Serpentine Journey

Inc.

Tye dealt him a hand face down. He raised an eyebrow. He flipped over one card, an ace.

You could have a winning hand there, she added.

He smirked a bit and made a show of turning up a corner on the rest of the cards. Looks like it might be worth backing.

Tye dealt herself a hand and watched his eyes as she turned over a five and a seven.

I think I’ve got you beat, lady. He started to reach for the cards.

Not unless they’ve changed the rules. Three aces don’t take a straight, the last time I checked.

All I see is a five and a seven. That doesn’t say a straight to me.

Tye put one finger on the back of the next card. Six, she said and flipped it over to show the six of spades. Eight. She tapped the next one and turned it up. The eight of diamonds fell beside the six. And the nine of hearts. She added it to the pile.

You always win? Johnny asked, one pale eyebrow rising above a skeptical eye.

Usually. She gathered the cards. Always, if the cards are marked. These might as well have neon lights on them.

You cheat at anything besides cards?

Depends on the stakes.

Johnny leaned back in his chair and took the drink Brisket handed him. The grey eyes were focused now, alert and looking at Tye with narrow regard. Who the hell are you, lady, and what do you know about marked decks?

Praise for Fleeta Cunningham

"It has been a very long time since I read a Western/Historical Romance as well written and enjoyable as MALE-ORDER CATALOGUE. And despite the amusing title, the book is not a romantic comedy; there’s serious romance, mystery, and suspense along the way."

~Sensuous Reviews

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I enjoyed the quick wit and lightheartedness of this story and am hoping to learn more about Matt and Lavinia in future stories. This is a great read with a small town feel and lots of chuckles throughout.

~Coffeetime Romance

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Well-crafted story…exciting plot…[and] interesting characters. … I am now determined to read the rest of the series.

~The Romance Studio (5 Stars)

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"One of the most fantastic books [HELP WANTED: WIFE] I’ve read this year…grabbed my attention from the first sentence… A memorable, entertaining, and well-written story… An author of increasing distinction who will never disappoint her readers."

~Long and Short Reviews (5 Stars)

Serpentine Journey

by

Fleeta Cunningham

Discerning Hearts, Book Three

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Serpentine Journey

COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Fleeta Cunningham

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc. Design

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Mainstream Historical Rose Edition, 2017

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1496-9

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1497-6

Discerning Hearts, Book Three

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To my three Patricias—Patty, Trish, and Pat—

for love, friendship, and patience.

And with thanks to Ken Page,

Broadway’s original Old Deuteronomy,

for taking an hour to talk to me about CATS

and the world backstage.

Facts are his, errors are mine.

Chapter 1

Dear Ferrel,

You know how much having you here meant to Laurie and the boys. I don’t think they could have made it without you. I know I couldn’t have managed without your help. This has been a trying time for all of us, but I honestly don’t know how Laurie faces raising her children without Andy. Bert and I do what we can; it’s not enough. Nothing can make it easier for her. Laurie’s decided to go on with medical school in the spring semester. It’s what Andy wanted her to do, and it will get her mind off other things.

Hope to see you soon. Love, Meg

****

Tye watched the full-length mirror that covered the opposite wall. She stretched, flexed, and turned to repeat the series in the other direction. Stretching exercises were boring as hell, but they kept her muscles firm and her reflexes primed. She hadn’t missed her hour at the barre in years. She wouldn’t skip this evening, even if it had been a grueling day of dress rehearsals and that old injury was acting up.

Now, think like a cat, she commanded herself. She was convinced it was the feline quality in her dancing that had captured the small featured role in Cats. This time tomorrow she’d be at the theater, preparing the elaborate makeup that turned her face into that of an exotic, sable-toned mystery cat. She pivoted and put her palms flat on the floor, walking her hands out from her feet until she arched like a stretching cat. She straightened and slowly dropped into a split, attempting to keep the sinewy grace of a Siamese.

Tye? Are you home?

She wiped her face with a frayed towel. Ferrel’s home? What is he doing here? She was certain he wasn’t due home till tomorrow. She ignored the voice and concentrated on the opening movements of her solo. I have to work out that cramp in my leg before tomorrow. Whatever is on his mind can wait. Ferrel came in, his reflection watching hers in the mirror. He wanted to talk. She could see the signs. Tye turned back to the barre.

What is it, Ferrel? You know how it destroys my concentration when you interrupt my practice. Feeling the tightness begin to loosen, she kept moving, lifting first one leg to the barre and pressing her face to her knee, then turning to the other side. Whatever Ferrel wanted, it couldn’t be as important as taking care of that cramp. If she stopped, her muscles would cool and tighten, making things worse. He knew that. She’d had trouble enough with her leg ever since she fell on the basement stairs while they lived in Boston. She couldn’t risk a pulled tendon that would keep her out of the show now.

Ferrel was still talking. So I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. Maybe for the week. It depends on what needs to be done.

Going out of town again, that much got through to Tye. So what? He’s out of town most of the time now anyway. No big deal…unless he means today. He doesn’t mean right now, of course. He wouldn’t dare leave now. Not when I have my first real break. Not when I’m set to open in Cats tomorrow night. She listened to his disjointed discourse for a moment. That’s what it sounded like. He was leaving immediately.

Ferrel, are you telling me you won’t be here tomorrow night? You won’t be in my audience? No, he couldn’t mean that; he’d never missed one of her openings, no matter how small the part or how difficult for him to get there.

I’m sorry, Tye. You know there’s nothing else in this world that would keep me from being out front for you tomorrow night.

"You have to be there. I need for you to be there." Tye looked at him in exasperation. He knew she counted on his presence. Lord knew, he wasn’t much use for anything else except making sure she had enough money for voice and dance coaches and a nice place to live. It wasn’t as if the fire still burned that bright, or they got the flames fanned all that hot any more.

He caught her shoulders and gave her an imploring look. You’ve got to understand, Tygre. Andy was my oldest friend, closer to me than my own brother. I have to go. Laurie and the boys are in pretty rocky shape. You can imagine what this has done to them.

"What has? Whatever are you talkin’ about, Ferrel? You’re not makin’ good sense." Though she’d struggled with voice coaches to lose the Southern undertones, they still surfaced in moments of agitation.

Ferrel stepped back, swiped his hand across his forehead, and drew a breath. I guess I’m not being very clear, am I? Can you stop for a minute? Let me tell you what’s happened. He picked up her limp towel and wiped his face. It’s Andy. There was an accident. Collision with a truck. He didn’t make it, didn’t have a chance. Ferrel looked into the mirror and beyond the reflection in its glassy surface. Andy’s dead. Just like that, he’s gone. Ferrel choked on the words, gripped the barre, and shuddered. He’s gone, Tye. I can’t take it in yet. I talked to him just a little time back, wished him and Laurie a happy anniversary. Meg called all over the country yesterday and this morning, leaving messages for me. I’ve been making travel arrangements since I talked to her. She’s at the end of her endurance dealing with the details and trying to be with Laurie.

Ferrel, honey, that’s too bad. Tye pulled his attention back to her. It is really terrible, but it’s not like you can actually do anything. I mean, Mary Margaret’s there. And you know the families are coming. What can you do that they can’t? She ran a lingering hand down his chest and toyed with his belt buckle. You’ve forgotten about tomorrow night, and I promise there’s plenty you can do here.

He pushed her away, almost absently, and turned. No, Tye, Andy’s the best friend I have. We’ve been like brothers; Laurie’s boys are going to need someone to turn to.

But I open tomorrow night. You have to be there. We’ve been waiting for this for years. It’s what I’ve been working for all along. My big chance. You can’t leave just as I’ve made it to Broadway.

"Cats is going to run forever, and you’ll be fabulous. Knock their socks off. He opened the bedroom door. I’ll see you in the show, Tygre-lily, just not tomorrow night. I have to be in Corinthia Springs. I have to be there for Laurie and Meg and the boys."

Tye watched his retreating back. He couldn’t let her down like this. He knew how opening night affected her, the nausea and the nerves. She needed his enthusiastic support out there beyond the footlights, being thrilled by every move she made and every note she sang, not at some weepy funeral in Corinthia Springs.

Sugar, don’t you think you’re being just a little intrusive? she asked as she followed him into the bedroom. That worthless girl didn’t come to clean today. Tye noted the general disarray in the bedroom in passing. The tumbled bed and piles of discarded garments didn’t bother her, but Ferrel liked to have things orderly when he came home. A little too impulsive, I mean.

How’s that? Ferrel stopped emptying soiled clothes out of his bag to look up at her.

Well, you know how big Laurie’s family is. They’ll all be coming, and Andy’s folks, too. Laurie’s bound to feel pretty rotten, what with all those people around, after everything she’s been through. She’d probably like it better if you came later, maybe just for the services, even. She’s got too much on her mind to be able to spend any time with you. Meg will look after the boys, don’t you think? Her and that black mammy of hers? It’s better to wait a few days till all the arrangements are made.

I don’t think so, Tye. Meg sounded like she’d been hit by a truck herself when I talked to her. I’m staying at Bert’s place, so Laurie won’t have me under foot. I’ve got to get down there. Things are too rough for the girls right now. He checked the table beside the bed for his spare reading glasses and dropped them into his pocket. I’ve got to hurry. I need to be at the airport in an hour.

And I need you here, Tye insisted. You know how hard opening nights are for me.

Listen, love, I’ll be with you. My heart and my thoughts will be right on stage with you. But the rest of me has to be in Corinthia Springs.

Tye let the tears well up. I can’t believe Laurie and her little boys mean more to you than my shot at Broadway. I don’t know how I can ever get into all that heavy makeup or face a cast that’s half hostile without you there.

Ferrel piled clean socks and underwear into his bag and opened the closet, looking for fresh shirts. They don’t mean more, Tye. He turned, searching through suits hanging on one side. Try to understand. I’m not putting you aside. You’ll be terrific, and the cast will know how good you are the minute you step on stage. This is something I have to do. I have to be there.

I guess I’ll just let Philby have your ticket tomorrow night, then. He can take me to the theater, too, and maybe to supper after the show. At least he’ll be around. Tye expected some reaction from Ferrel. He despised the other man, an older man who used his considerable wealth and influence to attract aspiring actresses.

That’s the first time I ever thought Philby Potter might have some use. Ferrel barely looked up as he finished packing. He’ll be thrilled to be there opening night, and with him cheering you on, you won’t even miss me.

Tye looked at him in disbelief. Even the rivalry with Philby didn’t deter him. If you go, I might not be here when you come back. I might just go home with Philby.

Ferrel came back, set the bag down, and kissed her gently. Tygre-cat, you’re nervous as hell about this opening. I know you don’t mean that. It’s just opening night jitters. You don’t have to get yourself in such a stew. You’ll be the talk of the show. I’ll call you as soon as I can. Now if Philby wants to go with you tomorrow night, you’d probably better let him. He’s not much use, as far as I can see, but you say he makes you laugh. That’s good for calming the jitters. He kissed her again. Got to run, love. The taxi’s coming. I’ll be in touch.

Don’t bother! Tye snapped as the door closed. Her hand found a cosmetic jar on the dresser, and she heaved it the length of the hall. The white missile connected with the doorframe with a splintering crash, dribbling an oily film down the cream paintwork.

Oh, damn! That was my new jar of wrinkle cream.

****

You heard about a certain hot young actress O.D.ing, didn’t you? Her romantic leading man, who’s a bit long in the tooth for heartthrob roles, found her with a disco Don Juan and cut her out of his new production. Poor girl went for the sleeping pills. ‘Nervous exhaustion’ is the word in the press, but everyone knows the real cause. She’ll survive, of course. Potter grinned maliciously over his Kahlúa and cream. Gossip made his narrow eyes sparkle.

I hadn’t heard, Tye murmured, less interested in Philby’s story than her own aggravation. She tasted her white wine. Too sweet. Philby acknowledged a passing group. She noticed his black ponytail now showed a tiny white streak mingling with the dark swath down the back of his pale blue suit.

A nasty little smile touched his thin lips as he turned back to Tye. Teeth, almost canine in their sharpness, gleamed briefly beneath a thread-thin moustache. So Ferrel took the first plane south and left you to face opening night by yourself.

Damn. Philby takes everything as a come-on. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested a drink. It’s a funeral, his oldest friend; they’ll have all kinds of help. He knows I need him here, but his plane left two hours ago.

Potter drained the bottom of his drink and sucked in an ice cube. Poor Tygre needs a friend. I’ll be there, star. He grinned suggestively. I’ll be there, and I’ll be glad to help you ease your nerves before and celebrate after. He rattled the ice in his glass. Dress rehearsal go okay?

Tye shook her head. I think I may have pulled a muscle. I didn’t get warmed up completely, and I have an old injury that bothers me if I’m not careful. Some ice packs and heat better take care of it, or they’ll have a limping cat tomorrow night.

Maybe I can help. Potter dug into a dagger-sharp pocket and pulled out a brown vial. These come from Mexico. They’ve got good stuff down there. They’ll relax that muscle, all right.

Tye pushed the bottle away. I think it’s a pretty minor strain. Ice and heat usually work. And I’ll wrap it for support.

You know best, but remember, all you have to do is say the word.

I’m fine for now, anyway. Tye gave the vial a second look. I may need something after the show, but I don’t want to take the edge off my performance.

Philby covered the bottle with one skeletal hand as the waiter came by. They ordered another drink and kicked the idea of dinner around for half of a third. Since nobody’s home waiting for you, you could come back to the penthouse with me, Philby suggested. The houseboy could do an omelet or something for us. Get you off the leg so you don’t make it worse, have dinner without getting it yourself. You can even use the whirlpool if you want. He grinned and added in a sly tone, I have a new painting you ought to see, too.

Tye recalled the cocktail party Philby Potter had hosted after a recently closed show. As always, Tye found an audience, so she enjoyed herself. The tasteless décor and paintings had barely caught her notice. Ferrel, on the other hand, found the graphic collection offensive and said so, probably earning Potter’s undying enmity in the process.

Spend the evening with Philby? Tye considered the suggestion. It would serve Ferrel right if she did. She didn’t want to be alone tonight, not with the tensions of an opening to plague her. She did need to stay off her feet as much as possible. And where was Ferrel right now, when she really needed him? Headed off to be with Laurie and Meg and their swarm of shrieking kids, that’s where. One a weepy widow, dull as a stick, and the other a prissy bitch who thought everything about life was found in a book. Boring, boring, boring. Ferrel went running off to be with them when they had all kinds of help, leaving poor Tye, with the biggest opening in her life, all alone and hurting. Why not go with Philby? At least he was amusing.

A new painting and an omelet? That sounds better than an empty apartment and a can of soup. Let’s go.

Philby casually dropped a large bill on the table and pushed back his chair. As they headed for the exit, Tye told herself he might be entertaining for a little while, but still, he was so thin he looked like an animated stick figure drawing. His sharp-edged profile reminded her of a hawk, slitted eyes always on the lookout for prey, even when he seemed relaxed.

With no other guests in the penthouse, Tye could see the full effect of the décor. The furniture, anatomically shaped pieces in foam and upholstered in living color, stood boldly against thick, grey carpet. Every wall displayed art work that verged on the pornographic, even to Tye’s unperceptive eye. Small pots emitted fumes of musky incense. The New Wave music in the background only added to the unsettling atmosphere.

So what do you think? Eye-catching, isn’t it?

I was here before, remember? But it’s unique and much easier to appreciate without all those other people, Tye conceded.

This is the new one, Philby continued, leading her around the room. She limped beside him to the far wall strategically recessed to accommodate a dining nook. He flipped switches to turn on canister lights in the ceiling. The sexual act caught on canvas was anatomically impossible, Tye felt sure. The colors, primitive and harsh, threw the figures into garish relief.

Pretty potent, isn’t it?

That describes it. Potent. She turned to look at the smaller paintings on the side wall. They were equally explicit though less obvious because they were softer in coloring and had less light. Where do you find these?

I have contacts in several of the galleries. I’m getting something of a reputation as a collector.

I’m sure you are, sugar. These would make a name for you just about anywhere. Wonder if he’s aware of all the less flattering things people say about him? The other names he’s made for himself?

How about another drink? I have some really good vodka, special import.

Tye was still feeling the effects of that third drink. I thought we were going to have dinner. I need that omelet more than I need another drink, and I need to get my feet up. This leg is getting pretty painful.

The boy seems to be out somewhere. Guess we’ll have to fend for ourselves. Philby didn’t look disconcerted in the least.

Exasperated at his obvious deception, Tye folded her arms and glared. Send out. Call for Chinese or pizza if you have to.

I suppose I could do that. Philby started for the darkened doorway at the edge of the dining alcove with evident reluctance. Just a minute.

Tye eased onto the soft red suede covering an enormous pair of lips and found it surprisingly comfortable. Ash trays shaped like detached body parts decorated small tables, and terra cotta pieces, crudely sexual, stood in corners around the floor. A flesh-toned cushion of suggestively rounded crescents mooned her. Tye stuffed it under her sore leg to ease the cramped muscle.

Dinner is on the way, her host announced from the doorway. Now, how about that drink while we are waiting? That special vodka?

I suppose it won’t hurt, if dinner is on the way. She kicked off her flat-heeled shoes and settled deeper into the sofa. She was sure she could stretch out one drink until the food was delivered. In a moment, she heard the crackle of ice from the room beyond. Just a little one, though. I can’t afford to get buzzed tonight. I have to be sharp tomorrow.

Yeah, your big chance. I’m glad I was able to put a word for you into the right ear. He handed her a tall glass, chipped ice frosting the outside, a smaller glass nesting inside.

I didn’t know you did that, Tye said, surprised at his admission. When word spread that Cats was jumping the Atlantic to open in New York’s Winter Garden Theater, Tye had badgered everybody in the business for a shot at an audition. Her agent said she didn’t have a chance. Suddenly she’d gotten the call from him to come for a tryout. Tye thought it was her persistence. It appeared Philby’s backing had somehow influenced the opportunity, too.

Just my way of keeping the stage filled with the best talent to be found, Philby assured her. How do you like the vodka? Pretty unique?

Tye tasted the small portion in the glass. It was so cold she could barely find the flavor. It had a faint aftertaste of something—licorice, she thought. It’s different, and I don’t think I could form a permanent taste for it. She sipped again. But it’s interesting, when a little of the chill is off.

Tye felt a distinct tingle from the liquor, but just as she pushed her glass aside, their food arrived. Over their Chinese dinner, Philby continued his malicious, funny stories of actresses and productions and disasters he’d known. His tales of scandal and inside gossip made her laugh helplessly, especially when he started in on people she knew and had worked with.

So the stage manager walked in and caught them in the act, Philby concluded.

What did he do? Rumor had spread about the two people involved. Philby had the inside story.

He just stood there till they finally tore their attention away from each other. And then he said, ‘I suppose we can salvage the costumes,’ and walked out.

Tye shook with silent laughter. Philby, how did you hear about it? No one knew what really happened. The cast didn’t say a word.

We have our sources. His smug smile didn’t invite more questions.

I’m glad I called you. This is what I needed. A relaxing evening with a friend to unwind and ease the tensions. I can get loose enough to be able to dance, I think. If I can get the soreness out, I’ll be fine.

He dropped the cartons from their dinner into a brown paper bag. Glad I could help. You have a special presence. I could see ‘star’ written all over you the first time you stood behind the footlights.

Really? Tye, always ready to hear her own talent praised, leaned back into the suede folds of the lip-shaped sofa and reached for an eyeball cushion to add to the one under her leg.

Philby took the chair beside her sofa. Tye giggled, realizing the chair, a white leather hand that cupped the occupant in a curved palm and gave the visitor the finger, was Philby’s personal statement to the world. She hid her laughter in her glass of vodka. She finished the drink and let Potter pour another for her.

Tye was enjoying herself. Philby’s funny stories seemed endless, and he had a wicked way of telling them. She sighed comfortably, sipping her drink. Philby shifted on his personal throne, the upraised finger waving as if making a statement.

Conversation began to lag as Potter finished his drink and poured another. He watched her. Tye suddenly knew how a bird might feel having caught the attention of a hungry cobra. Philby wasn’t nearly as safe and manageable as she’d thought. Clearly he was about to kiss her. She read the intent in his eyes. The creepy chill at the back of her neck grew as he put his glass aside and continued to study her. He switched from his chair to the sofa where she reclined. One hand trailed through her short curls and down the side of her face. It was so thin she could feel the bones, like being caressed by a skeleton. He lowered his face to hers, his thin mouth pressing over hers, leaving a smear of saliva. Sharp little teeth grated across hers, the grainy thread of his moustache grazing her lips. It was unpleasant, even intrusive, but it wouldn’t have been disastrous if Philby hadn’t caught the pedestal of his chair with one narrow, pointed shoe. Or if the bare-bottomed pillow hadn’t slipped under Tye’s leg. Or if she’d set the ice-filled glass aside before he advanced on her.

Philby’s sharp-toed wingtip caught the chair at the tapered curve of the support, tipped it, and sent the flailing digit against Tye’s sofa. Her injured leg, now unprotected, took the full brunt of the jolt. The impact of the falling chair made her cry out and jerk away from the blow. As she twisted to avoid the collision, ice in her glass poured in a frozen stream into Philby’s powder-blue lap, where the cold shock withered the bulge of happy anticipation beneath his fly. He jumped back, frantically brushing ice into the pale grey carpet.

His face had gone deadly white, and his narrow eyes