SOMEONE UNTIED HIM. Devin got dressed, then he and Rachel made cups of tea for the Coronary Club. Because making nice, he told her when she fluttered, panicking, toward the exit, was the way you persuaded people to keep your secrets. It worked with the media…sometimes.
Rachel approached every individual and earnestly explained all the circumstances. Devin followed with a plate of low-fat oatmeal cookies and some high-octane flirting.
Devin and the ladies had a good time. Rachel and his mom skittered away whenever there was the remotest possibility of Devin being alone with them. But he didn’t own a cowboy hat just because it looked good.
He corralled his first filly when his mom left the safety of the herd to say farewell to one of her cronies. The elevator doors had barely closed on her full-figured friend when he said behind her, “You had sex with someone in my bed?”
Katherine turned on him defensively. “I changed the sheets.”
He’d hoped for a denial. “This isn’t the fifties, Mom. There are STDs to worry about now, AIDS.”
She tried to step past him. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Dev.”
He blocked her escape. “And what about your heart condition? I mean, should you be raising your heart rate like that?”
“Orgasms are very good-”
“Oh, God!” Devin clapped his hands over his ears. His father must be turning in his grave.
Katherine pulled his hands away. “For relieving stress, which in turn reduces blood pressure.” Exasperated, she surveyed him. “I did warn you not to start this conversation.”
“Well, who is it?” he demanded. “I’m assuming there’s only one.”
She considered him. “That’s none of your business, any more than what you do with Rachel is mine.” Her voice softened. “She’s adorable, by the way.”
Rachel came into the foyer at that moment, shawl clutched around her and staring over her shoulder as though fearful of being followed. Devin waited until she was close. “Looking for me?” he asked, and she started guiltily.
“I’ve explained our misunderstanding and accepted total responsibility.” She avoided his gaze by smoothing the fringe on her shawl. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.” Awkwardly, she held a hand out to his mother. “Nice to have met you, Katherine.”
His mom clasped it in both of hers. “And you.”
Devin cut short the pleasantries. “How are you intending to get home?”
“I ordered a taxi.”
“I’ll wait with you. Mom-” his gaze pinned Katherine’s ”-we’ll talk when I come back.”
“Devin…we won’t.” Her tone was equally adamant. “At least not about that. Goodbye, Rachel.” She smiled. “I do hope I’ll see you again.”
“Oh, I’m nowhere near through with her yet,” he promised his mother.
Rachel got twitchy as soon as the elevator door closed. “I’m sorry about earlier.” Despite her calm tone, she kept jabbing at the elevator button to try to make it move faster. “I jumped to-”
Devin backed her into a corner and kissed her.
She broke free, surprised. “Aren’t you mad at-”
He kissed her again. Harder. This time when she came up for air, she was disheveled and breathless.
“It’s probably for the best. You and I aren’t-”
And again. The woman would not shut up. He could feel the moment she stopped thinking “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts” and started thinking “why nots” and “maybe.”
Started seeing him as he’d grown to see her-a fascinating world unexplored. This time when he lifted his head that intriguing glow was back in her gray eyes.
Devin let the warmth permeate through to his bones before he stepped back. “We’re even,” he said.
“INSERT THE SIXTH NOTE after the fifth to give your bass pattern a lighter, more upbeat quality…yeah, that’s it.”
Mark tried but he couldn’t sustain concentration past a few bars. “I’m sorry.” Disheartened, he stopped playing. “I guess I’m not feeling it today.”
He watched apprehensively as Devin took off his acoustic guitar and walked out of the living room of his apartment. Miserably, Mark stared down at the view, his bass still hanging from his shoulder strap.
At 11:00 a.m. on a clear summer morning, all Auckland’s landmarks were on display-the Sky Tower, the bridge and Rangitoto, the dormant cone-shaped volcano in the harbor. How many chances would his mentor give him, he wondered, before he wrote him off?
Devin reappeared with a couple of energy drinks and tossed one can to him, before sprawling on the couch. “What’s up? And don’t say keep saying nothing. You know I haven’t got the patience for it.”
Mark hesitated, but he needed a confidant badly. He rolled the cold can against his forehead. “If I tell you, you have to keep it a secret.”
“Scout’s honor.”
He was momentarily diverted. “You were in the Scouts?”
“No, just pledging their honor.”
Mark put down the can and started toying with one of the frets on the guitar. “I thought I’d tracked down my mother yesterday-my real one. Only she wasn’t.”
Devin whistled. “You’re adopted?”
“I only found out a year ago…by accident.”
“That’s rough.” Devin swung himself to a sitting position. “Why didn’t your folks ever tell you?”
Bitterness flooded Mark, as sour as old grapes. “Because my Hamilton birth mother made it a condition of the adoption.” The letter from social welfare had been clinical. ‘Our client has changed her mind about open adoption and is only willing to proceed if you agree to secrecy…’”
“Careful of your guitar, buddy.”
Confused, Mark looked down; he was torturing one of the strings. Handing the bass to Devin, he plunked himself on the throw rug and hugged his knees. “You’re probably thinking, well, why am I looking for her then? But she shouldn’t be able to do that without giving some kind of explanation. I mean, how am I supposed to feel?”
Devin started plucking at the strings of the bass, casual notes that somehow reached in and squeezed Mark’s heart. “You tell me.”
He swallowed. “I just need to know why… I mean, I’m not expecting anything.”
“Are you looking because you want to heal something in you,” asked Devin quietly, “or because you want to hurt her?”
Mark didn’t answer. Another cascade of bittersweet chords; the vise around Mark’s chest tightened.
“Do your parents know you’re doing this?”
“They don’t even know I’ve found out I’m adopted.” He expected Devin to lecture him, but his dark head remained bent over Mark’s guitar. The notes softened, the melody became gently reflective. Mark stirred restlessly. He didn’t want to be soothed. “You don’t think I should do it, do you? Find my birth mother.”
“Would my opinion make a difference?”
“No.”
“Then why,” said Devin mildly, “are we having this conversation?” The tune evolved into an electric version of “Amazing Grace,” languid and hauntingly beautiful.
Mark suffered through the song. He had a sudden intense longing for home, for his parents, for the tranquility of his life before this terrible knowledge had changed everything.
Tears filled his eyes. He blinked hard, but one escaped to trickle slowly down his cheek. Mark froze, reluctant to wipe it away in case he drew Devin’s attention. The salty trail stung his shaving rash-he was still getting the hang of a new razor. At last the tear touched the corner of his mouth. Surreptitiously, he caught it with his tongue.
Devin’s eyes were closed, his fingers sliding over the strings. “It’s okay to have second thoughts, Mark.”
“I’m not.”
His mentor opened his eyes. “Maybe you should take another year or two before you do this.”
“I can’t,” he said impatiently. “The only thing I know about her is that she works at the university. If I wait and she leaves, then I’ll never find her.” He stood and started to pace. “And my parents won’t help me. I already know that without asking. They always do the right thing and keep their word and stuff…and, well-” he hesitated, not wanting to appear soft “-if they learn I’m looking for her, they might get hurt. Which is also why I haven’t told them I found out I’m adopted. Because I have to see her.”
Devin struggled for the right words. He had no skill base to handle emotional pain; he’d barely mastered his own. What the boy needed was a student counselor, but Mark would bristle at the suggestion and he didn’t want to alienate him.
“Devin?”
Someone who could empathize…someone with common sense and compassion. An insider who could influence Mark toward counseling. It was Sunday. Devin glanced at his watch. Lunchtime. Rachel had turned down his lunch invitation, citing her prior commitment with students.
He put down his guitar and stood. “Let’s gate-crash a party.”
RACHEL WAS HUNTING through her kitchen drawer for a carving knife when the doorbell rang. “Someone get that,” she called into the adjacent lounge, where conversation hummed over the muted strains of La Bohème.
“I’ll go,” answered Huang.
Hunched over the stove, Trixie stirred a pot of steaming gravy, her brow knotted in concentration. With her kohl-darkened eyes, swirling black skirt and Alien Sex Fiend T-shirt, all she lacked was a witch’s hat. Rachel grinned.
“If you do the ‘double, double toil and trouble’ joke again, I’m letting it burn,” Trixie warned. “How you can be so happy slaving in a hot kitchen all morning is beyond me.”
“Because bringing people together and feeding them makes me happy.” This was Rachel’s favorite day of the week, the ritual an affirmation of her dreams-family, community, tradition. If one day she could get Mark here…“I only hope we have enough meat.” She found the carving knife and surveyed the joint, steaming gently on the countertop, mentally toting numbers. Jacob, Sarah, Huang, Marama, Juan, Silei, Ming, Dale, Chris…herself, Trixie and-
Devin appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a huge bunch of red gerberas, and her heart gave a queer little lurch that she wanted to be dismay but wasn’t. He eyed the knife. “I can see flowers aren’t enough.”
“What are you doing?” she said stupidly. This morning she’d convinced herself that the man was a scenic detour down a blind alley. She needed to get back on the freeway with its speed limits and clear signs.
“I was hoping you’d have room for extras.” Over the flowers he nodded hello to Trixie. “How’s the intimidation racket?”
From the stove, Trixie said, “One hundred percent success rate.”
“She’s promised never to interfere again,” Rachel said grimly.
“I might have a job for you, Trixie,” Devin continued. “My brother.”
Rachel glared at her assistant. “On pain of death,” she reiterated.
Undeterred, Trixie waved the gravy spoon toward Devin. “Have your people talk to my people.”
“Mark, that’s you,” he said over his shoulder, and Rachel dropped the knife. It hit the floor with a clatter.
Devin strolled forward to pick it up and Mark came into view behind him, blushing as he looked at Trixie.
Delighted as she was to see him, Rachel experienced a pang of regret. Why did her son have to be so irresistibly drawn to the dark side? Then Devin straightened, holding the knife in one hand, the flowers in the other-dark, gorgeous and devastatingly sexy. Because it runs in the family.
“You look harassed.” Handing her the gerberas, Devin tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear in an intimate gesture that made Trixie and Mark exchange glances. Too many things were happening at once and Rachel seemed to have control over none of them. “Want us to go away again?”
She gathered her wits. “No, stay! Mark, it’s lovely to see you here.” Her throat tightened on a rush of emotion and she busied herself finding a vase for the flowers. “Trixie, why don’t you take him through to the lounge and introduce him to everybody? I’ll handle the gravy. And, Devin, since you’ve got the knife, would you mind slicing the meat?” She gestured in the direction of the leg of roast lamb.
“Sure, if you don’t mind me butchering it.”
Her pulse steadied with Mark gone. “Not as long as I get twenty-six slices out of it.”
“Heartbreaker, you crack me up.” Devin dropped a brief kiss on her mouth and her pulse sped up again. The dragon twisted on his forearm as he began slicing meat with a showman’s flair.
Rachel concentrated on stirring the gravy but couldn’t resist another glance. The noon sun streamed through the window, glinted off the flashing knife and picked up the red in Devin’s stubble. He dwarfed the tiny kitchen, completely out of place against the teal-and-cream cupboards of her country-style décor, with its ceramic roosters, appliquéd tea towels and battered dresser.
This crazy attraction must be affecting her ability to be impartial, because she no longer saw him as a threat-at least not to Mark. So, what…one kiss and the frog had turned into a prince? No, she’d been softened by the fact that he was looking out for his mother. Katherine had sung his praises last night.
What do your instincts tell you?
To jump him.
Frowning, Rachel turned off the heat and put a lid on the gravy. Keep it simple, stupid. Now was the time to tell him she’d had second thoughts.
Except then he might leave-and take Mark. She put the vegetables and greens into serving dishes, then returned them to the warming drawer. She’d raise the subject after lunch.
Devin brought over a platter of meat, beautifully sliced. “Thirty-two. Damn, I’m good. You want me to carry this to the dining room?”
Rachel pointed to the two-person oak table in the corner of the kitchen. “You mean that?”
“Don’t tell me. It also makes up into a bed at night.”
If only he didn’t make her laugh. “Put the meat in the oven with the vegetables, then come and be introduced.”
“In a minute.” Off-loading the meat, he took her into his arms and smiled at her. And Rachel knew it wasn’t fair to let this go on any further.
“About last-”
Devin kissed her with the same arrogant confidence he had the night before, bypassing her reservations and tapping straight into the uncomfortable heat she felt for him. “I’d rather talk about tonight.”
Such an innocuous statement. Such a wealth of sinful promise.
Flustered, Rachel pulled free, fixed her gaze on his belt buckle and launched into her analogy about the difference between three-lane highways and one-way streets, and knowing what kind of driver you were. Devin balanced on the edge of the table, swinging one booted foot, and listened in polite silence.
She ran out of gas and spluttered to a stop. What had started out as a good idea had ended up a six-car pileup.
“Let me see if I’ve got this straight.” His voice was thoughtful. “I haven’t even made a layover yet and already I’m a blind alley?”
She looked up to see the slow-burn grin that always took the chill off.
“You know this road map of yours isn’t even accurate,” he pointed out. “Paul, the expressway, turned out to be a dead end.”
Rachel bit her cheek to stop from smiling.
Hooking one arm around her waist, Devin pulled her closer. “What you need on that map is a rest stop. Somewhere to take a break from the serious business of staying on the straight and narrow, scanning side mirrors, checking GPS, watching for safety signs…”
She couldn’t hold back the laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I love it when you use librarian words.” He nuzzled her neck. It felt wonderful. Maybe she was overthinking this. No one needed to get hurt. He was a rock star, for God’s sake, and she hadn’t lost her head over a guy since her teens. Briefly, her arms tightened around him. To hell with impartiality. By bringing her son here, Devin was top of her hit parade right now.
“Let me introduce you to everybody, and then we’ll have lunch.” As she pushed Devin toward the living room, Rachel said softly, “Thanks for bringing Mark…to meet other students.”
“Actually, I’m hoping for advice,” he replied. “I’ll tell you about his cock-eyed plan when everyone’s gone.”
DEVIN SUDDENLY FOUND himself standing alone, amid a dozen students of various nationalities jammed together on the sofa or seated on large cushions on the floor. Conversation dried up as they recognized him. Turning around, he saw Rachel had stopped in the doorway with an anxious expression. “Something wrong?”
She smiled and moved forward. “For a moment I thought I’d left the oven on…but I didn’t.” She began making introductions.
As he did the rounds, Devin noticed everyone was wearing stickers starting with “Ask me about…” Trust the librarian to have an icebreaker. Shaking hands with a guy called Huang, he looked closer. Ask me about…
Growing up in Taiwan.
What it’s like to have to study in my second language.
Rodeo.
“You rodeo?”
Huang nodded. “When I first come here to learn English I live in Warkworth with rodeo family.”
Devin had friends in the business, and the two of them discussed barrel racing and bull riding for several minutes.
“And where is your sticker, Dev-an?” Huang inquired politely, and those within earshot laughed. The young man’s face reddened.
Talking to Mark nearby, Rachel glanced at Huang, then pulled a sticker pad and pen out of her apron, a white cotton bibbed thing covered with cherries. “I’m so sorry, Devin, I forgot.”
God, she was sweet. “No problem,” he said.
“Ask me about…” She tapped the pen against her teeth while she considered. Devin smothered a smile. Sex, drugs and rock and roll? Rehab? With her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail she looked only a few years older than these kids.
“Being famous,” suggested Trixie, and suddenly everyone was chiming in.
“How much money you’ve made.”
“Dating supermodels.”
“What it is like,” said Huang, “to live most people’s dream?”
“That’s a silly question,” said Trixie, “because there’s only one answer. Bloody fantastic.”
Everyone laughed.
“Okay, let’s go with that one,” said Devin. “You’re nineteen years old, Trixie, and a rock star-famous, rich, dating studs. Now what?”
She raised one pierced eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve got another fifty to sixty years to fill and you’ve got nothing left to wish for. What happens when the novelty wears off?”
Baby Goth shook her head. “Never going to happen.”
“Eat your favorite food for a week,” he said drily, “then tell me you don’t crave a change. Eventually it happens.”
There was silence as people digested that.
“But you’ve still got your music,” Huang ventured.
Devin turned to him. “And in the first rush of fame you’ve overcommitted to album contracts. So, yeah, you’re busy. Except your record company wants more of the kind of songs that made you famous. And you want to stay famous. Making music becomes a high-pressure business instead of a creative endeavor.”
“Then I’d forget about fame,” Mark said confidently, “and just write original music for my hard-core fan base. They’d keep buying.”
“But not in enough numbers to keep the money flowing in that you’ve been spending like water.”
“Then I’ll enjoy what I’ve already bought,” said Trixie. “The mansion and the boy toys.” She licked her lips lasciviously and the others laughed.
“Sorry, Baby Goth.” Devin shook his head. “The boy toys won’t hang around if you’re not famous. And how much money you’ve got left to play with depends on your manager and your business savvy-which has probably been addled by the drugs or alcohol you used to medicate the terror you feel at living the dream and not being happy.”
He became aware of the silence, the heaviness of the atmosphere. And he used to be the party guy. Then Rachel’s hand curled around his fist, encouraging him, and he intertwined his fingers with hers.
“Listen, I was too young when I got famous,” he said. “I didn’t know the Holy Grail doesn’t exist. But you guys are smarter.” They liked that; smiles dawned. He made his final point. “Just remember when you hit the big time in your chosen careers not to tie your identity to it. And leave something left to strive for.”
“Life’s meaning lies in the journey, not the destination,” said Huang.
“Confucius?” Devin asked.
“Cereal box,” said Huang.