A CLASS ACT

by Pamela Burford

  Andrea's lips thinned, ever so slightly. "Gabe, I was thinking it might not be a bad idea for us to leave in the morning and put in a full day at the office tomorrow."

  Leave in the morning? Dena's spirits went into free fall. Until this moment, she hadn't realized how much she'd been counting on having one last day with Gabe.

  "You can leave if you want," Gabe told Andrea, "but you'll have to arrange your own transportation. I'm looking forward to that hike tomorrow, and the dinner cruise. I'm staying."

  Dena let out the breath she'd been holding.

  "Well." Twin spots of color blossomed on Andrea's cheeks. "I'll make my decision after I check my messages." She strode purposefully from the room.

  Before leaving, Scott dropped Dena's car keys into her hand. "That's our Dena, always a trendsetter," he said, flicking the exposed label at the back of her T-shirt. "Next thing you know, everyone'll be wearing their shirts inside out. Sweet dreams, guys."

  * * *

  10

  « ^ »

  "You look like you could use this." Dena handed her water bottle to Andrea and watched her drink thirstily.

  Their group of fifteen had been hiking in the forest for about an hour. Andrea had started out at the front of the pack with Dena and Gabe, but had dropped farther and farther back until she now trailed behind even Frank. Dena had actually felt sorry for her, shuffling along with a surly expression on her red, sweat-sheened face.

  Andrea's once crisp black sleeveless blouse and oatmeal-colored linen walking shorts were now limp and wrinkled. Her back was bent under the weight of the designer leather backpack she'd insisted on bringing. No doubt she'd packed every imaginable kind of survival gear in preparation for their nature walk—everything except the one thing she really could have used: water. Dena herself had made do with a fanny pack for her wallet, lipstick and a jumbo-size Nestle's Crunch bar, plus her insulated water bottle on a shoulder strap.

  "It's this top I'm wearing," Andrea said as she handed back the bottle. "Black absorbs heat. I should've worn something lighter."

  Dena didn't bother to correct her. Andrea's suffering had nothing to do with the color of her clothing and everything to do with her complete lack of physical conditioning. The only thing that kept her so skinny, as far as Dena could tell, was obsessive dieting bordering on an eating disorder. It certainly wasn't exercise.

  Andrea blotted her face with a tissue. "Aren't we ever going to rest?"

  "I'll walk with you," Dena offered, even though she'd have preferred being up front with Gabe and the Washingtons.

  Their former classmates Daryl Washington and his wife, Vanessa, had gone on to veterinary school. The two now shared both a large-animal veterinary practice and a profound love of nature, which made them the logical guides on this hike. They pointed out the different types of trees and other vegetation, including mountain laurel, soapbush and arrow-wood. They identified birds by their calls and had been quick to spy a fox darting through the undergrowth.

  "Here," Dena said, "give me the backpack."

  Andrea didn't hesitate. Dena slipped her arms through the straps and hefted the pack onto her own shoulders. It weighed at least forty pounds. Laughing, she said, "The woods are full of rocks. You don't have to bring them with you."

  "Very funny," Andrea griped. "It doesn't hurt to be prepared for emergencies."

  Brilliant sunshine arrowed through the canopy of leaves, creating a living pattern of light and shadow on the hilly terrain. A brown rabbit leaped over a fallen tree studded with feathery white fungi, and disappeared into a cluster of swamp maples, beyond which Dena glimpsed the twinkle of sunlight on a small pond. Nearby a woodpecker did its jack-hammer imitation. Every inhalation brought the myriad scents of living things sprouting and growing and returning to the earth in an unbroken cycle.

  Andrea appeared oblivious to it all, her sullen gaze fixed on the path directly in front of her.

  Dena saw Gabe, up ahead with the Washingtons, turn and scan the procession of hikers behind him before homing in on her and Andrea. For a moment she thought he might join them at the rear; instead he sent Dena a wry smile, then turned back around and kept walking.

  She and Gabe had retreated to their separate beds shortly after the others had walked in on them last night. Rationally Dena acknowledged that this was for the best. Fate had intervened to keep her from making a big mistake. She'd been lucky. Somehow, though, as she squinted past the throng of hikers ahead of her, trying to keep Gabe in sight, she didn't feel so lucky.

  "I decided not to go in to the office today after all," Andrea said.

  "I figured that out."

  "Without a ride, it would've been a hassle." Andrea sighed. "I shouldn't say this, but sometimes I wish Gabe felt more of a commitment to the firm."

  Gabe was born committed to that firm! Dena bit her tongue.

  "Not that we don't share the same vision," Andrea continued, "as close as we are. It's just that he allows himself to get a little distracted sometimes."

  Up ahead, Gabe peered into the woods as Daryl pointed. Vanessa made some comment and they all laughed.

  Andrea said, "Gabe and I have a very special relationship. It involves every aspect of our lives—personal, professional, social. We know each other better than any married couple I can think of. We've certainly shared as much over the years as most married people do. Well, except for children." Her tone of voice implied that that, too, was just a matter of time.

  Dena swallowed a hard knot of despair. It was insane, she told herself, to still care after all this time. To still let herself care. Gabe and Andrea connected in so many ways and on so many levels that Dena could never imagine, not being part of the elite world into which they'd been born.

  Was this Andrea's way of warning her away from Gabe? Dena wished she could appreciate the irony of that.

  "Looks like you're getting that rest you wanted," Dena said, as the group veered off into a clearing for a snack break. She dropped Andrea's backpack at her feet and walked away.

  * * *

  Gabe stood at the rail of the Crystal II, staring at the inky expanse of Long Island Sound. In the far distance the Connecticut shore glittered like a string of diamonds on black velvet, reminding him that in the morning he'd be returning to his apartment in Greenwich, an affluent Connecticut bedroom community just north of Manhattan.

  This four-hour dinner cruise was the grand finale of the weeklong reunion celebration. The Crystal II had been chartered by the reunion committee for the exclusive use of the forty or so former classmates and spouses who'd participated in the activities, plus Ham and Reba, who joked about their roles as "chaperons" for the thirty-something crowd.

  In the three hours that had elapsed since they'd boarded the boat at 7:00 p.m., they'd enjoyed a sumptuous buffet dinner, free-flowing liquor, and a live band that was now in high gear. The deck reverberated under the feet of those dancing and hollering along to the band's rendition of "Shout!"

  If Gabe and Dena weren't so attuned to each other's thoughts and moods, he'd never have noticed that something was wrong. They'd come close to making love last night. Yet today, although she'd been friendly toward him, even affectionate, he'd sensed an underlying reserve, holding him at a distance.

  He'd only noticed it after they'd become separated during the hike. After she'd walked with Andrea.

  What had they talked about? More to the point, what malignant notions had Andrea planted in Dena's mind? Gabe grimaced, thinking about his law partner. He knew Andrea Pittman inside and out. He probably knew her better than most husbands know their wives. Her ability to manipulate people, facts and the language made her one hell of a lawyer. Unfortunately, she'd never learned to leave those vaunted skills in the courtroom. Her string of failed personal relationships was a testament to that particular learning disability.

  Turning from the boat's rail, Gabe searched the crowd for Dena. She wasn't on the dance floor, which was where he'd last seen her, dancing with Scott
Cafferty. Which didn't irk him nearly as much as it would have before last night, when Scott had chased everyone out of the family room so Gabe could be alone with Dena.

  For all the good it had done them. By then, the moment was lost. He and Dena couldn't be together—the way they both wanted to—with others in the house.

  The song ended and all of the couples abandoned the dance floor for the linen-draped tables where dessert, coffee, and liqueurs had been set out. Vanessa Washington approached the band leader, to request a song, Gabe assumed. She looked lovely tonight in an off-the-shoulder emerald-green cocktail dress that enhanced her athletic figure and cafe noir complexion. When the band leader handed her the microphone, Gabe smiled in anticipation. Vanessa had been the lead singer for Briarfield High's jazz ensemble way back when.

  His smile broadened when she started singing a slow, mellifluous love song from the seventies, "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." In Gabe's opinion, Vanessa's throaty alto gave Roberta Flack a run for her money. Emotion welled within him as he listened to the simple, heartfelt lyrics. He'd never been able to hear this song without thinking about Dena.

  He spied her then, standing alone at the rail some distance away. She wore a body-hugging silver halter dress; her upper arm was encircled by a coiled, topaz-studded silver bracelet. She offered a welcoming smile as he approached her. Without a word, he lifted her hand and led her onto the deserted dance floor. Something akin to panic flashed in her eyes.

  "Gabe, no one else is dancing."

  "More room for us." He pulled her into his arms and slow-danced her to the center of the clearing. He couldn't help thinking that this was the way they would have danced at the senior prom, if they'd gone. And afterward it would have been just the two of them, sharing their own private dance, binding themselves to each other in the act of love.

  Vanessa sent a warm smile their way, still crooning what had to be one of the most romantic songs of all time. Dena glanced around nervously as their former classmates gathered on the sidelines to gawk. Gil Reyes called out, "Objection—counsel is leading the witness!"

  "I don't think this is such a good idea," Dena murmured, even as her body moved in time with Gabe's, as if by instinct.

  "Since when are you afraid to be the center of attention?"

  "There's a difference between drawing attention and making a spectacle of yourself. Don't you think we've given this crowd enough to talk about?"

  "No," Gabe said. "Not yet."

  He ambushed her with a kiss—the swift, ruthless, take-no-prisoners variety. She stiffened in surprise, and he tightened his hold on her. From the surrounding crowd came shouts and whistles of encouragement.

  After a few moments Dena began to relax against him, no doubt sensing that the kiss had run its course and he was about to release her. Instead he cranked it up a notch, pouring everything he had into the kiss, all the passion and yearning he'd kept bottled up for so long. Their audience responded with hooting, foot-stomping applause.

  This was kissing as a spectator sport. This kiss made a statement: loud, clear, unambiguous.

  Gabe gradually became aware of Dena's arms clinging to him. Of her fingers twined in his hair, her body bowing into his. She returned his kiss with a fervency to match his own, and he felt a tidal wave of triumph surge within him.

  Finally he raised his head and stared down into her pink face, into those slumberous green eyes guaranteed to inspire carnal thoughts. Her moist, swollen lips quirked into a lopsided smile.

  He said, "Don't believe a word of it."

  "Don't believe a word of what?"

  Into her ear he said, "Whatever nonsense my esteemed colleague spoon-fed you this morning." In the corner of his vision he glimpsed Andrea sipping a cup of coffee, staring at them poker-faced.

  Vanessa was still singing, and other couples began to drift onto the dance floor. Gabe led Dena through the crowd and down the side of the boat next to the enclosed cabin, away from prying eyes and ears. From below came the humming vibration of the diesel engine as the boat headed back to the Island.

  Gabe backed Dena against the rail and braced his arms on either side of her, effectively corralling her. Moonlight spilled over her in a river of silver, pooling in the waves of her hair and the folds of her dress. Gabe wanted her so badly it was a physical ache. At that moment he'd have done anything, sacrificed anything, to undo the mistakes of his past.

  He took up where he'd left off. "And don't tell me she didn't feed you some cock-and-bull nonsense, because I know you both better than you think."

  Dena reached up and laid cool fingers on his face, her expression sad and tender at once. "She didn't tell me anything I didn't already know."

  "Dena. I told you I'm not involved with her. Do you think I lied to you?"

  "And I told you, it's your private business. It doesn't concern me one way or the other."

  He gave her a knowing look. "Even after last night?"

  "Gabe—"

  "And don't give me any BS about how it never should have happened. A hell of a lot more should have happened! And would have, if we hadn't been interrupted. Don't deny it."

  She didn't try to.

  He pushed off the rail. "So tell me what she said, so I can know how angry to get."

  Dena sighed. "None of it was news to me. She told me how close you two are. How your lives are intimately connected, in and out of the firm." She looked away. "How you're almost like a married couple, you know each other so well."

  Gabe's bark of laughter snapped her gaze back to him. "That part's true," he chuckled. The dismay on Dena's face prompted him to add, "No, on second thought, the married-couple thing doesn't really fit. Or even a divorced couple. Either of those implies the existence of strong feelings. Which is not the case with me and Andrea."

  "Now I know you're lying. How can you not have strong feelings for the first woman you made love with?"

  "I wouldn't call it making love."

  Dena rolled her eyes at that. As sincere as the statement was, he knew she construed it as a weasely attempt to split hairs.

  "She told you we're seeing each other?" he asked.

  "Well, not in so many words."

  "Let me tell you something. Andrea Pittman is a master of linguistic flimflam. She can plant any idea she wants with a well-placed word or a subtle change in inflection." He arched an eyebrow. "Need I add, she's a valuable asset to the firm."

  Dena crossed her arms. "What an ego boost that must be for you. Her going to all that trouble to get me out of the picture."

  "What, you think she's jealous?"

  "What else?"

  "I can state with complete confidence that Andrea has no designs on me. Ours is strictly a professional relationship."

  "Then why…?"

  "You were the one she wanted."

  "What?"

  Gabe grinned. "As a client of the firm, that is. She was determined to raid Xanadu away from Gilliam, Shapiro. You infuriated her when you burned her off. Andrea's accustomed to getting what she wants—professionally, that is. I don't think the man's been born who can live with that woman. Lord knows she's gone through enough of them."

  "So by laying all that on me about your 'special relationship,' she was just trying to…?"

  "Get back at you," Gabe said. "For thwarting her. A tad more restrained than how she chose to punish me fifteen years ago."

  Dena frowned. "Punish you?"

  "By spreading it all around school. About what happened that night."

  Dena straightened. "She spread it around? I don't believe you!"

  "What, you think I told everyone what happened? Why would I do a thing like that?" Gabe shook his head, incredulous. "I wanted to forget it ever happened. The last thing I wanted was for you to find out."

  Dena looked skeptical. "But why would she let everyone know about it? Her reputation…"

  "Well, you might not have been privy to certain, uh, news flashes, never having hung out in the boys' locker room, but let
me assure you, by senior year, Andrea's reputation was more or less sealed."

  "I kind of knew that. So what was she punishing you for?" Dena asked with a mischievous smile. "Don't tell me you failed to measure up?" At his startled expression she added, "I'm kidding!"

  "I know, I just … I'm surprised to hear you joke about it. Surprised and kind of gratified, I guess."

  After a few moments she said, "I don't feel the same way about any of this that I used to. Seeing you after all this time, getting to know you as you are now … it's like the sharp edges of my memories have been blunted, rounded off. They don't jab at me the way they once did. Does that make sense?"

  "It does to me." He stood close enough to take her in his arms. Instead he kissed her on the forehead, touching her only with his lips. He nodded toward the bow of the boat, where the lights of Long Island crept ever closer. "Looks like we have time for one last dance." He offered his hand and she took it, her smile more crooked than ever.

  "So we're actually going to dance this time?" she said, as the band struck up a lively swing number. "You do realize they'll all be watching us like hawks, waiting for us to give them something else to talk about."

  "I've got it!" Gabe snapped his fingers. "You could go out there with your dress inside out. Oh wait, you've done that."

  "Not funny." Dena gave him a little shove. "Let's stick to public necking."

  * * *

  11

  « ^ »

  Wearing only swim trunks, with a towel slung over his shoulder, Gabe made his way across the moonlit back lawn. The grass felt cool and prickly under his bare feet; the earthy scents of the nearby woods filled his nostrils. He followed the spectral blue-green glow of the free-form swimming pool and the hot tub that protruded from one side of it, barely visible through the surrounding vegetation.

  As Gabe stepped onto the flagstone apron his gaze went directly to the hot tub, where Dena, immersed to her bare shoulders in seething water, sat sipping from a glass of white wine. At first glance she appeared to be naked, but closer inspection revealed a strapless metallic aqua swimsuit, shimmering in the cool light from below. The Mermaid Queen in repose.