“Please don’t,” she said. “It would ruin everything.” She stroked his cheek. “And you do want me again, don’t you?” She leaned down quickly and touched her lips to his. “Please?”
“All right.” He felt incapable of saying no to her.
“Thank you, darling.” Marianna stood. “You won’t be sorry.” A grating harshness thickened her voice as she said, “I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Everything.”
David started as, without another word, she turned and headed for the door. “Wait,” he muttered. It took all his strength to push up on an elbow. Before he could speak again, she’d gone into the hall and shut the door behind herself. Would Ellen hear? he thought, grimacing. Would she hear the footsteps on the stairs? He listened tensely for the sound of the front door closing but it didn’t come. At least, she’d done that soundlessly. He wondered if, despite what she’d said, Marianna wanted Ellen to know.
Abruptly, David shivered. It was freezing in the studio—as though, with her departure, Marianna had removed all warmth. As quickly as he could, he struggled to his feet and started dressing, skin speckled by gooseflesh. By the time he’d finished, his legs could barely support him and he sank down with an enervated groan, fumbling for the blanket, lifting it infirmly and drawing it around his quivering back and shoulders. God, but he was cold!—and tired. He winced in dismayed confusion. And thirsty too; his throat felt blotted dry. He had to have a drink of water—and yet he wondered if he had the strength even to stand much less to cross the studio, exit and climb the staircase to the bedroom. And if he were able to manage all that, how could he face Ellen?
He shook his head, trying to smile but knowing that the smile was forced; his sense of humor had all but deserted him, it seemed. Well, how could it be otherwise? He’d just committed brutally heedless adultery and it wasn’t very funny. No matter how advanced one’s taste for drollery might be, there were circumstances which could not, possibly, be construed as comical. Perhaps his sense of fun wasn’t worldly enough—because he just couldn’t see any humor in the situation.
He shook his head despondently. Don’t think about it, he told himself; get a drink and go to bed. He raised the iron bar which was his left arm and looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to two. He’d been here less than half an hour. It was inconceivable. For all he remembered of it, a century might have gone by in that time. Straining to his feet, the blanket slipping to the floor, David dressed and hobbled palsiedly across the room. Liza crossing the ice, he thought. That didn’t amuse him either.
He thought he’d never reach the door. By the time his hand had clutched the frigid knob, his legs were vibrating beneath the cumbrance of his body, threatening to give way at any moment. David leaned hard against the door, breathing with effort Dear God, was he going to make it? This was practically ridiculous. What had she done to him? He’d never felt so washed out in his life. Was this what sex of such ferocity did to a man? He felt a formless harrying of resentment that he didn’t really know, not with Ellen, not with Julia. Still, this weariness did seem inordinately extreme.
“The hell—” he muttered. Clenching teeth, he jerked opened the door and stumbled into the hall, shutting the door behind himself. He hesitated for a moment then turned upward, fearful that he might lose balance if he tried descending. Besides, something drew him toward Ellen; an insistent need which he could not recognize. All he knew was that it had nothing to do with guilt.
The first step up left him aghast. He might have been a statue trying to ascend the upstairs. What had she done to him? The realization that less than thirty minutes with her had reduced him to a state of near collapse angered as much as stunned him. Good Christ, I’m forty-six, not eighty-six! he thought.
Determined not to sit, he lumbered up the remaining steps, moving with a tight-lipped persistence until he’d reached the landing. There, he permitted himself to rest—but, as a wave of dizziness began oppressing him, he staggered into the icebox gloom of the bathroom and threw cold water on his face. This gave him the strength to fill the glass five times and drink; gratefully, he felt the moisture penetrating his system, laving parched tissue.
Ellen was lying on the unmade bed, the comforter over her. Her back was turned to the door and she seemed to be asleep. She must be exhausted too, David thought as he shuffled across the floor. He sank down on the bed, trying not to groan but unable to restrain it. God in Heaven; he felt as if his flesh and bones were melting, oozing down into the mattress. It took every bit of power he could summon to raise his legs. He fell back on the pillow with a lifeless thud.
Almost immediately, he began to shiver. He should have crawled beneath the comforter with her, he realized. Now it was too late; he knew he didn’t have the energy to move again. His teeth started to chatter and he tried to stop them, finding it impossible. He felt his body vibrate with convulsive, uncontrollable shivers. He had never been so cold in his life. Despite that, he could feel himself receding into dark oblivion.
He managed to raise his deadened eyelids as Ellen turned. She was looking at him strangely. “What’s the matter?” she asked. He couldn’t speak. Ellen leaned in closer, her expression vague, unreadable. “Are you sick?” she asked.
He thought he shook his head. His body jolted as a violent shudder wracked it.
“You’re shaking so.”
“I know. I’m …” He swallowed and it made a dry sticking sound in his throat.
Ellen looked at him several moments more as if trying to assess what had brought him to this state. Now he was able to interpret her expression as she sidetracked anger and resentment for concern. “Here, can you move?” she asked.
“Uh?”
“I’ll put the comforter on you.”
He couldn’t move; Ellen had to tug the comforter loose. She spread it over him, the weight of it making him shiver even more. “What is it?” Ellen asked.
He shook his head feebly, a murmur stirring in his throat. Ellen stared at him in mute disquiet, then, impulsively, pulled the comforter back across herself and shifted to his side. She pressed against him and he felt her right hand touch his chest. “You’re so cold,” she said. She looked suddenly distraught. “Oh, David, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were this upset.” A withering pang of guilt stabbed through him as he realized that she thought he was this way because of what had happened between them.
“Darling: you’re shivering so hard.” Ellen slid her arm around him and snuggled closer still. She hadn’t put her blouse back on and the feeling of the bust against him made him colder yet, reminding him of the sick derangement with which he’d rioted in the heavy succulence of Marianna’s breasts. He closed his eyes, shuddering as he bit into his lower lip. I’m sorry, Ellen, he thought. I’m sorry; please forgive me.
“Shh, darling. It’s all right,” she whispered and he realized, with a start, that he must have spoken the words aloud; he hadn’t been aware of it. He’d have to watch himself to make sure he didn’t, inadvertently, tell her what had happened. Conscience always finds its voice, he thought as he pressed his face against her shoulder. Despite everything, he was grateful for her warmth and comfort. He held on to her with almost desperation, thinking: She wouldn’t stay like this if she knew what happened. Then his brain was sucked down rapidly into a little death of sleep.
He thought he’d dozed an hour or so. Opening his eyes, he looked, with groggy dullness, at the window. It was dark outside. For several vacuous moments, he tried to guess the cause of darkness in the day time. Storm? Fog? Eclipse? His sluggish mind could not decide. Then, suddenly, awareness came and, wincing, he thought: Good Christ, it’s night time. He raised his hand and lower arm and read the watch face; it was almost seven. He let his hand drop heavily to the bed.
“Awake?”
Starting, David looked around. Ellen was seated at the lamp-lit dressing table, legs crossed, fastening her stocking to a garter strap. He stared at her in puzzlement. Beneath the open robe she wore her black merry widow. He wa
tched in stolid curiosity as she leaned forward to pull on black, high-heeled shoes. Where was she going? He hadn’t seen her in the merry widow for years; she didn’t like to wear it because it was so binding. For a moment he had the unsettling notion that she’d given up on him and had a date. But with whom?
Ellen straightened up and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. “Sleep good?” she asked. He saw that she was smiling and returned it sheepishly.
“I guess I did,” he answered. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I just …” He shrugged, not knowing what to say.
“You needed this vacation,” Ellen told him. “You’ve been at it harder than you think.”
“I guess.” He nodded. Observing, suddenly, that in addition to everything else, her hair had been set he felt a tremor of uneasiness. Swallowing, he asked, “Got a date?” He tried to sound amused.
“Mmm-hmm.” She was brushing her hair now and the silken, crackling noise made David shiver.
“I realize that the poor sap of a husband is always last to know,” he said, “but uh—” He cleared his throat. “—Am I acquainted with the bastard?”
Ellen nodded. “He’s a famous television writer.”
A rush of grateful pleasure seemed to warm him. David grinned. By God, he really had believed there might be someone else. “Whose initials are?” he asked.
“D. C.”
“David Copperfield?”
“Cooper.”
David grunted in disdain. “The King of the Sack Outs, you mean,”
Ellen repressed a smile. “He’s pretty nice when he’s awake,” she said.
David sat up. “Where’s he taking you?” he asked.
“Oh—” She gestured airily and he noticed, with fresh surprise, that her nails were painted, too; she hadn’t done that in years. She looked strikingly trim and luxuriant sitting there, her waist drawn in, hips full and rounded, breasts molded tautly, long legs sheathed in dark silk, face made up with care. “I don’t know,” she finished. “Dinner and dancing, I think. Something like that.”
“He may expect reimbursement,” David warned her. “You know what those Hollywood men are like.”
Ellen looked across her shoulder at him. “Reimbursement?” Her expression was adroitly credulous.
“As they say,” he answered, “in coin of the realm.”
She pursed her lips as though in estimation, smiled politely. “Fair exchange,” she said.
“The price is right?”
She nodded and stood. Don’t let me fail her now, he thought As she turned to let him look at her, he wondered why he feared that he might.
“Approved?” she asked.
“You look marvelous.” He ran his gaze across her figure. “We may never get to dinner,” he added, uncomfortably aware of exaggerating her effect on him.
“Yes, we will,” she said. “You have to play the game.”
“Drat,” he murmured.
“Do I really look all right?” she asked, concerned.
“Like a billion dollars. In gold.”
“Really, David.”
“Honey, you look wonderful.”
Ellen sighed. “I’m so glad,” she said. “I want to look nice for you.”
David stood and moved across the room, burdened by remorseful guilt. He took her in his arms and held her close. He pressed his lips against her neck and closed his eyes, the fragrance of her perfumed skin filling his nostrils. “You smell ambrosial,” he murmured.
“Is that good?”
He bit her gently on the shoulder and straightened up, a tongue-in-cheek expression on his face. “Ain’t bad,” he said.
Her smile was soft with love. “I’m glad,” she said. “I want to please you.”
“Oh—” He squeezed her so hard that she gasped. “You’re good,” he said. “So good.”
She clucked as though in disappointment “And here I thought I looked so wicked.”
“You do.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You look as wicked as hell. You are Thais, Jezebel, and Messalina rolled into one.”
“Don’t forget Clara Bow.”
“Noted.” David smiled at her. “And now it’s time I made myself bewitching. Or, as we phrased it in the last campaign—excluding one word for the sake of delicacy—shave, shower, shampoo and shoe-shine. If you’ll excuse me—” He started across the room.
A few moments later, he closed the bathroom door and leaned his back against it wearily. Please, don’t let me hurt her, he thought again. He closed his eyes, face a mask of apprehension. Why was he so afraid? He didn’t know, yet it was there, oppressively there. Pushing from the door, he stepped over to the window. It was too dark for him to see the Sound but he could hear, as always, the muffled booming of its surf. Somewhere, out there, is Marianna, he thought.
Not all of her though; the recognition came with stunning force. Part of her she’d left behind.
He could feel it living, in his flesh.
As David turned the car to the left, Ellen let the movement press her to his side. David took his right hand from the steering wheel and squeezed her leg. She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. “It’s been a nice night” he said, pleased when she responded, “Wonderful.”
It had been wonderful. After phoning Linda to find out that everything was fine and the baby wasn’t born yet, they’d driven across the Island to Bay Shore to discover, with relief, that the seafood restaurant they remembered from their honeymoon was still in operation. There, they’d ordered the same meal they had enjoyed then—cocktails, cups of creamy clam chowder, a shared Caesar salad, then boullibaise, coffee and dessert. There had even been the same white wine with which they’d toasted one another again, clinking glasses together and smiling at each other across the dim-lit table.
Away from the house and reminders of Marianna, in this location associated with their happier past, David had begun to feel a diminishing of that vague, impenetrable fear; a resurgance of hope. Marianna wasn’t going to return; and he’d already realized that, because they loved each other, there was no reason at all why he and Ellen could not resolve their difficulty. He’d relaxed after that, the restful atmosphere plus the martinis and wine contributing further to his sense of well-being. At least five times during the meal he had thought: I’ll make it up to her.
After dinner, they’d gone for a drive toward the middle of the Island and found a roadhouse with a trio that played for dancing. They’d stayed there several hours, having a few drinks and circling slowly around the near empty dance floor, enjoying each other’s warmth and closeness.
“I’m glad you thought of this,” he told her.
“So am I.”
David nodded. “Good.” As he spoke, he felt a wave of vague depression settling over him. Oh, Christ, not again he almost said aloud. He felt like suggesting that they not go back to the house. Away from it Marianna had, for all her fascination, assumed her realistic place in his life which, compared to Ellen’s, was insignificant. He didn’t want that to change and had a sudden inclination to turn the car and head directly for the airport, get them home as soon as possible, back to the things they knew and understood. They hadn’t brought along so many possessions that they couldn’t afford the loss of them. True, it was an extravagant notion, but one that seemed extremely desirable to him.
“Deep thoughts?” Ellen asked.
David glanced over with a hurried smile. “Not very deep,” he said.
“You seemed far away.”
He squeezed her leg again. “Just relaxed,” he told her, “I was right beside you all the time.”
“Good.” She kissed his cheek. “That’s where I want you.”
As the car moved slowly along the half block which constituted the business section of Logan Beach, David saw lights in the drug store. “Care for some ice cream?” he asked.
Ellen seemed to mull it over. Yes, David prompted her mentally, wanting to delay, at least for minutes more, their return to the house. He felt his
grip begin to tighten on the steering wheel, then slacken as she answered, in a pleased voice, “Why not?” Angling the car, he parked in front of the post office and they both got out. A black, immaculately cared for Bentley stood nearby. David eyed its glossy elegance with admiration. “Beautiful,” he said. He took her arm and walked her toward the drug store.
The counter was to their left as they entered. At its further end, the owner of the store was talking with a well-dressed woman in her sixties. Both looked over as the door was opened and the woman smiled. “Good evening,” she said.
“Evenin’, folks,” the owner greeted.
They smiled back, nodding. “Good evening.” Settling on adjoining stools, they waited while the owner came to serve them.
“Help you?”
David glanced at Ellen. “Honey?”
“Oh … let’s see.” She wrinkled her nose a little. “I think hot chocolate,” she decided.
“Make it two,” David said.
“Okeedoke.” The man moved away and David looked at Ellen.
“It’s a little cold for ice cream,” she said, linking her arm to his.
David leaned over and kissed her cheek. As he straightened up, he saw that the woman was still looking at them. She smiled and he noticed how attractive she was for her age, well-groomed and almost statuesque; she reminded him of some actress.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that we rarely have visitors this time of year.” Her gaze shifted to Ellen. “You aren’t local people, are you?”
Ellen smiled back at her. “No; we’re from Los Angeles.”
“Los Angeles.” The woman looked impressed. “You are far from home. Surely you didn’t come all this distance just to visit Logan Beach.”
“Well, you see, we spent our honeymoon here and—”
“Ah.” The woman smiled and nodded. “And you’ve come back to see it again.”
“That’s right.”
“Does it look much different to you?”
“No; I don’t—think so.” Ellen didn’t sound too certain. “About the same.”
“Except that our honeymoon cottage was blown to sea by a hurricane,” David added.
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