably, more like lovers of long standing
than new acquaintances. After lunch, they made love on the blanket. It was perfect, just the way he’d dreamed about it all through the years in prison.

Later, Sharon sat up on the blanket, adjusting her clothes. She turned her head and smiled down at the handsome man who lay beside her. His eyes were closed, his face to the sun, and there was the hint of a smile on his lips. For a moment she thought he was asleep. Then he opened his eyes and gazed up at her.

“Hello,” she said,

“Hi.”

She found their discarded glasses and poured the last of the sparkling wine. He sat up on the blanket and took his glass from her. They toasted.

“To
Dangerous Curves
,” she said, laughing.

Neil laughed, too. “Are you referring to yourself?”

“No, darling, it’s the title of the movie we’re going to make together.” She reached down beside her, picked up the manuscript, and held it out to him. He took it from her, glanced down at the title page for a moment, then set it aside on the blanket.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “But first,
I’ve
got something for
you
.”

“Oh?” There was a provocative lilt in her tone.

Sharon watched as he leaned over and reached into the wicker basket on the other side of the blanket.
He rose to his knees and turned back to her. He was holding out a pink, heart-shaped candy box, and there was a small cassette recorder in his other hand. She smiled dreamily up at him, took the candy box, and looked down at the recorder.

“What’s this?” she giggled.

“Background music,” Neil said, leaning forward to kiss her. In the middle of the kiss, he pushed the play button. The soft piano intro reached her ears, followed a moment later by the low, clear voice of Sarah Vaughan.

“My Funny Valentine.”

Sharon stared down at the device in his hand, then up at him. “Why, that’s one of my favorites! How did you know?”

Neil continued to smile at her, but she noticed the subtle change that crept into it. The gleam, the sudden look of triumph in his eyes.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he whispered. Then he put down the recorder, brought up his arm, and smashed his fist into her nose.

The candy box skittered away as Sharon’s head flew back onto the blanket, and for a moment she couldn’t see. Something had hit her, she thought, and something was trickling from her nose, but nothing was registering. Then her vision cleared, and she looked up at the handsome face grinning down at
her. She blinked as she became aware of the throbbing pain below her eyes.

“What. . .?” she began, her speech slurred by pain and surprise. “Wha . . . happened . . .?”

He leaned down and took the sides of her face gently in his hands. Gazing directly into her uncomprehending eyes, he said:

“I’m Victor Dimorta. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

She stared up, unsure that she had heard him correctly. Victor? she thought as her mind began to function again. Did he say—

Then the music reached her ears again, and she remembered. Victor Dimorta. Victory over death. Hartley College.

Panic possessed her.
Victor Dimorta!
She shot up from the blanket raising her arms in automatic self-defense, opening her mouth and filling her lungs to scream.

His fist smashed into her mouth, and she fell back on the blanket. Oh, God! her mind said over and over. Oh, God! She attempted to get up again, but she didn’t get far. This time he punched her in the stomach. She lay back on the blanket, the hot California sun bearing down on her, slowly becoming aware of the horrible pain. That, and the voice: the odd, high-pitched laughter from the figure above her. And the monologue that accompanied it as he struck her again.

“. . . thought you were all so much better than me . . . ugly, creepy Victor . . . not so ugly now, am I!
Am
I, bitch?
Cunt!
You’re gonna die now . . . die . . . and die . . . and die. . . .”

She tried once more to rise, but he was sitting on her chest now and she couldn’t move. Through her panic and her fear and her pain, she felt the pressure as he took her arm in his powerful hands. She heard the snap as he broke it at the elbow. Then the pain flooded up through her and she fainted. She regained consciousness slowly, feeling the slap against her cheek as he coaxed her back into wakefulness. She couldn’t move her arms, and the excruciating pain informed her that he had broken the other one. The laughter continued from somewhere above her, and the words.

“. . . like that, Sharon? Miss high-and-mighty Sharon Williams? Does it
hurt
, bitch!? Like you hurt
me?!
Well, does it, Mother?”