Thank you for your lovely reviews. Enjoy the next chapter. I promise it's not an April Fool's joke. #stayathome GraceBe

Chapter 3 - What we fear the most

Los Angeles, 9th May 1977

With her heart bouncing in her chest Della rang the doorbell of Perry's apartment. After Paul's memorial service it had been impossible for them to have a conversation that lasted longer than three minutes and so he had suggested meeting for dinner – at his apartment. Della would have preferred a more public space like a restaurant, but there was the risk of being seen together and the last thing she wanted was ending up in the gossip column of tomorrow's morning paper.

He opened the door as if he had been waiting right behind it. To her confusion he looked rather disheveled. The first two buttons of his shirt were opened and showed he was still wearing the golden necklace with the lion pendant she had given him once for his birthday. In his hand was an empty glass with half melted ice cubes. He was the very opposite of what he had been during the funeral, which wasn't like him at all. She already regretted her agreement to spend the evening with him, but she could barely turn on her heels and flee the place again.

"Hey!" Was all he said when she passed him. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Hi." She wanted to answer that she wasn't even hungry, but it was perhaps best not to start with an early rejection of his self-cooked food.

"Do you want some wine?" He asked and didn't wait for her response. He hardly looked at her, while he busied himself with the opening of the bottle on the table that was set for two.

"Yes, why not?" She shrugged and looked around. The apartment hadn't changed since her last visit, which had taken place over fifteen years ago. Time had frozen in here. Every piece of the furniture was still the same place and she briefly wondered why he hadn't taken some of it to the house he used to share with Laura. Or perhaps he had really moved it back in here... Her curiosity got the better of her and so the question was out before she could hold it back. "Have you really moved back in here?"

"More or less," he answered vaguely, while he poured a glass of red wine for her.

"And what about Laura?"

"What about her?" He repeated, as if he didn't understand her question.

"Have you really separated?" She clarified, almost annoyed she had to explain herself. "I heard through the grapevine that the two of you have plans to divorce." That was actually an exaggeration. She knew next to nothing about the situation of their marriage, although people talked a lot about Laura and him. It was all gossip and it was hard to tell what was based on facts and what pure fiction.

"We have no plans for anything," he said, as he approached her. "We're on a break."

"A break?" She crooked her eyebrow in ironic amusement. "How very modern."

He handed her the wine. "And what about you and Richard?" He asked, ignoring her little knock.

"We're not on a break," she answered and realized she sounded smug. There was no reason to snap at him like that. What was it that made her so edgy?

"Why wasn't he at the funeral?"

"He was busy – and truth to be told, I didn't want him there. It didn't feel right."

"Did you tell him that?" Mason asked, surprised.

"Yes, I did and he understood. Paul was my friend, while Richard barely knew him." She could tell the answer wasn't to his liking, exactly as she had hoped for, but he didn't comment on it either. Perhaps he had hoped she would tell him that her marriage wasn't perfect either. Perhaps he had hoped she told him, she had wanted to meet him without having her husband around. He looked at his watch. "Excuse me for a moment. Why don't you take a seat while I take care of the food?"

Without waiting for her answer or approval he vanished into the kitchen, leaving Della on her own in the familiar environment. She felt a little lost while she strolled around the living room. During their time together she had spent countless days and nights in his apartment. She detected a photo of herself on the mantelpiece over the fireplace. Bewildered upon the unexpected finding she went there, took it into her free hand, and inspected it with growing sentiment. The portrait was over twenty years old and had been taken by Perry - in Carmel perhaps. She couldn't remember the exact circumstances, but by the smile on her face she was able to tell that she had been happy back then.

Suddenly feeling mawkish she returned the frame and looked down to her feet. Even the dark rug on the floor was the one from fifteen years ago. She ran her foot over it and suddenly an ancient memory struck her like a flash of lightning. They had once made love right where she was standing now. Her cheeks were suddenly burning when she remembered the intoxicating mix of wine and their slow ecstatic lovemaking. She looked at the glass in her hand and moved away from the fireplace, hoping it would help her to distance herself from the intensity of the flashback she was experiencing, but moving away didn't do the trick. She was trapped in a fantasy of naked, sweaty skin in front of a roaring fire, and soft moans. Her last sexual encounter with Richard had happened a long time ago and she had learned to live with the fact that they would never enjoy a normal sexual relationship like other couples, but in this moment she was painfully aware of the fact that she was missing out on something. It wasn't just the sexual gratification she missed, that was easy to achieve. It was the intimacy, the emotional connection expressed by physical tenderness and admiration, the feeling of being more than just a chaste companion.

The lack of intimacy wasn't the only reason her relationship with Richard had become rocky during the last few months. There was a lack of communication between them, which inevitably resulted in a lack of trust. She and Richard had started growing apart and she didn't know why. She hated to think that something like this just happened and even more she hated the idea that she allowed it to happen.

Della emptied her glass, went to the table, and refilled it. The wine was supposed to soothe her nerves, but it caused an uproar in her empty stomach. Unaware that Perry was standing right behind her, she turned around and startled. He was standing so close that their bodies touched. She was trapped between the table and him, which almost made her claustrophobic. He was just too close to bear. Another wave of merciless heat spread through her veins and filled her with desire.

"I'm sorry," he said, when he realized she hadn't heard him approaching her. "Dinner's ready in ten."

"Perry, I can't stay," she said quickly and placed her glass on the table. Unable to face him, she avoided his searching eyes, felt how the heat in her cheeks intensified.

"Why not?" He asked without sounding surprised.

"I just don't feel like it."

"Are you all right?" He asked and stopped her when she tried to move away from him.

"I just need to go!" She wanted to pass him, but he grabbed for her arms and pulled her gently against him.

"Please, stay," he begged softly. "I need you."

And she needed him too. The realization of how much she wanted him weakened her. Against her better judgment she allowed him to kiss her. Captivated by her memories and his gentle touch she leaned into him. As the kiss went on and on, became more intense, the world around her faded to exist. It would be so simple to shut it all out, to stay in this apartment, in his bed, like so many times before. Life had been so easy to live back then. It had been an endless adventure without the burden of spouses, a family and daily, repetitive responsibilities and routines. She wanted to go back to this life more often than she wanted to admit to herself. His kiss was unlocking a door that needed to stay locked, because opening it made her life too complicated.

His mouth traveled greedily down her neck while his hands busied themselves with the buttons of her blouse. She anticipated the second his hands would find her naked skin, would make their claim on her.

"I love you," he mumbled against her neck. "I've missed you."

She ran her hands over the back of his neck and then up into his hair, bit her lips, when goosebumps formed on her skin, because her desire for him became overwhelming. His hands were warm, yet greedy and impatient. She helped him to get rid of her blouse and before she realized it she found herself lying on the couch with her skirt pushed up over her hips. She gasped for air as his mouth glided down her stomach. Her body was on fire and she welcomed the loss of control and reality. She felt light and young and so very wanted.

It was the photo she only noticed in the corner of her eye that tore her back into reality. It was a picture of Perry and Laura on their wedding day and stood on a bookshelf between his old law books. She hadn't seen it before, but now she knew it was there: the proof of how things had changed between them, the proof for his infidelity, and his life at the side of another woman.

Her desire died like a candle in a rain shower and she moved out of his arms and away from him. He was perplexed and out of breath when she straightened her skirt and fixed her bra. Disbelief and confusion was written all over his face when he watched her buttoning her blouse.

"Have I done anything wrong?"

"I can't do this," she said, trying to catch her breath. "I'm married and so are you. I won't throw that away for...," she struggled to find the right words - and failed. "For just once."

"Do you think that's what I'm after? Just once...?" He asked, upset by the mere idea. "I love you and we belong together!"

"Do we?" She returned the question. "Maybe we did once, but our lives have changed!"

His confusion turned into angry disbelief. "Didn't Paul's death show you how short life can be? Why waste it?"

Once more her eyes fell on the photograph of Laura and Perry. Anger grew in her like cancer. "Perhaps you've been wasting your life. I didn't. I have a son and a marriage to think about! They're a part of me!" She sounded angrier than she had intended to, but she wasn't able to control all the contradicting feelings inside of her. They needed an outlet and Laura's and Perry's picture was a welcome target. He was a welcome target, because he wanted to pick up where he left her without considering her life. In the past she had always been there for him, had waited for him, but at some point after he had been ruthlessly seduced by Laura, she had given up waiting for him. She would always love him, but she had lost her unconditional trust in him and his commitment to her.

"Are you sure, you're just thinking about your family? You know what I think?"

"Shoot, Counselor!" She spat.

"I think you're hiding. You're hiding behind your marriage and your son, because you can't admit you made a mistake when you married Richard!"

"I made a mistake?" She couldn't believe he was the one making the accusations. "I wasn't the one who slept with someone else with the result of an unwanted pregnancy! You cheated on me with Laura! Heaven, you couldn't even be sure, it was your child and you still married her!"

"Of course, it was my child!" Offended by the mere thought he turned his face away.

"I wish I could believe that. But what does it matter?" She asked bitterly. "You've made your bed and I made mine!" She picked up her purse and gave him one last look. "We can't go back to what we were," she said. "Goodbye, Perry."

When she reached the door the smell of burned food reached her nose. His curse was cut off by the sound of the door falling shut behind her.

#####

Carmel, 19th August 1977

When Della left the bedroom the next morning, Perry was still sound asleep on the couch. He had kicked off the blanket and still wore his clothes from the other night. She smiled upon his audible snoring and sneaked past him. A quick inspection of the small kitchen unit told her that the only things he consumed in this place were coffee and cigarettes. She had given up smoking again over a year ago, but the sight of the package on the small table near the window made it hard for her to keep up her good intentions. To keep her mind off tobacco and its relaxing effects she decided to make coffee.

As soon as she poured herself the first cup, she heard him groaning behind her. She didn't have to look at him to know how he felt.

"Good morning," she greeted him, ostensibly cheerful.

"Is it good?" He sat up, yawned heartily, and ran his fingers through his hair that had become a lot grayer since she last saw him. She hadn't noticed it the night before but now in the cold light of the day, she saw more gray strays than black ones.

"Coffee?" She asked and gave him a mug before he could think about her question.

"Thanks."

Della watched him sinking down at the small kitchen table. He was avoiding her sight, but she sensed that he was merely trying to figure out how to deal with her presence and his obvious hangover at the same time. To ease the mood and give him time and space, she said, "I have an idea: Why don't you take a shower while I try to find a grocery store?"

He stared at her over the rim of his cup. His expression was almost afraid. "Do you plan to make yourself comfortable in here?"

"Mostly I plan to have something to eat," she replied crisply and tried to remember where she put her purse the night before. She located it on a board near the bedroom door. "And I hope your mood will have improved by the time I'm back," she said when she roamed the handbag for her keys. "We have a lot to talk about, Counselor!"

####

Perry switched the water from cold to hot and back until his headache was slowly fading and became more annoying than actually painful. A clear head should help him to come to terms with Della's presence. She had given him almost a heart attack when she had appeared right in front of his nose last night. And this morning when he had opened his eyes and had seen her standing in his kitchen, dressed in a simple white summer dress that underlined every delicate curve of hers, he had thought he was still trapped in a dream. Had he really suggested she stayed in his house, only one locked door away from him? What a mad, masochistic idea!

He couldn't remember every detail of the conversation from the night before, but there was the vague memory of Laura's name being the center of it. Did Laura really ask Della to look for him? He didn't know what was more confusing: the idea that Laura asked for Della's help or the fact that Della actually agreed to do it. After their last conversation he had bet his old Cadillac that Della never wanted to talk to him again.

Today he regretted almost everything he had said that evening; his words had been unfair and rooted in his wish to blame someone for his pain and loneliness, and he had never apologized for them. Her rejecting him had hit hard and had left bruises on his male ego.

Paul's death had opened many wounds – old and new ones. Their argument in the wake of Paul's death was only a part of the picture. The crucial point in Paul's murder was the reason behind it. The big why, while the 'who' and 'when' were an open secret. His murderer, a man named Peter Hardcastle, had left the courtroom as a free man, because of a procedural error within the D.A.'s office. It was always the worst possible outcome of a trial, when someone walked free, because the system failed the victim.

Hardcastle wasn't the mastermind behind Paul's death. He got away just as the person behind the murderous scheme, which was the heart of the problem. From what Perry had found out so far Paul's death was directly connected to the death of Rebecca Powell, a woman who had almost murdered Della and Laura about four years ago.

Rebecca had been killed in jail, before she could face a first degree murder charge for the death of a photographer and policeman among other crimes, such as attempted murder, abduction, and several drug offenses. Rebecca's untimely death had always been too convenient for Perry's taste, but he had never dared to look into it. Paul had looked into it and what he had found was ugly. In his late friends' files Perry had read countless interviews with fellow inmates of Rebecca who confirmed that Rebecca's murder had been a big cover up by the prison administration and consequently by higher political powers. Everything Paul had found out pointed to an old friend of Senator Richard Carlisle, Della's husband.

Nothing incriminated Carlisle himself, but people close him had been involved and Paul had died before he could finish his investigation. Had he been too close to the truth? Did he get in the way of the wrong people? Perry didn't know. He had come to Carmel to think it all through. The peace and the quiet of the woods were supposed to help him to get to the bottom of Paul's death and to help to cope with his own share of guild.

And now Della was here. She was the last person on earth he wanted to involve in this - at least not until he knew more. Deep down he knew he couldn't protect her, if Carlisle was really responsible for Rebecca's and subsequently Paul's murder. Just as he blamed himself, she would blame herself too, if her husband had ordered other people to die to protect her - especially when one of them was Paul Drake, a man she had always considered a brother. He loved her too much to watch her suffer through this, but how could he protect her, if her husband was a murderer?

###tbc###