He’d swept her into his arms, lifting her up until her feet didn’t even touch the floor. The kiss she gave him was deep and sexy, and seemed to draw every bit of air from his lungs.

He’d torn off her gauzy white polyester dress and the white silk long johns she wore underneath …

“You were as crazy as I was. You unzipped my costume and pulled it off of me …”

Liam laughed, a deep throaty sound that he hadn’t heard in weeks. “Jesus, I feel like one of those 1-900 operators. Remember what happened next, Mike? Remember?”

“We made love right there—us, a married couple with two kids and a whole town waiting for us outside, and we went at it like a couple of horny teenagers. In the middle of it all, Myrtle knocked on the locker room door.

“There we were, lying on the floor of the boys’ locker room, all naked and sweaty, our bodies twisted together like a licorice whip. I had to put a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet. But you were laughing so hard, your shoulders were shaking and there were tears in your eyes.”

He sighed. “Jesus, you were beautiful. I’ll never forget how beautiful you were right then and how it felt to have you in my arms, with nothing between us.

“When Myrtle left, you laughed so loud, I thought the whole damn town would hear you. You said, ‘There goes our reputation.’ And I laughed along with you. ‘Speak for yourself,’ I said. ‘This is going to do my reputation a world of good.’”

He stroked her hair, noticing the trembling in his hand. “That’s who we were, Mike. Who we can be again if you’ll just open your eyes and look at me. I love you. Always. I love you.”

Very slowly he leaned down and kissed her forehead, murmuring, “Forever.”

Chapter Sixteen

Julian woke up with a deadly hangover. It was inevitable, of course. There was nothing to do in this Norman Rockwell town except sit in your room, watch one of three channels, and drink. Last night he’d spent at least two hours trying to get Val on the phone. At every busy signal, he’d taken a swig of Scotch.

Groggily, he turned onto his side and reached for the phone, punching in Val’s office number. Susan answered on the second ring: “Lightner and Associates.”

At last. Julian angled to a sit. “Is Val in?”

“Hi, Julian. Just a second.”

Val came on the line. “Juli, how goes it in the great white north?”

“Where the hell have you been? I tried calling you all last night.”

“Whoa, big guy. If I wanted to hear talk like that, I’d have gotten married.” He laughed at his own joke. “We screened On Mystic Lake last night—the new Annette Bening, Richard Gere tearjerker. Afterward we all … well, you know how those things go. I didn’t make it home until about four. So, what’s up?”

“I saw Kayla.”

“I sorta figured that. How is she?”

He tried to put into words how he’d felt yesterday, but as always, this kind of honesty was difficult. “It was weird, Val. There she was, unconscious. I didn’t know what to do. They said she’d responded to memories, and so I started talking about us.” He laughed. “You know me, I can’t remember yesterday, and there I was remembering the first time I kissed her. I felt … something.”

“Juli, I feel honorbound to point out the disturbingly necrophilic overtones here.”

“Very funny.”

“So, what’s the deal? You want to stay longer, is that it?”

Julian was vaguely disappointed. He wished they could talk, just this once, about something that mattered. “She really loved me, Val. I guess that’s what I remembered most. How it felt to be loved.”

“Every woman you meet adores you.”

“That’s not the same thing, is it?” he asked softly.

Val was quiet, and Julian wondered if his agent had really listened this time. “No, I guess it’s not. So, what are you going to do with all this rampant emotion?”

That wasn’t something Julian had thought about. He’d been so busy feeling, he hadn’t bothered to think much. “Well, nothing, I guess. She’s married.”

“She’s what?”

Julian jerked the phone away from his ear. Val’s tone of voice was so high that dogs were probably barking all over town. “You heard me. She’s married … to the doctor who called me.”

Through the lines came the unmistakable sound of a cigarette firing up, then a whoosh of smoke exhaled into the receiver. “Does he love her?”

“Yes. Her hospital room is a shrine to their life together, and the nurse told me yesterday that he sits by her side for hours—every day since the accident. Sometimes he even sleeps with her.”

“So, he’s the real deal, cape and all. A goddamn superhero who loves his wife enough to call you—her first husband—to help wake her up. Jesus, the press’d have a field day.” Val fell quiet for a minute, an uncharacteristic display of thoughtfulness. “You’d better be very careful here, Jules.”

Julian knew Val was right. Kayla was a part of his past. She had a new life now, one that didn’t include him, but when he’d touched her, he’d remembered their love, and the remembering had made him feel … lonely.

“Julian? You’re coming back now, right? I mean, tomorrow you’re scheduled for Leno—”

Julian hung up. Hollywood and his career felt far away suddenly, a sepia-toned photograph next to the Technicolor memories of his first love.

He closed his eyes. Though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he found himself trolling through the pain of his youth …

His mother, Margaret Jameson Atwood Coddington, had said from the beginning that he was cursed, and it had appeared to be true. Eight months after Julian’s birth, his father had died. Margaret had wasted no time reminding her son that she had never wanted a child. She’d taught him to call her ma’am and to be seen but not heard. As soon as he was old enough, she’d shipped him away to boarding school in Switzerland, where he stayed while she worked her way through husbands and plastic surgeons and dinner parties. She sent him checks, but never letters.

At sixteen, he’d packed up what he needed in a backpack and headed to America, following a string of pointless jobs to Lubbock, Texas.

He had just turned nineteen when he glimpsed his future. Of course, it came in the form of a woman. He could still remember her stunning beauty. She picked him out as if he were a handbag she couldn’t pass up. I’ll take him, she said. He’d found out later that she was a famous actress in town to shoot a movie. Before he knew it, he was in the movie and then in Hollywood. He became an overnight sensation. He changed his name and changed his life. Val took him on as a client and constructed an elaborate fictional background that included two dead parents. It was Val who’d named him Julian True.

Julian had waited years for someone to find out the truth about him, but no one had.

Kayla was the only one who’d insisted on knowing him, the man behind the wrapping paper of fame. He’d told her everything except his real name.

“Jesus, now I’m thinking about my mother. Enough.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, making his unsteady way down the hallway to the bathroom.

He showered in the world’s smallest white fiberglass shower stall (it could have doubled as a coffin), then dressed in faded Levi’s and a black T-shirt. He grabbed the coat he’d bought yesterday—at that lightning rod of fashion, Zeke’s Feed and Seed. Shrugging into it, he flipped up the collar and left his room, hurrying downstairs. He pounded on his driver’s door. “Come on, let’s go!”

Lizbet popped out of the kitchen and met him in the foyer. She looked like she’d been dipped in flour and was ready for the fryer. “Good-bye, Mr. True. Will we see you for lunch?”

“I don’t know. Bye, Lizbet.” He opened the front door—and saw a dozen teenage girls standing on the sidewalk beyond the white picket fence. The second he appeared, they screamed his name.

It seemed that gossip spread pretty damned fast in Pleasantville.

He grinned lazily. “Well, hello, ladies. It’s good to see y’all.”

They crammed together, a centipede in cheerleader outfits and bare legs. Giggling.

He bounded down the steps. “What have we here, the Last Bend welcomin’ committee? Such pretty gals, too. I’m honored.”

“Will you sign my autograph book, Mr. True?” asked one of the girls. Her saucer-round cheeks were bright red.

“It’d be my great honor.” He pulled a pen out of his pocket and started signing autographs. The girls talked all at once, giggling, pushing one another toward him.

“Tonight’s the winter prom, Mr. True … I don’t suppose you’d like to stop by?” one of the girls asked, dissolving into a fit of laughter before she finished the sentence.

He planted a hand against his heart. God, he loved this. “Why, I’ll bet a girl as pretty as you already has a date.”

“Yeah, Serena,” someone yelled, “you’ve already got a date. How about going with me, Mr. True?”

He was about to answer the silly question when he saw her, off in the back of the group, smiling but not giggling, not asking for his autograph.

His jaded heart skipped a beat. Maybe two.

She was beautiful—Hollywood beautiful—this tall, thin, black-haired girl with eyes as soft as melted bittersweet chocolate. Midnight-black hair fell like a waterfall of ink down her back. It had to be her …

He spelled his name wrong and handed the piece of paper back to a red-haired girl who was grinning up at him, showing a mouthful of multicolored braces.

He pushed easily through the crowd and sidled up to the dark-haired girl. His heart was beating hard. “And who are you, darlin’?”

“I’m Jacey.”

Juliana Celeste. J.C.

His daughter. He was too stunned to speak. For the first time, she was real; not a faded image of a baby in a crib, but a young girl who’d grown up without him.

He didn’t mean to close his eyes, but somehow they slid shut. In the darkness, he saw an image from long ago, him and Kayla in bed together, a squawking bundle of baby tucked gently between them.

Isn’t she perfect? Kayla had said …

He opened his eyes and gazed down at his daughter.

“Mr. True?” She blushed prettily. “W-What are you doing in Last Bend?”

“I’m … uh … here … for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, visitin’ sick folks at the hospital.”

“My mom is sick. She’s in a coma. Maybe … maybe you could visit her.”

“I’d be happy to. Why, I’ll do it right now.”

“I’m here, Mr. True!” The driver’s buoyant voice lifted above the giggling.

The girls instantly drew back, showing a respect he hadn’t seen in Hollywood in a long time. All except Jacey. She stood there, staring up at him through eyes that were suddenly sad.

He looked down at her, trying to memorize her face for a moment longer, then he went to the limo. He refused to look back, but when he was in the car, he finally turned, gazing at her through the smoked glass.