Impulse

by Lass Small

  “My life is over.”

  “Surely you’re not so poor spirited that you would turn up your toes and quit?”

  “I need time to grieve.”

  Cynthia gave her a patient look. “If you must. But it seems to me excessive for a two-day acquaintance?”

  “We...made...love.”

  “Oh?” Cynthia tilted her head and pushed up her lower lip. “He must have made quite an...impression.”

  Amy shot a quick look at her mother, but her face was bland. Amy said, “I’m as good as any man. They have casual affairs.” That sounded...adolescent.

  “Not that many do.”

  “I can have any kind of life I want.” Amy wasn’t as sure now.

  “But why be a man? You are a woman. There are all the marvels of being an orange. Why try to be an apple? Men are marvelous! They are so different from us. They are so unique. Their thinking is amazing. Their interests. Why in the world would you be a cat trying to swim upstream with salmon?”

  “How nice you are contented and so glad to be a woman.”

  “Not always. The problems facing you are faced by most women somewhere along the way. If you find this...Chas? so remarkable, why don’t you mend your foolishness? Why not go to him and be honest about what you’ve done?”

  “You don’t know Chas.” Amy grieved. “He’s such an honest man. He told me— how many times— that he never lies. I lied. I did it on impulse!

  “Good Lord, Mother, don’t ever tell Daddy I did anything so impulsive and stupid! He thinks I’m levelheaded. It would disillusion him. I would hate to disappoint him that badly.”

  “And yourself? Have you disappointed yourself? Is that what’s really bothering you? You’ve broken some very sound rules. But, Amy, they can be glued back together. Rules are for a reason. This is an example.”

  “You’re a good woman.”

  Her mother replied gently, “So are you.”

  Amy was incredulous. “You can say that? After this mad conduct?”

  “One slip does not a fallen woman make. The fact that you are suffering is a mark of your character. You don’t justify what you did. You’re ashamed of lying. You’ll come around. You’ll survive this. You’ll be stronger.”

  Amy grieved. “I’m not quite ready to accept the fact that you could be right.”

  “None of us ever is. When we live, in that space of time, we are the ones who know it all.” Cynthia advised. “Don’t waste time with regrets. Straighten your spine and go on.”

  “In a while.”

  “Ah, yes. The grieving.” Cynthia moved to walk a pace or two, then turned again to look at Amy. “Must you grieve?”

  “He’s worth it.”

  “Then go to him and tell him so.”

  “He’d slam the door in my face.”

  “Maybe not. At least you would have tried. And he might admire guts.”

  “Like Daddy, he has a code.”

  “If he’s really like your father, his code is hardest on himself, but he understands not everyone can live up to his standards.”

  “Chas deserves a woman who can.”

  “Wow! You have a full-blown crush on him, haven’t you?”

  “Is that it? It couldn’t be love this soon, could it? I could recover from a crush.”

  Cynthia mentioned, “Miles is a special man. He might be the Alka-Seltzer that will cure you of Chas.”

  “What a romantic parallel.” Amy was still sitting on the side of the bed. “Treat a lost love like an upset stomach?”

  Cynthia agreed, “Most of life is Tums.”

  “I wouldn’t trade you for any other mother.”

  “Then I’ve been much too lenient.”

  Amy nodded. “Probably. But I do like you.”

  “Oh, Amy.” They looked at each other, both teary-eyed, then Cynthia leaned down and hugged her daughter. “Good night, my love. Sleep.”

  “...perchance to dream?” Amy’s tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

  “If it helps.”

  * * *

  Amy was so exhausted that she did sleep. And she did dream. She dreamed Chas was furious! He looked like a bear seriously challenging another in that head forward, threatening way that is very intimidating. He snarled, “And just why did you take off that way?”

  Amy had learned over the years— what with one thing or another— that when someone asks such a question, in that way, they don’t really want an actual answer. What they want is to vent their spleen and, no matter what the reply, the questioner will be angrier.

  That’s exactly why children say, “I don’t know.” It’s short. It is a reply. And the phrase is so maddening that it distracts the questioner from the original problem.

  That was the dream. The nightmares were another thing. In those she went up to Chas in a crowded room and touched his arm to get his attention. He turned and grinned down at her. She realized he wasn’t angry, and she raised her mouth for his kiss.

  The dream Chas responded magnificently. Her toes curled in the cramped toes of her high-heeled shoes, her knees dissolved and her body hunger concentrated. He lifted his mouth from the kiss and smiled at her. Then he put his arm around her and held her close to his side as people intruded for his attention.

  As happens in dreams, Amy couldn’t understand their words, but everyone seemed laughing and friendly. She was the only stranger. They ignored her, talking to Chas, and finally Chas asked low in her ear, “What’s your name?”

  In the nightmare, Chas had forgotten her. When every cell in her body knew him, yearned for him, he had forgotten her. Like his cousin, Sally, he’d forgotten a bed partner.

  The Cougars must prowl and forget. She hadn’t meant a thing to him. She was just another willing woman. It was devastating.

  She wakened to small, weeping gasps, wet cheeks and depression. It was only a dream.

  But dreams are sometimes portents. She would remember him all the rest of her life. Would Chas forget her? Or would he only remember that she’d ducked out on him? How sad.

  She dragged out of bed the next morning, unrested, gloomy, not giving one hoot if the Peckerels were present or not, or even Miles. She didn’t even care about how awkward it would be for her parents if she languished in her room and didn’t appear.

  The only thing that pried her out from her bed was training. She was supposed to do her share, so she got up. In all of history, no Allen had ever let anyone down.

  She had. She had deserted Chas and left him alone to make her excuses at the wedding. How embarrassing for him. He could handle it. He was the most capable man she’d ever met. He was the one everyone turned to. Why wasn’t he here to comfort her? She needed him.

  It was Sunday. She pulled on neat gray cotton slacks with a red cotton pullover and stared at herself in the mirror. No man could ever be entranced by such a lump. She brushed her limp hair and dragged her feet down to breakfast. She wasn’t hungry.

  Their slender, middle-aged cook looked up from the morning paper and said, “Anytime,” in a sour way.

  “Hello to you, too,” Amy replied with equal hostility.

  “Be careful how you speak to me. If I quit, and your mother starts cooking, Bill will have your hide.”

  “I love you, Lucy.” Amy said it as if automated.

  “Equally.” Lucy didn’t move but sat studying Amy. “What the hell’s happened to you?”

  “Thank God Dad’s not in the diplomatic corps.” Amy got up and put bread in the toaster and poured herself a cup of coffee.

  “Only a man could wreak such havoc. Who is he?”

  Amy retorted, “None of your damned business.”

  “Ah, baby, is it hopeless?”

  “Don’t go mushy on me, Lucy, I can’t handle it.”

  “So. The rat.” She got up from the chair and opened the refrigerator. “Coddled eggs.”

  “I’ll gag.”

  “You have to put something under that coffee or you’ll ruin the lining of your stomach.” />
  “It’s my stomach.”

  “Since I’m the cook here, if your stomach is ruined, it reflects on me— therefore you will protect my reputation, or I’ll sue.”

  “So sue.”

  Lucy turned at the stove to look at Amy again. “That bad, huh?”

  Amy gave her a level stare. “Yes. Where are the parents?”

  “They took the Peckerels to church, then to brunch. They’ll be gone until two or three o’clock. As soon as I feed you and Tarzan, I’ll be leaving.”

  “T-Tarzan?”

  “Miles Clifford. He’s in the pool.” Lucy hesitated, then asked softly, “Who did you think?”

  Amy shook her head. “No one.” Amy had been peripherally aware of motion in the pool, across the terrace. Now she looked out through the window bank, across the bricked, tree-shaded terrace, to the pool and saw Miles swimming effortlessly in laps. He swam well.

  “That’s some man out there.” Lucy’s voice was sexy. “I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Too bad he doesn’t just stand around out there in a little bitty fig leaf.”

  “You’re a shocking woman.” Amy had told Lucy that before. It was a rote reply.

  But about then Miles reached the end of the pool, braced his hands on the edge and effortlessly lifted himself from the water. He was some man. Beautiful. Like Chas.

  “Umm.”

  “Lucy! Don’t burn the eggs.”

  “I’ll bet he’ll be hungry.” Lucy chuckled softly.

  Since her sojourn with Chas, Amy had a wider knowledge of innuendo. She now understood the facets of meanings to ordinary words. She blushed.

  Lucy watched her blush with great interest before she said with drawling emphasis, “I was talking about food.”

  “The eggs!” Amy’s tone was a little hostile.

  Lucy went to the terrace door and called, “Don’t bother to dress. Just put on your robe, breakfast is ready.”

  It wasn’t. Lucy obviously wanted to have Miles at the table that way. Mostly naked. He would have to sit there a long time, in that toweling robe, while Lucy fixed his breakfast. She was a lecherous old lady. Or did she think Miles would distract Amy?

  Ten

  Amy watched as, out by the pool, Miles toweled off and vigorously rubbed his hair almost dry. He was magnificent, although not quite the bulk of Chas. Did Miles realize he was gorgeously made? He pulled on the terry robe, and combed his hair with careless fingers. He wasn’t vain.

  He came to the kitchen door, and his pupils widened as he saw Amy sitting there at the table. He was attracted to her. He grinned as he walked to the chair across from her, and he said, “Good morning!” as he sat down.

  She replied a subdued, “G’morning.” Her thoughts had sunk down to sublevel. Here she was at the breakfast table with the man her mother had found for her, and she couldn’t dredge up a smile or a sparkle or even an interest. All because of that impulse to meet Chas.

  If she hadn’t been so rash— and ruined her entire life— she would now be mildly flirting with this superior man. She would be taking up Lucy’s bits of conversation and making Miles laugh.

  He’d said something to Amy. Amy asked, “What?”

  “The pool is perfect.”

  “We all swim.” Amy knew that Miles was ideal. He would fit right in. Bill would be comfortable with him, Cynthia would adore him and Amy would have been contented all the rest of her life.

  Miles said, “‘Bye, Lucy.”

  Lucy was leaving. Amy’s parents and the Peckerels would be gone for several hours. She and Miles were going to be there, alone, in the house. All that time, just the two of them. If she was the man-izer she’d hoped to be, it would be the opportunity to taste her second superior male. Amy sighed forlornly.

  “Who is he?”

  Amy lifted her lashes and gave Miles a blank look.

  He elaborated, “The man who keeps you from hearing me. Who is he?”

  “Yes. Well, you see... It could have been such fun. I just thought— You’re a man. You know how it is. I never dreamed— ”

  “So that is the problem. There is a man.”

  “Well, actually, no. I met... I decided...” Then she blurted, “How did you recover from your first affair?” She waited with all her attention concentrated on him.

  “Ah. This is going to take some time. Let’s put the dishes in the sink, and you can come upstairs and watch me pack, while I listen.”

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yes. I’ve told your parents goodbye. I waited until you surfaced before I left.”

  Absentmindedly, Amy helped with the dishes, then trailed along upstairs to his room. She asked, “How old were you?”

  “When?” Miles began to pack. He was walking back and forth, carrying things to his suitcases.

  “With your first affair.”

  He asked, “What makes you think I ever had one?”

  “You’re a man,” Amy explained.

  “And you believe all men concentrate solely on bedding women?”

  “To my knowledge.” She clarified her question.

  Miles was sure. “Not all.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He was polite. “You’re a victim of sexism.”

  “Then you’ve never had an affair?”

  “Why does that have anything to do with your problem?”

  “I need to know what to do to recover.”

  He was kind. “Take it one day at a time.”

  “That’s...all?”

  “How does anyone get past anything?” He chose slacks, a shirt and underwear.

  Amy grieved. “This seems too devastating for so simple a solution.”

  Bluntly, Miles said, “So was Hiroshima.”

  “You mock me,” Amy chided. “One love affair can’t compare to Hiroshima.”

  “No. But they, too, recovered. So in comparison, you can.”

  He went to take a shower then, and she sat in his room and looked, unseeing, out the window. He was probably right. She would manage. Ah, Chas.

  Miles came back, dressed, still toweling his hair. “Your eyes are focused on me!”

  “You’re a very nice man.”

  “Not good enough.” He began to pack.

  “I thought you were going to stay the week.”

  “I said I’d check things out. I can’t stay, now.” He gave her a weighing look. “But I’d like to come back in a couple of months and see you again.”

  Although she said, “Yes,” it wasn’t a strong reply.

  “I’ll be back.” He zipped the bags closed and put them by the door. “You’ll be here this summer?”

  “It’ll depend. I travel.”

  “We might meet. I’ll check your schedule.” He reached into his wallet. “Here’s my number. When...” He looked up as he handed her the card, so he saw her stricken look.

  Chas had put all those cards in her suitcase. Did men do that all the time? Amy thought of that as she reached out an automatic hand and took Miles’s card.

  “He gave you his card?” He stated what was obvious.

  “Yes.”

  “Then he must be sure you’ll call him. You might do that.” Miles’s words were reluctant even to his own ears. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to encourage her to get in touch with any other man.

  “It isn’t an ordinary circumstance. I...was under false colors. I gave another name.”

  “I see.” He smiled. Perhaps she’d boxed herself in quite neatly and whoever the other man was he would be out of the picture. Miles was very tempted to stay, but all she could think of, right then, was that other man. When Miles was with Amy, he wanted her attention on him.

  It was smarter for him to leave. When he saw her again, his being coupled in her mind with the other incident wouldn’t be so strong.

  If he listened to her now, later she would feel he knew too much about her. Their relationship wouldn’t begin as it should. This way was better. “It was great to meet you, and I’ll...anticip
ate the next time.” He picked up the cases and waited.

  “You’re leaving now.” Amy confirmed the obvious.

  “It’s been very nice. Your parents are remarkable.”

  “Yes.”

  “Walk me to the car?” He might get a kiss on her cheek. Or he might even get a brief one on that soft mouth. He wished he could stay and really comfort her. He might be able to convince her to let him. She was very vulnerable. But that wasn’t what he wanted...to be a comforter. Let her heal first.

  They went down the stairs to the entrance hall, she opened the front door and— there stood Chas!

  He was just simply there!

  He was dressed in a light suit, with dress shirt and tie. He looked formidable and, just like in the dream, he was furious! He ignored her and glared at Miles.

  Miles stood there, smiled just a little ruefully and commented, “This is he.”

  “Yes.” Both Chas and Amy had replied. She looked at Chas, but he was still looking at Miles. They were almost equal in height and weight, but Chas appeared somewhat larger.

  Miles was rather enjoying himself. A little like an antelope sassily following a Cougar whose ears are laid back in temper. She introduced the two men— who did not shake hands.

  “Leaving?” Chas encouraged Miles.

  “I could always stay.”

  “Leave,” Chas advised.

  “You’re being rude,” Amy informed Chas.

  “You can tell me about rude.” He gave her a rude glance; so he knew, quite well enough, about being that way, all by himself.

  Miles turned to Amy and opened his mouth to say goodbye, but Chas reached out and dragged Amy out of reach. Amy tried to pry Chas’s fingers from around her arm. The two men looked at each other in a very electric silence.

  Miles asked Amy, “Do you want me to stay?” And he put down his bags.

  “No. Thank you, but he really isn’t dangerous.”

  Chas overrode her statement. “Yes, I am.”

  “Are you trying to start something?” Miles asked Chas softly.

  Chas’s head came forward a little in that challenging-bear posture. “Are you the reason she left?”

  Amy bristled. “I hadn’t even met him until I came home.”

  Ignoring her, Chas advised Miles, “Don’t clutter up the situation.”

  But Miles had been challenged. “I believe I’ll stay. I don’t like the way you’re treating her. I’ll stay until I know she’ll be all right.”