Vince had been riding high, on top of the world, and then it had all come crashing down when Laura lost control of her vehicle and flew off the 5, crashing into a stand of trees.
Eight months after he’d buried her he still grieved. And he tried to get on with his life. Tracy Harris had proven to be a godsend. Brian Denison had been a saint. He’d given Vince all the time he’d needed, had helped him out on his accounts. Vince didn’t know how he’d managed to get through it, but somehow he did.
He saw the gleam of light reflecting off the plate glass window of a home nestled on a jutting crag just as another thought spiked his brain. Tracy Harris… something about her was suddenly becoming déjà vu. He knew he’d never met her before that social mixer at the American Banking Association Convention this past winter, but all of a sudden she popped into his head with the uncanny feeling that they had met before. It was something about her speech, the way she spoke and carried herself that was creating those familiar feelings. Vince tried to focus on it as he made a right hand turn down Park Street, which would lead him up the hill to the neighborhood where Brian lived.
Vince made another right down Fir Street. Tracy Harris wouldn’t get out of his mind, either. The taste of her lips, the comforting warmth of her body pressed against his, it was all coming back to him now, like an old friend, someone he hadn’t seen in years, someone he’d forgotten but his subconscious hadn’t.
As he drew closer to the neighborhood, he felt a weight settle in his stomach. His fingers gripped the steering wheel and he dry swallowed. This was ridiculous. He would have known if he’d slept with Tracy Harris before. He’d only been with ten other women in his life, and Tracy Harris sure hadn’t been one of them. Christ, he could name all his past lovers by name. Susie, Brandy, Lori, Tonya, Susan, Vicki, Diana, Cathy—
The names and faces rushed by and none matched, but oh there was one that was familiar. This realization settled in him as he pulled up in front of Brian’s home, a very large red brick sprawling place, and turned off the ignition. The driveway was full of vehicles. The house was at the end of a cul-de-sac; other cars were parked along the curbs of the neighboring homes, as if somebody were hosting a party. A strange sense of calmness flooded over him; he no longer felt afraid or nervous. He looked at Brian’s home, still trying to place where he might have possibly met up with Tracy Harris before, knowing he would make the connection soon. Then he got out of the car, closed the driver’s side door, and began walking up the driveway toward the house.
As he walked up the driveway, Diana Roberts came to his mind. There was something uncanny about Diana, something about her eyes… those green eyes of hers that had been so alluring, so entrancing. That and the way she had walked, the way she’d kissed him, the way she’d made love to him… it was all coming back now. And the more he thought about Diana Roberts, the more he thought about Tracy Harris and how opposite they were to each other. True, both of them were built similarly, but there the resemblances ended. Tracy was cultured, refined, classy. Diana Roberts was—
He mounted the concrete steps to the porch that led up to the large double oak doors and knocked.
And when the door was opened, a tall elderly man dressed in an immaculate black suit looked out at him and nodded. “Master Vincent,” the man said, his voice crisp and commanding. “We’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.” The man stepped aside, allowing Vince full view of the entry hall.
Vince blinked. Expecting him? He didn’t even know this old fuck. When did Brian get a butler? “Who…” be began.
“We’ve been waiting a long time for you to come home,” the man said, the barest hint of a smile playing along his lips. “Please. Come in.”
The man’s voice had a commanding tone. It propelled Vince up the step and through the threshold where he stood in the foyer, staring up at the vast high ceiling.
“This way, please.” The elderly man with the black suit began walking down the entry hall toward the rear of the house. Vince followed him.
Vince took everything in quickly; the polished mahogany of the woodwork, the stained glass windows, the furnishings; it was all the trappings of wealth and prestige. He’d been to Brian’s home numerous times in the past, but for some reason had never really paused to notice the details of Brian’s home. Had Vince taken Brian’s wealth for granted? Perhaps. But still—
The elderly man stepped aside just as they crested the entrance to the lavish den. Vince stepped through the doorway into the room and his eyes flew open, a gasp escaped him.
The den was large, with a cathedral ceiling. The rear of the room, which made up the rear wing of the home, was composed of plate glass that stretched to the ceiling. He was very familiar with this section of the home. These windows looked out onto the back deck, which, in turn, held a commanding view of south Orange County. The room was furnished with plush sofas and chairs, a cherry coffee table. A large marble hearth occupied a good portion of the south wall. Two large oil paintings hung in gold frames, flanking the hearth, their subjects dark and strange. Vince frowned; he’d never seen these paintings before.
The people gathered in the den turned to greet his entry.
The room was filled with two-dozen people dressed elegantly in suits, sport coats, blazers, vests, dresses, skirts, patent leather shoes and high heels, silk shirts and blouses. Most of them appeared to be older than Vince, in their forties and fifties, but there were a few elderly people as well. They were all looking at Vince, most of them smiling, as if watching a long lost loved one step off an airplane.
There were a couple of people in the room around Vince’s age. One of them was smiling at him, his eyes warm, friendly. He was easily recognizable. “Brian?” Vince asked.
Vince Walter’s best friend Brian Dennison smiled, his face alive with pride. “Vince, my man! So good to see you come home!”
“What’s this all about?” Vince said, his heart pounding. Brian’s wife, Kimberly, was standing beside her husband and for the first time Vince noticed something different about them. He’d known Brian and Kimberly for over ten years, had been to their home, had shared laughter and good times with them. He’d become tight with them, and as familiar as they were to him the moment he walked in, there was something subtly different about his friends. It was as if he’d just discovered they’d been wearing masks the whole time he’d known them, and that this mask had slipped over their countenance, ever so slightly, revealing their true faces.
“It’s all about welcoming you home, Andrew,” Brian said.
Vince started, blinking. Andrew? How could Brian know that the name his mother had given him when he was born was—
He was suddenly able to recognize other people in the room. A middle-aged couple, the woman demure and proper, the man resembling a line-backer; seeing him brought back memories of a California childhood when Vince used to play with his daughter, Nellie. Now he looked older, wiser, more confident. Another middle-aged couple stood near them, the man tall, powerfully built, with brown hair that was turning silver; the woman looked like she might be a power broker for a large corporation. She was dressed in a conservative business suit and her black hair was speckled with flecks of gray. He recognized those eyes as he looked into them and he saw Frank Black in her facial features. He blinked, their younger images molding perfectly with the older couple now staring back at him, faint smiles on their faces. “Gladys and Tom,” he whispered.