I want to go home.
Her unspoken message must have reached Bruce, for he started making leave-taking motions.
“I want you to come to dinner with me,” Tsung said at the doorway. “Please. You must. Soon. The day after tomorrow? Is that all right? Day after tomorrow?”
“Yes, yes,” Donna said mechanically. “That would be nice. Don’t you think that would be nice, Bruce?” She would promise anything to get away. Dimly, she heard Bruce agreeing that it would be nice, and then they were going through the bank again. Donna smiled brightly at all the employees, and soon they were walking on teeming Grant Avenue.
“Oh, Bruce,” she said as she hurried along at his side. “What am I going to do?”
“Well, right now we’re going to stop in at that little coffee shop near the office, and we’ll just pause a minute and see where we stand.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” she said eagerly. “That sounds so good. We’ll see where we stand.” They walked rapidly toward the Fenton and Hunt building, dodging the swelling homeward-bound crowds.
“Actually, sweetheart, this does just sound good,” Bruce said, pushing open the door of the restaurant when they’d arrived. Warmth, and the smell of freshly baked rolls greeted them. “Where we seem to be standing,” he continued, “is on the edge of a precipice. Good, the place is practically empty.” There was one long counter down the lefthand wall, with swivel stools in front of it. They sat on two stools at the end. Bruce picked up the menu and put it down again without reading a word. “They have old-fashioned ice-cream sodas here, if you’d like one. Would you?”
“Yes. Chocolate, please.”
“Two chocolate sodas,” he told the counterman, and they waited in tense silence until he brought their order.
“Pretty good,” Bruce said, taking a sip through his straw.
Donna sucked her drink pensively for a moment. “What you mean by just sounds good,” she said finally, pushing her glass away slightly, “is that Pandora’s box is wide open and stuff is coming out.”
“All sorts of stuff, I’m afraid.”
“Like the revelation that Mr. Tsung isn’t going to just quietly go away.” She sounded thoughtful.
“No. Not immediately, anyhow. Now we’ve got this dinner date with him, which we didn’t have this morning. I’d hoped we could get away with something less definite.”
“Could I have gotten out of it, Bruce?”
“I truly don’t see how. Not without bluntly hurting his feelings anyway.”
“Oh, I couldn’t have done that. I wouldn’t intentionally, I mean.” She moved the straw up and down in her soda.
“Do you know why?” Bruce asked softly.
She tilted her head to one side and considered his question for a moment. “I guess I know exactly why, don’t I?”
“You bet you do. It’s because he’s such a damned nice guy. In a way, we kind of owe him. He didn’t ask us to stroll in and turn his life upside down, but he’s taking everything very well.”
She bowed her head over her glass, and her hair fell forward to hide her face. Hiding was exactly what she felt like doing right now.
“You know I hadn’t…I guess I really hadn’t counted on that. On him being so…so like he is. What that means is that we, I mean I, will have to protect him as well as my parents. I mean from being hurt in the fallout from my little escapade.”
“Do you want my recommendation on how we might do that?”
“At this point, I’ll listen to anybody’s recommendation.”
Bruce took another noisy sip of his soda and pushed aside the glass. “This little dinner has to be it, Donna. This has to end it. The longer we let him hold the illusion that he’s got a full-time daughter, the harder it’s going to be for him. There can’t be an after-the-dinner meeting. Do you understand?”
“Right! And this quiet little dinner should be the ideal occasion to set things straight.”
“It should be. We’ll simply lay the situation out for him, politely and kindly. I can’t see how anything could go wrong.”
“I can’t either.” She tried to sound confident. A small silence stretched between them.
“Donna?”
“Yes?”
“Do you have a funny feeling that it’s not going to be that easy?”
“Oh, Bruce, I wish you hadn’t said that.” She stared at him with a worried frown, her soda forgotten. What was Raymond Tsung doing right now? she wondered.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DONNA STOOD ABOVE the ridge of froth veeing out from Lake Lady’s bow. The setting sun shot glowing spears of purple, lemon yellow and soft pink skyward from the horizon, tinting the smooth surface of the bay. Donna braced herself against the rail and lifted her face to a stiff breeze. Bruce had promised to put them under sail after they ate. She twisted to rest her chin on a raised shoulder, looking aft. She couldn’t see Bruce.
While she didn’t know enough to be of help, Donna thought she should at least offer. If she asked, maybe he’d teach her something about the boat. It was possible that he might even like her to show some interest. She walked toward the cockpit, staggering against each swell. Bruce had been a dear to suggest bringing her out on the bay instead of sentencing her to a long evening at the Hunts, where all she’d do was fret over Raymond Tsung and his dinner invitation.
The boat rolled, and she grabbed a taut line. She knew she’d worry about the dinner anyway.
On the top step of the companionway to the cockpit, Donna paused, looking down at Bruce. He sat on the jump seat behind the controls, a heel resting on each side of the wheel. He’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and the wind pressed the shirt to his lean body. His head was bowed, and she saw the slow, rhythmic tapping of a thumb knuckle against his chin. She wasn’t the only one with a lot to think about after today’s interview.
Holding a rail in each hand, she plastered a grin in place, lifted her feet and slid to the deck of the cockpit the way Bruce always did. She let out a hoot as she went—and a howl when she overbalanced and landed in a heap at the bottom of the steps.
“Hey, Donna, watch it, love.” Bruce leaped from his seat to haul her up. “Where’d you hit? Did you hit one of those brass rims?”
She made a wry face and rubbed her bottom. “I guess I did, but at least I chose a padded spot to land on. That was supposed to be my seasoned nautical performance.”
“A few more falls and you’ll get it.” Bruce grinned, then gave a low whistle. “How come that T-shirt never looked that good on me?”
“For a combination of reasons.” Donna flung her arms wide and turned a complete circle for his inspection. “You have to have that certain something—you know, whatever it is that makes people say ‘She’d look great in a sack.’ It’s probably the extravagant draping that appeals most, the way the garment accentuates my ample curves. Then, of course, the flapping, knee-length hemline does do something. I’ve always wondered what that meant— ‘do something’—when applied to clothing.”
“Mmm.” He continued to study her. “There’s another point we’re missing—probably the main one—the one that makes the biggest difference between Donna in shirt and Bruce in shirt.”
“I’ve got it.” Donna pointed her toes inward and stared at them. “The legs. If you shaved your hairy legs, you, too, could achieve this degree of loveliness.”
Bruce laughed and put an arm around her. “You’re a clown. Just be grateful that I had a spare shirt, or you’d be mincing around in that wonderful but stuffy suit you wore to your father’s.”
The effect of his last comment on Donna was like a deluge of cold water. She lost the smile. Bruce let out a long breath and planted his hands on his hips. “I could have talked all night and not mentioned him, right?”
“Right,” she agreed. “And, Bruce, could I ask you to do something for me?”
He arched one brow. “Here it comes. The last time you prefaced a request that way, I was told off for calling you a name I’d used since the day we
met. What did I do wrong this time?”
“Nothing, really. Only Dad’s—Evan that is—Dad’s my father, and I don’t want to even think of Raymond Tsung as my father. So could you not call him that, please?”
“Sorry.” He grimaced. “What are you going to call him? Mr. Tsung was all right for this afternoon; expected even, but he’s bound to want something a bit less formal.”
“I’ll figure it out later. Bruce, how am I going to face this dinner party?”
He shook her gently by the shoulder. “You will face it, love. I’ll be with you all the way. We’ll face it together.”
“You’re too good to me after what I’ve done to you.” Donna laid her cheek on his outstretched arm. “I still have to find a way to back out gracefully. I’ll do it after the dinner, of course, but I’m terrified I’ll do everything wrong when I’m with him. From what I’ve read, the Chinese are so formal. I’d better get the chopsticks out again. If I splatter tablecloths in front of him, I think I’ll die.”
Bruce tucked her hair behind her ear and ran a thumb absently back and forth across her cheekbone. Donna closed her eyes. He couldn’t know how his touch awakened her. Each time she was with him, alone, she wished they never had to go back to the rest of the world.
“We’ll go over meal etiquette,” Bruce said. “He’ll probably want to make a fuss over you, and you must try to respond properly. Don’t forget, even for a moment, that the Chinese don’t like physical contact the same way we do. No hugging, cheek-kissing—”
Donna’s laugh cut him off. “I’m not likely to start throwing my arms around Raymond Tsung, nice as he is. But so much for some people’s theory of genetic influence on emotional makeup. I’ve been a hugger ever since Mom…” She stopped talking, as heat crept up her neck and over her face. “I’m just trying, in my usual diplomatic way, to say I’m very comfortable being demonstrative with people I care about. But I didn’t have to tell you that. Shall I see what I can find in the galley? You must be starving.” They’d had lunch at eleven, and the clock on the console read eight-thirty.
“Sounds good. You’ll have to make do with canned stuff. I should have thought to stop and get fresh supplies.”
“I’ll manage,” Donna assured him, already climbing back up the ladder.
The immaculate little galley lay beyond a functional, but attractively appointed, cabin. Softly cushioned couches lined the curved hull, fronted by low tables bolted to the carpeted deck. An extensive sound system was built in, as well as a bar. Batik hangings carried out a creamy whiteand-gray color scheme. Donna thought, as she had so many times before, that Bruce had excellent taste. She glanced at the door leading to the master sleeping quarters. White had been used there too, and a darker gray, with the addition of black accent pieces and a lot of mirrors. There was also black in the compact bathroom. Lake Lady was one “toy” Donna could easily have gotten used to.
Half an hour later, she hailed Bruce, who helped carry the feast she’d prepared to the shelter of the cockpit. “Sure you don’t want to eat below?” he asked, when he’d set down a tray and taken one of her bare arms in his hands. “You’ve got goose bumps.”
“I like it right where we are,” she assured him. “The goose bumps are from coming through the wind up top. We’re protected down here.”
They ate rye crackers, slightly soggy, and cream cheese, slightly grainy from freezer burn followed by microwave thawing. Bruce devoured canned caviar; Donna took a tiny portion to be polite, and managed not to say what she usually said, that the disgusting stuff tasted like spoiled pickles to her. A tub of frozen raspberries disappeared with the remnants of a container of gourmet ice cream—thoroughly iced now and a little rancid, but delicious, Bruce assured Donna. Laughingly, she suggested the Chianti they were drinking had probably killed their taste buds. They’d grimaced with the first sip, and ended agreeing that it didn’t taste so bad, after all.
“Good grief,” Bruce moaned, spread-eagled in his deck chair. “That was awful, and wonderful. What a mixture. I can imagine what Irma would say about our menu.”
“Why Irma?” Donna asked, licking salt from her fingers.
“Mark’s mother is relaxed over everything but food. The lady is one hell of a cook, and she knows what’s right, buddy.”
Donna wrinkled her nose. “How much longer are you going to keep on thinking of me as your buddy, Bruce?”
He sat up and leaned close in the gloom. “You know that’s not exactly the way I think of you anymore, don’t you?”
She ignored the question. “You promised we’d put up the sails. There’s enough wind, isn’t there?”
He got up and flipped on the searchlights. “Sail it shall be, Donna, my friend.”
There was no time for Donna to think of a snappy comeback. He sent her scurrying with orders to unsnap shrouds, coil lines and stand by winches. Since the sails could be raised mechanically, he could manage it all himself, he insisted, but he was sure she’d like to help.
A steely blue moon had risen by the time the black-rimmed mainsail and staysail had been raised and the jib billowed against a pearly sky. The balloon spinnaker, a fourth sail that filled eerily at the bow of the boat, seemed to capture the light and reflect it back across the decks. Leaning on the stern rail, Donna gazed upward, open-mouthed, at the spectacle of the joint power of man and elements in a night silent except for wind whining in canvas.
After a few minutes, Donna turned to watch their roiling wake. She couldn’t forget her troubles for long. In Vancouver, right now, her father was making plans to confront her in San Francisco. Just being allowed to stay here for what little was left of the summer would take every shred of persuasiveness she possessed.
“Come and keep me company,” Bruce called. “Come on, dreamer. You’re the one who wanted to sail.”
Donna went to his side, and he held her tightly with one arm while he kept a grip on the wheel with his right hand. “What’s up? You were miles away back there.”
“I was worrying about the famous dinner again.” She turned her face to his chest. “Really, I was thinking about my folks, about Dad coming to San Francisco. He sounded so hurt and angry when I spoke to him.”
“I’m sure he was hurt and angry. I feel guilty about that.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“Mmm. I should have been smarter.”
“Smarter than to be taken in by a no-good little schemer, you mean?”
Bruce leaned over to peer at the compass, checking their bearings; then he flipped a switch. “We’ll hold course for a little while.” He tightened his hold on her and tipped his head back to stare at the sky. “I should have been mature enough to save you from what you’re going through. By that, I mean I should have seen through your initial plot, sweetheart.”
“It would have made it a lot easier on you if you had.”
“In some ways.”
“How wouldn’t it have been easier?”
“I think you’ve guessed that much by now. I’m not totally oblivious to you, Donna.”
He was telling her, in his oblique way, that he cared for her, at least a little. “What do you think my dad will do?”
Bruce considered. “He’ll ask why you didn’t come clean with him. Then, after you’ve been together for a while, he’ll be his rational old self and help you work through the rough spots. Don’t worry so much. Fall will come, and school, and a new start.”
Donna was suddenly cold, and her temperature had nothing to do with the night wind. “That’s what you think? That I’ll go away at the end of summer as if nothing different had happened in my life? I’ll go home like a good little girl and start school, become a gym teacher and date a football coach…and…forget?” She heard the choking sound in her voice, and pressed her fingertips to her mouth.
“I…no, I don’t mean that exactly,” Bruce said, with more than a hint of desperation in his voice. “I just meant that everything passes. The bad times as well as the good, and this
rough spot will pass for you too. The main thing is going to be getting your education so you’re ready to cope with the world.”
Donna moved away. “You’ve been talking to my folks. They put you up to persuading me not to make waves about school. That’s it, isn’t it? When did you call them? Or did they call you?”
“Okay, listen.” Bruce backed her against the bulkhead. “Before you even arrived, back in June, Evan told me he and Sara were concerned that you’d lost interest in school. They asked me to try to influence you in the right direction because they knew you and I had always had a rapport.”
“The right direction,” Donna snapped. “The right direction for whom? Isn’t the right direction for me the one that’ll make me happiest?”
“Not if it makes other people damned unhappy.”
“Like you, you mean?”
He raised his hands and opened his mouth. Seconds later, he clamped his teeth together and bowed his head so that she couldn’t see his face. “You don’t make me unhappy, you little idiot. Confused as hell, but not unhappy.”
Donna kept very still. She could hear her heart beating. “But you have spoken to my folks again about helping them do what’s best.”
“No, I haven’t.” He shook his head slowly. “Under the circumstances, Donna, I wouldn’t know what to say to Evan and Sara. Surely you understand that.”
To her horror, Donna felt the tightening in her chest that meant tears. She opened her eyes and breathed through her mouth, but she was going to cry anyway.
“Raymond Tsung isn’t going to be the only topic addressed when Evan arrives, is he?” Bruce said.
She’d put this man she loved so desperately in an impossible position. “It’ll be all right,” she said, choking. Then the tears started, and the sobs. “I’ll make sure Dad knows you had nothing to do with what I’ve done. I’ll come right out and tell him I cooked the whole thing up and you’ve done nothing but try to make me see things…see things…”
“Don’t. Don’t,” Bruce murmured, taking her in his arms and holding her with a fierce gentleness. “Do you think I’d let you face the music alone? You aren’t entirely to blame, Donna, no way. You did tell me how you felt, and I didn’t exactly run away, did I?”
Yes Is Forever Page 18
