Chapter 15

For the following three hours Jack Michaels sat hunched on the couch, reading Seed of Hate, letting the truth of the tale sink in-that Gail had been the villain all along, and that Myra, who in the book was Gynthia-had loved the hero, himself, all along. In the book Myra was pushed off a cliff by ornery Gail and died. Jack snapped the book closed and frowned. Of course, this was a wild, concocted tale, but the part where the hero married the sister through the latter's sinister machinations bore a ring of truth ... Yes, his agile legal brain put all the facts into place-Gail-coming as a messenger, taking over with a vengeance, permitting Jack neither time nor thought to communicate with the faraway bride he, Jack, had foresaken so-to-speak at the altar.

Well, he arose, flexing his muscles, it was not too late. He would, he must see Myra and explain. As he now thought of the tall movie idol into whose eyes Myra had gazed worshipfully, he felt sick. Could his sweet Myra have changed that much to fall for an empty heel? The novel revealed to him that she possessed a keen insight into human nature. Yes, he had never really known Myra, had underrated her mentality.

He walked to the table and poured himself a stiff drink-a thing he'd never before done in the morning-he would see her, and she must hear him out! How to contact Myra? He phoned Lance Studios, was shifted from one department to the other, talked to secretaries, publicity departments. More secretaries, with no result. All these calls made him late for Tom Sweeney's office.

Tom sat behind his desk, watching Jack with furrowed brow.

In spite of a boring headache Jack concentrated on the business at hand. Later, as they sat in the semi-gloom of a paneled booth in Bob's Cellar moistening dry throats with martinis, Jack wondered whether to confide in Tom. But then, what could he lose? He had lost all when he lost Myra.

"I'm a sweet father confessor. Tell me all. I'm like a grave," encouraged Tom.

Over his second drink, avoiding Tom's eyes, Jack sketched the story of his marriage and the way it had practically come to an end. "At least as far as I'm concerned it's over. I ordered Gail to be gone when I return."

"Quite a story, and you think, or hope-to give it a happy ending? Meaning, you get die girl. The right one?"

"Meaning just that." Jack put down his fork. "I tried to contact Myra through Lance studios." ' "Waste of time. Now, as it happens, I think Mary can help."

"Your wife-how?"

"I told you she's chummy with a lot of important people. Also, well liked. And that includes some of the movie crowd. If I'm right, she mentioned something about a party Eudora Gibbs is throwing. You know, that busty columnist. It's day after tomorrow. I was going to invite you. Everybody will be there who's anybody. That should include the people from Lance Studios."

"Do you think Myra will attend?"

"If that Howell man does, she will. You've got competition there."

"I know." Jack closed his eyes and felt a stab of jealousy. "He's quite attractive-on the outside."

"He seems to have no difficulties with the ladies," quoth Tom. "But then, you were her first flame, and that counts in any woman's life." He pursed his meager lips. "Of course, she may have gone Hollywood-so many do."

"She's hardly that kind," retorted Jack.

But as Jack stood in Eudora Gibbs' living room door, Friday night, his eyes trained on the little group in the far corner by the buffet-the island representing Lance Studios in a sea of guests-he knew that he would face a new, different Myra.

That goddess with the frozen smile on the overly rouged lips, a creature as brittle and artificial as the false lashes that gave the eyes a starry brilliance, had nothing in common with the sweet, natural girl his mind loved. He was glad now he had Ninon's tender, exciting lovemaking to fall back on.

"Hello Jack," Tom Sweeney was by his side, patting him on the back. "Quite a crowd. Want to meet some celebrities? Over there, that girl with the rapacious mouth and the luscious figure, that's Nancy Dumont, US version of Bardot. Interested?"

"She's not my type, Tom. Besides, she is surrounded." Tom followed Jack's eyes that were fixed on die willowy figure of Myra Manners, all clothed in gold.

"She is a beauty, Jack. How about being reintroduced to her? Come on."

But someone tugged at Tom's sleeve who disappeared in the crowd. Jack was on his own. He took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter, drained it, and felt up to anything. He decided to bide his time; he preferred to face Myra alone. He sat on a corner settee, keeping her golden figure in view.

Two rather plain girls stopped, their tanned backs to him. "Isn't he divine?" said the taller one.

"Just another hunk of male," quoth her plump friend. "I don't want any part of Ted Howell; he's vain as a peacock, rude, and ruthless with women."

"I don't care," sighed her friend. "I'd give anything to be in Myra Manner's place. She's got him hog-tied."

"You mean, right now he's sleeping with her. But that won't last. He changes women like shirts." They wandered off, leaving Jack burning. Was that blond ox sleeping with his woman? He arose and threaded his way through the crowd, approaching Myra who stood, champagne glass in hand, next to a grinning Ted Howell who was whispering something into her ear.

"But really, Ted," she whispered. Now her eyes grew frightened. The glass dropped from her fingers making a tinkling sound as it splintered to bits on the terrazzo floor.

"Jack," she whispered, standing motionless, the violet eyes shocked.

"Myra-what a wonderful surprise." Jack stepped up quickly, took her cold hands in his and kissed her on the cheek, ignoring Ted Howell who watched the scene with raised brows.

Slowly, Myra came back to the present. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips trembled. "Jack, what brings you here?" she asked lamely, trying to recover her equilibrium. Her face hardened and she peered over Jack's shoulder. "Is Gad with you?"

"I'm here on business-alone. And after reading Seed of Hate I'm a wiser and very sorry man. Could you spare me one hour of your valuable time? I have a lot of explaining to do."

"It's a bit late, don't you think? Let's forget the past. I have."

"But I never have-forgotten you. A criminal is not denied his day in court, Myra." Ted Howell spoke up. "Want me to take you home, Myra? It's getting late. That is, if your friend doesn't mind."

"Ted, meet Jack Michaels. No use getting flustered. After all, he's family-he married my sister."

The two men shook hands without enthusiasm.

"And, being family, it's in order I bring you up to date, Myra." He took her arm and pulled her away. "If you'll excuse us, Howell."

"Don't be late on the set, Myra. Eight o'clock." Howell's voice was hard as steel.

On the white flagstone terrace the air was delightfully cool. They were alone. Jack pulled up two chairs. "Better sit down, Myra. I have some explaining to do."

She turned her head and searched his face. "You haven't changed too much, Jack. You look prosperous. Marriage with Gail hasn't harmed you." Her tone was cutting.

"That's where you're wrong. I came here alone-on business. And when I get back there will be no Gail ... I read Seed of Hate-it opened my eyes."

"It's just a story," she said, looking into the blue-black night.

"It is a true story, with Gail as the villain she is and me-as the sucker."

Her violet eyes inspected him; her voice sounded indifferent. "For a sucker you look pretty contented. And prosperous. Is Gail sick? I can't imagine her foregoing a trip to the glittering city."

"Didn't you hear me? When I get back there will be no Gail ... We're all washed up."

"That's too bad. But you don't seem too unhappy about it. Who's the next Mrs. Michaels? I guess you have her waiting...."

Jack took the white hand and pressed the slim fingers. "She's sitting right next to me ... I'm holding her hand." His voice came out choked, his face was flushed.

"Don't be silly." She pulled her hand away. "Once, a long time ago, I would have listened to your words. Now I know better. You presume a lot. I have grown up-one does. I'm not the trusting silly girl you knew, Jack. Yes, I should be grateful to you, for without the experience you provided Seed of Hate would have never been written. That Gail disappointed you is too bad-but not surprising. Better luck next time." She arose and walked toward the French doors.

Jack rushed after her, but he was too late. He saw her leaving the party on Ted Howell's arm.

Tom Sweeney found him brooding in a corner. "Well, talked to your dream girl? I guess she won't listen. Too bad. Come on, let's leave."

During the ride they were silent, but before leaving the car at his hotel, Jack patted Tom's back.

"Thanks Tom, very nice party. And, will you do something for me, Tom."

"Just mention it."

"No matter how, get me Myra's address and private phone number."