Epilogue

September 30, 1949

The sun was setting in a swirl of Easter pastels. The waves beat against the sand like a pulse. They walked along the water's edge, fingers inches apart, making Patrick want to reach out and take his lover's hand. He knew better.

There was no one to be seen, but that didn't matter. There could be someone unseen in one of the cottages crowding the shore, many of which were still under construction. It couldn't be risked. It could never be risked.

They were quiet. They'd barely said a thing since they left the house Ivan had designed for eighteen-year-old movie star Jane Van Houten, who'd been a second-rate Shirley Temple and was now an aspiring sexpot. Her gratitude—he'd sent the bill to Monumental—resulted in the loan of the house several times a year.

"You're feeling bad, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," Patrick replied, though it sounded the opposite.

"You did what you had to do."

And for a moment, Patrick was back on the phone, a bag of ice pressed against his face, telling Vera it was over. "We can't continue like this. It's too dangerous."

"Patrick, it's perfect. Your family believes you're in love with me. So does your boss."

"And your girlfriend's husband beat me up. Vera, you have to stop seeing her. I don't know what he'll do next."

"I love her. I have to get her away from him."

"He won't let her go."

"Can't we talk about all this at the beach? We'll have time to make a plan."

"Vera, you and Gigi aren't coming to the beach. It's over."

And then he hung up on her. The phone rang immediately, and he didn't pick up. Since then, he'd felt like a coward, a cad. A Hollywood hero would find a way to save the girl, even a girl who loved another girl. But there was nothing to be done. Manny Marker knew too much. It wasn't just his fists that could hurt him. He could be disbarred. He could end up penniless and alone.

As though he'd followed each and every thought, Ivan said, "She'll be fine. She's a smart girl."

And then he reached out and took Patrick's hand.

"Ivan, don't."

They stopped walking and faced each other. Ivan placed a hand briefly on Patrick's heart and then on his own. "Nothing matters but this. The space between us. It's all there is. All there ever will be."