The Power of a Name
[A/N: Okay. I have no sense left in my head. I'm starting another story when there's no reason to believe I'll ever get any of my old ones finished. Anyway, this one is loosely based on the premise of the novel Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers. A great book, which you should all read. Though my story won't follow it at all closely. It's Alternate Universe, and Broe/Mason. Most of what's different should come out in the story, but just so you know, Mimi and Chloe didn't grow up in Salem. Oh, and I know in a lot of stories lately, Stefano has been Chloe's father. That is most decidedly not the case with mine. Also this story is extremely dark, so if you want something light, read something else.]
Chapter One
Mimi Lockhart bustled around the living room, putting the finishing touches on her surprise. Lighting the candles, she stepped back and surveyed her work with a smile. The perfect candlelit dinner for two. White tablecloth, fine crystal and china, intricately folded napkins, a vase with a single red rose, and of course the blazing fire in the hearth and the candles spread around the room. It was perfect, even if she did say so herself.
Mimi heard the key turn in the lock and rushed into the kitchen. She gestured Connor over to her and put her finger to her lips for silence. Connor nodded, shaking his blond locks, normally so unruly, but tonight combed and parted perfectly. She straightened his little bow tie, wrinkling her nose at the adorable picture he made. They heard their parents enter the living room and smiled at their astonished reactions.
"Oh!" cooed Maureen Lockhart to her husband. "You did all this for me? It's beautiful, David!" She turned and laid a hand on his chest, looking up at him lovingly.
David shook his head, bewildered. "I'd love to take credit for it, darling. But I had nothing to do with it. Honest." A knowing gleam lit his eye. "Meems!" he called loudly. "Connor! Where are you?"
"That's your cue, Connor," Mimi whispered, giving her brother a little shove through the swinging door and watching the scene unfold.
"Good evening, sir, madam," Connor mumbled, as his sister had ordered him too. He put his finger inside his collar. It was far too tight. Why had he let her talk him into this? He hated when his sister's brilliant ideas caused him to make a fool of himself. "Your reservations are under what name, please?" He looked every bit the part of a miniature maitre'd in his black tuxedo, with the white cloth thrown over his arm.
David and Maureen interchanged smiles. Leave it to Meems. They had called an hour ago from the city to say that their restaurant had lost their reservations, and they were coming home. Only a daughter like theirs would go to this much trouble to give them a special anniversary. "The name is Lockhart," David replied solemnly to his small son.
"Oh, right this way, sir," Connor said promptly, getting into the game despite himself. He led them to the small table and pulled out a chair for his mother.
"Thank you," she said, impressed, as she sat down. However had Mimi made rambunctious Connor behave so well? She must have bribed him with terrifying amounts of candy, but Maureen didn't mind so much. She truly had the two most wonderful children in the world.
"Your server shall be with you shortly." Connor breathed a sigh of relief as he got through the final piece of his part and was able to run back to the kitchen. The second he slipped in though, his sister had pulled him into a huge bear hug.
"You were amazing, Connor," Mimi gushed. "Just perfect. Mom and Dad loved it." She ruffled his hair affectionately.
Connor shoved away irritated. "Get off me! Okay, I did what you told me to do. Now, can I take this stupid suit off and go play my Playstation?"
Mimi beamed at him. "Of course you can go. And thanks for your help. Mom and Dad need this." Mimi couldn't help but notice that despite what Connor had said, he looked rather pleased with himself as he ran up the stairs to his room. She picked up the bottle of wine, straightened her plain black dress with the white apron, and slipped through the door to the makeshift restaurant. Her parents looked up at her and smiled.
"Good evening. My name is Miriam, and I'll be your waitress for the evening," she recited, as she poured them glasses of wine. "Our chef only found out she was cooking an hour ago, so might I recommend her specialty? Spaghetti, with your choice of salad…or no salad."
Maureen laughed. "Meems, you are too much. Come here." She held her arms out and embraced her daughter, tears of happiness in her eyes. What had she ever done to deserve a daughter like Mimi? "Thank you so much for this."
Mimi pulled away, smiling brightly. "It's the least I could do." She reached across and took her father's hand in hers, including him in the bond. "You two have been the best parents in the world, and you give me and Connor the greatest example of what real love should look like." She knew she sounded like a Hallmark commercial, but it was true. She had seen the mess of home lives all her friends had, and she knew how rare and special her parents were.
Mimi waited on her parents all through dinner, delighting in the little secret language they shared. She never failed to stand in awe of how much her parents still loved each other after twenty years of marriage. As she stumbled off to bed late that night, after cleaning up the kitchen, she whispered a silent prayer that someday, she would share that kind of bond with the man of her dreams.
~~*~~
Jason Masters sat in the middle of the crowded bar, nursing his fifth beer. All he wanted was to wallow in his own misery, drown his sorrows in a bottle for another useless night of living. Which is why it came as a total annoyance when some red-head in a transparent white top and black leather miniskirt sat down at the stool next to him and flashed him a flirtatious smile.
"So what are you drinking?" she asked coyly. Jase barely gave her a glance, just twisted the bottle in his hand so she could see the label. "Can I buy you another one?" She leaned in towards him and rested her hand on his arm. Her eyes widened in partly feigned interest. "Wow! You must work out a lot!"
Jason rolled his eyes. Was that the best she could do? Why would he fall for a slut like that when he had briefly known what it was like to love and be loved by the purest, most beautiful woman in the world. Why had she been taken from him so soon? Grimacing, he stood up, dropping some money on the counter. "I'll have to take a rein check on that drink." He grinned sardonically at her angry, shocked expression; then quickly made his way out of the bar. He needed fresh air, or he was going to be sick.
He stepped outside, feeling a blast of cold air on his face. He looked around, missing the familiar sights and sounds of Salem. But he couldn't go back there now. Too many memories…of her. She would haunt him even more than she did now. And this was more than he could bear. He could still almost see her face before him. Those beautiful baby blue eyes, that sun-kissed blonde hair. He grinned momentarily, remembering Belle's obsession with her hair. He had been the only one who could get by with teasing her about it.
His smile died, as he recalled another image of her, lying in a hospital bed, her hair so thin and ragged as to be almost nonexistent, huge, dark circles under those pain-filled eyes. And still she had kept that smile, that smile that had melted his heart from the first time he had seen it. He had spent his entire lifetime loving Belle Black. They had dated all through high school. They had planned on getting married. And then, that diagnosis. The diagnosis that changed his life forever and ended hers.
He walked along the almost deserted street, pulling his collar up around his neck and shoving his hands deep in his pockets. He thought once more of home. He thought of the Blacks. They had always been more his family than his own twisted parents. He missed John and Marlena. And Brady. He wondered what Brady was doing now. He and Brady had always been the best of friends, and their bond had only gotten stronger when Jason started dating Belle.
Belle. His sweet Isabella. There would never be anyone like her, never anyone who could make him feel anything but this dead emptiness. He had been allowed to glimpse heaven for just a moment, and now, there was nothing left. Nothing but the day to day meaninglessness of life. He was just waiting, waiting for time or his dissipated ways to carry him away to join the one woman he knew he would ever love.
~~*~~
He felt it the moment he looked into her eyes. Obviously, she was a stunning woman, maybe the most stunning Brady had ever seen. But it was a manipulative beauty. From her extravagantly upswept hair to her perfect make-up all the way down to her strappy, stiletto heels, she was intent on the art of seduction. The way she walked, the way she laughed, she might as well have stripped naked in front of them all. Sex practically exuded from her.
But to Brady, none of this was enticing. He had never gone in for cheap thrills with cheaper women. He had simply dismissed her after a cursory once-over. Until he bumped into her. Until he saw reflected in her azure eyes the pain of a thousand deaths. Those were the eyes of a lost child, of an innocent corrupted, of a fallen angel searching for redemption. He managed to see all this in the few seconds it took for her to straighten away from him. "Excuse me," he stammered, trying to understand how in that moment he had immediately felt her become his responsibility.
She smiled an empty, flirtatious smile and ran her fingers down the collar of his jacket, with practiced artlessness. "Any time, baby," she responded seductively. Pulling away from him, she ran her hands along her short black dress, straightening non-existent wrinkles. She looked up at him, seeing the veiled desire in his eyes, the heavy beating of his pulse. Men were so easy to understand. One-track minds, all of them. "See you around." She threw him one more coy, meaningless smile and walked away, not needing to look behind her to know he followed her with his eyes.
Brady frowned as he watched her go. Why couldn't he shake this feeling of intimate connection with her? He knew those eyes would haunt his dreams forever if he didn't do something about it now. He saw her way impeded momentarily by Lucas Roberts. Lucas said something that made her laugh, a tinkling sound, but somehow forced and hollow. Lucas put his arm around her waist, but she pulled away, shaking her head. With a light caress to his face, she moved on.
Brady waited all of ten seconds before cornering Lucas. "Who was that woman you were talking to?" he demanded.
Lucas smiled drunkenly, his usual glass of scotch clutched tightly in one hand. "Oh, hi, Brady. Right to the point, aren't you?" he asked loudly. "No 'How are you, Lucas? Nice to see you again.' You want something, you ask. End story."
Rolling his eyes, Brady pulled Lucas out of the crowd. He didn't want his personal business spread all around Salem. "Who was she, Lucas?" he asked coolly.
Lucas laughed. "Feeling a little lonely out in those mountains, Brady? Needing a little female companionship? I s'pose I could set you up, if you're willing to pay that much. 'Course Sapphire's not just any lay. That woman knows things that will blow your mind."
Brady felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He reeled away from Lucas, repulsed. "She's a whore?" He couldn't' believe it. He'd never been so attracted, never felt so connected to any woman in his life. And she was nothing but a common hooker.
Lucas laughed again, swaying heavily as he lost his sense of balance. "You didn't know? Damn, man, where have you been? Doesn't that cabin of yours have a telephone? She's been the talk of the town for months. Expensive as hell, but worth every penny." He leaned in conspiratorially, his breath almost causing Brady to vomit. "I don't know where she learned it, man. But she has tricks you can't even find in the Kama Sutra."
Brady felt his urge to be sick growing by the moment. What cruel trick of fate was this? See, Brady Black? He thinks he's immune to love. So let's throw him a nice little lesson he'll never forget. She was a whore, a whore that had apparently been with every man in Salem. And still, those eyes…For the first time in his life, Brady was going to follow Lucas's example. He was going to get totally wasted.
~~*~~
She wrapped a robe around her as Philip fumbled for his wallet. He still had a stupid grin on his face. He didn't yet have the look of disgust—both with her and with himself—that most men got after time alone with her. Only the most callous and the most foolish could walk away without looking back in loathing on what had gone on here. Of course, that rarely stopped them from coming back for more. And Philip was both callous and stupid. Why else would he have had her escort him to that party tonight?
Everyone had known who and what she was, and she had known most of them too—at least, most of the men. But she didn't care what people thought of her. She had stopped caring a long time ago. Besides, they were all hypocrites anyway. Those men might shun her in public. With their wives by their sides, they took the moral high ground. But that wouldn't stop their clandestine visits. So she had played it up. Everyone knew she was a whore anyway. Why try and hide it?
"Here you go," Philip said, handing her several large bills. He was one of few who looked her in the eyes as he paid her. That scared her. He would start becoming possessive soon, and that was the last thing she could have.
She smiled without feeling as she accepted the money wordlessly. After all, what was she supposed to say? Thank you? She went to her extravagant vanity, picked up a brush, and started combing out her thick, long, dark tresses. She expected Philip to leave. When he didn't, she turned to him, one eyebrow raised mockingly, "You honestly think you're ready for more?"
Philip stared at her in awe. "How do you do it?"
Her smile froze in place. "I've had lots of experience." She wondered if he was one of those men who liked to delude themselves into thinking that they were really the only ones. It was an illusion she always made sure to shatter. This was her job. She knew nothing else. But if they started thinking she was emotionally attached to any of them, they had another thing coming.
Philip grimaced. "Not that. I mean, how do you still remain such a mystery? I've been thinking how perfect your name is for you. You're like a sapphire, beautiful, luminous, valuable, yet still so mysterious and cold. You're murky at the depths."
The hair brush slammed down on the vanity. What the hell did he think that passed for? Was that what he thought a compliment sounded like? She turned away from him, looking at her dead, sapphire eyes. "Goodbye, Philip," she said, coldly dismissing him.
Philip looked wounded, but knew better than to object. She was known to cut off anyone who tried to push her boundaries. "Night, Sapphire. Same time next week?"
She eyed him coolly. "We'll see." She tried to leave him in doubt. But there wasn't any doubt. Not really. She needed the money, and Philip was her steadiest and best-paying customer. She had no doubt he would like to make her his mistress. He'd made broad hints about it. But she always shut him out. There was no way in hell she'd ever let one man have that much control over her again.
Philip sighed. He hated her when she was like this. But all he had to do was look at her luscious figure barely concealed by her blue satin robe, and he knew he'd be back for more. She was a goddess, and her mystery only added to her allure. She could take him to places he'd never been, and yet still remain completely untouched and untouchable. Knowing she was through with him, he grabbed his jacket and left.
She watched him go, despising him and all others like him with all that was left of her ravished, brutalized heart. Did he think she cared about him? Did he think she felt anything at all when he was inside of her? It was a job to her. It was all she knew how to do. All she had ever been taught.
She picked up her hairbrush again and started stroking her dark hair, her thoughts elsewhere. So Sapphire was a perfect fit, was it? Philip would never know how much she loathed that name. After all, HE had given it to her. But no one knew her real name. No one ever would. From the day her mother had died, from the day she had been brought to his house, that name had never crossed her lips. And it never would. It was all she had left, the only thing left unscathed and untouched by the Phoenix and all who had come after him.