Yes, I Do

by Gwynne Forster

  A glance at Ginger told him she’d seen the action and understood his reason.

  As they left the church, she said, “Jason, I appreciate your driving me down here and helping us, but I have the feeling that you’re fed up, that you’d rather be somewhere else. I can rent a car and drive back, so you can go on home. This long-suffering of yours is unnecessary. I’ll be in touch.”

  He grabbed her shoulders, but he hadn’t meant to do it so fiercely. “You listen to me, woman. I brought you down here, and I am taking you back home. You’re not dismissing me as if I were your third grade pupil. I’d think you’d also have gotten tired of these people telling us what a great couple we make, what beautiful children we’ll have, and how lucky we are to have each other, and hoping you’ll come back home so you can be married before the altar at which you were christened. All that, and not a soul told them we were getting married. Damned straight I’m fed up.”

  He had to hand it to her. The woman was as cool as spring water. With her regal head high, she didn’t miss a step as they walked toward the cars that waited for the bridal party.

  “Fed up is written all over you, Jason. If you want to leave, you have my blessing.”

  “When I leave, you’re going with me.”

  “I won’t fight with you in public.”

  He took her arm as they reached the car that had been assigned to them. “Ginger, we are not fighting. I’m going to turn in early, so I’ll be out of the way, and I’d like to leave around noon tomorrow, as planned. All right?”

  When she nodded, he relaxed, leaned over, and kissed her on the mouth. “The bride is beautiful, but she can’t hold a light to my Ginger.” The smile on her face warmed his heart. He needed her badly. Right then. Some day soon, he promised himself, reached for her hand, and counted his blessings.

  In spite of the warmth they’d experienced in the car as they left the wedding, they began the drive back to New York with relations between them strained. She knew it was useless to broach anything of importance to Jason while he drove. Several miles before they reached the Delaware Memorial Bridge, the dark clouds exploded into a heavy downpour, forcing Jason to drive into the rest stop.

  As streaks of lightning flashed in the sky, Ginger drew herself up and pushed back her lifelong fear of thunderstorms. Not for anything would she let him see her afraid and needing him. “Why do you think the rain has showered us almost every time we’ve been alone together? Do you think it’s trying to tell us something? It’s like an omen, hooking us together.”

  He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. “Hardly. I suspect it’s something about lightning that turns you into sweet putty.” His half-smile seemed forced. “Ginger, we have to settle some things. I had promised myself I was going to treat women as if they carried the plague. And then you came into my life. When you met me, I was looking for equilibrium. Peace. Trying to straighten out my life. I was married for almost six years. I wanted a family, a real home that felt like one. I didn’t want a place where people dropped in for cocktails, and I didn’t want to go out to dinner or a club or a movie every night. I could have handled some of that, if my wife hadn’t sought counsel from her mother about everything in our lives. I put my foot down finally, and she went home to mama. There was a lot more, but a man doesn’t tell tales about his marriage, not even after it’s gone sour. Her mother told her to bow out, and she did. I did not give up that relationship easily, but I managed to do it, and I’m glad.

  “You’re nothing like her, Ginger. You go after what you want. I like that. You and I will always be able to meet on some common ground, to have an understanding, because you speak your mind and stand up for what you believe rather than sulk passively in a corner. I believe that if we give ourselves a chance, we can make a life together.” He opened his eyes, stretched his right arm out on the back of the seat, and turned to her. “What haven’t you told me that you think I should know?”

  She took a ginger snap out of the wicker basket and chewed without tasting what she ate. He’d chosen an odd time for them to bare their souls to each other—sitting in a strange place in a rented car while rain drenched it and lightning danced all around it, but she was glad he’d opened the door.

  “As you spoke, Jason, I marveled at the similarity of our lives. I, too, was trying to find myself when we met in Harare, but unlike you I wasn’t looking for peace. I had spent my life as my parents had taught me. I married as a virgin, went to church on Sundays, worked hard and tried to save for the future, for the time when I could have a family and either stay at home, work part-time, or do consultancies. My husband wanted everything right then. Everything. He saw no reason why we couldn’t start a family, though we only had a one-bedroom apartment. I wanted to save for a home and the expenses of a first child. I thought we could buy a house with my savings as a down payment, but when I mentioned it he wanted us to take over half of my savings and go on a two-month jaunt through Italy. I should leave my clients that I had worked so hard to get, close my office, and go have fun. He earned a good living as an engineer, making as much money as I, but even though we shared expenses my savings quadrupled his. He loved fun, parties, eating out, and, especially, traveling abroad. We bickered constantly. When I refused to take the trip to Europe with him, he asked me for a divorce. I didn’t contest it.

  “You met me when I was trying to discard my conservative behavior and outlook and do something wild for the first time in my life. I meant to have a fling with you, to get Harold Lawson out of my system, but I found I couldn’t do anything so completely out of character. Besides, I’d fallen for you, and I couldn’t pretend that I hadn’t. Jason, I thought my world would end when I got back here, realized what I felt for you, and had to live with the knowledge that I’d never see you again.”

  He enveloped her hand in his own. “I know the feeling.” Chuckles suddenly spilled out of his throat, and he released her hand and nearly doubled up laughing.

  “Jason, what’s the matter? Jason, are you hysterical? Talk to me.”

  He began to hiccup, and she pounded him on the back. “Jason, for Pete’s sake, what is it?”

  “Ginger,” he managed to say at last, “I just figured out why we got so personal with each other when we were arguing that divorce case. Don’t you realize now that we had stopped arguing the divorce case and had begun to argue about the foibles of our own spouses, that we’d slipped into a debate of the problems of our own failed marriages?”

  She looked out at the rain-washed highway and the scores of cars idling along the road waiting to continue. “Yes. But I was so ashamed of myself for having a judge call me on the carpet that I’ve been pushing it out of my conscious thoughts.”

  He laughed again. “We were so harsh with each other.”

  She moved closer to him. “I was not mean to you.”

  “Were so.”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and kissed his neck. “Was not. Was—”

  He settled it when he gathered her into his arms and let her feel the touch of his tongue on her lips. Wild fires raced through her, and she parted her lips for the sweetness he’d give her and for which she yearned. His velvet tongue dipped into her mouth, finding its home, claiming her. She didn’t care if he felt her tremors, if he knew how she longed to belong to him.

  He folded her to him and whispered, “We need to be together, Ginger. And soon. The rain’s stopped, but I want a few minutes to get off this high before I can drive. Understand?”

  She did and forced herself back to her seat. He’d just about reached the limit of his control, and she couldn’t wait to exercise her advantage.

  He started the engine, checked the traffic, and headed for New York. She’d whetted his appetite, and he wanted, needed, to know more of her, to strip away everything between them but their clothes. “Ginger, were you ever happy in your marriage? I mean… Did you…did you love him at first?”

  She answered without hesitation, and he liked that. “I loved hi
m. The trouble was my naiveté. I don’t blame Harold. I was twenty-six when I got married. What man could imagine that a person could live that long and not know any more than I did about human relations? I assumed that if you behaved honorably and had good values and worthwhile goals, everything worked out. I didn’t know that the same could be true for my spouse, and that instead of cementing our marriage, the fact that we each had strong goals and values could drive us apart. I didn’t want the divorce, but I didn’t care to live with a man who desired his freedom.”

  Maybe he ought not to probe, but there were things he had to know, because he’d committed himself to her with that kiss at the foot of the Delaware Memorial Bridge, and he had to know what he was up against.

  “Did you have any problems you haven’t told me about, that would help me to steer our own relationship on the right course?” At her hesitancy, he slowed down so as to be able to concentrate on her words.

  “A couple of things, but you’ll know those when the time comes.”

  He thought of some of the problems in his own marriage that had centered around Louise’s unwillingness to grow, and didn’t press Ginger for an explanation. Some things were best discussed in an atmosphere of intimacy. But at least they were talking, sharing themselves.

  She had questions for him, too, he learned. “Do you have any hobbies, Jason? What do you do when you want to get away from law?”

  “Recently, my problem hasn’t been to get away from it, but to stick with it. Before you started fooling around in my head, I used to spend hours playing the flute or the coronet. On Sunday afternoons, you’d find me either at Lincoln Center, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or at Jojo’s down in the Village gigging with some fellow musicians. We’re all amateurs, but some great jazz blows around in that place. I do other things, but they’re less important to me. What about you?”

  She smiled in a mysterious way that piqued his curiosity. “Me? Cross off Jojo’s, add gardening and the Thursday night community sing-along on the Island, and you’ve nailed me. I’m trying to start a mother-daughter club on the island to bring girls closer to their mothers. Maybe that will heal some of the friction in the homes, and start a decline in out of wedlock pregnancies. So far, I’m not having overwhelming success, but I have hope.”

  His eyes shone with approval and affection. “You keep working at that mother-daughter project. It’ll be a success if you only recruit one family. You know, it’s amazing how much alike we are.”

  “Alike? But you’re a Republican.”

  “Yeah. And you needn’t pronounce the word as if it’s got a vile taste. Don’t forget. You’re one of those Democrats.”

  “Are we going to fight about that?” she asked.

  He felt good—light and airy like a Chinese kite dancing in a March wind. “You and me fight about politics? Honey, I hope so, because from where I sit right now we agree on practically everything else. Too much of that would bore both of us to insanity.”

  When she spoke again, it was as though she stepped among eggs, fearful of crushing them. “Jason…” She seemed to hesitate. “Uh, what happened to you in Easton? You wished you were somewhere else, didn’t you?”

  He hated to say it, but honesty and straight talk was what they needed now. “You’re right. Those people crowded me, all but set our wedding date. Anybody would have thought they’d been waiting to pounce. I don’t let people push me around. I don’t care how well-meaning they are. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I got pretty steamed up. I know how I feel about you and what I want out of our relationship, and that’s between nobody but you and me.”

  “I see. Haven’t you ever lived in a small town?”

  “I’ve lived in Dallas and New York, except for the two years I endured in New Haven getting my law degree at Yale.”

  “Endured?”

  “Yeah. I got sick of that cult of indifference. You couldn’t believe the pretense. Nobody leveled with anybody.” He took a deep breath, flipped on the cruise control, and put Yale out of his mind.

  He noticed her head tilting forward and put a cassette into the tape deck. She soon slept as the soothing notes of “Lover Come Back To Me” pealed out of Benny Carter’s saxophone.

  It was after six-thirty when they passed through the Lincoln Tunnel and drove into New York City. “Since we’re near Hertz, I suggest we return the car and take a taxi to your place.”

  Her ready agreement sent a flash of excitement zinging through him. He didn’t look at her, because he didn’t want her to see the hunger that he knew blazed across his face. Half an hour later, he held out his hand for her door key, opened the door, and walked in with her.

  “Why don’t I call down to Andy’s Place for dinner?” she asked him. “The take-out won’t remind you of Twenty-One, but it’s edible.”

  They finished the meal, and while she put away the remains of it and straightened the kitchen, he prowled around the living room. What he needed was a swift, three-mile run or a half-hour of push-ups. The treadmill. Anything to get rid of the wild energy that wanted to burst out of him. He looked up and saw her standing in the doorway of the kitchen, biting her lip.

  “Jason, would you sit down? Put on a CD, or something. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  He raised an eyebrow and regarded her, temptation gnawing at him, urging him to make a move on her. But he hadn’t nursed her feelings for him for nearly three months only to have their relationship fizzle because of his miscalculation. He sat down.

  What was keeping her? He was a patient man, he reminded himself, and it didn’t make sense to wring himself dry like a sheet in the spin cycle of a washing machine. He stopped shaking his left foot, felt in the breast pocket of his shirt for a package of cigarettes, and remembered that he hadn’t smoked in eleven years.

  “She’s an itch,” he told himself, “an itch that’s grating every nerve in my body.” He stood. Home. That was it. Go home and get out of trouble’s way, because she hadn’t given him one clue that she wanted any more than a kiss. He looked up to the ceiling, took a deep breath, and threw up his hands. A kiss! Who was he kidding? He looked around the room to see where she’d put the overnight bag he’d carried to Easton, and his gaze fell on her walking toward him with two glasses of white wine. He hadn’t even seen her go through there to the kitchen.

  “You in a hurry or something?” she asked. “I thought we’d have a glass of wine and wind down. It’s been such a—”

  At his wits’ end, he took the glasses from her and put them on the coffee table. “I can’t handle any small talk right now, Ginger, and I don’t want to hear anything that smacks of superficiality.”

  She sat down. “Neither do I. What is it, Jason? What’s the matter?”

  It was a reasonable question, but she might as well have pulled him into her. The fiery tentacles of long denied need of her singed his nerve ends and plowed straight to his loins. Her open, inquiring look grabbed at his protective instincts, and the need to have her fought with his inclination to protect her. Her brown eyes seemed to grow bigger as she looked at him.

  He heard, “Honey. Honey, what’s the matter? You look so miserable,” and his fences fell as he pulled her into his arms.

  “Ginger, honey, I need you. Baby, I need you!”

  Did he imagine that her fingers caressed his cheeks before she squeezed him to her? He felt her gentle hands at the back of his head, and told himself that he’d begun to hallucinate.

  “Ginger, I don’t want us to start anything, because I couldn’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I want to make love with you.”

  “Shh, darling. I haven’t asked you to stop.”

  He moved back and looked into her eyes and at the sweet lips that trembled in anticipation of his kiss, and shudders raced through his body. When she dampened her lips and parted them, he primed himself for the loving she offered. He sat her in his lap, rested her head against his shoulder, and bent to her mouth. She took his tongue eagerly, aggressively, begging for
all he could give her. He dipped into her sweet mouth and explored the nectar that was there for him. When he thought he could stand no more, she took his hand and placed it on her breast.

  He rolled its tip between his fingers until she moaned, broke the kiss, and asked for more. He hadn’t noticed that she’d changed into a sundress until, with ease, he reached inside of it and, for the first time, felt the warmth of her woman’s flesh. Her hand pressed the back of his head and he pulled her flesh into his mouth and suckled her until she shifted in his lap. Another minute of it, and he knew he’d explode.

  “Where’s your bedroom, honey?”

  She nodded to her right and he picked her up, sped down the short hallway to her room and lay her on her bed. He leaned over, unwrapped the sundress, and threw it on a chair. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, turned back to her and jumped to full readiness when he saw that she wore only bikini panties and that her full breasts lay bare for him. He slipped out of his clothes and stared down at her.

  Ginger gulped at the sight of him, big and proudly erect. Moisture accumulated in her mouth as she gazed at him, and marvelled at the look of wonder on his face. Her arms opened to him. “Come hold me.”

  Even in her frantic desire, she could see the vulnerability in him. “Are you sure, Ginger? If you take me, there’s no turning back for me. I love you, and right now I need you like I need air. But if it’s not the same with you, say it this second, and I’m out of here. I don’t want a taste. I want you.”

  Didn’t he know what he meant to her? “Jason, darling, don’t you know I love you?”

  In seconds she had him in her arms, and he was holding her, squeezing her, loving her. At last she could feel his masculine hardness against her body. Her head emptied of all thoughts but him, and the frissons of heat in which he enveloped her as he took his time kissing every part of her, teasing her breast with his tongue and sucking it until she thought she would lose consciousness. He moved to the other breast and let his fingers trail down her body until he reached the seat of her desire. Overcome with a passion she’d never known before, she begged for relief, but he ignored her and worked his magic at her lover’s gate. Heat spiraled in her, and she undulated helplessly against him until frantic for relief, she took him into her hands to lead him to her portal, but he stopped her and shielded himself to protect her. She shifted her hips wildly. Urging. Begging.