by Nell Kincaid
"Sounds great," she said, and hung up a few moments later.t
The moment Kate saw Ben when she opened the door, her only conscious thought was that she loved him.
But she followed his lead. He kissed her lightly, put the bags of containered food on the foyer table, and gave her his coat almost formally.
And then, in the living room on the couch, when he said, "I've been doing a lot of thinking," she felt as if her stomach had dropped out.
God, she thought. It's over.
"I'll make us some drinks," she said, and stood.
"No. Wait," he said. "Now, Mr. Perfect here did without a smoke when you wanted to talk. We can talk without a drink." He held up his hand to prevent her interrupting him. "And don't go accusing me of trying to be perfect again, Kate. I just want to talk now because you look about the way I felt these past few days, and I want to get this all out into the open. Now, sit. Please."
She sank onto the couch.
"Thank you. That was perfect." He smiled. "Now I'll say what I have to say, and then—I don't know. All we can do is see what's what. I did a lot of thinking out in Michigan. And a lot of missing you, Kate. I missed what I love about you, I even missed the things I had criticized you for. That's all I know, darling. I missed you like hell. I can't deny what you said the other day—I am looking for someone perfect. Perfect for me. And I don't see anything wrong with that. I love you, Kate. If it bothers you that much when I criticize you over something you're doing at your job, or when I think you're doing yourself a disservice in some way, I promise I'll try not to do that.
But I can't hold back and keep my feelings to myself. On the job, I'll leave it to you, but I'm never going to stop telling you how I feel. That's all—and the best—I can do. And I do want you to come with me over the holidays, Kate."
She smiled. "I—that sounds better," she said, relaxing into the cushions of the couch. She realized her whole body had been tensed since he had come in, and only now was she beginning to unwind. "I'm sorry I said I thought you thought you were perfect. I didn't really mean it."
"Did you miss me?" he asked, looking at her in challenge.
"Of course," she said. And she smiled. "Even at work."
He shot her a look of mock warning. "Don't tell me about work unless you want to hear what I have to say," he said. "Remember, I never promised to be mute."
She laughed. "I know. But I did want to tell you that the ads look beautiful," she said, smiling into his eyes. "And the tape presentation was amazing. I can't wait for the party."
"I'm glad," he said. "I looked the tapes over today and] I thought they looked pretty good. Alexandra and Pierce! are both stunners."
"Let's hope they stay that way. Or that Alexandra does. Pierce I'm not too worried about."
"You're worried about Alexandra's involvement with Kurt?"I
Kate nodded. "She's very vulnerable, Ben. She projects such self-assurance and confidence in front of a camera that it's easy to forget she's very young for her age. Obviously very sheltered, too. And Kurt is throwing her onto
the fast track of New York nightlife just a little too quickly."
Ben shook his head. "What a waste," he said. He sighed and looked into her eyes. "You know, there's something I don't understand, Kate. Every time I've been around Kurt, I've tried to see what you saw in him. Aside from his looks, of course."
She smiled. "Can't a woman go out with a man for his looks?" she asked teasingly.
"Of course. But I don't think that was true of you," he said, apparently unwilling to let her joke the question away.
"Well," she said, "it's not that easy for me to say, really. But initially it was Kurt's looks that attracted me. We didn't meet at the store, actually. We met at a party given by a woman who works at I and S. Anyway, he was very attractive to me. I wasn't looking for anything really serious. But we were ..." Her voice trailed off as she looked into Ben's eyes. It was difficult to talk about Kurt with him, to look at feelings she hadn't wanted to look at in a while. "Let's just say there was an attraction. And he seemed like a challenge at the time. He was new at the store, and very cocky, very seductive with all the women at this party. I felt the glove had been thrown down in challenge, and I wanted to be the one to pick it up." She smiled. "Or pick him up. At the time I thought it was quite an achievement. There were a lot of broken hearts that night, and mine wasn't one of them."
"That doesn't sound like you," Ben said.
"Well, it was true," she said. "Even if you don't like the sound of it," she added quietly. "What's ironic, though, is that with other men I've gone out with, when we broke
up, that was that. I didn't see them again. But with Kurt still at the store, and with another woman, it's given me a chance I've never had before. I look at the way he acts with Alexandra—very dominating, almost cruel—and I can see that he did the same with me." She smiled. "Which is all consistent with my unbeatable taste in men."
"And what about me?" Ben asked softly. "You talk about how you were attracted to Kurt almost as a challenge. He was someone you had to get just to see if you could. And it doesn't sound as if you liked him much. But what about me?"
She smiled into his eyes. "You were different," she said softly.
"I'm glad," he said. And his eyes shone with desire, communicating deeply and persuasively that he wanted her. "Kate," he said softly. "Come."
He led her off to the bedroom, and they undressed by the light of the moon. He lay back on the bed and she came up after him, coming into his arms and resting her cheek on his chest. "Yes, you were different," she said, running a hand along his chest. "I liked you. But you were a challenge, too."
She sat up then, wanting to look into his eyes. "And at some level, somehow, I knew how good all this would be."
He smiled. "Making love?"
"Yes." She smiled and swung a leg over him so she was astride him, her softness against the hardness of his frame. "When did you know?" she asked, looking into his eyes.
He reached out, playing with the soft orbs of her breasts, flicking at her nipples with his fingers.
"When do you think?" he asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know."
He smiled. "The moment I saw you," he said, and then he inhaled deeply, his eyes roving across her breasts. "I felt so sure," he said, putting his warm hands on her thighs. She moved forward, wanting to be closer, and he coaxed his hands up along her inner thighs. "I was so sure," he said huskily, "but even so, I had no idea that you'd be so... so beautiful... so giving... so responsive." His warm, strong fingers began to weave their spell, and she was filled with a simmering ache for him, awash with overwhelming desire. She rolled her head back in pleasure. 4tOh, Ben," she whispered.
She let her hands trail back, over the hard strength of . his thighs, questing for his firm desire. She was caught up in a smoldering burning, searing with desire for the fulfilment she knew he could give her. And he guided her back, his hands over the softness of her hips as he lifted her and, with a surge, entered in a burst of pleasure. "Yes, yes," she groaned, as with his hands he set the rhythm of their passion, as she let the flame burning within consume her. His hands moved up then, over her breasts, over her nipples, and for a moment she looked down into his eyes with wondrous joy. And then deep, deep pleasure took over as Kate and Ben cried out for each other, quickened their thrusting union in melting, dissolving heat that turned to pulsating, shuddering ecstasy.
After whispered words of love, they both fell into deep, comfortable sleeps, their bodies draped around each other in complete satisfaction, total relaxation. When Kate awakened, the room was dark, the light of the moon slanting in and lighting Ben's handsome face.
Kate rolled over and looked at the clock. Five after eleven. And then she remembered she hadn't called her
mother. It was too late to call tonight, of course. Which meant she'd have to call tomorrow from work, when the office would be particularly hectic.
Ben shifted and pulled
her close so she fit perfectly against his body, her back snug against the warmth of his chest. "There must be some very cold Chinese food somewhere in this house," he said.
"I'm starved. Stay right where you are and I'll bring it in."
"Cold?" he asked.
"Sure, it's great. Trust me."
"I do," he said. "I mean, I know. I just didn't know anyone agreed with me." He kissed the back of her neck. "But then, if anyone did, it would be you," he said, and kissed her again.
A few minutes later they were sitting up in bed with two ice-cold Kirin beers and cold but delicious moo shu pork, hunan beef with bamboo shoots and watercress, stir-fried spicy chicken and sautéed snow peas and water chestnuts.
"Mm. Fantastic," Ben said between mouthfuls. "So what else happened while I was gone and missing you?"
"Oh—" She hesitated. "Well, my mother called, wanting to know if I was coming to Connecticut for Thanksgiving."
"And—?"
"Well, I didn't exactly call her back yet."
"Why not?"
"Well, I didn't know what I was going to do—whether we were going to go to California together or not."
"Are you going to call her tomorrow?"
"Sure. From work."
He sighed. "If I hadn't asked you to come with me, would you have gone to see her?"
She shrugged. "I guess."
He looked at her, skeptically. "You 'guess'? Does that mean yes or no, Kate?"
She let the forkful of chicken she had been about to eat hang in midair. "You're asking an awful lot of questions," she said. "I hardly need to have my mother call, with you around."
His eyes flashed. "All right, fine," he said. "We won't talk about work and we won't talk about your mother. Is that what you want?"
She sighed. "No. And I'm sorry. I just dread visiting, that's all. This new man she's married—I just know it's not going to work out, and I hate being witness to it, seeing her trying to be happy over something that's doomed." She looked into Ben's eyes. "But let's talk about it some other time, okay? I'm just really glad you're here and I don't want to—" She shrugged, hoping he wouldn't press her further.
He studied her eyes, amber searching brown in a deep gaze that made her strangely self-conscious all of a sudden. "When did your mother move up to Connecticut?" he asked.
"Oh, a few years ago," Kate said, pouring the rest of her beer into her glass. She had wanted to talk about something else; but for now, the subject seemed neutral enough, and she went on: "When her company moved out of the city, she moved with it. And I guess it was a good move in terms of where she's living. I just—I just don't happen to visit her much."
He reached out and gently touched her cheek. "Do you think you can try to go out and see her before we leave?"
"I don't know," Kate said, not altogether truthfully.
He sighed. "I know you and your mother don't get along, Kate. But I can't help thinking if you spent more time .. ." His voice trailed off. "You know, with both my parents dead, it's very difficult for me to see you and your mother blithely going along without making any kind of effort to—"
"Blithely?" she interrupted. "How do you know I'm blithely going along? Don't you think it bothers me that I basically have no family, that the one person around— my mother—is someone I don't get along with?"
"Then, why don't you try?"
"I have tried," she said. "And someday I'll try again. But we don't get along, all right? Sometimes you have to accept things like that, Ben, whether you want to or not. Life is not perfect. Families do break apart, kids do go wrong, things that aren't very nice happen all the time. And I resent your assuming that you're the only one bothered by these things. I wish I did have a real family, and I wish I did get along with my mother. But I'm not going to spend all my time thinking about it, Ben."
He searched her eyes. "But what exactly is it?" he asked. "How is it that you don't get along?"
"That really would take all night to explain," she said, looking away.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said softly.
She turned and met his gaze. She had the unwelcome sense that he was probing, that she would open herself up to him and that at the most unexpected of moments, after calm words of encouragement and empathy, he would suddenly come out with a criticism. "I think some other time would be better," she said.
"All right. I just thought it might help. Because"—he hesitated—"you know,, we do tend to repeat family patterns. You marry people formed from the images of your own parents and other people you've known, and much of the time you just repeat your own parents' experience. And it seems to me that—"
"That you're about to say something I've thought of myself and would rather not dwell on," she interrupted. "Yes, I don't have much to work with in terms of a family model. Since my father left us and my mother proceeded to go out with and marry another series of equally winning types, the chances of my following that pattern and being happy aren't too great. But plenty of people have done it, lien. Women whose parents have had terrible marriages and messy divorces have had wonderful relationships and marriages of their own, and the same is true with men. So it doesn't necessarily follow, and it doesn't necessarily help me to think about it that much. I don't have to repeat my mother's experience, you know."
"But don't you see that you are?" he asked softly.
"What?"
"Don't you see that you're doing just that, Kate? Doing just what your mother does—choosing men who are sure
to run off, who are sure not to work out."
She stared at him. "I see you have it all figured out for me," she said quietly. "I hadn't known I was such a predetermined and easy-to-understand case history."
"I never said that," he replied.
"Well, then, tell me something," she said quietly. "If
you really think that I'm doing what you say—what does that make you, Ben?"
"We're not talking about me," he said.
"J am. You're so sure I've got rotten judgment, Ben. Then, what does that make you? Are you one of the men who run off or one of the men who don't?"
"That depends on both of us, Kate. Not just me. That's what I'm talking about. I don't think you trust anybody enough to make any kind of commitment. Not yet. And you won't until you face the fact that you've got a rough history to get over."
"Thanks a lot," she said. "God, Ben, I had no idea you thought you were going out with—"
"Stop it," he interrupted. "You're misunderstanding me. I only want to bring this up because it's important to me; you're important to me. I love you, Kate." His eyes met hers, and for a moment their gaze melted into deep' heat. "I love you," he said more softly. "But making love is the only time I feel you're really mine. The rest of the time it's as if you're fighting me out of deep, deep mistrust."
"I don't know why that surprises you," she said, her voice hoarse with sudden anger. "Occasionally—usually during an argument—you tell me you love me. Yet most of the time, you're tearing me down. It doesn't matter if it's what I do at work, or my feelings about men, or even my past; I can't seem to do anything right for you, Ben." She ignored the look of pained surprise in his eyes and went on. "You've always struck me as very steady, very secure, someone with his feet very much on the ground, and you presented yourself that way as well: someone, you said, who was looking for a woman to share his life with.
But I wonder whether that's even true. You're the one who's driving me away. And I don't think I want to go to California with you, either. I wanted to go with a man I loved and who loved me—not an analyst who's going to pick apart everything I say and do and feel." She put her glass down on the night table and turned to face Ben more directly. "I don't know how I feel about you right now, Ben. All I know is that I don't think we should see each other for a while. It would be too easy—much too easy—to make everything all right by making love and capturing whatever seems to be eluding us outside of bed; but that wouldn't be fair to either of us." She couldn
't bear to look at him anymore; his face seemed to be crumbling beneath her words, dissolving into pain she didn't want to see.
"Kate," he pleaded, reaching for her hand.
She turned away and got off the bed. She grabbed a robe from her closet door and hastily put it on, then turned and faced Ben. "I mean it," she said, her gaze steady.
"When, then?" he asked. "What are you saying? How long do you need, Kate?"
"I don't know," she said quietly as she turned away.
She heard him get off the bed, heard him walk around gathering his clothes. She walked out at that point, feeling a stranger in her own apartment, standing outside the bedroom as if she didn't belong. For suddenly everything seemed different, frightening, unpredictable. Ben was in there getting dressed, and she had no idea what had just happened—except that he was leaving, that he wasn't coming back.
As she turned to face the bedroom, Ben came striding toward her. She looked up at him for one hopeful moment, but his eyes were cold and hard.
And he walked past her, as if she hadn't even been standing there. And as she heard the door shut softly behind her, her heart went cold with panic.
He had left without a word, without a softening glance, without a moment's hesitation. He was gone.
Kate hardly slept that night, tormented by what had happened and what she had to face. For nothing lay ahead except deep uncertainty. Tomorrow night she would see Ben at the party. And with sickening dread she knew the experience wouldn't be anything but painful.
