Leaves brushçd the walks in the park, swirling about her feet. Children bounced in the carriage at the pony stand, squealing for another ride. The animals at the zoo bobbed their heads as she walked past, and the carillon began its tune as she approached. She stopped and watched it with all the mothers and children. It was funny. That was something she had never thought of before. Not for herself. Children. How strange it would be to have a little person beside you. Someone to laugh at and giggle with and wipe chocolate ice cream from his chin, and tuck into bed after reading a story, or snuggle close to as he climbed into your bed in the morning. But then, you’d have to tell him who he was, and what was expected of him, and what he’d have to do when he grew up “if he loved you.” That was the reason she had never even remotely wanted children. Why do that to someone else? It was enough that she had to live with it for all those years. No, no children. Never.

The carillon stopped its tune, and the dancing gold animals stopped their mechanical waltz. The children began to drift away or rush toward hovering vendors. She watched them, and suddenly wanted a red balloon for herself. She bought one for a quarter and tied it to the button on her sleeve. It danced in the wind, high above her head, just below the branches of towering trees, and she laughed; she wanted to skip all the way home.

Her walk took her past the model boat pond, and at Seventy-second Street she reluctantly left the park. She ambled out slowly, the balloon bobbing as she walked behind nannies who prowled the park sedately, pushing oversized English prams covered with lace. A clique of French nurses moved like a battalion down the walk, toward an oncoming gaggle of British nannies. It amused her to watch the obvious though sugar-coated hostility between the two national tribes. And she knew too that the American nurses were left to their own devices, shunned by both the British and French. The Swiss and Germans willingly kept to themselves. And the black women who cared for equally sumptuously outfitted babies did not exist. They were the untouchable caste.

Kezia waited for traffic to ebb, and eventually wandered over to Madison to stroll past the boutiques on her way home. She was glad she had walked. Her mind wandered slowly back to Luke. It seemed forever since she had seen him. And she was trying so hard to be good about it. Working hard, being a good sport, laughing with him when he called, but something was curling up tightly inside her. It was like a small, dark kernel of sad, and no matter what she did she couldn’t get rid of it. It was heavy and tight. Like a fist. How could she miss him so much?

The doorman swept open the door for her, and she pulled her balloon down low beside her, feeling suddenly silly, as the elevator man attempted not to notice.

“Afternoon, miss.”

“Afternoon, Sam.” He wore his dark winter uniform and the eternal white cotton gloves, and he looked at a spot on the wall. She wondered if he didn’t ever want to turn and face the people he carted up and down all day long. But that would have been rude. And Sam wasn’t rude, God forbid. For twenty-four years, Sam had never been rude, he simply took people up and down … up … and …

down … without ever searching their eyes … “Morning, madam” … “Morning, Sam” … “Evening, sir” … “Good evening, Sam”…. For twenty-four years, with his eyes rooted to a spot on the wall. And next year they’d retire him with a gold-plated watch and a bottle of gin. If he didn’t die first, his eyes politely glued to the wall.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Yes, miss.” The elevator door slipped shut behind her, and she turned her key in the lock.

She picked up the afternoon paper on the hall table, on her way in. It was her habit to keep abreast of the news, and on some days it amused her. But this was not one of those days. The papers had been full of ugly stories for weeks. Uglier than usual, it seemed. Children dying. An earthquake in Chile, killing thousands. Arabs and Jews on the warpath. Problems in the Far East. Murders in the Bronx. Muggings in Manhattan. Riots in the prisons. And that worried Kezia most of all.

But now she glanced lazily past the front page, and then stopped with one hand still on the door. Everything grew very still, she suddenly understood. Her heart stopped. Now she knew. The headline on the paper read: Work Strike at San Quentin. Seven Dead. Oh God … let him be all right.

As though in answer to the prayer she had spoken aloud, the phone came to life, and dragged her attention away from the riveting headline. Not now … not the phone … what if … Mechanically, she moved toward it, the paper still in one hand, as she distractedly tried to read on.

“’Lo …” She couldn’t take her eyes away from the paper.

“Kezia?” It didn’t sound like her.

“What?”

“Miss Saint Martin?”

“No, I’m sorry, she’s … Lucas?”

“Yes, dammit. What the hell’s going on?” They were both getting thoroughly confused.

“I … I’m sorry, I … oh God, are you all right?” The sudden terror still caught in her throat, but she was afraid to say anything too precise on the phone. Maybe he was in a bad place to talk. That article suddenly had told her a great deal. Before she had suspected, but now she knew. No matter what he told her, she knew.

“Of course, I’m all right. You sound like you’ve seen a ghost. Anything wrong?”

“That’s a fairly apt description, Mr. Johns. And I don’t know if anything’s wrong. Suppose you tell me.”

“Suppose you wait a few hours, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know, and a lot more besides. Within reason, of course.” His voice sounded deep and husky, and there was laughter peppered in with the unmistakable fatigue.

“What exactly do you mean?” She held her breath, waiting, hoping. She had just had the fright of her life, and now it sounded like … she didn’t dare hope. But she wanted it to be that.

“I mean get your ass out here, lady. I’m going crazy without you! That’s what I mean! How about catching the next plane out here?”

“To San Francisco? Do you mean it?”

“Damn right, I do. I miss you so much I can hardly think straight anymore, and I’m all through out here. And it’s been too fucking long since I’ve had my hands on your ass. Mama, this has seemed like five hundred years!”

“Oh darling, I love you. If you only knew how much I’ve missed you, and just now I thought … I picked up the paper and …” He cut her off quickly with something brittle in his voice.

“Never mind, baby. Everything’s okay.” That was what she had wanted to hear.

“What are you going to do now?” She sighed as she spoke.

“Love the shit out of you and take a few days off to see some friends. But you are the first friend I want to see. How soon can you be here?”

She looked at her watch. “I don’t know. I … what time’s the next plane?” It was just after three in New York.

“There’s a flight that leaves New York at five-thirty. Can you make it?”

“Jesus. I’d have to be at the airport no later than five, which means leaving here at four, which means … I have an hour to pack, and … screw it, I’ll make it” She jumped to her feet and looked toward the bedroom. “What should I bring?”

“Your delicious little body.”

“Aside from that, silly.” But she hadn’t smiled like this in weeks. Three weeks, to be exact. It had been that long since she’d seen him.

“How the hell do I know what you should bring?”

“Is it hot or cold, darling?”

“Foggy. And cold at night, and warm in the daytime. I think … oh shit, Kezia. Look it up in the Times. And don’t bring your mink coat.”

“How do you know I have one? You’ve never seen it.” She was grinning again. To hell with the headlines. He was all right and he loved her.

“I just figured you had a mink. Don’t bring it.”

“I wasn’t planning to. Any other instructions?”

“Only that I love you too goddamn much, woman, and this is the last time I’ll let you out of my sight.”

“Promises, promises! I wish. Hey … will you meet me?”

“At the airport?” He sounded surprised.

“Uh huh.”

“Should I? Or would it be cooler if I didn’t?” It was back to that again. Being cautious, being wise.

“Screw being cool. I haven’t seen you in almost three weeks and I love you.”

“I’ll meet you.” He sounded ecstatic.

“You’d damn well better.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The baritone laugh tickled her ear, and they hung up. He had fought his own battles with his conscience during the last three godawful weeks, and he had lost … or won … he wasn’t yet sure. But he knew he had to have Kezia. Had to. No matter what.


Chapter 17


The plane landed at 7:14 P.M., San Francisco time. She was on her feet before the plane had come to a full stop at the gate. And despite earnest pleadings from the stewardesses, she was one of a throng in the aisles.

She had traveled coach to attract less attention, and she was wearing black wool slacks and a black sweater; a trench coat was slung over her arm, dark glasses pushed up on her head. She looked discreet, almost too discreet, and very well-dressed. Men checked her out with their eyes, but decided she looked rich and uptight. Women eyed her with envy. The slim hips, the trim shoulders, the thick hair, the big eyes. She was not a woman who would ever go unnoticed, whatever her name, and in spite of her height.

It was taking forever to open the doors. The cabin was hot and stuffy. Other people’s bags bumped her legs. Children started to cry. Finally, they swung open the doors. The crowd began to move, only imperceptibly at first, and then in a sudden rush, the plane blurted its contents like toothpaste onto the ramp. Kezia pressed through the other travelers, and as she turned a corner, she saw him.