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The Tessarae Inn |
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Regrets In Jade Tones
CHAPTER 9 Téa was getting really impatient with Joanne. She was calling from Paris after all. Putting her on hold was bad form. Téa tapped the bright red fingernail of her index finger on her legal pad then hummed a few bars of the French national anthem but it came out sounding like she was hissing. “Sorry,” said Joanne somewhat breathless. “Layton called me into his office and you know what a bitch he can be.” Téa chuckled despite her irritation. Michael Layton was any associate’s worst nightmare. “Did you get the letter?” “No, that’s what I was trying to tell you. Queen Bessie got her hands on the last letter.” Oh, shit. Not, Queenie! Layton’s secretary was worse than he was and she had PMS on a constant basis to add a special crusty edge to her crabbiness. This was not good. “She sent the letter back to the mail room and directed them to return all mail addressed to you to the sender from now on.” “You didn’t go to Calvin yourself?” “Téa, I do have a life here, but I did talk to him.” “And what?” “He’s not putting his job on the line for you. He’s convinced that Queenie hates him and to tell you the truth, I’m not sure that he’s wrong.” “Where does this leave me?” “Taking care of your own problems for a change, I guess.” Bitch! “Sorry, I’m really busy, Téa, and truthfully I’m glad to be out from under this obligation. If you want to hear from him, send him your address in Paris.” “Thanks for nothing.” “I’ve done the best I can and I’ve got to go.” When Téa heard the clicking sound of the phone disconnecting she wanted to jump through the phone line and punch Joanne in the face. She gasped when she realized what she was feeling. She suddenly felt a chill and pulled her thick sweater tighter around her body. A slow aching sensation started in the pit of her stomach and spread to her chest. Regrets elevated to the point of separate interest, was what he wrote to her. She had those in spades. She opened her laptop and connected to the Internet. When she first came to Paris she threw away her address book. Paris was supposed to be a totally new start—no old ties but she was naïve to believe she could cut herself off from everyone. She did a search of the US white pages and found his phone number in a few minutes. Technology was a wonderful thing but it still hadn’t found a way to mend what is broken inside. She dialed the number listed. She didn’t dare give herself a chance to think. She had no idea of what she would say when he picked up. She debated whether she should just hang up the phone. Finally, the sound of a connection rushed into her consciousness. “The number you’ve reached is no longer in service…” She slammed the phone down. Was he trying to hide from her? Damn him. She could find him if she wanted to. She remembered most of the numbers and she wasn’t really concerned about who answered the phone. What was wrong with her? For months and months she had been hiding from him. Now she was upset because she couldn’t connect with him. How sick was this relationship? Not for the first time she wondered whether she should seek therapy, but Todd’s DID charade had soured her on that and for the life of her she couldn’t forgive the therapists for not knowing that he was faking. They should have known, shouldn’t they? They were professionals, while she was just the woman who said she loved him. She wiped her tears away and then glanced around the room. There had to be more to life than this. She stood up. Enough with the regrets. She walked over to the counter and started sorting the mail. Mostly bills and other nonsense. She stopped when she reached the square blue envelope. She checked the return address just to be sure but she recognized the handwriting. It was a letter from Carlotta. She was probably writing to brag about Antonio and Cris. She wasn’t interested in the exploits of the Vega brothers. Antonio knew where she was but he didn’t call or write for that matter. Why should she be interested in him? Carlotta was also probably writing to take jabs at her about Todd and she really wasn’t interested in that, either. What the hell did Carlotta know about anything? Téa tossed the letter in the trash then climbed back into the chair by the window and stared out into the darkness. ========== Todd shoved a stack of papers to one side of the old oak teacher’s desk, sat on the desktop and put his feet in the seat of the wood swivel chair that he estimated was at least sixty or seventy years old. Duke Wilson, at another desk on the other side of the room, worked merrily on his computer with his back to him every now and then whooping in glee or making whooshing sounds. Duke looked like a demented Santa Claus with his full white beard and long, wavy white hair. Duke was no one’s Santa Claus, though, but he was the best investigative reporter Todd had ever come in contact with. The man could dig up dirt on the Pope. He was also the only reporter at The Sun who had no respect for him or more importantly his money and was not afraid to tell him so to his face. Once they argued and Duke told him to take his paper and shove it up his ass and screw himself while he was at it. That was one of his less offensive comments. Todd liked him. He glanced around the room that served as Duke’s private office. It was an old storage room in the basement of the building. Duke had problems interacting with most of his colleagues, something Todd could relate to as well. The small room was stuffed so full of papers, folders, magazine, CDs, books and old newspapers that all it would take would be one spark to turn the whole place into an inferno, which was why the cigarette dangling out of Duke’s mouth gave him pause. Still Duke was not the kind of man who took easily to a Federal law restricting his freedom. Luckily Duke’s “office” was so far away from the rest of the offices and production rooms that he may as well have been outside. Duke liked his privacy and security. No one could claim to just be walking by his office. The only reason someone would be in this dark, dank corner of The Manning Building was because they were looking for Duke or trying to check out his office when he was not around. Either reason carried a high price. Duke swung around toward him. “I got what you want and probably most of what you need.” “I don’t have all day.” “You probably have a hell of a lot more time than that, Manny, but here goes. This Toni Reynolds person is formally named Antoinette Elizabeth Reynolds Coleman. The key word in that rather extended thread is Reynolds. Her father made money but her mother, Precious,…” “Precious?” “Her mother, Precious, did it the right way. She inherited it.” Todd got the message and glared at him. “Mother died and left everything to her husband but some people question the validity of that bequest thinking it was more likely that she left her assets to her only child, considering what a bastard her husband was.” “But?” “No one has ever been able to prove anything untoward, however. Besides, whatever assets Precious brought to the marriage Coleman increased at least tenfold and no one disputes that.” “So she’s rich?” “Has to be but there is no evidence of it in her lifestyle. Lived a modest if somewhat bohemian lifestyle in Chicago. No expensive house or expensive cars. I’m still checking but I suspect her father left the money to her in a trust that she cannot get to until a certain age or he left it to his granddaughter under much the same conditions. The man, it seems, was a major control freak. Knew how to use money to control people.” Todd ignored the dig. “How did RJ get hung up in this?” “As best I can figure, sweet, young, innocent Antoinette Coleman had one of those typical teenage good girl-bad boy flings with one Randall James Gannon who was promptly shipped off to prison for his trouble.” Todd grunted. No big surprise there. This was pretty much what he heard. “It probably will not surprise you to hear that some people suspect that Antoinette Reynolds’ father greased the tracks of the train that railroaded him into the big house.” Todd thought about what he would do if some juvenile delinquent was too close to Starr. Prison might be the least of it. “Do you think she’s dangerous?” “Dangerous? In what sense?” “In any damn sense.” “Well, Manny, she is what she claims to be. Her reputation as a photographer is solid—some people consider her brilliant. In fact, I’m surprised she agreed to work with your wife. She doesn’t need that kind of exposure and it may ruin her artistic cachet as those frilly type people might say.” “I hear a ‘But,’ however.” “From what I can gather she’s not a nice person. She was known as somewhat of a party girl for a few years and had an attitude and a mouth to match, or so the bees buzz. She also has a rep as difficult to work with—demanding, self-centered, pushy, and short tempered. On top of that, she never let Gannon know about either of his children. That tells you something about her character.” Todd chewed his inner cheek for a few seconds. Duke seemed impatient to get back to work, however. “That’s about it for Reynolds. You told me to give her priority. I am just about to start tracking Rick St. Jean.” “You know what? Forget it. I need to start trusting my wife’s judgment.” “You sure?” “Is there some reason why I have to repeat myself to you?” Duke chuckled. “All I’m saying is that I hope your insurance policy is paid up because those sound like famous last words to me.” Blair office space was beautiful and looked ten times better than his at The Sun, although he would never admit it to her. Someone with an extraordinary eye for design must have worked with her. The office managed to be light and airy yet still conveyed a sense of reliability and sturdiness at the same time. The color palette was soft South Western colors—sand, peach, blue. Her desk was a beautiful mission table. The wall to the right was dominated by a huge framed JStarr, Inc graphic, a large red J with white sparkling star, but on her desk there were only family pictures. There was the portrait of them taken after last Christmas and before the baby lie came out. There were individual pictures of Starr and Jack in sterling silver frames. And there was the picture of him with his hand stretch toward the camera and partially blocking him from view that was taken so many years ago. Where had she found it? He thought the picture was lost. He sat behind her desk and swiveled in the chair then bounced up and down. He smiled. The chair was sturdy enough to hold both of them. All he had to figure out was how to go about pulling her out of it so he could sit down then pull her back onto his lap in one smooth move. Why was he so
lonely for her lately? Why did he
have this sense that she was moving away from him?
Was it really about JStarr or was it just a delayed reaction to her
leaving and staying away for all those months? He couldn’t get that damn Train
song out of his mind. Tell me,
Blair, did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded and that
heaven is overrated? Tell me, did
you fall for a shooting star--one without a permanent scar? And did you miss me
while you were looking for yourself out there? “Todd?” He swiveled around and saw Toni Reynolds standing in front of the desk. “I thought that was you. Blair is out meeting with some sale representatives at Antoine’s” Antoine’s! Just the name of stupid boutique made his blood boil. Did Toni know what happened? Did she know how Blair just walked away from him? Toni sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and crossed her legs. He studied her for a few moments. Which one was she—Thelma or Louise? “Looks like things are going well for you here,” he said with a touch of acid in his voice. “JStarr is going to be a great success. Blair really is quite phenomenal.” “You think I don’t know that?” Toni stood up. “I can see that we are heading down the wrong path here. She should be back in a few minutes.” “I know where Blair is. I always know where Blair is.” “I’m glad to know you care enough to keep tabs.” He stood up and walked around the desk. “I’ve always cared about Blair.” Toni snorted quietly. Todd planted his feet and said “I didn’t keep her children from her for years and not even let her know they existed.” “Only because it was biologically impossible. But I’ll play. At least I didn’t marry my unethical lawyer and trash RJ in court just to take his child away from him. Your turn.” Todd glared at her. He had better things to do than spar with this bimbo. Todd’s phone rang and he answered it as he walked past Toni. “Mr. Manning?” “Yeah?” “Principal Hoffman, I’m afraid we have a problem. According to your limo driver, Starr is missing. We have not been able to reach her mother…” “What the hell do you mean?” “The limo driver had to move the car for a few minutes. When he returned, she was gone. We were hoping against hope that you or Mrs. Manning picked her up.” “What the hell are you saying?” “Maybe Mrs. Reynolds or Mr. Gannon picked them up.” “Why would…” “Jason Reynolds was supposed to ride home with Starr today. Your limo driver, unfortunately, has seen neither of them. But Mrs. Cole said…” Todd broke the connection and slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket. When he turned around and looked at Toni, she was obviously still irritated with him. Slowly he saw her face register curiosity then alarm. She finally focused her gaze squarely on his face. “What is it? What’s wrong?” “Where’s RJ?” “He’s in Philly making arrangements for Landa Larue to sing at Capricorn. Why?” “You’ve been here all afternoon?” “Yes. Tell me what’s going on.” “Starr and Jason are missing.” Toni’s right hand flew to her mouth and she bent slightly forward. “Starr is in danger and you better pray that this has nothing to do with you,” he yelled. Toni burst into tears. Todd watched her for a few seconds with cool detachment then walked out of the office. Chapter
10 Regrets In Jade
Tones FAN FICTION
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