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“The Savagar brats haven’t done too badly for themselves, have they, Big Sis?”
“Not badly at all, Little Bro.” She touched the poplin sleeve of the safari jacket he wore over a burgundy silk shirt, French commando sweater, and Swiss Army necktie. “I love you, Michel. Big heaps. I should tell you more often.”
“Me, too. Even bigger heaps.” He was quiet for a moment, then he cocked his head so that his hair brushed his shoulder. “Does it bother you that I’m gay?”
She propped her hand on her chin. “I’d rather see you live happily ever after with someone who’d give me a tribe of nieces and nephews, but since I’m not going to have that, I want to see you in a stable relationship with a man who’s worthy of you.”
?
??Someone like Simon Kale?”
“Now that you mention it…”
He set down his menu and looked at her with sad eyes. “It’s not going to work, Fleur. I know you’ve been counting on it, but it’s not going to happen.”
She was embarrassed. “I’ve stepped over the line, haven’t I?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “And do you know how much it means to me that somebody cares whether I’m happy?”
“I’m going to take that as a free license to interfere in your life.”
“Don’t.” He took a sip from his wineglass. “Simon is a special person, and we’ve developed a solid friendship, but that’s all it’ll ever be. Simon is strong and self-sufficient. He doesn’t really need anybody.”
“That’s important to you, isn’t it? Being needed?”
He nodded. “I know you don’t like Damon. And you’re right. He can be selfish, and he’s not the most intellectual person I’ve met. But he loves me, Fleur, and he needs me.”
Fleur swallowed her disappointment. “I never said Damon didn’t have good taste.”
She thought about Jake. His erotic pull on her grew stronger every time she saw him. She didn’t trust him, but she wanted him. And why couldn’t she have him? She turned the idea over in her mind. No emotional commitment. Just good, dirty sex. That’s all her attraction to him had ever been about. And wasn’t that the essence of real liberation? Women didn’t have to play games. They shouldn’t play games. She should look Jake straight in the eye and tell him she wanted to—
To what? “Go to bed” was too wishy-washy, “make love” had implications, “screw” was tacky, and “fuck” was just plain awful.
Was she going to buckle under just because of a language barrier? How would a man do it? How would Jake do it?
Why wouldn’t Jake do it?
Right then she knew she could never be the sexual aggressor, no matter how much she wanted him. Whether her reluctance was rooted in cultural conditioning or biological instinct made no difference because women’s liberation got all tangled up when it hit the bedroom door.
Fleur tried to tune out the typewriter. Instead she concentrated on sending Kissy from one audition to the next and attempted to figure out what Alexi’s next move would be. All the people who’d been dodging her phone calls now wanted to talk to her, and by the first week of December, a month after Michel’s showing, Kissy was signed to appear in a limited run of The Fifth of July. Afterward, she’d fly to London for a supporting role in a big-budget action-adventure film.
She and Kissy hadn’t talked about anything but business for weeks, and she was more than happy one evening to open her front door and see her friend standing there with a pizza and a big bottle of Tab. Before long, they were settled in the living room around Fleur’s new coffee table.
“Just like old times, huh, Fleurinda?” Kissy said as “Tequila Sunrise” played in the background. “Except now that we’re rich and famous, maybe we should switch to beluga, although I can’t imagine trading in an all-American pepperoni pizza for Commie fish food.”
Fleur took a sip from one of the Baccarat goblets Olivia Creighton had given her. “Do you think we’re hypocrites because we drink diet soda with pizza? It seems like we should commit ourselves one way or the other.”
“You worry about ethics while I eat. I haven’t had anything since breakfast, and I’m starved.” She bit into the piece she’d just pulled from the box. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life.”
“You really do love pizza.”
“It’s not the pizza.” Kissy sank her teeth into another bite, but this time she swallowed before she spoke. “It’s the play, the movie, everything. Bob Fosse said hello to me yesterday. Not ‘Hi, kid’ but ‘Hello, Kissy.’ Bob Fosse!”
Fleur felt a bubble of pleasure growing inside her. She’d made this happen.
The image of Belinda’s happy face flashed through her mind, and her pleasure vanished. Was this how her mother had felt manipulating Fleur’s career?
Kissy was nervous about the film she’d be making in London, and she pumped Fleur about Eclipse. Eventually she switched to the subject of Jake. “You haven’t said much about him lately.”
