Read Beyond the Storm (9780758276995) for Free Online Page B

all use them.”
    â€œGod, I need a drink.”
    Located on Charing Cross Road just a block up from the Leister Square tube station, the exclusive underground club was just a short flight of steps down from the theater whose name it shared, playing to a world of actors, performers, and artists, not your usual raucous public house crowd found in nearby Piccadilly Circus. Reva and Vanessa ordered their wines, a pale pinot grigio for Vanessa, a blood-red cabernet for Reva, then settled at a round, back table away from a bunch of squealing girls who looked like they’d just finished up their first day in publishing. “God, were we ever that young?”
    â€œReva, are you admitting to your age?”
    â€œI don’t age,” she said, taking a healthy drink, “and neither do you. This keeps us young. Now, what’s up, chicky? Tell me you’re still flying to Amsterdam with me this weekend. Aren’t Mrs. Slave Driver and her ambassador husband off somewhere glam and she’s given you the weekend off, right? Wait, don’t say a word, I’ve always been able to read your expressions and today’s is not making me very happy. No, not happy at all.” That last phrase seemed punctuated by periods after each successive word. “God, I think I’d rather be stuck on the tube with a smelly brute than hear you say you’re not coming.”
    â€œTake your pick, Tottenham Court or Piccadilly?”
    â€œGod.”
    â€œYou say that too much.”
    â€œChrist.”
    â€œReva, I’m going to miss you.”
    â€œColor me intrigued. Spill, chicky. What’s his name, and on the hotness scale of one to ten, what’s his number?”
    â€œYou don’t miss anything, do you? And no, it’s not about a guy . . . not really. Okay, so, I got this e-mail recently and I just ignored it. Or at least, I tried to. But lately, the past week or so, I’ve been thinking about it. I didn’t share it with you because I didn’t want to give you a daily opportunity to talk me out of it. And besides, I wasn’t even sure I was going to attend until, well, just the other day I talked myself into it. In the end . . . well, here, read for yourself. I’m going to the loo.”
    Vanessa Massey really didn’t have to pee, she just wanted a moment’s peace to herself while her friend realized the horror about to rain down on her life. Damn, but she would kill for a cigarette right now, and she was tempted to borrow one from those giggly girls too. There was something about being back in London that made her vices go into overload. Crave all the bad things in life, booze and butts and men’s butts. Like rereading a book that had the dirty parts earmarked. For now, she’d have to settle for one out of those three vices, returning with fresh drinks after her stop to freshen herself up.
    Without a word, Reva accepted the new drink in the spirit it was given: as a bribe.
    â€œI know what you’re going to say.”
    â€œOh honey, you thought when I read this I’d go crackers on you, try and talk you out of going? You’ve been running from this place since you hopped that flight out of the States twenty years ago and came to Paris. Who knows, maybe going back is the right thing—finally get you to let go of your past and move on with your life. It’s all connected, you realize, every decision you make, even if you won’t admit it, has to do with your past. Oh wait, what do you call them . . . oh yes, your issues. Coming to Europe, that lingering dalliance with Dominick . . . the baby . . . your whole life, chicky. Vanessa Massey, go back home if you feel you need to. But this time, make sure you free yourself of that tether so when you come back to reliable ol’ Reva, that’s the end of it. There’s still too much fun in the sun to be had. Even in rainy London.”
    Vanessa, pushing back her dark locks to reveal