by Mary Haskell
They had taken the boat out of its port in Ostervil e and sailed to Martha's Vineyard, spent the night there, then sailed on to Nantucket. What fun they'd had trooping into town for dinner at the Jared Coffin House, and—
Wil 's voice cut through her reflections: "... a new account. She's a hot new designer. Some funny name, oh yes, Ky... as in pie. Ky Kayle."
Jenny's gasp was covered by Gina's chuckle. "Ky Kayle? Sounds like a vegetable."
"You may be right—they tel me she's some tomato!" With a hoot he leaned over to slap Gina's knee.
Jenny's eyes darted across the crackling bonfire to Larry. Even through the merry flickering of the flame, his face looked ashen. "Where did you say this account was?" Larry's voice had dropped to a near whisper. Jenny knew him so wel . He was obviously trying to keep the .conversation private. She lay back on the sand, attempting to disguise her eavesdropping. She didn't want to miss a word.
"Dal as. At least that's the headquarters. She's sel ing to specialty—read high-priced—shops in about six different parts of the country." Wil stood and added another piece of wood to the fire, then sat beside Larry again.
Larry's voice sounded strained. "I'm sorry, I must admit I missed the first part of this. A little drowsy, I guess.
What did you say the business was?"
"She's a clothing designer. I understand from the file I received that she tried to make a living as an artist—
watercolors, I think—then decided to try something that might be steadier. She began with lingerie and at-home clothes for women—you know, those filmy, sexy things that none of our wives would be caught dead in.
I guess there are a lot of women out there who buy them, though, because they sure caught on. Now she has a line of evening gowns and al kinds of fancy stuff. Real dressy New Yorky styles." He chuckled. "One dress would just about take care of Martha's clothes budget for the year."
"What does she look like?"
Wil 's voice took on a teasing tone. "Now, Larry, even the IRS, with al its weirdities, doesn't make tax cal s depending on someone's looks. Besides, I haven't met her yet. We have an appointment in two weeks."
"Here, or in Dal as?"
"Here. There are three or four shops on Newberry Street and in Cambridge that want her line. She's going to look at al of them and select one. That's part of the policy— one exclusive outlet per general area, and no discounting. I guess when the rich buy a dress, they want to be sure they won't run into it at a party." He paused. "Oh, come to think of it, Sam met her. Sam Blackman. He says she's some looker. Exotic. That's the word he used."
Jenny's heart stal ed in mid-beat. She could almost feel her husband's doing the same. Exotic. It had to be she. Besides, how many women in the world could have a name like Ky Kayle? Jenny had never met her either; in fact, she'd only seen one blurred snapshot of her. But she had heard about her. Her ears perked up as Larry spoke.
"I knew her years ago. Another lifetime ago actual y. We were friends al through high school and the first two years of col ege."
"Oh, real y? Then I'm sure you'd like to see her when she comes. Why don't I check the date when we get back to Boston, and you can mark it on your calendar. We can have lunch together. If you're old friends, maybe you can give her some free advice on systems while I give her some costly advice on taxes." The jovial chuckle again. For a split second, Jenny hated Wil Samuelson.
"Sure, I'd love to see her again."
Jenny shrank in on herself. She shivered even as the heat of the fire closed in on her, stifling her breath, nauseating her. Come on, Jenny, she scolded herself. As Larry said, that was another lifetime. Of course he's curious. Who wouldn't be? After al , she was his first girlfriend.
Actual y, she was part of his life for quite a while. Jenny's truthful nature forced her to acknowledge what she knew to be the facts. Ky had dominated Larry's existence for five years. They had grown up in the same town in Connecticut, had met in high school. They had been friends, then much more than friends. Larry had gone to Harvard and Ky to some art school in Pasadena. The California- Massachusetts distance had probably contributed to the breakup; Jenny had never real y known.
Larry was very open about everything in his past—everything except Ky Kayle. He had given Jenny bits and pieces of information about her now and again when they were first married, but he seemed reluctant to discuss her. Jenny had always felt it would be an invasion of his privacy to press for more details. If it were a hurtful segment of his past, he was entitled to keep it locked away.
The name hadn't come up in at least a dozen years. Why did it now cause this cold draft around her heart?
She wondered if Ky were married, but she didn't dare ask. As though some strange form of mental telepathy were in control, Larry asked, "Is she married?"
"Hel , I don't know. No, wait a minute. I do know. Sam said she was divorced. Of course I don't know any details. You can catch up on everything when you see her. I don't think there were any kids; at least there's no mention of them in the tax information."
"How come she consulted our firm? Is she in any trouble?"
"Oh no, nothing like that. Quite the opposite. One of those fairy-tale business stories. It's a nice break from al the chapter elevens I've had to work on recently. She evidently started what she thought would be a smal business— enough to provide a decent income—and the thing took off, expanded like mad. Now she's floundering in a sea of escalating profits, with the ever-accompanying escalating taxes. So somebody gave her the best advice of her life. Namely, 'Get thee to a tax expert.'"
Larry gave a short, forced laugh at Wil 's quip, then stood abruptly, brushing the sand from his jeans in jerky, nervous swipes. "Al that food is sitting in a lump in my stomach. I think I'll take a little strol before bedtime."
Jenny sat up, ready to offer her company, but he didn't invite her to go. And for the first time in their marriage, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that her company would be unwelcome. None of her reasonable mental admonitions eased the knot of fear in her stomach one bit. She watched Larry take off at a pace that was decidedly not a strol . It was more like a flight.
As she lay back on the sand, fighting waves of apprehension, her treacherous mind fished up a long-ago scene: one of the first parties she and Larry had attended after their engagement. She had been deliriously happy. She'd fal en in love with Larry on their first date. Complete, total, head- over-heels love—a kind of instant, compulsive heart commitment that her prim New England background had not prepared her for. Larry had been sweet and kind and attentive, but his sudden proposal after only four months of dating had caught her entirely by surprise. His proclamation of love had seemed a miracle.
The party was at his frat house. She had been talking to a group of fel ow Radcliffe students and had heard Larry greet someone behind her. Brad someone—she didn't recal the last name. The conversation snapped sharply into her mind.
"Larry! I'll be damned! How are you?" Sounds of back-slapping.
"Brad, where the hel did you come from? Jeez, I haven't seen you since graduation. Hey, you've grown tal er since high school. What're you doing here?"
"Came for the game. We'll be sitting on opposite sides of the field. I'm a Yalie, you know."
"Oh sure, I remember hearing someone mention that. It's great to see you. What have you been up to?"
"Not much. Studying, plan to head for law school, I'm on the tennis team. Pretty humdrum. Hey, I hear a rumor that you're engaged. Any truth to it?"
"Absolutely. As of five days ago."
"Wel , congratulations!" More back-slapping. "Can't say I'm surprised. How is Ky? Where is she? I don't see her around."
Jenny remembered that her stomach had felt the same way it felt right now. She also remembered the long silence before Larry spoke. It was immediately clear that he did not know that Jenny was standing behind him.
"Brad, it isn't Ky. It's Jenny. Jenny Lawrence."
Another long silence. "Wel , that'
s a surprise. No, it's beyond a surprise—it's a real shocker. You and Ky, I mean, I've never been able to picture one of you without the other. You were always together. You were everyone's storybook romance. What happened, Larry?" Another pause. Was Larry holding his breath like she was? Then Brad's voice again, concerned. "Hey, buddy, you okay? Listen, I'm sorry. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I didn't mean to say anything wrong."
"No, it's al right, Brad. Don't worry about it. You're an old friend. You have a right to wonder about it."
"Did she take a walk on you, Larry? That must have been tough."
"No, it wasn't Ky's fault. It was mine. I'm afraid I did a real al -out heel number on her."
"Wel , hey, listen old buddy,"—Brad's voice, embarrassed, too hearty—"Congratulations anyways. I'll look forward to meeting, uh—"
"Jenny."
"Jenny. She must be a humdinger to edge out a gorgeous dish like Ky. Hey, there's my date. I'll see you again before the weekend is over."
Jenny had never told Larry that she'd overheard that conversation. She had moved foggily through the rest of the evening, feeling pale, light brown, starched. One thing she knew she was not: she was not a humdinger. It was the first time she had ever wished for blinding, mind-boggling beauty. Why had Larry proposed to her?
Right now, here on this beach, al these years later, she final y realized why she hadn't asked Larry any questions about that conversation. She had been scared to death of the answers. Would she ask him about what she had overheard tonight? She didn't know. She just didn't know.
Larry strode along the moonlit path, pushing himself to a faster gait, stumbling now and again on an unseen rock or dip in the terrain. His mind was a jumbled mess, memories crowding in upon memories, mind pictures tumbling over and over. Damn. Of al the topics to be introduced around a pleasant, friendly bonfire. Had Jenny heard? He didn't think so; she'd seemed to be dozing. Why was this simple mention of a name out of his past such a belt in the gut? Hel , that was over nineteen years ago.
Over, sure, you liar, Larry's agitated mind raged at him. At the mere mention of her name, her face had appeared with alarming clarity, a hauntingly beautiful face, with ful , voluptuous lips and black eyes that tilted slightly at the corners. Ky.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and increased the pace of his long strides until he had reached a high bluff overlooking the ocean. Then he eased himself down on one of the jutting rocks and stared blindly out to sea, barely conscious of the dazzling moon-path that snaked across the black water. His head sank into his hands as a tidal wave of remorse swept over him. He had avoided thinking about Ky al these years for a very good reason: it made him feel like the world's biggest cad.
They had been inseparable for so long. Everyone talked to them and about them as a pair: Ky and Larry, you two, you guys, even you. They had inspected each other for never-emerging signs of acne, had shared innermost secrets and fears, had patted each other on the back on good days and held each other's hand on bad.
They were kids of a far more innocent generation, keeping their budding sexual urges to themselves for an unbelievable three years—al the way through high school. Boy, had that been painful at times! He had watched in awe as his pretty little girl friend had grown into the walking sensation who was stil , and more intently, his girlfriend. Larry stood up, stretching his arms as high as he could, pushing at the tightness in his shoulders. "Ky," he said aloud.
When had his mother first started worrying, dropping her sharp little digs, undercutting the relationship? His proud, social y conscious mother, who was not prepared to have an Oriental, even a half-Oriental, daughter-in-law, despite the fact that her father was a wel -known surgeon who'd just happened to meet the girl of his dreams while stationed in Japan. When had those digs first begun to matter to him, and even more important, why?
He gazed out over the water, focusing for the first time on the silver moon strand. It looked just like that night—
He turned sharply and started back, determined to shut down the memory wheel, but it just kept rol ing on. He and Ky had borrowed a sailboat from the yacht club and, supplied with a picnic hamper ful of cold chicken, potato salad, and a bottle of white wine Ky had filched from her family wine cel ar, had set off for an evening sail to a remote stretch of beach that their crowd often used. It was a night just like this one, that first time they had made love. The first of many. What an exquisite, frightening experience! Two virgins, crossing a forbidden line, with al the attendant fear and excitement of wrongdoing.
Larry stopped dead at the new flood of memories. He had awakened a tiger that night. Ky was slim as a wand, smal -breasted, with a tiny waist and narrow hips, a smal girl, only five-foot two. But that slight body, once kindled, flamed into a volcanic eruption of sexuality. He could almost hear the low, whispery voice floating across the years, creeping into his veins: "Larry, Larry, there, touch me right there. Oh perfect, wonderful.
Slower, honey, oh honey, that's good. Larry, Larry, Larry, please, please..."
He shook his head, trying to shake it free of ghosts, his hand reaching down to tug at the front of his pints.
They were suddenly terribly uncomfortable. Damn it. He had to cut this out and get back. Jenny would be worried about him.
That stopped him again. Jenny. He must never hurt Jenny. Maybe he shouldn't see Ky after al . No use playing with fire. He would let Wil check on the date of her arrival, then find a very necessary reason to be out of town on business. With fresh resolve—and eased-up fit of his pants— he headed back toward the cove and the bonfire.
Jenny stood in front of the mirror brushing her hair, watching Larry's reflection cross back and forth behind her.
He was distracted and forgetful, two highly uncharacteristic traits for him. He had gone to the dresser twice, opened the top drawer, rummaged through, closed it, gone to his duffle bag, unzipped it, looked in without touching anything, zipped it up again, and returned to the dresser for a repeat of the ritual. Then he had gone into the bathroom, put toothpaste on his toothbrush, stared at it for a moment, and laid it down without brushing his teeth. Jenny's brush moved faster, up and down, up and down.
"Larry..."
"Yes?"
"Wil you tel me something?" Her heart was in her mouth. She had to know. She'd go crazy if she didn't ask.
Larry stopped, hesitant. His eyes wavered to hers in the mirror. "Wel , sure, I'll try." The voice was not sure at al .
"Why did you and Ky break up?"
He dropped heavily onto the edge of the bed. "Oh. You did hear Wil mention her."
"Yes."
"Jen, listen—"
"Please, Larry." She faced him, her wide brown eyes beseeching. "I never asked you much about her before; you didn't seem to want to talk about it. But now I real y need to know."
He studied the dear face, conscience-stricken by the pinched, sad look on it. He didn't want to tel Jenny, but she deserved an answer. After al , it was a long time ago. It had nothing to do with their relationship. His voice felt heavy, as though he had to physical y lift it and hoist it up through his larynx and out of his mouth. "It wil make you think less of me." Boy, did that sound corny. Jenny didn't answer. He wished she would assure him that nothing could do that. The silence was oppressive.
"It probably started with Mother," he began. "She didn't real y like Ky." He saw the mixture of surprise and satisfaction on her face. Jenny was the apple of his mother's eye. "She was always taking little shots, making it sound somehow demeaning to be dating a girl of Japanese ancestry. And I guess at some point I felt her attitude affect me. I stil can't quite forgive her for that."
The thin line appeared between Jenny's brows. "Larry, her brother died in a Japanese prison camp. She adored her brother. Of course she'd be prejudiced."
Larry felt as if he'd been doused with a bucket of ice water. He slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.
"My word, Jen. What a dolt I am! I never connect
ed the two things. I thought she just didn't like Ky, that she didn't want me to marry outside of our so-cal ed social circle. Of course I knew about her brother, but it had been so long since she'd mentioned him."
"That's strange; she talked about him to me a lot. Maybe she didn't think you were interested."
He stared at Jenny for a long moment, aware for the first time of the extent of his self-deception. He had been so anxious to pin the blame on someone else.
The brown eyes held his steadily. "Somehow I can't imagine your dropping someone just because your mother didn't approve."
He could no longer meet her gaze. "You're right. It was quite another matter that did it." He took a deep breath, then plunged on. "Jen, I don't know whether you're real y going to want to know this..."
"I am."
"Okay. We were together most of the time during our Christmas vacation, the second year of col ege. We had a wonderful time—parties, the old crowd, al of it. I had dated a few other girls at school but hadn't mentioned it to Ky. She kept tel ing me how faithful she had been, how much she loved me." He shrugged, a boyish gesture of leftover helplessness. "It made me feel—I don't know— sort of hemmed in. We had dated each other exclusively for such a long time. In fact, she was the only girl in my life until that year. I had enjoyed a little taste of freedom. By the time vacation was over, I had pretty wel decided to tel her that I wanted to be free to date other girls, openly.
Not to actual y break anything off between us, you understand, but to have some emotional space before we final y settled down."
He looked at Jenny, worried that the words would hurt. Her expression didn't change. He swal owed and continued. "We went back to school, and I kept putting off tel ing her. I reasoned with myself that it would be better to wait until spring break and tel her in person, rather than by phone or letter. So when I got home at the end of February, I was al geared to cut if off for a while. I was having more and more fun being footloose at Harvard—it's a pretty heady place for a young man wanting to sow some wild oats. So, when we got together—" He stopped.
