“Nothing special. Just talked about you as a child. I showed him photographs. You know, Katherine, Steven is a very nice person!”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Mom.”
“And I think he has a crush on you.”
“Mom, please!”
“I just wanted to let you know what happened. You remember, your Aunt Emma said he was a very nice young man? He is. I just wanted you to know what I think…in case it makes a difference.”
“Mom, you know it makes a difference.” Katherine blinked as her eyes began to water and a tear slipped down one cheek. “I’m so glad you liked him.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“Well, I’ve got to go.” Katherine heard her mother’s voice catch. “I hear your father. He’s ready to leave for the reception. I’m going to introduce him to Steven. Bye, sweetie.”
Katherine slowly put the telephone down. The tears continued to fall as she walked to the window and absently watched a car roll past.
Her mother liked Steven. Katherine had been dreading to hear from her after the reception. She felt certain that her father would like him, but she hadn’t been certain about her mother’s reaction. Now, as she watched the sun peek from behind the clouds and late afternoon light flooded the city, she wanted to scream and shout for joy.
Katherine glanced around. She was alone in the apartment.
“Yes!” She jumped and pumped her fist.
***
Bill had been working the room, speaking to as many of Richmond’s elite as he could, engaging in small talk, making contacts that might be useful in the future. Bill had no real interest in cultural activities, he had no plan to view the exhibit, but he found that receptions such as this one were good places to be seen.
The reception had almost concluded and the official opening of the exhibition was scheduled in about fifteen minutes. As he had moved from person to person, Bill had kept an eye on Steven. He watched as Alice Jackson introduced Steven to Katherine’s father—they had been talking for almost twenty minutes. As far as Bill was concerned, Steven was certainly spending enough time with the Jacksons.
Bill let out a derisive huff.
Perhaps I should go over, end their little get-together.
He shook his head. No. He would wait. Bill planned to talk with Steven—to stake his claim to Katherine, and to warn Steven to stay away from her. But if her parents were still with him, he would have to be more careful about what he said.
For all of his bluster, Bill hated confrontation. Instead, he plotted how to approach Steven, put him on the defensive, press his case, and make him understand. As he focused on watching Steven talk with Katherine’s parents, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.
“How’s it going, Bill?” His fishing buddy, Johnny Metzger, towered over him.
“Fine,” Bill snapped. “Everything is just fine.”
“You’re drinking?” Johnny looked surprised. “I thought you were on the wagon.”
“It’s just a drink.” Bill’s eyes were glued on Steven and the Jacksons. They were shaking hands, as if the Jacksons were ready to move on.
Johnny’s eyes followed Bill’s. “That’s Steven Richardson,” Johnny said. “Isn’t he the fellow who was on TV with Katherine last Sunday?”
“Yeah. So?” Bill growled.
“I heard about that. Story is that they were very close.” Johnny smirked. “I thought you were going to marry Katherine. Remember ‘After a long lonely winter…’ That’s what you said.” Johnny laughed. “From what I hear she’s not very lonely—probably not cold, either.”
Bill recognized that Johnny was teasing, but he wasn’t in the mood to reply. The Jacksons were walking away. Finally, Steven was alone.
“I will marry her.” Bill turned and strode across the room toward Steven. Time to put an end to all the pictures of the two of them in the newspaper, on TV—everywhere. Time to make that clear.
Bill stuck out his hand. “Steven Richardson, you know my fiancée, I believe.”
“Really? Who is your fiancée?”
“Katherine Jackson. She is my fiancée.”
Steven raised his eyebrows. “Well I certainly know Katie, although I didn’t know she was engaged. What is your name?”
“Katie? You mean Katherine. No one except her nanny calls her Katie.” He took deep a breath, stood up straight, and stuck out his chest.
“My name is Wilson. Bill Wilson”
A smile and look of recognition crossed Steven’s face.
Bill grinned, happy about that. He had heard of Bill—that was good. He tipped his head back so that he could look down his nose on the taller man.
The smile remained on Steven’s face. “Well, Mr. Wilson, you are to be congratulated if you’ve been able to capture Katie’s heart. I’m sure that many others have tried. She’s a wonderful person.”
Bill was confused. Steven didn’t seem to be at all concerned. Maybe they were just friends. Or maybe he knew that Bill was lying.
“I’m an attorney, Mr. Richardson.” He chuckled under his breath. He wasn’t going to call him doctor. He wasn’t a real doctor anyway. “You are a, what is it? A painter? No, a curator at a museum? What is it that a curator does, exactly?”
Steven answered without seeming to take offense. He spoke of his position in general terms—finding and acquiring art objects, caring for them, displaying them properly.
“What type of law do you practice? Personal injury law perhaps?”
“General Law, Mr. Richardson. All types, whatever is needed. I’m really quite versatile.” Bill took a large gulp from his glass of Jack Daniel’s—a little liquid courage. “I’ve always wondered, always wanted to know,” his voice grew a little louder, “always wanted to ask one of you artsy types. Don’t you sometimes wish that you had a real job? One that really made a difference to someone?”
“A real job? Like an attorney’s?”
“Right, like an attorney.”
“Well, Mr. Wilson, I think that we have too little beauty in our lives—creating it, collecting it, and preserving it are important activities. You might say it’s a calling.”
“A calling?” Bill’s voice rose louder and conversation ceased, as people all around them turned to listen. Bill scanned the room. “Do any of you people really, really care about this stuff?” He waved his arm in a grand gesture, the Jack sloshing around the glass, reaching the edge but not quite spilling over. He turned back to Steven. “Collecting beauty, is that what you call it? The earth could swallow you and this entire museum and nobody—”
Thomas Jackson placed a heavy hand on Bill’s shoulder. “Perhaps the three of us could talk somewhere else. Outside, maybe?”
“I want to talk right here!” Bill pushed the hand away and edged closer to Steven, their faces almost touching.
“If you were a real man, you’d have a real job! One that was important! If you were man enough for Katherine Jackson, you would, you would…”
Bill’s head was spinning, and his body began to sway. “I will go outside, I think.”
He turned to go, but then he stopped and wheeled back toward Steven. “Richardson, one more thing.” He shouted and stabbed his finger at Steven’s chest. “You leave my girl alone. You know what I mean. Keep your hands off Katherine Jackson. Stay away from her.”
Bill turned to go again and almost fell. Steven reached out to steady him, but Bill pushed him away, and staggered from the room.
***
Bill’s telephone rang the next morning at nine o’clock. He grabbed for it, knocking it off the bedside table onto the floor. His head hurt, and the noise was deafening. He reached around on the floor, first making contact with a bottle, then the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Wilson? Bill? This is Sue, your secretary.” Bill groaned. Did she not think he would recognize her voice after three years? And who else, what other man, at any rate, would be answering his telephone?
&
nbsp; “Yeah, Sue. It’s me.”
“Bill, your first appointment is running late and won’t make it until nine forty-five. A good thing, too, since you sound like you’re still asleep.”
“I’m not asleep now,” he snapped.
He slammed the phone down and fell back into bed. His ears were ringing and his head was pounding. He sat up and made a shaky dash for the bathroom, arriving just in time to lean over the toilet.
He wiped his chin on his sleeve.
“Good thing they’re running late. I’d have made a real jackass of myself coming in late and still soused to boot.”
He sank onto the cold porcelain floor and folded his arms around his knees, memories creeping back.
“Speaking of being a jackass…I think I made one of myself last night.” Bill groaned and dropped his head to his arms.
He recalled talking to Steven Richardson, but he recalled little else, nothing specific, and nothing that happened after that conversation. He leaned his head against the cool tile wall, trying to remember.
Slowly it came back. His claim that Katherine was his fiancée, the insulting way that he had described Steven and his work, his dismissal of the Museum as having no worth or importance, all of it delivered in a booming voice. Thomas Jackson’s hand on his shoulder.
He groaned. He had attended the reception to make work contacts and a good impression on future voters, but his behavior would attract few clients or political followers. He had simply wanted to see the fellow with whom he was competing for Katherine, and to press his claim, but he had acted like a fool. Katherine would hear all about it, he was certain—and she wouldn’t be pleased.
Bill stumbled into the kitchen and started coffee. Maybe Melissa could help.
Melissa, like Katherine, had been his friend in high school. But Melissa was different.
Bill stared out the kitchen window as he thought about her. He had known Melissa long before high school. They had grown up together, next-door neighbors. She had been the first girl he had ever kissed—when they were seven years old. Actually, he remembered, she had kissed him and then ran away. They had been inseparable after that, though, and they told each other everything—problems at school, arguments with their parents, first “real” kisses, first crushes, first everythings. She had told Bill that she was engaged even before she told her mother.
Melissa was the type of girl who was ready for anything, any adventure. He remembered her suggestion that they go skinny dipping in the river during the Labor Day picnic the year they turned twelve. She’d spiked a bowl of punch at the junior prom, and she had organized the road trip the summer after their senior year. That was something! Bill, Melissa, Trish, Johnny Metzger, and two other girls had spent a week in Florida, playing in the surf, drinking, partying, sleeping on the beach.
Bill laughed. Aunt Betty had almost had a stroke when they returned to Hamilton.
Wild times. Maybe I should have married her.
He actually had proposed, once. It was when men were being drafted into the army to fight in Vietnam. The rules were changing, and he’d discovered that he couldn’t be drafted if he got married within the next four weeks. A friend of his had done just that, and Bill made the suggestion to Melissa, partially in jest, partially not. He was shocked when she’d agreed, but she gave him two conditions. First, she would not be married in name only. After pausing to let him consider the full meaning of her words, she said that Bill would have to explain things to her father. “I’m guessing you’ll be safer in the army than you would be talking to Daddy the morning after our wedding night,” she had told him.
She was probably right—Bill had no wish to tangle with Melissa’s father. He enrolled in college and generally managed a C average. When he came up short—three times in four years—his uncle sat on the county’s draft board, and he managed to keep Bill out of the army.
In any case, it didn’t matter—Melissa was married now, and she was still a friend.
Her office was just down the street from his. He decided he would call her for lunch.
***
Melissa was waiting when Bill arrived at the café. “An impressive performance last night.” She clapped her hands.
“You were there?”
“Sadly, I had to leave early. It was a school night and our babysitter couldn’t stay late. I do regret missing it, though. My secretary—and two clients—gave me the details. Only one of them actually saw it all.”
“So everyone in town knows about it?”
“Pretty much, I’d say. Pretty much.”
“Melissa, what am I going to do?”
She gave him the chastising look that only Melissa could get away with. “About acting like a donkey? Lay off the booze. You know you can’t drink. I thought you were being careful.”
“I was. I am. I was nervous.”
Melissa leaned forward and waited, head tilted, brows raised.
“I was nervous about talking to that man—Richardson. The one who is moving in on Katherine.”
“Moving in on Katherine?” She looked at Bill as if she thought he was mad. “Who exactly is he moving against?”
“Me.”
“And you thought shouting insults was going to scare him off.”
“I told him we were engaged and that he should leave her alone.”
“Are you?” Melissa leaned back and crossed her arms.
“Am I what?”
“Engaged to marry Katherine Jackson.”
“Not officially.”
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “Not ever, when you hear it from her.”
“Melissa, I don’t understand. I always thought, always assumed, that when she finished college, Katherine would come home and I’d be waiting for her. Then she went to med school, and I thought the same thing. Then she moved to New York, and I thought that after some time alone up there she would come home. Now this guy appears!”
“You’ve been your usual attentive self? Visiting, calling, writing?”
“I haven’t changed.” He lowered his head, resting it in his hands—partially in shame, partially because of the pounding that was still there.
“Probably your problem,” she sniffed. “How often did you make it to Charlottesville?”
“I don’t know. A couple of times.”
“In three years?” She rolled her eyes. “Atlanta?”
“About the same.”
“New York?”
“I-I haven’t been to New York.”
Melissa leaned toward him. “Bill, if Robert had treated me like that, there’s no chance in hell that we’d be married now. Are you that conceited or just plain stupid?” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis. “Katherine isn’t a puppy who is going to wait around for you to show her attention. I’m surprised she’s not already married. I would think that plenty of the guys in med school were willing.” She leaned back and took a sip of tea. “Could be those bells will be ringing soon.”
“What can I do?”
“Show her some attention.”
“I’ll find out whether she’ll be home at Thanksgiving.”
“Find out if she’ll be home? Bill, are you crazy? Go. See her. Show her a good time.” Melissa groaned. “Show her that you care, Bill. You can’t compete with this guy if you are not in the race.”
Bill Goes to New York
“Bill, I have to work tomorrow. I can’t meet a noon flight.” Katherine stood with one hand on her hip, tapping her foot. She had gone to bed early with a headache and Bill’s telephone call had awakened her. She glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. Eleven o’clock and he was announcing he would be coming to town the next day.
“Take the day off. Someone can cover.”
“No, Bill. They can’t. Not with this notice, not unless it’s an emergency.”
“Tell them you’re sick.” She could hear irritation creeping into his voice.
“If you had called earlier, last weekend, maybe…”
“Damn it, Katherine, show me some consideration.”
“Consideration? You show me some.” Her voice started to rise, but she caught herself. She didn’t want to awaken her roommates. “Have you thought that I might have plans? I don’t know why you’re coming to see me anyway. Stay at home. Good-bye.”
“Katherine! Katherine! Don’t hang up.”
She froze in the process of replacing the receiver and brought the phone back to her ear. “What?”
“Katherine, I want to talk to you about…about the reception. The reception at the Museum. The way I talked to Dr. Richardson.”
“I’m listening.” Katherine’s teeth were clenched. She was struggling not to tell him what she thought about how he had talked to Steven.
“I was out of line, Katherine. I said some things that, well, things I should not have said. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or your parents.”
“Okay.” Her voice was flat. If he was wanting forgiveness, it would take a lot more than that.
“I’ll just be in town for a little while. I want to take you to dinner. Talk with you, make it up to you.”
Katherine did not respond.
“Please, Katherine. We’ve been friends for a long time. Please give me a couple of hours.”
Katherine was about to say no, but she hesitated. She didn’t like Bill, but her mother would want her to be polite, and he did sound sincere. Steven had work plans and it would just be a couple of hours. Besides, an apology from Bill Wilson was a rare thing, indeed.
She sighed. “I’ll be at the hospital until three. You can meet me there. Otherwise, I’ll be home by four.”
Katherine hung up.
“Everything all right?” Becky placed a hand on her shoulder and Katherine jumped.
“Sorry.”
“You startled me. Did I awaken you? I tried to be quiet.”
“The telephone awakened me, not you. Is something wrong?”
“No.” Katherine sat on the sofa. “It was Bill Wilson. He’ll be in town tomorrow and wants to take me to dinner. Wants to apologize for the way he acted when Steven was in Richmond.”
The Handfasting Page 12
