Unwilling Wife

by Renee Roszel

  Estelle imitated him, stiffly at first, then, with a giggle, and parroting Doris Day’s voice, she warbled along.

  David, still nonplused by his guests’ transformation, turned to eye Gina doubtfully. “Somehow, I don’t think this is what you had in mind. Was it—Stinking Mama?” he queried under his breath.

  Gina looked completely shamefaced. “Not in a thousand years.”

  While Doris and Don broke into a fun-loving argument about whether Don Ho ever really sang “Little Grass Shack,” David admonished quietly, “I suppose it was your plan to ruin me.”

  Gina cast him a sad glance and shook her head. “I don’t want to ruin you, David. Just—” She faltered, but made herself say it. “Just don’t ruin me.”

  9

  Quentin and Estelle were gone. It was midnight and all was quiet. Catching sight of the tape that divided the living-room floor, Gina smiled inwardly. Her explanation that the tape had been laid down for a party game called “Tightrope Walk Across Niagara” had gone over very well. However, when Estelle had won, managing to make it from the lighthouse-tower door all the way to the kitchen table without losing her balance, Gina had been obliged to give up one of her abalone shells as a prize.

  Oh, well. The important thing was that the Finchkelps hadn’t guessed the truth. Gina realized she’d been foolish to think her plan to embarrass David wouldn’t also hurt his career. At least, handling the whole mess the way she had had salvaged his position.

  She sank down onto the couch and removed the pocket-watch earring from her ear. Her tired sigh was audible, and David, who had just seated himself in his chair, glanced over at her, remarking, “That thing must have hurt.”

  Rubbing her lobe, she confessed, “I may die.” She chuckled at the absurdity of using her grandfather’s pocket watch as an earring. Sitting back and stretching, she said, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Estelle Finchkelp laugh before this evening. They both seemed to have fun, don’t you think?”

  His features darkened. “Being courteous people, they know how to accommodate a host and hostess.” Indicating her attire with a meaningful nod, he continued, “Even the lunatic fringe.”

  Gina’s chin tilted with affront. “Admit it, David. They even surprised themselves by how much they enjoyed the evening. Maybe too many people with Ph.D.s think they have to behave in a certain way, so they repress their spontaneous side. If that’s true, then I pity your stuffy, repressed cronies at AEI.”

  “Gina,” David began softly. “If you want my opinion, you’re the one who learned something about yourself tonight.”

  “Me?” She eyed him doubtfully. “Like what?”

  “That you couldn’t carry off that farce of yours. You couldn’t bring yourself to admit that looking like a victim of toxic groundwater was supposed to be the new you.”

  She stiffened with resentment. “I didn’t do it because I got cold feet,” she blurted, feeling hurt. “I did it for you. As long as you insist on connecting yourself to me—well, I thought—oh, I don’t know why I bothered!” Throwing up her hands in exasperation, she sputtered, “I—I should have gone ahead with my original plan. You might not have a job now, but you would have gotten the message and left me alone!”

  In three strides he was standing before her, pulling her up to sway unsteadily before him. With his fingers securely grasping hers, he accused softly, “You couldn’t have done that, Gina. Not to me. We’re meant to be together.” Pulling her to him, he whispered near her ear, “You care about what happens to me. I thought, for a terrible moment tonight, I’d lost you, but when you made up that crazy party theme, I knew—”

  She struggled, not wanting to be affected by his encompassing warmth, his big, expressive hands, his teasing lips as they nipped along her jaw. He was reading this in his own way, as usual! She pressed against his chest, crying breathlessly, “No, David. Don’t allow your ego to twist this in your mind to something it wasn’t. I told you why I did it and it had nothing to do with anything but—but compassion for you. I know how important the presidency of AEI is—”

  His kiss was sudden, urgent, halting her words. He wasn’t going to listen to her insistence that it was over between them. David was strong-willed, intent on getting his way.

  When he lifted his lips a hairbreadth above her mouth, Gina heard herself sigh. Fearing she was losing control, she cried, “David, you’re being unfair—”

  “All’s fair in love and war, darling,” he murmured against her mouth as he lowered them both to the couch. She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to wander on their own to the intimate enticement of his body. It surprised her to discover that she had unbuttoned his shirt and was running her tongue along his jaw. It also surprised her to discover that David had rid her not only of her jacket, but her T-shirt. All that stood in the way of flesh-to-flesh contact was a bit of feminine lace.

  She couldn’t believe what she was allowing him to do. Her original plan had been to anger him, frustrate him, prove to him that he was nothing to her. But now, she was writhing delightedly beneath him, her fingers quivering at the waistband of his slacks. Her hunger rising, she was on the brink of being swept away by her husband’s sexual sorcery.

  Something not quite nameable invaded Gina’s pleasure-clouded mind and nagged at her. What was it? At first it sounded like a baby’s cry, but that was impossible. Then, it finally began to dawn on her that what she was hearing was the frightened wail of a cat. A cat?

  “Lumper!” She struggled to sit up, then cautioned for quiet with a finger at her lips.

  David reluctantly sat up, dragging a hand through his hair. He looked over at her, his eyes narrowed, his expression a mixture of confusion and yearning. “What—”

  It came again. Louder. More distressed.

  Gina jumped to her feet, ignoring the fact that she was naked above the waist. “Lumper’s hurt. Can you hear that?”

  He reluctantly stood, looking around. Noticing that the door leading to the lighthouse tower was ajar, he nodded in that direction. “How did that get opened?”

  Gina followed his gaze. “Must have happened when you and Quentin went outside so that he could have a smoke. I showed Estelle the files on my lighthouse book that I keep in that old chest of drawers out there.”

  The cat’s dreadful yowl came again.

  “Lump’s out there,” Gina murmured tightly as she rushed toward the door.

  David was quick to follow, but when she reached the door, he thrust her her denim jacket. “It’s cold out there,” he reminded gruffly, not wholly recovered from their encounter on the couch.

  She accepted the jacket with a mumbled thank-you, embarrassed at how close she’d come to making a spineless idiot of herself again. Dragging it on, she slipped into the darkened tower. David began to button his shirt against the cold as he groped for the light switch.

  Since the tower was never used, and in a state of disrepair, the lights that were located at each landing hadn’t been maintained. When the electricity was switched on, only two of the four bulbs worked. Still, it was enough light for Gina to see that Lumper’s curiosity had gotten him into trouble.

  Some seven feet above the first landing, ten feet above their heads, Lumper was hunched precariously on the end of a section of railing above a gaping space where a portion of stairs had broken away. Apparently the cat had jumped across the space, then bounded up to the rickety railing; but now was too frightened to try to make it back down.

  “Oh, goodness!” Gina gasped. “He’s so scared.”

  “I thought cats had good balance. He could get down if he wanted to badly enough.”

  “He’s only got half a tail. Maybe that affects his balance. Besides, cats can’t climb down as easily as they climb up. Haven’t you ever heard of firemen getting cats out of trees?”

  David peered up at the thin tom and groused, “Lump, this is such a cliché. You should be ashamed.”

  Gina tugged on his shirt. “Don’t kid, David. What do
we do?”

  He turned to eye her skeptically. “I suppose by ‘we’ you mean me?”

  She frowned and looked up at Lumper. “We need to hurry, whatever we do. He might fall.”

  “So might we.” David muttered. But without further comment, he headed cautiously up the stairs. They creaked ominously as he began to ascend the first grade.

  “Should I come, too?” Gina called.

  “It won’t hold—” A step broke beneath David’s weight, and he had to catch himself to keep from falling through. Between clenched teeth, he finished, “Both of us.”

  “I—I believe you.” Her voice was a frail whisper.

  Lumper made another pitiful noise, but this time he seemed to know help was on the way.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” David mumbled. The steps wailed in protest and there was a shudder in the whole structure. Grabbing at the railing, David held on.

  Gina stifled a scream, and stared unblinking, feeling helpless.

  When the scaffolding of aged wood stabilized, David continued on with agonizing slowness. As soon as he reached the first landing, he found that he could only stretch high enough to get Lumper if he rested one foot on the brick wall. To do that, he had to lean precariously over the landing’s edge. As he spread-eagled himself across the gaping space almost twenty feet above the cement floor, Gina swallowed hard, clutching her hands together so tightly her nails dug into her skin.

  When he was as steady as the awkward position would allow, he snatched at the upper railing. The rough wood wobbled as he touched it, frightening Lumper so badly that he made a mad leap.

  “Ouch! Damn it, cat, leave some skin!” David growled, as Lumper used his claws to catch himself on his rescuer’s shoulders.

  Gina’s hands were so sweaty she rubbed them on her jacket. Biting her lip, she tried not to distract David with horror-stricken screams.

  With Lumper hanging on for dear life, David pushed off the railing and the wall at the same time to give himself enough propulsion to sway back to the relative safety of the landing.

  As he let go of the railing, a long section gave way and went crashing to the floor. Gina watched with dread, her heart going to her throat. The light was so dim, she couldn’t be positive it was nothing more than a six-foot length of two-by-fours. It seemed an eternity before David and his cowering fur collar reached the cement floor.

  When David was finally standing before her, she knew there was more than a little truth to what he’d said before. She did love the man. It was a tragedy that, for the sake of her mental health, she couldn’t live the rest of her life with him.

  Wearing Lumper like a fur piece, he took a calming breath and leaned heavily against the cold brick wall. “Well, Lump, I believe this is your floor.” Lifting the animal from his shoulders he handed him to Gina. “Let’s keep the damn door closed from now on. Okay?”

  She cuddled the frightened cat in her arms and nodded. Shaking with reaction, she whispered, “David, you could have been killed. I know you’re not crazy about heights.” Near tears, she focused her eyes on his somber expression. “Thank you. I had no idea you had it in you.”

  His narrowed gaze searched her face. “What?”

  “Heroism, I guess.”

  He grunted. “If heroism is the same as foolishness, then I’m sure I do.”

  She touched his arm. “It was foolish to risk your life that way, I suppose, but it was gallant.” Feeling an unwanted softness for him, she kissed his jaw. “It’s nice to know you can at least care about the needs of a helpless animal.”

  Turning away, she left him standing there, upset from the dangerous climb, his back stinging from the scratches left by Lumper’s panicked clutches. When the door closed between them, he could only stare in disbelief.

  “Are you trying to say I don’t care about your needs?” he muttered, angry. When he’d had a few minutes to digest her words, he grew less angry with her and more cross with himself. Maybe it wouldn’t kill him to admit there were things she’d been doing lately that he could live with. Certainly not the crazy clothes or the death-defying diet, but there were—things. He couldn’t fault her strength. He admired it. And she was compassionate. Against his will, he admitted, even in his frustration and anger with her tonight, there had been moments when he’d actually been amused by her oddball sense of play. He’d never seen the Finchkelps so lighthearted. If anything, her plan had backfired, and she’d made him look even better in their eyes.

  He supposed he should have admitted that to her, but his irritation over her attempted sabotage had hurt, overshadowing everything else.

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Gina decided to go down to the beach to study her lines. She’d worked all morning on her book and thought the first three chapters were shaping up nicely. Despite David’s interference, she felt she was managing to get into a fairly productive routine.

  The breeze was pleasant and cool, ruffling her hair and the pages of her script. She couldn’t have been in a better mood. Smiling, she lifted her hair off her shoulders and closed her eyes, attempting to commit Laurey’s first speech to memory.

  “Want to run some lines with me?” David asked, startling Gina. She twisted around on her beach towel to squint up at him. His body was silhouetted by the bright sun, enveloping him in a luminous radiance. The effect was breathtaking.

  “Been jogging, I see,” she commented, exhibiting what she hoped was aloof disinterest, though his closeness had a breath-quickening effect on her.

  “A while ago.” He squatted near her towel. “What do you say? Would you like to go over a scene with me?”

  She flipped a page. “I need to memorize my speech—”

  “Gina?” he broke in, his voice sounding very close. “Do you know what day this is?”

  She blinked up from her script, alert, but didn’t turn to face him. “Yes. It’s my thirtieth birthday. Why?”

  “Happy Birthday,” he whispered near her ear. Suddenly, one pink rose appeared before her as he added, “There are eleven more up at the house.”

  She stared at the long-stemmed blossom, chewing on her lower lip. After a brief hesitation, she took it and lifted it to her nose, inhaling its heavy sweetness. Cautiously, she turned to face him. His expression was solemn, and in his eyes she could see the shadow of sadness. Her stupid heart did a flip-flop and she smiled faintly. “It’s lovely. But you really shouldn’t have.”

  “Don’t say that. I wanted to.” He smiled back, but his eyes remained somber. “I’ll let you get back to work.” Rising, he turned to walk away.

  Gina frowned, noticing the ugly scratches that spoiled the flawlessness of his back, and called out his name.

  He halted and half turned.

  “Your back!” she exclaimed. “Did Lumper do that?”

  He shrugged, his grin askew.

  Her irritation vanished, and she was startled to find that she was on her feet, walking toward him. Gingerly she touched one of the scratches, and felt more than saw him tense. “Did you put anything on these?”

  “Soap and water.”

  “Come on.” She took his arm. “I’ve got some salve.”

  They were almost to the lighthouse door when she offered, “When we’ve disinfected those scratches, I’ll go over the first scene with you.”

  He glanced at her, surprised.

  She sniffed the rose again. “The flowers were a lovely thought.”

  “Pink roses suit your skin tone.” He smiled fondly. “I could never understand why you preferred yellow roses. They make your skin look so sallow. That’s why I’ve always guided you away from yellow clothes.”

  “But yellow is such a happy color,” she defended, her obliging mood fading fast. He was doing it again—controlling again. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to scan his profile, and very quietly asked, “Do you know what I would have liked better than pink roses?”

  He was halfway through the door when her words halted him. Turning, he looked down at her. “No. Wha
t?”

  “Chocolates.”

  “Chocolates! But they’re—”

  “I know,” she interrupted, sadly, having heard it all before. “They’re fattening, high in cholesterol and—” she paused to warily meet his gaze. “And I love them. If you really cared about my wants and needs, you’d have given me a box of chocolates. Pink roses are what you wanted me to have, not what I wanted.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he countered, but so softly she could barely hear it.

  She had an urge to touch his cheek, but resisted it, whispering sadly, “David, don’t expect to be thanked when you force things on people that they don’t want.”

  A look of disgust flashed across his face and he muttered grimly, “I give up—”

  “Good! Finally!” Flinching from his condemning stare, she hurried on, “I’ll let Fred Potter know you’re going back to Boston,” she retorted, startled by the bleakness in her voice. “There’s still time to replace you in the part of Curly.”

  “Like hell, I’m going back to Boston!” he growled, his eyes glittering with fury.

  “But—but you just said—”

  “A damned figure of speech, Gina. You know, like, ‘You drive me crazy’? Right now, though, that’s pretty close to the truth!” Turning away, he crossed to the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

  In misery, Gina stared down at the rose in her hand. On leaden feet she walked to the end table beside the couch and placed the blossom in the vase with the others. The arrangement was lovely, accented by greenery and a feathery array of baby’s breath. A card was attached to the mauve velvet ribbon. Listlessly she opened it and stared glumly. Inside was the single word “Forever,” written in David’s bold, precise script.

  Forever! she thought brutally, trying to ignore the sudden twist of pain that tore through her. Swiping at a tear, she crumpled the card and let it fall to the floor, murmuring sadly, “Figure of speech….”