Genuine Lies

“I’m becoming maudlin. Christ, I could use a drink, but I indulged earlier and the camera picks up every bloody swallow.” She sat again. Leaning back, she shut her eyes and fell silent so long, Julia wondered if she slept. “You’ve made a happy home here, Julia.”
    “It’s your home.”
    “Mmm. My house. It’s you who’s put flowers in the watering can, dropped your shoes on the floor, lit the candles on the mantel, put pictures of a smiling boy on the table by the window.” Her eyes opened lazily. “I think it must take a clever woman to make a happy home.”
    “Not a happy woman?”
    “But you’re not. Oh, content certainly. Satisfied with your work, fulfilled in motherhood, pleased with your abilities and willing to sharpen them. But happy? Not quite.”
    Julia leaned over to press the stop button on the recorder. Something told her this wouldn’t be a conversation she’d enjoy replaying later. “Why wouldn’t I be happy?”
    “Because you’re carrying around a wound, never quite healed, from the man who conceived Brandon with you.”
    The mild, interested tone of her voice sharpened like ice. “We’ve already discussed Brandon’s father. I hope I won’t regret that.”
    “I’m not discussing Brandon’s father, but you. You were used and set aside, at a very early age. That’s kept you from looking for another kind of fulfillment.”
    “It may be difficult for you to understand, but not all women measure fulfillment by the number of men in their lives.”
    Eve merely arched a brow. “Well, it seems I pierced the skin. You’re quite right. But the woman who measures it that way is as foolish as the one who refuses to admit that a certain man might enhance her life.” She stretched long and limberly. “Julia darling, the recorder is off. It’s only we two. Can you tell me, woman to woman, that you’re not attracted, intrigued, titillated with Paul?”
    After inclining her head, Julia folded her hands on herlap. “If I were attracted to Paul, would it be any of your business?”
    “Hell no. Who wants to know only her own business? You of all people understand the desperate need in all of us to know everyone else’s.”
    Julia laughed. It was hard to stay annoyed with such good-natured honesty. “I’m not a star, so fortunately my secrets are my own.” Because she was enjoying herself, she propped her feet on the coffee table. “The truth is, they’re not terribly interesting. Why don’t you tell me why you’re trying to hook up Paul and me?”
    “Because when I see you together, something strikes me as right. And knowing him much better than I know you at this point, I’m able to judge his reaction. You fascinate him.”
    “Then he’s easily fascinated.”
    “Quite the contrary. As far as I know—and I say so with all proper modesty—I’ve been the only woman to do so until you.”
    “Modesty, hell.” Lazily, Julia rubbed the bottom of her foot over an itch on her instep. “You don’t have a self-effacing bone in your body.”
    “Bingo.”
    Surrendering to a sudden craving for the brownies, Julia rose and went into the kitchen to fetch the plate heaped with the dark chocolate squares. She set them on the coffee table. Both women studied them warily, then dived.
    “You know,” Julia said with her mouth full, “he said the other day that I remind him of you.”
    “Did he?” Eve licked chocolate off her fingers, savoring. “Writer’s imagination? Or instinct?” At Julia’s puzzled look, she shook her head. “Christ, I have to get out of here before I eat another one.”
    “If you will, I will.”
    With no little regret, Eve resisted. “You don’t have to be shoved into costume in the morning. But let me leave you with one small thought. You asked if I would change anything in my relationship with Victor. The first and most important change I would make is so very simple.” She leaned forward, eyesintense. “I wouldn’t wait until the movie was finished. I wouldn’t waste a day, not an hour, not a moment. Take what you want, Julia, and damn caution. Live, enjoy. Feed ravenously. Or the biggest regret you’ll have at the end of your life is wasted time.”
    Lyle Johnson took a pull from a bottle of Bud and mechanically pressed the channel changer on the remote. It was a lousy night for television. He was stretched out on his unmade bed wearing only a pair of baby-blue net bikinis. That way, if he decided to get up and fetch another beer from