Yes, I Do

by Gwynne Forster

  “Hi. I was just about to call you, but it’s nicer to answer my phone and hear your voice. How are you?”

  “Fine. Want to come over?” she asked him as casually as she could. “You don’t have to get dressed up.”

  “Give me twenty-five minutes.”

  She hung up, dashed to her closet and found a green corduroy jumpsuit. It wasn’t dressy, she reasoned, and she looked good in it.

  If she expected a frenzied kiss, she didn’t get it. “Hi. You’re a treat for my eyes,” he stated, as his slow smile claimed his face.

  “Want to hear some music?” she asked, for want of something to say.

  “I’d love it. Got any country? Charley Pride, Vince Gill, or George Strait?”

  Susan opened her mouth and couldn’t close it, certain that her jaw had locked.

  “You don’t mean you like that…er, that kind of music, do you?”

  “Sure I do. What’s wrong with it? What do you like?”

  “Well, if you don’t want classical, how about just plain old pop? Or Dixieland, if you insist on southern stuff?”

  He laughed. “No thanks. When are we getting married?”

  If they did, she thought, they’d better not have any music in the house.

  She said, “If we get a license tomorrow, we can get married Monday at lunchtime.”

  August sprang from his seat. “Calm down, Susan.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry. I was talking about myself.” He sat down beside her and took her hand. “Susan, we need a decent engagement period so we can get to know each other. I won’t court you. Honest. But we need time to get our affairs in order. Give me a reasonable date that fits in with Grace’s charts. She said something about the full moon, didn’t she?”

  If she laughed, he might be offended. Grace’s charts, for goodness’ sake.

  “All right. According to her that’s the second week of February. About a month from now.” She marveled at the way in which his face beamed and that special gleam lit his eyes.

  “How’s Valentine’s Day. Alright?” he pressed eagerly. “That should give us time to arrange things.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  He leaned back, seemingly content now that plans appeared to proceed to his liking, holding her hand. “Do you want me to wear a tux or tails?”

  “For what?”

  “For the wedding, honey.”

  “Our wedding?” She figured her eyes were the size of saucers. He had to be kidding.

  “Yeah. Whose did you think I meant?”

  She sprang up.

  “August, I agreed to wear this ring—”

  He interrupted her. “Wasn’t such a bad idea, was it?”

  “Oh, you…I haven’t finished. And I agreed to an engagement, but a formal marriage is too much. We’re getting married by a clerk of the Court or a Justice of the Peace. And that’s that.”

  He stood up, walked over to her and put his arms around her.

  “Honey, I grew up in church. I want to get married in one, and I charge you right now with the responsibility of having my funeral in a church.”

  “But, August…”

  “I’ve got the most beautiful bride-to-be in New York, and I want to see her walking up a church aisle toward me in a veil of white lace with rose petals beneath her feet. It’s a picture I’ll take to my grave. You won’t deny me that pleasure, will you?”

  Why did she feel as if she’d done something terrible to him? He trained those bedroom eyes of his on her, softened his honeyed voice and stripped her of her will. She wanted to curl into him when he began to stroke her back gently, almost seductively.

  “August, you’re making too much of this.” She knew her protest was a weak one and tried to summon her usual stern manner. “In a joint venture, the parties have to come to an agreement. You know that.”

  “I do. But, sweetheart, this isn’t a business venture—this is us getting married to each other, and I’m holding out for seeing my bride in white satin and lace. You don’t want to deprive me of that sweet vision that other brides give their grooms, do you, honey?”

  Susan took a deep breath and summoned her wits. He wasn’t going to steamroller her. “Slow down, August. That’s your dream but what about mine? I told myself ages ago that if I ever got married, I wanted the ceremony to take place in the Rainbow Room.”

  From his expression, you’d think she’d shot him. “What? You couldn’t be serious. Why?”

  She didn’t succeed in staving off her nostalgia. “I spent a New Year’s Eve there. I was twenty, and it was my first adult date. I had on a long white silk gown, and the room was pure paradise. Low hanging, silvery clouds hid the ceiling, and millions of twinkling stars danced around a crescent moon. Icicles glittered on great snow-covered trees, candles glowed in the windows, and soft, romantic music came alive all around us. Heaven. I’d even wear white satin, lace and a long train if we could be married there. Oh, August, it was magic.”

  He laid his head to one side and scrutinized her. “Where’s the guy now?”

  She grinned. “I have no idea. It wasn’t him, but the Rainbow Room that was memorable.” A sigh floated from her. “I walked on air and danced in the clouds.”

  “I don’t want to say my vows to a woman decked out in pants,” he grumbled.

  Laughing, she stroked his cheek. “Suppose they have wide bottoms.”

  He wasn’t placated. “Nothing doing. We’ll have to work that out.”

  Susan folded her arms to signal his defeat. “You won’t snow me on this one.” His wink sent hot arrows to her middle, but she was not giving in.

  He frowned. “And since the Rainbow Room is a pipe dream, it’s pants and the court clerk. Right?”

  “What’s wrong with that? We’ll still be married?”

  “How’d it go at work today? Did you tell them?” he asked, settling them into her big barrel chair. She snuggled as close to him as she could get.

  “I don’t know why they were so surprised. Oscar—he’s one of the more senior lawyers—was mean. He said he’d like to meet the guy who pulled it off. Getting me to say yes, that is. They figured I’d stop working, but I reminded them that this is the end of the twentieth century, and I’m not giving up my chance at that full partnership. I worked too hard for it.” The stroking stopped.

  “Have you been promised a partnership?”

  “Over six months ago.” Where had his sweet, coaxing tone gone?

  “Then, if they welch, we’ll go to court. If you’re entitled to a partnership, I’ll see that you get it.”

  Her brows arched sharply, and her mouth dropped; he wasn’t as laid-back and homespun as his manner often suggested. She asked if he was serious.

  “Didn’t I say I’d be there for you through thick and thin, whatever comes?” She nodded.

  “Well, in my book that’s pretty thin.”

  “It’s eight o’clock, Susan. Don’t you think we ought to eat? I’m beginning to feel a pinch. Let’s get some dinner and talk things over.” She twisted around in his arms and looked into his face. He wished she’d be still; he had enough problems with his self-control as it was.

  “We’ve been talking for nearly an hour,” she complained. “What else do you want to talk about? You want us to sign a marriage contract?” She sat up straight, but he pulled her back into his arms.

  “No. I don’t. When we get married, whatever’s mine is yours. There’re a lot of things to talk about.”

  In that case, she’d better fortify herself. “Then let’s get some Chinese food delivered and eat right here.”

  “Nothing doing. Monosodium glutamate is bad for your health. I’ll run out and get some stuff and I’ll cook. It’ll be simple.”

  “How simple?”

  He laughed. “Hamburgers. For a woman who can’t cook, you’re awfully fussy.”

  August thought his chest would spring open when she wiped her mouth and smiled at him. Happy. “That was del
icious,” she declared, when they’d finished and were cleaning up.

  “My pleasure. I’d better go.”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  He raised an eyebrow. Did that question have a provocative undercurrent? “It’s getting late.”

  “Oh.”

  “What’s the problem, honey?” He believed in dealing with trouble head-on, so he took her into the living room and sat with her in the barrel chair.

  “Well?” he pressed.

  “Nothing. I mean, aren’t we supposed to make love?”

  He wasn’t going to laugh. He wasn’t. He did his best to put on a stern face.

  “Where does it say we’re supposed to? I’m planning for us to wait.”

  She jumped out of his lap, spun around, and stared at him, clearly aghast. She’d kill him if he laughed, so he put his hands on his knees, leaned forward and waited.

  “You…you’re willing to buy a pig in the poke?” she sputtered.

  He had to laugh. “You’re not concerned about what I’m risking, and you know it. You’re the one who’s skeptical about me. Come here.” She’d asked for it, and she was going to get it. She started toward him, and he stood to meet her.

  “Come here to me, baby,” he coaxed, “and put your arms around me. Come here and let me love you.” She stood there staring at him, obviously perplexed. If she wanted sophisticated seduction, he’d give it to her. Her tongue rimmed her soft brown lips and in lightning fashion, heat shot to his groin. He watched transfixed as her eyelids half lowered, the muscles of her face relaxed and her left hand clasped her bosom while she swallowed what he knew was evidence of desire. Caught in a prison of his own making, he reached for her, no longer interested in teaching her a lesson, but in sating his need for her.

  “Woman. My Lord, I’m on fire for you. Come here!” He clasped her hips as she sprang into his arms. Her parted lips took in his tongue and he searched her mouth with its velvet smoothness until he knew every crevice of it, and she slumped limply against him. He pulled her up until his full arousal rested against her nest of passion so that she could know him, feel him. Every bit of him. He was paying for it, and he didn’t care. Tremors raced through him when she sucked on his tongue, and he tightened his hold on her hips longing for the heavenly sweet release she’d give him. She had to feel the shudders that racked him as she twisted in his arms, letting him feel the softness of her full breasts. He wanted to taste them, wanted to pull her sweet flesh into his mouth, to nourish himself and drive her wild.

  “August…please… If you’re going to make love to me, do it. Please stop torturing me.”

  Stunned, he recovered his senses, and held her away from him. He shook his head in wonder. He might have planned to teach her something, but he’d gotten a lesson of his own.

  “I guess there’s a first time for everything,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “I don’t ever remember losing control like that. I…I’m sorry, honey, but I do intend for us to wait.” She stared at him as though seeing a mirage.

  “August, what you just did would be grounds for divorce, and we’re not even married yet.” He’d deal with her disappointment in a few minutes, but right then, he had to get himself in order; she had really sent him into a tailspin. He risked putting an arm around her and hugged her lightly.

  “That surprised me as much as it did you, honey, but I hope I set you straight. I was born in the country, but I do know how to love a woman. You trust me—we’re going to wait.”

  She nodded. “I still haven’t agreed to that big church wedding you want. That’s for people who court each other.”

  He resisted the impulse to pace the floor and settled her more securely in his lap. “Honey, the Rainbow Room is for eating and dancing. You can’t expect the management to turn it into a church—”

  “I don’t want it to be a church, but it’s the only place where I’m prepared to wear a formal wedding or any other kind of dress.” He tried to get her to look at him, but she ducked her head. So much for his winning strategy.

  “We’ll have to discuss this some more, Susan. I won’t feel married if you show up at our wedding in a pants suit.”

  “It’ll be silk and a lovely gay color,” she said airily.

  He’d love to shake her. “Susan, please be reasonable.” He made up his mind to talk with Grace about it.

  The next afternoon, Susan raised her head from her work just enough to identify the intruder. “What is it, Lila?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Andrews, but a Mr. Jackson is on the phone, and he insists that you’ll take his call.”

  “Thanks.” She lifted the receiver, furious with herself for having shown her embarrassment. “Hi.”

  “Hi, honey. Want to drop by my office after work?” Her immediate response was to say that she would. Then she remembered.

  “Oh my! This isn’t a good evening for us to get together. It’s my night to serve dinner at the homeless shelter.”

  “You do that? That’s wonderful. We’ve finally got something in common. I mean…we agree on something.”

  “Like what? We should take care of the homeless? Everybody should do that.”

  “Yeah. What I mean is we’re both caring people. I cook at the Wesley soup kitchen Sunday mornings from six to nine, and I’ve gotten to the place where I can make a decent batch of biscuits.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “Quite by accident, believe me. I was there to serve breakfast one Sunday morning, and the cook didn’t show, so I had to cook. The people ate what I gave them and, as far as I know, nobody got sick. From that time, I’ve been the Sunday morning breakfast cook.”

  “You’re full of surprises. Tell you what. We can eat early, and you can pick me up about nine after I finish at the shelter.”

  “You want to see me?”

  She heard the eagerness in his voice. Something akin to longing. Did he really like her so much? She swung around in her desk chair.

  “Yes. I…I want to see you, August.” The softening of his rich, velvet voice told her that his face had given itself over to that slow, beguiling smile. At his next words, she was sure of it.

  “I’ll meet you, and we can get dessert.”

  “What kind?” she asked, serving herself a helping of fun at his expense.

  “Have you ever got a one-track mind. I told you we were going to wait.”

  “What did I say?” she protested. “You’re the one whose mind is in a rut.” August had a wicked streak, and she was going to have to learn how to get the better of him. She would, too.

  Susan waited near the shelter exit, hoping that poor Mrs. Butcher wouldn’t find her before August arrived. Mrs. Butcher arrived at the shelter every evening precisely at six o’clock, and whoever was on waitress detail had her for company during the entire evening. She ate quickly and followed the help around until closing time. Tonight, she was reading her latest poems. They weren’t bad, Susan decided, but by the tenth reading, she longed for ear plugs. August walked in at exactly nine o’clock, his face glowing with the smile she had begun to cherish.

  Mrs. Butcher saw him at about the same time as Susan did. “Mr. Jackson. Mr. Jackson. You’re going to work here, too? I didn’t like my grits, Sunday. I found a lump in them. ’Course, I’d rather have grits than oatmeal. If you start ’em in cold water and stand right there and stir until they’re done, they don’t get lumpy. I could come in early Sunday and show you if you want.” Susan knew that her valued decorum had finally failed her, when she couldn’t close her mouth nor erase the look of astonishment that she knew was ablaze on her face. She tried to shake herself out of it and would have succeeded if August hadn’t grabbed the untidy old woman and given her a big hug.

  “I don’t work here, Carrie. I’m meeting my fiancée. You come in early Sunday morning, and we’ll work on those grits together. I’ll see you Sunday.” To Susan’s astonishment, the old woman made no attempt to detain him as she usually did when she got so
meone’s attention. She smiled at him and said, “Have a nice day.”

  “Close your mouth, honey. Carrie has that effect on everybody.”

  “Carrie? What about you?” The happiness that radiated from him warmed her heart. She wasn’t making a mistake; every move he made increased her assurance that, for once, her instincts about the opposite sex had been perfect. And don’t forget Grace’s charts, an inner voice whispered.

  “How’d it go today?” But before she could answer, he kissed her hard and quickly on her mouth. “August!”

  “Yeah?” He was a consummate actor, too, she decided, taking in his contrived look of innocence. She braced her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “You mustn’t do that here in front of these people.” She looked at his irreverent grin, capitulated and let his joyous mood envelop her.

  “Sorry,” he said, feigning repentance, “but it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Are there any other women under your spell?” Susan asked August as they walked down Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard.

  “Other than who?”

  She was learning that August’s mind worked with trigger speed; well she wasn’t bad herself.

  “Other than Carrie,” she rejoined, laughter rising up in her throat. “Thought you’d caught me, did you.” He stopped at the bus stop.

  “This one coming will take us to Eightieth and Lexington. Okay?” She knew he was testing her.

  “August, if you said ‘let’s walk,’ I wouldn’t object, because I’d know you had a good reason. The bus is fine.” They reached her building on Eightieth between Lexington and Park avenues, and he said he’d tell her goodnight in the lobby.

  “Just like when I was in college, right?”

  His eyes darkened with what she’d come to recognize as desire, and a thrill of anticipation teased her senses. She rimmed her lips with the tip of her tongue and wanted to vanish when she saw the answering flame in his eyes. He grabbed her elbow and held it until they reached her door. Inside, he wasted no time. Within a second, she was in his arms where she’d wanted to be since he arrived at the shelter. With her hands, she lowered his head, unwilling to wait longer for the sweet pleasure of his lips, and took what she needed.