Harvest

by Belva Plain

  “It’s for a dance at my husband’s hospital. He’s been appointed chief of surgery.”

  The dress was probably too splendid for the occasion. It would raise eyebrows. Let them rise. Let the men stare as this man had—and as he was doing now.

  “You’re not used to being admired,” he said surprisingly.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Your shy way of putting your head down. Shy. Almost demure.”

  “Is it? I don’t know. I wasn’t aware.” And as if to prove otherwise, she looked straight into his face.

  He returned the look and she, too embarrassed to turn away again, held on; eyes looked into eyes.

  “You haven’t told me your name,” he said.

  “Iris.”

  “It suits you. An elegant and rather formal flower.”

  “But I’m not formal at all.”

  “It must be the shyness that makes you seem so. By the way, I’m Victor.”

  If only she could think of something else to say, not some stupid remark like “That’s a nice name!” But she never talked to a man alone, not for more than two minutes, and then only to a friend’s husband who would likely say something about the fifth-grade teacher who was a horror, or about the new real-estate assessment in town.

  “I hope you don’t mind my calling you ‘shy’? I mean it as a compliment. It’s a supremely feminine quality.”

  This remark gave her an opening. “If it’s not carried too far.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t do that. All you need is a little time to get to feel at ease.”

  “You’re right,” she admitted.

  “You’re not comfortable with so-called witty types and cocktail-party conversation, wisecracks and double entendres.”

  “Oh, I never liked cocktail parties. In fact, I hate them.”

  He nodded. “I know. One-upmanship. Who’s who. That’s what they’re all about. You come home tired out from it all. I know I do.”

  And he went on to relate anecdotes of his cocktail-party experiences. He was not only amusing and discerning, but so straightforward and friendly besides that Iris began to feel completely relaxed. Leaning back in the chair, she accepted a pastry and exclaimed spontaneously, “This is really delightful.”

  “I’m glad,” said Victor Jordaine, “because you were very reluctant, you were afraid to walk in here with me.”

  She looked down at her hands, at her glittering rings and tanned, graceful wrists. And this sight, for some reason, encouraged even greater self-confidence, so that she felt a return of that first small triumph when he had admired her at Léa’s place.

  “You can imagine,” she exclaimed almost gaily, “that I don’t do this every day.”

  “Or any day at all?” When she did not answer at once, he went on, “Jealous husband, I suppose?”

  “Oh, yes!” If Theo knew … If Theo only knew.

  “Well, this is all quite, quite innocent. I’m alone, I was thirsty, and a drink is ten times more enjoyable with a charming woman sitting on the other side of the table. You can feel perfectly free to tell your husband when you get home.”

  It was not quite, quite innocent. If it were, she would not be having such a flow and ebb of complicated feelings. And this man, who seemed to be almost clairvoyant in his judgment of her, was surely aware of them.

  “All right, then, don’t tell your husband.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

  “You looked it. So maybe it’s just as well if you don’t. Husbands and wives can have a way of making unnecessary trouble, can’t they?”

  “Are you married, Mr.— Victor?”

  “I was divorced six years ago. But we’re still friends. We have dinner together whenever we both happen to be in the same city at the same time.”

  “I know people do that, but I can’t imagine it. If I—we—were divorced, I would hate him.” A lump came unexpectedly into her throat. “I would have to hate him.”

  Jordaine was interested. “Really? That’s awfully old fashioned, if you’ll excuse me for saying so. People are more honest today. Why wait till hatred sets in after years of stifled misery, till the bitter end, when you can’t stand each other another minute? Go while the going’s good, I say.”

  To her utter horror and shame Iris’s eyes filled. She blinked hard, but he had seen.

  “Oh, oh! I’m sorry. I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.”

  Feeling humiliated and ridiculous, she wiped her eyes. “It’s all right. Silly of me.”

  “Not silly at all, if you’re in trouble.”

  “No, really, I don’t know what came over me.” And since some explanation seemed to be called for, she made one. “We had a—a quarrel. And since we don’t have them very often, they have this kind of effect on me, that’s all.”

  He gave her hand a light, quick pat, saying quietly, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “You’re very kind,” Iris told him, meaning it.

  “Well, I’ve seen a lot of life, I’ve been around, and I know when things hurt.”

  This is really an extraordinary man, she told herself, so very kind, so very understanding.

  “So let’s talk about happy things, Iris. Tell me about your children—if you want to, that is.”

  Here, except for Steve, was safer ground. There was no sense getting emotional all over again, which would surely happen once she got started on Steve. So, skipping the two oldest, she gave an account of Laura, being careful to make it brief so as not to be a bore, and then one of Philip and his talent for the piano.

  “I started teaching him myself, but he’s too good for me, so he goes to music school instead.”

  “You must be pretty good yourself.”

  “I never got anywhere with it. I only play for my own pleasure. I love the piano.”

  Jordaine’s eyes lighted. “I just got an idea,” he said. “I happened to see something in the paper this morning about a piano recital tomorrow at Carnegie Hall, or maybe it was Lincoln Center, I don’t remember. Some South American, I think, some fellow who won the Cliburn contest in Texas. If I can get tickets—oh, I know I can—would you like to go with me tomorrow night?”

  This was a dare, and Iris had never taken one. She recalled that as far back as grade school, whenever a challenge had been offered, like going up to somebody and saying something outrageous, she had always been the one to hold back. And also she thought of this very day’s noontime resolution: If Theo can, why not I?

  “Yes, I’d like to,” she said.

  Filled in turn with excitement and misgivings, she woke several times that night. All morning, at the market and at her desk, this inner conflict continued, but as the day wore on, her feelings stabilized themselves, and it was the sense of excitement that swelled. Desired by a most desirable man, she felt as youthful as a girl. She was too stimulated to eat lunch. At three o’clock she got out her clothes, a red-and-white print with a ruffled neckline, and thought, as she faced her clear eyes in the mirror, that she must remember to wear portrait necklines whenever possible; they shaped her face into a heart and gave her a romantic charm. Then she fastened her best gold bracelets, sprayed on perfume, and went downstairs to start the car. It was just after four o’clock.

  At the very same time Victor Jordaine was entering Chez Léa.

  “Ah, there you are,” said Leah. “And here’s the bag. It came in this morning. Look how it’s made. The finest, absolutely the finest.”

  He gave a quick glance at a small white lizard pouch, delicately grained, smooth as silk, and framed with a narrow, gilded filigree.

  “It’s handsome, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take it in black after all. Gift-wrapped, naturally. Your special wrap, if you have one.”

  “Of course. I’ll get a card for you.”

  “Not necessary. I’m delivering it in person.”

  Evidently Jordaine was in a hurry. He walked restlessly around the shop, looking out of the window and glancing at a
rticles in the showcases while his package was being wrapped. Yet when Leah handed it to him, he lingered.

  “How will this go with a black lace gown?” he asked.

  “Why, beautifully,” she replied. “Goodness, you must have bought this in every color there is.”

  He said, almost mischievously, “I bet you can’t guess who’s going to get this one.”

  “The size-four dancer?”

  “Lord, no. Her taste runs to spangles. She wouldn’t appreciate anything like this.”

  “I give up. Who?”

  “How about the lady who bought the black lace dress yesterday?”

  Leah stared in astonishment. “You can’t mean Mrs. Stern.”

  “I do mean Mrs. Stern.”

  “But you didn’t know her, did you?”

  “I didn’t, but I do now.”

  “Mr. Jordaine! Do you mean you picked her up?”

  “That’s a vulgar expression, isn’t it? We left here together, struck up a conversation, and I’m taking her to a piano recital tonight.”

  Frowning, Leah twirled a pencil. “I don’t understand,” she said.

  “Don’t look so shocked. What’s wrong?”

  “She’s married. She has four children.”

  “So! What are you, an evangelical from Arkansas?”

  “Hardly. But I’ve known her, I know a little about her.” Leah spoke rapidly and earnestly. “You can see she’s an innocent, a babe in the woods. She’s been totally sheltered. That’s why I don’t understand.”

  “That’s what makes it more interesting. She has the kind of dark good looks that appeal to me. Somber. Mysterious. And when you combine that with innocence, it’s almost like having a virgin.”

  Leah drew back. “Mr. Jordaine, for God’s sake, have a heart. She’s probably just had a fight with her husband, or—”

  “A shrewd guess. There was a fight, and not a small one, either, I’m thinking.”

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s so out of keeping for her, it’s so—”

  “Oh, it’s not so unusual.”

  “You think it is unusual, or you wouldn’t bother to tell me about it.”

  “All right, so it is. A bit of an adventure, that’s all. Piquant.”

  Leah’s voice, just above a whisper, shook with anger. “Mr. Jordaine, I’m going to say what I think, and if I lose a good customer, so be it. What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Jordaine laughed. “I didn’t force her. Anybody’d think I was planning to rape a fifteen-year-old girl. Well, I’ll be on my way. You may be seeing me again, or you may not.”

  “Good riddance,” said Leah.

  “Chopin,” said Iris, as the crowd streamed from the concert hall, “makes me want to waltz.” And she took a small, swaying step on the sidewalk.

  Jordaine, with a hand on her elbow, guided her across the street.

  “So you enjoyed it,” he said. “I’m glad.”

  “It was wonderful. Such joyous music, and yet so sad. When you think of Chopin and George Sand on Mallorca, so in love, and then you remember how he died, so sick and so young, it’s bittersweet. I suppose I sound corny. Do I?”

  “You sound charming. Don’t people tell you that you have a beautiful speaking voice?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Actually, Theo always said that her voice was the first thing he had fallen in love with. And where was Theo now? “Working” in the office again as he had been “working” the other night? So, walking late here with this man under the mild pink summer sky, while the music still danced in her ears, she felt not only animated, but also blameless.

  “You belong to the waltz era,” Victor remarked now. “You have the grace that so many women seem to have lost. I see you in a smaller, more quiet world than this one, perhaps in an Old World university town, studying piano or teaching.”

  “I was a teacher, and you’re a good guesser.”

  “It’s not guesswork, it’s insight. I’ve gotten to know a lot more about you in this short time than you think I do. So you were a teacher?”

  “Yes, and I loved it. What I’d really like is to get my master’s or even a doctorate and go back to it.”

  “Why don’t you do it?”

  Hesitating, Iris said only, “It’s not as simple as that.”

  “Meaning, I suppose, that your husband doesn’t want you to.” When she neither affirmed nor denied that, he said, “That kind of attitude is going fast, and it should. This is 1968.”

  She turned to him eagerly. “Then you approve?”

  “Absolutely. Your mind belongs to you, and you have a right to use it in any way you want to.”

  He was defending her. Even her mother, a person “on her side,” had weakened her ambition and diluted it with reminders of her primary obligation to Theo, so that as time passed she had thought less and less about her ambitions. Now this stranger, with these few words, made her grateful.

  They arrived at the parking garage and, in the hot glare of the overhead lights, stood waiting for Iris’s car to be brought. Jordaine handed her a package.

  “I want you to have this,” he said, looking serious.

  Indeed, she had noticed that he was carrying a small glossy parcel, but it had surely not occurred to her that it could be a gift for herself. And suddenly, recognizing Chez Léa’s wrapping, she was embarrassed.

  “Please, you shouldn’t. Really. Really, no,” she protested.

  “Why not? It’s my pleasure. Don’t hurt my feelings,” he protested in turn.

  She was confused, thinking: I’ve had no experience; at my age it’s absurd not to know anything; perhaps it’s not impossible that he’s fallen in love with me, but on the other hand, I may be an idiot for even considering the possibility.

  His hand was still extended, holding the package, so she was forced to look up at him. He had a commanding face with vigorous lips and a jutting forehead over thick eyebrows. He was not a handsome man, but he was certainly an impressive one. Never, never marry a too-handsome man, he’s a magnet for women.… She bit her lip, hurting it.

  “Don’t look so distressed! Here, I’m putting this on the backseat and that’s that. When shall I see you again, Iris? You said you were coming into the city to the dentist.”

  She must somehow have mentioned that.

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “Then let’s have dinner. We really have no time to talk. Take the train in next time. It’s safer than being on the road in a car alone at night.”

  When she was in the driver’s seat, he leaned through the window and kissed her lips.

  “You smell of roses,” he said.

  “No, it’s jasmine.”

  “Whatever, it’s sweet. And you’re sweet. I’ll meet you at the Waldorf, at the front desk, day after tomorrow. Make it six, an early dinner, so we can have a longer evening before you have to go home.”

  All the way back on the parkway, through the verdant tunnel under the trees, her mind reworked events. Something was happening between herself and Victor Jordaine, but what it was she could not know yet. And she understood that she really wanted to evade the knowledge, that what she did want, with every heightened sense, was to enjoy the novelty and the dark, delicious secrecy.

  The house was quiet. As soon as she reached the top of the stairs, however, Theo, still dressed in business clothes, came out of Jimmy’s room.

  “I haven’t been able to sleep. Where the hell have you been?”

  “That’s no way to talk,” she answered, raising her chin.

  “Listen here, Iris, I’ve had a week of this, and I’m fed up with it. Where the hell have you been?”

  “Where’ve you been? That’s another question.”

  “Right here. I came home and had my solitary dinner. Pearl said you left here at four o’clock. And you were gone yesterday too.”

  “So? You told me to buy a dress, didn’t you?”

  He glanced at the package under her arm. “You w
eren’t shopping until midnight.”

  “I went to the movies.”

  “You’re mighty dressed up for a movie. What did you see?”

  “Don’t badger me, Theo. I won’t stand for it.”

  “Iris, you—” He stammered. “If you’ll stop this ridiculous feud, I’ll come back to our room. I don’t understand—you’ve never acted like this before.”

  “There’s always a first time, isn’t there?”

  And giving him a look of triumph, leaving him stunned, she went to the bedroom and locked the door.

  If he could know, she told herself, that I can do whatever he does whenever I may want to, how it would shatter his assurance! But he will know, and he’ll be shattered. And then, then we’ll be equal.

  On the appointed day Iris chose to wear red. A most delightful dress which made her look, so Theo had said, like a slender, scarlet exclamation mark. The dress had been bought at his direction one day when, out together, he had seen it in the window of a local shop. It was ironic that his taste was to enhance her in another man’s sight. Thinking so, she felt an ache of grief, and decided that this must be a form of masochism, hurting herself because she wanted to hurt Theo. And yet, she was enjoying it all, the very act of dressing, the fastening of pearl-and-diamond earrings before the dressing-table mirror. Birds twittered in the branches at window level. The cool day was magnificent, and the evening lay ahead.

  The lizard purse still lay in its box. Having been brought up to recognize certain guidelines with respect to the giving and receiving of presents, she was feeling some doubts about it. Obviously, it was expensive, no ordinary gift that one accepted as if it were a box of chocolates. Yet it was equally obvious that Victor was a very rich man, so quite possibly this gift meant no more to him than a box of chocolates would to someone else. It would be unforgivably rude to refuse a box of chocolates, wouldn’t it? But on the other hand, she argued, there was no reason he should be giving her anything at all. That being the case, she must return it to him.

  “I’m leaving my car at the station,” she told Pearl, “and taking the train to the city.”

  “Will you be here for dinner?” There was unmistakable disapproval on Pearl’s dark face.