Caprice

by Amanda Carpenter

  “What—kind of restaurant did you have in mind, so that I can dress accordingly?” she asked quickly, the beginnings of an idea forming at the back of her mind.

  “I thought we’d stay in town, if you don’t mind. I have an early morning flight tomorrow at an ungodly hour.” He named a place she was well familiar with, and they rang off right after.

  She had it; she definitely had it. She called Roxanne, who answered with a clearly audible yawn. Caprice grinned. “Sleep late too?”

  “Yeah,” the other girl mumbled. “What’s up?”

  “I need a favor.” She glanced up and down the hall, finding herself quite alone, which suited her just fine.

  “Name it. Anything but money, and it’s yours.”

  “Poor thing,” she said commiseratingly. “Hold tight. The first of the month is coming up quick.” A snort greeted that. “Listen, have you got someone you could call up to take you out this evening?”

  “What kind of favor is that?” Roxanne demanded. “Yes, sure.”

  “I’m eating out tonight with Pierce Langston, and I can’t cry off without him suspecting,” she began.

  “Good God, why would you want to?” was the brunette’s expostulation.

  “Ah, it’s a long story. Look, I’ll explain some other time, okay? Now, what I want is for you two to show up at the restaurant around six thirty this evening, and we can sort of team up for supper, all right?”

  “Well, if that’s what you really want—” Roxanne said doubtfully.

  Caprice cut the other girl short. “Believe me, I’m quite serious. Please, Rox?”

  “You got it, kiddo.”

  They hung up after a comfortable talk. The evening was taken care of after all. Caprice told herself she was relieved.

  She spent her afternoon leisurely and dressed for the evening in a peach dress, which delicately brought out the sun-kissed quality of her deep tan. She let her hair fall loose to her shoulders, touched a light shade of cinnamon shadow to her eyes, with a matching shade of color on her lips, and she was ready.

  Pierce was quite prompt this time, and as the family was gathered in the den for drinks before supper, they were invited to stay. But when he looked to her inquiringly, one black brow raised, she shook her head, and so they soon left.

  As he pulled out of the driveway, driving the Jaguar again, he said quietly, frowning at the road, “You look lovely this evening. That dress suits you perfectly.”

  She smiled as she stared out of her window at the passing streets, flattered by the compliment. “Thank you. You know, you don’t look so bad yourself.” At that, he laughed, but the sound was short-lived, quickly dying away.

  Sunday usually meant rather less restaurant business, and so they were seated soon enough, without reservations. Caprice sat back and perused an already familiar menu while Pierce ordered a bottle of house wine.

  When the waiter had left, he leaned forward, his own menu open and disregarded in front of him. “I want to talk about last night,” he said softly. That brought her eyes up with a jerk. They sparkled, brilliant, angry, and then she lowered her lids again and distantly ran her eyes over the meal selection. “Oh, you do,” she said, absently. “I don’t, particularly.” She put her finger to one item and frowned. “Now, I can’t remember if I’ve tried that and liked it, or tried it and didn’t like it. Maybe it was this one.”

  “Don’t you want an explanation from me, or anything at all?” he pressed, voice going even lower. She could feel his hardening gaze boring into her like a physical drill.

  “Hm? About what?” she murmured, turning the page and looking over the dessert section with every appearance of interest. She didn’t see a thing.

  “About why I left like I did.”

  She glanced up quickly, blonde brows slightly raised. His jaw was slightly thrust out, the mouth hard, his eyes showing the beginnings of anger. “No,” she said simply.

  “I’d advise you to cut the act,” he said, almost gently. “It just doesn’t wash with me.”

  “I’m not acting,” she said, deliberately innocent. There was an angry satisfaction in watching his face clench tight. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him before. With a chill down her spine, she suddenly wondered about their drive back to her house.

  “Quit pretending to be so damned obtuse,” he whispered between his teeth, eyes glittering. “What are you going to do, run away again when you could learn something?”

  She smiled, inwardly so furious she could hardly sit still, and said with great charm, “I will do anything I please.”

  His eyes flicked behind her uninterestedly and then sharpened. She watched as he positively spat out, “Goddammit!” By that, she knew her relief had arrived.

  Roxanne said from behind her, sounding quite surprised, “Pierce—and Caprice. Hello, you two.” She let her eyes dwell admiringly on Pierce’s grim profile. “I didn’t know you were seeing each other.”

  Caprice looked up, eyes still snapping. “A recent development,” she said flippantly. Her eyes flicked behind Roxanne, and her expression lightened to a genuine smile. “How are you, Kurt? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

  “Fine, just fine,” said the young man, greeting her with a flattering warmth. “And how about yourself? You’re looking terrific.”

  She laughed with pleasure, glanced at Pierce and saw his blank, polite expression and knew he was still very angry. Roxanne blinked at the table ingenuously. “Have you two eaten yet?”

  “Oh, no,” Caprice said, looking around herself. “Would you both like to join us?”

  Another glance risked at Pierce revealed absolutely nothing, but Kurt must have sensed something, for he started to say, “I don’t know—”

  “We’d love to!” Roxanne gushed, and Caprice could have thrown her arms around the other girl and kissed her.

  And so two more chairs were brought to the table. Pierce still sat opposite, for which she was thankful. She couldn’t tell if he suspected anything or not. There was certainly no fault to be found in his manners to the other couple. In fact, she found it a bit chilling to see how well he could cover up his true feelings. It left her wondering if perhaps he had acted the same with her, and if so, when.

  She treated them all with warmth, never refusing to look Pierce straight in the eye or to say something to him directly, and she could feel the brunette’s puzzled, questioning gaze on her from time to time. Was she playing her own role that well then? Was this a habit she’d got into over her lifetime? Had she played it for so long, she no longer knew if she was fooling herself or not?

  None of the deep trouble these questions brought her showed in her lively, cheerful face.

  After the meal, when they were waiting for their ordered coffee, Caprice began to feel the strain and stood, murmuring, “Excuse me, please.” The men rose also as she picked up her bag and went in search of the ladies’ room.

  She heard, as she walked away from the table, Roxanne’s voice, and the other girl rushed to catch up with her. After they were well away from the other two, Roxanne said quietly, “What’s going on between you two?”

  Caprice pushed through the swinging door and went over to the opposite wall, where mirrors and a counter lined it from end to end. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and her voice was harsh. She slapped her handbag down and opened it with shaking fingers. With determined calm, she drew out her brush and unnecessarily straightened her hair.

  “The atmosphere was so thick when we walked up, I thought for sure we would slam into it. He looked angry.” Roxanne was watching her closely.

  “We were having an argument,” she said, and bowed to put her face into her hands. Her shoulders shuddered once, and then she was back in control, shocked at her own loss of composure, her own reaction. “I’m not going to see him after this.”

  She went back to her grooming, touched lipstick at her lips carefully and added blush to her pale cheeks. Roxanne stared at her for a few moments before turning
her attention to her own appearance. “I’m sure that’s best,” she said. But she didn’t sound sure. She sounded worried and doubtful.

  Before they went back to the table, Caprice looked hard at herself and saw the beginning of tiny lines of stress on either side of her mouth, along with the faint smudges appearing under her large eyes. She stood quite still. Then she wiped all expression away and put on a placid smile. The change was incredible, and Roxanne blinked before nodding to her encouragingly as they went out the door.

  The coffee was served, the two men at their ease with each other, and the rest of the time fairly flew by until the bill was paid and the tip laid down on the table, and they were all leaving. Pierce had his hand to her back as she gave the others one last wave, and then they made their way to the Jaguar in silence.

  The evening was more balmy than it had been last night, the breeze refreshing instead of chilling, swaying through trees and telephone and electric lines in an ever-present, restless sound. Pierce unlocked the passenger door and attentively saw her seated within before moving to the driver’s side.

  He hadn’t said a thing, hadn’t shown any difference in his behavior after leaving the other two, and yet she tensed from neck muscles down to her thighs as he started the car up with a low purr and backed smoothly out of the parking lot. After a few moments, he said conversationally, “You invited them to stay for supper on purpose, didn’t you?”

  She might prevaricate with someone else, but she knew better with him. “Yes,” she said shortly.

  The Jaguar picked up speed. She doubted if he even realized. “Who are you afraid of, yourself or me?”

  That stung. Why did it sting? She replied sharply, “I’m not afraid of anyone!” Without the softening effects of low music being played, the words resounded terribly in the silence of the car. She lowered her voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure you do. You’re not stupid. You just like to act it,” he said quite savagely. She stared out of her window, wishing they were already home. It was a short drive, but it seemed to be taking forever. They were both tense and quiet for the next few minutes. Then he said, “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

  Oh yes, she had it figured out now. That dull ache in her chest was her heart. But the personality wasn’t in the heart, was it? It was in the brain, running electric currents that made her feel so miserable at times, and so good at others. “You call them as you see them,” she said flippantly.

  “Stop it,” he said, low voiced. She looked over to him and saw how his hands were clenched, bone white on the wheel. They were nearing the house. She bowed her head and sighed wearily. Funny. She knew it would be good-bye, but he didn’t. It was better that way. He pulled in to the driveway and switched off the engine. Then he sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose as if he were tired, and he leaned his head back against the seat like he had yesterday. Strange, how different things were from yesterday. “I have to go back tomorrow.”

  “I never thought any differently,” she said, quite surprised. She turned her blonde head in his general direction. “Thanks for this evening. I hope you enjoyed their company.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He was quite flat about it. No polite nonsense from him.

  “Well,” was her dry response. Her hand went fumbling for the car door. “On that note, I think I shall say—”

  From that instant on, everything changed. His dark head turned swiftly, and she saw something burning at the back of his eyes. He said, very low, “Get over here.” His hand snaked out, grabbed hold of her upper arm and dragged her to him.

  He held her head, fingers pressing their imprint against her skull as he passionately took her mouth. She moaned involuntarily as his tongue drove deep, without preliminaries. Deeper, and yet deeper, driving into her with frustration, with something impelling him on, with his hands shifting her weight uncomfortably over the gearstick so that she was sitting in his lap, off-balance and clutching at him. Her head now lay nestled against his shoulder and her weight was carrying her back. She was staring blindly up at the car’s ceiling as his mouth left hers, and he emitted an audible, small groan as if it were torn from him, slanting his mouth hungrily along her throat as his hand dragged away the shoulder of her wrap and dress. She was barely aware of her hand sinking deep into his hair as he found her breast and suckled excitedly. All his muscles were rigid and throbbing hard. His whole body radiated his tension, bewilderingly.

  This wasn’t the man who was so cool and controlled last night. This was the man of last weekend, exuding unleashed, powerful passion. This was the man who scared and excited her half to death. Her head came up and leaned into the straining, bent muscles in his neck as she whimpered, without even realizing it, from the force of her confused emotions and desires.

  He stopped gradually, leaning his face into her bare chest, breathing harsh and deep. His muscles relaxed, and he raised his head, expression blank, intent. He was in full control once again, and she didn’t know if she was disappointed or not. He cradled her briefly against him and only then seemed to realize how awkward her position was, and he helped her back to her side of the car, waiting until she had straightened her appearance.

  Then he walked her to the door, saying quietly, “This week is going to be hectic for me, so I can’t say exactly when, but I’ll give you a call.”

  “Sure,” she said, and she hadn’t meant it to come out so sarcastically.

  “I will,” he insisted, staring into her eyes hard. He looked troubled and seemed about to say something when he caught himself up and shook his head, slight and quick, as if impatient with himself. “I promise.”

  As there was nothing left to say, he pressed her already swollen lips with another hard kiss and sprinted back to the car. Her fingers went to the cool metal of the front doorknob, and she dragged herself inside, knowing full well she had no intention of taking the call he’d been so adamant about promising.

  Chapter Nine

  She basked in the mellow, golden sun’s rays, clad in her briefest swimsuit and stretched comfortably on a lounge chair, with sunglasses perched on her nose and a frown between her brows. It was a valiant effort to concentrate on her book. Several more, brand-new, were stacked on the grass beside her.

  Thursday already, and he hadn’t called. Perhaps he never would. Well. She had resolved not to take the call anyway, if he did. She had also changed her mind half a dozen times in the last four days. He wouldn’t come up this weekend without encouragement. That was best.

  The problem was, if she had no intention of taking his call, why did she refuse all social invitations just to stay home? And there was the party Roxanne’s mother was giving on Saturday. She had already been asked by several of her acquaintances, and she’d turned them all down. She was a fool for expecting him to fly down to Virginia. It had to be a clean break with Pierce. With some men, it didn’t have to be that way, but with him, it was different, as it had always been different.

  Her heart was tangled into knots over him, and she didn’t know how to get herself out of it.

  Lazy movement from her left made her look up. Ricky strolled her way, in shorts and tennis shoes and nothing else, and he flopped beside her in the grass. “Whew! My muscles are melting.” He turned his head and squinted up at her. “You don’t need those sunglasses. Hand them over.”

  “Take a hike,” she muttered serenely, turning a page in her book. He grinned and then peered closely at her paperback.

  Suddenly he was all concern as he came up on both knees and pressed the fingers of one hand against her forehead. “Do you feel sick? Good God, I think you have a fever.”

  She shrugged his hand away laughingly. “What’s got into you? Cut it out!”

  “I think I should be the one to ask that!” he retorted. He shifted to the other side of her chair and picked up her stack of books. “You’re seriously reading this stuff for fun? Kierkegaard, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin’s Hymn of the Universe, ye gods! Karl Mar
x, Franz Kafka—what has got into you?”

  “Just because I’ve graduated from college doesn’t mean my education has to stop,” she said waspishly, and gave up trying to concentrate on her book. She closed it with a snap, bringing Ricky’s attention to it. It was Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, and he picked it up from her lap to leaf through it.

  “You’re not just skimming, are you?”

  “Of course not! I’m close to finished with that one.”

  “Have you read any of the others?”

  “Not yet. That’s the first I’ve read. I picked it because it’s the shortest,” she confessed with a grin.

  He laughed and handed it back to her. “Well, is it any good? What happens?”

  She shrugged. “Some guy turns into a bug.” She listened to his snort, and then she became serious, picking up the book and fiddling with it absently. “It actually isn’t as stupid as it sounds. It’s bizarre, certainly, but very haunting.” Her voice turned dreamy. “Think about it for a moment. Changing into something new, something alien, something different. Your life is changed forever. Your family and friends shun you. You pine away from lack of proper nourishment, and then you—die.”

  “Mmm. But is that a realistic portrayal? I mean, not of course in the physical sense, but mentally people change all the time.”

  She shook her head slowly. “No. People grow, but to change, Ricky, is something entirely different. It’s like taking a leap sideways, leaving accepted patterns of behavior, making people realize that their concept of you is no longer accurate. Think of what it would do to your life. It’s an utterly terrifying thought.”

  Silence, settling over them and the scene like a sprinkling of windblown pollen. A bird winged by with the enthusiasm of a mad bomber. An immense grasshopper bounced his way across the immaculate lawn. “But Caprice,” said Ricky quietly, “unless someone changes from Doctor Jekyll to Mr. Hyde, it’s perfectly acceptable. Nobody changes so completely that there’s nothing left in them that is recognizable. It might even be for the good.”