I didn't reply and he looked flustered.
"I don't mean package like some sort of merchandise. I mean to say, a more complete person. I guess I'm not the best at expressing myself," he concluded when I still sat there staring.
"I understand," I finally said. His smile flashed on, happiness brightening those green eyes even more.
"Good," he said. "So, what do you say to having some dinner with me tonight?"
"Excuse me?"
"Urn . . . going to dinner. You'd choose the restaurant, of course," he added.
"You're asking me to dinner?"
"Yes, I am," he said firmly. "I would consider it an honor if you would show me about Provincetown. If you're free, of course," he added. "I don't mean to be imposing myself. I mean, if you want to think about it . . ."
"It's not the biggest decision I have to make," I said. "You want something other than seafood, I suppose," I added, sounding too much like a hotel concierge instead of a woman who had just been asked on a date.
He smiled.
"I'm never tired of that, but I do like Italian food." "I know just the place," I said.
"I knew you would. Should I make the reservations?"
"I'll do it," I said. "Come by at seven."
"Seven it is," he said slapping his knees and then standing. "I'm looking forward to it. Well, then, I'll just say good-bye to your father and be on my way."
I watched him nearly stumble over himself to return to my father's office. He waved before he left. I sat there, shaking my head in wonder. I didn't know how long I had been waiting for someone I considered good-looking, someone I knew Belinda would consider good-looking, too, to ask me on a date. It seemed it would never happen, and here it had happened so easily and so quickly it made my head spin. I went in to tell Daddy.
"So he finally asked you, did he?" he said.
"What do you mean?" I began to grow suspicious. "You've been matchmaking again?"
"No, no," he said quickly. "He asked me about you and I said you might consider going out to dinner. That's all. Honest," he replied, lifting his big right palm toward me.
"He wanted to ask me out on his own accord?" "Yes, Olivia, he did. Stop squinting at me like that. Stop being so leery."
"Are we taking over his father's company, Daddy?" He fluttered about his paper work. "Daddy?"
"We might," he admitted, "but it has nothing to do with Samuel Logan asking you to dinner."
"Why do I wonder?"
He shrugged.
"Don't. You're a nice-looking young lady and it's time some nice-looking young man came around, Olivia."
I held him in my gaze until he had to shift his eyes away. I wanted to believe him. For a little while, I thought, I'd be more like my mother and like Belinda. I'd take a chance on my dreams and permit myself to believe in rainbows.
When I went home that night and told Mother I was going on a date, she was very happy for me. It put a little color in her wan face and she sat up in bed to review all my choices for a dress to wear. As soon as Belinda came home and saw me preparing for a date, she became excited, too. It was as if she thought my going out with a man justified everything she had done by suddenly making me more like her. She sat on my bed and watched me flutter about my room, choosing earrings, fixing my hair.
"Why don't you let me do your nails, Olivia? I'm good at it. I did Kimberly's today."
"I never polish my nails," I said.
"Well, you should. Men like a lot of color. You need a darker lipstick."
"I'm not wearing any lipstick."
"Oh," she said laughing. "Then it definitely has to be darker, and you should do your eyebrows."
"I'm not going to start being someone I'm not, Belinda, just because some man asked me to dinner."
"You don't have to change yourself, but you can make yourself more attractive. It's not a sin unless you overdo it," she declared. "You're competing with other women," she concluded.
"What?" I turned on her. "Hardly. I didn't ask him to ask me to dinner. He did of his own volition."
"His what?" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. When you're out with a man, you want to look better than the other women he might see. What's so terrible about it? Just fix your hair differently. Don't let it hang limply, and put on some makeup. Here," she said opening her purse, "try this shade. It works for me and we have nearly the same complexion."
I gazed at it, considering.
"It won't bite you, Olivia. If you don't like how you look, wipe it off."
"All right," I said.
She smiled like some devilish beguiler who had tempted me to take the first steps toward sin.
"I'll fix your hair," she followed and went into the bathroom to get my brush.
"Wait, I didn't say . . ."
"Just sit down and let me do it, Olivia. For once, let me do something for you," she pleaded.
I stared a moment. She looked very sincere.
"Okay," I said. "What's the difference?"
"You'll see. There's a lot of difference," she promised and began.
An hour later when I looked at myself with my eyebrows thinned, a bit of rouge on each cheek, lipstick, my hair neatly brushed and styled, I dared to think I might just be as pretty as Belinda after all.
"You have nothing nice to wear," she declared. "Take one of my dresses. Choose one that's a bit tight across here," she said indicating her rib cage, "and," she whispered, "wear my new padded bra."
"I don't need that. I have a nice enough dress." I showed her the one Mother had approved, a dark blue silk dress with a delicate lace collar. Belinda grimaced.
"It's not very sexy," she said. "It looks like a dress for one of Mommy's tea parties."
"I don't want to look sexy. I want to look decent, proper."
"Boring," she sang, rushed out to her room and returned with the low-cut black evening dress she wanted me to wear. "At least try it on," she said. "With the bra." She held the garments out until I took them. I went into the bathroom to dress. It had been some time since I had been naked in front of anyone, even Belinda. I didn't want her measuring my breasts and studying my waist and hips to see if there was any fat. She had developed faster than I had at her age and her development didn't seem to want to stop, whereas mine hit a plateau and ended.
When I stepped out, she whistled.
"Is this Olivia Ann Gordon? My sister?"
"Oh stop it," I said but glanced at myself in the mirror. I did look sexier than I ever had. It put a flutter in my chest. Did I dare go out in these clothes, looking like this? "I don't know," I said.
"Do it, Olivia. You won't regret it. Show it to Mommy and Daddy, too."
"I don't know," I said again, but I did go into Mother's bedroom. Daddy was there, sitting at her bedside. They both looked up when I entered, Daddy's face full of surprise. Mother smiled.
"You look absolutely beautiful, dear," she said.
"I knew I had two beautiful daughters," Daddy said. "Any man would have to be blind not to notice you, Olivia."
"It's not too much, Mother?"
"No, I think you look fine," she said.
"See?" Belinda boasted. "I did it. I dressed her."
"Which is why I'm not sure," I said but Mother gave me an approving nod. "Okay, I'll go like this."
"Where are you going?" Daddy asked.
I felt my chin drop.
"Oh no. I forgot to make the reservation!" I cried. Mother actually laughed. I hurried out to make the call and hoped there would be no problem. I wanted us to go to Antonio's on the Point. To me it was always a special little place. Fortunately, they had no difficulty booking us for seven-fifteen. All I had to do was wait for Samuel Logan.
He was nearly fifteen minutes late and apologized, claiming he had gotten lost looking for our home.
"I went up the wrong road and got directions from some elderly man who sent me down another wrong road," he explained, his gaze continually moving from my face to Belinda, who stood behind me wai
ting to be introduced.
"This is my sister Belinda," I finally said. She nearly leaped at him, her hand thrust at his face as if she expected he would kiss it instead of shake it.
"Oh yes. I can see the resemblance," Samuel said.
"Olivia thinks she looks too sexy in one of my dresses," Belinda blurted.
"Belinda!"
"No, she's fine," Samuel said smiling at her. She batted her eyelashes and smiled coyly.
"That's what I told her. See, Olivia," Belinda said, her eyes fixed on Samuel.
"We're late," I said. "I don't want to lose the reservation."
"Right," Samuel said. "Pleased to meet you, Belinda."
"Likewise, I'm sure," she said. He laughed and we left the house.
"I didn't know you had a sister," Samuel said. "Your father never mentioned her." He opened the car door for me and I got in without replying. "Where are we going?" he asked after he got behind the wheel.
"Antonio's at the Point. It's a small place but the food's the best and it has a pretty view from every table," I said.
"Sounds perfect. What does your sister do? Does she work for your father, too?"
"Belinda doesn't do anything," I said sharply. "Nothing?'
"She plays," I said.
"Oh. Nice life if you can have it," he said. "No wonder your father thinks so much of you."
"You and my father apparently talked a great deal about me," I said.
He laughed.
"Well, since we might become partners, I thought it would be a good idea to know you. You and I will eventually take control of our family
enterprises. Of course, yours is far greater than mine and you might even take us over, but I can't think of a better company to consume Logan Enterprises."
"You have no brothers or sisters?"
"No. My mother died when I was young and my father never remarried."
"Sometimes, I wish I were an only child," I muttered. He heard and laughed.
We were lucky to get a table right by the window that overlooked the water and gave us a good view of the lighthouse. The blinking lights of what looked to be a luxury liner moved slowly across the horizon, and the sky had a purple glow around it.
"What a wonderful choice of a restaurant, Olivia. I see I can leave all the major decisions in my life up to you," Samuel said.
"Your life? I'm hardly in your life, just going to dinner with you, Samuel."
His smile resembled the smile of someone who knew a deep, dark secret.
"That's an oversight that I hope will soon be corrected," he remarked. His boldness was so surprising, I nearly laughed aloud. At his request, I ordered for both of us.
As usual, the food was delicious. I know I drank too much wine because I could feel the heat in my neck and my face. Samuel dominated most of the conversation, talking about himself, his education, his family and his plans.
"I've traveled somewhat, but I have yet to find any place as wonderful as the Cape. How about you?"
"I haven't traveled all that much," I said, "but I do like it here."
"Exactly. I knew from the first time I laid eyes on you that you and I had a great deal in common, and I don't mean just business interests," he said.
Even with too much wine in me, I raised my eyebrows in surprise. What did we have in common? I had yet to hear anything significant. It seemed enough for him that he believed and said it. That made it gospel.
I had to admit that he was a congenial, personable man. He seemed mature for his age, and very settled. "Do you like sailing?" he asked.
"I do, but I'm not good at it. I'm a good passenger, though."
"Perfect," he declared. "I'm good at it and I'm a terrible passenger. I like keeping busy when I'm on a boat. I even help out our fisherman and do the nittygritty work. My father thought that was the best way for me to learn the business anyway, doing it, not inheriting it. Looks like you're the same way, right in there, doing it," he said.
He reached across the table and took my hand.
"I'd like to take you sailing tomorrow. Maybe we can pack a lunch. It's promising to be a perfect day."
"I don't know," I said. "My mother's not well and I might be needed."
"I'm sorry about your mother. I hope she improves, but I hope they can spare you for a few hours. I'll call you in the morning, okay?"
"Well . . . okay," I said.
"Good."
He held onto my hand and I let him until I heard a familiar voice, the voice that need only utter a single word, a single syllable to set my heart racing.
It was Nelson Childs coming down the aisle, holding the hand of a tall, elegant looking brunette with soft blue eyes and a figure that looked like it was molded by a sculptor.
"Olivia. How nice to see you," he said pausing. "I'd like you to meet my fiancee, Louise Branagan. Louise, this is Olivia Gordon, an old friend," he said. I thought he put far too much emphasis on the word "old." She extended her hand.
"Pleased to meet you," she said with a brilliant smile. "Likewise," I said. "This is Samuel Logan."
"I know Samuel," Nelson said quickly and the two smiled at each other like co-conspirators.
"You do?"
"Aye, we've tipped a few together in our day, haven't we, Samuel?"
"At least one too many," Samuel said. "Hello, Louise. It's nice to see you again."
I looked from him to them, my surprise blooming like a rash on my face.
"I hope you'll both be at the engagement party next week. It's looking like my parents overdid it as they overdo everything," Nelson said. Then his face became more serious. "How's your mother, Olivia?"
"She's doing the best she can," I told him. I was waiting for him to dare to ask about Belinda, but he nodded sadly.
"Well, we don't mean to interrupt. Enjoy and hope to see you soon," he said.
"It was nice meeting you," Louise threw back at us as they continued on to their table.
"Aren't they a nice-looking couple?" Samuel said admiring them.
"I'm tired," I said. "It's been a long day and I have to look in on my mother."
"Oh sure. Let me get the bill," he declared and signaled for our waiter.
Samuel did all the talking on our way to my home. I was only half-listening, still having trouble getting over the sudden meeting with Nelson. He looked even more dashing and mature than ever, and it irked me that Louise Branagan did seem to be a proper fit on his arm. How could I ever have competed with such a social star?
"So I'll call you about ten A.M., if that's all right?"
Samuel said as soon as we turned into my driveway. The gate had been left open for us.
"What? Oh, yes."
"I had a wonderful time, Olivia. I really did," he said pulling to a stop. "I hope you did, too."
"Yes, I did, Samuel. Thank you."
He leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on my cheek. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow, to a lot of tomorrows."
Once again his boldness took me by surprise. I could only nod. He got out quickly and rushed around to open my door. He escorted me to the front door and there he put his hands on my shoulders to turn me to him.
"Good night," he said and leaned in to kiss me on the lips this time. "I feel like a pirate who's discovered a buried treasure," he said and returned to his car, leaving me speechless at the door.
Cape Cod was famous for its weather, famous for the way a storm could sweep in and sweep out, all in the same morning. No wonder Samuel Logan liked it here so much, I thought, and went into the house, flushed and overwhelmed by his energy and determination. Someone had lit a fire under him, I concluded. I only hoped it was me.
8
Deathbed Confession
.
There were times when I believed that Samuel
Logan had been advised that the way to my heart was to dominate my every free moment. Not a day passed since our first dinner date that he didn't call and propose some activity. Most of the time, I did enjoy his company. Our sail
ing date was pleasant and successful. He was skillful at boating, and looked to be even more comfortable at sea than he was on land.
"The sea is in my blood," he told me.
"Whatever percentage that salt normally makes up in our bodies is doubled in mine. My father says that as a baby I was most content when he and my mother took me in a boat. The roll of the waves and the sound of the surf was the best lullaby. We are both children of the sea, Olivia. Our lives are so tied up in it, we can't go far from shore."
I would sit and listen to his speeches over dinner, or in the car, or just while we were walking through town and I would think that if Samuel Logan was anything, he was surely a good salesman. I had to admit to myself that I enjoyed the attention, enjoyed being taken to restaurants and the movies, having car doors opened for me, having a good-looking man escort me everywhere until people began to take note and think of us as an item. I know Mother was happy for me. Belinda, on the other hand, took all the credit.
"If I hadn't talked you into fixing yourself properly, you might never have kept his interest, Olivia."
"If he's only interested in me now because of a little lipstick and rouge, I feel sorry for him," I told her. She took it wrong, of course.
"So you've slept with him. How was it?" she asked one night while I was preparing to go out to dinner again with him. "Everything you've hoped it would be?" she added with that silly, little laugh.
"Of course I haven't slept with him," I snapped. "I don't jump into bed with the first man who comes calling. Or with every man who comes calling, like someone I know."
"Hasn't he tried?" she followed, undaunted, her eyes sparkling wickedly. "Haven't you wanted him to try?"
"Stop it," I said turning back to the mirror. "You might have this sort of a conversation with your bubble-gum friends, but not with me."
"I'm just wondering what you do then," she said with a shrug.
I spun back on her.
"You're wondering what we do? We do what
mature adults do. We go to dinner. We talk. We admire the scenery. We go to art galleries or to the community theater or a film and talk about the story, the characters. We get to know each other better to see if we really belong together, and then, then, after we are comfortable with each other, we develop in other ways," I lectured.
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