Love, Louisa

by Barbara Metzger

  Dante had never known a woman who didn’t want to talk about events or arguments, rehashing them into oblivion, especially when she thought she was right. He knew she’d worked hard for the party and must be tired, too, but, like the puffs of smoke polluting the starry night, he wanted to clear the air. Louisa wore a baggy sweatshirt now, and looked soft and cuddlesome, which was the problem in the first place. He kept his distance, but said, “I’m not a playboy.”

  She sighed, knowing the perfect, pleasurable moment couldn’t last, not when old Determined Dan had a bone to pick. “I know. And I should never have said what I did.”

  He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I do not spend my days in pursuit of a night’s pleasure. I don’t use women.”

  “No, but you don’t trust them either.”

  “Like you trust men?”

  “All right, we’re two wounded ducks bobbing on the pond of life. That doesn’t mean we have to swim together. We’re afloat, following separate currents.”

  Yeah. She was following hers into an old man’s arms. “I just don’t want you thinking you have to be on your guard with me every minute. I’m not going to attack you every time we find ourselves alone.” And you’re naked, he thought but did not say.

  He could see in the moonlight that she bobbed her head. “And I won’t attack you either. I’m no sex kitten looking for a tomcat. I am not interested in sex for sex’s sake, or one-night stands. What happened this afternoon was a fluke, like you said, a moment of weakness in unusual circumstances. There is nothing more to be said about it. We’re adults. You’re an attractive man and I have been somewhat…deprived. That’s all. Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing? I thought that kiss was something special.”

  “Nothing,” she repeated with positive reinforcement, as if to convince herself. “And nothing will.”

  No, now that she belonged to Mr. Bradford. Dante might not approve, definitely regretted, but he would not trespass. “Right. Nothing will.”

  “Good.”

  So why were they suddenly sharing the chaise longue and saliva? Why was her sweatshirt tangled at her neck and his shirt unbuttoned? Why were his hands at his waistband?… No, those were her hands. His hands were everywhere else, warm and tender and touching her as if she were a priceless treasure, a magic kingdom to be explored, a fire all their own to be fanned and fed until it rose and consumed both of them. Dante could already feel its heat the length of his body. Louisa could already see the light.

  The light?

  “Oh, my god! That’s Mr. Bradford’s office. If he looks out—”

  She jumped off the chaise longue so fast it tipped over, sending Dante to the wooden deck with a crash and a curse. “Everything okay out there?” Mr. Bradford called. “Fine. We’re just cleaning up.”

  Dante was rubbing his shoulder. “Well, I am glad we had that little talk.”

  Louisa pulled her sweatshirt down and her shorts up. She pushed back the loose hair from her eyes—the bobby pin had gone missing again, of course—and righted the chair, then started to stack the cushions. “They’ll get damp if left outdoors overnight. Mildew.” She knew she was babbling, but couldn’t help it. The man turned her to mush, and she couldn’t even blame him anymore.

  He carried the cushions over to the benches built along the far side of the deck. The bench seats lifted up for storage.

  “I didn’t know that. Whoever built this house thought of everything.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thanks? You built the house?”

  “Well, I remodeled an old place that was here since the forties. Some oil baron built it for a family compound and weekend retreat. It took years, because I was working on other projects at the time.”

  She brought over another pile of cushions. “You did a great job. But it must kill you to see it sitting empty all winter. I always felt bad for our little cottage when we locked the door for the last time after the summer. It’s almost a crime for a beautiful place like this to have so little use.”

  “It’s never empty. I move in when Mr. Bradford leaves.”

  “Oh, I thought you lived down by the docks.”

  “I do, on a houseboat. The kind that never leaves the harbor.”

  “With your money?” Louisa knew that was rude, but she couldn’t believe anyone would live on a boat if he could afford anything else.

  “I love the houseboat, rocking to sleep at night, all the stars for company, salt air to breathe. You can drop a line overboard and have fresh fish for dinner. It’s got heat and electricity, a hot shower, kitchen, and all the comforts of home, but it’s not great in the winter.”

  “So you stay in Mr. Bradford’s house when he goes?” What, he wouldn’t spend any of his money for a place of his own? Louisa always knew there had to be something wrong with him. No one could be that perfect. Dante Rivera was a miser. Or else he was nuts. “You’re the caretaker?”

  “Not exactly. Mr. Bradford rents it. Osprey Hill is my house.”

  Louisa looked up at the house, with its sweeping decks, wraparound views, hot tub, library, game room, bowling alley in the basement, two kitchens and who knew how many bedrooms. Then she peered out at the night, visualizing the swimming pool, guest house, gardens, fountain and tennis court. Yup. He was crazy. “You own this…and you live on a houseboat?”

  The houseboat was two stories, built on a barge. It was bigger than her cottage. “I really like the water. You should come visit one day. Or night. You’ll see what I mean.”

  “No, I could never understand. I’d never want to leave this place.”

  “It’s only a house. I started building it when I first came back east. I built it for Susan, but didn’t have the cash to pour into it all at once, so started renting it for the summer.”

  Louisa almost said, “No wonder Susan left you,” but then she remembered his former wife’s other issues.

  He went on: “Mr. Bradford loved it and offered to buy the place, but I couldn’t see letting it go. So he rents it every year. That pays the taxes, the upkeep, the utilities and a really nice profit. Besides, I like him.”

  “And your houseboat.”

  He smiled, white teeth flashing in the porch light. “And my houseboat.”

  Louisa couldn’t help herself. “What did Susan think?”

  “She thought I was crazy, of course. She only wanted to live in Manhattan and couldn’t understand why I’d want to sink the time and effort and money into a place out here. She never lived here, if that’s your next question. We split up before it was finished.”

  “You two had different aims in life.”

  He laughed outright. “You might say that. We had nothing in common. Not even sex, it turned out. What about you and Hopalong?”

  “Howard? Oh, the sex was all right. Comfortable. We were busy, and tired, so we didn’t do it all that often the last couple of years. But it was nice.”

  “I meant your goals in life.”

  “Oh.” At least it was too dark for him to see her blushing. “Howard wanted to make partner at the law firm. I don’t know what, after that. More money, I’d guess. I never thought much past the wedding. I suppose I hoped we’d buy a house out of the city someday, but we always talked about my getting a better job, not getting pregnant. That was all right with me.”

  “But you like kids.”

  “I like some kids,” she corrected him.

  “You’d like your own.”

  She was beginning to think so, seeing other children than her sister’s spoiled brats. “Maybe.”

  “You would.” He slammed the lid on the bench storage bin, straightened and said, “Sex with us wouldn’t be comfortable.”

  Louisa thought of the heat and the haste and the having to be closer, no matter what. He’d be black and blue from falling off the chaise longue. “No, it wouldn’t be comfortable, or nice.”

  “Nice is boring.”

  Making love to Dante Rivera would never be boring. Sweet and swea
ty, tumultuous and tender, raucous, rousing, and life-reaffirming, but definitely not boring. “We’ll never know, will we?”

  “I guess not. Too bad, huh?”

  She didn’t answer. She went inside for her car keys and her dog.

  She found the car keys and her pocketbook. She didn’t find the dog. “Here, Champ,” she called softly, in case Mr. Bradford had gone to sleep. “Come, boy.”

  Champ did not come. She went to the stairs and called, a little louder. No scrabble of claws on the hardwood floors answered her call. She went to the back, toward the kitchens, thinking he’d gone to Marta for handouts, but the lights were all out there except for the security lamp.

  “Come on, baby. It’s late and I’m tired.” She tried the game room and the library and Mr. Bradford’s office, where Champ was used to hanging out. No dog. Beginning to get upset, Louisa went back out the sliding doors to the deck, calling his name. All of his names. The longer he did not come, the louder her shouts.

  Dante had gone to his truck, intending to follow Louisa back to town, just to make sure she got home safely. He heard her calling for the dog, her voice growing higher and more frantic. “Damned woman.” Not damned dog, but damn the woman who wanted him to keep his distance, then drew him to her side. Either she was naked or needy; the result was the same. He got out of the truck, taking his flashlight from under the seat.

  “Dante? Thank goodness you didn’t go yet. I can’t find Champ. I put him inside when the fireworks started, because he doesn’t like the noise, and now he isn’t there. The door was open all night though, so he may have gone out. Did you see him after supper?”

  Dante had noticed nothing but Louisa, and Mr. Bradford’s plans for her. That is, his plans for Paumonok Harbor. “No, but I bet he’s hiding under one of the beds.”

  Louisa followed him back into the house, but she was worried. “He’s never not answered my call. Except for the time a deer came in the yard, and that Rottweiler someone brings out on weekends. That’s why I needed the fence.”

  “The house is big. Maybe he didn’t hear you.” They started on the top floor and called down the halls, putting on lights, opening closets, checking under beds. No dog. Mr. Bradford came out of his bedroom when they reached his corridor, wiped his eyes, looked under his bed. Then he said the dog would come home when he was hungry, and went back to sleep.

  “I thought he loved Champ,” Louisa murmured, disappointed. “He’d help look if he did.”

  He’d help look, Dante thought, if he loved Louisa.

  Dante knocked on the housekeeper’s door. “Sorry, Marta,” he called through the door, “but is Champ in there with you? We can’t find him.”

  “The only champion I have in here is Rico, Mr. Rivera,” Marta answered back with a giggle.

  Dante led Louisa away before she could comment. “Come on, let’s try outside. Maybe he got shut into the pool house when we were putting away the pillows.”

  “Oh my god! What if he fell into the pool?” She was flying out the door, not waiting for him and the flashlight.

  A frightened dog might have fled anywhere. Dante flipped all the floodlight switches, so part of the property was lit up, at least: the pool and the tennis court, the long driveway, garden fountain, and the path down to the beach. The lights had been off during the party, to make the night darker for the light show. Champ wasn’t in the pool house, or the pool, thank goodness, or the garden shed, the garage or the old well house. Together, Dante and Louisa covered the entire estate and the shore line, calling and whistling and clapping their hands. Someone down the beach yelled “Shut up,” but no dog barked.

  Louisa was out of breath and out of tissues, trying to keep up with Dante and mop the tears out of her eyes at the same time. “He’s not here. Or he’s hurt.”

  “Don’t get yourself in a panic. No one would hurt him.”

  “Then why doesn’t he come when we call him? You know he always does.”

  “Maybe he’s so far away he can’t hear us. I bet he got scared and went home, to your house.”

  “My house? That’s miles away! Across town, through traffic!”

  Dante didn’t like the idea either, but he said, “He’s a smart dog. He’ll know the way.”

  “What, with all the cars leaving the beach when the fireworks were over? He’s dark gray, no one would see him! And I never put the reflector tab on his collar, and I should have held him. I knew he was frightened and I left him alone and now he’s gone.”

  Dante was stroking her back, letting her dampen his second shirt that day. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t blame yourself, and don’t start jumping to dire conclusions. We’ll find him.”

  “You don’t understand,” she cried. “You’ve never lost anything you loved that much.”

  “Yeah, Louie, I have,” he answered quietly. Then he added, “I know he’s your closest companion right now.” He didn’t say crutch. “And he loves you. He’ll come home to you, you’ll see.”

  She started for her car. “I’ll go look.”

  “No, I’ll drive back to your house. I’ll call you on my cell phone when I get there.”

  “You do think he’s lying on the side of the road somewhere! You do! That’s why you don’t want me to go looking. You’re trying to protect me as usual.”

  “No, I think you should stay here calling in case he chased a deer into the woods and can’t find his way back yet.” He fished one of his business cards out of the truck’s glove compartment. “Call me if he shows up.” He kissed her forehead and drove off slowly, looking to either side of the driveway, whistling.

  Now Louisa was out in the dark, on her own, terrified, imagining every possible, horrible scenario. Somehow she made another round of the grounds, cursing, praying, weeping as she ran from one circle of illumination to the next.

  Her best friend was missing, and her other best friend had taken the flashlight.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  What should she do? Sitting here crying was not an option. Not a good one, anyway. Louisa thought about following Dante, a comforting idea but not practical. She still had no cell phone to tell him where she was, which he found ridiculous. She hadn’t found the money. Now he couldn’t call her if she went anywhere else, and they might miss each other altogether. She could rouse Marta and Rico and beg them to help, but if Champ hadn’t answered to her call, why should he answer to theirs? Mr. Bradford was tired and old, and paying her not to let anyone bother him, including Louisa.

  She could call the town’s animal control officer, but that office was closed at night, which meant going through the central emergency switchboard. The police had enough to do on the Fourth of July besides listen to her cry over her lost pet. They’d laugh. Besides, the dog warden was Jeanette, who would have driven Champ back to Mr. Bradford’s if she found him on the way home. No, she might have kept him, taking him away from Louisa because she was a negligent owner, letting a dog run loose. Jeanette would give him to a better family, one who could afford to have him professionally bathed and clipped. Or she’d send him back to that dreadful Mr. Avery. Poor, poor Silver Crown’s Mental Image. Poor, poor Louisa.

  If anyone else leaving the party had seen Champ on the road, they’d have called. Here. Louisa ran inside to check the answering machine for messages.

  Someone wanted Mr. Bradford to organize an art show in Springs; the original curator had Lyme disease. Someone else was sorry they couldn’t come to the party; their hot water tank had burst.

  “My dog is missing,” Louisa muttered at the answering machine, “and all you can think about are your petty problems.” She did write down the messages for Mr. Bradford to look at in the morning.

  Why hadn’t Dante called? At least five minutes had gone by. Alvin would have made the trip in half the time. Maybe it was bad news and Dante didn’t want to tell her. Or he’d driven to the all-night veterinarian in Riverhead. Louisa couldn’t imagine what the emergency bills would be.

  Maybe Mr. Brad
ford would give her an advance. Otherwise she’d have to ask her mother. Louisa could hear her now: “Tscha, Louisa. It’s just a dog.”

  No, it wasn’t. Champ was her dog.

  She thought of calling Dante on his cell phone to hear his progress, but he’d think she was silly. He might even be one of those law-abiding citizens who pulled over to talk on the phone. She’d only be hampering his search, or distracting him. Louisa took the portable phone from its cradle and clutched it in her hand instead, willing it to ring, rubbing it as if the cordless genie would grant her the usual three wishes.

  One, let Champ be safe.

  Two, let Dante find him and call her before she had heart failure. Was that one wish or two? One, Louisa decided.

  Three, let Dante l— No, now was not the time to be thinking of Dante, especially not thinking of him giving up the search and going home to his houseboat, letting the waves rock him to sleep. What did he wear to sleep in, though? She’d bet it wasn’t 100 percent cotton, monogrammed pajamas from Brooks Brothers that went out to the dry cleaner, like Howard wore. Maybe silk shorts. Maybe nothing? When her mind started to drift on carnal currents, Louisa quickly called it back. Her dog was missing, not her sense of self-preservation. At least something came when she called.

  She had to think of Dante searching in the streets, not searing in the sheets. Dante Rivera could do it, if anyone could. He could find Champ, that was, although Louisa had no doubt he could start a fire by rubbing his two hands together—up and down her body. No! Louisa needed to concentrate on finding her dog, not rediscovering the libido she thought she’d lost.

  Dante could do it. Hadn’t he beaten Alvin at pool, and Cora Alice at horseshoes? He’d built this whole house, for heaven’s sake. He could do anything.

  Maybe not everything, Louisa acknowledged. No man was that perfect, and Dante Rivera had plenty of faults. He was domineering and liked to organize people and things, for one. He was always laughing at her and calling her Louie, for another. And he didn’t have a lot of self-control. Louisa felt a self-satisfied smile burble to her lips—her still slightly kiss-swollen lips. Mr. I’ll-Make-the-Decisions Dante wasn’t always in charge. Still, he was the most determined, bulldog-ish man she knew. He wouldn’t let a girl down…or leave her dissatisfied, the treasonous thought crept into her head.