“Oh, Cutter.”
“I can’t call her, Hillary.Not yet.There are too many people John can hurt if he wants to get back at me, and I’d be helpless to stop it.”
“Don’t you miss her?”
“I miss her so much I hurt, and it’s not for sex.”
“Soseeher.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
And soon it was.Barely a week later, when he had a rare free day and was feeling rash, he flew to Boston and staked out the path in the Fens between the museum and Pam’s apartment.Late in the afternoon, she walked by with a friend.Cutter’s chest tightened.He was leaning against a tree, separated from her by shrubs, people, and several hundred feet, but he took in every detail of her appearance.
She looked beautiful.Young, but grown-up.Artsy.She was wearing loose pants, a voluminous blouse, and a long vest, and she carried a canvas satchel over her shoulder.Her hair was in a thick braid that fell from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back, secured so that the breeze couldn’t ruffle it, as it did her bangs.Large gold hoops swung from her ears.
Once she looked up and around.His heart started tohammer—he was sure she sensed his presence.Then she looked back at her friend and laughed at something the other had said.A minute later, the two went into their apartment building.
If she’d been alone, Cutter might have followed.But seeing her with someone, seeing her smile, seeing how comfortable she looked in her new life, he couldn’t do it.He couldn’t take the chance.They had no future yet.One day, dammit.One day….
So he returned to New York.Fall became winter, and by the time spring arrived, Cutter had seen more of the country than he’d ever thought to see.He was photographed wearing Girard Jondier suits in San Francisco, sweaters and slacks in Aspen, cruise wear in Key West.If the fall line was well received, the spring line was even more so.Girard Jondier was pleased with Cutter.In turn, Cutter was pleased with his new contract.
There were still times when he wondered if he was crazy to be doing this.Real men didn’t model.But he wanted to be rich enough to ruin John, and given that he wasn’t trained for much, modeling seemed the fastest way to wealth.He abided the graceful male hands that smoothed suit jackets across his shoulders, the hovering of makeup artists and hair stylists, the glare of lights.He even abided the innuendos about his sexuality.All that was less humiliating than what he’d suffered at John’s hands, and this time around he was being handsomely compensated for the indignity.
His private life was quiet, modest, and brief.Big bucks brought big demands, he learned.There were different clothes to model each season, different ads to shoot, thenreshoot if the prints weren’t just right, different stores to visit as Jondier’s representative.At times he felt he’d made a bargain with the devil.But the devil wasn’t Jondier, it was John, and regardless of how tired Cutter was at times, he was determined to triumph.
His face became known in high-fashion circles, more so with each season.He was invited to parties, where he became known—but only to a small extent.He remained a private person, carefully picking his points of exposure.He didn’t make friends idly and had no use for large groups or shallow ones.He chose friends for their intelligence, their success, and their sense of discretion.They were, by and large, businesspeople.They became his teachers.
Through them, he connected with a financial adviser, a stockbroker, and an investment banker.By the time he’d been in New York for four years, the portfolio of which he was most proud wasn’t the one filled with glossies that his agent kept on hand.It was the one that listed his financial assets.
Throughout those four years he ached for Pam.He had seen her many times—glimpses similar to the one on the Fens that day, only at places like Symphony Hall or Locke-Ober’s or even, when he had been daring enough to hang out on Newbury Street, aroundFacets.There was aFacetsNew York now, too, opened two years before, and she had come down for the festivities.He had seen her.He had seen John.Neither of them had seen him, and as far as he could tell, neither had been interested in seeing the other.Hillary confirmed that they barely talked.Cutter wanted to know more.
Mostly, though, he wanted to hold Pam.The need was so great that there were times in the night when he was bent up in pain.He found satisfaction in other women, but it was brief, strictly physical, and offset by the agony of opening his eyes and seeing a face that wasn’t Pam’s.
That was why, shortly before she graduated and left her apartment on the Fens, he drove up to Boston and, cloaked by the night, broke into her room.
Chapter 20
Pam hadn’t slept heavily in years.Her mind was too active to be turned off for more than three or four hours at a stretch.It woke her at least once each night with thoughts of a lecture she’d heard or a paper she was writing or a piece of jewelry she was making.Once in a while it woke her with thoughts of John or Patricia.Regularly it woke her with thoughts of Cutter.
It did so this night, and, as always, she imagined he was with her.She turned over, curled into a ball, and gave the kind of sigh that was part pleasure, part pain.Then she heard a soft sound on the far side of the room, and the peace of her half-dream state vanished.Completely awake, she jolted to a sitting position and was about to cry out when a figure emerged from the darkness and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Shhhh.It’s me.”
The room was dim and his voice a whisper, but somethingabout the scent of his skin and the feel of his lips against her forehead painted a picture in Pam’s mind.When his hand left her mouth, she whispered, “Cutter?”
“Yes.”
She was sure she was dreaming.She hadn’t seen him in four and a half years.But her hands were touching solid arms, a strong jaw, a warm neck.And there was the scent.And his lips.“Cutter?”
He looked down at her and whispered, “I couldn’t stay away any longer.I had to see you.”
Her pulse raced.“Oh, my God.”She wrapped her arms around his neck.“I don’t believe it.”The words were no sooner out than she held him back.She touched his face with a trembling hand, each feature in turn.“What—oh, my—how did you—what time—”
“Shhh.”He kissed her cheek, the bridge of her nose, her other cheek.“I climbed the fire escape.”
