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| Again, My Love |
March, 1998 Trade Paperback Release Genesis Press, Inc. ISBN: 1-885478-23-2 |
 Pain . . .
Marcia Robertson knows the meaning of the word all too well. Four years ago, Gavin Williams, her first love, broke her heart when he forced her to choose between him and a once-in-a-lifetime acting opportunity. Devastated by the ultimatum, but not about to let anyone dictate her life, Marcia chose her career. But with that choice came great pain.
Secrets . . .
Now, four years after their disastrous parting, Gavin is back in Marcia's life, wanting to reconcile. However, Marcia can't do that; she won't. Not just because she fears he'll break her heart again, but because she's kept a secret from him, a secret that becomes more painful every time she sees him. Besides, she's involved with someone else. But as Gavin persists and her resolve weakens, Marcia has to decide if she can put the pain in the past and take a chance on love . . . again. |
Prologue
She was having the dream again.
The same, torturing dream. The one that caused her heart to race uncontrollably, her breath to come in short, ragged gasps. The dream that had haunted her for what seemed an eternity.
She was locked in a small, dirty room filled with stale air. Approximately twelve feet by six feet, it had no windows and felt like a coffin. She was frightened and had been crying, wailing for hours. She had yelled for help until her throat was raw and dry and sore, but nobody came to help her.
Suddenly, the only light in the small room flickered off, and fear gripped her more than ever. Something horrible was about to happen. Something absolutely frightful.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to move, but to her horror, she realized she was strapped to a bed.
She grew breathless as tears burned her eyes, as panic snared her soul. She had to get out of here. She had to get out before-
"Marcia."
Gasping for air, Marcia Robertson bolted upright. She was sweating, and her eyes bulged with terror. For a moment, she didn't know where she was.
"It's okay." Strong arms wrapped her in a warm embrace. "It was only a bad dream, Marcia."
A bad dream . . . she was all right. Safe. She was in the arms of her boyfriend, Jackson Reid.
Relieved, she pressed her face against his strong, warm chest. "I was so scared. I-I couldn't move, and they were going to-"
"Shh," he cooed softly, running his fingers along her shoulder-length black hair. "You dozed off and had a bad dream, but it's okay now. Everything's fine."
Everything wasn't fine, and Marcia knew it. She might feel safe for the moment in his arms, but sooner or later the nightmare would return. She'd begun having the dream again right after she had learned of her friend Rachel's pregnancy. Try as she might, her subconscious would not let her close the door on the darkest chapter of her life.
As Jackson continued to hold her, Marcia's breathing calmed. "Thanks, Jackson. I'm better now."
"Good." His relief was audible. "It's almost nine p.m. We have to hurry if we don't want to be late for the party."
The party. She'd forgotten about that. Marcia wasn't really in the mood to go, but there was no way she wanted to stay home alone. Not after the disturbing dream. Maybe music, dancing, and lots of people were exactly what she needed.
"We'd better get ready then," she said.
He released her from his strong arms, gently cupped her chin, and captured her mouth for a lingering kiss. Her body reacted at once, becoming warm all over. Sliding her hands along Jackson's chest, she started to unbutton his shirt. This was exactly what she needed.
Jackson groaned. "Don't do this to me now, baby."
Marcia looked up at him, into his deep brown eyes. He was a beautiful black man. Six foot one and lean, yet muscular. A small goatee framed his lips and chin, and his black hair was closely cropped. His skin was dark and smooth and soft to the touch. Her own skin was only slightly lighter, and she loved the way they looked together.
"Why shouldn't I seduce you now?" she asked, her voice husky.
"Because." Jackson captured her hands before she could undo the last two buttons. "You know we can't miss this party."
For a moment longer, she looked at him, hoping. But Jackson was right. This was an important party for anyone in the film business, be they aspiring or established. They couldn't miss it.
Marcia let out a frustrated sigh, then went to the bathroom to shower. A long cold shower. Hopefully that would douse the fires until she and Jackson returned home.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The room bubbled with excitement, and Marcia was probably the only person at the party who was bored. She surveyed the room and the various people in it. Everywhere, people were talking, laughing, drinking and mingling with Hollywood stars, yet Marcia felt removed from it all. Although this was one of the premier parties to attend in the film industry, she found herself wishing she had stayed home.
This was the Closing Night Gala party for the Toronto International Film Festival, being held at a stunningly beautiful tri-level complex in an office tower. The women were out in their fanciest gowns, the men in designer tuxedos. Marcia herself was wearing a low-cut black satin dress that shimmered beneath the light.
A waiter in a white shirt and bow tie stopped beside her. "Champagne?"
Accepting a champagne flute off the sterling silver tray, she smiled her thanks. If she must endure the party, she might as well have something to drink.
Marcia brought the delicate crystal flute to her lips and took a long sip, then scanned the room once more. All around her, people were networking and making connections, hoping that a friendly smile and mindless chatter would lead to work in an upcoming film. But how useless those efforts really were. Despite all its glamour, the film industry was a tough business. You couldn't trust the men and women behind the friendly smiles unless your contract was signed on the dotted line, and even then you couldn't trust anyone until the money was in the bank. And despite the fact that women were ruthlessly used as sex toys, Marcia saw several here tonight flirting madly, no doubt willing to do anything for that "big break."
Thank God she'd never been that pathetic. She believed in working hard, not sleeping her way to the top.
"Marcia!" a male voice exclaimed as a hand slipped around her waist, then slid lower to the small of her back. Just a bit lower, and he'd be caressing her buttocks.
Turning sharply, Marcia saw Darryl Dawson, producer, director, and writer. She smiled tightly, then stepped out of his reach. Touchy-feely men were hazards of the film industry, and she was sure that most of the men had no idea they were being offensive. "Darryl. It's so good to see you."
"You've never looked more beautiful."
That was a lie, but she said, "Thank you. You look wonderful, too. How was the screening?"
"Fabulous!" Blue eyes glowing, Darryl ran a hand through his long brown hair. "Not a dry eye in the place. Nor an empty seat. I hope it will be picked up by a distributor."
Marcia had met Darryl Dawson four years earlier through a friend of a friend, when he had just produced his first short film. Now, years later, the ups and downs of the industry hadn't discouraged him, and he had succeeded in producing his first feature film. Marcia had seen the film the day before, and had in fact really liked it. She'd also auditioned for the part of the lead actress-a single mother fighting alcohol addiction-but she didn't get the part.
"I wish you luck," she said, smiling. "Even if I still haven't forgiven you for not casting me as Gwen."
"Marcia, I promise you a role in my next feature." He kissed her cheek. "Sorry dear. Gotta run. There's Stephen Hoffman."
She watched him hurry off, a wry grin playing on her lips. She knew there was no way Darryl would cast her in his next film, at least not in a leading role. Although he auditioned people of all ethnic backgrounds, he had cast only Caucasians in the lead roles.
Marcia searched the crowd and finally spotted Jackson, surrounded by several women. Obviously, he was having a good time. Obviously, she thought, bitterness washing over her, he had forgotten that he had come to this party with her.
She released an agitated sigh. She knew she had to share him with others at this party, especially producers and directors. But observing Jackson now, it bothered her that he wasn't the same person she had met and fallen in love with just over two years ago. Back then, he'd been a down-to-earth actor, praying that one day he'd get something more than bit parts. He had known what it meant to work hard. Now, he was one of the most popular black actors in Toronto, thanks to The Beat, an hour-long cop drama in which he had a lead role. Since landing the part of Malcolm Young, his ego had grown by one hundred and fifty percent.
Marcia was starting toward him when a beautiful, voluptuous blonde approached Jackson and gave him a long hug. A little too long for Marcia's liking. When the woman finally let him go, she still stayed close, touching the front of his shirt in an intimate manner.
Marcia didn't recognize the blonde, but after that hug she could only assume that Jackson knew her. Certainly he wouldn't be that friendly with an excited fan.
Continuing to watch them closely, Marcia drew in a sharp breath, tasting cigarette smoke that lingered in the air. Jackson clearly didn't seem to think that the lady had overstayed her welcome, as he chatted and laughed with her while ignoring everyone else. And from every passing waiter he snatched another glass of champagne.
Slowly, Marcia wove through the crowd. She smiled at directors, producers, and other actors she knew, but inside she wasn't smiling. By now, Jackson should have politely excused himself and left the clinging blonde to her own devices.
She walked right up to Jackson, taking his hand in hers. Smiling at the blonde, she said, "Would you excuse us, please?"
The woman appeared startled, but shrugged and walked away.
"Hi, baby," said Jackson, slurring the words. "Where've you been all this time?"
Great, Marcia thought. He was drunk. Again her mind drifted to the Jackson she had known before; that Jackson would never have drunk in excess.
"Jackson, I want to go home."
"Oh c'mon, baby." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. "The party's just starting."
"Jackson!" she protested when his mouth moved from her temple to her ear and began nibbling on it.
"Mmm. You taste good."
Marcia squirmed out of his firm grip. "Stop it. You're making a scene."
"Cut!" Jackson laughed at his interpretation of the word 'scene'. He raised his eyebrows suggestively, desire dancing in his dark eyes. "Let's take this party to a back room."
"No, Jackson. Let's go home."
He snatched a glass of champagne from a waiter and drank it in one gulp, then, as the man moved on, reached for another drink.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" said Marcia, grabbing his arm.
"No, I haven't. I'm doing just fine, baby. Waiter! I'll have another drink here." Jackson pulled his arm from Marcia's grasp, and in doing so, caused her to stumble against someone standing behind her.
A horrified moan escaped from a woman's lips, and whirling around, Marcia saw that the woman's red wine had spilled all over the front of her white silk dress. Marcia said, "I'm so sorry."
The woman shot her a disgusted look, muttered something under her breath, and stalked off. Many others were staring at Jackson and Marcia, some merely curious, some, like the wine-doused lady, quite obviously offended.
Marcia had had enough. She glared at Jackson. "Fine. Stay at this party. But you'll have to find your own way home."
She stormed through the crowd of curious onlookers. The spectacle was probably more exciting than some of the scripts they had worked on, and she wasn't about to stay and ruin her chances of ever working in this town again. As she neared the door, she turned to see if Jackson had come to his senses and was following her. To her disappointment, he wasn't.
Marcia walked briskly in the cool September air until she reached the parking lot where her car was parked. It had been a mistake coming here tonight. Now she just wanted to get home and take a long hot bath and forget that this night ever happened.
At times like these Marcia regretted that she had gone against her better judgment and moved in with Jackson. She came from a strict religious household, and while she wasn't perfect, she'd always said she wanted to be married before living with someone. But Jackson had been different. They had connected from the beginning, and she was sure he would be the one she would marry. So when he suggested living together, Marcia had seen no reason to decline.
She rolled down the car window to get some fresh air as she drove. Maybe she was overreacting. Jackson was basically a good person, and hard working. He had certainly exerted Herculean efforts to make sure that all the casting directors knew who he was and wouldn't hesitate to audition him.
And all his efforts had paid off. Marcia had been thrilled when she learned that Jackson had landed the part of Malcolm Young in The Beat. It was the big break he had been longing for in his career, and it was a regular role at that. That was all any aspiring actor could hope for-a weekly gig that would pay the bills and a little extra. The Beat paid well, which was nice for a change. Neither Jackson nor Marcia had to worry about how the rent was paid from month to month.
But with his sudden success had come problems, problems Marcia feared would ruin their relationship. He was way too busy for her now, which was understandable. But she missed the quiet times they used to spend talking, walking in a park, making love. Now Jackson was too tired after working twelve-hour days, at least four days a week, to spend any quality time with her. And when he wasn't working, he was studying his script for the next show.
But she could deal with his schedule. She worked in the business and knew what kind of hours it entailed. What she couldn't deal with was his constant partying and drinking in his free time, as well as his newfound craving for adulation. Jackson no longer seemed happy unless people were stroking his ego, telling him how wonderful an actor he was-especially beautiful, voluptuous women. Where this craving would lead was her worst fear.
Marcia parked in the underground facility of her west end condominium, then took the elevator to the first floor to check the mail.
Bills, she thought sourly, as she flipped through the letters she had retrieved. Only the last item was clearly not a bill. It was a pink-colored card envelope addressed to her. The sender was Gavin Williams.
Gavin! She felt winded suddenly, weak-kneed, almost as though she would faint. Her heart beat a frantic waltz in her chest. Gavin was the last person she had expected to hear from. And she wasn't even sure she wanted to hear from him.
Marcia's stomach tightened in apprehension, wondering what the envelope contained. Clutching her mail, she sought the comfort of her modernly furnished apartment. Her and Jackson's apartment. Once there, she marched to the kitchen and the waste can. That was where Gavin's letter belonged. In the trash. But she couldn't do it. Not without reading it first. Curiosity had always been her besetting sin.
She opened the envelope. Inside was a birthday card. How odd. Gavin knew her birthday had passed two months ago, in July. She flipped open the card and began reading.
Dear Marcia,
You're probably thinking "A birthday card? It's not my birthday." I know.
I hope you'll accept this card for these past years that I missed your birthday.
I miss you Marcia, and I'd really like to talk to you again. I think it's time.
Please give me a call at 555-9886. I'd like us to be friends-again.
Sincerely,
Gavin
Marcia re-read the note in a state of total disbelief. A birthday card for all the years he had missed? Was this some kind of joke? He could not possibly expect that she would call him. Or that, after four years, he could waltz into her life again. There was no way she would let that happen. Prior experience with Gavin Williams had taught her a cruel lesson. She preferred to keep the door closed forever on that chapter of her life.
Marcia's hands were shaking from a surge of adrenaline. Ripping the card and envelope into shreds, she dropped them into the waste can. But she could not rid herself of memories as easily as she could of the card. For three extraordinary years, Marcia had loved Gavin; they'd even planned their wedding. But his love had not been unconditional. When she was forced to face the truth and their relationship ended, she'd been devastated. She had suffered a pain so deep she hadn't known if she would survive. There was no way they could ever be friends.
Marcia curled up on the black leather sofa in her living room and hugged her knees to her chest. She felt emotionally numb, overwhelmed by the shock of hearing from Gavin again. Why, after four years, did it matter to him if they ever spoke again? The more she thought about him and his card, the angrier she felt. The anger was not directed at Gavin alone, but at herself as well for wasting so much time and emotional energy on an episode in her life that was past and should be forgotten. Should be . . . but could not.
Neither the bad, nor the good and beautiful.
"You must think I'm a complete fool, Gavin," Marcia said aloud, willing herself not to reminiscence. Her past with him was dead and buried, and there was no way she was going to dig up all the painful memories. Not after the private hell she had endured, and all it had taken her to get to this point in her life.
No way in hell.
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