by Webb, Peggy
“I owe my being here to your brother,” Ruth said.
“Yeah?” Scintillating conversation, certain to inspire awe in his listener. “He’s quite a guy, my brother. You know him?” Idiot. She said she’d seen him on television. He pulled on his tie, loosening, then tightening, the knot. “He’s such a celebrity. But not like that Hollywood mess.” He grabbed his tie and nearly choked himself to death with the knot.
She laughed, but he could tell it was not at him. It was a beautiful laugh. Full-bodied, sexy as hell.
He took a huge bite of sweet roll, then licked his fingers, watching her. He could have watched her for the next three days and never tired of the view.
“I feel as if I know him because of his work. What anthropology student doesn’t? And in an indirect way he’s responsible for my being here. I’d love to thank him in person, but thanking you is the next-best thing.”
“That’s me,” he said, grinning. “Malone Corday. The next-best thing.”
“Oh. I didn’t mean that.” She touched his hand, then drew back as if she’d been stung and stared down at her coffee cup.
Why, she’s shy. The discovery gave him such courage that he almost laughed aloud.
“Of course you didn’t,” he said. “I knew the minute I saw you that you wouldn’t hurt a flea. That pretty smile and soft accent. Southern, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Oxford, Mississippi.”
She flashed her sweet smile at him once more. He felt like a king.
“Mississippi. What brings you so far from home?”
“Scholarships.”
“That’s it? Scholarships?”
Scholarships and rage, Ruth thought, remembering the last confrontation she’d had with Margaret Anne.
“It’s all settled,” her mother had said. “Max has already paid your tuition. You’ll go to the university right here in Oxford.”
So her mother could keep track of her. So Max could retain his hateful hold on her.
“No. I’m going to Hawaii.”
“How? Who’s going to pay for it?”
“I am.”
“With those dinky scholarships? Do you think that will be enough?”
“I know they won’t be enough. I’ll find a job.”
“Doing what?”
“Anything but what you do.”
They’d fought that bitter battle so many times that Margaret Anne no longer rose to the bait. Only the heightened color in her cheeks betrayed her.
“You’ll never make it without Max’s money.”
“I’ll show you.”
And she had.
Times when she’d had nothing to eat except soup and crackers, she’d remembered a man who had transferred his courage and passion and vision to her from a distant and mysterious place.
And now she was sitting opposite his brother, a sweet, funny, charming man who made her wish for things she couldn’t have: an ordinary home, an ordinary life. Even a husband and children.
But she knew better than to hope, knew better than to reach out. She had once, during her sophomore year. Her past had been very far behind her, and she had been such a long way from home. It had seemed reasonable that, after all that time, she’d done her penance, she’d earned the right to have things normal people had.
And so she had reached out.
Eddie Lester had been his name. She’d met him at the nightclub where she sang. A nice man with a sweet smile and perfect manners, an accountant who stopped by every Thursday night for two drinks and the early show.
First he’d invited her for coffee between sets, then a picnic on the beach. In broad daylight, what harm could come? His manners had remained impeccable, even in the back of the darkened movie theater after she had finally accepted a real date.
Going out on Thursday night after her last set had become routine for them. By the end of their second month together, she had learned to trust. By the end of the fourth, she had learned to feel.
When he’d kissed her good night on the small stoop at her apartment, she’d been surprised at the quiet pleasure she’d felt.
“Eddie,” she’d whispered. “Do you ever think about our future?”
“Our future?”
“Yes. You know, a little house of our own, kids, that sort of thing.”
“You’re talking marriage here?”
“Yes.”
“I’m already married, kid.”
She’d sunk onto the top step and covered her face with her hands. Eddie had squeezed her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Ruth. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“Why? Why did you do this?”
“My wife, Ella, is drab, you know, kid, the kind of good woman a man feels like a chump for saying anything bad about. And it’s not that I don’t love her. It’s just that my life is so colorless. The first time I ever saw you sing, I thought to myself, now there’s a woman who could make a man feel like somebody. And so every Thursday, when Ella goes off to her girlfriend’s house to play bridge, I take you out and feel like somebody.”
Ruth hadn’t felt like somebody. She’d felt soiled all over again, as if Max had suddenly come back into her life and snatched her soul..
Now she lifted her coffee cup and studied the man sitting opposite her. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would snatch anybody’s spoon, let alone soul.
And yet she’d be foolish to hope. Besides, he’d offered her nothing more than a cup of coffee.
“I thought you were going to say you were a Polynesian princess returning to claim your kingdom,” Malone said.
“You’ve been listening to rumors.”
“Yep. That’s me. All ears. Are you going to mete out some appropriate punishment? Like chaining me to your ankles and dragging me across the sand?” His lopsided grin made him look like a naughty little boy.
“No,” she said.
“Why not? I think I’d like that.”
The conversation was getting too personal. Ruth looked at her watch.
“Look at the time. I’ve kept you far too long.”
“Not long enough.” He smoothed his cowlick. “Ruth, I’m ... hmmm ... staying a few days.”
“How nice. There are lots of things to see here.”
“I wasn’t thinking of seeing the sights, I was thinking I’d like to ...” Fall into your arms and kiss you blind, then waltz you down the aisle and carry you back to the Virungas. Malone Corday. Winner. “... see you again.”
“I don’t think so.”
He took off his glasses, polished them slowly then put them back on his nose.
“I know I’m no prize, but I have a big heart—and all my own teeth.” He stretched his mouth in a big grin. “The hair is mine, too, every stubborn straw-colored inch.”
“You’re such a nice, funny man.” When Ruth laughed, her eyes crinkled at the corners.
“Cee Cee taught me everything I know.”
“I know a few people who could benefit from her training.” Suddenly her eyes were troubled. “What’s it like in the Virungas?”
“Beautiful. Brutal. Lonely.” He wrapped both hands around his cup. “Ruth, I want to see you again.”
“Please don’t take this personally, but I really don’t have time for social activities. Working on my dissertation is about all I do these days.”
He had so little courage, and so little time.
“Ruth, I have only three days.”
He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away and scrambled across the seat.
He knew he was no prize, but he hadn’t thought the idea of touching him would cause such panic. Under ordinary circumstances he’d have let her go then consoled himself with beer. Lots of it.
But these were no ordinary circumstances. It wasn’t every day a man found a woman like Ruth. Fate had gift wrapped her then handed her to him on a silver platter. He’d be a fool to let her go.
“Please.” He caught her wrist. “Please.”
The panic left her ey
es. Was that pity he saw? God, how he hated pity. Poor Malone. So homely. So ordinary. Not at all like his brother.
He knew the things people said about him.
He would rather be dead than have Ruth pity him.
And yet , he’d rather have her pity than nothing at all.
“Don’t leave,” he said.
Ruth sank back against the plastic seat. He picked up the napkin she’d left beside her coffee cup and folded it so the coffee stain was on the underside. Then refolded it so the stain was on top.
“I didn’t mean to be rude,” Ruth said. “I would never do that.”
“I know. You’re not like that. You’re beautiful and wonderful.”
“No. I’m not wonderful.”
He re-creased the napkin and placed it carefully on top of his own.
“I’m not either,” he said.
Her smile was so gentle, so appealing, it made his heart swell.
“Think about it,” he said, plunging headlong before he could lose his courage. “We can have three lovely days together, and if at the end of that time you think I’m worse than chicken pox, you can tell me so and go about your business.”
“And what will you do?” The laughter was back in her eyes.
“I’ll go off to darkest Africa and lick my wounds.”
“Malone, you’re a perfectly charming man, and I know you’re going to find some lucky woman who is perfectly willing to spend more than three days with you.” She stood up and offered her hand. He’d lost. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”
He squeezed her hand, holding on long enough to imagine he felt her quickened pulse.
“If you change your mind, this is where I’m staying.” He wrote the number of his hotel on a fresh napkin he snatched from the holder. “Call me. For a cup of coffee. For a chat. For a lecture on the dietary habits of primates. For anything.”
She took the napkin and walked out the door, out of his life.
Malone Corday. Loser.
He ordered another cup of coffee. Under the glare of the streetlamps, he could see her white dress pulled tightly against her hips as she walked away.
Please call.
o0o
The words on the page blurred then faded altogether. She was too tired to study. Ruth leaned her forehead against her palm and felt the dampness. Tears. How long had it been since she’d cried? She couldn’t remember.
Taking a folded tissue from her purse, she dabbed at her eyes. Crying in a public place because of Malone Corday.
No. Not Malone. That wasn’t fair. He was a dear, sweet, funny man. And that was the problem. He made her hope again. Hadn’t she learned not to keep hoping for things she couldn’t have? Homes with roses blooming along a picket fence and a fire crackling in the grate were for the unsoiled.
She scrubbed furiously at her cheeks then tried to concentrate on the article about Brett Corday’s language studies with Cee Cee, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Malone Corday had somehow unplugged a dam that was threatening to drown her, or at least embarrass her. People were beginning to stare.
Ruth put on her dark glasses, returned the magazine to the stacks, then grabbed her books and headed out the door. Bright sunshine gave the campus the picture-perfect look of a slick magazine ad touting the beauty of the islands. Hibiscus hung, red and yellow, like huge bells waiting for some naughty child to set them ringing. Scarlet poinsettias banked along the sidewalks made Ruth remember a Christmas when she was five years old and Max had given her dog, Dangerous, a blue sweater to wear when the temperature dropped low and the humidity in Mississippi made thirty degrees feel like ten. She’d wrapped her arms around him and told him she’d love him forever.
“And I’ll love you forever, too, sweetheart,” Max had said.
Sinking to a bench under a banyan tree, Ruth wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
“What’s a pretty lady like you doing out here all by yourself?”
The squeaky voice belonged to a fuzzy puppet, a monkey with long arms that tapped her on the shoulder. Startled, she looked over her shoulder directly into the face of a man whose glasses were steamed from the earnest sweat on his face, and whose cowlick stuck straight up like an obstinate weed.
“What in the world? Malone?”
“Nope. Not Malone. Hector.” Malone slid onto the bench beside her, crossed his legs, and perched the puppet on the makeshift horse. “Whee! Yeah!” He used a squeaky little puppet voice as he swung his leg back and forth. “This is great, Ruth. Wanna try it. I bet old sourpuss Malone wouldn’t mind.”
“I think I’ll pass.” She could feel a smile form somewhere deep inside her and push its way upward.
“You’ll miss all the fun.”
“I usually do,” she said.
Malone’s leg stopped swinging. Turning to her, he slowly removed his glasses, wiped the steamy lenses, then put them back on his nose and studied her.
“That’s what I thought,” he said in his normal voice. “That both of us usually miss all the fun.”
That he was perceptive shouldn’t have surprised her. The Corday family couldn’t have achieved what they had by mere luck.
She’d made it a practice not to look men in the eye. The eyes revealed too much. But today she made an exception. They stared at each other, she shifting her load of books, and he transferring the puppet from one leg to the other.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “I’ve got brains, brains enough not to slink off to my hotel in defeat without trying one more time to convince you to go out with me.”
He’d said he would be in Hawaii only three days. Two, now. What would it hurt to pretend for two days that she was innocent, to try to recapture some of the dreams?
“Where to?”
His grin was that of a small schoolboy who had just won the spelling bee.
“You mean that? You want to go somewhere with me?”
“I think they’re selling fresh coconut on the beach, and it occurred to me that since ... What’s his name?”
“Hector.”
“... Hector has done all the work, he should get a reward.”
“Hey, I’m jealous.”
“You don’t look jealous. You’re grinning.”
“That’s because ...” Malone reached for his tie, then realized he wasn’t wearing one and actually blushed. “Ruth , do you mind if I ... if Hector holds your hand?”
She’d stake her life that he didn’t have an insincere bone in his body. And yet , she’d been fooled before.
“You’re not married, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Engaged?”
“Nope.”
“Have another woman waiting for you in your hotel room?”
“Actually, I had six pawing at my door this morning trying to get in, but I borrowed the commode plunger from the maid and chased them all away. Told them there was a woman I was going to see who was better than all eight of them put together.”
“You said six.”
“Well, it was six without my glasses. Eight with.”
Ruth laughed with sheer joy.
“Both of you may take my hand.”
She felt the little fuzzy puppet paw in her palm, then the solid grip of Malone’s hand. Not even for a moment did she consider shrinking from his touch.
Chapter 14
LOS ANGELES, 1994
It rained the day of the funeral. Everybody thought Max’s cheeks were wet with tears. One of the illnesses his wife had imagined over the years had finally killed her. The ropes groaned under the weight, and Max saw not a casket but a giant millstone being lowered into the ground, a millstone named Betsy, taking her whining ways and extravagant spending, her thin, puckered mouth and her skinny hipbones, with her.
He stood over the grave, determined to watch until all the dirt was put back in. She’d come back from the brink of death so many times, he wanted to be sure she was really dead this time.
“So sorry, Max.” A hand clasped his shoul
der. It belonged to Caldwell Summers, a cameraman who frequently worked on Max’s movies. “We’ll all miss her.”
“Thanks. I will, too.” Lies came more easily to him than the truth.
Dirt thumped against the casket. Winter rains had made the earth clump together in waxy clods. Betsy would have hated the way it stuck to the sides of her expensive vault.
“I can’t believe she’s really gone.” Prissy Luther appeared at his side, dressed from head to toe in fur, although it was a mild fifty degrees. Betsy would have approved. She always got her fur out in November and wore it through March, no matter what the temperature.
“Hard to believe,” Max said.
“Sixty-two. So young.” Prissy dabbed at her eyes. “You never know who will go next. It could be me.” She shared her departed best friend’s habit of hypochondria.
The last clod fell on top of the casket.
“It could be,” he said, leaving Prissy with her mouth open and her high heels sunk in the mud. When he got inside his car with the black-tinted windows, he laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks.
At long last Betsy was dead. Now nothing stood between him and his prize.
Chapter 15
OAHU, 1994
Two days of romping like children. Of holding hands while the surf pounded at their feet and the sun streaked their bare shoulders with gold. There were no walls for them, no smoky dives, no sleazy motels where the blinking neon signs shone through the window and turned naked thighs orange and blue. Without asking questions Malone sensed that she needed to stay close to nature, where everything was fresh and clean.
Sitting on the sand with Hector perched between them, they watched the sun turn the water the color of a strawberry ice. Malone touched her hand, then laced their fingers together and squeezed.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said.
