Four Seasons of Romance

by Rachel Remington

  “I suggest we keep the wedding for October,” Walter said. “Go have fun with him for a few more weeks. Watch him drink until he vomits. See what his apartment looks like and ask yourself whether you want to clean that mess daily. Look in his checkbook and ask yourself whether he can afford a wife and children. And when he catches the eye of other women—and he will—ask yourself whether you could wake beside him with the knowledge that you are not the only woman he makes love to.”

  Catherine wasn’t sure which was more chilling—the words coming from Walter’s mouth or the detached way he said them.

  “I’m confident,” he continued, “that, based on your description, you’ll soon discover that Leo is simply not the man for you. You might have known him longer than you knew Michael, but they are cut from the same cloth. And if you search your heart, Catherine, if you are honest with yourself... you will have to come to terms with the fact that this is not the future you want.” Walter speared two fat squares of French toast on the end of his fork, put them in his mouth, and chewed.

  As the waiter came to replenish their orange juice, a feeling of nagging doubt replaced Catherine’s feeling of giddy liberation. The poignancy of his words hit the bottom of her stomach like a two-ton anchor. Knowingly or unknowingly, he had spoken to all her fears. What if Walter was right? What if she was making a mistake by choosing love over commitment? Passion over stability? Leo Taylor over Walter Murray?

  But another part of her, the wild part that only seemed to come to the surface where Leo was concerned, felt differently and wanted nothing but to laugh and walk out of the restaurant. How dare Walter talk to her as if she were his daughter, out to have her kicks! She certainly didn’t need a lecture, even if he was six years her senior. Catherine wouldn’t be bullied out of her relationship with Leo, and she certainly wouldn’t give up without trying.

  “I hope I haven’t upset you,” Walter said, as he flagged the waiter for their bill. “I just say it as I see it, that’s all.”

  Catherine pressed her lips together and said nothing. Walter said it as he saw it—that much was certain. But did he see it the way it truly was? All she could think, as she choked down her orange juice, was that the answer to that question remained to be seen.

  That night, she lay in Leo’s arms, telling him about her meeting with Walter; Leo was angry. “Who the hell does he think he is? He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know the first thing about who I am and what I want in life.”

  “You’re right. He doesn’t.” Catherine kissed Leo’s neck, trying to calm him.

  “What did you say about the wedding still being in October? You told him no, right?”

  “I... I didn’t say anything.”

  Leo jumped out of bed and started to pace, then smacked the wall with his hand, sending an echo through the dark room. “I don’t understand why you didn’t insist the wedding was off.” He stopped pacing. “Is it off, Catherine?”

  “Yes,” she said, “of course, it’s off. But I let Walter think it wasn’t. It just seemed the easier way.”

  “The cowardly way, you mean.”

  Catherine’s eyes flashed. “You weren’t there, all right? Don’t judge me for the way I handled it.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you handled it at all.”

  Leo sat on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just tired of sharing you with a man who will never understand you. I’m ready for our future to start, right now.” He took Catherine’s hands in his. “Let’s get out of here, leave Philadelphia and all these memories behind. Go somewhere we can start a life together. A real life—not one where we’re always ducking behind corners and lying about who we are.”

  He glanced at her keenly. “Are you ready for that, Cat?”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “I asked you this once before, a long time ago. But I’m asking again,” he said. “Do you want to elope with me, Catherine Delaney?”

  “I do.” But the answer, the true answer embedded in Catherine’s heart, was far more complicated than that.

  They planned their move for the next few weeks, but Catherine always found a reason for a delay. Knowing there was a chance Walter could be right about Leo, something held her back. Despite Leo’s protests, she continued to see Walter for lunch dates and evening meetings. Every time they met, Walter made her rethink her decision by making practical comparisons between Leo and him. Catherine knew Walter was right, that being with Leo was a risk. But she loved Leo and was willing to accept the consequences or at the very least try.

  Then, just as Catherine wanted so much to prove that Leo was the right man for her, things began to fall apart. Again, it started with drinking, and this time, Catherine had been drinking with him.

  “We’re about to start a new life,” Leo told her. “Now’s the time to celebrate!”

  She wasn’t sure drinking was the best way to celebrate, but she told herself to stop being a stick-in-the-mud, so she downed two glasses of cheap red wine and felt a little queasy. Leo joined her for a glass of cabernet and switched to whiskey—his usual—for the rest of the night.

  Outside the bar, both pleasantly tipsy, he pressed her up against a brick wall and kissed her passionately. “This is what it’ll feel like,” he said, kissing her cheeks, her lips, and her chest. “You ready to feel this good for the rest of your life?”

  They returned to his room that night, and Leo pulled out a bottle of Scotch from under the bed. Before she knew what he was doing, he had poured two Scotches straight up with a twist of lemon.

  Catherine shook her head. “No, no,” she said, “I can’t. I’m already drunk.”

  “Come on,” he said. “Lighten up and have some fun! We’re celebrating, remember?”

  She already had a monstrous headache brewing, so she stuck to her guns. “Can’t we stop while we’re ahead?” she asked. “You know we’ll feel awful in the morning.”

  “Speak for yourself. I was born for this.” He downed the Scotch in one gulp.

  Leo considered himself a champion drinker, and he wouldn’t heed her pleas, but this time, she was right. The wine and liquor proved too much for even Leo to handle. He wouldn’t let go of the Scotch bottle, polishing off nearly a quarter of it, but an hour later, unable to stand, he crawled to the bathroom, lurching over the toilet seat to vomit.

  Catherine shook her head. There she was, watching Leo vomit his guts, knowing she’d be the one to clean it should he miss. This was the man she was about to spend the rest of her life with? Strike one.

  The next day, when she met with Walter, he reiterated his commitment had she decided to leave Leo.

  A week later, Catherine and Leo met in town for a light lunch of fruit and sandwiches and headed back to his motel afterward for a more private tête-à-tête. As they rounded the corner by the motel office, the manager motioned to Leo from behind the desk. Leo walked a little faster, but the manager pushed the door open.

  “Hey, Taylor,” he called. “Yeah, you. Come here.”

  Leo grinned at Catherine, handing her his key. “I’ll just be a minute. Wait for me back in the room.”

  Catherine walked toward his room, but not before she looked behind her and saw the motel manager waving his arms over his red face. Whatever they were discussing, it wasn’t cordial.

  “What was that about?” she asked when Leo joined her a few minutes later.

  “Oh, nothing,” he said.

  “Nothing? The man looked as if he was about to have a heart attack!”

  Leo plunged his hands deep in his pockets. “I’m a little backed up on rent.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened. “Has the portrait studio not paid you?”

  “Nah, they’ve paid me. It’s just... I’ve been taking more time off to spend with you.”

  She shook her head. “I love spending time with you. You know that. But if it means you can’t pay your rent...”

  “No, no,” Leo assured her, �
�this is nothing to worry about. Let’s just put the whole thing out of our minds.” He began to caress her cheek and placed his lips on her collarbone, but Catherine was unresponsive, realizing that after months of wondering, she needed answers about Leo’s finances. “How much money will you make working for your friend?”

  He stopped kissing her, and for a moment, she felt his warm breath on her shoulders. Then, he turned away. “What friend?”

  “Your Army friend. The one who offered you a job in DC.”

  Leo shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t talked dollar signs.”

  Catherine nodded toward the phone on the bedside table. “Maybe it’s time you called and asked.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Leo said. He kissed her neck again, but she pulled away.

  “We’re talking about moving several states away to start a family, and you’re telling me you don’t know what your salary will be?” She picked up the phone and handed it to him. “Here. Call him. It won’t take but a minute.”

  Leo stared at the phone then shook his head. “I can’t.”

  Catherine set the phone down hard on the bedside table, the metal letting out a shrill clank as it hit the wood. “Do you even have a friend in DC? Tell me the truth.”

  He held her gaze for a moment, and then ran his fingers through his hair. “He hasn’t actually offered me a job,” Leo confessed. “But he probably would if I showed up on his doorstep.”

  Catherine shook her head. She was about to throw away her whole life and everything she’d worked for—the independence she’d found in Philadelphia beyond her father’s clutches, her steady job as an accountant, and even her fiancé, for goodness’ sake, a decent man who would always take care of her. And for what? The slim possibility of employment in the nation’s capital with a man who had lied about having a job? She grabbed her purse and stood to go.

  “Please,” Leo begged, “don’t leave.”

  “I don’t know what to say to you,” she said. “I need some time to think about this.” Strike two.

  At brunch the following morning, Catherine told Walter what had happened. He placed his hand over hers—an uncharacteristic display of public affection for him, especially before 11 a.m.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that must have been disappointing.”

  Catherine’s eyes filled with tears despite herself. “I suppose it’s my fault for expecting it would be different.”

  Walter cleared his throat and leaned closer. “I’m not a bragging man, and I won’t name any numbers, but I want to assure you. If neither you nor I work another day in our lives, our financial future will be very secure. If you choose to go on with the wedding that is.”

  Walter wouldn’t have to work another day in his life if he didn’t want to, based on what he stood to inherit. Even then, he’d have more than enough money to raise a family.

  He’s right, Catherine thought. She hated the thought of choosing wallet over love, but when it came to raising a family, money solved problems. Nevertheless, the very thought of leaving Leo made her cry inside.

  A week later, Catherine was with him at The Alley Cat, a bar frequented mostly by artists, writers, prostitutes, and musicians. Dimly lit, two dirty rowboats hung from the rafters as a decoration. “Isn’t it great?” Leo gushed. “Me and the guys from the track come here all the time.” He caught Catherine’s look. “Used to come here,” he corrected himself.

  She took one whiff of the dank interior and thought there were many places she’d rather be as Leo ordered a round of drinks and some French fries. The only other person at the bar was a young woman in tight jeans, a pink blouse that dipped well below her cleavage, and dusty red cowboy boots, her red-rimmed eyes matching her smudged lipstick.

  Leo decided to strike up a conversation. Catherine had often marveled at how Leo could talk to anyone, whether it was the President of the United States or a common prostitute—and anyone between.

  “You come here often?” Leo asked the girl, who gave a sad little laugh at this well-worn line.

  “Only when I’ve got a good reason to cry in my beer,” she responded, a slight twang in her speech. Between that and the cowboy boots, it seemed clear she was from the South.

  “It can’t be all that bad, can it?” Leo asked.

  The girl’s eyes welled up with a fresh bout of tears. “My boyfriend broke up with me today,” she said. “He thought I was cheatin’.”

  “Were you?” Leo asked.

  She gave him a look as if she might slap him, and then thought better of it. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said, taking another chug of beer. “But no, I ain’t never done a thing to Wilson. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Leo called the bartender over. “I’d like to buy this girl a drink. Whatever she wants. Choose your poison.”

  “Whiskey,” said the woman. “Straight up.”

  “Atta girl,” Leo said. “Better make it three.”

  Once the bartender had poured three tumblers of whiskey, Leo raised his glass.

  “Here’s to fidelity.”

  The girl chortled and raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

  They both looked at Catherine, who dutifully raised her drink to join in the toast.

  The next hour unfolded with ease; Leo was gregarious, especially when drinking, and had a penchant for making friends overnight, especially with the help of a drink or two. Roxy, as the girl was named, was originally from Tennessee, an aspiring country singer who’d moved to Philadelphia to be with the man she loved. The man, however, turned out to be jealous, controlling, and abusive. Much like my father, Catherine mused.

  But as the drinks kept coming, she felt more and more uncomfortable. “Maybe it’s time we head back,” she whispered, wary of Leo drinking himself sick again.

  Leo nodded but then turned to Roxy, gave her a wry grin, and said, “Wanna come back to my room with us? I’ve got a bottle of whiskey with our name on it.”

  Roxy’s face brightened. “Come back with ya’ll? I’d love to!”

  Catherine felt a lump in her stomach as they made their way to Leo’s building. There, the three of them perched on his queen-sized bed as he poured three shooters of I.W. Harper Kentucky Whiskey, Roxy batting her eyes seductively. The singer from Tennessee became looser the more she drank—from patting Leo on the shoulder to even pinching Catherine’s cheek and whispering, “You got yourself a pretty one, dontcha?”

  Catherine wanted to leave this increasingly strange scene but feared leaving them alone. She was about to tell Leo that it was late and Roxy had to leave when he kissed Catherine in front of Roxy, who looked on with genuine interest.

  Finally, Leo leaned over and placed his hand on Roxy’s leg. “Let’s spend the night together,” he murmured, his lips inches from Catherine’s lips and his hand on Roxy’s leg. “The three of us.”

  “Count me in,” Roxy purred.

  Catherine’s discomfort turned to shock, and then turned to outrage. Was this her Leo, the one who said there was no one in the world he wanted but her?

  She stood. “I’m going home,” she said. “But I’m not going alone.” She pointed to Roxy. “You’re leaving too.”

  “But the party just started!” Roxy pouted.

  “She doesn’t want to go,” Leo said. “Come on, babe.” He reached for Catherine’s hand, but she jerked it out of reach.

  “This is wrong, Leo. What are you thinking? Oh, wait—you’re not thinking, because you’re drunk.”

  He blinked. “You’re angry,” he said. “Please, don’t go when you’re angry. Stay with us.”

  “With us?” Catherine shook her head. “We don’t even know this woman. Roxy, you seem like a nice girl, but I’m sure you understand why you need to get out of here now.”

  At that moment, Roxy didn’t look as if she understood much of anything.

  Disgusted, Catherine turned back to Leo. “If you don’t make her leave, it’s over. You won’t see me again.�
��

  Leo groaned, recapping the whiskey bottle and shoving it under the bed. “Nice to meet you, Roxy,” he said. “I guess you have to go.”

  Roxy stuck out her bottom lip. “I thought we were gearin’ up for a good night.”

  “We were,” Leo retorted, glaring at Catherine.

  With an unbecoming snort, Roxy made her way to the door. “I guess I’ll be goin’ then. You Yanks don’t got nothin’ on Southern hospitality.”

  With that, she stomped out the door, Leo watching her go with a wistful expression, but when he looked back at Catherine, any wistfulness was gone. “I hope you’re happy,” he said.

  Catherine laughed. “No, Leo, happy is not the word I was searching for.”

  “Look, I don’t know why you’re upset. I did what you asked—I made her leave.”

  She shook her head. “Only because I threatened to leave you if you didn’t. What are you thinking, Leo? You had your hand on her leg when I was two feet away!”

  “I thought we were all in the mood,” he said flatly.

  Catherine reached under the bed and yanked out the whiskey. “It’s this stuff,” she spat. “That’s what I blame. You become a completely different person when there’s booze in your blood. You would never have seduced another woman and tried to get the two of us in bed if you were sober.”

  Leo reached for his glass in silence.

  “Stop drinking,” Catherine said.

  “Stop telling me what to do.”

  She threw the bottle on the bed, sending it across the pillows and onto the soft mattress, but Leo lunged for it, cradling the bottle in his arms as if it were a child.

  “We’re over, Leo,” Catherine said, laying her shaking hand on the doorknob. “I’m done with this.”

  “No!” Leo crawled toward her, the bottle still in his arms. “Please don’t go. I love you, Catherine. Don’t do this to us.” He fell to the floor and wrapped his arms around her legs.

  The tears burned hot behind Catherine’s eyes as she sank to the floor and lifted Leo’s chin.