Bernhardt's Edge Read Online Free

watched him as she chewed. Finally: “You’re shy. You didn’t seem shy, earlier. But you are, really.”
    â€œMost actors are shy. Or at least self-protective.”
    â€œIs there a difference?”
    â€œProbably not.” He drank an inch of beer from one of the mugs that Mike allowed his favorite customers to use. “What about you? Where’d you do your acting?”
    â€œLos Angeles. I grew up there, went to Pomona College. That’s where I got hooked on acting, in college.” She hesitated, blinked, bit her lip. Her earlier vulnerability had returned, darkening her eyes, saddening her smile. “My husband is—was—a screenwriter. He got me some bit parts in movies.”
    He let a moment of silence pass, then said, “When you say ‘was,’ does that mean—” He let it go unfinished.
    Which was it? Dead? Or divorced?
    With obvious effort, she raised her eyes to meet his. “It means we’re divorced. I got married right out of school. And he’d already been married, twice. We kept at it for ten years. Eleven years, really. But—” She shook her head, drew a deep breath, bit once more into her sandwich, almost gone. Her appetite, Bernhardt noted with satisfaction, was good. Finally she said, “That was two years ago, that we got divorced. I decided I wanted a change, wanted to get out of town, at least for a while. So I came here, to San Francisco.”
    â€œDo your parents still live in Los Angeles?”
    She nodded. “They teach at U.C.L.A. They’re both sociology professors.”
    â€œImpressive.”
    Her smile returned, along with the playful lilt in her dark, quick eyes. “What about you? I’m sure—I’ll bet—that you’re an easterner. Am I right?”
    He chuckled. “Right. New York. But you could’ve guessed, couldn’t you? From what I said earlier, to the cast.”
    â€œSo what’s your story, Alan Bernhardt? You know why I’m in San Francisco, hiding out. What about you?”
    With his eyes on the circles of wetness that his beer mug left on the tabletop, making designs of the circles, he let the silence lengthen so long that it would have been an embarrassment not to have told her.
    â€œI was married pretty much right out of college, too—a couple of years out, anyhow. She was an actress. We were married until—it’s been eight years, now. Eight and a half, really. And she—” He swallowed, realized that he was helplessly blinking. He felt the familiar ache, the palpable suffocation of terror and dread as he remembered answering the door, remembered seeing the badge, seeing the man standing there, in the dimly lit hallway.
    He’d known what had happened. Instantly, he’d known.
    â€œShe was mugged. They—they knocked her down, and she hit her head on the curb. She—” He swallowed again. “She never regained consciousness. Her name was Jennifer. Jenny.”
    â€œOh, God. I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I always seem to—”
    â€œYou didn’t know. It’s been eight years. That’s time enough.”
    â€œAre your folks in New York?”
    Still with his eyes lowered, speaking very deliberately, he said, “I don’t have any folks, not really. None except in-laws. My father was killed in the war. He was a bombardier. And my mother died sixteen years ago, of cancer.”
    â€œJesus, Alan—” She reached across the table, to touch his hand. “I’m not—I’m not trying to—”
    â€œIt’s okay—” He raised his eyes, smiled, saw her answering smile, slightly misted. “Really, it’s okay.” He rotated his hand, to clasp hers. “I like you. So it’s okay.”
    Between them the moment held. Until, gently, she withdrew her hand. Saying: “I like you, too.”
    They sat for a time in their separate