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It took some very deep digging before Eric’s private investigator found a woman named Jenna Black, a woman who hadn’t existed prior to 2004, living in upstate New York. She owned a boutique called Rhapsody, and had an eight-and-a-half-year-old daughter.
“I’ll stake out her house and shop and get some pictures to see if it’s her.”
“No.” Eric was adamant. “I won’t have you or anyone skulk around to get her picture. She’s had enough of that. I’ll go to New York myself.”
Eric had no doubt the woman was Jenna. He knew it in the way an animal draws upon instinct to find water. He knew. He also knew she might once again slip into the shadows. It was rumored her story was going to be featured on a tabloid show that highlighted the lives of celebrities who abruptly abandoned their careers. It was his divorce that started all the “what happened to Angel” hype.
****
A week later, he was on a plane headed to a small airstrip in a town only a half hour outside of Manhattan. The private jet Bree insisted they needed sat idle at a hangar in Ventura, so he’d chartered another. The last thing he needed was to be photographed at a public airport, and for his wife to know where he’d gone.
A steward offered him a drink that he politely waved away. Distracted, he stared through the oval window as his mind constructed a bizarre telephone dialogue.
“Hey…you’ll never guess who this is. It’s me, Eric, the guy who ruined your life ten years ago. I’ve still got a few things that belong to you, actually a few million things and I thought I’d stop by and drop them off.”
He lowered his face into his hands. “You are such an asshole.”
His trip became an hours long melodrama that played in his head. In act one, a rowdy kid gets knocked around by a derelict father and ends up in an institution. In act two, a young man meets a beautiful girl who takes all his pain away.If only it had ended there. In act three, the young man fucks up so royally he loses everything. Eric called the steward back. He wanted that drink.
Hours later, weary and jet lagged, he checked into the Plaza, the shining staple of New York at the East Fifty-Ninth Street entrance to Central Park. The concierge quickly called for a valet to take Eric’s bags to his suite. “A pleasure to have you with us, Mr. Laine.”
“Thanks. I’m going to need a car. Can you have one here for me tomorrow morning?”
“Certainly, sir.” The concierge was an image of alert consideration. “Just give me a time and I’ll have a car and driver waiting.”
“Um, no, I meant a rental, nothing fancy. Charge it to my room. Oh, and see if there are any hotels near a town called Cromline.”
Clicking expediently at his keyboard, the concierge dulled. “It looks like there’s a Micro-Motel and a Best Express a mile or two off the highway. If you give me a sec I can see if there’s—”
“Best Express is fine.”
“Very good, sir.”
Eric nodded his thanks and headed to the elevator and his suite. He showered, climbed into bed, and pulled up the New York State highway map on his phone. Cromline looked to be about a two hour drive up the Thruway and not far from the town where Jenna had grown up. It made sense that after living like a Bedouin, she’d settle in an area close to home. He was more certain than ever that Jenna Black was his Jenna.
He put his phone aside. Cradling his head in his arms, he stared up at the ceiling. His heart was racing. What kind of reception would he receive he wondered. He’d only seen her twice in nine years—fleeting moments from his hospital bed after an on-set accident almost killed him, and for even less time in the lobby of The Metropolitan Opera House. Both occasions felt like losing her all over again.
The papers for Jewel Incorporated were arranged in a leather briefcase, but Eric knew they were simply a pitiful excuse to cast eyes on the face of the woman he could never forget.
****
Jenna attempted to make a new display of earrings and bracelets, but her hands were bloodless and unsteady. Worry clung to her like metal shavings on a magnet. She turned toward the sound of the door chimes tinkling as the source of her anxiety strolled through the entryway.
“Good morning,” Anne said, light and breezy as springtime. She made her way down the narrow aisle, slowly, and plucked items from shelves to consign them to a basket. Twice she turned and grinned.
Jenna stepped over. “Annabelle?”
“Oh, so youdorecognize me.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You look the…What I mean is…I…I was just so surprised to see you yesterday…” Trying to find a polite way to avoid mentioning Annabelle’s weight gain was like struggling to escape quicksand. Each attempt at denial only made Jenna sink deeper.
Anne rested her hands on wide hips and gave Jenna a surveying once over. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw you. Of course it would have to be a pretty damned big feather.”
Jaw-dropped, Jenna stared. This was clearly not the Annabelle Walker who reigned imperiously over The Class of 99. That Annabelle would never poke fun at herself. Then again,thatAnnabelle would never have expanded her way out of size two, low-rise jeans.
She shook her head, her chin toddling like barely set gelatin. “Shut your mouth, Welles. I’ll get to the point of why I’m here. No one in town knows about you. I’ve been back in Cromline for almost a month, and Cheryl hasn’t said anything to me. If she doesn’t know who you are then nobody does.”
“Youknow who I am.” Jenna’s tone was a sober plea. “Doyouplan on telling anyone?”
