“Just gathering strength.” Jonathan smiled and turned on his side and regarded the grisaille figure next to him: her shoulders a darker gray than her light gray breasts; her stomach a darker gray than her light gray pelvis (except for the black thatch). When he had first seen her that day and noted how a creamy blouse veiled her, he had almost been unable to restrain himself. Now here she was before him, unclad. He caressed the curve of the woman’s torso. He was as convinced as any religious zealot that he knew the purpose of life: to make love with Julia Montague.
They had met the night before. During cocktails, Julia had at one point found herself alone and unsure what to do next. Nearby, Jonathan was standing with a couple of older women. He had turned to Julia and, with a beautiful smile, said, “We’re talking about whether Peter and Charlotte will stay in the city or move out of town.” His tone had had a conspiratorial subtext: Save me from these old ladies! Julia had joined the group, introductions were made, and they were still canvassing the question when they were called for dinner.
Julia and Jonathan, it turned out, were seated next to each other. Jonathan was scrupulously proper about how he divided his conversation between Julia and the woman on his other side (it was the minister’s wife; she was fit and had startling blue eyes and white hair like whipped cream, and she had, in fact, set Jonathan’s mind going—a great-looking woman in her sixties?), but when he did talk to Julia, he was attentive.
“Let’s see: Julia Montague,” he had said, furrowing his brow. “I didn’t know that Charlotte had another sister, besides Deirdre.”
This was obvious flattery, intended to amuse Julia—and flatter her. She laughed.
“You’re very kind,” she said. “But no, I’m not Charlotte’s sister. I’m her stepmother.”
“Oh! Of course! Of course, I know your name.” He gave a little nod. “How do you do, Mrs. Montague?”
“Oh, please! Call me Julia.”
“Charlotte has always spoken so highly of you! Peter, too.”
“That’s so kind of Charlotte. Not everybody says nice things about their stepmother.”
“She does,” Jonathan continued. “Actually, to be honest, I think that Charlotte sort of hero-worships you. Heroine-worships?”
“Well, I can’t believe that. But I am very fond of Charlotte.”
“It’s true. And Peter—I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but I’ve always thought Peter was a little bit in love with you.”
Julia laughed. “Really, now!” she said. “That’s ridiculous!”
“Not at all. You can tell.” Jonathan looked at her and smiled and shrugged. “And after all,” he said mildly, “why shouldn’t he be in love with you?”
A waiter interrupted them. They ate and spoke to their other tablemates for a while. When their conversation resumed they had both drunk a little more wine, and they found themselves looking into each other’s eyes.
“I’ve read one of your books, you know,” Julia said.
“Which one?”
“Longer Light’s Delay.”
When she said this, Jonathan buried his head in his hands. “I’ve written exactly two novels, and you had to choose the one that’s terrible.”
Julia reflexively touched his arm. “Oh no! No. I thought it was terrific. Really.”
Jonathan was shaking his head.
“It was very moving,” Julia said. “That scene where they discover the mother has run off, and the little girl runs into the kitchen to see if she has taken her pictures, and of course she hasn’t. I mean, I was in tears.”
“I stole that, actually, from someone’s real life.”
“Well, okay, but still. And isn’t that allowed?”
“I guess,” Jonathan said. “Anyway, thanks.”
They talked about books, which was something Julia didn’t have a chance to do very often. Julia liked to read and she pushed herself to read new fiction; every week she read the short story in one of the magazines she got. But new fiction bored Dick to tears, and her friends weren’t readers, either. Jonathan’s book really had stayed with her. She had found herself staring with interest at the author’s photo.
Jonathan mentioned that these family things can be so tense and asked Julia how it was all going. He asked her about her childhood, her parents, how and where she grew up. Julia found herself becoming uncharacteristically voluble. It turned out that Jonathan knew the younger brothers and sisters of people she knew. It turned out that there were a couple of amazing small-world coincidences. Julia was a passionate skier and so was Jonathan, and he amazed her with the accounts of his daring. “Now, I’m not saying this to impress you!” he had protested.
Jonathan confided in Julia that he had felt a lot of pressure preparing his toast and that he was pretty nervous about it. Julia reassured him that it would go over well. And it did: it was funny, dear, heartfelt, an arabesque in which the lines were at the end touchingly and wittily tied together. All its praise was directed at Charlotte, and the crowd clapped and cheered and stood when he finally asked its members to drink to her.
“Was that okay?” Jonathan asked Julia after he sat down.
Julia was laughing and her eyes were glistening with tears. She took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, Jonathan! It was wonderful!” She was looking into his eyes.
He put his free hand on top of hers. “Thanks,” he said quietly, looking back into her eyes. “Thanks.”
The dinner was breaking up. Jonathan found Julia standing near the door, waiting patiently while Dick spoke to Charlotte.
“Good night, Julia,” he said. “I hope you had a nice time.”
“Yes, I had a very nice time, thank you. I am so happy for Charlotte. What a fun dinner. I’ll have to thank Charlotte and Janet for putting me at such a good table. The man on my other side, Peter’s uncle, he was fascinating. Did you know that he and his wife recently took a trip to Africa? You must ask him about it sometime.” She paused and looked at Jonathan with a smile. “And of course I enjoyed getting to know you a little.”
“I’m glad we were able to talk for a bit.”
“Yes, that was nice.”
They glanced into each other’s eyes again in a final, contractual way, then stood silent for a moment, looking at Dick and Charlotte and the crowd beyond them.
“Well,” Jonathan said, “I should probably be fetching something for someone. Good night.”
They shook hands.
“Good night, Jonathan,” said Julia. “See you tomorrow!”
“Oh yes! See you tomorrow!”
The following day Jonathan and Julia had not spoken until the reception was well under way. They did see each other. Standing at the front of the church just before the ceremony started, Jonathan saw her arrive and got goose bumps. He had to make an effort not to stare at her during the ceremony. For much of the reception, their paths had not crossed. Then he had seen her through the French doors giving onto the terrace. She was smoking a cigarette with her right elbow resting in her left hand. At that moment, she turned and saw him. She held her look at him for two seconds.
He joined her. Getting some air. They chatted. Jonathan mimed the exchange he hoped anyone watching would think they were having. Oh, you’d like to walk around a bit? Of course, I’d be happy to join you. Do you know the club? No? Then you haven’t seen the giant cedar? They walked off slowly. Jonathan gesticulated, and Julia nodded her head, as if she were charitably listening to a country-club bore who was about to tell her its history.
They walked down the path to the first tee and then to the fairway. Here they had their first kiss. Then they continued farther for about a hundred yards.
Jonathan laid his coat on the ground, and Julia removed her clothes carefully and put them on it. Jonathan was less scrupulous. He had developed a system whereby if he removed only one shoe he could free one leg from his pants and shorts, and so achieve the necessary freedom of movement without taking the time to completely disrobe. They were both extre
mely attracted to each other, they were very accomplished at giving pleasure, and they enjoyed themselves immensely.
Now, afterward, they lay talking. They were not cold, for it was a hot, muggy night. The grass was soft and weedless. Julia lay on her back, Jonathan was on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He softly held his hand flat against one side of her face, his palm covering her cheek and his fingertips at her temple. He knew better than to touch her hair.
“Julia,” he said, gazing into her eyes, “run away with me. Tonight! We’ll go someplace where people know how to live, and we can be together, always.”
Julia laughed. It was a joke, but there was an undercurrent in which Jonathan actually sounded sincere, as, in part, he was. Julia stroked his back with one hand and with the other ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. She pulled his head down to her chest and continued to hold it. Her left arm lay across his back and she held the hand against his right side. She didn’t speak.
“Well,” Jonathan said eventually, “if you won’t abandon everything and come away to live with me forever in someplace far, far from all this, can we at least have lunch?”
Julia thought for a moment. “All right,” she said.
“Good. How about Monday at Poquelin’s?”
“But won’t it be closed on Monday?”
“You’re just putting up obstacles!”
“I think I’m right.”
“Okay. Tuesday, then, at one?”
“Yes,” she said.
Jonathan paused as he looked at her. “Thank you,” he said softly. Then he added, “It’s convenient for me because I have my study nearby.”
“I see,” said Julia. She was glad. She would not at all mind repeating this experience in more comfortable surroundings. She would look forward to Tuesday; she would have a hard time waiting.
They kissed and caressed each other, then lay back again.
“I never know what to feel at weddings,” Julia said after a moment. “Happiness for the couple, or dread. I like Peter a lot. And Charlotte, I’m fond of Charlotte, even though … even though …”
“She can be quite a drag?”
Julia laughed. “Yeah.” She thought for a minute. “It’s just that, well, I know that no man completely wants to get married. So maybe it was just that, and nervousness. But Peter, he seemed pretty subdued, really.”
“Poor old Peter,” Jonathan said.
“Why do you say that?”
Jonathan raised himself up and stroked Julia’s cheek with the back of his hand.
“It’s a secret,” he said.
“Oh, come on! I think that, you know, under the circumstances, you can’t exactly keep any secrets from me.”
“What do I get for telling you?”
“I suppose we can think of something.”
“Okay, I’ll trust you,” Jonathan said. He paused for effect. “Peter isn’t in love with Charlotte.”
“Oh no. I had a feeling, actually. It’s too bad.”
“That’s not all, though,” said Jonathan. “The real truth is that he is in love with somebody else.”
“Really? Who?”
Jonathan paused before answering. “Peter is in love with my wife, Holly.”
“Your wife?”
“Yes.”
“Really? How long has that been going on?”
“Years and years.”
Julia thought about this. “Wow,” she said. “Poor Peter. In love with his best friend’s girl. I guess it happens all the time.”
“Yes.” Jonathan let that thought hang in the air and moved his hand lightly along Julia’s neck, over her shoulder, and down part of her arm. “But do you want to know something even more amazing?”
“Okay. What?”
“Holly is in love with him.”
“What?!”
Jonathan shrugged. “Yes, it’s true. Of course, neither of them knows how the other feels.”
“But you do?”
“The human heart, baby—that’s what I’m all about.”
“But—but—did you know this before you and Holly got married?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And you married her anyway?”
Jonathan kissed Julia’s nose. “Yes,” he said. “You see, Holly, she’s pretty great. They really don’t come much better. So, I thought, Well, who should have her, Peter or me? And it’s a funny thing, but the answer I came up with was me.”
“But if you knew she was in love with Peter, what about her happiness?”
“I guess I lack imagination,” Jonathan said, “but it’s hard for me to see how any woman would be happier with Peter than with me. I mean, I love the guy. But really. I have no doubt that Holly’s better off as Mrs. Speedwell. You see, I was looking out for her.”
“And Peter?”
“Oh, well, aside from the fact that I totally screwed over my best friend, I don’t feel so bad about him.” Jonathan sighed. “You see, I’m really not a very nice person.”
Julia now stroked his hair and curled some behind his ear. “Oh well,” she said. “Neither am I.” Then a thought occurred to her. She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “I know about Peter and I know about Holly, but I don’t know about you. Are you in love with Holly?”
Jonathan’s eyes darted away for a second and then he looked back into Julia’s, meltingly. He spoke in a soft, purring voice. “The truly astounding thing,” he said, “is that I am so deeply, passionately, ecstatically in love with you.”
Jonathan and Julia were conscious that it was past time that they both got back to the party. Also, in the last few minutes the wind had come up in cold gusts. They noticed now that dark clouds were hurtling toward them like a black avalanche in the sky. A few drops of rain fell, then it began to rain harder, and thunder rumbled.
“Oh hell!” said Jonathan. “Christ!” Julia was now partially dressed and had carefully gathered the rest of her clothing. “Come on,” said Jonathan, “over there.” A band of rough ran alongside the fairway and beyond it were some woods; a shed with a projecting roof stood at the edge of the woods. Half-dressed and carrying their remaining clothes, Jonathan and Julia hurried over to it; the rough hurt Julia’s bare feet. Just as they got under the roof, lightning flashed, there was a loud crack of thunder, and the rain began to beat down heavily. Nervous and excited, they dressed, pausing for a moment to hold hands and watch the sheets of rain move across the open ground of the course. The air felt cool and smooth. So much rain was now running off the edge of the shed’s roof that they felt as if they were standing behind a waterfall. They kissed, wetly, and looked into each other’s eyes through their wet lashes. Then they returned to their buttons and zippers.
Jonathan had pretty well put himself back together. Then he started looking around on the ground. “Oh, Christ!” he said. “God. Dammit.”
“What is it?” asked Julia.
“My shoe. Damn. I must have left it out there.”
It was true. They could not see it, but his right shoe was lying on its side in the fairway.
“I better go get it,” he said.
“But you’ll get soaked.”
“I know. But I guess explaining that will be easier than explaining why I’m wearing only one shoe. Anyway, it’s letting up a little, isn’t it?”
He took her in his arms. “You go on back,” he said. They kissed. “See you Tuesday.”
“Yes. Tuesday. One o’clock.”
They had a long passionate kiss.
Then, having turned up the collar of his coat and hesitated a moment, Jonathan plunged into the rain and dashed away.
Julia did not think it was letting up. She remained standing in the shelter. Who would miss her, after all? She could say she had been bored and decided to walk around the club and had gotten caught in the rain. Watching Jonathan, she almost had to laugh. With one bare foot and trying to hold his coat closed, he ran lopsidedly, and his tails flapped behind him. He looked like someo
ne in a silent comedy. The rain was falling harder than ever. The poor guy, she thought, what a thorough soaking his hair and clothes were getting. He was now skipping around near the spot where they had lain, trying to find his shoe, and looking even more ridiculous. Finally, he picked something up, examined it, and shook water out of it.
At that moment, a bolt of lightning forked the sky. It struck Jonathan and he fell. Julia gasped. She jumped back. The boom of thunder hurt her ears. Her mind retained the image of the lightning strike. The grass and trees had looked like ghostly figures in a negative or an X-ray. She kept staring ahead. Jonathan did not move. He looked like a crumpled wet tarp. The rain beat steadily. Julia was paralyzed, not knowing what to do. Then she heard some calls and cries in Spanish, and a pair of kitchen workers in white coats ran down from the clubhouse. Reaching Jonathan, one of them knelt over him and then called to the other, who ran part of the way back up the fairway and yelled up to people standing outside. Then there was more calling and yelling and more commotion. A group of people, some from the wedding, some members of the club staff, ran to Jonathan. A moment later Julia saw a young man, an usher, running a few feet in front of someone plumper and shorter, whose running was labored.
“Please!” “Move away!” “He’s a doctor!” Julia heard. By now a crowd had gathered on the terrace. Floodlights had been turned on. A larger group headed down from above to join the advance parties. Rooted in place, Julia watched it all through the sheet of rain running off the shed’s roof.
When Peter first learned that there had been some kind of disturbance, he was standing at the edge of the dance floor talking to two of his mother’s friends.
“Now, I think the bank where I have my checking account was bought by them,” one of the women was saying. “I’ve had that account for the longest time. Why, years ago they would call Mother when she was overdrawn. I don’t suppose you could do that for me, Peter?”
“Unfortunately, Mrs. Whelan, I don’t think it could have been the company I work for.”
“What is it that you do there?” asked the other woman.
“Right now, I’m in a division where we, well, we devise products—” He always found this part difficult. “We help companies hedge, that is, lessen the risk of, when they own something or do something, by owning, although not necessarily owning exactly, other things, that are negatively correlated.”
Love In the Air Page 11
