Part 167 (2/2)

”Tonight. I took him to the airport.”

The relief had come in waves.

”I sat in the parking lot and cried like a baby for a half hour after

his plane took off. Stupid. He'll be back.” She had whirled then to

throw her arms around Emma. ”Emma, he's going to ask me to marry him. I

know it.”

”Marry him?” Relief had skidded into panic. She had remembered the feel

of his hands on her, bruising her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”But, Marianne, he's -how-”

”It was the way he said goodbye, the way he looked at me when he gave me

the necklace. Christ, Emma, it took everything not to beg him to take

me with him. But I want him to send for me. I know he will. I know he

will.”

Of course, he hadn't.

Marianne had sat by the phone every night, had rushed home from cla.s.ses

day after day to check for messages. There hadn't been a word from him.

Three weeks later, the first inkling of why had come in via the

airwaves. There had been Blackpool, in his trademark black leather,

escorting a young, sultry brunette backup singer to some Hollywood bash.

The first clips ran on television. Then the tabloids dug in.

Marianne's first reaction had been to laugh it off. Her next had been

to try to reach him. He had never returned her calls. People ran a

feature on him and his hot new love. Marianne was told that Mr.

Blackpool was vacationing in Crete. He'd taken the brunette with him.

Emma rose and walked to the studio window. Before or since she'd never

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