The Celestial Bed

by Irving Wallace

"I know you will. I'm sure you will."

  Brandon reached for her again, but she held him off briefly and, cocking her head at him, considered him with special seriousness.

  "And you, Paul, you should be, too. You should also get a graduate degree in psychology, and then we can both be on campus and afterward have our own clinic and work together. We can work together and love together. What on earth could be better? You must do this, Paul. You must try it. If—"

  Brandon grinned at her. "I already have."

  "You have?"

  "From the moment I met you, Gayle, I knew you'd get into graduate school, and I wanted to get in, too. So I applied, went through the whole routine, and prayed."

  "And then what?"

  "My prayers were answered. I received my preliminary notification of acceptance last week."

  "You bastard, not telling me! With me worrying about your future?"

  "I couldn't tell you, Gayle. I had to be sure you'd be accepted. Because if you hadn't been, I might have withdrawn from the whole thing and gone on to do something else with you. Thank God, I don't need a scholarship. I've saved enough along the way to manage."

  She took his face in her hands. "Congratulations to you, too, Paul!" She smothered his face with kisses. "Now I'm really on cloud nine."

  He cupped his hands under her breasts. "Ever think of trying for cloud ten?"

  "I'm beginning to think of it seriously this second." They both heard the front doorbell ringing.

  "Who can that be?" Gayle wondered.

  "I'll take this one," Brandon said. He leapt from the bed and tramped out of the room. In the living room, he picked his trousers up off the floor, pulled them on, and fastening them, marched to the front door and flung it open.

  A delivery boy stood on the porch with a bouquet of yellow roses in his grip.

  He handed the bouquet over to Brandon, who signed for it.

  Closing the door, carrying the roses, Brandon tramped back through the living room to the bedroom.

  Gayle was on her knees on the bed, curious.

  "Flowers. Who can they be from?"

  "I don't know," said Brandon.

  "There's a little envelope attached to one of the stems. I can see it. Come closer."

  He did, and she tore off the envelope. "It's addressed to Miss Miller and Mr. Brandon. Let's see who sent them." She slit the envelope and pulled out a card. She read it aloud: "'We spent last night together and we did it. It was divine. We want to thank you both for making this possible. We don't know what's ahead for us, but last night—wow!'"

  Gayle squinted down at the bottom of the card and gulped. She raised her head. "It's signed, 'Nan and Adam.'"

  Brandon had put down the bouquet of flowers. "Gayle, fun and games may be all right for them," he said, "but not for me. I want to marry you."

  "When?"

  "Don't rush me, lady. First, a little premarital love, my last fling at being sinful. After that, some eggs and bacon. Then back to bed until dinner. After that, some nocturnal love. We'll be ready to sleep, and when we wake up we can get married. Or do you have anything else on your mind for today . . . and for the rest of your life?"

  "Only you, Paul. Forever."

  He climbed on the bed and rolled over next to her. He took her in his arms to begin the first day of Forever.