“That’s normal, Karen. So are the backaches. Maybe you ought to take it a little easier.”
“With work?”
“Mmm.”
“I wish I could. But I’m just an associate.”
“You’re a pregnant associate.”
“And the big boys are watching me closely. I’ll be up for a partnership in a year. If I can’t show them that I’m serious about my career, I can kiss that partnership goodbye.”
“What does Dan say?” Dan was Karen’s husband, and a nicer man Caroline couldn’t have chosen for her sister. “He wouldn’t care if the partnership was deferred, would he?”
“He wouldn’t, but I would. I’ve worked so hard for this, Caro. To come so far and either have it postponed or lose it completely would break my heart.”
“But you do want the baby.”
“Yes, I want the baby. I want the baby and Dan and the partnership. I can do it, Caro. I know I can.”
“So do I, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy.”
“Nothing’s easy for a woman—especially in law. You wouldn’t believe the discrimination that still exists.”
“You’ve managed to handle it up to now,” Caroline said by way of encouragement.
“But it’s a constant fight. I think that’s what discourages me most. In the best of circumstances I have to be twice as good as any man on my level, and now, with this pregnancy, I have to be three times as good. You’d think I had a terminal illness, the way the partners try to hide me from clients. I can understand in a way; a client doesn’t want to come to rely on a lawyer who will be disappearing for a couple of months. But that’s all it’s going to be. Ninety days. The firm knows that. Ninety days!”
“Shh, Karen. It’s okay.”
“I’d really like to believe that. I have my moments of insecurity, too. Times when I think of what might happen if the baby is a screamer, or there’s some physical problem—”
“The baby won’t be a screamer,” Caroline interrupted, “and there won’t be a physical problem. Don’t be like Mom, Karen. It’s self-defeating.”
“That’s what I tell myself,” Karen said with a sigh. Her voice wobbled as she gave in to that insecurity she’d mentioned. “You don’t think I’m tackling too much, do you?”
“If anyone can do it, you can.”
“But can anyone do it? Can anyone be a wife, a mother and a lawyer and do all three jobs well?”
“I don’t see why not, as long as you recognize the limitations and deal with them as they pop up. You’ve done well so far, haven’t you?”
“The baby’s not born.”
“But Dan will be there to help you. He’s been supportive from the word go. He wants the baby as much as you do and he knows how much your career means to you. That could make all the difference, Karen—having a husband who’s behind you.”
“Mmm, I am lucky, I suppose.”
“I know. So. Do you feel any better?”
“Yeah. It’s good to be able to let off steam, but I feel guilty bitching all the time to Dan.”
“Your bitching isn’t so bad.”
“That’s ’cause you’re used to it. And because I’m the only little sister you have.”
Caroline glanced at the microwave clock. “Don’t you think it’s time you got some sleep, little sister?”
Karen sighed, but it was a sheepish sound this time. “Yeah, I think I should get a little sleep. Thanks, Caro. You always do make me feel better.”
Caroline thought about that for several minutes after she’d hung up the phone. She was glad her sister believed in her, because she was wallowing in her own quagmire of guilt—guilt that she wasn’t in Wisconsin helping her mother, guilt that she couldn’t spare Carl and Diane their pain, guilt that she could freely build her own career while her sister struggled so hard. She wished she didn’t take their troubles so personally, but she always had and feared she always would.
She wondered what her colleagues would say to that. No doubt they’d say she had very strong maternal instincts. They might also suggest that she fostered her family’s dependence by being on twenty-four-hour call. If so, she’d been doing it for so long she wasn’t sure how to break the cycle.
Rising from the chair, she went to the window. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome was still on his fire escape. She felt a little better.
Do I do that—encourage their dependence?
I don’t know. Do you?
I suppose. Maybe it is a need I have.
Maybe the need is for a family of your own.
But in order to have a family of my own, I have to have a husband. If I don’t find the right man, I’ll be complicating things that much more. I’ve seen what can happen if a marriage isn’t right. The guilt feelings are worse. I’m so tired of the guilt.
Come on, where’s that optimism?
Her lips curved at one corner. Gone with the wind?
Sorry. No wind tonight.
She drew her hand across her cheek, catching rivulets of sweat before they dripped to her jaw. Tell me about it.
No wind. No air. Just us. So what are we going to do about it?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
We have to do something. We can’t go on meeting this way.
But what if we don’t get along when we come face-to-face? Things will grow awkward. I won’t be able to talk with you the way I have.
Ahh, but what if we do get along? Think about it.
Caroline thought about it all that night and well into the next day. She thought about it while she wound her way up one supermarket aisle and down the next. She thought about it when she was having her hair trimmed, when she was buying stockings, when she splurged on a new sundress that was a little too casual for work. She thought about it while she was at the laundromat and later while she cleaned the loft.
And she thought about it when she was out with Elliot, which compounded her guilt all the more.
4
If Elliot was perturbed when she staved off his advances after dinner Saturday night, he didn’t press the issue. She almost wished he had. She was feeling worse and worse about leading him on, but she didn’t have it in her to bring things to a head. She knew that she should free him—force him—to see other women, but she dreaded having to do it. Elliot was a kind soul with a fragile ego, particularly when he was on edge at work.
Ben’s showing up unannounced on Sunday evening didn’t help. She’d been trying to work—between glances at Tall-Dark-and-Handsome’s apartment—and the interruption was unwelcome. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome had had his own guest, a petite and attractive woman whom he’d soon ushered back to the door, and Caroline had wanted to study him in the aftermath of the visit. But Ben had come.
“Nice place, Caro,” he said, glancing around from the door.
“Thanks. I like it.”
“All you need is an air conditioner and it’d be perfect.”
“It’s fine without,” she said, clasping her hands at her waist. She was feeling awkward about not inviting him in, but she didn’t want him in. Besides, there was her image to consider. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome might be watching. She didn’t want him to think that she had a whole string of men.
With characteristic pertinacity, Ben barged forward. Short of physically restraining him, there was little she could do.
“How about a cool drink?” he asked. The look he sent toward the kitchen said that he wasn’t planning on taking her out.
She gestured toward the table, where her files lay open. “I’m really busy, Ben. You should have called ahead and saved yourself the trip.”
He shrugged and started wandering around. “I was in the neighborhood. I wanted to see your new place.”
Standing beside the open door, she followed his progress. He nodded at the prints she’d hung on the wall, tested the toe of his tasseled loafer against the small area rug before the sofa, ran his well-manicured fingers along the back of the armchair. “Same furniture. It fits in well.”
“I tho
ught so.”
His gaze idled on the bed. “We had some good times there.”
She remained quiet.
“Didn’t we?” he asked, facing her.
“Uh-huh.”
“At least we agree on that.”
“Ben, I really have to work.”
His blue eyes grew more so. “You’re looking good, Caro. There’s something alluring about a T-shirt and shorts. Maybe no air conditioning is a plus.”
She could have been the first to say that he looked good in his sport shirt and slacks. He was as cool as ever, despite the three-floor walk up and the warmth of her apartment. Benjamin Howe didn’t sweat. Ever. Nor did he affect her the way he once had. The last thing he needed was encouragement, so she said nothing, simply continued to eye him.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“Of course not.”
“You’re looking wary.”
“I’m just waiting for you to take the hint and leave. I don’t know how much more blunt I can be,” she said, but innate affability took the edge off her words. “I do have work to do.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“And you really want me to leave?”
“Yes.”
He sliced another glance to the bed, then skimmed her body from head to toe. His message couldn’t have been more clear if he’d written it in blood. “Not even a quickie … for old times’ sake?”
That was too much. “Don’t be crude!”
“Crude, or honest?”
“You’d think that was all we’d had!” Then her lips thinned and she nodded slowly. “But it was, wasn’t it? Only there was a lot of other garbage parading as something else that went along with it. Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but some women get tired of garbage. I’ve cleaned house since you left.”
“So you don’t want the garbage. How about the sex free and clear?”
“No way.”
He arched a single brow. “Not even with Mencken, or Malken, or whatever the hell his name is?”
“Not even with him.”
“Well,” Ben said, grinning, “at least now I know. Okay.” He sauntered toward the door. “I’ll leave you to your work. If you get lonely, you’ll know where I am.”
She was bristling with fury, but she refused to let it show. “Goodbye, Ben,” she said calmly.
He nodded as he stepped into the hall. With measured movements, she closed the door, then leaned back against it for a minute, took several deep breaths and looked across the courtyard. The sight of Tall-Dark-and-Handsome leaning against his window was an instant balm.
Ben’s nothing but a pest, she assured him.
I hope so.
And your visitor?
No one important.
A sigh of relief slipped through her lips. I really do have to get this work done. Did you finish the Sunday paper? If not, you could bring it over here and read while I work.
Thanks, but I’ve got work to do myself.
Want to bring it over?
I’d like that, but I don’t think we should.
Why not?
Because you’d be a distraction. I’d keep looking at that bed of yours and thinking that we ought to be there.
But we don’t know each other.
Do you honestly believe that?
Caroline hung her head for a minute and ran a finger over the moisture of her nose. No. I don’t believe it. She looked up. But I meant what I said to Ben. I don’t want the garbage. I can’t handle it right now. Maybe what I do want is pure sex.
It’d be more than that with us. And there’d be no garbage.
Are you sure?
Yes.
She smiled sadly. That’s a lovely thought, but it’s only a dream, and I do have work to do.
Okay. Another time, then.
With a chuckle, she pushed away from the door. Another time. That was the nicest thing about a fantasy, she decided, as she sat down and focused on the notes she’d written earlier. A fantasy didn’t suffer with postponement. It was always there, a carrot that dangled sweetly and in secret, to be called forth again and again and again.
* * *
Caroline called forth that fantasy many times in the next few days. But even aside from the fantasy, she learned a great deal about Tall-Dark-and-Handsome.
He very definitely lived alone. Aside from his visitor on Sunday—and she dropped in again on Tuesday evening but left as quickly—he seemed a private sort. Except where Caroline was concerned. It occurred to her that he made no attempt to shield his apartment from her view, which made her feel a little less guilty that she did the same.
He ran. Some nights he came home wearing a business suit, changed into a tank top and shorts and went out, only to return after an hour looking tired and sweaty but healthy. Other nights, when he came home, his shirt was wide open and he was already sweaty. She wondered if he’d come from a health club.
He worked. She could see him poring through papers during the evenings—papers of the file type, rather than the newspaper type—and though she continued to speculate on his occupation, the specifics came to matter less than the fact of his diligence.
He didn’t drink beyond that one beer an evening; at least, not that she could see. He didn’t own a television, or if he did, he rarely watched it. She couldn’t tell if he had a stereo; she never once heard the noise. And occasionally she could see him reading a hardcover book.
Sometimes he talked on the telephone, and then she was a little uneasy, for she sensed he was talking with a woman. His expression was gentle, understanding, often beseeching. She doubted it was the same woman she’d seen, since these calls lasted longer than the visits ever had. She told herself that if there was another woman in his life, surely that woman would appear. When she didn’t, Caroline could only imagine that she existed, and that was nearly as bad as what she imagined on the nights he didn’t return home until late.
It wasn’t that she was jealous. She had no claim on the man. It was more that she feared she’d lose him, which was absurd, since she didn’t have him to start with. It was all a fantasy, she reminded herself, but that didn’t help when she sat at her window staring into his dark apartment. She missed him during those times, just as she welcomed him when he returned. Not a night went by that he didn’t come to the window at whatever time he got home.
It became a ritual—a welcome home, a shared drink, a sweet good-night. She had come to depend on it, as they reached what she thought of as their first-week anniversary. When Friday night rolled around, she was particularly needful of that silent shared drink.
She’d had a rough week. The heat had held up—an unusually static high-pressure system, said the weatherman—and she hadn’t slept well on many of those nights when the air in her apartment had been hot. It was hot tonight, too. She’d changed into shorts as soon as she’d come home and was reclining against the window, a glass of iced tea in her hand, while Tall-Dark-and-Handsome took his beer from the fridge.
He wore a charcoal tank top over lighter gray running shorts, which, despite their color, made his hips look sleek and narrow. He paused only to take a quick swig of beer and kick off his sneakers before sliding onto the fire escape.
Hi, she thought breathlessly.
Hi, yourself.
How was your day?
He drew away from the wrought-iron railing and flexed his upper back before relaxing again. Hot. And yours?
Ditto.
At least it’s the weekend. What say we take off and go someplace cool?
Like…?
Alaska.
She gave a sultry half smile. Mmm. That sounds nice.
Ever been in an igloo?
No, but it sounds real good right about now. Sweat dotted her neck and pooled between her breasts. She took a drink, then held the cool glass to her cheek.
Would you really go there with me? she imagined he’d ask.
Sure.
Don’t have any
other plans for the weekend?
No. I told Elliot I needed a break.
He put the can to his mouth and tipped his head. In silhouette, his Adam’s apple bobbed gently as the cool liquid flowed past. Turning his head slowly, his eyes found hers. How did he take it?
Not well. I feel guilty.
You shouldn’t, you know. You have every right to refuse an invitation.
Still …
He’s a big boy, Caroline.
That’s the first time you’ve used my name. I wish I knew what to call you.
Tall-Dark-and-Handsome is fine.
But it’s not real.
None of this is real.
That’s not true. She sucked in a shaky breath and admitted what she’d been trying to ignore. What you make me feel is real.
Tell me what you feel.
She pressed her lips together, then slowly moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Excitement. I look at you and my heart pounds.
In this heat?
Crazy, I know.
What else?
Heat inside. I can’t really see your face, but your eyes make me sizzle. Or maybe it’s the set of your shoulders or the shape of your chest. She watched him wipe a damp palm on his thigh. Or your legs. You have beautiful legs. Do you know that?
They’re not beautiful.
Maybe not to you, but to me they are. Lean and tight. They’re hairy, too.
I’m beginning to sound like an ape.
No. Just a hairy man.
Do hairy men turn you on?
I never thought they did, but the hair on your skin is masculine. So different from a woman’s.
I should hope so.
Her insides were beginning to knot. Closing her eyes for an instant, she arched her back, then brought the glass to her forehead. I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.
Maybe you’re sex starved.
No. Sex is nice, but I’ve never really hungered for it, if you know what I mean.
And you do now?
With you. But maybe you don’t feel the same way.
Are you kidding?
You do want me?
Why do you think I’ve got my knees bent up this way?
Oh. The color in her cheeks deepened. That’s nice.
It’s not nice. It’s damn frustrating. What are we going to do about this?
Warm Hearts Page 7
