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moment—“thanks.”
He rumpled her long dark hair, kissed her forehead, and departed, waving at her as he slid into his black Porsche, thinking that Marc was crazy. Deanna Duras was one woman he’d have given almost anything to get his hands on. Of course he was too smart to play with that kind of fire, but he still thought Duras was nuts. Christ, he never even realized what a little beauty she was. Or did he? Jim Sullivan wondered to himself as he drove away, and Deanna softly closed the door.
She glanced at her watch, thinking that it was nice of Jim to come by and wondering how soon Marc would call her. He had promised to call her that night.
But he never did. Instead, there was a telegram in the morning:
Off to Athens. Wrong time to call. All well. Pilar fine.
Marc
Brief and to the point. But why hadn’t he called? “Wrong time to call,” she read again. Wrong time. Wrong time….
The telephone broke into Deanna’s thoughts as she read Marc’s telegram again. She already knew it by heart.
“Deanna?” The bright voice jarred her out of her reverie. It was Kim Houghton. She lived only a few blocks away, but her life couldn’t have been more different. Twice married, twice divorced, eternally independent and merry and free. She had gone to art school with Deanna, but she was a major creative force in advertising now, because she had never been a very good artist. And she was Deanna’s only close woman friend.
“Hi, Kim. What’s new in your life?”
“Not much. I was in L.A. being nice to one of our new clients. The bastard is already talking about pulling the account. And it’s one of mine.” She mentioned the name of a national chain of hotels, for which she handled the advertising. “Want to have lunch?”
“I can’t. I’m tied up.”
“Doing what?” Suspicion crept into her voice. She always knew when Deanna was lying.
“A charity luncheon. I have to go.”
“Dump it. I’ll be your charity. I need some advice, I’m depressed.” Deanna laughed. Kimberly Houghton was never depressed. Even her divorces —two of them—hadn’t depressed her. She had rapidly moved on to more fertile terrain. Usually in less than a week. “Come on, love, let’s go somewhere for lunch. I need a breather from this place.”
“So do I.” Deanna looked around the blue silk-and-velvet splendor of her bedroom, trying to fight off a feeling of gloom. For an unguarded moment her voice sagged into the phone.
“What does that mean?” Kim asked.
“It means, you nosy pain in the ass, that Marc is away. Pilar left two days ago, and Marc left yesterday morning.”
“Jesus, can’t you enjoy it? You don’t often get a breather like that, with both of them gone. If I were you I’d run around the living room stark naked and call in all my friends.”
“While I was still naked, or after I got dressed?” Deanna threw her legs over the side of the chair and laughed.
“Either way. Listen, in that case, forget about lunch. How about dinner tonight?”
“That’s a deal. That way I can do some work in the studio this afternoon.”
“I thought you were going to a charity lunch.” Deanna could almost see Kim grinning. “Gotcha.”
“Go to hell.”
“Thank you. Dinner at seven at Trader Vic’s?”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“See ya.” She hung up, leaving Deanna with a smile. Thank God for Kim.
“You look gorgeous. New dress?” Kimberly Houghton looked up from her drink when Deanna arrived, and the two women exchanged the smile of old friends. Deanna was indeed looking lovely in a white cashmere dress that clung to all the right places and set off her dark hair and enormous green eyes.
“You don’t look so bad either.” Kim had the kind of body men loved, rich and generous and full of promise. Her blue eyes danced, and her smile dazzled everyone it took in. She still wore her hair in the short cap of blonde curls she had worn for the last twenty years. She didn’t have the startling elegance of Deanna, but she