The Truth About Elyssa. Lorna Michaels
heated, her heart began to thud. “They’re from Brett.”
“Well, well,” Cassie said, grinning. “Dr. Cameron’s a guy with class.” She leaned over Elyssa’s shoulder. “What’s the card say?”
“His name.” She slid her fingers over the rest of the message: “I’ll keep waiting for a yes.”
“Now you’ll have to go out with him,” Cassie said.
“No, I won’t.” Elyssa brushed a finger over the dark-green leaves, then yanked her hand away. “Brett’s an ambitious man, the kind of man who needs a gorgeous wife who gives elegant dinner parties and chairs benefits for the symphony.”
“Wife!” Cassie shuddered. “We’re talking about a simple dinner in a restaurant, not a lifetime commitment. Gawd, matrimony,” she said in her Lauren Bacall voice and sighed dramatically. “What a crock.”
Elyssa chuckled. Her cousin—independent, outspoken and in the rest of the family’s opinion, outrageous—could always make her laugh.
“You know my philosophy on marriage,” Cassie added.
Elyssa knew it well. Love affairs were acceptable, but Cassie believed that marriage and a career could not mix; hence, marriage had to go. Elyssa had never agreed with her cousin, but now… “My head’s too muddled to think about this.”
“I don’t blame you.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “Talking about marriage gives me heartburn. Nevertheless, you should consider dating this man. White orchids, oh my.”
They sat admiring the flowers, then Cassie checked her watch, frowned and shook her arm. “Stopped. What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
Cassie jumped up. “Omigosh, I’m due at rehearsal at seven.”
“Rehearsal! You got a part.”
Cassie grinned. “Nope, I’m the assistant to the assistant stage manager.” She turned her purse upside down on the coffee table and began pawing through the mess that spilled from it. “But I will get a part, one of these days. Aha!” She grabbed her car keys, waved them triumphantly and shoved everything else back into her bag. “See you.” She headed for the door. Over her shoulder, she added, “If Dean calls, tell him I’m on my way.”
Dean called. So did Dave…and Mario. Despite her views on matrimony, Cassie attracted men like honeysuckle attracted bees. How did she keep them all straight?
Shaking her head, Elyssa picked up the iced-tea glasses and carried them to the dishwasher. She’d always been a one-man woman. Of course, now she was a no-man woman.
She was glad she hadn’t thrown Brett’s card away. She’d intended to, but something had made her tuck it into the pocket of her costume, then into her robe. She took it out and called his home number. She’d be stern with him, she decided as his machine came on. “The orchids are beautiful, but I haven’t changed my mind. Let’s keep on being friends.”
Oh, Lord! She sat down hard on the chair by the phone. She’d been in broadcasting long enough to know what she’d just done. Her words had said one thing, but her voice—her soft, husky tone—had said something totally different.
Disgusted with herself, she marched upstairs to the bathroom, yanked off her robe and tossed her underwear in the hamper. She turned on the cold water in the shower but didn’t get in. Instead, she stared at her nude body in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
Her figure was the same as before the accident, maybe a little thinner. The gash on her thigh had healed and the scar was beginning to fade. It was pink now, perhaps as light as it would ever be. Her nose looked almost straight. Even the scars on her cheek had dimmed a little. But without the clown makeup, the marks were still visible, clear reminders of that night she could never quite recapture.
What would Brett Cameron think if he saw her as she really was? A picture of him flashed in her mind—tall and tanned with a killer smile and a gentleness that almost brought tears to her eyes. A longing so sharp it nearly buckled her knees rushed though her. She knew just how his lips would taste, how his body would feel against hers.
He was a doctor, used to scars. And, compared to most, hers were minor. Maybe…maybe he wouldn’t care.
But maybe he would.
She wouldn’t risk a rejection from him. She’d insist she meant what she said on the phone. They’d just be friends. With a last look at her reflection, she got into the shower.
But later she took the orchids into her room and set them on the nightstand by the bed. So lovely, so romantic… The man had her on the verge of tumbling into a situation that would only cause her grief. She had to think of something else.
She reached for the book by David Brinkley that Jenny had given her. Stretching out on her bed, she opened it and flipped through the pages, reading snippets here and there. Her attention was caught by doodles and notes scribbled at the end of a chapter: “The committee, 5, 1066, March 2.” Beneath them was a drawing of a skull and crossbones.
Elyssa shivered. March 2 was the day before their accident.
For a moment she could only stare at the cryptic notes, then she sat up abruptly and grabbed the phone. With shaking fingers, she punched in Jenny’s number in Knoxville.
“H’lo,” Jenny said sleepily.
“Jen, did Randy usually make notes in his books?”
Jenny yawned. “Elyssa?”
“Yes. Did he?”
“No, he was very careful with books.” More alert now, she asked, “Why?”
Quickly Elyssa explained what she’d found. “Does it make sense to you?”
“No, but the date—”
“I know. Jenny,” she said slowly, “maybe this is important. I’ll check and get back to you.”
“Be careful, Elyssa. Be really careful.”
“I will.” She hung up and paged through the rest of the book. No more notes. What she’d found could be meaningless doodles…or it could explain what Randy had been frightened of.
As much as she hated the idea, she knew Derek Graves was the person to ask. She didn’t have to look up his phone number; she knew it by heart.
Her former lover. The man who’d dumped her after the accident, when her self-esteem was at its lowest ebb. The man who, in his professional capacity as news director at the TV station, had coolly informed her that she was being offered a spot at KIND-FM, Channel 9’s sister radio station. Still reporting, he’d hastened to say. He hadn’t needed to add “off camera.” After all, a news reporter with a ruined face would hardly contribute to a TV station’s ratings. Elyssa had taken all of thirty seconds to turn down the move. She’d resigned from her job and hadn’t seen Derek since.
The thought of hearing his voice again brought a sour taste to her mouth. But she had to find out what Randy’s notes meant. And if Derek could help, she’d swallow her pride and call him.
Reaching for the phone, she dialed his home number.
For the first time in seventeen months, Elyssa pulled into the parking lot of the television station that had been the center of her life for three years. Here she’d been part of the frenetic scramble to get the news out. Here she’d pinned her hopes of making a name for herself in her career. And here she’d found camaraderie, friendship and love. Or what had passed for love at the time.
She glanced at the names posted at assigned parking spaces as she crossed the lot. Arthur Nixon. The chief meteorologist still drove his beloved Ford pickup. Susan Dalrimple had her own space now. She’d snagged the six o’clock anchor position that had been destined for Elyssa. And here was Derek’s space. He’d moved up, too. A shiny BMW had taken the place of his Honda