“What are you doing? Spying on me?”
“Do I smell spring in the air? Or is that her perfume?”
“Mind your own business. It's probably Raid. I found a cockroach under my desk this morning.”
“A likely story. Even the plastic plants can't breathe in this place, let alone a nice healthy cockroach. She's gorgeous. Who is she?”
“Just a girl I met the other day.”
“Very nice. Serious?” She was like a sister to him, and he loved her for it.
“Not yet. And probably never. She's one of those great independent women like my ex-wife, she believes in careers and freedom and not getting too attached to anyone.” But it was the first time he had called Sarah that, and that in itself was a step in the right direction.
“She sounds like big trouble. Just have a good time before she breaks your heart.”
“I'm getting there.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Now, do you mind if we get back to work, or would you rather play advice to the lovelorn?”
“Don't be so touchy.” But they forewent their dinner date that night, and they both worked late. And when he went home, he called Megan. She was out, but her answering machine was on. He left his name and just said he'd called to say hello, and reconfirmed their date for the following evening.
She arrived promptly at eight, arms laden with goodies, and they unpacked them together in his kitchen.
“This is a nice place,” she said politely, but it was nothing like hers, and it still had the impersonal feeling of someone else's apartment. Only the children had impressed their personalities on their rooms, but Ollie had done nothing much about the rest, and with Aggie away, there weren't even flowers. He had thought about it too late, after he got home, and was opening a bottle of wine for their dinner.
“How was your day?”
“Not bad. How was yours?” She looked relaxed and happy in a white silk skirt slit almost to her thigh, and a turquoise blouse that made her honey-tanned skin look even darker.
He told her what he had done all day, and it was nice having someone to share it with, as they ate the moussaka at the kitchen table.
“It must be lonely for you here, with the children gone.”
He smiled at her, wondering if it was an invitation to go back to her place. “It gets a little quiet without them. But I've been working pretty late most nights.” And he suddenly had the feeling that he wouldn't be doing that for much longer.
They talked about crazy things, polo, and baseball, her parents again, and her dislike of the English. He suspected that it was due to the man who had caused the suicide of her sister. She had strong opinions about everything, and when she helped him clear the dishes, he noticed the slit in her skirt again, and felt an irresistible wave of arousal.
They sat in the living room afterward, drinking wine, and talking, and then suddenly, without knowing how it had happened, he found himself kissing her and they were lying on the couch, and he wanted desperately to make love to her. Her skirt was around her waist, her thighs bare, and as his hand passed over the satin of her flesh, he realized that she had worn nothing but her body beneath the skirt, and he groaned with desire as he felt her. His fingers found what he was looking for, and she moaned softly, as the years fell away from him and he was young again, young and in love and overwhelmed with passion. He pulled off her blouse, and she magically undid the skirt, and she lay naked and splendid beneath his hands, and the sight of her took his breath away she was so lovely.
“My God, Megan … my God …” And then expertly, teasingly, tauntingly, she peeled his clothes from him, and they lay on the couch making love as he had never made love before. She did things to him that he had never dared dream of, and she filled him with a desire so powerful that he took her with force, and came like an earthquake inside her. And then he lay over her, feeling her body tremble, and then begin to writhe slowly. He couldn't believe she wanted more, but she guided his hands back to her, and then pushed his head between her legs, and his tongue caressed the places where she wanted him. She moaned and she cried and she shuddered, and in a moment he entered her again, and they lay making love for hours, again and again. She pulled him to the floor, and then he led her to his bedroom. And at last they lay spent, side by side, and she laughed her deep, throaty laughter, and pulled him to her again as he groaned.
“Good God, woman, you're going to kill me.”
“But what a way to die!” They both laughed, and a little while later, she ran a bath for him, and then they made love in the bathtub. It was an unforgettable night for both of them, and as the sun came up, they were soaking happily in the bathtub. She was nothing like anyone he had ever known, she was overwhelmed with desire, and brought the same out in him. He had never thought himself capable of the feats she had had him perform, but he had loved it.
“Do you realize, we've been making love for ten straight hours? It's seven o'clock in the morning' He was astonished at what they'd done. Astonished, and pleased with himself and with her. It was nothing like his lovemaking with Sarah, and he had thought their love life had been perfect.
“After seven months, don't you think you deserve it?” She smiled at him and he laughed.
“I hadn't looked at it that way. Maybe we should try again.” But he was only joking. And she wasn't. She sat astride him in the bathtub as he laughed and rode him again, and much to his amazement, within moments he was aching for her again, and they rolled and splashed and cavorted like two dolphins in the bathtub, and then he pressed her against the side of the tub and ground himself into her as she moaned, out of control, begging him not to stop, and finally screaming as they both exploded from the depths of the warm, soapy water. “Oh Megan … what you do to me! …” His voice was deep and hoarse as he kissed her neck and she opened her eyes to look at him and stroke the blond hair that was disheveled from their passion. “I've never known anyone like you.”
“It's never been like this for me before.” She had never said that to anyone, and she really meant it. “You're remarkable, Oliver.”
“You're pretty terrific yourself.” He could hardly make himself get dressed to go to work, and once he was fully dressed again and they were ready to leave, she grabbed him, and began stroking him where he should have been exhausted, but wasn't. “I can't believe this … Megan … we're never going to get out of here….”And he was beginning to think they shouldn't.
“Maybe we should both call in sick,” she whispered as she pulled him to the hall floor, and began to bite his neck and nibble his face, and taunt him as she stroked him. He took her with force again, more force than he knew he had and more strength than he could believe was left after almost twelve hours of making love to Megan Townsend.
And in the end, they did exactly as she suggested. They both called in sick, and spent the day in bed, and on the floor, and on the couch, and in the bathtub. They even made love leaning against the wall in the kitchen, when they finally went in to reheat some moussaka. It was a kind of madness that had overtaken both of them, and that night they lay in bed and he held her close as she fed him chocolate chip cookies.
“Do you think we should call a doctor?” he asked happily. “Maybe it's a disease … or we've been drugged …”
“Maybe it's the chocolate chip cookies.”
“Mmm … good … give me more …”It was difficult to even imagine being apart again, or ever being able to keep their clothes on. And then, he suddenly wondered something he should have thought of the day before, and asked her if she was worried about getting pregnant.
“Nope.” She looked perfectly relaxed. “I had my tubes tied nine years ago.”
“At twenty-one?” He looked shocked, and then he remembered. That had been when her sister had died, four months pregnant.
“I knew I never wanted kids anyway, and I wasn't going to let some asshole do to me what had happened to Priscilla.”
“And you've never regrette
d it? What if you want children one day?”
“I won't. And if I do, I can adopt them. But I doubt if I'd ever do that. I just don't want that kind of headache. Why? Do you want more kids?”
“I used to. But Sarah never wanted more children. She had her tubes tied, too, when we had Sam. I always regretted it, but she never did.”
“Would you want more kids now?” She didn't look worried, just intrigued. She couldn't imagine wanting any more children, or any at all, for her own sake.
“I'm not sure. It's a little late now. But I suppose I wouldn't mind if it happened.”
“Well, don't count on me.” She grinned and lay back against her pillows.
And then, feeling easy and open with her, he confided in her about Benjamin. “My eighteen-year-old son is expecting a baby in September. It's a hell of a mess. He's working as a busboy and supporting the girl. They both dropped out of high school, when he could have gone to Harvard.”
“Maybe he will one day.” But she looked suddenly sorry for Ollie. It was obvious how upset he was about the boy. “Will they keep the baby?”
“They want to. I've done everything I could to discourage them. At least, thank God, they're not getting married.” He was grateful for Sandra's persistence on that score.
“Maybe they'll come to their senses when they're faced with the reality of it. Babies are only cute in diaper ads. The rest of the time they're little monsters.”
“And how many babies have you known, Miss Townsend?”
“As few as possible, thank you very much.” She rolled over and got a firm grip on his favorite member, and then pulled back the blanket and moved down to play her tongue gently around it. “Personally, I prefer daddies to babies …”
“How lucky for me.” He smiled and closed his eyes, and then pulled her to him to reciprocate in kind. But that night, they finally fell asleep, exhausted, just after midnight. It had been a marathon day, and one he would never forget. The miracle of Megan Townsend.
Chapter 16
The romance blazed on through the hottest month of the year. The weather was torrid in August, and so was their passion. They alternated between his apartment and hers, and one night, even spent the night making love on the terrace. But fortunately, they were higher than the other buildings around them.
He hardly ever had time to see Daphne anymore, but she knew what was going on, and she was happy for him. He had a perennially glazed look in his eyes, and he was constantly vague and absentminded, and she hoped, for his sake, that he was screwing his brains out.
They had driven out to Purchase one day, so he could see Benjamin and his father, and he had dropped Megan off at her father's, and then picked her up to take her back to the city. But they didn't stop at the house. Somehow he didn't want to go there with her. It was still too full of memories of Sarah.
But he seldom thought of her now. He was obsessed with Megan, and their lovemaking, and her body. And on a blazing Sunday afternoon, they were walking around naked in his apartment, when the phone rang. He couldn't imagine who it was. Probably Daphne, checking up on him, although she seldom called him now. She didn't want to disturb him.
The crackle of long-distance wires met his ears when he picked it up, and then the phone went dead, and it rang again, and an overseas operator told him there was a collect call from San Remo. He could hardly hear anything, and he smiled, as Megan paraded before him. And for a moment, he felt sad, thinking of the adjustments they'd have to make. The children were due home the following weekend.
“Hello?” He could hear a sound in the distance. It sounded like crying, but he knew it was only static.
“Hello?” he shouted and then suddenly he heard Mel crying and saying over and over, “Daddy …”
“Melissa? Melissa! Talk to me!” The line faded on them, and then she came back, with an echo, but a little clearer. “What is it? What happened?”
“… an accident …” Oh God … no … Sam … not Sam … please … and not even Sarah …
“Baby, I can't hear you! Talk louder!” His eyes filled with tears as he waited, and Megan watched. He had totally forgotten her, in his desperation to understand his daughter.
“… an accident … killed … Mommy …” Oh Jesus. It was Sarah….
He stood up as though that would improve the connection and shouted into the phone as loud as he could. In Italy, it was midnight. “What happened to your mother?”
“… a car … driving … we're in San Remo … Jean-Pierre …”
“Melissa, is your mother hurt?” And Megan saw in his face then that he still loved her, but after twenty years, she didn't blame him. And she stood paralyzed with fear too. It reminded her of the call she'd gotten almost ten years before … from her mother … Darling … oh darling … it's Priscilla …
“Mom's all right. …” The tears spilled down his cheeks as he heard the words.
“Sam? What about Sam?”
“… Sam broke his arm … Daddy, it was so awful …” And then she began crying again, anci he could understand nothing. But if Sam was alive … he was alive, wasn't he? … and Sarah … and Melissa was on the phone … “A car hit us … full on … the driver was killed … and two kids … and Jean-Pierre … Jean-Pierre was killed instantly … oh Daddy … it was so awful …” Oh Jesus … poor man … but at least the children were alive. His children anyway, if not the others. It was a terrible, selfish way to look at it, but he was deeply grateful.
“Baby, are you all right? … are you hurt?”
“… I'm fine …”
“Where's Mom?”
“At the hospital … told me to call you … we have to go back to France for the funeral … We'll be home on Friday.”
“But you're all right? You're sure? Was Mommy hurt?”
“… black eye … all cut up … but she's okay. …” It was like playing telegraph, but they were alive, even if bruised and broken. And they had seen their mother's lover die, and another man, and two children. He shuddered at the thought of it.
“Do you want me to come over?”
“… don't think so … we're going to be staying … with Jean-Pierre's parents … going back tonight … Mom says you have the number.”
“I have it. I'll call you. And, baby …”he began to cry as he held the phone in a trembling hand, “… I love you … tell Sam I love him too … and tell Mommy I'm sorry.”
Mel was crying again, and eventually the connection got so bad, they had to hang up. Ollie looked badly shaken as he hung up the phone and stared up at Megan. He had totally forgotten her as he talked to his daughter.
“Are they all right?” She was standing naked, and lovely, before him, as she handed him a glass of brandy.
“I think so. We had a terrible connection. There's been an accident … several people were killed, from what I could understand. My wife's friend was killed instantly. He was driving. In San Remo.”
“Jesus. How awful.” She sat down next to him, and took a sip of the brandy he hadn't touched. “Were the kids hurt?”
“Sam broke his arm. I think Melissa's all right. Sarah got cut up, but I think they're all right. It must have been grim.” And then, still shaken, he looked at Megan. “When she started talking, I thought … I thought Sam … or maybe even Sarah … It's a terrible thing to say with other people getting killed, but I'm glad it wasn't.”
“I know.” She put an arm around him and held him close, and for a long time, they just sat there. They stayed at his place that night, in case the children called again, and for the first time in a month, they didn't make love at all. All he could think about were his children. And slowly, the shock of it brought them both back to their senses. Their wild idyll was going to change when the children came home. He couldn't stay out all night, and she couldn't stay at the apartment with him, and they would have to be far more circumspect around his children. In a way, it made them want to do as much as they could, while they were still alone, and in another way, the rea
lization of what was coming so soon had already changed things.
And by Thursday night, they were both nervous and depressed. They lay awake all night, making love and talking, and wishing that things could be different.
“We could get married one day,” he said, only half jokingly, and she looked at him with mock horror.
“Don't be silly. That's a little extreme, isn't it?”
“Would it be?” He had never known anyone like her, and he was totally under her spell for the moment.
“For me, it would. Oliver, I can't marry anyone. I'm not the type, and you know it.”
“You heat up a great moussaka.”
“Then marry the guy at the deli where they made it.”
“He can't be as cute as you, although I've never met him.”
“Be serious. What would I do with a husband and three children?”
He pretended to think it over and she laughed. “I could think of a few things …”
“You don't need to be married for that, fortunately.” They had had a glorious month, but she was already acting as though it was over. “I just don't want more than this.”
“Maybe one day you will.”
“If I do, you'll be the first to know. I promise.”
“Seriously?”
“As serious as I can be about subjects like this. I told you before, marriage is not for me. And you don't need another wife to run shrieking out the door. You need some wonderful, smart, beautiful girl who's going to love you to pieces and take care of your kids, and give you fourteen more babies.”
“What a thought. I think you're confusing me with your father.”
“Not quite. But I am definitely not what the doctor ordered, Oliver. I know what I am, and some of it's all right, and some of it isn't. In my own way, I'm probably a lot like your wife, and that's exactly what you don't need. Be honest.”
He wondered if she was right, and if he had found himself a newer, somewhat racier edition of Sarah. He had never thought of that, but it was possible, although the idea depressed him. “What happens now?”
“We enjoy it for what it is, for as long as we can, and when it gets too complicated for either of us, we say good-bye, with a kiss and a hug and a thank-you.”
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