Moira sat down and kissed Teddy’s ear. Teddy sighed and closed her eyes. Then she pulled Moira back on the bed so their legs dangled over the side. They snuggled for several minutes until Teddy said, ‘You sure this is all right with you?’
‘Mmmm,’ Moira said.
‘Well, in that case,’ Teddy smiled to herself and then at Moira, ‘I must confess I don’t know the next step.’
Moira bit her lip, remembering again how Teddy was still a virgin. She had only gone to the movies with Angela and maybe done some serious imagining. She, herself, was more practiced. Moira decided to be light-hearted. ‘Guess,’ she grinned.
‘I’d say it has something to do with removing these clothes and getting under the covers.’ Teddy sat forward, pulling Moira flat on the bed. She started to unbutton her own blouse.
Moira interrupted, ‘Oh, no, let me.’
Teddy looked down at the floor, nervous about her nervousness.
‘Unless you think it’s silly,’ Moira offered.
‘No, no,’ Teddy’s voice slurred, ‘not silly.’
Mother, may I go out dancing
Mother, may I go romancing?
Must I keep on dancing …
Moira unbuttoned the blouse cautiously as if opening a secret between them. Teddy, always irritated by her own large breasts, was amazed by Moira’s appreciation. Moira unsnapped Teddy’s bra, ran her finger along the contour and began to suck greedily on the nipple. Teddy considered this pregnant woman sipping at her breast and she closed her eyes for what seemed like an hour, floating above the bed. Then she turned her face fully on Moira and unzipped her top. Moira seemed to be floating with her — happier, freer than she had looked in months. When Teddy’s fingers drew away from Moira’s bra, she glanced down and pulled back in surprise at the ripeness of Moira’s breasts. They had seen each other naked a hundred times before — in the bath or as they dressed to go out for the evening — but Teddy, at least, had never dared a real look. Moira’s breasts were full and freckled and pink at the tips, where her own were a burnt amber. Carefully, Teddy rested her head on this softness. She stroked and licked and touched as Moira moaned and then, somehow, she was over on her back and Moira was undoing her skirt, unhooking her stockings. The swish of nylon and the rustle of taffeta distracted Teddy from her self-consciousness and allowed her to savor the sensations.
For the longest time, Moira couldn’t get enough stroking. Her vagina throbbed to be touched, but her eyes and her fingertips were hungry for the feel of Teddy’s athletic, graceful body.
‘Graceful?’ Teddy turned on the pillow. ‘Long, yes, but graceful I’m not.’
‘I’ve often coveted these legs, you know, so lithe. I feel like a clunk in comparison.’
Teddy couldn’t believe that Moira had been watching in the same way. No, it was hardly the same way. Moira’s interest was much bolder. ‘“Clunk,” what do you mean by “clunk?” You’re beautiful, Moira, more beautiful than anyone I know.’
Moira tried to stop — but failed — hearing Randy’s voice. But his words had been different. He had meant beautiful in the sense of measurements and complexion and turned-up nose. She felt more deeply scrutinized by Teddy’s appreciation. She returned to the present, reaching down to Teddy’s belly and below.
Teddy stretched back and waited, hungrily. She watched Moira’s intent fingers, hoping they would slide lower, go deeper between her legs, and enter her. Yes, yes, this was the way Moira was moving. Brushing Teddy’s pubic hair with the palms of her hands, gently parting her legs and stroking the soft skin on the inside of her thighs, tentatively outlining the vulva until she looked up, locking Teddy with her eyes, asking ‘OK?’
‘Yes,’ Teddy nodded, no wind left for speech, so she nodded again, yes, yes.
As Moira explored her private place, Teddy wavered between experiencing the physical pleasure and rejoicing: this is Moira; this is Moira. She imagined her body as a star, glowing fuller and fuller, about to catch fire. She saw Moira’s face over the dinner table; she watched Moira walk across the living room. She opened her eyes and there was Moira right here, holding her, looking back passionately. Overwhelmed by this intensity, she closed her eyes until finally, oh, it wasn’t long, it was soon, too soon, she burst into flame and heard a scream from across the room, an echo, her voice, ‘Oh, Moira, Moira, Moira. Yes, yes.’
Taut between exhaustion from her own journey and hunger for Moira, Teddy lay back on the bed and listened to the waves lapping through her body. Then she turned to kiss this friend, this new partner, who suddenly opened her mouth and drew Teddy into a warm, wet, cavernous caress. At first Teddy felt cautious about Moira’s pregnancy. She didn’t want to disturb anything.
But Moira’s appetite was clear. Slowly, Teddy moved from Moira’s mouth, kissing down her chest, across her stomach and lower. The smell of Moira’s sex drew saliva in her mouth, but she felt too shy, too fearful of Moira’s shock to lick the skin below. Instead, she unfolded the petals with her fingers, delighted by the glistening softness. Then, with her thumb, she stroked Moira’s clitoris, inhaling the tart scent, until Moira’s breaths came more rapidly. Then Teddy was too excited for anything except stroking and watching Moira’s flushed face, her red, red mouth wide, drinking in the heavy air, her eyes closed, but concentrating, the sweat pearling down her hairline to her moist neck.
Chapter Twenty-One
Fall 1944, London
BOULOGNE LIBERATED
TITO TAKES BELGRADE
SOVIET TROOPS CROSS DANUBE
THE TUBE WAS PACKED. Ann realized how long she had spent musing in the park. She would have to stand. She wanted a smoke, but she couldn’t balance a briefcase, a book and a cigarette. Damn. Squeezing near a man who was buried in the Daily Mail, she held tight to the overhead strap. He raised his eyes, evaluating her brown wool suit. Self-conscious, she considered she never would have worn anything this tailored at home. But the British women were more conservative and the climate was so much damper. How she hated feeling physically crowded like this, backed against her own anxieties. She had planned to read that book that everyone was raving about, The Horse’s Mouth. It was a birthday present from Esther, part of her campaign to ‘Anglicize Ann’. She would have her drinking shandy any day now.
There was no way to stand steady and hold the book. So she fell back to thoughts about Leah. Motherhood. Moira would tell her to take the child. Her friend’s last letter was full of a new excitement about the pregnancy. Well, being a mother was less complicated for Moira. Besides, she had already made a decision. Today was the day she would have to explain to Leah about going to the Goldmans. It had all been arranged. They were the perfect family — a built-in sister with Sarah, her own room, Kosher kitchen. She was lucky. She would be loved and cared for. Ann could visit her. Anerley Park was not that far by rail. Yes, it would be OK, she kept telling herself. She had made the decision last night. Which is why she couldn’t sleep. Which is why this headache was nagging at her neck. Well, she would talk to Leah first thing. That was the only way.
The dormitory seemed the safest, most private place to meet. Ann arrived ten minutes early, paced the length of the cots twice, then sat on Leah’s bed. She knew it by the teddy bear Reuben had given her last month. Ann begged Reuben not to treat the child specially, not to give her false hopes. She stared blankly at the bedraggled animal. How could it get this ragged in one month? Still, it was Leah’s only reliable family, her daily confidant and companion.
Ann really did not understand her own feelings about family. So often when she thought about her own childhood, she wondered whether she had a family or whether they were simply different constellations of people divided against each other one moment and regrouping to take care of each other the next. She and Daniel and Papa took care of Mama during her spells. She and Mama and Daniel buffeted Papa’s dreams. She and Daniel schemed to take their paren
ts back to Germany. What would she have done without Daniel? She picked up the stuffed animal, smoothing the fur over its face. She remembered the week on Long Island when she and Daniel played cowboys near the Joneses’ store, just the two of them with the flies and mosquitoes, sloshing around in the ditch, lying on the side of the road, pointing their make-believe pistols at the passing cars. She recalled that Saturday in high school when they climbed to the top of Bernal Heights, she a length ahead of him and how, when they made the summit, they pointed to the land they would own one day. He had put his arm around her and said she wasn’t bad for a girl.
Daniel had always tolerated her ‘temperament’ as the family called it. He was an easy-going kid who expected things to come his way, not obnoxiously, but confidently. He was sympathetic about her headaches, went with her to the first doctor about them. But she noticed he grew less solicitous as the headaches continued over the years. Stanford seemed like another world, one from which she was irrevocably excluded. And she felt as if she had gone through a divorce without the trial. There was so much now she longed to talk about with Daniel. So much she wanted to ask, to settle. A small cough distracted Ann.
The child was frowning, so deeply you would have thought someone had drawn a black crayon mark between her brows. The severe expression was incongruous with the soft tufts of blond hair. Was anything else this beautiful?
‘Why so sad?’ Ann reached for Leah’s hand.
The child stood at the bottom of her cot and refused to move closer.
‘Did something happen at play today?’
Leah stared, waiting for Ann to answer her own questions.
‘You know we have something serious to talk about?’
‘I don’t want to,’ Leah began, then stopped abruptly, as if suddenly recalling her resolution of silence.
‘But we must talk.’ Ann lowered her voice and moved toward the child. Leah’s stubbornness reminded her of herself as a girl. ‘There isn’t much time to talk,’ Ann told Leah.
Ann watched as the child’s eyes filled with tears and then as the tears were swallowed back behind the pink rims. The girl had will.
‘You remember Sarah?’
Leah was silent.
‘And Mrs Goldman?’
Leah turned away.
‘Listen, honey, they want to take you home with them. They want to give you a lovely room overlooking a garden. You’ll have Sarah to play with. A big sister. You’ll have a splendid time, just like I did with my brother Daniel. It will be ever so much more cosy than this dormitory.’ Ann had no idea where these words were coming from.
‘I want to be with you.’ Leah was firmer than Ann could ever imagine herself being.
‘That’s just not possible. I have no home.’ Ann knew her words were meager defiance to Leah’s conviction. ‘I live in a room by myself.’
‘Then I’ll stay here and see you every day. Like now.’
Where did this child get her calm?
‘It’s not good for you, love. You’ll eat better there. You’ll be more comfortable.’
‘No, I won’t.’ Leah looked at her as if she were mad.
‘Honey, we’ll be able to see each other, to visit. I’ll come down to Anerley Park and you can come here with Sarah and Mrs Goldman. We won’t lose touch.’
‘That’s not the same.’ Leah persisted quietly and backed away. ‘I won’t go.’
‘Come give me a hug,’ Ann said. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. Let’s hold each other.’
The child stood rigid, shaking her head.
‘I want to be your friend.’ Ann smiled tentatively.
‘I want you to be my mother,’ Leah said quietly.
Ann began to cry.
‘Don’t do that,’ Leah demanded. Her eyes were smaller now and tired.
‘Give me a hug.’ Ann beckoned.
Leah approached cautiously. She extended her hand and Ann pulled her close into her arms.
‘It will be all right, you’ll see.’ Ann sniffed back her tears. ‘You have your mother in Germany and Mrs Goldman and me. You have lots of people who love you.’
‘No, Anna.’ The child’s voice was softer now, but just as tough. ‘I won’t go.’
Reuben came by at five o’clock, as he had promised. ‘Hello,’ he waved. Then, letting her get on with her work, he turned his large frame toward the bookcase in the corner. As he silently inspected the volumes, Ann considered his unobtrusive, yet distinctive presence. She lit another cigarette, upset to see that the Craven A box was empty. Wretched English fags; it took three of these to make one Camel. She shuffled the papers for a sense of movement, depressed that she hadn’t accomplished anything substantial since the episode with Leah that morning. She ran a hand down her cheek, suddenly aware that she hadn’t washed her face or combed her hair all day. What a sight she must be. But Reuben didn’t seem to notice. He had regarded her as ever with that distant, somewhat quizzical affection. He was as guarded about himself as he was possessive of her. She didn’t know whether to feel grateful or bemused. Sometimes she seemed unreachable. Tantalized and frightened, she often wondered why this man was drawn to her. After all, he had several university degrees. Before the war, he was on his way to being a prestigious professor of English. What did he see in a clerk-typist from America? Sure, they had had good talks; she was smart enough. But he would be better off with an educated woman like Marcia, who taught school, or his friend Myrna, the poet. Certainly he knew enough women. What did he see in her?
‘I’m almost ready,’ she said. He nodded. She needed to log the phone calls first, to give herself the impression of having done something real today.
Esther’s head was bent over her report. Ann knew her friend would be here late and she felt guilty about leaving her. But Esther would get her reward tomorrow when they discussed this evening. She had been encouraging the romance — was it a romance? — since the beginning. Right now Ann was so exhausted at the idea of further emotional exchange that she would have been just as happy sending Esther off with Reuben.
Helping Ann on with her jacket, he noticed the hole in the lining and shook his head. He was a fastidious man, despite his parsimonious attitude toward himself. Ann wondered whether the concern was for her or for the coat. Did he find her sloppy?
‘I thought we might take a long walk along the river,’ he said, holding open the door for her. They both turned and waved to Esther. ‘Maybe get a drink at the pub on the water?’ He clicked the door shut.
‘Yes.’ She preceded him downstairs, thinking that she could do with a drink.
‘So how did it go with Leah?’
‘Oh, I need a beer in front of me before we launch into that.’
They walked silently, companionably, she noticed, recollecting that they had known each other for over a year now, and had been ‘dating’ for seven months. That was the term Esther used. They would have dinner once or twice a week. He never seemed to want more than talking. Of course, she kept telling herself, he would be reluctant to get too involved with his whole family left in Austria. To her relief, he hadn’t ever elaborated on his offer to take care of herself and Leah. It was such a platonic friendship compared to the ‘romances’ at home. Or were they affairs? Could Reuben imagine that she had slept with two other men? Perhaps the first time with Stan had been more exploration than anything. But she had felt so passionate for Herb before he went to Europe. With Reuben, ‘dating’ was completely different, so much slower. Not that she hadn’t fantasized having sex with him. But in real life, they only had kissed a couple of times. And even that seemed gesture rather than lust. She enjoyed his company, admired him and fancied an interlude. But she didn’t want anything too complicated. After all they were both temporary refugees. And he was a difficult character.
They sat by the window and he went to the bar for drinks. She prepared the story. She knew h
e would be biased because he wanted her to take Leah. She would have to relate this carefully, to avoid his judgment without distorting the facts.
He walked gracefully for a big man, balancing her half pint and his pint. He always brought her a smaller drink even though he always wound up getting her a second half pint. Tonight this irritated her more than usual and she wanted to tell him. Then, most people followed this custom. How could she get so angry over a little thing? Reaching back to her neck, she was surprised there was nothing like the beginning of a headache there.
‘She says she won’t leave.’ Ann tried to sound amused. ‘A spunky little one.’
He sipped the foam and nodded.
‘I think it will be fine once she gets down there and sees the pretty room Mrs Goldman has arranged. She’ll be fine.’
‘Yes?’ He sounded genuinely curious.
‘After a while.’ She took a long drink.
‘We’ll see.’
She fell silent, angry again. She knew this was not the place to expect comfort or even advice. She had to persist with her own beliefs. And in a certain sense, she respected Reuben’s intransigence. But that didn’t quell her need for reassurance. She stared out at the Thames, so grey tonight. Dark and quiet and thick with the soot of centuries. It made her yearn for the Pacific. How she missed the sheer expanse. Would Reuben enjoy the roaring ocean? Would he be appalled? Maybe Europeans’ personal expectations were smaller because their geographical inspirations were smaller. Were they more cynical than Americans because of the mean scale of their landscape? That and the fact that their continent had been ravaged by war for centuries. He was always calling her a hopeless idealist. Hope. That was the distinction between them. How could you expect to dredge up hope from the bottom of a river like the Thames? Now the Columbia River, that was another matter.
All Good Women Page 29
