by Joan Hohl
“Is this the same girl who could not boil an egg seven years ago?” Micki asked Benny with not altogether mock surprise.
“Can you believe it?” Benny laughed. “You should see the pile of cookbooks this woman has collected.” His eyes caressed Cindy’s face. “She has been a very busy lady since you left, Micki. She’s learned to sew so well she now makes most of her own clothes and now she is knitting.” His tone was so full of pride, his eyes so full of tenderness as he gazed at his wife, Micki felt the hot sting of tears behind her lids. “I swear,” he murmured, “she began knitting tiny things the day after she conceived.”
“You big oaf, will you stop?” Cindy’s glowing face proclaimed her love as she chided Benny. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Why?” Benny’s hand caught and held Cindy’s tightly. “Because I love you and I don’t care who knows it?” He lifted her hand to his lips, bestowed a light kiss before adding, “Besides which, Micki’s our friend, our best friend, why would you be embarrassed in front of her?”
“Oh, Benny.”
Cindy’s half sigh, half whisper brought a lump to Micki’s throat and in an attempt to dislodge it she drawled dryly, “I can do a fantastic disappearing act if you two want to be alone.”
“Would you?” Benny teased.
“Don’t you dare,” Cindy gasped.
The banter flew back and forth all evening. The closest they came to a serious subject was while they considered the best location for Micki to begin her apartment hunting.
Micki was in a mellow mood when she left and as she drove along the almost deserted streets a gentle smile curved her lips. Cindy and Benny were so perfectly suited and so obviously in love it was a joy just being in their company. Who would have believed it, back when Cindy was tossing insults at Benny every five minutes? Had, Micki wondered, Cindy been attracted to him even then? Very likely, Micki decided. The insults and taunts were probably the adolescent Cindy’s way of venting that attraction. And Benny? Micki’s smile grew tender remembering how good-naturedly he had taken Cindy’s constant ribbing. What a delight they were to be with, Micki mused. If only Wolf were ... Micki put a brake on her thoughts abruptly. Scathingly she told herself if only must surely be the most overworked words in the English language. You can if only from now until the first day of forever, she scolded herself mentally, and it will change nothing. So forget it. Forget him.
Her date with Tony the following evening was a mixture of fun and sadness. The fun began the minute she opened the door to him, for she was caught in his arms and twirled around in the air.
“Micki.” Tony laughed down at her when she stood once more firmly on the floor. “You look as gorgeous as ever, only more so. God, what a sight you are for these weary old eyes.”
“Weary old eyes, my Aunt Sara,” Micki laughed back. “It’s good to see you too, Tony. What are you up to these days?”
“Oh, about five-eleven,” Tony drawled. “Maybe six feet”
“I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t said that.”
Although Micki’s tone was teasing, there was an underlying note of seriousness to it. It was silly, she knew, yet she would have been disappointed. His predictable rejoinder had reaffirmed their friendship, their closeness.
She had been around twelve the first time he’d quipped the reply to her. It had been summer then, too, and on that afternoon Micki had felt deserted and alone as all her girl friends were otherwise occupied. Without much hope of finding a companion, she had scuffed her way forlornly to the playground. She had found the fourteen-year-old Tony, looking every bit as dejected and forlorn, leaning against the playground fence. He had been watching, with lofty teenage amusement, the antics of a group of toddlers and had not seen Micki approach.
“None of the kids are around today,” Micki had grumbled as she leaned against the fence beside him. “What are you up to, Tony?”
Maybe it was the sound of abject self-pity in her voice. Micki never knew, but when Tony turned to look at her, all signs of his own dejection had vanished. His expression was one of consideration and when he answered his tone was serious.
“Oh, about five-three, maybe four.”
“Huh?”
She was wrapped up in her own misery, so his quip had gone completely over her head. She had gazed up at him blankly for several seconds before the dancing gleam in his sky-blue eyes and the betraying shake of his skinny shoulders turned the light on in her head. Her reaction was way out of proportion to the humor in his remark. The young, very naive Micki became convulsed with laughter.
“You goof!” she had gasped when her giggles had subsided somewhat. Balling her hand into a small, tight fist, she swung it at his arm. Tony caught her by the wrist before her fist made contact and shook it gently.
“Come on, you silly ass.” Tony’s grin had held amusement, and a dash of superiority. “Since we’re both alone, we may as well be alone together.”
They had kept each other company for the rest of the day and until nine thirty that night. After they had plumbed all the diversions offered by the playground, they moved onto the beach and from there to the bay to watch the fishing boats return. From the bay they went to Tony’s home where Micki had promptly been invited to supper. After a quick phone call to her father obtaining permission for her to stay, Micki and Tony earned their supper by pulling weeds out of his mother’s flower bed. And from the time they left the supper table until Tony’s dad ran her home at nine thirty, they had engaged in a hotly contested game of Monopoly—which Tony won.
From that day until Micki left to go back to college six years ago, their greeting to each other had been the nonsensical, “What are you up to?” the only variance being the inches in Tony’s reply.
Now, they stood, one twenty-five, the other twenty-seven, laughing into each other’s face exactly as they had all those years ago.
“Tony, you are still a goof.” Micki shook her head sharply, fighting the tears of affection that suddenly threatened. Sliding her arms around his waist, she gave him a quick, hard hug. “Do you think we’ll ever grow up?”
“God, I hope not,” Tony murmured fervently into her hair, returning her hug fiercely. When he released her, he glanced around curiously. “Where’s your dad and Regina?”
“At a cookout.” Micki’s laughter, finally under control, threatened to break out again at the crafty expression that stole over Tony’s face.
“We’re all alone here?” he whispered slyly.
“Yes,” Micki whispered back. “Why?”
“You want to stay here?” he leered exaggeratedly. “Fool around a little,” His voice went very low. “We could play doctor.”
“No!” Micki exploded into gales of laughter all over again. Grasping his arm, she urged him toward the front door. “Come on, you nut, you asked me out to dinner, so let’s go dine.”
They drove to an Italian restaurant in Wildwood, where Micki declared the food almost as good as Tony’s mother’s. Tony did most of the talking while they ate, telling about his job in Trenton, why he had decided to make the move home, and all about his present job and apartment.
A soft light in her eyes, Micki watched him while he talked, noting the changes in his face. He was, she decided, one fine-looking young man. His swarthy skin tone and wavy dark hair were set off, given an appealing look by his light-blue eyes and perfect white teeth. A small pale scar, earned in a high school football game, which broke the line of his left eyebrow, added a rakish touch to his visage. Yes, indeed, a very fine-looking young man.
After dinner Tony took Micki to a bar that catered to the dance crowd. The minute the waitress had taken their order and turned away from their minuscule table, Tony stood up and tugged at her arm.
“Come on, Micki, let’s show them how it’s done.”
Tony had always been a good dancer and Micki quickly discovered he’d improved with age. Lithe, agile, he moved around the floor, and her, in a sensuously serpentine way.
From that afternoon in the playground Micki had never felt awkward with Tony, and after only a momentary hesitation, she gave herself fully to the music and the beat
“Yeah, do it, girl,” Tony encouraged, undulating smoothly in front of her. “Crank it up.”
By the time they left the bar some four hours later, Micki’s head was slightly fuzzy from a combination of the loud music and the drinks she’d consumed. Her body was damp with perspiration and she felt as if her legs might fall off at any moment.
As they drove back to Ocean City, Micki leaned her head back against the seat with a contented sigh. The breeze rushing in through the car’s windows cooled her overheated skin and Micki inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the sea.
“Do you want to come to my place and see my etchings?” Tony’s quiet voice nudged her out of a half doze.
“Do you have some?” Micki asked innocently with deliberately widened eyes.
“No,” he admitted ruefully, then added brightly, “but I make pretty good coffee. Would that do instead?”
“That would do perfectly,” Micki laughed, unsuccessfully trying to smother a yawn.
Tony’s apartment was on the third floor of a large, old building, kept in excellent repair. Mumbling, “Why didn’t you warn me about the stairs?” Micki groaned as they trudged upward. The apartment comprised the whole of the third floor and consisted of a fair-sized bedroom, a large kitchen-living room combination, and a small bathroom. The furniture was sparse, but what there was was comfortable and well chosen.
“Make yourself at home,” Tony tossed casually, walking to the kitchen area. “Coffee will be ready in a few minutes, I have one of those almost instant things.”
Micki sank onto the overstuffed sofa and sighed sleepily as the soft cushions seemed to envelop and cradle her tired body. Half asleep, the sound of Tony’s quiet movement touched the fringes of her mind. There was the rattle of a tray being placed on the coffee table and a CD sliding into the player, then, as the cushion beside her depressed from Tony’s weight, the voice of Bruce Springsteen came to her softly from the stereo.
“Are you asleep?” Tony’s voice was low and soft and very, very close.
“Almost.”
Lifting her heavy lids, Micki smiled into the light-blue eyes only inches away from her face. One arm resting on the back of the sofa, he leaned over her, his expression serious, somewhat sad.
“I’m going to kiss you, Micki,” he murmured. The scent of alcohol came to her as his warm breath whispered over her face. Micki knew her own breath held the same tinge.
“I know.”
His lips touched hers gently and then, with a low groan, his arm slid around her waist, his chest crushed hers, pushing her body deeper into the cushions, and his mouth became a driving force that searched hers with an urgency that held near desperation. At first, startled into stillness by the very intensity of his action, Micki lay unresponsive in his embrace. Then, her own feelings of desperation swamping her, she curled her arms around his neck, returned his kiss with equal fervor. Stretching his frame beside her, his hand moved down her back to the base of her spine, urging her body to meet his. Hope flaring that maybe this time she’d feel something, if only a tiny quickening of desire, Micki arched her body to his, her arms tightening around his neck.
Other than the mild, pleasant sensation she usually felt when being kissed, there was nothing. No spark of excitement danced along her limbs, no fire rushed inside her veins, no longing to give herself up to sensual pleasure clouded her senses. She yearned for those sensations, longed to feel them, yet, even when Tony’s hand moved over her rib cage to stroke her breasts, there was nothing. She could have wept in frustration and disappointment. Attuned as she was to those emotions, she felt them reciprocated from Tony when, with a strangled moan, he released her and flopped back against the sofa.
“It’s no good, is it, Micki’?” It was posed as a question, yet it wasn’t one. She answered anyway.
“No, it’s no good, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” The sigh he emitted seemed to come from the depths of his being. “It’s mine.”
Leaning forward, he poured coffee into the two cups on the tray, lifted one, tasted it, then stood up abruptly.
“Better drink your coffee while it’s still hot,” he advised softly, walking to the window on the other side of the room.
Shifting to the edge of the sofa, Micki added milk to her coffee and sat staring at it, her eyes sad and misty.
“Goddamn!”
Tony’s sharply expelled curse startled her upright, her eyelashes fluttering in bewilderment.
“Tony?”
Her soft entreaty brought his body around to face her, a small, apologetic smile on his lips.
“I’m sorry, Micki.” Tony’s lips twisted. “But I was hoping, no praying, that something would ignite between us. It would have been perfect, we’re so compatible. We can laugh and talk so easily together without strain that I thought—maybe—we could make love together as easily.”
Micki frowned, and knowing she misinterpreted his words, he added hastily, “Not just sex, but love—you know.” His lips twisted more harshly. “The real thing, stars and music, the whole shootin’ match.”
“Yes, I do know.” Micki’s frown deepened. “It would seem that we’re suffering from the same malady. You’ve been hurt badly, haven’t you?”
“God, yes!” Tony’s softly groaned exclamation tugged at her heart. Then, as the full content of her words sank in, his eyes sharpened on her face. “You too?” At her nod he probed. “Do I know him?”
Unblinking, Micki stared at him steadily until, turning palms out, he lifted his shoulders and pleaded, “Forget I said that. Bad, was it?”
“Yes.”
“I know the feeling.” He laughed humorlessly. “I’ve been there. Hell, I’m still there.”
“She didn’t”—Micki paused to choose her words carefully—”care for you?”
‘That’s the stinger.” Tony’s smile hurt her. “She loved me.”
“But then, why?” Micki’s face wore a puzzled expression. “Tony, I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I.” He laughed harshly, puzzling her even more. Reading her expression, he lifted his shoulders again in a weary, defeated way. “I threw it away, honey,” he stated flatly. “I had it all in my hands and I threw it away.”
“Tony!” Micki cried in exasperation. “You are not making any sense.”
“Nothing new about that,” Tony sighed. “I haven’t made much sense for some time now.” Tilting his head, he asked quizzically, “Was I always stupid, Micki?”
“Tony!” Micki begged. “Will you stop wallowing in self-pity and explain?”
“Am I doing that?” he asked, startled, then he smiled. “Yes, I guess I am. Sorry, hon. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Micki nodded emphatically. “Of course. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Yes, friends.” Tony’s smile softened. “Okay, friend, you asked for it.” Drawing a deep breath, he began. “I met her in Atlantic City. She’s a supper-club singer,” At the slight rise of Micki’s eyebrows, his hand sliced through the air dismissively. “Oh, she had no great ambitions, no burning drive to be a star or anything. But she has an appealingly soft voice, perfect for the supper clubs, and it was a way for her to earn a good living. She comes from upstate New York and she arrived in Atlantic City via New York City.” He paused and his smile turned whimsical. “We met— introduced ourselves—at a blackjack table.”
“She’s a gambler?” Micki exclaimed.
“Lord, no!” Tony laughed, then sobered. “Even though she gambled, and lost, on me.”
“But how?” Micki cried. ‘Tony, will you explain?”
“All she wanted was marriage, children, and believe it or not, she wanted me for their father.”
“You didn’t want to get married?” The idea didn’t surprise Micki. Many guys shied away from that total commit
ment.
“Hell, yes,” he disabused her at once. “I wanted that more than anything in the world. But, Micki, she was so lovely and I had so damned little to offer her.”
“Ah, Tony—” Micki began, but Tony’s self-derisive chuckle cut her off.
“That’s exactly what she said. In exactly that tone of voice. But, you see, I wanted to have everything perfect for her. I wanted to wait until I could give her a home and all the nice things that go in it.” He smiled ruefully. “She didn’t want to wait, told me she’d enjoy working with me to get the things we’d need.” He drew a deep breath, went on slowly, painfully. “I wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t even consider it.”
“But, Tony, most young couples work together to set themselves up.” Micki’s face revealed her astonished reaction to his words,
“I know, I know, but—” He paused to wet his lips. “Micki, you know me, I’m great in the light moments, like earlier this evening, but when it comes to the heavy stuff, well, I freeze up. And with her it was even worse. I wanted her so much, yet I was almost afraid to touch her. I didn’t merely love her, I put her on a pedestal, literally adored her. I—”
He turned away from her, his shoulders slumping, and Micki’s heart ached for him all over again. When he turned back to her, his face was pale.
“She wrote me a letter.” His soft tone betrayed the strain he was feeling. ‘Told me a friend she used to date had come down to A.C. to see the casinos and had looked her up. He asked her to marry him.” Tony grimaced, but continued. “She said she couldn’t wait anymore, so she was going back home with him, was going to accept his proposal.” Suddenly his eyes shot blue sparks and his fingers raked his hair roughly. “I should have dragged her off the pedestal and into my bed. That’s what I meant when I said I threw it away.”
