He’d finally come around to accepting the truth—that his feelings for Kathryn had progressed beyond fascination and infatuation from the moment she had agreed to let him crash in her apartment. I love her, he admitted to himself. Now he needed to decide what to do about it.
Having hit upon a plan, it was time to execute it. For the next few days, he tried to “accidentally” run into her. He stayed in the building’s laundry room baby-sitting his clothes in case she happened to come down to the basement with her own washing. He scanned the room’s bulletin board in case she’d lost another article of clothing. Kathryn had avoided coming into the Six in the City offices and every day he found her predominating his thoughts, taking his mind away from the matchmaking business at hand.
On Saturday morning, he donned a T-shirt and running shorts, hopped the subway and jogged from the Columbus Circle station into Central Park, hoping she might be at the carousel. His heart lurched when he saw her with Eleanor and Johanna, buying her niece a popsicle from the vendor stationed adjacent to the merry-go-round. He realized the women hadn’t noticed him standing about fifteen yards or so away. Should he make his move now? Step forward and make his declaration of love, tell Kathryn he’d been so adamant in his opposition to marriage and commitment that he hadn’t realized what he might be missing in letting her get away? His thoughts were more or less in order, but he couldn’t seem to articulate them as he practiced what he planned to say to her in his head. He watched, somewhat relieved, as Kathryn and Eleanor entered the tunnel that would lead them toward the zoo. He heard little Johanna call out “Echo . . . o . . . o . . . o” and her mom and aunt join in the game before their voices, and their bodies, faded into the distance.
It had been a week since they’d returned from Martha’s Vineyard, and Kathryn had heard nothing from Walker. Her decision to get on with her life without him sucked. So, should she take the bull by the horns and be the first one to make contact, swallow her pride, ask him what was going on? Now, when she wanted to “casually” run into him in the high-rise, their paths weren’t crossing. Stopping by his apartment just to chitchat would be a flimsy pretext. Besides, there was always the nagging—and nauseating—notion that he might have some other woman up there. She’d even gone with Eleanor and Johanna to the Central Park carousel on Saturday afternoon, thinking that if she and Walker were on the same wavelength, perhaps he’d make the trip up there. But no such luck.
By Monday, she couldn’t put her mind to anything else but thoughts of Walker Hart.
“I don’t get it, either,” Eleanor sighed, crunching on a gingerbread maple leaf. “You did nothing wrong, so don’t blame yourself.”
Kathryn was channeling her anger into cleaning her apartment. “I slept with him,” she said, punctuating her speech with the aggressive plumping of an amethyst velvet pillow. “I had promised myself that making love with Bear was the last thing I would do. Not only that, it was my idea. Although it sounds impossible for anyone but a contortionist, I basically jumped him in the whirlpool.”
“I thought you said you guys were sort of wrestling by the tub. Whaddya call it? Good clean fun? Maybe you made the right choice, after all. I mean, now maybe he’ll realize what he was missing.”
“Ellie, I’ve been desperately in love with that man for weeks. I knew he would blow all my circuits, and I was trying my damnedest to make myself believe that he was only a professional acquaintance. But then I learned he was a neighbor. And then he became a roommate. The lines of distinction became harder and harder to keep from blurring.”
Kathryn dusted her coffee table with unnecessary vigor. “I ended up thinking of him—constantly—and after a while, whenever I was on one of those matches he arranged for me, I was always wishing it were Walker instead. And now that we’ve made love, I realize that I gave him what he wanted . . . played by his rules, instead of mine. Sex without commitment was never my intention. I haven’t heard one word from him since we got back. That “guy-behavior” is why I decided to play the dating game for keeps in the first place. He’s not calling me because, of course, he doesn’t want to commit. He was totally aware of what a big deal it was for me to make love with him. I warned him when he first brought up the subject that I wanted him just as badly, but if I gave in, he’d end up breaking my heart eventually and no matter how great the sex between us might be, it wouldn’t be worth the pain. So, he knows that if he rings me up and tries to be chatty or pretend that what happened between us was no big thing, despite the fact that part of me is desperate to hear from him, I’ll rip his head off. Given that, he’s probably wise to stay away from me—from his point of view. But it doesn’t make it suck any less.”
“He may be going through a reevaluation process, too, Kitty. He’s certainly acting insensitive to your fears, but maybe he’s upstairs dealing with his own demons. Let’s say for the sake of argument, he’s realized that he does want to be with you. He’s probably scared out of his wits. Don’t forget that Bear is a guy who has shied away from commitment for so long—I’m not saying that he’s from Mars, but he might be finding himself in an unfamiliar universe and not know what to do about it. By the way, if you rub that table any harder, you’ll dent it.”
“Maybe my reevaluation is leading me in another direction. Who needs the pain, the anguish, and the worry? I’ve thought of nothing but Bear since we got back from the Vineyard. It’s gotten in the way of my living the rest of my life.”
“He still owes you one more bachelor, remember?”
Kathryn snorted in disgust. “Sorry, that wasn’t very ladylike. I think I’ll forfeit the favor, and not exercise my option-to-renew clause from Six in the City. One more bachelor is the last thing I want right now. I’ve learned a hell of a lot—about men and about myself—so I’ll take a pass on what’s behind door number six.”
Eleanor picked up her leather carcoat. “I’m sorry, too,” she told her sister. “I feel at least partially responsible, here. I know I told you the video dating service would be a good idea. And not just to shut up The Yenta.”
“It was a good idea, El. If you hadn’t dared me to walk into Six in the City, I would not have met Walker Hart. I’m angry with myself, because I love him. For one thing, in an odd way—even though you know how territorial I can be—I loved the way he just sort of immediately made himself at home down here. At first I was amused, and there were certainly plenty of times when I resented it. Like his bringing home Valerie the slut. But one of many things that made me fall in love with him was when I realized that he didn’t need any special equipment to breathe on my planet.”
“So tell him.”
“Yet my first instincts ended up being right—that if we made love, I’d live to regret it.”
“But when you add up all the things that made you fall for him, was it really a mistake? And it’s not exactly like he fended you off when you went for it in the whirlpool. In fact, he pulled you into the bathtub. So maybe he just needs you to say the words first . . . tell him how you feel about him and then he’ll open up to you.”
Kathryn sighed. “Or not.”
“Kitty, what do you really have to lose by admitting you were wrong? That it wasn’t a bad thing to lose your head and fall in love? You might gain Bear. And of course, even if you don’t, you won’t end up any more hurt than you are at the moment. Think about it that way. My husband admitted he was wrong and he got me back. And speaking of the man . . . I’ve got to hustle to meet Dan in Greenpoint. Some client of his knows of an available storefront where I can bake the Brownie Points. My kitchen looks like it exploded and I have twelve dozen to deliver to Toute Sweet on Lexington Avenue before five o’clock.”
The sisters embraced and said good-bye. Kathryn locked the door and went to the stereo. The gentle strains of Windham Hill or the Celtic ballads of Loreena McKennitt just weren’t going to cut it today. She flipped through her CD collection of Broadway shows. Gershwin, Porter, Sondheim. All wrong for the moment. Where did it go— the alb
um with her new personal anthem that she had been playing for the past week, replacing Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” for those occasions when she needed a kick-ass dose of self-esteem?
They’d been using it for a coaster. Kathryn opened the chartreuse and hot pink plastic “jewel box.” She pumped up the volume, so Jim Steinman’s “Holding Out for a Hero” blasted through her small apartment, rattling the heirloom teacups in her mahogany breakfront. Kathryn danced wildly around the room, pumping her arms into the air, gyrating her hips, belting out the lyrics. She played the same cut on the CD another half dozen times or so before she decided to let the next song on the soundtrack, a ballad, come on. With a more mellow sound filling the room, she finally heard the insistent sound of her doorbell. Kathryn peeped through the keyhole, then unfastened the deadbolt and turned the two Medeco locks.
He stood at the door, wearing his bright emerald running shorts, barefoot, holding a pint of Rocky Road. “Can I come in?” he asked tentatively.
Kathryn looked at the carton of Baskin-Robbins. “Is this a comment on our relationship, Bear?”
They shared a laugh. “I knew you’d get it. And I figured this was the best way to break the ice again. Cut me some slack here, Kitty. It’s taken me over a week to come up with it.”
She wanted to let him know everything that had been going on inside her head, but she didn’t know where to begin. Maybe starting with small talk would lead to a more serious conversation. “Do you mind if we eat this later?” she asked him. It was his invitation to step inside her apartment. He brought with him the faint aromas of ambergris and musk. “You smell good,” she remarked, noticing his fresh shave. “Did you know ambergris originally came from the secretions of sperm whales?”
He shook his head, a bit bemused.
“Oh,” she added sweetly, “I thought you might be trying to tell me something else about our relationship.”
She shelved the ice cream in the freezer and came back out to the living room, expecting to see Walker making himself comfortable on her freshly vacuumed velvet upholstery, squishing several cushions with his broad back. Instead, he was standing somewhat uncomfortably by her stereo. “I heard you were ‘Holding Out for a Hero,’ so I thought I’d stop down,” he joked. “In fact, I heard it through the door. I’ve been ringing your bell throughout every one of the five times you replayed the song.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot and took a dramatic breath. “Kitty? I’ve been thinking about what to say to you for some time and I didn’t want you to think I was ignoring what happened between us; I just didn’t know how to . . . well . . . I’ve come to a major decision about something . . . something I think you’ve been right about all along.”
Chapter 29
Kathryn felt a thudding sensation in her chest and tried to look casual.
Walker waved his bandaged hand at her; she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it when he first came in. Probably because she’d been too busy taking in his physique.
He grinned somewhat sheepishly. “Well, after I nearly sliced off a digit cutting an ‘everything bagel’ in half, I finally came to the conclusion that you were absolutely right . . . I probably do need glasses.”
“Wh . . . wha . . . glasses?” Kathryn stammered.
“Yup. I only got the contacts because the one doctor I went to said I needed them. I didn’t even get a second opinion. But between that and breaking your vase and nearly turning my kitchen into a scene from a Wes Craven movie just now . . . well, you know what they say.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“You know. The people who say these things. My grandfather, for instance. He used to tell me ‘when three people tell you you’re drunk, lie down.’ So, I’m giving in. We’ve pretty much determined my eyesight isn’t perfect—and clearly I can’t wear contacts. Kitty, I trust your taste—a whole lot better than I trust my own judgment, in fact. Will you please come with me to get a pair of glasses?”
Glasses. Right. Silly me . . . what was I thinking?
“Well, we’ve got more frames in here than in Double Indemnity,” chuckled the white-lab-coated technician, a balding, round Englishman with a brush mustache, at the Cohen’s Optical on Lexington Avenue. “I’m sure you’ll find something you’re happy with. Over here,” he said, gesturing to a four-tiered display, “we have your designer frames. Your Armani, your Versace, your Laura Biagiotti, your Donna Karan. These are the bigger ticket items and to your right, we have what I like to call the knockoffs. These are our own manufacture; our customers seem to find them extremely satisfactory. Let me know once you’ve made your frame selection, we’ll determine your lens prescription, and your glasses will be ready for you in an hour. Excuse me.” The technician left Walker and Kathryn to browse while he regaled another customer with his patter.
“He looks like a muppet,” Kathryn whispered to Walker, stifling a giggle. “Remember the one with the round blue head?”
Kathryn pointed to a pair of tortoiseshell frames. “Try these; they’ve sort of got the color of your hair in there. Oh, good Lord; they’re Fendi. Oh, well. As long as they’re not made with some endangered species of sea tortoise from the Galapagos . . . though for this price, they should be.” She glanced at the little white tag hanging from a string attached to one end of the frames, then squinted a bit to read the tiny gold print engraved on the inside of the ear piece. “Oh, good. Genuine plastic. What a relief.”
Walker took the frames from Kathryn and turned them over in his hand. “So, you like these.”
“In theory. How about in practice?”
“Okay. Here goes.” Walker tried on the frames and looked at Kathryn before checking himself out in the oval mirror on the counter top. “And the verdict is . . . ?”
Kathryn stepped back and took him in. She felt a little catch and release of breath as she appraised Walker’s appearance. “You look . . . wonderful . . . actually. Like a very sexy, smart guy. Which is what you are. Check it out for yourself.”
Walker regarded his appearance and blushed a little. “You once told me that when Lance did this, it was the kiss of death for your relationship, so I’m reluctant to say anything, but . . .”
“Damn, you look good!” They both laughed. “It’s okay if I say it,” Kathryn added. “You look great.”
“Let’s get the muppet over here and tell him it’s a sale.”
The technician examined Walker’s eyes and rendered his verdict. “Your husband is somewhat shortsighted,” he told Kathryn, who had watched the procedure with some concern.
“No kidding,” she muttered to herself. “If he weren’t so shortsighted, he’d actually be my husband.”
“Shortsighted?” asked Walker, who seemed to have ignored the optometrist’s inference that Kathryn was his spouse.
“We say ‘shortsighted’ back where I come from. Sorry, I’ve only been over here for a few months. I keep forgetting that it’s called ‘nearsighted’ over here in the States. When I called a guy ‘shortsighted’ last week, I nearly got myself pummeled into the next county. All right then, we’re done. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”
Kathryn and Walker left the store and stood outside on the sidewalk, neither one knowing what to say or do next.
Walker chuckled to himself. He was shortsighted, actually, in the American meaning of the word. Kitty had accused him of myopia more than once, as far as his eyesight and their relationship were concerned. And she was totally right on both counts. His inability to see what was right in front of his nose, literally and figuratively, and his protracted reluctance to do anything about it had been ridiculous. He did indeed need to correct his vision. Kathryn had been right about the eyeglasses, his problem in microcosm.
It was time to tell her that she’d also been correct in macrocosm. His view of life as a permanent bachelor was skewed as well. It had been easier to maintain his inflexibility on the issue before Love had come into the picture. Before Kitty Lamb. He valued her opinions, trusted her judgment, admitted s
he’d been right . . . face it, he needed her. Life without her wasn’t nearly as rewarding. He’d almost had the nerve to tell her he loved her the afternoon he’d seen her in Central Park, but he’d chickened out. Today was the day. He’d screwed his courage to the sticking place and gone down to Kathryn’s apartment. Although he truly did value her fashion sense, asking her to accompany him to the optometrist was partially an excuse to get together.
Walker found himself standing outside the optician’s looking into Kathryn’s eyes and hoping to communicate his feelings through telepathy, because once again the words themselves weren’t making it past his brain.
“Yes, Bear? Is there something you want to say to me?” Kathryn felt like Gwendolen in The Importance of Being Earnest . Walker had an intense, amorous look in his eyes, but his lips weren’t moving.
“Look,” Kathryn continued. “I’ve spent the past ten days or so hoping we’d run into each other so that I could admit to you that sleeping together wasn’t the mistake I’d expected it to be. In spite of the emotional pain I’ve been dealing with since then, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world . . . because . . . I love you. I fell in love with you weeks ago, I loved you when we made love on Martha’s Vineyard, I loved you when we woke up together that morning. And, just as I predicted, you did break my heart by disappearing as soon as we got back to New York. I thought . . . I hoped . . . when you came downstairs to visit me this afternoon that you might tell me you felt the same way.”
He was silent, but his eyes were full of expression.
“I mean it looks like you’re feeling at least a little of what I’m feeling, but if you don’t say anything, how can I believe that you really do feel the same way? How do I know that you’re not just trying to spare me more pain by keeping quiet?” Her voice started to break. “I mean, if you don’t say the words, then I guess you don’t feel them.” She looked down at the ground and a tear splattered to the pavement. “I’m going home. Enjoy your new glasses. Wear them in good health.” She broke into a sob and walked away from him as briskly as she could, resisting the temptation to look back.
Miss Match Page 29
