Medicine Man's Affair

by Doreen Owens Malek

  Jennifer walked straight off the floor, looking neither right nor left, until she reached her table and slid into her seat Dolores was there, staring at her, dumbfounded.

  “What’s the matter, Dolores, you look like you need a drink,” Jennifer said calmly.

  “A drink!” Dolores yelped. “After that little scene, what I need is a cold shower. My God, Jen, what were you thinking of, to dance with him like that? I was ready to phone for the vice squad.”

  It wasn’t easy to shock Dolores, but Jennifer had apparently done it That was some sort of milestone. It also told Jennifer that if generally liberal Dolores reacted this way, the response in more conservative quarters (like the mind of Harold J. Salamone) might be somewhat greater.

  Her chagrin was intensified by the return of Craig and John to their table. John glanced at Jennifer briefly and then looked down, fiddling with his napkin. Jennifer felt a sharp stab of sympathy for him. After all, she was his date, and she had just made a spectacle of herself with another man.

  Jennifer felt the heat of a flush staining her skin and brushed damp tendrils of hair away from her face. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, pushing back her chair. The men half rose out of their seats as she walked quickly through the ballroom until she reached the cool safety of the marble-floored entry hall.

  The reception area was almost empty, as the party was in full swing. The clerk behind the desk glanced at her without curiosity, and one of the hostesses, who recognized her as being with the Freedom, merely nodded and walked on. Jennifer sank gratefully into a chair next to a large potted plant, and closed her eyes.

  She had to get a grip on herself. This kind of behavior would never do. She was a mature, responsible, professional woman, not some love-struck adolescent tormented by spring fever. She knew how she felt about Lee, but the rest of the world didn’t have to. If she kept on this way, the state of her affections would remain about as secret as tomorrow’s headline on The New York Times.

  She opened her eyes to see Lee standing in front of her, regarding her thoughtfully.

  “Go away,” she said and closed her eyes again.

  “I intend to,” he answered. “And you’re coming with me.”

  Jennifer’s eyes flew open.

  “Let’s ditch this place,” he said, “and go for a ride.”

  “No.”

  “Why not? They’re all getting loaded in there; nobody will miss us.”

  “I think Dawn and John might notice the empty seats if we leave, Lee.” And draw their own conclusions after our recent performance, she added silently.

  “Then we’ll tell them a lie,” he said simply.

  She eyed him suspiciously.

  “We’ll say something has come up, that we have some work to do.”

  “Lee, anybody who swallows that will be ready to open a wooden nickel depository in the morning.”

  He grinned, sensing her weakening resistance. “Come on,” he coaxed. “Live dangerously. We’ll come back later. Play hooky, for a little while.”

  His terminology was appropriate. He sounded exactly like one of her junior high buddies trying to convince her to skip school.

  “You know you want to,” he added softly.

  Truer words were never spoken, Jennifer thought.” He took her silence for assent, and she trailed after him, watching him stop at her table, and his own, to volunteer some story which undoubtedly no one believed.

  She realized that he didn’t care, and, with some surprise, that she really didn’t, either. Her desire to be with Lee completely overrode the concern with appearances or propriety which might once have influenced her.

  When he returned, she followed him wordlessly outside.

  * * * *

  Lee took her back to his house, switching off a burglar alarm with a key as they entered. It was spotless, as always. He had mentioned that he had a cleaning service come in once a week, and Jennifer had noticed that he himself was very neat.

  “I want to show you something upstairs,” he said, leading the way. Jennifer went with him to the second floor, consisting of two large bedrooms, one of which was obviously Lee’s, and another which looked as though it were used as a guest room. Jennifer glanced into the master bedroom as they passed. It was curiously plain, almost Spartan—an oversized bed and a color television on a stand the only touches of luxury. There was one whole wall of built-in closets, and another of floor to ceiling shelves filled with books.

  At the end of the hall there was a short staircase, which led to the loft she’d glimpsed from below.

  “The builders customized this for me,” he commented as they ascended. “There are a number of artists in the complex, and they use the addition as a studio.” He smiled over his shoulder at her. “I use it as a playroom.”

  Jennifer paused on the threshold of an immense circular room with a cathedral ceiling. Brightly colored, hand-woven rugs were scattered on the polished oak floor, which gleamed with a rich luster. The room contained an impressive grand piano and three complicated-looking telescopes, their noses trained outward, poking through full-length, concealing drapes. There was also a plush couch set in a nook, with a companion coffee table covered with books and magazines. At the far end of the room stood a draftsman’s table with an arc lamp anchored to shine on its inclined surface.

  Jennifer walked over to the piano, running her hand over the beautiful cherry wood. “However did you get this up here?” she asked.

  “There’s a deck off the back, and the movers hoisted it to that level, and then pulled it in through the sliding glass doors.”

  Money could accomplish anything. She sifted through the stacks of sheet music which sat on a brass stand next to the instrument.

  “I presume you play,” she said.

  Lee nodded. “One of the teachers at the Indian school taught me, and later I took lessons on my own.” He pulled out the bench and sat on it, spreading his fingers over the keys. “She noticed the size of my hands when I was in her music class.” He indicated an octave, and Jennifer could see that his fingers stretched two or three keys beyond that. “The reach makes it much easier to play.” He winked. “Good for catching footballs, too.” He leaned back and flexed his arms elaborately, like Victor Borge. “What would you like to hear?”

  Jennifer had no idea. “Anything.”

  “Just what I like,” Lee said. “A woman of universal tastes, easily pleased.” He began with Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” playing with the ease of long practice. He moved into a Chopin polonaise and then to a series of Strauss waltzes.

  Jennifer listened, enraptured.

  Lee paused. “Enough of the highbrow stuff,” he said. “You like Gershwin?”

  She smiled. “I love Gershwin.”

  He picked up the score from the movie Manhattan, which was lying on top of the piano. “Gershwin it is.” Jennifer folded her arms on the cabinet and leaned forward to study the musician as he played, “S’Wonderful,” “Rhapsody in Blue,” “Embraceable You,” and “Someone to Watch Over Me” in a medley, gliding from one to the other effortlessly. He was absorbed, displaying the same concentration he showed on the football field. Jennifer loved him so much in that moment that she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  He stopped, and she applauded, burlesquing her reaction to cover her emotion.

  He bowed from the waist. “I like the old tunes,” he said. “Sometimes I play up here for hours. It’s very relaxing.”

  “It must be.” He certainly covered the waterfront in terms of variety. From Buddy Holly to Bruce Springsteen to Beethoven and Gershwin was quite a spread. “I’d like to hear more,” she added.

  He seemed pleased. “Sure.” By heart, without music, he played a haunting rendition of “Stardust,” singing along in a clear, ringing baritone, and then switched to “Deep Purple.” He finished with the theme from Casablanca, and Jennifer watched as the last notes of “As Time Goes By” faded into silence. Lee sat looking at his hands, clenched in his lap.


  “If I had closed my eyes, I would have thought you were Dooley Wilson,” Jennifer said lightly.

  Lee looked up abruptly, as if roused from some reverie. “Oh, yes, thank you.” He was silent a moment longer, and then said, “I shouldn’t play that, it always gets me down.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, you know, the movie, Bogart and Bergman, so in love, but so wrong for each other, caught in such an impossible situation. Sad, don’t you think?”

  Jennifer turned away, not wanting him to see the impact of his remark on her face. “Yes, very sad,” she commented neutrally.

  He got up and moved to a switch on the wall. “And now for the piece de resistance,” he said. He touched the button, and all the drapes pulled back from the windows at once, revealing floor to ceiling glass completely around the room. The loft was actually on the roof of the townhouse, so the night sky surrounded them in all directions. Jennifer felt bathed in stars.

  He waited for her reaction. When none came, he said, “Well?”

  “I’m speechless.”

  “An historic occasion,” he said dryly.

  Jennifer spun around in a circle, observing the heavens from every direction. “I never knew there were so many stars.”

  “You can see them better here because you’re high up and there’s no light competing with them, like from malls and parking lots.” He paused. “In Montana, on the Northern plains where I lived, on a summer night the stars would press in on you, so close, and so many...” He stopped. “Did you ever see one of those glass paperweights kids have, when you turn it upside down, it looks like a snowfall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, the only way I can describe the experience is that you feel like you’re in one of those domes, with the stars surrounding you instead of the snow.”

  Jennifer felt her throat constrict with sympathy at his tone. She had never realized before that he was very homesick.

  “I’m sure it’s beautiful,” she said.

  He went to the biggest telescope and crooked his finger at her, squinting into the eyepiece. “Come here and look at this,” he said.

  Jennifer did as she was bid, bending to gaze through the lens. Lee stood directly behind her, talking into her ear, his hands on her shoulders. She was acutely conscious of the warmth of his fingers on her bare skin above the neckline of the dress, the closeness of his lips as he spoke.

  “Do you see that over there?” he asked. “That’s not a star, it’s the planet Venus. Notice how it doesn’t twinkle, but seems to shine with a steady light. That’s how you can tell the difference. And look at the Big Dipper,” he added, swinging the scope to a different angle, pointing out various stars and constellations. She recognized some of the names from long-ago, half-forgotten science classes: Arcturus and Betelgeuse, Cassiopeia and Sirius and Orion. He knew them all, and their locations, how they shifted position in the sky through the year. The scope was on rollers, and he moved it about with them as he spoke, to give her a better view of what he was describing. Jennifer caught his enthusiasm and studied everything carefully, intrigued.

  “Now this one,” he said, leading her to another scope, “is more powerful, a high-intensity scope. If you look directly at the sun through one of these, you’ll go blind. I have a special filter to use, but even then you have to be careful because sometimes the filters burn through, and...” he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. Then he said, “I’m sorry. I’m showing off and I’m boring you.”

  Jennifer looked up at him, saw the concerned face, the intent, expressive eyes, and said, “You could never bore me.” It was out before she could stop it.

  She saw him draw a breath and lean toward her. Aware that she had made a mistake, she walked away, out of reach. “What’s in there?” she asked, pointing to a cedar chest behind the piano, changing the subject.

  For a minute he didn’t answer, and she feared that he wouldn’t allow her to evade him. But then his voice came, low, intimate. “I’ll show you.”

  He lifted the lid, and brought out a leather shirt, encrusted with elaborate beadwork, and several other items of clothing, obviously old and handmade.

  “These belonged to my great-grandfather,” he said. “I wish I could wear them, but they’re too small for me.”

  Jennifer touched the numerous, brightly colored decorations. “What are these?”

  “Porcupine quills. The animals weren’t too plentiful on the plains, so the quills were highly prized. The Blackfeet used to get them in trade from other tribes.”

  “It’s a shame they don’t fit you.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m considerably bigger than my ancestors,” he said, laying the garments carefully back in the chest. “It must be those French genes.” He stood and tapped his very straight, very European nose. “I think they’re responsible for this, too.”

  “You’re part French?”

  “My grandmother married a French Canadian trapper, Jacques Beaufort. My parents have a tintype of him back home, a great big guy with a formidable moustache. They say he had a team of sled dogs that could make it through the worst weather British Columbia had to offer, and let me tell you, that’s pretty bad.” He dropped the lid on the chest and came back to her, taking both her hands in his. “I guess I’ve shown you all my treasures, haven’t I?”

  “I guess so. You have some solitary hobbies, for a man who could buy anything he wants.”

  He tightened his grip on her hands. “I do wind up spending a lot of time alone, but I prefer it that way. Most of the people who like me now, like me for the wrong reasons. I feel most comfortable with the friends who knew me before all this happened, this football jive.” He smiled slightly. “The people who loved you when you had nothing are the people who really care.”

  Like Dawn, Jennifer thought miserably. It wasn’t fair. If Jennifer had known him before, she would have loved him just as much. Was it her fault that it was his sports career that brought them together?

  Jennifer disengaged herself, stepping back. “Dawn Blacktree told me you were once in love with her sister.”

  Lee moved forward, keeping the same distance between them. “Oh, we were all kids together, back home,” he said evasively. “Dawn’s family was very good to me at a time in my life when I really needed help.”

  “She’s very pretty,” Jennifer said.

  “Yes, she is,” Lee answered, watching Jennifer carefully.

  “Is that what her name means in Pikuni, Dawn?”

  “The literal translation is ‘Appearing Day.’”

  “Appearing Day. How lovely.”

  Lee put his hand on her shoulder. “Jen...”

  She tried to walk past him. “No. Go get one of the old-timers who really care. I’m one of the late arrivals, remember, the ones who only like you for your image and your money,” she said bitterly.

  Lee caught her and pulled her against his chest “I didn’t mean that to include you, paleface,” he whispered. “I never saw anyone as spectacularly unimpressed as you were with the whole scene. I know you’re not like that.”

  Jennifer relaxed against him, letting her head fall to his shoulder. His arms enclosed her, strong and warm.

  “Kiss me, Jen,” he said huskily. “Just once, and then we’ll leave. I promise.”

  He didn’t have to say it again. She was lifting her lips to his as he bent his head.

  He broke his promise, kissing her again and again until she was weak and clinging to him for support. He half carried her to the couch, dropping onto it with her, drawing her under him. His mouth moved everywhere he could reach, his hands searching for the zipper at the back of her dress, his body hard and urgent against hers. She knew that if she didn’t stop him soon, she wouldn’t stop him at all.

  “Lee,” she gasped, tearing her mouth from his, “We can’t. We have to get back.”

  He held her fast, still caressing her. “Do we?” he said, agonized. “Do we?”

  “Yes,” she insisted, pulling away fro
m him, trying to modulate her voice and regain control. “Think of Dawn, think of John waiting there for us. It’s bad enough that we took off the way we did, but if we don’t return it will be so much worse. I know I hurt John already tonight, I don’t want to add to it.”

  He didn’t answer, but he stood and smoothed his hair with trembling fingers. Then he offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet, releasing her the instant she got her balance.

  “Let’s go,” he said shortly, and she followed him out of the room. She passed the draftsman’s table and noticed that he had a map of the heavens pinned to it, with the trajectory patterns of various stars traced on it with a compass. She thought of him sitting there, patiently plotting the courses of celestial bodies and almost burst into tears. She was in a bad way. Even his hobbies were touching, infinitely precious and incredibly dear.

  Jennifer walked down the steps behind Lee like a woman who was in a lot of trouble, and knew it.

  * * * *

  The party was breaking up when they got back to the hotel. It had been a silent ride from Lee’s house, and Jennifer walked in ahead of Lee, looking for Dolores. She didn’t glance back to see where he went.

  Dolores and Craig and John were in the lobby. John didn’t ask her anything, just said that he was going out to get his car. Craig went with him.

  Dolores pinned her to the wall as soon as the men were out of earshot “Where the hell did you go?” she hissed. “It was not lost on the group at large that the two of you vanished at the same time.”

  “What do you mean? Didn’t Lee say where we were going?” Jennifer hedged.