A Marriage of Convenience

by Doreen Owens Malek

  "Not for a while. He was talking to some of the men when I left him, and he was absorbed in the conversation."

  "All right. Come along now, I want you to rest. Do you think something you ate disagreed with you? "

  "No, I'm sure it was just the champagne. I really shouldn't drink the stuff, it's been disagreeing with me lately." Sharon smiled weakly.

  "It's this way," the older woman said, leading her through the kitchen and up the back staircase to the second floor of the mansion. They passed an elaborate master bedroom suite and stopped at the end of the hall.

  "Here we are," Mrs. Jensen said, pushing open a door to reveal a bedroom and bath decorated in neutral tones. She switched on a bedside lamp and said, "Just make yourself comfortable. I'll bring up the tea in a bit."

  "Please, that's not necessary. I've kept you from your guests long enough."

  "Don't be silly. You are one of my guests. Be back in a jiffy." Mrs. Jensen went out, closing the door.

  Sharon felt ashamed about lying to such a nice lady, but the alternative would have been to tell her the truth, that she was hiding in a china closet from her husband. Straightforward people like Mrs. Jensen did not understand such things.

  Sharon read a magazine she had found on a rack near the bed until Mrs. Jensen returned with a flowered teapot on a little tray. Sharon made small talk until her hostess left and then dutifully drank some of the tea.

  It wasn't long before there was a knock at the door. Thinking that one of the staff had arrived for the tray, Sharon said, "Come in."

  Tay entered the room and surveyed her with folded arms.

  "Faking?" he said, raising his brows.

  "Not exactly," Sharon replied. "Mrs. Jensen found me and jumped to conclusions. I didn't dissuade her."

  "Where did she find you?"

  " In the pantry,'' Sharon mumbled.

  "Where?"

  "In the pantry," she said loudly.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, like a parent reasoning with a child who refused to go to sleep.

  "Why were you in the pantry?" he said patiently, as if it were a normal question.

  “I wanted to get away.''

  “You wanted to get away from me."

  "I didn't say that."

  “Who, then?" he said sarcastically. "Santa Claus? I was the one who kissed you."

  Sharon stared at him, annoyed by his tone. “Perhaps I wanted to get away from the hordes of your ex-girlfriends parading through the rooms downstairs."

  “Are you on that kick again?" he demanded. "Remember the bimbo bin?"

  "I am not imagining this one. Half of the women at this party are your ex-lovers, and I think you knew they would be here."

  "Are you suggesting that I set you up?" he said, his eyes narrowing.

  "What would you call it?"

  "I would call it George Jensen inviting the entire San Gabriel Valley to one of his parties,"

  "You weren't privy to the guest list?"

  "Privy? What is that, lawyer talk?"

  "Did you know who was coming tonight?" Sharon rephrased the question.

  "I am not George Jensen's social director. I can't help it if he invited some women I used to date,"

  "Date? Date? Like in Frankie and Annette? Come on, Tay, you did more than date them."

  "So what if I did?" he demanded, standing. "I suppose you've been in a convent for the last ten years."

  "We're not talking about me," Sharon said.

  "We are now. I know why you didn't want to come tonight."

  "Of course you know why, I don't like putting on a show, pretending to something that doesn't exist."

  “That's not the real reason.''

  “Then what is?'' she said, playing along.

  “You know that people think you married down, a lady lawyer hooking up with her father's hired hand to hang on to the family ranch."

  "Tay, nobody thinks that," she said, surprised by how much this apparently bothered him.

  "I think that," he said flatly. "You wouldn't be in this if your father hadn't forced it on you, you certainly never would have married me. Have you even thought of me in all the time since you left?"

  "I've thought of you," Sharon said quietly.

  "I'll bet. You thought about a ridiculous teenage crush you were glad to leave behind the instant you entered college. I became an embarrassing memory.”

  "How dare you say that to me?" Sharon said, sitting up. "You know that we agreed..."

  "Can we stop talking about agreements and arrangements for one minute? How do you feel? Did you want to come here? Are you happy being here now?"

  "That's not a fair question," Sharon began, and he held up his hand.

  "I don't want to hear that," he said. "Fair, unfair, all of your fancy talk boils down to one thing: you can't wait to dump both me and the ranch and run back to Philly with your pockets full of pesos.''

  "Now wait a second. Just because I talked to that man from Citrus Farms doesn't mean I've made up my mind."

  "You can't wait to dump me, then. Let's leave the ranch a separate issue."

  "I can't wait to dump you? You're the one who avoids me."

  "You've made it clear you don't want me around you."

  They were staring at each other hostilely when Mrs. Jensen knocked on the door.

  "Sharon, are you still in there?" She opened the door and saw Tay. "I thought I heard voices," she added, smiling. Her smile faded when she noticed their expressions.

  "Is everything all right?" she asked, looking at Tay.

  "Everything is fine," Tay replied. "I was just saying that since Sharon isn't feeling well, I'd better go down and get the car. I'd like to take her home."

  "I think that might be best," Mrs. Jensen said. "You two will have to come back another time when Sharon can stay longer."

  Tay left, and Mrs. Jensen said, "My dear, I hope you won't think I'm prying, but is it possible that you're pregnant?"

  Sharon looked at her, nonplussed.

  "Oh, I know you two haven't been married that long, but I'm aware that young people nowadays don't wait. And I must say it could be just the thing. I was telling my husband ..." Her voice trailed off and faltered into silence when Sharon did not respond.

  "I don't think I'm pregnant," Sharon said quietly.

  "Maybe you don't know. The symptoms are there. When I was carrying my first I couldn't abide liquor in any form, it just turned my stomach on a dime.''

  Sharon looked away. "Other things can cause an upset stomach."

  Mrs. Jensen nodded. "Well, you should check it out, just in case. Now let me clear these tea things away, and you take your time coming downstairs. If you'd like to rest a little more that would be fine."

  "I'm feeling much better, thank you. And I appreciate your kindness."

  "Oh, anything for Tay's wife. George and I are very fond of that boy. I have an idea that you're just what he needs."

  Mrs. Jensen left, and Sharon felt absurdly like crying. That sweet lady, dreaming of happy families and happy babies, when in reality nothing could be further from the truth.

  How long can I take this, Sharon wondered? It was turning out to be more difficult than even she had anticipated.

  She glanced in the mirror above the dresser and straightened her sparkling straps, then marched out of the room and down the stairs.

  She was met at the bottom by one of the old friends George had promised, and he took her to meet some more.

  She was distracted for a few moments while she talked to them, but the problems came back in a rush when she looked up and saw Tay standing to one side, watching her.

  She excused herself and went over to him.

  "Waiting for me?" she asked.

  "That's my job, isn't it?" he said.

  Sharon ignored that one and said, "I have to say goodnight to George and his wife."

  "I did that already. Let's go."

  He was still acting distant as they went out to the car and Sharon said, "W
hat's wrong now?"

  "Martha Jensen just told me she thinks you're pregnant."

  Sharon glanced at him and then looked again. He was perfectly serious.

  "Tay, she thought I wasn't feeling well and made an assumption," she said, amazed. "We're supposed to be married, how could I tell her that couldn't possibly be the case?"

  "Are you?" he said. "Pregnant?"

  Sharon stopped walking. "Of course not. What are you talking about?"

  He turned and faced her. "You wouldn't be the first woman who found herself in that situation. Maybe you had a stronger motivation for marrying me than just your father's will."

  Sharon slapped him as hard as she could, her eyes stinging with tears as if she were on the receiving end of the blow. "You are despicable. I'm not going anywhere with you. Drive home by yourself!" She turned and headed back for the house.

  "Sharon," he called after her. "Sharon, wait."

  She ignored him.

  He stood uncertainly on the driveway, watching her walk back to the house, then jammed his hands into his pockets and headed toward the car.

  Sharon climbed the stone steps again and, once inside, told the maid that she needed to use the phone. The woman took her to a back room on the first floor, which turned out to be the library. Sharon used the extension there to call a cab.

  "Shall I get Mrs. Jensen?" the maid asked, noticing Sharon's unhappy expression.

  "No, no," Sharon said quickly, thinking of the new set of lies she would have to tell her hostess. "There's no need. My husband took the car earlier, that's all." About sixty seconds earlier, she added silently.

  The maid was satisfied and left, and after a few minutes Sharon got up and waited outside until the cab came.

  The house was dark and silent when she got back. It was obvious that Tay had not returned, and Sharon assumed he was off comforting himself elsewhere.

  She undressed and got into bed, but she couldn't sleep. The events of the evening kept replaying themselves in her mind. She saw Tay's face after he kissed her, and his expression when he accused her of being pregnant. She was falling into a doze when a loud thud from the vicinity of the kitchen snapped her awake.

  She thought of prowlers but realized it was much more likely to be Tay, drunk from his nocturnal escapade. She got up and went down the hall, thinking that her presence was forcing him to return to old, bad habits.

  He was slumped on the floor in a sitting position, his back propped against the legs of a chair. His tux was ruined, the jacket ripped and stained, the shirt filthy and practically in ribbons. His mouth was bloody and his knuckles scraped raw. He was cradling his left side with his arm and wincing.

  This scenario has a certain familiarity about it, Sharon thought as she knelt next to him. But as she took a closer look she realized that he wasn't drunk, just hurt.

  "Tay?" she said, shaking his shoulder.

  He blinked up at her, seemingly dazed.

  "What happened to you?"

  "Got jumped," he mumbled, trying to sit up straight.

  "Where?"

  "Town," he said, closing his eyes as she pushed his arm aside. She unbuttoned his shirt and found a large purpling bruise over his ribs. She touched it gingerly with a forefinger and he gasped.

  "This looks bad, Tay. We should have it X-rayed. Something could be broken."

  He shook his head. "No hospital."

  She realized that it was more important for him to rest at the moment, so she helped him to stand and, supporting him with his arm across her shoulders, walked him down to his room. She switched on the light and eased him onto the bed, allowing him to sit before she lifted his legs onto the coverlet. She took off his shoes and worked the jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, then tossed it onto the floor.

  He fell back against the pillows and propped himself on his elbows, watching her as she wiped his mouth with a towel from his bathroom.

  "This doesn't look too bad," she said. "I'm more worried about those ribs. How did that happen?"

  “Used me for a punching bag,'' he said.

  "Who did?"

  "Some townies."

  "Why, Tay?"

  "They know I don't want to sell the ranch," he said. "They're out of work, and they need the jobs the developers would bring." The speech exhausted him and he fell back, drained.

  And I guess it didn't help that they heard your wife was undecided, Sharon thought. She had probably brought this on by entertaining Mr. Morse. She finished cleaning Tay's face. When she couldn't get his shirt off the conventional way she got Rosa's sewing scissors from the den and cut it off him. It was a loss anyway.

  She brushed his side as she was pulling the scraps of material from his body and he flinched visibly.

  "Tay, I still have the rest of the pain pills," Sharon said. "Do you want some?"

  He made a dismissive gesture. "No pills. Thirsty."

  "I'll get you some water." She went to the kitchen, filled a glass and then on impulse got the bottle of pain pills from her room. Her dosage had been two, so she guessed Tay would need two and a half. She crushed them up with a mortar and pestle that Rosa kept in the utility drawer and dissolved the powder in the water.

  She returned to Tay's bedroom and he drained the glass when she held it to his lips.

  "Can I get you anything else?" she said.

  He shook his head. But when she moved for the door, he grabbed her wrist.

  "Stay," he said.

  She hesitated.

  He drew her to him with surprising strength, and she finally relented, stretching out next to him on the bed.

  "Sorry," he muttered as she settled her head on the pillow.

  "For what?" There were so many things for both of them to be sorry about.

  "What I said... about... pregnant." His voice was growing fainter, slightly slurred.

  "Forget it. Just take it easy.''

  "Jealous," he sighed, his arm tightening around her.

  "Jealous?"

  "Of the father," he mumbled.

  "Tay, there is no father, because there is no baby," Sharon said, turning her head to look at him.

  He was asleep.

  She let her head fall to his shoulder, being careful not to jostle his injured side, and soon she was asleep also.

  * * * *

  When Sharon woke she didn't realize where she was at first. It was the middle of the night, the room was not her own, and there was somebody in bed with her.

  In seconds her memory returned and with it the awareness that Tay was also stirring, pulling her into the curve of his body.

  "Baby," he said, locking his hands over her stomach.

  He was still obsessed with that idea and now doped to the gills to boot.

  "Shh," Sharon said, aware that he didn't know what he was saying.

  He pushed her flat on the bed and bent, placing his cheek next to her belly. Sharon didn't move, afraid to struggle with him and injure his side.

  "Not my baby," he murmured. "Wouldn't want my baby."

  His voice was so forlorn that Sharon was touched. Her heart was pounding as he wrapped his arms around her hips. He won't remember this in the morning, she told herself reassuringly.

  "Don't love me anymore," he said, shaking his head. "Missed my chance."

  What was he talking about? Sharon wondered, trying to piece together his ramblings.

  "Should have done it then," he said and dropped his hands to her ankles, then ran his palms up her legs, under the hem of her gown.

  Done what? she thought, panicked as he reached her thighs. She twisted away, closing her eyes. He doesn't know what's happening; you can't allow this, she told herself. But part of her did not want him to stop.

  Suddenly he pinned her and rolled on top of her, pressing her into the mattress. She could feel him hard against her thighs; he may have been medicated, but he was far from incapable.

  Sharon bit her lip in frustration. Why was it her luck to be in bed with this man only when he was
half asleep or drugged out of his mind? It wasn't fair.

  "Love me now," he said. "Love me again." He kissed her, and she responded long enough for him to relax his hold. Then she pushed him off her and vaulted from the bed.

  He stared at her hazily in the dark and rolled onto his side, breathing heavily. After a few moments his respiration slowed and became even.

  Sharon shrank against the wall, her hand to her mouth. She waited until she was sure he was asleep again before she crept from the room.

  Please don't let him remember it, she thought as she went across the hall to her own bedroom.

  And please let me forget it, too.

  Chapter 6

  When Tay woke up in the morning he had a dull headache and his side felt like it was on fire. His memory of the night before was foggy, but he knew he hadn't been drinking. He'd taken a beating but was sure he gave better than he got. It was the dreams that bothered him.

  They were not the nightmares that tormented him when he first got out of the army. He hadn't dreamed of the war in years; hard work and a purpose in life had managed to exorcise those demons. These dreams were about Sharon, and they remained with him in daylight, erotic wisps and snatches that tantalized with their very brevity. Images assaulted his consciousness as he rose and went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. He remembered soft thighs under his hand, yielding flesh that was as smooth as milk. At least the pictures seemed like a memory but he knew they couldn't be. He felt cheated and deprived.

  He glanced at himself in the mirror over the sink and cringed; what woman would want to get into bed with this?

  He had a terminal case of five o'clock shadow, his blue- black beard casting a sinister shade on his jaws and chin. His fleshy lower lip, always a target in a fight, was split and scabbed. He washed his face gingerly and tried to put on a shirt but his ribs protested. The damn things probably were broken, or at least cracked. They'd been broken before and had felt the same.

  He left his room and went to the kitchen, where Rosa and Sharon were making breakfast. He took a cup of coffee from the pot and was attempting to beat a hasty retreat when Sharon said, "I made an appointment at the clinic in Glendora for you at ten. I'll drive you in to see the doctor."

  Tay stared at her. "I'm not going to see any doctor."