When he left the day after her birthday party, she lay in bed thinking that if she wasn’t careful she just might let down her guard one day and find she had fallen in love all over again. No, not this girl, not Kit Barstow. Falling in love was too painful. She’d tried it once, hadn’t she? Once was enough and she liked things just the way they were. Keep it light. Look at poor Janet. She’d almost died last night when that sonofabitch split without saying goodnight to her. Mama McNeil certainly hadn’t taught her Billy how to be gracious. And military school and M.I.T. hadn’t taught him anything more than how to be an uptight engineer. Big deal, so Janet accidentally spilled the wine. So what if the front of his pants were wet. The truth was that Bill was a spoiled, egocentric child at times. Also a louse. And poor Janet. She might have become a hugely successful model in the big tough city, but somehow she’d never acquired the thick skin that went along with it. Janet was just too vulnerable …
She picked up the phone and called her. “Hi, cookie, what’re you doing?” As though she didn’t know … drowning in her tears. Well, Kit knew what tears felt like too, though the world rarely was allowed in on it.
A long silence. “Nothing. Just … just sort of taking it easy …”
“Okay, so you’ve had enough of that … now, where would you like to go for dinner?”
“Kit, I’m really not hungry, but thanks all the same—”
“Listen, Madame Butterfly, dry your wings and get your little ass out of bed—”
“Thanks for being such a good friend, Kit, but I honestly don’t think I’m up to it—”
“In that case I’ll pick up some goodies from Chang Lee’s kosher kitchen and bring it on down to your room. We’ll read fortune cookies. Who knows what the future will …”
I already know my future, Janet thought. I ruined it for good last night over a glass of wine … “Kit, please don’t think I’m being ungrateful but I just have to be alone to sort things out. Okay? You do understand?”
Of course she understood. The rats. Men were a flawed species—except for Nat, of course. Whoever invented the word love was probably some sadistic character.
“Okay, Janet. I’m against it, but if that’s the way you feel, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Kit. I’m sorry if I ruined your party.”
“You didn’t ruin anything. It was that fool stalking off like someone had stolen his teddy bear.”
“I really can’t blame him. I mean, after all, it was the second time I spilled a glass on him, and I feel such a fool.”
“So he should be happy it wasn’t hot coffee, he could have wound up with a scorched pecker. Now get something to eat.”
“I will, and Kit … thanks for everything.”
CHAPTER FOUR
AFTER A SLEEPLESS NIGHT, Janet was too exhausted to go to work so she called and said her throat was sore and that she was coming down with a cold. From the sound of her voice no one would have suspected it was less than the truth. For two days she stayed at home and brooded, not even answering the phone, although she knew it was probably Kit. What good was all the so-called glamor of her career if she was so inept that she had driven Bill away before she’d even had a chance to get to know him? She was out of her element in this city, just another pretty face that should have stayed put in Kansas. The loneliness and depression she had felt when she first came to New York plunged in on her with even greater impact now, and by Wednesday she didn’t even get out of bed. There were no more romantic fantasies about Bill. Just a sense of loss …
At five o’clock on Wednesday there was a knock on her door. It was Kit, and she entered the room with all the fury of Madame Defarge.
Janet slipped weakly back into bed while Kit stood facing her. “What do you think you’re doing and why didn’t you answer the phone? Now you listen to me and listen carefully. For the first time in your life you didn’t get to be pom-pom girl of the year. So you lost the contest. Grow up, Janet, throw away your shovel and pail. Bill McNeil’s not worth having a nervous breakdown over. Neither is any other mother’s son, for that matter.” With that, Kit threw back the bedcovers and continued, “Now you get out of that bed. You look terrible and a few more days of this nonsense will make you look like the girl who came out of Shangri-la to find out that she was ninety. Out, and now.”
Kit, of course, was right. She was acting like Camille. But it also happened to be the first time she’d fallen in love and been rejected, and the humiliation was almost more than she could handle. It was only Kit’s top sergeant voice saying, “Okay, kid, let’s get this show on the road” that gave her the impetus to shower and get dressed….
When she returned after dinner her spirits were better and all she prayed for was that God would take over the job of making Bill McNeil disappear from her mind as quickly as he had disappeared from her life.
Her prayers were unanswered. She went back to work the next day, but there was hardly a moment she didn’t think of him. In the midst of shooting a long sequence she barely heard the instructions being given by the photographer … “Lean a little forward to the left into the camera … walk like you’re floating off the ground … hold it …”
The days seemed to crawl by, with the image of his face and the overpowering feelings aroused by his presence growing stronger rather than weaker. Finally, the need to have some kind of contact with him—anything at all—was so intense that Janet looked up his home number, called, then hung up the moment he said hello. She’d had no intention of speaking to him. She just had to hear his voice. The terror she felt afterward was numbing … did he suspect it was her? Don’t be stupid, she told herself. He didn’t even know she existed….
At the end of the next week, however, she was on the phone again, waiting nervously for him to answer and wondering what on earth she would say to him. When she heard his voice, for a moment she panicked.
“Hello.”
“May I speak to … uh, to … Jane?”
“Who do you want?”
“Jane.”
“You have the wrong number.” Dial tone.
She looked at the silent receiver in her hand, replaced it like a live snake grown in her hand. This had to stop, had to. The whole thing was too crazy, childish. Being in love made you do stupid things, but at least she’d have to stop these irrational anonymous calls …
When Kit saw Janet the next morning she knew at a glance that Janet was still depressed. Affecting a casual air, Kit said, “Do you know what I feel like doing?”
Janet shook her head.
“Splurging. To hell with the cottage cheese. Let’s go to the Stage Deli and wrap our mouths around a little hot pastrami.”
“I’m sorry, Kit, but I don’t feel hungry.”
“I didn’t mean now. I said lunch. Listen, I’ve got to run. Meet you there at noon.”
Before Janet could object, Kit was gone.
At lunch, Kit kept up a light banter while Janet nibbled on her sandwich. No dialogue. Janet’s vagueness was getting to Kit.
“Okay, kiddo, let’s have it. I mean let’s talk. So far it’s been a monologue.”
Janet toyed with her cole slaw. When she finally looked up there were tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kit … I’ve done the most insane things … I astonish myself—”
“Such as?”
Shaking her head, she answered, “I’m really so ashamed and embarrassed … even to tell you.”
“Look, Janet, you can tell me anything. I don’t sit in judgment.”
So she told Kit about the phone calls, the fantasies, her inability to shake Bill from her mind. “I’ve never done such things in my life, never. My family would faint. All my life I’ve been told how level-headed and mature I am. That’s some laugh.”
“So what makes you think you’re alone? Listen, there hasn’t been a woman since Eve who hasn’t gone through all the crazy antics and depression that’s happening to you. Love can make basket cases out of the sane
st of us. Especially when it happens to be a one-way street and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s still a man’s world, honey. They still call the shots. If Bill McNeil wanted you he wouldn’t have to sit and suffer while he waited for you to phone. He’d simply call and say, ‘Hi, there, how about dinner?’ It isn’t fair, but those still seem to be the rules of the game.”
Janet shook her head. “So what do I do now?”
“I think you should go home for a few days.”
“I’ve thought about it but how will that help to get Bill out of my head?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s comforting to be with those who really love you … It puts you in touch with a good reality. Home is a very special place when you feel unloved. You know what I mean?”
Janet nodded. She remembered the Kowalskis and the love they’d given her. “You’re right. I’ll go this weekend.”
On Thursday Janet went to United Airlines and bought her ticket, then walked up Fifth Avenue to 59th Street and stopped on the corner. She looked up at the office building across the street where she knew Bill McNeil was probably working at that very moment. Again the same feeling of longing … no logic in the world could exorcise the compulsion to see him. She went to a pay phone, called his office …
“Is Mr. McNeil in?”
“Yes, may I ask who’s calling—?”
Janet hung up the receiver and walked across the street and into the huge marble lobby. She sat down on the leather bench and looked up at the large clock above the bank of elevators. It was four. She’d wait ’til hell froze if need be, but once and for all she was going to see Bill McNeil.
Kit had said earlier that it was a man’s prerogative to do the pursuing, that those were the rules of the game. Well, maybe so. And maybe she was being brazen, unladylike. Certainly she was risking outright rejection, but so be it. The last month had been such hell that she simply had to take some action, never mind the consequences.
Keeping her eyes on the elevator doors she tried to think what she would say, how she would explain being in the building. The dentist … ? That’s it, she had an appointment with … No, she wasn’t going to play any more damn silly games, she was going to be honest, even if it meant letting him see how afraid she was …
At five o’clock, elevator after elevator began to disperse homeward-bound commuters. A half hour later Janet was beginning to think she had missed him in the crowd—suddenly there he was, the first to emerge as the bronze doors of the elevator slid open. She got up unsteadily, braced herself against the wall for a moment, then took in a deep breath and started toward him. “Hi, Bill.”
He looked toward the voice. When he saw her he smiled and put up his hands in a mock gesture of defense. “You don’t have any champagne, do you?”
Janet blushed, then smiled back. “No, not this time. I thought you might let me take you to dinner to make up for my clumsiness. Is that a fair exchange?”
He looked at her. Looked, this time, in spite of himself. Long legs and a near-perfect body. A thick mane of hair the color of molasses. Velvety soft violet eyes, an unblemished, almost translucent complexion, sculptured lips, perfect nose … just as he’d remembered her. Why the hell had she shown up? He’d been struggling not to call her from the first moment he’d seen her. That first night when they sat together in the taxi, he’d realized that his anger over the spilled champagne had merely been a way of fighting the overwhelming feeling of desire that had hit him the moment he’d set eyes on her. He’d had his share of beauties but no one had ever affected him quite the way this Janet Stevens had. He suspected that if he saw too much of her she was the likely candidate to hook him. And that had shaken him. He couldn’t afford to get involved, not now, not when he had finally won his freedom. Which was why he had been so sore at Kit the night of her birthday when Janet had walked in. And then to have been placed next to her … He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t going to get involved, that love and marriage were out. Almost. But then she had tipped the glass over, and the shock of it had brought him out of his daze and back to his first resolve, given him time to recover equilibrium. But Kit hadn’t let it go at that, she had to make a big thing out of it. She had called the next day. “You know what you are? A schmuck … translation—a prick. I learned it from Nat. Good word for you …”
Janet. Now she was standing in front of him looking so … so impossible to say no to. If he had an ounce of brains he’d say he had a date, but between the thought and deed he heard himself saying, “That’s a very fair exchange, but I don’t let ladies take me to dinner. Now, where would you like to go?”
She couldn’t believe it. All the agony she’d been going through could have been avoided if only she’d had enough courage to swallow her fear and pride and chuck all the conventions. Modern women weren’t quite as emancipated as they pretended to be. Not even Kit …
“How about the Italian Pavilion?” he prompted her.
“You make the decision.”
This time they sat a little closer in the cab and when they arrived at the restaurant they were seated next to each other in an intimate booth. As they sat drinking their martinis, Janet felt a sense of unreality about it all. The heightened awareness of his nearness, of what he might be thinking, of his eyes and voice, of the soft fluttering that rose from her stomach and washed her with a feeling of weakness—it was new to her, overwhelming.
Her entire being seemed tuned to his presence, as if nothing else existed, and yet it felt as if it might all be a fantasy, gone the moment she turned her eyes from him …
“What would you like for dinner?” he asked, taking up his menu.
“What? Oh … I … why don’t you order for both of us?”
He gave their order in what was apparently flawless Italian, judging by the waiter’s pleased reaction, although Janet understood none of their conversation.
As they sipped their martinis they fell into moments of silence that were broken when she spoke at the same time, their words overlapping. They smiled then laughed when this happened, but Janet felt she was acting like a fifteen-year-old on her first date, with her first crush. Why couldn’t she be at least a little sophisticated like Kit? She was doing the best she could with the tools she had, but she was afraid that the tools spelled Kansas.
She silently thanked God when the waiter brought their meal, giving her a temporary reprieve. One couldn’t talk too much except between bites, but even then she cringed at the thought of how banal her remarks must sound. “This is the best lobster …” And his responses didn’t help. “I know … it’s marvelous.” And so forth.
What Janet, of course, didn’t know, or even guess, was that Bill was just as uncomfortable. He was aggravated with himself because he couldn’t control or deny his reactions to her. The physical was only part of it. No one had attracted him with such intensity, but there was also a fascination he felt, as if he had to know everything about her. She’d hit him where he lived, was most vulnerable, never mind what he pretended … right in the heart. No one had ever done that. He kept telling himself to be sensible, that if he took her to bed, got close to her he would lose the freedom he’d tried to guard so carefully. He wasn’t about to give that up at twenty-five. No way.
By the time their coffee was served, Janet decided that asking questions might be the best approach. Clearing her throat, she began, “Has New York always been your home?”
“Yes. And you?”
“Kansas.”
“Oh? For some reason … you don’t seem like someone from Kansas.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know exactly. Somehow Kansas brings to mind country fairs, square dancing and corn on the cob.”
“And I don’t fit into that image?”
“Hardly. What brought you to New York?”
“I wanted to be a model, and living in New York had sort of been a dream all my life. I thought it would be the most fabulous place in the world—”
“You
say you thought, past tense. Do you still?”
Janet hesitated, then said, “No. I think it’s the coldest, most impersonal place in the world. Except for Kit and a wonderful Jewish family I met, I’ve felt … well, alone. I suppose when one fantasizes and anticipates too much the reality is always disappointing.”
“Yes … maybe you expected too much.”
“You’re probably right.” She took a sip of water. “Truth is I guess I wasn’t prepared for a lot of things.”
“Such as?”
“Well … people seem so aggressive. And so often they seem to want to be superficial, as if friendship doesn’t mean too much. I’m not good at being that casual.”
“Men in particular?”
Hesitating for a moment, she looked up. “Yes … men in particular. I don’t know how to play the games. And I guess I don’t really want to.”
It was the honesty in her eyes that impressed him most. Nothing coy or forward about her. Just a certain shyness, and total candor. Bravo for Kansas.
Janet looked embarrassed as she said, “You must have thought I was pretty brazen to show up at your office the way I did. I’ve really never done anything like that before …”
If he had thought she was being brazen, which seemed a rather old-fashioned word for it, he now knew that she was simply forthright and that it had taken real courage for her to do it … “I was surprised to see you—but yes, I do believe you. And I’m glad you were waiting, although I’ll never know why you bothered. I acted like a heel.”
“I didn’t think so, I’m sure I’d have reacted the same way.”
He smiled. “I doubt it. They don’t grow them that way in Kansas.”
The smile made her go almost limp. She took a sip of the tepid coffee.
She was saying now that it was his turn, she wanted to hear about him now … about his childhood … What was he going to tell her? The truth? Impossible.
Come Pour the Wine Page 7
