The New Man

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He had to go back to work and expressed frustration with an afternoon meeting. “I’m soothing investors, my specialty.” He grunted. “Income has far outpaced our original projections, but with the economy so chancy they’re nervous.”

  Trying to lighten his mood, humorous, Helen said, “And with all my anxieties, I probably made your day worse.”

  “No.” His eyes darkened. “Spending time with you improves any day.”

  She felt her smile tremble. “I’m glad.”

  “When can I see you again?”

  “I have grand plans for the rest of the week. A bunch of soap has cured long enough and needs to be unmolded and packaged. I also have appointments to look at soap dishes, believe it or not. I’m trying to find a couple of different types—enamel or ceramic or wire. Kathleen had visions of us making the wire ones, but it’s too time-consuming. I don’t know how many we’d sell, but it would be great to offer some at fairs.”

  “Friday night?” he asked. “Dev is going to a concert at the Tacoma Dome with friends and spending the night with one. If Lily can wangle an invitation, too…”

  A thrill of anticipation mixed with nerves shot through her. They could be alone. Truly alone, for the first time.

  She only nodded, as if he’d merely suggested dinner. Just because his kids wouldn’t be home didn’t commit her. She could chicken out. No, not chicken out—decide sensibly she wasn’t ready for a serious affair.

  “Let me know.”

  Heat flared in his eyes, but he managed to bank it. His nod, too, was almost matter-of-fact.

  His kiss, when they said goodbye at her car, was anything but. For the first time, there was an edge of desperation to it. They were both breathing hard when Alec lifted his head.

  “I’ll call,” he said hoarsely, and left her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  GINNY’S BEDROOM was half little girl’s room, half art studio. When Ginny called “Come in,” Helen entered.

  A few neglected Barbies flopped arms and legs over the rims of plastic storage boxes stored on shelves. Her bed was covered by a sunshine-yellow chenille spread—Ginny had curled her lip at any suggestion of pink. A square of vinyl flooring, spattered with paint, protected the wood floor beneath Ginny’s easel, where a half-finished charcoal sketch hung. She liked modeling with clay, too, so her desk was topped with a piece of Plexiglas and she kept various types of artist’s clay in plastic tubs.

  Helen paused in front of the charcoal drawing. “Hey, this is really good.”

  Ginny was sketching their cat, Pirate, who had apparently been sleeping on her bed. She was deftly giving personality to the long-haired orange tabby with shadings and the mere suggestions of line.

  “Do you think so?” From where she sat on the bed, Ginny cocked her head and frowned at her own drawing.

  Helen shook her head and laughed. “Yes, I think so! No, I’m not just being motherly and encouraging.”

  “Well, but you would be,” Ginny argued.

  “Yes, but…” Amused and exasperated, Helen said, “I refuse to argue.” She pirouetted. “How do I look?”

  “You look pretty.”

  Slyly Helen asked, “Really? You’re not just saying that?”

  “No! You really do….” Ginny caught on and crossed her arms with a harrumph.

  “Because you are my daughter. You’d say that anyway.”

  The eight-year-old stuck out her tongue, then giggled.

  Helen couldn’t resist stealing a glance at herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the closet. She hadn’t worn this dress in years, not since before Ben’s illness. It was a simple slip with spaghetti straps and a plunging back, in shimmery bronze silk. The skirt hugged her body down to her ankles, where it flared above strappy, heeled sandals. With her hair up, she thought she did look…well, not pretty, but elegant.

  Careful not to wrinkle the silk, Helen sat on the edge of Ginny’s bed. “Don’t try to wait up for me, okay? I’ll be really late tonight.”

  Her daughter nodded glumly. “I wish I could go to a play.”

  Helen smiled. “We haven’t been in a while, have we? Let’s check to see what the Seattle Children’s Theatre is doing. You wouldn’t like this one anyway. Trust me. I’m not sure I will.”

  Ginny’s forehead crinkled. “How come?”

  “Well, I’ve heard that everybody ends up naked in Hair. That’ll be a little weird.”

  Her face lit. “Really? They take all their clothes off? How come?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll report on it tomorrow.”

  “Promise.”

  Helen laughed. “I will. I swear. But—” she looked stern “—not tonight. You can’t wait up for me.”

  “Oh, all right.”

  “And quit scowling.” Helen kissed her forehead. “Moms are entitled to have fun, too.”

  But how much fun? she wondered guiltily, when she heard the doorbell downstairs.

  She had been delighted when Alec called Wednesday to say he’d bought tickets to the revival of Hair at the Fifth Avenue, the beautifully restored theater in downtown Seattle.

  “I missed it the last time around,” he said.

  “I did, too.” Helen didn’t say that she missed most of the traveling Broadway shows and locally produced ones like Hair. Her budget only allowed for an occasional trip to the Seattle Children’s Theatre.

  She didn’t feel guilty about the lovely dinner Alec was taking her to or the musical. It was what they were doing—might do—afterward that was causing her inner battle.

  “The kids’ll both be gone tonight,” he had said quietly, at the end of the conversation.

  If a heart could somersault, hers did. The idea of going home tonight with Alec was both exhilarating and frightening.

  It had been so long since she’d made love with a man! Never mind with anyone besides Ben. She had been a virgin until her sophomore year in college, when she took the plunge with a boyfriend who was as inexperienced as she was. When she realized she was dreading their dates rather than looking forward to them, she broke up with him.

  But Ben, undemanding, easygoing, funny, had taught her that lovemaking could involve laughter and slow kisses and delicious anticipation, not just sweaty fumbling in a dorm.

  Alec was so different from Ben, she guessed making love with him would be, too. Making love. The butterflies in her stomach panicked and beat their wings frantically at the very thought.

  Was she in love? If not, should she be contemplating going home with Alec? If she was in love, how could she be? After vowing she’d never do anything so foolish!

  Descending the stairs, she pinned a smile to her lips, determined that he not see her nervousness.

  At the sight of Alec, Helen’s heart took another uncomfortable leap. The well-cut suit showed off his broad shoulders and the crisp white shirt was the perfect foil for his hair, silvering at the temples, and lean, tanned face. His eyes darkened as he watched her come, and she flushed with self-consciousness.

  “I feel like Cinderella,” she announced, trying to make light of the moment.

  “If you’d been at the ball, nobody would have looked at Cinderella.” His voice had that husky note she’d learned to recognize.

  Kathleen, whom Helen had vaguely noticed standing in the hallway, applauded. “Very nice! Logan, come take lessons.”

  Her husband appeared in the doorway of the living room, a smile in his eyes. “I have my poetic moments.” He caught sight of Helen and said simply, “Wow.”

  Kathleen rolled her eyes at Helen. “See what I mean?”

  “A sincere ‘wow’ is much appreciated.” Helen detoured to kiss Logan’s cheek before she laid her hand on Alec’s arm. “Don’t expect me until late.”

  Kathleen laughed. “I feel as if I should say, ‘Have fun, children!’ Or maybe I ought to issue a dire warning about your curfew.”

  “Maybe you should be jealous instead,” Helen teased over her shoulder, as Alec gently urged her out the door. �
��I haven’t seen you dressed up in a long time.”

  “You do have a point.” Kathleen waved and shut the door behind them.

  “You’re always lovely,” Alec murmured. “Tonight, you’re sensational.”

  “Thank you.”

  During the drive, he took her hand. They didn’t talk much. Even during dinner at Palisade, where they ate by candlelight, watching the boats pass the soaring windows, conversation seemed…not strained, but careful. As if each word mattered.

  Instead of feeling adult and sophisticated, Helen found herself remembering the night of her senior prom, when she had dressed like this for the first time. Proms could be awful disappointments, but hers wasn’t. In a rented tux, her date had been far more handsome than he was in the halls of their high school, and riding in a limo was exciting, a glimpse into the lives of movie stars and business tycoons.

  No limo tonight, but Alec’s Mercedes was even better, she decided, as he pulled into the multistory parking garage half a block from the theater. She almost laughed. Alec was a business tycoon.

  The Fifth Avenue Theatre was gorgeous, from the brightly lit marquee to the restored 1920s gilt Oriental decor. The crowd was well dressed and expectant.

  Helen was more captivated than she’d expected to be by the show’s colorful, sometimes surrealistic look at the Vietnam War era and the drug culture. The actors did indeed do a dance number entirely in the buff. The effect was startling but not gratuitous. Even so, Helen was pricklingly conscious of Alec stirring in his seat beside her, of his body beneath his clothes, of hers clad only in the thin dress and tiny panties.

  After long and enthusiastic applause, the entire audience on its feet, Alec and Helen joined the slow exodus.

  Helen heard a woman say, “Well, you got an eyeful,” and turned to see a pretty teenage girl behind her. She was trying very hard to look worldly and poised, but her face betrayed her youth and shock. Helen hid her smile and met Alec’s eyes, seeing amusement in them, too.

  In the lobby, when they had moved away from the mother and daughter, Helen murmured, “I got an eyeful, too.”

  Alec’s laugh was a low rumble. “You’re not kidding. Did you see what huge breasts that one woman had?”

  “Breasts?” Helen blinked. “I’m afraid that I was looking at something else.”

  He laughed again, the skin beside his eyes crinkling. “I guess we do have a slightly different outlook, don’t we?”

  “Yep.”

  His hand was warm, clasping her upper arm as they made their way past clumps of theatergoers rounding up members of their party or animatedly discussing the play. Words floated after them as they went through the double doors out into the warm night.

  “Uninhibited…”

  “Tragic…”

  “Unnecessary…”

  As the light changed and Helen and Alec started crossing the street, he said, “Well? What did you think?”

  “I thought it was marvelous. The actors were incredible. Did you read the bios? Most of them were local.”

  “There were some superb voices, weren’t there?”

  Talking about Hair carried them as far as the car.

  The Mercedes felt as if it had shrunk, becoming a tinted bubble that separated them from the world outside. Helen concentrated on her breathing.

  Alec put the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine immediately. She felt his gaze on her face.

  “Would you like to come to my place, if only for coffee or a drink?”

  If only for.

  That meant he didn’t assume anything. She could just see his house and, well, flirt with the idea of dancing in the nude herself, so to speak.

  “That would be nice,” she said primly.

  Alec cleared his throat. “Okay. Good.” Under his breath, he muttered, “I hope Dev cleaned the kitchen before he left.”

  Helen laughed. “I’ve seen dirty dishes before.”

  “He and his friends can trash a kitchen.”

  “Growing boys have big appetites.”

  “You can say that again.”

  They had gotten—temporarily—past the awkwardness. They chatted about the kids. Another parent had driven a group of boys down to the Tacoma Dome and was picking them up after the concert, and Lily was spending the night at a girlfriend’s.

  “Difficult as he is, Devlin makes friends more easily than Lily does. She’s more reserved—shyer, I suppose. Maybe it’s harder for girls. I don’t know. It seems like boys always move in a pack.”

  Helen nodded. “I know what you mean. Ginny’s had a hard time, too. In her case, it doesn’t help that she has never been interested in group activities. She played soccer one year, softball another, and didn’t much like either. But she’s got a couple of pretty close friends now.”

  “Lily’s the same. Lately her circle is expanding. I’m getting the impression that teenage girls move in packs, too.” His tone was humorous. “Safety in numbers, maybe.”

  “Could be.” Helen congratulated herself on her light tone. In fact, she was very aware of how alone she and Alec were. They had dined in busy restaurants, strolled in the middle of fair crowds, shopped with their kids, kissed in parking lots and on her front porch. But, except for brief car rides, they had never been really alone.

  Until tonight.

  His house was on upper Queen Anne Hill, on the west side where the land fell sharply toward the Sound. In the dark she could see only that the houses in his neighborhood were good-sized and charming. Many were built of brick, with Tudor beams or fairy-tale peaks above leaded-glass entry doors. Yards were ample and beautifully landscaped, with flowers tumbling down stone retaining walls and wisteria and clematis twining over arbors built to echo the porch pillars.

  His house was a large, white, Cape Cod style home with black shutters framing small-paned windows. As at Kathleen’s, the garage was at street level, but because of the slope of the hill, was also part of the basement. The door glided up and the Mercedes turned in. Alec touched the opener attached to the visor and the door began closing behind them.

  Unlike Kathleen’s garage, this was double-car width. A lawn mower was on one side, tools hung on hooks and Peg-Boards, and two tall cabinets with closed doors corralled any other clutter.

  “Logan would approve,” Helen blurted.

  Alec shot her an odd look. “Of my garage?”

  Blushing, she said, “Well, and Kathleen, too. They’re both neat-freaks.”

  “Ah.” He pulled the keys from the ignition. “Dare I admit that the garage is neat because I hardly ever touch anything in it?”

  “You’re not a gardener?” She felt compelled to make conversation.

  “The yard is low-maintenance. I do what I have to.” His mouth crooked. “What I can’t make the kids do.”

  “Oh.” Dead end.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he suggested.

  “The house looks beautiful.” She almost made a face at her own gushing.

  Alec circled the car toward her, his eyes—well, she didn’t quite meet them, so she wasn’t sure what expression they held. But he said conversationally, “I’ve always liked it. The part that’s now the living room and the kids’ bedrooms was built in the twenties, and there was a major addition to accommodate a master suite and family room fifteen years ago. Fortunately, the architect stayed true to the spirit of the house.”

  He opened a door and gestured for her to climb up the steps. Skirt gathered in her hand, Helen was conscious of him right behind her.

  She opened the door at the top of the stairs and stepped into the kitchen, a gorgeous room that—almost—made her forget why she was here. Rag rugs and polished wood floors, cherry cabinets and antiques created a dream kitchen.

  “You must live in here,” she said, slowly turning. “This room is perfect.”

  For a moment, Alec was silent. Then, in a reflective tone, he said, “Funny thing, but I realized not long ago that I avoid the kitchen.”

  Helen had a
peculiar sinking sensation in her stomach. “Was this Linda’s favorite room?”

  He gazed past Helen toward the dining nook, something in his eyes making her guess he saw a ghost. “I told you she loved to cook.”

  She nodded but doubted he noticed.

  “We remodeled the kitchen after we moved in. When we were done, Linda stood just about where you are now, looked around, and said, ‘It’s perfect.’”

  Almost exactly what she’d just said, Helen realized. The slow sinking in her belly became a nauseating plummet.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  He shook himself and focused on her for the first time since they’d stepped into the kitchen. “No, I’m sorry. I should have known you’d love this room. I always did, too. Like I said, it only dawned on me recently how much I associate it with Linda.”

  “Are you sure staying in the house was a good idea?”

  “No. I’m not sure. But I thought familiar surroundings would help the kids hold on to memories.”

  Helen nodded. Perhaps, in selling her house immediately, she’d robbed Ginny of the chance to cling to remembrances of her father: here he held me, there he stood on the stairs and laughed. But she had been sure that most of all, Ginny would remember the dying man lying in the hospital bed that filled the living room. They had become so accustomed to tiptoeing, to keeping their voices down, to shutting doors softly, she hadn’t thought they could ever live there again.

  Alec made an impatient sound. “Can I get you coffee? Or would you like a glass of wine?”

  “Um…coffee sounds good.” She needed the bracing effect of caffeine to think sensibly. Alec, she greatly feared, was still in love with his wife. Helen hated the idea that he sought a substitute.

  He’d been running water and measuring coffee. “While it perks, let me show you around. If you’re interested.”

  “Yes, I’d love to see the rest of the house.”

  Swinging doors led into a central hallway furnished with the same warm touch. A ceramic vase stood on an ivory crocheted runner protecting the gleaming surface of a cherry console with turned legs. The watercolors on the pale peach walls were all of lush gardens and fat blossoms. White woodwork and oak floors continued into the living room, where a model of a wind turbine stood like a sculpture on the brick surround of the fireplace. Chairs upholstered in cream, rose and green were teamed with a cream-colored leather sofa. Gently faded Persian rugs with ivory backgrounds tied the furnishings together. Built-in white painted bookcases flanked the fireplace, and a huge philodendron clambered over the front window.