Public Secrets

old, I’ve done everything he’s asked of me. Not just out of gratitude, Johnno, you know that, but because I love him more than anyone in the world. I can’t go on being a child for him, being content in whatever safe little box he’s picked out for me. You wanted something, and so did he. You went for it. Well, I want something, too.”
She walked over to her suitcase, popped it, then took out a portfolio. The nerves had faded. The energy hadn’t. “These are my pictures. I’m going to try my hand at making a living from them, and I’m going to go to school here, to learn how. I’m going to share an apartment with Marianne. I’m going to make friends, and go out to clubs and walk in the park. I’m going to be a part of the world for a change instead of standing right on the edge looking in. Please understand.”
“How unhappy were you?”
She smiled a little. “I couldn’t begin to explain.”
“Maybe you should have.”
“I tried.” She turned away a moment. “He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. I only wanted to be with him, with you. Because that wasn’t possible I tried to be what he wanted. That night in Martinique.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. Even Marianne didn’t know what she had seen. “Things changed for me, and for Da. I finished out what I’d started, Johnno. I owed him that—so much more than that. But this is for me.”
“I’ll talk to him for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. He’s liable to take one leap over the Atlantic and lop off my head.” Idly, he opened the portfolio. “You always were clever,” he murmured. “Both of you.” He nodded to a sketch of Devastation that hung on the east walk “Told you I was going to frame it.”
With a cry of pleasure Marianne leaped up. She had drawn it on the evening of their graduation celebration. The house Brian had rented on Long Island had been full of people. Never one to be shy, Marianne had ordered all four men to pose. “I didn’t think you meant it. Thanks.”

“I suppose you’re going to make your way drawing pictures while Emma snaps them.”
“That’s right. It’ll be a bit hard to be starving artists with the inheritance my grandmother left me, but we’re going to give it a shot.”
“Speaking of starving, have you eaten?”
“I had a hot dog at the airport while I was waiting for Emma’s flight to get in.” Marianne grinned. “It wasn’t enough.”
“I suppose we should eat then, before I call Brian.” Johnno came from around the bar. “It may be our last meal.”
“Hey, Johnno. Couldn’t you sleep?” Both girls turned at the sound of another male voice. They watched the man, the truly gorgeous man, come down the curving stairs in nothing but a pair of jogging shorts. “I wondered where you’d gone off to. Oh.” He paused, combed his fingers through dark, tousled hair, and smiled at the girls. “Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”
“Luke Caruthers, Emma McAvoy and Marianne Carter.” Johnno stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweats. “Luke writes for New York magazine.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “He lives here.”
“Oh,” was all Emma could think of to say. She’d seen enough of intimacy, envied it enough, to recognize it. “Hello.”
“So you’re Emma. I’ve heard so much about you.” He smiled, holding out his hand. “Somehow I expected a little girl.”
“Not anymore,” she managed.
“And you’re the artist.” He offered his dazzling smile to Marianne. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.” She tilted her head, smiled back, and hoped she looked sophisticated.
“I was just offering the ladies a meal. They’ve been traveling.”
“A midnight snack sounds good to me. But let me whip it up. Johnno’s cooking is poison.”
Marianne stood a moment, torn between fascination and middle-class shock. “I’ll—ah—I’ll give you a hand.” She cast a quick look at Emma and fled behind Luke to the kitchen.
“I guess we came at a bad time,” Emma began. “I didn’t realize you had a … roommate.” Blowing out a breath, she sat on the arm of a chair. “I had no idea, Johnno. I really had no idea.”

“Rock and roll’s best-kept secret,” he said lightly, but his hands were clenched in his pockets. “So would you like me to help you make an excuse, and reservations at the Waldorf?”
Her cheeks heated as she looked down at her hands. “No, of course not. Does Da know—of course he does,” she said quickly. “Stupid