Chapter 14

The music Allegra chose for Henry's funeral was all written by him. Many of the pieces, he had written for her. All of them were filled with joy and uplifting. The music said more about him than any of the many eulogies that were spoken. Allegra sat alone in the front pew of the church. She didn't want anyone with her, or need them. She felt Henry next to her.

She wore a simple black dress he had bought her in Paris, and a hat he loved, and the music transported everyone in the church. Every seat was filled, and there were rows of people standing behind them, to honor the man and his talent. Henry was too young to go, but he had filled every moment of his life with beauty for others to enjoy. He had made everyone's life better because he had lived, especially Allegra's. He had been the healing that had come to compensate her for the past. The tidal wave of his love had washed away the cruelty of others. She knew full well how fortunate she was to have loved him and been loved by him. He was the miracle she had waited for.

Allegra had invited his children to the funeral, but they had responded that they truly didn't know him and felt awkward coming, so they didn't. She knew Henry would have understood, but she was sorry they hadn't come. It would have been a suitable gesture of respect for their father. He didn't expect them to.

She held a reception afterward at the Hotel Bel-Air. There were too many people for the house. Every famous name and face in Hollywood was there. His English producers had come and so had the French director he had worked with recently. Carly was there, out of affection and respect. Pippa flew out from New York for the service, and to be there for Allegra. Jordan came and looked devastated. He hugged Allegra and couldn't speak. She had asked him to be one of the pallbearers and he was touched and honored to be recognized as one of Henry's closest friends. Henry had liked him and understood who he was, accepted him with his weaknesses, and said he was young. Jordan had come to the funeral with the actress he was dating at the moment, and he was struck by how beautiful Allegra looked. She looked serene as she walked gracefully through the crowd at the Bel-Air and thanked people for coming, and touched a hand, or gave someone a hug. She looked as though she wasn't really there. She had worn a widow's veil with the black hat, and it made her look even more beautiful. Her looks had become more radiant and more striking over the years in the warmth of Henry's love and tender care of her. All the marks of the past had been smoothed away, the pain, the anxiety, the wounds, the deep hurts others had inflicted on her. Henry's love had washed them away, like a perfect white stone on the beach, smoothed by the sea.

Allegra went back to the house after the reception. Henry's friends and the people he had worked with were still at the hotel, talking and drinking and laughing, and telling stories about him. He had been fierce in his youth and mellowed with time. She took off the hat and veil when she got home, changed into a plain white cotton dress, and went to sit in the garden, thinking of Henry and their last walk there, only a few days before, on his last day, in his final hour, although they didn't know it. A large blue butterfly came to rest on her hand, and she smiled at it and lifted it close to her face. It caressed her cheek and flew away, and she knew it was him. He was free now, on the wings of his music, to a better place. She already missed him, but felt the same joy whenever she thought of him. It was like a summer breeze that soothed her heart.

Allegra sat in the garden for a long time, as Louise watched her from the kitchen window, with a worried expression. She had gone to the funeral in her best black dress, and changed when she came home too.

"She's so alone now, no family, no children…" Louise said to Fred, the houseman who did the heavy cleaning. "What will she do?"

"She'll meet someone else. She's young. He was a lot older. She was always going to be a widow one day," he said practically. Louise looked annoyed.

"She's not like that," she snapped at him. "They really loved each other. She's a good woman." Henry had died at seventy-one. Allegra was thirty-three. And Fred was right, she was young, but she seemed much more mature than her years. She had a depth that most women her age didn't have yet. She had a lifetime ahead of her, and wasn't even halfway yet, most likely. Louise couldn't imagine her without Henry now. Neither could Allegra. She could no longer remember her life without him.

She wandered into the studio and looked at the notes on his desk of the last unfinished piece. She could read music now, he had taught her. She put one of his scores on, one of her favorites. It made her feel peaceful. She had to go through his papers, but it was still too soon. She couldn't yet. She had time. She had nothing to do now without him. She had dedicated her whole life to him for the past seven years. It seemed like an entire lifetime, not just part of it. It was the most important part.

Allegra stayed in the studio for hours, touching things, reading his notes, listening to his music. She stayed there until she went to bed. She didn't want to eat, and Louise left her alone. She would have to find her way now, and this was just the beginning. It would be a long life without him.

—

Henry's lawyer contacted Allegra a few days after the funeral. He had a copy of the will for her, which she wasn't interested in, but he said she had to see it. Henry had written it himself, in simple terms, and it was legally binding. He had left everything to Allegra and a generous bequest to Louise, his housekeeper. His ex-wife had made a lucky investment in the dot.com craze, and had become a rich woman. He knew his children would be taken care of by their mother, and both had good jobs. He checked on them occasionally from a distance. And Allegra was alone now. Henry didn't have a large fortune, but she would be very comfortable for a long time, forever if she was careful and wise. The house was his most valuable possession and she could sell it one day if she needed to. There would be income from his music, even quite a lot, for the rest of her life. She didn't have a vast amount of money now, but he had left her wealthy enough to be safe, and able to do what she wanted. She didn't have to work, or worry, thanks to him. As he had with everything else, Henry had been responsible and generous with Allegra. And he had added a paragraph that said she was to go to Paris whenever she wanted to, and stay at the Ritz. It made her smile when she read it. She would do that one day, but she needed to catch her breath and get her bearings first. Henry had left an incredible void in her life, and she didn't know how to fill it.

—

Over the next weeks, Allegra went through all Henry's papers and notes and articles about him, the biographical data, some of which she knew. But he hadn't told her of all the awards he'd received. There were dozens of them, along with his three Oscars. She found an envelope of photographs of him with his children. They had been four and five when he got divorced. She realized that they probably had no memory of him at all. She had the photographs copied and sent to them via Henry's lawyer.

As the stack of historical data on Henry's desk grew, Allegra realized how she was going to spend her time now. She had always wanted to try her hand at writing. The time had come. Henry had always encouraged her to try it. She was going to write a book about him, and the title came to her at the same time as the idea. Ode to Joy. It was perfect to describe his life, with all due respect to Beethoven, who she was sure wouldn't have objected.

It was exciting to think about the project and start putting order to the material she was collecting. She pulled out old files and made copies of everything. Writing the book would give meaning and direction to her life, and honor his. In many ways, he had been the unsung hero of the more classical music world, because his work was considered commercial, because of his success.

She was sitting on the studio floor, surrounded by papers and photographs in neat piles in chronological order, when Jordan came to visit her for the first time, three weeks after Henry died. He had wanted to give her time to begin recovering before intruding on her. He still wasn't sure if it was too soon, as he walked hesitantly into the studio and saw her on the floor. She looked up at him with a pale serious face and her red hair piled on top of her head with a pencil through it. She looked painfully beautiful, but he didn't say it.

"I'm going to write a book about him," she said to Jordan, and he nodded, equally serious. It saddened him to come to the house and not find Henry there. He had filled every inch of space around him with such vibrancy. The house was so silent now without him. Jordan could easily imagine how lonely Allegra was. But she was excited about the book she was planning. Her eyes were bright when she told Jordan about it.

"You should. He would love it," Jordan said, and sat down on the floor with her. "Someone should have written one about him years ago. He should have done it himself. He had so many great stories to tell."

"He never had time to write about them, he was too busy living them," Allegra said, and handed Jordan a photograph of Henry that made him laugh. He was on a beach somewhere, a young man fooling around with a pretty girl next to him. Jordan turned the photo over and Henry had written "Summer of Love, 1967." The girl was a Twiggy look-alike, which made Jordan smile, and Allegra had too. Henry was twenty-five at the time.

"What are you doing with yourself these days?" Jordan asked Allegra gently. He felt so sorry for her, alone now. She had lived to help Henry, and now all she had were a stack of papers and old photographs, but it made her happy to go through them. It kept him alive in her mind and daily routine.

"This," she said simply, looking around her.

"Can I take you out to dinner sometime, to get you out of the house?" he offered sincerely, as a friend. He thought Henry would want him to take care of her. Allegra wasn't as sure. Henry was wiser than that.

"Not yet. It's too soon. But thank you. I'm happy at home, going through all this stuff. It will take months to get through it all."

"Well, don't wait months to get out of here for a few hours. It would do you good," Jordan said, and she nodded.

Allegra spent the whole summer going through Henry's papers, and finding treasures to put in the book she was going to write.

Jordan dropped by to see her once a week. He brought her chocolates and pastry, some silly jokes, an occasional book to read. He always suggested lunch or dinner, but she was happy at home and didn't want to go out. She hadn't seen anyone since the funeral except Jordan, and she had to admit he was being a faithful friend. There were no inappropriate nuances, he was just concerned about her.

In September, she started the book. It filled her days and her nights, and her heart with joy, as she told Henry's story and shared his history, and she had mountains of photographs to include. She hadn't spoken to a publisher about it and hadn't tried to find an agent. She wanted to wait until the book was complete, and she guessed that it would take her a year or two, at the pace she was going. She was trying to be meticulous and historically accurate. She admitted to Jordan how much she loved writing it, when he dropped by.

"Maybe I'll try to write a novel when I finish," she said. She was enjoying writing the book about Henry immensely. She wanted to honor him, and it kept him alive while she wrote it. His energy jumped off the page and was contagious.

Allegra didn't let Jordan read it while she was working on it. She wanted it to be perfect before anyone read it, and it was still in very rough draft form. He couldn't wait to read it.

"Am I in it?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know," she said. "I haven't gotten to that part yet. You probably should be. You did a lot of work together."

"He loved me," Jordan said, and she laughed at him. He was such a narcissist, but he had been a faithful friend since Henry died, and she appreciated it. "Speaking of which," he changed the subject, "will you go to the premiere of my new movie with me? It would do you good to get out." He made it sound like a form of therapy he was recommending to her, but she didn't feel ready to go out in public yet, to something where she'd be that visible.

"I don't think I'm up to it. Don't you have a date?"

"No one I want to be in the papers with. I'm between dates at the moment," he said, and she smiled at him.

"When is it?" She felt sorry for him sometimes. The women in his life were so transitory, and never deep enough to be real. But he liked them that way, so he was always the star.

"It's in December." Henry would be gone for six months by then. It seemed soon to her.

Jordan renewed his offer several times in the next month, and he was insistent. "It would be good pre-publicity for your book. You can tell them on the red carpet that you're writing Henry's biography," he said, and Allegra laughed at him.

"Now, that's really a stretch. You must be desperate," she said, and he smiled. He noticed that she was regaining her sense of humor recently. She and Henry had always had wry exchanges and were funny with each other. Allegra was in increasingly good spirits as she progressed with the book. She felt as though she was spending every day with Henry as she wrote the story of his life and his remarkable career in music.

—

Three days before the film premiere, Jordan asked her again. He still didn't have a date, and on the spur of the moment, Allegra surprised him and herself and said yes.

"But no after-parties. I don't want to go out to big social events until the year is up, and maybe never again." She couldn't imagine going to a party without Henry and didn't want to. She didn't want to play the grieving widow, or go to events without him. It wouldn't be fun anyway. "You can send me home, and go to the parties on your own," she said.

"Thank you! I want you to see the film, and you'll make me look respectable," Jordan said, elated. It wasn't a movie Henry had worked on, which would have been too emotional for Allegra.

She pulled a serious black evening gown out of her closet, and had second thoughts about going, but she'd promised and didn't want to disappoint Jordan.

On the night of the premiere, Allegra put on the dress with black satin high heels and simple diamond earrings Henry had given her, and swept her red hair up in a chic French twist. She looked simple and elegant and dignified, and she thought Henry would have approved, and wouldn't have minded her going out.

She walked down the red carpet with Jordan, as he preened for the camera as he always did. He looked movie-star-handsome in a simple Armani tuxedo, and it took a minute but then the photographers realized who she was, and respectfully asked if they could take her picture. They didn't look like a romantic couple, and Jordan told them it was her first night out. They took a portrait of the two of them, and then she stepped back and they photographed Jordan alone.

Allegra liked the movie. She left as soon as it was over, and Jordan went on to the parties. The evening had gone smoothly, she hadn't had a good time, but she hadn't had a bad time either, and Jordan was right. It felt good to dress up and get out of the house.

The next day, there was a photograph of them in the entertainment section with the caption under it: "Screenwriter Jordan Allen escorts Allegra Platt, widow of friend and composer Henry Platt, to her first evening out since her late husband's death of cancer in June." It was simple and clean and accurate and there were no innuendos. Allegra and Jordan were standing next to each other like friends, not dates. And she looked serious. Jordan was smiling.

The day after the premiere, she thanked Jordan for a nice evening and went back to work on the book. She had written straight through Thanksgiving and intended to do the same on Christmas. She didn't get a tree and didn't want one. She had her memories of Henry and the holidays they'd shared to keep her warm. Jordan went to Aspen, and she didn't hear from him until well after New Year's. He had met someone there, which kept him busy through January, while she kept writing, and the manuscript was growing. Pippa called her from time to time to check on her progress and Allegra said she was happy with it. Pippa couldn't wait to read it.

Jordan came to visit a little less frequently in January and February, with a new woman in his life, and Allegra teased him about it when she saw him.

"Don't worry. Valentine's Day will kill it," he said cheerfully. "I think she's expecting me to propose, and we know that's not going to happen." He was right, and they broke up two days later, and he resumed his weekly visits to Allegra.

In March, at the very last minute, he asked her to go to the Academy Awards with him. He was nominated again, and he wanted to attend with a serious woman, "not a cupcake," as he put it.

"Should I be flattered or offended?" Allegra asked him.

"Both. You should be more of a cupcake at your age, it would do you good. And I'd rather go with you than anyone else."

"I'll think about it," was all Allegra would say. But it seemed like a friendly gesture to go with him and support him, especially if he didn't win. Jordan had been a faithful friend to her, and had been visiting her regularly for nine months. In the end, she made the same deal with him she had for his premiere, to go to the award ceremony with him, but not the after-parties. The parties after the Oscars were always boisterous and a lot of fun. But she wasn't ready for that. She still hadn't had dinner out with him, or anyone. Henry's friends had stopped asking when she said she was going to remain in mourning for a year. But the Academy Awards were almost like a work night for anyone in the entertainment industry, and it would be a big deal for Jordan if he won. It would be nice to be there for him, rather than some ambitious starlet who barely knew him.

—

She wore a black satin evening gown that molded her figure and was sexier than the dress she'd worn to his premiere. But the Oscars were a big deal and she wanted to do honor to both Jordan, as her friend, and her late husband, and look beautiful. She wore her red hair down, and very high heels, and when Jordan saw her he sucked in his breath and whistled.

"Oh my God, Allegra, you look like Rita Hayworth, only better."

"Too campy?" she asked him, worried. She was out of practice, but women went all out at the Academy Awards, and so did the men. Her black evening gown was magnificent and very flattering.

"You look fantastic!" he confirmed.

They walked the red carpet and drew a lot of attention this time. It was a much more important event. Jordan was a very successful screenwriter and she was the widow of an important man. She looked beautiful, and they were a camera-worthy couple and got lots of attention from the press. Allegra felt a little conspicuous, but she focused on encouraging Jordan through the evening, and when he didn't win, she squeezed his hand and told him the third time was the charm.

"You'll win it next time," she whispered, as another screenwriter ran up on stage to collect his Oscar.

Jordan wasn't in the mood for the after-parties, and she had said she wasn't going, so he took her home, and she invited him in for a drink to cheer him up. He looked really down once they left the theater where the ceremony was held, and she poured him a scotch on the rocks when they got home, and they went to sit in the living room. Allegra hadn't used it in months, but it seemed suitable for the way they were dressed.

"You looked incredibly beautiful," Jordan said to her, as he took a big swallow of the scotch and came to sit next to her on the couch. "I feel like a total loser. Probably because I lost." He laughed at himself.

"It really is brutal having to hear the bad news in front of thousands of your peers, and millions of viewers on national TV," she sympathized. "I'd rather hear it at home in my jeans or my pajamas, if it were me," she said, and he laughed again.

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't get to show off with you on the red carpet," he said, and looked boyish. There was no denying he had charm and a certain vulnerable appeal, especially when he was down, like tonight. He touched her bare shoulder then, and looked at her, and before she knew what happened, he was kissing her, sensually, slowly, and then passionately, and she was kissing him back. Allegra was breathless when he stopped, and he ran his hands over her then, and kept kissing her as he cupped her breasts in his hands, and suddenly she didn't want him to stop. She was lonely for Henry, she had been alone for nine months, and Jordan was suddenly sexy and desirable and young, and she couldn't stop. She followed him blindly up the stairs to her bedroom at full speed, where he had her dress off in seconds, and his clothes, and before she knew what she was doing, they were making love and she forgot everything except the throbbing pulse inside her, and the magic spell he was weaving on her. It was one of the rawest, most passionate moments of her life, beyond thinking, beyond shame or conscience, and she was suddenly a young woman desperate for a man, and he was equally desperate for her. It had nothing to do with love, it was only about need and sex. They were both breathless when they stopped. She looked at him, lying on her bed, unable to believe what she'd just done. And she hadn't even had a drink. She was drunk, but on him.

"God, Jordan, what are we doing?" she whispered to him, as he touched her breast again and it responded to him immediately.

"I've wanted you since the first day I saw you, when Henry hired you. I think I fell in love with you then, but he saw you first." Allegra was shocked by what Jordan said, and she sat up on the bed. He had a spectacular body, and so did she. But hers belonged to Henry. Only Henry was no longer there. And Jordan was.

"You can't be serious," she said in response to him.

"I am. Completely. I have envied him ever since. He was my hero, and he got the woman of my dreams. I don't even care that I didn't win tonight. I'd rather be here with you." He sounded as though he meant it, and she didn't know what to think. She had loved her husband beyond anything on earth and she had just had raw, uncontrolled, passionate sex with another man, and enjoyed it, which was even worse. She felt acutely guilty.

Minutes later, they did it again, and she hadn't even figured out how it had happened the first time. He had cast some kind of spell on her. She couldn't get enough of him, and he felt the same. Her dress lay in a heap on the floor, and her marriage and judgment with it. And for Jordan it was one of the most important moments of his life. He had been competitive with Henry Platt for all the years he knew him, and envied him everything he had, including and especially his wife. It no longer mattered that he had lost the Oscar that night. It had taken him nine years, but he had finally won Allegra. She was the prize.