Reign

Ann paused before she answered. 'I doubt that he'll remember. That was almost twenty-five years ago.'

'You'll discover,' Steinberg said, smiling gently, 'if you don't know it already, that Dennis never forgets a face. And certainly not such a pretty one.' He began to walk up the stairs again, and Ann followed. 'I'd also introduce you to Robin, Dennis's wife, but she's in New York this week, meeting the playwrights and composers who've written the shows we're considering for production. But you can meet her later. A charming woman, very young, but very… perceptive.'

There were dimensions of meaning in the word, and Ann could not help but wonder if Steinberg suspected the nature of her previous relationship with Dennis Hamilton. Well, if he did he did. All that was in the past.

Still, as they reached the top of the stairway and began to walk down the long hall, she could feel her heart pounding, and she began to wonder if she had been lying to herself, if her desire for this job was born of nothing but the desire to see Dennis again. Why else did she feel relieved that his wife was away?

Finally they stopped at a pair of carved double doors. 'The sanctum sanctorum,' Steinberg said, pushing a button. In a moment the doors were opened by a short, stocky man in a pale blue jogging suit, who Steinberg introduced as Sid Harper. He shook Ann's hand, looking at her with what might have been a trace of recollection.

'It's pretty warm today,' he said, leading the way across a living room right out of Architectural Digest. 'Dennis is on the terrace.' Ann followed through the French doors and saw him.

He was sitting with his back to them at a glass-topped table on which lay a morning newspaper, folded and unread. Next to it was a Limoges cup filled with coffee. Although all she could see of Dennis was the back of his head above the collar of the soft brown leather jacket, she would have recognized him anywhere. The sandy red hair, now touched with highlights of gray, was still swept backward in a leonine manner. It glimmered in the morning sun just the way it had when they had said goodbye to each other so many years before. Although she had seen his face since, it had always been in films or on television, and she could barely keep herself from going up to him, touching his shoulder, seeing him turn and look at her once again.

'Dennis,' Steinberg said softly but firmly, 'I'd like you to… reacquaint yourself with Ann Deems.'

It seemed to Ann that he turned in slow motion, so that the jutting chin, the straight and narrow nose, the blue eyes, once piercing but now soft, came into her view over a period of what seemed like minutes, and after that eternity he was finally looking at her face, and the eyes became sharp and clear again, and she knew that he not only recognized her, but that he had not forgotten her. It was the look of lovers meeting after many years of separation, and the knowledge that he had never stopped loving her nearly drowned her, and she became aware of the most wonderful and terrible knowledge of all, that she had never stopped loving him either.

'Ann…” His lips formed the word, but she did not hear it.

'Hello, Dennis,' she said, her throat thick, her hands tingling with the longing to touch him. 'It was Ann Warren then.'

'Yes…' It was as though he suddenly realized that he was being rude, and he got awkwardly to his feet. 'What a surprise,' he said, and a smile that held more things than she could imagine formed on his face. He made a delicate motion toward her, then stopped, as though he had intended to give her a kiss of greeting, then changed his mind. 'It's been… quite a long time. You're looking very well.'

'Thank you. You too. The beard still looks wonderful.'

He chuckled. 'My chin hasn't seen daylight for ten years now.'

'He could grow mushrooms in it,' Sid said, then crossed his arms. He looked uncomfortable, Ann thought.

'Well, since you two seem to know each other,' Steinberg said, 'Sid and I will get back to work. Oh, by the way, Dennis, Mrs. Deems will be our new production assistant, with your approval, of course.'

'Oh. Oh. Of course. I'm sure she'll be… wonderful. Ann, would you… like some coffee? Tea?'

'No thank you, Dennis. I'm fine.'

'Later,' Sid said, following Steinberg through the French doors and out of sight.

'Um… please, sit down.' He held out a chair for her and she sat, finally looking at the view. A large courtyard with a fountain was below. Across it and to the right were the vast walls of the building itself, while to the left was the street, an oak-lined boulevard that undoubtedly had looked the same for decades.

'It's a beautiful town,' she said, and Dennis, sitting across from her, nodded.

'It always was,' he said. 'One of the few places that never changed. You could almost imagine that it's the same as it was when we

… when I first came here.'

'Except for the fact,' said Ann, 'that they don't show dirty movies here anymore.'

Dennis laughed, and Ann was glad to hear the sound come bubbling out of him. Her silly remark had broken whatever romantic nostalgia had bound them, and she felt easier now, less apt to cry or shout or embrace him or any of the other childish, foolish things she had thought she might do. 'God, you look good,' Dennis said. 'So tell me everything. How you became Ann Deems, whatever became of your parents, if you have children, the works. I mean, we do have a quarter century catching up to do.'

'That dates us, doesn't it?' Ann said dryly.

'Me perhaps. Not you. You've hardly changed a bit.'

She smiled. 'Actors are always such skillful liars.'

'Lying is our profession. But in this case I'm as honest as I know how to be. But now tell me – you're married.'

'I was. I'm… a widow now. God, that word sounds so quaint, doesn't it?”

“Did it happen recently?'

So prompted, Ann told Dennis what had happened since they had last seen each other. He hung on every word, expressing a child-like delight at her triumphs, dismay at her losses. Never before had anyone listened so intently to her, or responded so sympathetically. She finally told him of Eddie's death, though she did not mention the circumstances, and merely hinted at the gap it had left in her life.

'Well,' he said when she had finished, 'it sounds as though you'll do a terrific job working with us. But you know, I'm interested in what you said about Terri. She's a good costumer?'

'I think so, but I'm her mother. Why? Do you need someone here?'

'Yes we do. Or we will very shortly. There are tons of costumes that need to be cleaned, repaired, you name it. We're trying to build our own wardrobe here so that we'll have most of what we need for shows, rather than having to rent everything from New York houses. There's no rush for Marvella right now, but once we select a show, which might be very soon, she's going to need help.'

'Marvella Johnson?' Dennis nodded. 'She's Terri's idol. She did a research paper on her designs.'

'You think she'd be interested in working for her?'

'You're joking. She'd be delirious. You mean there's actually a chance?'

'I don't know why not. A degree in costuming from Yale Drama School is nothing to sneeze at, even for Marvella.' Dennis laughed. 'Of course I think tenth grade was as far as Marvella ever got. Someone with her natural gifts comes along about every fifty years. She calls herself the idiot savant of costume design, but believe me, she's no idiot, she's a damned genius.'

'It was Ilona Herrick who discovered her, wasn't it?'

'Yes. Sort of like Lana Turner in the soda shop. Herrick hired her as a seamstress – out of desperation to meet a deadline – and accidentally knocked over a folder full of Marvella's sketches. The rest is history.'

Ann nodded. 'A happy set of circumstances.'

'Mmm. Fate,' Dennis said. 'Kismet, I suppose, that brings two people together.' He paused. 'Accidents.' Their eyes locked and they looked at each other for a long time. Ann tried to keep the tears from forming, but felt them begin to pool, and looked away, blinking savagely.

'Let's have dinner tonight,' Dennis said. 'The Kirkland Inn still gets fresh seafood every day.' He smiled and touched her hand. 'You always liked their seafood.'

Ann looked at his hand on hers and thought how natural it seemed, how right, even though so many years had passed since she had last touched him. 'I don't know,' she said. 'I don't know if that would be such a good idea.'

'I don't know either,' he replied. 'All I know is that I'd like to have dinner with you, talk with you some more.