Hold on Tight

by Deborah Smith

  Out of the corner of her eye, Dinah blankly noted the arrival of a black Cadillac at the curb. Rucker? If the underlying issue of her public image weren’t so at stake already, and if Mervin weren’t taking himself so seriously, Dinah would have dismissed his ridiculous tirade without a flutter. But the combination of strained emotions and exhaustion was too much. She stared at the Cadillac, desperately searching for a response to Mervin’s ludicrous insinuations, but her mind went blank. She was intensely aware of cameras clicking and whirring.

  “See!” Mervin said gleefully. “You’re ashamed of yourself, and it shows!”

  Rucker bolted out of his car, his worried eyes already turning toward her. He ran up to the crowd, his trench coat falling open to reveal charcoal-gray trousers and a pullover sweater in shades of dusky blue. He got his colors right, Dinah thought numbly. He didn’t always. I’m so proud of him.

  “And what’s more,” Mervin yelled, “this woman is a liberal! A liberal!”

  Dinah watched Rucker’s eyes shift from her to Mervin. Under the mustache his mouth flattened into a grim line. “Mervin,” she warned under her breath, “you’re asking for trouble.”

  “Our mayor is a convicted criminal! A sex model! And a … a loose woman!”

  Dinah winced. Rucker started pushing through the crowd, and now the look in his eyes was lethal. He shoved past a cameraman and charged up the steps, his fists clenched. When Mervin saw him, his red face lost most of its color. Dinah grabbed the front of Mervin’s coat and shook him desperately.

  “Mervin,” she said as calmly as she could, “you’d better run like hell.”

  Mervin started backing up the steps. Dinah got in front of him just as Rucker grabbed for Mervin’s lapels. “No, Rucker, no!” she begged in a tense whisper. “We’re on camera!” She braced her hands against Rucker’s chest and held him back. Rucker had eyes and hands only for Mervin, and he reached over her shoulders and got hold of Mervin anyway.

  “Nobody talks about her the way you did,” Rucker informed him in a rough voice. “You pompous, pig-lipped, son of a—”

  “Rucker!”

  Dinah was sandwiched between them, and all she could think was, ten to one odds, this was going to make the national news. “Rucker, please!” Mervin was flailing at Rucker’s hands and hitting Dinah in the head in the process.

  “I’m not gonna punch him, Dee, but I’m sure as hell gonna rattle his marbles!”

  “This isn’t a wrestling match, Rucker!”

  “Boss, boss, cool out, man, cool out.” Millie was involved now, clutching Rucker’s right arm and tugging furiously. And then Dewey was beside them all, one huge dark hand anchored on Rucker’s shoulder, the other wound in Mervin’s coat.

  “Break it up, boys,” he instructed smoothly, “or you’ll be sharing a cell.” Rucker shoved Mervin and let him go. Dewey guided Mervin further up the steps and held him there like a fat puppy caught by the scruff of the neck.

  “You’ll pay for that, McClure!” Mervin yelled. “I’ll press charges!”

  “I’ll press your head between a wall and my fist!” Rucker threatened back. “You keep your foul mouth shut about Dee!”

  Dinah nearly groaned out loud. She clutched Rucker’s arm with an unyielding grip. “Millie, help me push Godzilla inside the building!”

  “I’ll go peacefully,” Rucker retorted.

  “Good! It’ll be the first peaceful thing you’ve ever done!”

  He glared at Mervin and pointed a warning finger at him on the way into the lobby but didn’t say anything else. Once inside, Dinah let go of his arm and turned toward Lula Belle, who was standing transfixed by the reception window where people came to pay their utility bills.

  “I’m going to my office,” Dinah told her in a fierce, formal voice. “I’m not taking any calls from anyone except the council. I’m not seeing any visitors.”

  All two hundred fifty pounds of Lula Belle quivered with determination under the green corduroy jumper she wore. “I’ll see to it,” she promised sternly. “Nobody’s gonna get past Lula Belle Mitchum.”

  “Dee?” Rucker implored. “What about me?”

  She twisted around and looked up at him with tearful eyes. “Are you trying to make me front-page news?” she asked in a desperate, angry voice. “You couldn’t do a better job if you’d planned it!”

  “I was protectin’ you. Tryin’ to protect you.”

  “I know that. I love you for doing it. You—” Her control dissolved and she pressed both hands to her face. “You brawling redneck!” He reached for her, but she shrugged his hands away.

  “Dee, I—dammit, I didn’t think about the press bein’ out there. I overreacted.”

  “You always overreact!” She hurried down the hallway toward her office. “Just let me handle this mess on my own!”

  “I’ll be waitin’ at your house for you, hon!” she heard him call as she slammed the office door.

  The evening sky was fading into rose and amethyst over the pine grove that backed her neat little house. Dinah shut the station wagon’s door and moved slowly across the yard, her shoulders aching with the day’s strain. Rucker ran out of the house to meet her, wearing his best, most cheerful smile under worried eyes. He’d reverted to type by donning ancient jeans, a faded college sweatshirt, and jogging shoes.

  “Hi,” he said tentatively.

  “Hi.”

  They walked the rest of the way inside without speaking. Pine logs crackled in the fireplace and the aroma of beef stew wafted deliciously through the air. Nureyev screeched from the kitchen and Jethro stared at her unemotionally, as was standard for him, from his bed of old towels in one corner of a wing-backed chair.

  “No talk until I say so,” Rucker commanded. “I want to know everything that happened after you went in your office, but not until I’ve got you fixed up.”

  When Rucker finished with his interpretation of fixed up, she was propped on the couch, wearing a shimmering blue kimono he’d bought her and sipping a glass of wine. He sat down and took her bare feet in his lap. He began to massage them, and the feel of his supple, caring fingers made Dinah sigh in appreciation.

  “I wish I could bottle the effect your hands have on me. I’d carry it with me everywhere.”

  “Hmmm. Rub a woman’s tootsies, she gets all fluttery. Pretty simple.” His voice was cautious and low. “All right. Talk, Iadybug. What happened?”

  Her hand trembling, she set her wine glass down on the coffee table beside the couch. “Have a lot of people called here today?”

  “Yep. I let your answering machine handle them. I was tryin’ to write. Not very successfully, but tryin’. I kept worryin’about you.”

  “The board of education has called a special meeting scheduled for the day after the USA Personal story airs. They’ll review the details.” She laughed without humor. “And decide if they want a notorious woman for a history teacher.”

  “Dee, don’t say—”

  “I’m meeting with the city council the day after that. A closed session.” She paused, her eyes hooded with fatigue, but amused. “Neada Gwynn at the tattoo parlor is on my side, at least. She told Lula Belle that I could have a free tattoo any time I want it.”

  They shared a bittersweet look. “There’s a lot to be said for a free tattoo,” he joked, his tone grim. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes troubled. “Still mad at me?”

  When she stared down at her hands and didn’t answer, he knew that she was. Rucker sighed. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Your life is doin’ fine. You’ve got me, right? And now you can stop running.”

  “I wasn’t running. I was rebuilding.”

  “You were running.” He waved one hand to emphasize his words. “Afraid to tell me about your past, afraid to tell anyone about your past, hiding in this hayseed town …”

  “I love this town.” Her voice faltered. “I—I thought you’d come to love it too.”

  “I do. But I don’t think it ought to be the focus of you
r life. You’ve been hidin’ here, no doubt about it.”

  She began to get charged up again, and her voice rose. “I was very happy, hiding here.”

  “And you’ll be even happier now that you don’t have to hide. You,” he said sternly, “can do anything you want, if you’re not afraid to try.”

  “I’m not afraid. But I have pride, and I’m not going to parade myself for public ridicule.”

  “You have too much pride.”

  “And you have a rose-colored view of the world, Rucker.”

  He got up, his eyes fierce. “I know how ugly the world can be. You have to remember how I grew up. But I also have faith in people.”

  Dinah stared up at him, her face flushed. “You think I’m a coward. Admit it.” He hesitated, searching for a tactful retreat, and she read the truth before he could hide it. Dinah got up gracefully, her back rigid. “I see,” she said icily.

  He frowned deeply. “I just don’t think you want to turn tail and hide anymore.”

  “Stop saying hide! Just because I don’t subscribe to your folksy, naive, damn-the-torpedoes-and-full-speed-ahead philosophy—”

  “My redneck philosophy, is what you mean,” he said grimly, insulted. Dinah didn’t answer, and now it was his turn to read the truth in silence. His expression became a mask of controlled anger. “I believe I’ll take a drive.” He went to the stand by the door and got his old aviator’s jacket, then jabbed his arms into the sleeves. He was mad, and every brusque movement of his body illustrated that. “I’ll cruise around town and do a little informal survey on the goodness of humanity.”

  “You’ll be disappointed.”

  He slammed the door on his way out.

  The night USA Personal aired was torment. Dinah sat on the edge of the couch, her back ruler-straight and her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she watched Todd Norins parade her story in front of a national audience. Rucker lounged beside her, brooding and quiet.

  Afterward they turned the television off and sat gazing into the fire. Finally he touched her shoulder with his fingertips and said hoarsely, “You’ll never forgive me for helping that man find you.” Then he got up and went to the bedroom. Dinah followed him, her chest aching with sorrow because a part of her admitted that he was right, that his mistake would always be between them. Without turning on the light, he undressed down to his T-shirt and briefs, then got into bed and turned his back to her. Misery radiated from him.

  Dinah suddenly felt more sorry for him than for herself. She stripped bare and got into bed with him, then curved herself to his broad back, nuzzled his neck, and wound her arm over his waist. “I can’t sleep with a man who isn’t naked,” she teased gently. “I’ve become fond of your unclothed bohunkus.”

  He chuckled wearily. “You got it, then.” He shucked his shirt and briefs, jauntily threw them across the room, and turned to face her.

  “Come here,” she urged, and reached for him. They lay on their sides, in each other’s arms, their legs entwined. “I love you so much,” he murmured, the words an apology for all that had happened.

  “And I love you,” she answered. “Sssh. We’ll be all right.” He rolled her onto her back and lay on top of her. Dinah wrapped her legs around him and looked up into the shadowed unhappiness of his face. “Oh, Rucker, you feel so good against me.” Her voice was raspy with emotion and growing desire. “Make everything all right again. Please.”

  The intensity of the last few days spilled over into the night, and they both shivered. He ground his hips into the dampness between her legs, and she felt him stiffening. Dinah pulled his head to hers and kissed him deeply, teasing him with quick, desperate movements of her tongue.

  Rucker trailed greedy kisses to her ear and said hoarsely, “No matter what happens, we’ll always belong together.”

  Her voice was breathless. “Yes.”

  She stroked the tight, flexing muscles of his back and hips. He arched his body and entered her in a quick, almost desperate movement that made her cry out with pleasure. They held each other snuggly and chased the sadness away with a sudden wildness that tore restraint apart.

  Dinah twisted and rose under him, responding to the fierce, possessive strength of his arms and the tormented way his fingers dug into her back as he lunged against her. Her cry of release drove him to thrust harder. He buried his head beside hers on the pillow, and she whispered encouragement to him as he moved faster.

  He raised his mouth to hers and kissed her hard. She felt every muscle in his body contract with pleasure. Her mouth muffled his long, groaning sigh. The kiss continued in a series that slowly moved down her throat, until finally Rucker braced himself on one arm and dipped his head to nibble her breasts. Then he nestled his head next to hers again, sank one hand into her tangled hair, and guided her face into the hollow of his neck.

  Dinah licked the hot, damp skin there. “Don’t move,” she whispered. “I want to fall asleep just like this.”

  “I’ll hold you until you do,” he promised, his voice languid and gruff. “I’ll be right here. I’ll be beside you when you wake up in the morning.” He paused. “I’ll be with you the rest of your life, if you want me.”

  Dinah caught her breath. A sweet feeling of confidence filled her. “I want you,” she answered.

  The kitchen was a haven of warm light against the cold, dark morning pressing against the bay window. Dinah padded in, preoccupied with tucking the tail of a pleated white blouse into a full black skirt that swung gracefully around her stockinged legs. “You’re up awfully early,” she murmured to Rucker. They shared a kiss as she went past him.

  “Couldn’t sleep. Decided to feed the critters.”

  He sat at the round kitchen table with a plate in front of him, tearing raw bacon into tiny pieces. Jethro clung to the lap of his white, terry-cloth robe and stared hopefully at the bacon. Nureyev hopped back and forth on his perch by the window, cocking his head as he eyed the bacon too.

  “Bonjour!” he called. “Sprechen sie grits.” He whistled a few notes that sounded vaguely like the opening bars of “Dixie,” then launched into a garbled quote from Sartre.

  “Grits,” Dinah repeated dryly. “ ‘Dixie.’ ” She got a mug and filled it with strong coffee from a percolator on the counter. “Rucker, my crow is culturally confused because of you.”

  He chuckled, but the sound was more troubled than cheerful. She sat down across from him and sipped her coffee. “Rucker,” she said in a rebuking voice. “Stop worrying about me. You have to go to New York. You’ve been scheduled to make this trip for two months. Your book editor is expecting you. The New York Press Club is expecting you. It’s too important to postpone. You have to go.”

  “I’ll be back in two days.”

  “That’s right. Just two days.”

  “You’re supposed to meet with the board of education and the city council while I’m gone. That’s what worries me.”

  She smiled with a great deal more reassurance than she felt. “It’s all going to be very calm and polite.” He nodded then shrugged as if he were rebuking himself for being overprotective. It won’t be difficult at all, she added silently. All I have to do is turn in my resignations.

  Eleven

  Dinah was seated at the piano practicing when the phone rang in the kitchen. Thinking that it was Rucker, she ran to answer it. But Lula Belle’s voice leapt out at her over the receiver.

  “Dinah, I think you better turn your TV to Entertainment Tonight. They just said something about Rucker being arrested in New York on account of he assaulted Todd Norins.”

  This isn’t happening, Dinah thought desperately as she ran back to the living room and switched on the television. She knelt in front of her set, her hands clasped to her chest. A commercial was playing. Her breath short, she watched unblinking as the show returned. The beautiful blond hostess sent a grand smile into Dinah’s living room.

  “In New York, today,” the smiling blonde said, “an altercation between award winni
ng investigative reporter Todd Norins of USA Personal and best-selling author Rucker McClure ended with Norins unconscious on the floor of Napoleon’s, a super-elegant Manhattan eatery.”

  Dinah gasped out loud. Beside the smiling blonde a publicity picture of Todd Norins appeared on the screen. “It seems that McClure took exception to an exposé Norins did last week on former Miss Georgia Dinah Sheridan. McClure, who is reputed to be the ex-beauty queen’s boyfriend, cornered Norins in the restaurant. Fellow diners said the two men exchanged heated words that ended when Norins threw a water glass at McClure. According to reports, McClure then grabbed the unsuspecting newsman by the coat collar, dragged him to a nearby table, and shoved his face into a plate of raw oysters.

  Norins retaliated by tossing a punch at McClure, but the punch missed and hit a bystander”—the smiling blonde paused for effect—“who happened to be the owner of the raw oysters. In retaliation, that man hit Norins in the face, knocking him unconscious.”

  The blonde paused again, smiling broader. “Norins was treated and released at a Manhattan hospital. McClure and the unidentified oyster lover were arrested for assault and battery but were released on bond late today by New York City police. Charges and countercharges are being filed by all three parties involved in the incident.” She winked. “There’s no word yet on the fate of the oysters.”

  “Rucker, how could you?” Dinah asked aloud, shaking her fists at the television. Anguish and fury combined to make her clutch her overwrought stomach as a wave of nausea hit her. Right before he left, he’d promised to behave. Promised. A few minutes later she was in the car, on her way to the airport and then to New York.

  The high-rise hotel room was quiet and dimly lit, but the shadows seemed to hum with tension. Rucker stood at a big window gazing out at the cold rain slicing down on the Manhattan nightscape. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his long legs braced defiantly. He had stood this way ever since Dinah’s angry arrival ten minutes earlier. His gray dress shirt missed the top five buttons where he had fiercely jerked the collar open, his gray trousers were wrinkled, and his auburn hair showed all the times he had run a hand through it.