Rapture

by Thomas Tessier

  "I want to. Really."

  "Well, Bonnie can't make it. She has a party tonight. But Sean and I could come."

  "The three of us, then. You pick the place, and make it the best. My treat."

  "All right, but then you're coming to our house for a good home-cooked meal," Georgianne insisted. "Tomorrow night?"

  "You're on."

  She smiled and took Jeffs hand in hers and held it for a few moments. He felt a charge from her touch surging through him. They agreed that the easiest thing would be to meet again at the same cocktail lounge, have a drink and go on to another restaurant. Jeff hated to leave Georgianne at all, even for a couple of hours, but he knew it was necessary.

  From the Mortlake he phoned the Hilton and was able to get a room for that night. He checked in within the hour. Georgianne had asked if he'd like to stay with them, but he had declined. It was tempting, so very tempting, but too risky. Being with her all the time, but with her husband and daughter around too ... Jeff was not sure he could handle it. And it would require much more of an effort to keep up the Union Carbide charade. No, the offer delighted him, but he was right to turn it down.

  After unpacking, he surrendered to a nap. The meal and drinks had made him drowsy, but he drifted in and out of sleep, as if his mind couldn't quite let go. He kept seeing Georgianne, her face at this angle or that, her hair catching the sun, her eyes shining in the dark interior of the cocktail lounge. Her neck and throat were so elegant, showing no signs of age. Her body looked as firm and gorgeous as ever, from the glimpses he'd had of her legs to the way her breasts filled out that snug knit top.

  What was it about Georgianne, he wondered dreamily.

  She had grown up into a perfectly ordinary woman, it seemed. A wife and mother, bright but not too brainy. You didn't have to compete with her to make simple conversation-no small pleasure in itself. And she appeared to be content with her life. Jeff envied her that. Few people managed it, from what he knew.

  But she still had that-that air of magic, or whatever it was. He couldn't put his finger on it, but it didn't really matter. There was something special about her. You wanted to be with her. You liked to listen to that clear, true voice, regardless of what it was saying, simply because it was so clear and true. Most of all, you wanted to feel that charge she gave off, the electricity of life--everyday life, as you should be able to live it.

  There was more, but Jeff hadn't figured it out yet. Something to do with the future, the past. But for now he was happy to have found her, and he felt younger and more alive than he had in years. Georgianne had matured into a beautiful, still-young woman who outdazzled the high-school image in his memory. That in itself seemed proof enough that he was on the right track.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sean Corcoran was friendly but quiet. Jeff wanted to like the man, but had a hard time getting a fix on him. He had a sly sense of humor, which Jeff might have appreciated if he hadn't thought it was at his expense. When Sean had something to say, he glanced up at you, but most of the time he kept his eyes on his wife or his drink. Maybe he just felt uncomfortable being the odd person at this private reunion, but that didn't make it any easier to like him.

  "Georgianne tells me the two of you double-dated all the time but never actually dated each other," Sean said. His fingers absently traced lines in the condensation on the side of his beer glass, and now he looked across the table at Jeff, eyes mischievous. "How did that happen?"

  He never asked me," Georgianne said promptly. She was sitting in the middle of the banquette, between the two men.

  "She had a steady boyfriend," Jeff replied. "Hasn't she ever told you?" Then, to Georgianne, "Mike Rollins, in case you don't remember."

  "Would rather not remember," she corrected.

  "And you've been in California all this time?"

  "Just about," Jeff said.

  "Do you jog?"

  Jeff laughed. "No. I smoke cigarettes."

  "So I see," Sean said. "I thought it was against the law not to jog in California."

  Jeff smiled but didn't bother to respond. This man was no threat, he told himself. The wonder was that he'd ever managed to marry Georgianne in the first place. He might have been handsome, and he still wasn't bad-looking-dark curly hair and a lean, wiry build; just under six feet tall. And he might be a capable, even clever man, in his own way, but he seemed all wrong for Georgianne.

  "And you're designing some kind of monster computer," Sean went on. "Is that right?"

  Again Jeff smiled politely. "Not quite," he said. He was going to say something else, but let it go, deciding instead to concentrate his gaze on Georgianne.

  "I'm all in favor of computers," Sean said, in a way that made it clear he was not.

  "I understand you designed and built your own house," Jeff said, just to change the subject.

  "Now, that's true," Sean replied. "The height of my creativity, and I must tell you that ninety percent of it came from other people's plans."

  "That doesn't matter," Jeff said. "A house is a house, and it's a hell of a job to build one on your own."

  The American dream," Sean agreed. "And do you know what holds it together? Yugoslavian nails."

  Georgianne groaned. "He loves to tell people that."

  Jeff laughed, as he was expected to, but he wondered about Sean Corcoran. Was he always like this? Could anyone be obscurely antic on a full-time basis? It occurred to him now that Georgianne might have married Sean because he'd got her pregnant, and somehow they'd made a go of it. It was one possible explanation, and Jeff was looking for an explanation because Sean was definitely not the man who would, or should, be Georgianne Slaton's husband. The odd part was that they got along. Jeff could see that, but he wrote it off as mere habit, the familiarity of routine.

  "I'm at the Hilton now," Jeff told Georgianne. "Got a room there after I left you this afternoon."

  "Oh, Jeff. You should have stayed with us," Georgianne said. "I told you we had plenty of room."

  "That's right," Sean confirmed. "Why stay at a hotel when you could stay with friends?"

  Jeff smiled, pleased by the disappointment Georgians showed. By contrast, Sean's remarks seemed perfunctory.

  "Thanks. I appreciate it," he said. "But I'd only disrupt your household, coming and going at odd times. Besides, the hotel is a tax-deductible business expense, and if I don't bring a few of them back my accountants begin to get jumpy."

  "It's up to you," Sean said.

  They left the cocktail lounge after two drinks and drove to a restaurant somewhere outside Danbury. Georgianne rode with Jeff, in case he lost sight of Sean on the way.

  "Your husband's a nice man," Jeff said as he followed the blue compact out of the city.

  "Oh, I hope you do like him," Georgianne said. "He is a good man, a very good husband and father."

  The gambit was refused, or ignored. Jeff thought he'd opened a door for her, but Georgianne's response was bewildering.

  "What more could you want?" he forced himself to continue. "No, I really meant it. I like him."

  "I'm glad. Not everybody does."

  "Oh?" A note of hope.

  "Well ... Sean does rub some people the wrong way. They think he's being sarcastic, when he isn't really. It's just the way he talks."

  "As long as you're happy. That's the only thing that matters. Other people don't count."

  "I know."

  It took a few seconds for Jeff to realize that she hadn't said, Yes, lam happy. It was, he thought, a significant omission. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. She smiled back at him. The hem of her dress was perched demurely on her knees, and his eyes lingered briefly on her legs. Then suddenly he had a strange feeling. It had to do with being in a car with Georgianne again. This time, at last, they were alone. An old picture came into his head, and he instinctively glanced at the rear-view mirror. Once, many years ago, he'd been in the front seat with Joanne, and he'd looked up to catch a glimpse of Georgianne buttoning her blou
se. What had she and Mike been doing? It didn't matter. What stuck in his mind was that brief, tantalizing curve of breast, before it was covered.

  "Funny, isn't it?" he said, savoring the memory.

  .What?"

  "Oh, you know-what your husband was saying about the two of us. How we went out together all those times but never really on a date."

  "Like I said, you never asked me."

  "Ah, well ... Mike."

  "Mike was no big deal," Georgianne said. "Lots of kids went steady because it was easier that way. Mike was good company, but he was never a real heartthrob. I guess that's why there was no pain on either side when we went our own ways." Then she added, "Anyway, if you'd asked, I would have gone out with you, Jeff."

  It was a flat statement, a plain comment on something that had never happened. Georgianne put no special emphasis on the words, but they shook Jeff deeply. Back then, he'd wanted to ask her out. Many times. But he'd never worked up the nerve to do it, and he'd always explained his hesitation in terms of Mike Rollins. Now that excuse was gone. Hearing what Georgianne had just said, he felt a confusion of sadness and anger. In a way, it was the best thing she could have told him, but it still hurt.

  "Really?"

  "Sure," she said. "Why not?"

  "My mistake, I guess."

  "I thought you weren't interested."

  "No. That wasn't it."

  You were afraid, Jeff told himself. It was fear, and nothing else. The fear that she would reject you-that would have been unbearable. But as long as you didn't ask, you weren't rejected, and the dream survived. It was pathetic. Yet he knew this was what he had come here to learn. The reunion was more than a whim, more than simple curiosity. He'd sought her out for this bit of truth.

  "Oh. Well, you were so busy with Joanne and Kathy, and Betsy," Georgianne said lightly, as if she sensed that this was no longer idle chat and wanted to defuse the subject. "You went through a few girls in high school, you know."

  "Yeah, I guess I did." Because none of them was right, none of them was the girl he'd really wanted. The sadness was offset to a certain extent by the one priceless new fact that, yes, Georgianne would have gone out with him.

  The restaurant, the Gray Door, was better than Jeff had expected. Sean warmed up a little bit during the meal as Jeff became less mysterious and formidable to him. He didn't seem to mind Jeff and Georgianne reminiscing about the old days. When they were about to proceed with coffee and cognac, a trio of musicians appeared, and a few couples took to the small dance floor at the back of the restaurant.

  "Georgianne and I haven't danced together since the senior prom," Jeff said briskly. "May I steal your wife?"

  "Be my guest," Sean said affably.

  The music was medium tempo, slow enough so you could hold your partner and talk, if that's what you wanted, but fast enough to keep middle-aged people moving without inducing cardiac arrest. Jeff thought fondly of the old body-groping slow numbers he'd danced to in high school-never, alas, with Georgianne. He held her as close as possible now. She didn't press against him, but neither did she hold herself away. She felt fantastic in his arms, their thighs brushing, her breasts just touching his chest, the feel of her hair on his cheek, the scent of her ...

  "You know," he whispered.

  "What?"

  "I do remember dancing with you once at the senior prom. We all danced with each other's dates once. It was the polite thing to do."

  "Mm-hmm."

  "Well, it's much better this time."

  Georgianne pulled her head back to look at him. She was smiling, and Jeff thought it was the most luxurious, sensual smile he had ever seen.

  "That's very sweet," she said softly. "Thank you. It's so nice to see you again, Jeff. I'm really glad it happened."

  "So am I."

  They stayed on the floor for two dances. Jeff noticed Sean making his way to the men's room as the second song wound down. He and Georgianne went back to the table.

  She was so at ease with herself. So many of the women Jeff encountered were either sharp and aggressive, out to make it in a man's world, or else res olutely, it seemed to him, confused ... muddled housewife types who no longer knew who they were. But here was Georgianne, solid as bedrock, at peace with the person she was and apparently content with the life she had.

  Content? Or resigned? Jeff wondered if Georgianne could look this radiant if she wasn't really happy. What kind of life was it, actually? Unexciting, unremarkable, and surely modest if they were getting by on Sean's teacher's salary alone. This still puzzled Jeff, because he had expected something else, something different. Georgianne was the kind of girl you thought would end up married to a rich doctor or lawyer. That Jeff should find her in such cozy but diminished circumstances seemed wrong. A mistake.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It was a little after eleven-thirty when Jeff got back to the hotel. Still early, as far as he was concerned. He felt wide awake, and he didn't want to sit around in his room. He had stayed in the night before, planning, drinking beer, and watching the X-rated cable channel the Mortlake Motel provided for its guests (he'd seen Debbie Does Dallas for the third time). But the Hilton offered no such distractions. He went to the bar and ordered a beer.

  He seemed to be full of nervous energy, and this might help him to settle down, collect himself. The big event, dinner with the Corcorans, had passed. Ordeal, challenge, opportunity. He thought it had gone well enough, generally. There had been no awkwardness, no unpleasantness. Sean was a drag, but it could have been worse. And if one door had finally shut, perhaps another had opened....

  There were quite a few people in the bar, most of them businessmen. Unmistakable, Jeff thought. Then he wondered if he looked like one of them. Was he just as obvious? It was a forlorn thought.

  He glanced down the length of the bar. A few seats away, a young woman sat alone. He had noticed her when he came in, and he'd thought she was with someone. Now she looked at him and smiled, stirring her drink with deliberate slowness. She had dark hair and wore a metallic blue dress with a wrapped front. It wouldn't have reached her knees when she was standing, and it didn't come close as she sat. He turned to stare at his beer. A moment later the girl took the seat next to him.

  "Hi," she said, all throaty.

  "Hi."

  "Nice night, isn't it?"

  "Not bad."

  "Could be better, right?" she said. "I know what you mean...."

  Jeff turned to face her. She wasn't bad. Her hair was a little too dark, and her manner, of course, was completely wrong, but he had time to kill.

  "Are you a working girl?"

  "Ha, ha, that depends."

  Jeff noticed that the bartender was hovering a few yards away, projecting an air of watchful neutrality. He lowered his voice, but still spoke bluntly.

  "How much?"

  The woman's eyebrows arched slightly and she smiled, studying Jeff for a few moments before responding.

  "Are you a cop?"

  "No." He laughed. "Why would you think that?"

  "They're no good at small talk either."

  "At least it's not my clothes."

  "No, you don't dress like a cop," she conceded, becoming friendly again. "But I like to ask."

  "I understand."

  "Want some company?"

  "Not really."

  "Just a drink, then. Hm? Why not? It's pretty quiet now," she added, as if to explain.

  Jeff looked around and discovered that the crowd had all but vanished. A group on its way to a party, perhaps, he thought. Or, more likely, good little businessmen off to bed so that they would be fresh for their business breakfasts. They reminded Jeff of himself and the way he'd lived and worked for so many years-with the single-mindedness of a mole, pushing ahead stupidly and seeing nothing. Maybe now, this special night, was the time to admit to himself that he didn't like it, that he was tired of it all, and that there would have to be some serious changes made. A new beginning.

  "I'll h
ave another beer," he said to the woman. "What would you like?"

  "White wine spritzer, thanks," she replied at once, smiling. She shifted slightly on her seat so that Jeff would be treated to an extra measure of thigh, should he care to look that way.

  The bartender brought the drinks, added the charge to Jeffs bill, and then wandered away, no longer interested.

  "I'm Lorna," the woman said, raising her glass.

  "I'm Sean," Jeff said, raising his.

  "Sean-that's nice. I like that."

  "Were you ever busted?"

  The woman gave a short laugh, but she wasn't surprised. She had Jeff sized up as just another bored, jaded businessman. If they weren't nervous as hell, they drove you up the wall with lousy jokes you had to laugh at convincingly. She hadn't met one yet who was any good at small talk.

  "Once," she replied. "Not here. It was just a case of beginner's bad luck."

  "What was it like?"

  "A drag. A nuisance, that's all. Why?"

  "Oh, I was just thinking," Jeff said. "Suppose a woman knocked on a hotel-room door and went in, and the guy turned out to be a cop. He'd be in a pretty good position, wouldn't he? I mean, with the girl."

  Loma smiled. Another one who thinks he's clever. If they only knew how alike all these silly routines really are. But their imaginations are firmly stuck back in adolescence.

  "He could be," she admitted. She didn't tell him that any girl who worked that way deserved whatever happened to her, because that wasn't what this man wanted to hear. No, Sean was interested in the game. So Lorna said, "Yeah, it could be an interesting situation ... exciting."

  Jeff looked frankly at her, his eyes surveying her body. He sipped the beer. Soon he reached into his pants pocket and took out his room key. He held it in the palm of his hand, below the bar, displaying the piece of sturdy plastic that identified the hotel and his room number. Then he finished the rest of his beer and stood up to pay the bar tab.

  "Guess I'll go watch some TV," he said. "Be seeing you, Lorna."

  "Sure. Thanks for the drink, Sean."

  "Anytime."