Epilogue

Dear—well, I don’t know what to call you.

It doesn’t seem right to call you by your given name, and I can’t really say Mother, either. So I’ll just say Dear.

I’m writing just to let you know that some things have changed in my life recently. I published a small cookbook and my partner is going national this week with her home improvement show. Until now the show was only seen in major markets, as the TV folks say. But now her syndication has gone national and she’s very happy. I’m glad, because it means she can come home for a while. She may even be able to get the studio moved from New York to Los Angeles. That would make me very happy.

I’m enclosing a copy of the cookbook. Maybe the sisters can use it. It’s easily adaptable to large groups. Wish me success with it, because I’d like to write another.

I do think about you from time to time, hoping that you are happy.

—Jamie

I could forgive Jamie Onassis for snatching Val out from under my nose, except that she did it with no game plan. I’m convinced she didn’t think through anything—she just won Val’s heart without lifting a finger. So the woman can cook. I don’t see the attraction.

Valkyrie Valentine is a household name. She’s the Martha Stewart for younger women—less fussing, more working with drills. Her Month of Sundays book tie-in has her picture on the front, wearing a tool belt and a chef’s apron. I know that’s why it’s selling like hotcakes at stores in the Village.

Valkyrie Valentine was my idea. My baby. My woman. And I ended up with accolades from the Warnell board of directors and more assurance that I’ll be their choice of successor when Daddy decides to retire. Not a bad reward. I should be happier than I am. It just seems like I should have gotten more, somehow. I am surprised that I still enjoy finding Kathy in my bed when I’m in New York. She likes living there. Neither of us is faithful. But I’m sure that Jamie Onassis is faithful, like a trained puppy. I have asked around about Val’s love life on the set, but everyone says she’s a workaholic.

Nothing turned out the way I had planned.

Val stretched lazily and reached for the soap. Water sloshed from one end of the tub to the other as Jamie shifted position. “Let me do your back now.”

“This has been the most humid July on record. You missed some pretty awful weather.”

Val glanced out the window at the ocean. It didn’t look awful from up here. “It’ll be winter all too soon.”

“The kitchen is like an oven,” Jamie said.

Comprehension dawned. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m not getting at anything.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You’re projecting.”

“I am not. You want something.”

“I want you.” Jamie turned over in the cool water and nuzzled at Val’s breast. “I missed you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Sure.”

“It’s only—”

“Out with it.”

“I just wondered what would be involved in putting in air-condition—”

“Nope. I’m not doing it.”

“But honey, think of the business we’d pull in with air- conditioning.”

“I said no.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I said okay.”

“I don’t want to spend my filming break putting in air- conditioning.”

“Of course you don’t.” Jamie shifted and then stood up. Water streamed from the body that Val dreamed of every night in her lonely New York apartment.

“Where are you going?”

“Just getting a treat I made earlier.”

“You’re devious.”

“It’s to welcome you home. It’s not a bribe.”

Jamie returned from their bedroom with a single bowl which she handed to Val. It was full of soft, decadently seductive, richly erotic, slightly runny chocolate.

Val inhaled the scent, then scooped up some and offered it to Jamie as she settled into the tub again. Jamie took her time licking Val’s finger clean.

Val said weakly, “Air-conditioning will take a couple of weeks.”