And Be My Love

by Joyce C. Ware

  Nina's face brightened. "Would you? Not that I—just to look at, you know?"

  They knew.

  Beth decided the time was ripe to take Nina aside and inquire about a power of attorney. "Ladies, I'm afraid we've run out of time for today. Next session, I've arranged for someone to come from the Department of Health Services to talk to us about the effect of state funding cuts on some of the programs we use. Nina, could you wait a few minutes—"

  Just then a commotion broke out in the hall outside.

  "I'll 'Queenie' you, you dirty old man," screeched an aged female voice.

  Beth and Gladys Flexner exchanged wry smiles. Alvin Flexner's unvarying farewell "See you in the funny papers, Queenie" roared cheerfully to everyone, male and female alike, had hit Mrs. Balkin's fan.

  Nina, crimson with dismay, opened the door just as her mother turned on Horace Williams.

  "Now, Mrs. Balkin, that's just his way of—”

  "You're as bad as he is," she shrieked. "Look at you, black as pitch! I'll take a scrub brush to the pair of you!"

  "Mine doesn't come off, Mrs. B," Horace said.

  "I'll make it," she promised with grim satisfaction.

  Clucking comfortingly, Gladys led her father down the wide corridor, his faded blue eyes spilling tears.

  "Take me home, Nina," Mrs. Balkin demanded. "Right now!"

  "I'll send you that brochure," Magda said as Nina hurried towards the front entrance, her arm clutched in her mother's claw-like grip.

  "Please!" Nina called back. "Beth can give you my address."

  Next time, Beth thought, regretting losing the opportunity to talk to Nina about the need for a power of attorney. And if worst comes to worst, I can suggest she apply to the court for a conservatorship. Beth knew most families hoped never to find this necessary, but judging from the desperation in Nina's eyes as she hastened her mother out, she might be up to it if given a gentle nudge and the group's support.

  "That old lady could give the Wicked Witch of the West a run for her money," Horace muttered as he opened his locker, one of a bank mounted on the wall beside her. "I'd better hide the scouring powder next time she comes."

  Beth laughed. "The Brillo pads, too."

  They grinned at each other.

  "Has Andy caught up with you yet, Beth?" Horace asked. She shook her head.

  "Doris said he was looking for you—I guess he didn't want to interrupt your session. How'd it go today?"

  "Well, let's just say that with any luck, there may not be many more 'next times' for you with Mrs. Balkin."

  Horace cast his eyes heavenward and strolled back, brown paper bag in hand, to his domain where, Beth knew, he preferred to eat his lunch in peaceful privacy to renew his energies for his afternoon group.

  Beth went to Andy's office. "Horace said my son wanted to see me, Doris?"

  A harried-looking woman in her thirties looked up from the computer screen. "You wouldn't believe the stuff the state demands we give 'em to qualify for its stupid funds. Why do they care where Theresa Miller was born? She lives in Connecticut now, doesn't she?"

  "Actually, she's lived here most of her sixty-seven years, but logic doesn't apply here. I've always wondered why hospitals need to know their patients' grandmother's maiden name."

  "Yeah, that too," Doris agreed. "To answer your question. Dr. Volmar had an emergency. Don't know when he'll back." Beth turned to leave. "But you got a call from a Mr. Donovan. Nice deep voice, like that guy that does those nature specials my son likes on public television. That kid's really something, Mrs. Volmar! You know what a sweetheart Tiffany is"—her daughter was Housa's favorite sitter—"but I swear Gary knows the Latin names of every—"

  "Did Mr. Donovan say what he wanted, Doris?"

  "Oh. He wants you to call him at home between one and two. Said it was important. Left a number—" Doris tore off the top sheet of a lavender cube of notepaper. Doris Says was printed across the top in purple script. "You can use this phone if you want." Her tone was elaborately offhand, but her eyes glinted with curiosity.

  Beth smilingly declined, then turned to leave.

  "Mrs. Volmar? I'm sending out the invitations to the hospice dinner this week, do you want to check your guest list?" Beth looked at her watch. "It'll only take a moment," Doris said, rummaging through a pile of papers in the basket on her desk. "Ah, here we are!"

  Beth sped through the names. Her mother, Dana, the Halsteads, Georgina.… Twenty in all. She nodded, held the list out, then hesitated. She hadn't asked Karim yet, but.… Beth handed back the list. "Add Mr. Donovan to it, Doris."

  "First name?" she asked brightly, pen in hand.

  "Karim."

  "Kar-eem?"

  Beth spelled it. "Send it to Peabody College."

  "Any particular department?"

  "President should do it."

  * * * *

  The blinking light on the answering machine in Beth's kitchen announced messages awaiting her. As the played-back voices tinnily repeated themselves, Beth ate the remains of the tuna salad she had prepared for her supper the previous night. Yvonne reminded her of her dental appointment the following day; the white linen skirt she ordered at The Barn Shop had come in; Monica Davenport was bringing clients at one-thirty. What happened to the couple she brought last Sunday? Beth wondered as she dialed Karim's number.

  "Beth? I was afraid I'd missed you. I'm going to be away on college business for the next week or so. The limo leaves the Southbury depot at three—is it convenient for me to drop by to say goodbye? I'm all packed and ready to go."

  Beth glanced up at the wall clock. It was already quarter after one, too late to catch Monica at her office. "A realtor's about to arrive with clients, Karim—suppose I come to you?"

  "Yes, sure, but I hate to put you out."

  "You're not. I have something to ask you, anyway."

  Beth followed his directions, and pulled up near a cluster of low brick buildings buffered from the parking area by a mass of rhododendrons. A narrow asphalt path wound through the evergreen shrubbery to a duplex similar to the one Georgina had on the opposite end of the complex.

  She skittered away from Karim's welcoming kiss as he ushered her into his apartment and marked time, collecting herself, by surveying the furnishings. They were an odd mixture of brashness and elegance: a couch and lounge chair covered in a brown fabric splashed with huge orange, coral and white poppies; a small jewel-toned oriental rug in front of the couch, above which hung six gilt-framed prints of classical architecture in a state of picturesque ruin.

  "They're by Piranesi," he said. "That is, the originals were—these are reproductions for the tourist trade. Good ones, but.…" He shrugged. "I picked them up at a flea market in Rome. Val said I paid too much for them, but she always said that. Do you like them?"

  "Very much. Ralph liked old English steeplechase scenes, but they made me nervous: all those riders leaning backward while they cleared impossibly high fences.. I thought he paid too much, too."

  They smiled at each other.

  "The etchings and the little Shirvan rug are mine; everything else is included with the rent." He nodded toward the extravagantly flowered slipcovers. "I hope you realized this wasn't my choice."

  "At least you weren't charged extra for it," Beth pointed out.

  Karim laughed. "There's that," he granted, "and since the president's manse is furnished I can postpone that expense into the indefinite future, thank God. Have you priced furniture lately?"

  Beth shook her head.

  "These days a small dining table of average quality can cost upwards of six hundred dollars!"

  Beth smiled noncommittally. The mahogany table Ralph had chosen cost four thousand. "I had forgotten that the college would be supplying you with a house."

  "Only an upstairs portion of it. The downstairs is taken up with offices, a formal living room and dining room for presidential entertaining, and a kitchen for the use of caterers. It's all in the process of being
refurbished. My bedroom's going to look like something out of Colonial Williamsburg."

  "Out with the old, in with the new?"

  "It looked fine to me as it was. Merrill Longyear's morals may have been dubious, but his choice of colors suited me well enough. "It was Ms. La-di-da's idea," he added with a grin.

  "She's probably footing the bill," Beth said. "Next thing you know she'll be expecting to tango with you on a terrace overlooking the Mediterranean."

  "Now, now, Beth. Women with silk purses have their uses. Especially now, when I can hardly afford to buy a packet of thumbtacks, much less feather a nest in the style the trustees expect of its presidential occupants."

  "Maybe after you settle in you can take up the search for a small hideaway of your own, and make it off-limits to the trustees. You were looking for a house when I first met you, weren't you?"

  "It was never a realistic possibility."

  Disconcerted by his frowning denial, Beth fell silent.

  "Fortunately, I don't have much to move," he continued, his frown lines easing. "Val has the furniture; my personal things, art works mostly, are in storage—except for my books: I don't feel a whole person without them." He waved his hand towards a half-opened door. "They're stacked up in towers in the bedroom, which is beginning to look more and more like the dusty hideaway of some old recluse." His mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Come to think of it, maybe that's what I'm becoming."

  "Old recluses don't go flying off on business trips for weeks at a time."

  "Ten days, Beth. Two weeks at most. It was Georgina's idea."

  No more Ms. DeLuca?

  "She said in view of the doubts Merrill Longyear raised about Peabody's reputation as a responsible institution of learning, I might want to consider visiting some of Peabody's far-flung alumni to lay fears to rest. Nothing elaborate, more of a just-passing-through kind of thing. This seemed as good a time as any."

  "Georgina's instincts have always been sound—"

  "Except when she looks the other way."

  "Looked, Karim, not looks. Merrill Longyear hired her, but he wasn't interested in fostering team spirit. He rarely asked anyone's opinion and wasn't interested in receiving any. Surely you must know that by now."

  "Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean— We're still in the process of building a bridge, your friend Georgina and I, but sometimes we seem to be using different sets of plans."

  Beth laughed, she'd been at cross purposes with Georgina herself enough times to recognize the feeling. "Are you flying out of Bradley?"

  "Yes. First stop Chicago, then Minneapolis, Houston, Los Angeles—"

  "Will you back by June nineteenth?"

  "I certainly hope so—is there any particular reason why I should?"

  "River Haven, the hospice my son started? It's been operating for only three years, but the Frankenthaler Foundation has notified the trustees that Andy's been chosen for this year's award for the most significant private contribution to social welfare in the New England region. It's a tremendous honor. The award will be announced at the dinner we're giving to recognize the contributors, the hospice personnel and the geriatric clinic staff members who worked so hard to help Andy make his dream a reality. I would like you to come."

  "But I don't know your son—"

  "As my escort."

  His eyes searched hers. Dark honey, glinting green. "Are you sure? I imagine everyone you know, everyone who knew you and Ralph—"

  "Yes, I'm sure."

  "Then I'd be honored. You must be very proud." She nodded. Karim's hand reached out to cup her chin. Her mouth went slack as his thumb grazed along her tender lower lip; her blood sang in her veins. "Damn!" he murmured, "If only I could stay..."

  Saved by a flight schedule. Beth turned away, shamed by the thought that had flitted unbidden through her head. She felt his hands on her shoulders, attempting to turn her back to him.

  "Please, Karim. What I have to say is hard enough without.… You must know by now that I'm...attracted to you, but—" She took a deep breath. "You see, Ralph is the only man I've ever known. The only man who ever made love to me, and—”

  "Sex with him was difficult? Is that what you're trying to say, because—"

  "No, no, not difficult. If anything it was too...easy. Ralph never expected much. He never demanded anything. It was never unpleasant; it was—"

  "What was?"

  "Karim, you know what—"

  He turned her to him, his gentle hands suddenly hard, "Say it, Beth."

  She didn't know whether to cry or curse.

  "Say it!"

  "Sex. Sex, damn it! What are you—"

  He cradled her against him. "We're intelligent, responsible adults, Beth," he murmured. "Responsible people should say what they mean."

  "Even if they're afraid?"

  "Especially then. Maybe they'll find their fears are unfounded."

  "And if they aren't?" Her voice was a whisper. "What then?"

  "It's still better than not knowing."

  She rested quietly against him for a long moment. "Intimacy scares me, Karim. I know so little. I feel so awkward. I'm sure any Peabody student has had more experience than I. I'm afraid I'd bore you."

  Karim stroked her hair. "Oh, my poor darling. He leaned to kiss the lids of her downcast eyes. "My dear Beth." She looked up at him. "Do you really think sexual experience is any match for the light I see in your blue eyes? My God, I'm fifty-five years old! The act of love is hardly news for me, nor are most of its variations for that matter. Young flesh isn't worth trading a lifetime of memories for."

  He suddenly thrust her out at arm's length. "Remember the tension of the Cuban missile crisis? The shock of the Manson murders? The thrill of seeing the first man step out on the moon? '... One small step for man—' "

  "—one giant leap for mankind,' " Beth completed. "I was glued to the TV screen that entire day. I kept spooning ice cream into Dana to keep her quiet, and let Andy fend for himself. He was only six, poor child." She laughed. "By the time Ralph got home the kitchen looked as if a band of monkeys had been let loose in it."

  "Where were you when John Kennedy was shot?"

  Beth abruptly sobered. "I was just home from the hospital. Ralph had come to see me; Mother seized the opportunity to invite him for Thanksgiving with us, and this voice cut through the music on my little bedside radio. I remember thinking there wouldn't be much cause for thanks to be given that year." She searched his face. "I don't understand, Karim. Why are you asking—"

  "Don't you see, Beth?" he said, taking her hands in his. "We share a common past; the rest can come later, whenever you feel comfortable about it. I'm a big boy; I can wait." He started to pull her back into his arms.

  "Not now you can't," Beth said. "It's two-thirty and you've a limo to catch." She kissed his lips and stepped away, smiling. "Responsible, intelligent adults, remember?"

  He sighed. "Why does duty always come before pleasure? Does that strike you as intelligent?"

  "In theory no, but in practice.…" She handed him his attaché case. "Your bags are already in your car?"

  "They are. Two small ones which may push the carry-on privilege a little far, but once, when Val and I flew to Paris for a week and checked our bags through, mine were lost. Didn't catch up with me until a month after we returned to Colby. Never again."

  She smiled. Rome. Paris. Turkey this summer... not a bad kind of life. They walked together to his car. Beth waited in silence as he got in and fastened the seat belt.

  "Karim?" He glanced up at her. The tender light in his eyes and the look of his mouth, bracketed with smile lines, did something to her stomach. "Suppose I never get to feel comfortable?"

  He switched on the engine and deliberately goosed it into a roar. "Can't hear you," he shouted. "I'll keep in touch."

  She watched his car out of sight. Every time she saw him she learned something new, about him, about herself. Something unexpected. Like books stacked up in towers. Why should that alarm
her? She recalled Ralph in his study, reading, pondering, making notes, his head in shadow, his long, clever fingers leafing through the medical journals stacked around him. She had felt closed out, as if he had spun himself a cocoon of some transparent, immensely strong fiber that resisted her entry.

  Karim was neither as coolly contained as Ralph nor as obsessively orderly, but as she pictured him sprawled on his bed, his books stacked around him, little scraps of paper stuck in the pages to mark a place that interested or excited him, he seemed a distant figure in a foreign landscape instead of the warm, vital man whose portrait so often these days occupied her mind's eye. For Beth, reading provided an escape from life, not a way of illuminating it. She read to be entertained, sometimes to learn, but rarely for insight into other minds or unfamiliar ideas. She had suited Ralph; she feared Karim would find her dull.

  Sometimes she felt as if her life was an unending game of Giant's Steps. The Eastbury version she played as a child included steps backward as well as forward. She'd taken a huge one forward today by asking Karim to the hospice dinner, then avoided his kiss and had to be bullied into putting a name to her sexual insecurity.

  Say it, Beth!

  Why should such a natural thing cause her such trepidation?

  A pair of squirrels raced chattering out of the shrubbery, breaking her concentration. Karim's car was long gone. She turned toward her blue Saab. Suppose I just get in and keep driving until my fears run out?

  She opened the door, rested her chin on the top of it, and closed her eyes. The sun was warm on her head, and she thought that maybe, if she opened all the windows, she could pretend she was driving that little yellow convertible Ralph had denied her, up 1-84 through Massachusetts to 495, swing onto 1-95 through New Hampshire and Maine to Canada and up along the St. Lawrence. She felt a sudden lightness of heart. There's nothing like the call of the open road, Bethy, her father used to say. But suppose the road ran out first? What then?

  Chapter Nine

  Karim called Beth from Chicago to report his safe arrival, and again from Minneapolis. He told her ten of the alumni he had met with so far were pleased to have had an opportunity to meet him, and—"tell Georgina this"—flattered by his having taken the time to do so. An eleventh, whose daughter, it turned out, had been one of Merrill Longyear's amorous targets, had given him short shrift.