Come Pour the Wine

by Cynthia Freeman

  “I’m sorry. If only you had left a message—” He wasn’t going to tell her that jealousy wasn’t only a woman’s prerogative, or curse. All irrationally, he’d expected her to be there when he called. Well, grow up, for God’s sake. You don’t own her and you wouldn’t want to even if you could … well, would you? God knows, you don’t want to be owned … well, do you? Come on, slow up, or you’ll push her right out of the ball park … “Well,” he said, “I guess it was foolish not to leave a message. Still friends?”

  She laughed nervously. “Still friends.”

  “In that case, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”

  “I’d love to, but it will have to be a short evening. We start shooting early on Friday …” She smiled to herself as she hung up the phone. Imagine his caring enough to be angry … She wasn’t kidding herself that it was love on his part, but the fact that he had been angry was a sign of something—oh, stop figuring it, Janet … stop fantasizing….

  At dinner they talked trivia, each happy to be in the other’s company but somehow feeling ill at ease, as if they were holding back the words and thoughts that were really in their minds.

  When they were almost through with their coffee Janet asked almost apologetically, “What time is it, Bill?”

  “Almost nine.”

  “I hate doing this, but I really must go.”

  What a hell of a profession, like taking the vows, Bill thought. The evening hadn’t even begun … finally met a girl he liked, wanted, and—

  “I did say it would have to be an early evening—”

  “Sure, of course. Well, how about Saturday night?”

  She hesitated. “Bill, I’m going home this weekend.”

  He couldn’t believe what she was saying. After all the fancy maneuvers he’d gone through with his mother to be free for two lousy weekends … The postcards already written and given to his friend Jack, the pilot, to mail. Maybe God was punishing him for lying to his mother, and maybe also for taking Janet for granted. “Do you really have to go? I mean this weekend?” He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice.

  “I really do. I haven’t seen them in three months.”

  I should be so lucky. “So when did you say you were leaving?”

  “I’m taking the six-thirty flight tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  “You’re very sweet—”

  “That’s me. Used to be an Eagle Scout. Youngest in the troop. I’ll show you my good conduct medals.”

  But Janet heard the pique in his voice, more than a tinge of disappointment, even, maybe, a smidgen of loneliness? No, she chided herself, dismissing the thought immediately as being absurd. Wishful thinking, that’s what dreams are made of … illusions and delusions….

  The next day’s shooting session on location had taken longer than expected, and by the time it was over Janet was a complete wreck, filled with anxiety that she would miss her plane, that Bill might already have gotten impatient and given up waiting for her …

  When Janet reached the agency, she dressed quickly, ran a comb through her hair and hurried down the hall to the elevator. She got to the street just in time to see Bill driving off. He must have been around the block a dozen times. It was the height of the rush-hour traffic and no parking was permitted. Anxiously glancing at her wrist watch, she waited and watched, praying that he hadn’t given up and gone home. After what seemed an eternity she recognized his car inching down the block in the stop-and-go traffic. Finally it came to a stop at the curb. She hastily opened the door and slid into the seat.

  “Now you know why I take taxis,” he said, impatiently, grabbing her suitcase and putting it in the back seat.

  “I’m awfully sorry, Bill, we ran overtime and there was no way of getting a message to you—”

  “It’s okay.” But his tone said differently, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence.

  The traffic going out of Manhattan moved at a crawl, and as Janet looked at the clock on the dashboard she asked, “Do you think we’ll make it?”

  “Who knows,” he said tightly. “It probably takes less time to fly to Kansas than to get to the airport this time of day.”

  She settled back and gazed in silent frustration at the mass of slow-moving cars and trucks. When at last they arrived at La Guardia, they drove round and round the airport parking lots until they finally found a spot.

  From then on it became a marathon. Carrying Janet’s suitcase, Bill took her by the arm and the two ran, weaving through the crowded terminal. They arrived at the United waiting area just in time to watch Janet’s plane taking off.

  She looked at Bill, breathless and on the verge of tears.

  He had never been able to see a woman cry … his mother had given him his fill … but it was worse with Janet. Besides, Janet Stevens was incapable of using tears as a ploy. She was exactly what she seemed to be, a lovely young woman whose exposure to the world hadn’t hardened her one bit. Not yet, anyway. He liked that. He liked it very much.

  “Let’s see if we can get a later flight,” he said.

  “It’s the last one.”

  “We’ll try another airline.”

  “Same thing … Wichita isn’t the crossroads of the world, you know.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll have to call home.” He spoke with quiet concern, but underneath he was not displeased with this turn of events. You can’t argue with fate, he told himself. This hadn’t, after all, been his fault.

  “Bill, they’re going to be so disappointed—”

  “Sure they will, but no one’s to blame. They’ll understand.”

  “I know, but still …” She knew her mother and Effie must have spent the last few days preparing all the things Janet loved for Sunday’s early dinner, when all her aunts, uncles and cousins would be gathering to celebrate her homecoming. As Bill led her to the phone booth and she began to dial, she was feeling miserable and guilty, and the familiar sound of her mother’s voice only deepened the feelings.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me, Janet. Mother, I don’t know how to tell you but … I missed the plane …”

  There was a confused pause. Then, “Well, those things happen, dear.”

  “I know, but you must have worked so hard … I suppose Aunt Linda and the family will be there?”

  “Yes. Now, Janet, you’re not to feel so badly. These things happen, and more often than not for the best.”

  Maybe, but as much as she wanted to be with Bill, she badly missed her family. Three months was a long time.

  “I promise I’ll be home next week even if I have to walk.”

  Martha Stevens laughed. “I hope it won’t come to that. Good-by, darling, and take care of yourself. I’ll call during the week. Now, here’s your father.”

  “How’s my girl?”

  “Oh, dad, good to hear your voice. I missed the darn plane by seconds—”

  “I gathered as much. But as your mother said, there’s always next week.”

  “I know … I can’t wait to see you.”

  The operator interrupted, requesting an additional seventy-five cents, but by the time Janet fished out the change the phone went dead. There hadn’t been enough time for proper good-bys. She looked at the silent black phone, then got up and left the booth.

  On the drive back to Manhattan, Bill had one hand on the steering wheel, and the other held Janet’s hand. It was a comforting gesture, but Janet was still full of thoughts of home.

  After Bill drove into the garage he helped her out of the car, asking, “You feel hungry?”

  “No … not really.”

  “Well, what do you feel like?”

  Confused … that’s what I feel like, she said to herself. And mystified about who changes the plans, rearranges the destiny of a person’s life. Like missing the plane by seconds, or having to take all those extra pictures today just so Oleg Cassini’s latest creation could be seen in next month’s Harper’s
Bazaar. Man proposed, but God clearly disposed.

  Bill, a mere mortal man, repeated, “What do you feel like doing?”

  “Well, I think I’d like to go back to my place and get rid of this suitcase and freshen up a bit—”

  “Why bother? My place is just across the street. You can freshen up there, then we can decide.”

  He took her hand and guided her across the street and up to his apartment.

  Feeling spent, she lay her head back against the large sofa pillows and let her eyes wander about the lovely room.

  “What would you like?” he asked. “I have champagne on ice. That’s sort of our drink, wouldn’t you say?”

  Yes, to meet and get high on and … “I think I’d like some sherry if you have it, Bill.” No more bubbly for this girl, she thought.

  As she sat listening to the clink of ice and glasses against the soft music in the background, she began to relax. Bill handed her a glass of sherry, then sat next to her and raised his Scotch and soda in a silent toast.

  “I love this time of the day,” he said, looking out at the gold streaks against the sunset sky.

  “It is beautiful,” she replied. But so different from the bold, stark colors cast by a Kansas sunset …

  “So are you.”

  She peered at him in surprise over the rim of her glass. “Am I really?” Was she even close to being that?

  “Why, do you have any doubts?”

  Janet reddened and turned away. “I don’t think of myself that way … not really. In fact, it’s all kind of confusing at times—”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, sometimes I feel like a store mannequin instead of a person. I don’t know, maybe modeling does that. You don’t sort of know what’s real and sometimes I feel so self-conscious about it.”

  How deceptive Janet’s facade was, Bill thought. Who would ever guess the insecurity that lay behind her poise and beauty. Under the sophistication of the photos in the fashion magazines was the real Janet, who must have found her sudden exposure to career and city life more than a little overwhelming. No, it wasn’t really insecurity, he decided, but a curious mix of naiveté and a kind of basic and honest perception of life that hadn’t quite adjusted to the new world she’d come into. Still, he felt protective of her all the same. Yet … but did the urgency he felt to be with her mean that he was actually in love? And all that meant … He doubted it, he sure wasn’t sure … how could he be? … he’d just met her. She was great, so different from the others … which, he decided with a kind of new found relief, must account for the way she so intrigued him. Sure, mostly it had to be that …

  He got up abruptly and switched the soft music on the stereo to an upbeat jazz record. As he sat down again he said, “You must be starved.”

  “I’m not, but I’m sure you are.”

  “A little. Where to?”

  “You decide. But if you don’t mind I’d like to wash up first.”

  “Sure.”

  Bill sat in the living room for a few minutes, then got up and walked to the window. The view was always changing and he never tired of it. Or of the apartment, or his bachelorhood, for that matter. It was comfortable, uncomplicated … To hell with it. As he turned away he saw his reflection in the hall mirror. Boy, he could stand a little washing up too.

  Going to the bedroom, he reached in the closet for a clean shirt, tossed it on the chair and stripped off the old one. The door to the bathroom was open and he could see Janet combing that magnificent head of hair. Then, as she came out and stood looking at him, all the debates were gone from his mind. All he knew was that he wanted her. Now. Last Saturday night? It had been the first time, and he had played the part of the proficient guide, going through all the subtle motions to gradually awaken and heighten Janet’s passion. But tonight?

  He took her in his arms and kissed her without restraint, their lips and tongues meeting in breathless desire. Quickly, almost fumbling, he undressed Janet as they remained in their embrace, and with her help he was out of his pants and shorts. He pushed off his loafers with the tips of his toes, and with their mouths still meeting he peeled off his socks. Then they were lying together, their bodies clinging, and suddenly it was like a storm. Everything was forgotten except the exploring, the hungry touch of skin against skin, the building rhythm of their lovemaking. The climax left them in a breathless wash of fulfillment, and he made no move to withdraw from her. He’d never been caught up so completely in the act of love or felt what he’d just experienced. Never … And the moment was Janet … face it, admit it… the difference was Janet … Reluctantly, he rolled away, then drew her to him and put his arm around her shoulders.

  Brushing the damp hair off her forehead, he said, “I know it’s selfish of me to say this, but I’m very damn happy you missed the plane.”

  For Janet too it had felt so exactly right, as though this was where she belonged—and above all where she wanted to be. Wichita, Kansas, seemed very far away indeed.

  They lay in silence for a while, Bill languidly trailing his hand along the curves of her body. Suddenly he said, “I have a brilliant idea, believe it or not. There’s a terrific Chinese restaurant that delivers. How’s that for creative thinking?”

  “Brilliant, like you said.”

  He reached over and took the phone book from inside the nightstand. He scanned the pages, and as Janet watched it occurred to her that she was just beginning to discover the many facets of this man.

  “Here it is.” Turning to Janet, he asked, “Do you like almond duck?”

  “Yes, sure … but please order what you like. I’m no expert.”

  “You trust me that much?”

  Oh, yes, she thought, and with more than choosing Chinese food. Janet lay back. It was really something … just a few hours ago she’d been nearly wiped out because she couldn’t go to Kansas, and now there wasn’t a place on God’s green earth she would rather be than right here. Suddenly she remembered her suitcase. Why pretend? He might not be in love with her, but it was obvious he wanted her to spend the weekend. She laughed to herself. Something good seemed to come out of everything … at least lately. Last week she hadn’t even been prepared to spend the night. But this time, because she had missed a plane, she was equipped to stay for the full weekend. God worked in mysterious ways, no question.

  “Bill, do you think I could get my suitcase?” she asked when he got off the phone.

  “Sure, I’ll have one of the doormen come up and get the car keys.” As he got out of bed and put on his robe he turned to her and said, “It’ll take about forty minutes for our order to come. You know what I think?”

  “I’m getting pretty smart. I think you’re thinking more champagne.”

  “And you are right. And I shall reward you for your brilliance.” Whereupon he leaned down and kissed her properly before he went off for the champagne.

  As she listened to him fussing in the kitchen, she ran her hand over the place on the bed where he’d been beside her … and thought how wonderful it would be if things could always be the way they’d been tonight. To be Mrs. Bill McNeil, to be able to reach out and touch him every night of her life … to know he’d be there … Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of a popping cork. She watched as he poured the champagne into glasses on the bedside table, taking in his relaxed air, his casual manner. Casual … that’s probably what it was to him. If only she could say, I love you, Bill, and hear him say, I love you, darling … Well, she’d be careful about that this time. Don’t rush …

  “What shall we drink to?” he was saying as he handed her a glass.

  “To … friends … ?”

  “That sounded like a question.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yes … well, the answer is, and to lovers too.”

  Running her fingers around the rim of the glass, she was barely able to get out, “I’ll drink to that, Mr. Bill McNeil.”

  The next two days were filled with ordinary pleasures,
things people do all the time, but the mundane seemed magical. It was the sharing, the being together that made it so. Bicycling through Central Park on a tandem bike … Stopping for a hot dog and sauerkraut, for ice cream cones or a bag of peanuts … Rolling on the grass like two silly children, strolling through the Museum of Modern Art, ambling down Fifth Avenue to watch the skaters at Rockefeller Center … then further on down Fifth Avenue to the New York Public Library, where they raced each other up the stairs and then collapsed at the top, arms around each other, laughing and kissing at the same time.

  They strolled the crooked streets of Greenwich Village hand in hand. How different, how quaint it looked today. Somehow the frightening squalor of her first visit to the Village had disappeared. The theaters, Times Square, the Empire State Building … they all took on a new dimension.

  On Saturday evening they shopped at an Italian grocery and she cooked dinner for Bill. After the door was closed to the world, there was only Bill’s apartment. A place for lovers, he said as he lifted her off her feet and carried her into the bedroom.

  On Sunday they sequestered themselves in Bill’s room. Except for the kitchen the rest of the apartment became superfluous. Janet fixed breakfast while Bill showered, and as she set their breakfast tray on the bedside table she called out, “Come and get it while it’s hot.”

  He poked his head out the bathroom door and grinned through the lather on his face. “It will always be hot,” he assured her.

  She laughed. “Not the scrambled eggs, idiot.”

  When he returned from the bathroom he slid into bed, pulling the sheet up to his naked waist, and Janet placed the tray over his knees. Patting her side of the bed, he said, “Boy, I would never have believed it. To look at you one wouldn’t think you could even boil water.”

  “Just goes to show you. Never judge a cook by its cover.”

  He groaned. “A genius with puns and pasta. Especially the pasta. Last night’s dinner, no kidding, was a work of art.”

  “I have many hidden talents.”

  He leered. “Okay to keep them hidden, but not from me,” he said, reaching over to draw off her robe as she settled next to him.