Nightchild

Chapter 63

"Nightchild", the song Nate had written for Blythe had been a great success and much to his chagrin, Eddie was pushing him to do a video for it. Though he'd recorded the song long before Blythe left, he wanted no part of it now and it was to argue that very point that Nate showed up at Vega's Dallas office.

"Oh, Mr. Stevens," the girl gushed and blushing, quickly closed her compact and lipstick, throwing them in the open top drawer of her desk. "Mr. Vega's out right now. I was just waiting to go to lunch."

"It's okay, Heidi. I'll make myself at home. When do you expect him?"

The secretary was obviously putout and made little attempt to hide it. "Who knows! He knew I had a lunch date at one and promised to be back..." She glanced at her watch. "It's one-thirty now. If I don't go, I might as well forget it."

Nate gave her a disarming grin. "Go ahead. I'll cover for you and watch the shop. I dare say I'm even capable of answering the phone. You go have fun. I'll handle Vega."

Heidi's face lit up. "Would you really...I mean, you wouldn't mind?" It shouldn't be too much longer. He's bound to remember. Oh, thanks, Mr. Stevens. I appreciate it, really!"

"My pleasure, believe me. Now, would you just get outa here before your date gives up on you altogether?"

She gave him a timid smile, her eyes shifted nervously as if she were afraid of doing the wrong thing. Then with sudden determination, she tossed her luggage sized handbag over her shoulder and whisked gratefully out.

Nate left the opulently appointed reception area and entered Eddie's office. Smiling, he was struck by the realization that he never ceased being amazed at Eddie Vega's extremes. The office was so laden with spindly antiques, gold and gilt, Ming vases, bronzes and art objects that it had gone beyond the subtle realm of tastefulness to overdone, right down to the throne-like chair behind the delicate red and gold Boulle desk. Nate scanned the rigid Chippendale chairs that graced the room and finally selected the throne. At least he could sit there without fear of it collapsing.

Once settled behind the desk, Nate took the phone off the hook, pushed the hold button and leaned back, hoping to catch a few winks before his manager returned when he noticed the drawer. He and Heathe had been curious about it ever since Eddie's purchase of the desk over four years ago. The drawer in question was in the center and had always remained conspicuously locked. But now, a key protruded from the gilded keyhole and Nate shook his head in an effort to repress the overpowering sense of curiosity that urged his hand toward it.

No, he thought, I can't just open it...invade his privacy. He wasn't that blatant. After all, there was probably nothing more than a stash of drugs and paraphernalia in it. It was common knowledge that Eddie couldn't go five minutes without taking something.

Nate leaned back again, this time closing his eyes, but sleep evaded him, his mind compulsively going back to the drawer. Again, he was drawn to it and his hand once more reached for the key. A sixth sense imbued him, spurring him on and he turned the key, releasing the drawer form it bonds. As it slid easily open, his eyes rested on a book lying alone to the right hand side at the bottom of the shallow drawer.

He hesitated then picked it up. The jacket glowed in the light of the desk lamp, bearing the title words, "Destiny Lost". With an inkling of foreboding, he let his eyes scan down the cover to the author's name...G.B. MacLarren. For minutes, Nate's world hung in stillness as he stared transfixed at the book. It was as though his own heart had ceased to beat and he felt a ghost from his past was in the room, flooding him with emotions he'd fought to keep buried.

Without thinking, he started to put the book back in the drawer. He wanted to be rid of it, rid of the memories that threatened to penetrate the wall he'd so carefully built. But no sooner did it touch the bottom than he scooped it up again, this time flipping it over with trembling fingers, knowing the author's customary picture would grace the back of the jacket. Sure enough, gazing back at him with mildly amused eyes was the face of his wife...ex-wife. It had been well over a year now since he'd seen her and his heart started to race as though it were trying to tear from his chest to lie bare and exposed for all the world to see and know, as he knew, that it had never mended and never would.