For a moment, Phillip wanted to say, Why didn’t you think about me while I still had a future? But instead he asked, “And what have you been thinking?” hoping that his anger didn’t show.
“The one thing no one can take from you is a profession. I’ve been able to scrape up enough money so that you can start premed at the University of California.”
It had been decided for him, Phillip thought resentfully. But he said nothing, and only stared at his father’s worn face. Over the past year he had been able to view his father’s failure with more compassion. He did love both his mother and father deeply, in spite of everything, and lately he had begun to realize that he himself was to blame for not having been able to accept the devastating change in their fortunes. He had made his parents doubly miserable by letting them see his resentment. Like his father, Phillip realized he too lacked Israel Coulter’s ambition and iron will.
Looking at Simon, Phillip knew that he could not deny his father’s attempt to make amends.
“I’ll do it, Dad,” he forced himself to say. “Thanks.”
And with that, the die was cast. Phillip enrolled at U.C. But his future as a doctor was cut short the first morning he confronted a cadaver. Ice-cold perspiration rolled down his back, and his stomach heaved uncontrollably.
Although he knew that his father would be terribly hurt, Phillip knew that he had to drop medicine. As he suspected, Simon took the decision badly. He had wanted Phillip to become a doctor as much for his own sake as his son’s. If Phillip were a success, Simon would not be a complete failure, so when he saw Phillip was adamant, Simon suggested law.
Ironically, he could not have forced Phillip into a more incongruous profession. To be an attorney requires great confidence as a speaker and an adviser. Phillip had none. He’d been trained from childhood to be a merchant. That was all he’d ever wanted to be. Sure, he could have gotten a job in a men’s store. That was probably the only thing he had any talent for—selling socks over a counter, or perhaps Arrow shirts.
But he could not bring himself to refuse his father the only thing Simon had left: pride in his son. Phillip finally acquiesced.
Somehow he plodded through college and law school. Graduation left him with a strange feeling of relief, rather than the conviction that he had found his métier.
Dressed in a black gown, the mortarboard on his head, Phillip stood on the stage, looking out at his parents. When he saw his father take out a handkerchief and wipe his eyes, Phillip knew that whatever his feelings about his profession, he had made the only choice possible.
A year had passed since then, and the only change was that he had another birthday—his twenty-sixth. Every time he thought of Ann, he realized how empty his life was. Unhappy in his professional life, he had allowed nothing else to touch him—not beauty, not joy, not love. One night, after six weeks of ruthlessly trying to forget her, he realized that if he continued to deny his desire, he would never become a whole human being.
Closing his mind to further doubt, he picked up the phone and dialed her number, which he’d committed to memory so many weeks ago. But when he heard it ring, it suddenly occurred to him, what if she wouldn’t go out with him? What if she wasn’t even interested in him? He had been so caught up in his own feelings that he hadn’t even given a thought to hers. She was probably offended that he hadn’t had the guts to call her. The thought of her rejection made his palms sweat. Then he heard her voice saying, “Hello?”
“Ann—how are you? This is Phillip,” he managed to say.
“Phillip?” She sounded surprised.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called sooner, but I’ve been out of town … busy on a case,” he lied awkwardly.
Ann didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All of a sudden she felt a surge of anger. She had an urge to scream, How dare you ignore me the way you have? But instead she swallowed the hurt and answered, “That sounds exciting.”
The deception was almost too much for Phillip to sustain, as he held the receiver in his sweaty palm. “Oh, yes … very. Tell me, how have you been?”
“Oh, wonderful, just wonderful, thank you. And you?”
Lousy, plain lousy. But he said aloud, “Okay, I guess.”
Ann suddenly sensed Phillip’s loneliness and she felt ashamed of all the ill-natured thoughts she had harbored about him. She even began excusing him for not calling.
“What are you doing Saturday night?” he was asking.
He’s asking me out! she realized, her pulse beating wildly. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Nothing. I wasn’t planning anything special, that is.”
“Great. Would you care to have dinner with me?”
“Oh, Phillip, that would be lovely.”
“Do you like Chinese food?”
She didn’t, but it didn’t matter. “Yes, I love it.”
“Will seven be all right?”
“Yes. And, Phillip, thanks so much for calling.”
If I hadn’t been such a coward, I would have done it weeks ago, he thought. But he said only, “I’m sorry I haven’t had time sooner.”
Chapter Three
THE NEXT DAY ANN stood behind the hosiery counter at Magnin’s, scarcely aware of what she was doing. If she’d ever been happy that she only worked a half day Saturday, it was today. She was happy even though she was missing her weekly luncheon with Ruthie. Instead, she rushed home after work, washed her hair, and then sat before the mirror making dozens of tiny pincurls. She did her nails, plucked her brows, and changed into four different dresses before he arrived.
Scrutinizing her reflection in the mirror, she sighed pensively. If only she knew his favorite color. In fact, if she only knew what he liked in general, she wouldn’t be so nervous. Tonight was so important. She just had to be perfect. Who should she pretend to be?
The forty-nine-year-old Ann, sitting in her lonely living room, laughed bitterly. Oh, the naiveté of her generation. Why hadn’t it occurred to her to just be herself? But how could she have, when she’d had no idea in all the world who Ann Pollock was? Besides, to have “been herself would have been drab and dull.
She remembered running downstairs the second the doorbell rang, grateful her father and stepmother were out. At least there would be no awkward introductions. When he stepped into the hallway, she saw again how handsome he was and was overcome with an unexpected rush of desire.
Suddenly she had difficulty breathing evenly. She could scarcely meet his eyes for fear that he would see in them a reflection of her fantasies. She would just die if Phillip knew how she had longed for him to hold her.
Praying for composure, she said softly, “How are you, Phillip?”
“Fine, Ann. You look lovely.”
“Thank you. Would you wait a moment while I get my coat?”
“Sure.” He watched as she went to the closet.
God, he’d been crazy to think that he could ever cut her out of his life.
His feeling for her increased as he sat in the dimly lit dining room of Chang Lee’s Imperial Palace. She looked enchanting with the dark ringlets framing her delicate face.
“Good evening, sir,” said the waiter in halting English. “You like order?”
“What do you feel like having, Ann?” Phillip asked.
“Gosh, I don’t know anything about Chinese food except chow mein. Why don’t you order?”
He looked at her apprehensively. “I thought you said you loved it.”
“Oh, I do! That is—well … it all sounds so good. I’ll let you order for us.”
She didn’t like it. He could tell. Damn it, I shouldn’t have brought her here, he thought, but it was the only decent place he could really afford. Now she was just trying to be nice. She was always so sweet, so agreeable. Those were the traits that had attracted him in the first place. Beyond that, Ann was so feminine; she made him feel strong and masculine, when for such a long time he had felt weak and powerless. He needed someone like Ann to look up to him, depend on him.
The waiter brought Phillip out of his reverie. “I come back when you decide.”
“Oh … oh, yes,” Phillip answered rather blankly. He looked at Ann. “Have you looked at the menu?”
She answered seriously, as though it were the greatest decision in the world. “Yes … well … Phillip, I really don’t know. What do you suggest?”
“You won’t laugh if I tell you this, will you?”
“Of course not, Phillip.”
“Well, I don’t know anything about Chinese food except chow mein, either.”
They looked at one another for a long moment, then broke into gales of laughter. For the moment the tension was broken.
When Ann saw the waiter placing the plate of pork chow mein in front of her, she felt a little bit queasy. True, she hadn’t been reared kosher, but—just the thought of it!
“I think this is awfully good. Don’t you, Ann?” asked Phillip, adding a little more soy sauce to the steamed rice.
“Oh … just wonderful, Phillip. Delicious.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Oh, yes—absolutely!”
As the meal progressed, the tension between them returned. What do we talk about now? Ann wondered. They couldn’t keep on talking about the food.
Finally she asked, “Have you seen Ruthie and Kenny since their wedding?” She already knew the answer, of course, since she’d asked Ruthie any number of times.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been busy. How about you?”
“Oh, I have lunch with Ruthie every Saturday.”
Stirring her chow mein with her fork, she took a dainty bite. “It was a beautiful wedding, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it really was.”
Although this seemed a perfect opening, Phillip couldn’t muster the courage to say all the things he had been thinking. Lying in bed fantasizing a conversation was not quite the same as sitting across the table from the actual girl, a girl who would probably think you were out of your mind for asking her to marry you on the first date.
How could he explain that he felt as though he’d known her all his life? How could he tell her that she’d been constantly in his thoughts since he’d last seen her? He had no idea whether or not she even liked him. And if she did accept his proposal, would he be able to support her and his parents as well? No, he didn’t have the right to ask Ann to share the burdens of his life. He still had his parents to take care of. The more he thought about it, the more guilty he felt. He simply couldn’t ask her tonight.
Suddenly he looked up at Ann. She looked so beautiful in the soft light. Why the hell was he analyzing all this? Love was a spontaneous thing—it made its own luck.
While all this was running through Phillip’s head, Ann was having a few daydreams of her own. As the waiter set down fortune cookies and a fresh pot of tea, she hummed “Tea for Two” under her breath and thought of pouring coffee every morning for Phillip before he went to the office.
Ann broke open a fortune cookie, took out the slip of paper, and held her breath as she read the prophecy. Oh, my God, she thought. It was unbelievable, but there it was in print: “A tall, dark, handsome stranger will spirit you off to paradise.”
Ann glanced across the table, and in that magical moment, their eyes met. It was just like in the movies! All the problems which had seemed insurmountable to Phillip a few minutes ago seemed to vanish. His emotions overwhelmed him.
“Ann,” he blurted, “I’ve tried very hard to fight it, but you mean more to me than anything else in the world. I love you … I know I don’t have any right, but …”
He reached across the table and took her hand. “Of course, I have no way of knowing how you feel about me.”
Ann was completely bewildered. Although he had just said the words she’d dreamed of hearing, instead of being deliriously happy, she felt a strange resentment. Why had he failed to call her all these weeks? Why had he made her suffer so? Afraid of what she might say, she pulled her hand away from his and began toying absently with the crumbs on the table.
Phillip’s heart sank as he looked at her expression. Obviously she did not share his feelings.
But when Ann finally looked up, she said, “I love you. I have from the very beginning.”
“Have you really?” Phillip stammered, happy beyond his wildest dreams.
“Yes.”
“I never would have known it tonight,” he said naively.
“Well, Phillip, you didn’t even call me for almost two months! Why did it take so long?”
“I thought it would be best, Ann, if I stayed out of your life.”
“Best? I don’t understand. I thought that falling in love was a very natural thing. Why are we complicating this?”
“That’s the way it should be. But I have a lot of problems, Ann … problems with myself that I had to come to terms with.”
“And have you?”
“No,” Phillip said sadly. “No, I haven’t.”
“Now that we know we love each other, can’t you share them with me?”
He sighed. “You see, darling, I don’t have anything to offer you. And I don’t think it’s right to ask you to struggle with me. Being poor can make life very difficult.”
“Just knowing you love me is—everything,” Ann whispered.
Once again he reached across the table and took her hand. “I’d give anything in the world, Ann, to be able to marry you now. But I have an obligation to my parents. And my salary is so small, I wouldn’t be able to maintain two households.”
“But, Phillip, when two people love each other, it doesn’t matter if they have to struggle. I’ve been poor all my life; it won’t matter to me if we don’t have anything. We’ll have each other.”
Looking at her, he realized that there was a great difference in their approach to life. Ann’s poverty seemed to be the source of her strength, while his early wealth seemed to have sapped his innate drive and energy. Maybe with Ann as an inspiration he could make something of his life. Maybe he could—at last—live up to his great-grandfather’s image.
“Darling,” he said more forcefully, “we’re going to have to wait. I’m sorry. But in a year or so I’ll be more valuable to the firm and should receive a good raise. Would you be willing to go steady with me until then?”
A year was an eternity to Ann. She wanted to get married now! But she swallowed the hard lump in her throat. Phillip was worth waiting for.
“Yes,” she said tremulously. “I’ll wait.”
Forgetting that he was in a small, crowded restaurant, Phillip got up, pulled her from her chair and took her in his arms. Softly, he whispered, “You’ve made me so happy, Ann.”
“I hope I always will.”
After Phillip left her that night, Ann stood in the front hall, thrilling to the memory of his kisses. His lips against hers had been so tender as he murmured, “You’re so beautiful, Ann. I love you so much. How did I get so lucky?”
The next morning, Ann sat up in bed with an overwhelming feeling of dread. It should have been the happiest day of her life, but instead she had to brave telling her father and stepmother. She was fairly sure her father would understand, but Stella had resented her since she was a little girl and would surely do her best to take the joy out of her happy news. Sighing, Ann put on her robe and went downstairs.
Ben looked across the breakfast table at his daughter. Ann looked more like her mother every year, and the reminder had become increasingly painful as Ann had grown to young womanhood. He could never forgive himself for the fact that Ann had suffered so because of his marriage to Stella. At the time he believed that he was securing a mother for his child as well as a wife, but it hadn’t worked out that way. Stella had been jealous of Ann from the start, and Ben often found himself siding against Ann in order to keep peace. He hated himself for his weakness; but then, Stella was a very different woman from Ann’s mother—strong and determined. It was easier to give in to her wishes than to create more dissension by asserting h
imself.
When he had met Stella, she had been recently widowed, and at the beginning of their relationship, Stella had appeared to be genuinely fond of Ann. He was shocked by her reaction shortly after they married when he suggested Ann call her stepmother “Mommy.”
“How dare you suggest the child call me that. I’m not her mother—I’m your wife.”
Ann stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the loud voices below. She had been sent to bed earlier, but had been roused by the sounds of the argument; she had never heard voices raised in anger at home and it frightened her. Now, quickly, she ran back to her room and locked her door. She felt terribly guilty that she had been the cause of a fight between her daddy and his new wife. She must have been a very bad girl for Stella not to want to be her mother.
Stella had become neither Ann’s mother nor even her friend. And when a year after his marriage Ben had a massive coronary, he found he was no longer in a position to modify Stella’s behavior. After his illness he was unable to continue running his cleaning business, and without him it threatened to go under. Were it not for Stella, he would have lost it. But she had lent him the money necessary to stay afloat. At least he had thought it was a loan. As it turned out, she owned the plant and she owned him.
Ben was brought out of his reverie by the shrill sound of Stella’s voice asking, “What time did you get home last night?”
Nervously, Ann answered, “Gee … I don’t know … I guess about eleven o’clock.”
“It was later than that,” Stella corrected her quickly.
Ann found herself apologizing. “You’re probably right. I suppose I didn’t look at the time.”
“Doesn’t it ever occur to you that someone might be concerned when you’re late? But of course this is nothing new. You’re never on time, and you’re never considerate.”
Ann’s nerves were already frayed, and she wanted to scream out, Don’t treat me like a child! I’m twenty-one years old.
But noticing the look of pain on her father’s face, she once again tried to keep the peace. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more considerate.”
Seasons of the Heart Page 2
