The Harder They Fall

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “I see you’ve met Helene,” Martin said.

  “Yes,” Chris replied, stepping back from his brother.

  There was a silence.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Martin prompted eagerly, beaming at his fiancée.

  “Very,” Chris said quietly.

  “I had come down here to wait for you and Chris found me,” Helene said hurriedly, to change the subject.

  “Good, good. I want you two to get along, you know,” Martin said, still smiling broadly.

  Chris looked at Helene and then away.

  “Sorry to barge in like this, but we had the opportunity to get here a little sooner and we took it,” Martin added. “You’re probably not ready to feed us, Chris, so what do you say to a dinner on the town? I’m starving and I see that Maria has gone home for the day.”

  “Sure,” Chris said.

  They all stood awkwardly in the kitchen, glancing at one another uneasily.

  “Well, let’s get going,” Martin said briskly. “My rental is parked out in front.”

  “Nothing doing,” Chris retorted. “I’m driving.”

  “I’m not sure Helene is ready for that experience,” Martin observed dryly.

  “What does that mean?” Helene asked nervously.

  “Chris used to drive race cars,” Martin explained. “Sometimes he gets the public roads confused with a dirt track.”

  “I’ll drive like a little old lady on her way to church,” Chris said sarcastically.

  “I’m relieved to hear it,” Martin said.

  They went out to Chris’ car, which turned out to be a low slung Italian sports car with a vestigial back seat, into which Martin climbed, insisting that Helene take the full front seat next to Chris. She got in as gracefully as possible, smoothing her skirt down over her knees carefully, then looked away in confusion when she saw Chris watching her. She stared straight ahead, extremely conscious of the man beside her, his muscular thighs encased in cord jeans, a large brown hand on the gear shift. When she stole another glance at him his expression was grim.

  During the drive to the restaurant Martin kept up a running conversation with Chris about the ranch and local people. Helene had wondered about reservations, but once they got there she realized that Chris had an inside track. They were greeted like royalty and shown to a secluded table next to a niche containing a plaster statue of Don Quixote. The plush red carpeting and heavy carved furniture gave the room a Mediterranean feeling. Helene was seated in a padded leather chair with brass studs on the arms and given a menu printed in Spanish.

  “Have you ever had this kind of food before?” Chris asked, as a waiter hovered in the background.

  “No,” Helene replied, glancing uneasily at Martin.

  “Give it a chance, you’ll like it,” Martin said.

  “Tres margaritas, por favor,” Chris said to the waiter, who promptly vanished.

  “Oh, nothing for me,” Helene said, looking up from the menu.

  “You don’t drink?” Chris asked, arching one black brow.

  “Not much.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to drink yours, then,” Chris offered, smiling at her lazily.

  Helene felt the warmth creeping up her neck at his penetrating gaze and concentrated on shredding a roll.

  “What do you recommend?” Martin asked his brother. “They’ve changed the menu since I was last here.”

  “Mussels in green sauce for an appetizer,” Chris said.

  Green sauce? Helene thought. She’d pass.

  “And the paella is good,” Chris added.

  “What’s that?” Helene asked.

  “Saffron rice with a mixture of chicken and sausage, scallops and shrimp.”

  “All that?” she said, dismayed.

  “Or you can have arroz con pollo,” Chris added. “That’s always safe for the tourists.”

  Helene looked at him inquiringly.

  “Chicken and rice,” he explained.

  “That sounds fine,” she said, relieved.

  “Not too foreign?” Chris suggested mildly.

  Helene looked at Martin, who was watching the exchange between his fiancée and his brother intently.

  “Helene has rather plain taste in food,” Martin said.

  “No continental restaurants in New Jersey?” Chris inquired.

  “I haven’t been able to afford them,” she replied flatly.

  “But of course you’ll be able to soon, once you marry my brother,” Chris said evenly. “So I guess you can consider this a foretaste of the good life.”

  Martin looked at him sharply.

  “Margaritas,” the waiter announced, depositing the drinks at each place on the table.

  Chris picked his up and drained half of it in one swallow.

  “So,” he said to Helene as he put his glass down, “what’s your job back East?”

  “I teach first grade.’‘

  “Little kids?”

  “Yes, they’re around seven.”

  “I guess you’ll be giving that up once you get married,” Chris said, fiddling with the salt cellar on the table.

  “No, I hadn’t planned to do that,” Helene replied.

  “Why not? You won’t need the money.”

  “I enjoy my job and that’s reason enough to keep it,” Helene said, rising. “Will you excuse me, please?”

  “The ladies’ room is to the right of the entrance,” Martin said as she left the table. He waited until Helene was out of earshot and then said tightly to Chris, “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chris replied flatly, draining his drink.

  “You’re needling Helene,” Martin said.

  “I’m just asking her about her background, trying to make conversation,” Chris replied evenly.

  “Bull.”

  “Don’t you want me to talk to her?”

  “I don’t want you to imply with your every word and gesture that she’s after me for my money.”

  Chris stared back at him without replying.

  “It may interest you to know that it has taken me months to get that woman to accept my proposal and if you keep treating her this way she may just change her mind,” Martin said heatedly.

  “I’m sure she required a lot of persuasion, what with her father dead, the family destitute and only her first grade teacher’s salary to bail them out,” Chris said dryly.

  “What is the matter with you?” Martin demanded. “I’ve wanted a home and a family for a long time and you certainly know that. I’m clearly old enough to make my own decisions. If this is the person I choose, you should welcome her. She’s hardly a streetwalker, which is the way you’ve been acting.”

  “So you think a young, beautiful girl like that is marrying you because she’s madly in love with you?” Chris countered.

  “Oh, I see. I’m too old and stodgy to attract someone like Helene for any reason except the stability I can provide, is that it?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Chris said grimly, seizing Helene’s margarita and downing a gulp of it.

  Helene approached the table and the men fell silent. Shortly afterward the waiter took their order and the meal proceeded, in an atmosphere of palpable tension. By the time they left to return to the ranch Martin was making desperate small talk and Chris was replying in monosyllables. Helene had given up and stared out the window all the way back, ignoring the man driving the car beside her.

  When they got back, Helene pleaded fatigue and retired to the guest room. Martin took the bedroom next to hers and Chris had the room at the end of the hall. Helene undressed quickly and got into bed, but she was unable to sleep. The evening kept replaying itself in her mind; she felt the dark eyes of Martin’s brother on her as if he were with her at that moment. Why did he trouble her so much?

  She finally got out of bed in frustration and paced around the room. Moonlight streamed across the bed and illuminated the ghostly shapes of the fu
rniture.

  She went into the adjoining bathroom and splashed water on her face, glancing in the mirror above the sink as she patted her cheeks dry. Her flaxen hair streamed over her shoulders and her blue eyes looked huge and vague in her pale face. She closed her eyes wearily and leaned against the door.

  Why had Martin’s brother taken such an instant dislike to her? What had she done wrong? It was true that she had arrived unexpectedly and he’d found her prowling about his kitchen, but that had been explained. And why did she feel so odd when he looked at her, as if she wanted to run away and yet were nailed to the floor at the same time?

  Helene sighed. Her mother was right, she thought as she went back into the bedroom, she should have dated more. Then maybe she would be better at handling men. But her shyness had been such that she had preferred the company of her family and the books she got from the library. Even in college she had chosen an early childhood major because she knew she would not be comfortable teaching older children. And now here she was trying to win over Martin’s obviously hostile brother without the background or experience to deal with him. She wished mightily that she were a femme fatale; at least then she would not feel gauche and helpless every time Chris looked at her. She was comfortable with Martin, that was part of his attraction for her, and she had naturally expected to feel the same way with his brother. The uneasiness with Chris had come as a rude surprise and its aftermath was now keeping her awake.

  She remembered a sleep aid from childhood and decided to go to the kitchen to heat some milk. She padded barefoot down the hall in her cotton nightgown and slipped into the darkened kitchen, locating a carton of milk in the refrigerator. She found a saucepan in the cupboard under the sink and heated the milk, pouring it into a glass and then tiptoeing past the living room. She was taking a sip of the hot drink when a deep voice said, “Why don’t you join me?”

  Helene started so violently that the milk slopped from the glass and spattered her bare feet. She looked over her shoulder and realized that the deep chair fronting the fireplace was occupied. Its back was so high that she had not seen Chris sitting there. He was staring into a dying blaze in the grate, swirling an inch of amber liquid in a glass. As she walked across the parquet floor toward him he saluted her with the tumbler and said, “Can’t sleep?”

  “No,” she replied, standing awkwardly in front of him, holding her milk before her as if it were a chalice.

  “Me neither,” he said. “Must be the mussels, they have a tendency to come back and haunt you.”

  “I didn’t eat any mussels.”

  “That’s right. In fact, you didn’t eat much of anything. Did I spoil your appetite?”

  “I... wasn’t very hungry.”

  “Ah. So polite. Don’t you ever get the urge to say what you really feel? And oh, yes, I meant to tell you that I find you and Martin staying in separate rooms very quaint and old-fashioned. Is this for my benefit or is it standard procedure?”

  “We aren’t... we haven’t...” she stopped.

  “Saving yourself for marriage?” he inquired archly.

  Helene didn’t know what to say.

  “You haven’t actually convinced him that you’re a virgin, have you?” Chris asked.

  Helene’s eyes filled with tears of frustration. The last thing on earth she wanted was a nasty scene with Martin’s brother, but there was only so much a self respecting person could take without striking back. Deciding that retreat was best, she turned to go and caught her heel on the edge of the wool rug in the center of the living room. The glass flew out of her hand and shattered against the wall. Crying openly now, aghast at her own clumsiness, Helene stumbled blindly and stepped on a shard, yelping in pain.

  Chris was at her side in an instant, catching her and scooping her quickly into his arms.

  “Take it easy, take it easy,” he said softly. “The cut isn’t bad, it doesn’t look deep, there are some bandages in the kitchen. Just relax and let me carry you.”

  For several long, luxurious moments Helene did just that, dropping her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. He felt so solid and strong and he smelled wonderful, a combination of the starch in his shirt, the soap he used and the clean, masculine scent of his skin. She sighed and relaxed, then realized what she was doing. Her eyes flew open in alarm. Martin’s brother was holding her close, she was in his arms and she was enjoying it! She began to struggle, flailing out at him wildly.

  “Put me down,” she hissed, kicking her legs. “Let me go!”

  “You can’t stand on that foot,” he said, holding on to her tightly while ducking her blows. “Will you stop that?”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Martin said from the hall.

  Chapter 2

  Chris and Helene both looked up guiltily, as if caught in a criminal act.

  “Helene cut her foot,” Chris said.

  “I cut my foot,” Helene said miserably at the same time, blushing furiously.

  “I see that,” Martin replied, looking from one to the other and then down at the offending member, which was dripping scarlet onto the rug.

  “Bring her into the kitchen,” Martin commanded, and Chris obeyed, depositing Helene on a chair and then standing back, as if demonstrating that he had no claim on her.

  “I’ll take care of this,” Martin said shortly.

  Chris looked at Helene, who refused to meet his eyes. He hesitated for a moment and then abruptly left the room. They heard his bedroom door close smartly a few seconds later.

  “So how did this happen?” Martin asked, removing a bottle of peroxide and a box of gauze from a cabinet. He got a plastic basin from the cubbyhole under the sink and a roll of tape from a drawer.

  “I couldn’t sleep and got up to get some milk,” Helene replied. “On the way back I tripped on the living room rug and broke the glass.”

  “And how did Chris get involved?” Martin asked, pulling up his pajama legs as he knelt to slide the basin under her foot and then pour peroxide over the wound. Helene winced at the sting.

  “He was up too, having a drink. He came to help.” That was substantially the truth, but Helene still felt uncomfortably like a liar. Why? She wasn’t really concealing anything—except her sudden, unexplained feelings.

  “There,” Martin said, drying the cut, which was bleeding less, and then covering it with gauze. He taped the dressing in place and stood up decisively, grunting with satisfaction.

  “That should hold up pretty well,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Helene said meekly, avoiding his gaze. “I’m sorry I woke you with my caterwauling.”

  “I couldn’t imagine what was happening,” Martin said, smiling slightly.

  “Chris just picked me up and carried me off; I don’t like to be manhandled that way,” she said weakly, feeling that further clarification was necessary.

  “That’s my brother. He’s a ‘take charge’ type of guy,” Martin said, grinning.

  His innocent acceptance of her explanation served to make Helene feel much worse and she wondered why. After all, nothing had happened, certainly nothing tangible enough to cause the surge of guilt she was experiencing.

  “Do you want a pain pill?” Martin asked. “I have some left from a prescription for an abscessed tooth.”

  “No, it’s not that bad. Suddenly I feel exhausted— I’m sure I’ll be able to sleep now.”

  “Let me help you back to your room.”

  Helene leaned heavily on Martin’s arm as they walked back to her door. He kissed her gently on the forehead and said, “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Helene nodded and closed the door, barely making it back to the bed before bursting into tears. She muffled her sobs with the bedspread, afraid of drawing Martin’s attention again.

  What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn’t usually this emotional, in fact her customary stability was a point of pride. Through all of her recent troubles no one had seen her shed a tear. And now here she
was bawling like a two year old because her fiance’s brother had held her for thirty seconds for a perfectly acceptable reason.

  But that wasn’t the problem and she knew it. The green memory of her reaction to the embrace was causing this cataract, and try as she might she could not put the sensation of Chris’ arms around her out of her mind. She knew that if he’d tried to kiss her during those few fleeting moments he had held her, she would have responded.

  Was it possible to be a loose woman and not know it? Maybe the potential had been there all the time, just waiting for the right button to be pushed. She didn’t deserve Martin, that was clear, but she would try to make up for it. His brother’s instinctive attempt to help her when she was hurt had produced a response in her she could never have anticipated, and now must try feverishly to forget.

  Helene sniffed loudly. Maybe that wouldn’t be so difficult. After all, she would not have to see very much of Chris. She could make some excuse to cut this trip short, the wedding would be only one day and then she and Martin would be living back East. A Christmas visit once a year, maybe the occasional summer vacation stopover, that was all she would have to endure.

  Heartened by these thoughts, Helene dried her eyes on a corner of the counterpane and settled back on the bed. She was not going to examine her reasons for making desperate plans to avoid Martin’s brother for the rest of her life scant hours after meeting him. She punched the pillow and rolled over on her side, determined to get a couple of hours’ sleep before the sun rose.

  * * * *

  Chris gave up on sleep at five in the morning and took a shower. He dressed in the semidarkness, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt by the window, watching the streaks of orange and purple inflaming the sky. He clenched and unclenched his fists. His hands retained the feel of her, the slim body, the satiny skin, the brush of her silken hair against his wrist. Her fresh, flowery scent still seemed to surround him like a cloud; he saw again the outline of her body through the thin nightgown she wore as she stood before the fire. He sighed and closed his eyes. Martin’s girl, of all people. What a mess. He had certainly not expected to feel like this about her.