by Renee Roszel
“I was at the drugstore. A bunch of us had a party. I ate a huge banana split.” Why she’d blurted that, she couldn’t imagine. She paused, tensing for his huffy disapproval.
“That’s nice,” he murmured.
She frowned. That’s nice? Was that all he was going to say? No recriminations? No admonitions? What was with him tonight?
“Are you going back to the lighthouse?” he queried softly.
“I suppose. And you?” she asked, unable to keep the question at bay.
He shook his head. “Think I’ll walk awhile longer.” With a brief nod, he strolled on by her. “See you tomorrow.”
She stiffened, but refused to turn and confront him. “Fine,” she shot back. “Tomorrow.”
Paying no attention to her whereabouts, she stomped away. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine! If he preferred solitary walks to coming home, that was just fine with her! With every step her mind angrily shouted that one, insipid word, and it ricocheted painfully around in her head. Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine!
It wasn’t until she was in front of the drugstore that she realized she was heading in the wrong direction. When she finally got back to her car her jaws ached. That seemed odd, since everything was so damned fine!
WHEN DAVID GOT HOME, Gina was awake. She checked the clock radio beside her bed. Three-thirty. Disturbed by the lateness of the hour, she feigned sleep. His shower seemed to take an eternity. When, at long last, he came out of the bathroom, he was towel-drying his hair, naked. She wondered if he knew she was peeping, and was taunting her with his riveting physical perfection. She tried to remind herself that that perfection came with some pretty debilitating strings attached. Nevertheless, she found herself unable to drag her gaze away, grudgingly watching him through lowered lashes until he flipped off the bathroom light.
She could hear him pad around his side of the bed and climb in. Knowing him as well as she did, she could picture him, nude, lying on his back with his hands cradling his head, his ankles crossed. His eyes would be closed, and his lashes would be draped across stalwart cheekbones, enticingly long and thick. She recalled how she used to awaken him by blowing teasingly across those lashes.
Clamping down on such erotic memories, she rolled to her side and punched her pillow.
“Anything wrong?” came the deep, disembodied voice from beyond the blanket that divided their bed.
“No,” she retorted, then thought better of it. With a long exhale, she admitted, “Yes, there is, David.”
After a prolonged delay that grated on Gina’s nerves, he said, “If you want me to apologize for that kiss tonight, then I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not that….” She rolled to face the blanket and tried to think of a way to form her concerns so that he wouldn’t assume that she had any disproportionate interest in him. Which, of course, she didn’t. “I—it’s just that I—” She wavered.
“It’s just that you what?” David asked, moving in the bed. It sounded as though he, too, had turned to face the blanket that divided them.
She cleared her throat. “It’s just that I—well—” She decided it would be best to dive right in. There was no delicate way to say it. “I hope you’re employing safe—sex.”
The bed didn’t move and David made no further sound for what seemed like a week.
“Did you hear me?” Gina demanded, her voice high-pitched and agitated.
“I heard you,” he finally replied, sounding vaguely amused.
The amusement she heard hurt. “Well?” she breathed.
“I assure you, Gina, I’ve never employed safer sex in my life.”
She blanched, half expecting him to deny everything. “Oh—well, good. It’s just that I know you’re a highly sexual being, and—well—we haven’t been. You know.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I do,” David returned, chuckling. “Gina, I’m gratified by your concern, but I am not having sex with any of the numerous sex goddesses in Maryvale. I can’t even say I’ve been hard-pressed to resist their charms.”
“Really?” she asked, surprised to feel a weight lifting from her mind.
“Would you like signed documents from the ladies, themselves?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Don’t you be silly, then,” he chided softly. “I love you. Only you. There are no others.”
“Then why the late-night strolls? Don’t tell me you were just walking!”
“I think, my love, for a woman with no further interest in a man, you protest too much,” he taunted gently. “You still care for me, Gina. Face it.”
“Oh! The vastness of your ego simply boggles the mind!” she retorted. “I was concerned, that’s all. Just go to sleep.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Thoroughly disgusted with his imperturbable conviction that she loved him, and with his irritating evasiveness concerning his whereabouts, she pulled her pillow over her head, hoping to blot out any further contact with him. Even so, she believed him. Her imagination had obviously gotten the better of her. David wasn’t sleeping with anyone, though it was obvious Iduna was trying her best. Gina knew it was stupid of her to even concern herself with it, but for some absurd reason, she felt better.
David lay very still, wanting to reach out to her, aching to take her into his arms and prove to her that she was the only woman that meant anything to him. Dammit! Time was running short. He had one more week to convince her to come back with him. The morning after the musical was over, he would have to leave.
He’d regretted losing his temper with her last week, and he’d tried to be less critical of her diet and her clothes, though she’d made it purposely tough. It did seem like a good sign that Gina was concerned about his sex life. If she didn’t care at all, she wouldn’t give a damn. He would cling to that, for now. Still, even as hard as he’d been trying, he knew he’d lost points with her over that taunting kiss tonight. He’d have to work all the harder to make up for it.
Worried, he frowned into the darkness. Gina seemed determined to become some ghost-chasing nonconformist in ripped jeans and corkscrew hair. She wouldn’t fit into his academic circles as she was now. But, somehow, he was less frustrated with her for that than with the scholarly types who had set the arbitrary standards of acceptance at AEI: scientists, mainly, with a liberal mix of literary elitists, all bent on dazzling the world with their lettered verbosity. Many of his colleagues would see the new, bizarre Gina as a traitor to their narrow-minded idea of what higher education was all about.
They would, of course, be too polite to be obvious in their distaste, but they would be condescending and aloof. Gina would never stand it, and she’d leave him—again. And what of his career at AEI? What if Quentin recommended him for university president? It was a chance of a lifetime. But David’s envious detractors would point out that if he couldn’t clamp down on his own wife, how could he effectively run a university of eight thousand students? He had to admit that they would have a valid point.
He rolled onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. He had one week—seven short days—to convince her to give all this up and come back with him. Dammit to hell! He wanted his Gina back. How in blazes was he going to get her?
GINA SWIRLED INTO the auditorium. It was dress-rehearsal night and she was wearing her most outlandish outfit yet, procured entirely from the local thrift shop. A lime-colored tank-top strap peeked from beneath a faded and torn pink sweatshirt, its neck cut out so that the gaping fabric hung off one shoulder. Her black Lycra biking shorts were skintight, as were her pink tights. Thick, slouchy tan socks and unlaced hiking boots completed the ensemble. She’d pulled her hair to the top of her head and coiled a strip of burlap around and around it, making her coif look like a volcano spewing curly hair.
She looked around. David was sitting with a group of townspeople, apparently being quite folksy and droll in his adopted role as a visiting Texas cowboy. Gina was still surprised by his ability to fit in with the simple folk of Maryvale. She’d t
hought he would be pompous and superior. She had to give the devil his due. He could act like a “regular guy” when he wanted to. And she had to give him credit in another area, too. During the past five days, he’d been admirably reticent about condemning or poking fun at what she ate, how she dressed or the subject matter of her book.
David had been in the middle of a sentence when he’d chanced to glance in her direction to see her standing there in her oddball regalia. His thick, silky eyebrows lifted in surprise as he looked her over. The pause was long enough for several in the group to follow his gaze. There was unmistakable dismay in David’s eyes, but he managed to smile and nod at her.
With an offhand wave, she turned away, but she was unable to dismiss his unhappy look. A sudden, remarkable sadness enveloped her at the memory. With a few glaring exceptions, David had mellowed these last four weeks. Could it be that he was giving up, but was abhorrent to admit it to himself, yet? Could he possibly be slowly, unconsciously, distancing himself from her emotionally? She hoped so—she guessed. Guessed, nothing! she reminded herself grimly. Hadn’t that been exactly what she’d been working toward?
And now the whole messy business was almost over. There was tonight’s rehearsal, tomorrow night’s performance, and then, David would have to go. His precious Albert Einstein Institute and all its stodgy ramifications awaited.
Thirty minutes later, Gina was wearing her blue-and-white calico dress, with eyelet lace edging the puffed sleeves and scoop neckline. She’d tamed her curls with a curling iron, and now her hair fell in soft waves. Parted in the middle, it was pulled back and tied with a ribbon at her nape. As she looked at her reflected image, she was amazed at how different she appeared as Laurey—prim and innocent. Her wide green eyes, no longer obscured by wild wisps of hair, seemed as big as saucers.
A knock sounded at her dressing-room door. “Five minutes, Laurey. And remember, we’ve got an audience—a busload from the senior citizens’ home and some kids from the hospital.”
“Okay, Fred,” she called, suddenly all nerves. “I’m ready.”
The orchestra was tuning up, and she concentrated on the discordant sounds, pushing thoughts of David from her mind. Marjorie had given up her job as accompanist a few days ago. The Maryvale Philharmonic, a twelve-piece orchestra, had belatedly received their music, which had been lost in the mail. From the unappetizing sounds they were generating, Gina felt sure that they could have used another week or two to practice—quite possibly, a decade.
The overture began with a thudding crash of drums, signaling the start of the play. The ensemble sounded tinny and not wholly on key, but no one would complain. The production was for a good cause—Maryvale’s community chest. Everyone in town either participated or attended, making several thousand dollars each year for local charitable causes—not to mention the goodwill of tonight’s free performance for the area’s elderly and convalescent kids.
As Auntie Eller hastened to her place center stage, she threw Gina a kiss for luck. Gina lifted crossed fingers and whispered loudly, “Break a leg!” She inhaled deeply. Trying to calm her nervous stomach, she crept timorously to the wings. The curtain was opening. Auntie Eller busied herself at her butter churn while the overture died away.
It’s for a good cause. I’ll do fine, Gina promised herself sternly. Wiping her damp hands on her skirt, she hoped she wouldn’t disgrace herself and faint.
“Nervous?” came a familiar voice from behind her.
Gina nearly leaped from her skin. With a hand going to her pounding heart, she veered around to see David flash her a teasing grin. He loomed there in a fawn-colored shirt, wide-brimmed cowboy hat and close-fitting jeans. He was the image of the mythical American Cowboy—untamed and unattainable. Not sure why, she took a defensive step backward. “David, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
The teasing light had faded from his gaze, and he just stared.
“What?” she asked, noticing the sorrow in his expression. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” His voice was strangely thick. Slowly and with what seemed like some difficulty, he lifted long fingers to smooth back a stray strand of her hair. “There. Now you’re perfect.”
“Laurey,” Fred called in a hoarse whisper. “Your cue’s coming up.”
She spun around, tense, trying to prepare mentally for her entrance. Unthinking, she reached up and touched the place David had so recently brushed with his fingers. She recalled his eyes. They had spoken volumes. Costumed as Laurey, he’d seen a glimpse of the old Gina—the sweet, obedient, receptive Gina—and it had hit him hard.
“Go on, Gina,” Fred rasped anxiously, with a nudge on her shoulder. “That’s your cue.”
She stumbled forward, reciting her perky line by rote, for her mind was on David. She’d been married to him so long, she knew instinctively that he hadn’t really faced how irrevocably things had changed—not until this minute—not until he’d seen, in Laurey, the Gina he’d lost.
It was ironic that this costume had been the only one Gina had worn without a calculating desire to aggravate David. Yet, this costume was the one that had broken his heart.
12
Though David played his part as Curly with as much rakish charm as Gina had ever seen it played, she was constantly aware of the unhappiness in his eyes. Even his kisses, when his part required that he kiss her, were subdued.
As the curtain fell after the finale, and the curtain calls were finished, Gina turned to thank David for his reluctance to cause her further mental trauma. But he was gone.
As the other cast members gathered around to congratulate and hug each other for a dress rehearsal well done, Gina searched the shadowed recesses of the wings. Where had he gone so suddenly?
“Heck,” groused Paul, “I hope I don’t trip over that darned cardboard horse tomorrow night.”
“I hope you don’t, either,” declared Iduna, sounding put out. “At least, if you do, let go of my hand so I don’t go down with you. I broke a nail.”
“Considering the fact that you two are the play’s comic relief, I doubt if anybody realized it was a mistake,” Fred offered jovially. “All in all, people, it went great. Now, go on home and get some rest. Tomorrow’s the big night.” He turned to grab Gina’s hand as she started to go. “Just a sec, kid,” he said, his expression going serious. “Where’s Curly?”
Gina shrugged helplessly. “Disappeared as soon as the curtain fell.”
Fred’s brows knit.
“Why? Anything wrong?”
He patted her arm. “Naw. I wanted to tell him he did a real convincing job tonight, especially during the scene when he asks you to marry him and you ask him why you should. When he says, ‘Cain’t ya think of a reason?’ I’d have sworn there were tears in that man’s eyes.” Gina flinched, but said nothing as Fred went on. “What an actor! If he ever wants to give up physics, I think he could make it in Hollywood. He’s got looks and—and something else—”
“Charisma?” Gina suggested helpfully, feeling more and more depressed.
Fred snapped his fingers and nodded. “Exactly. It’s a rare quality. Well, tell him he did great.” Seeming to have a sudden thought, he added hastily, “And you did great, too.”
She smiled wanly. “Thanks, Fred. And I’ll tell David.”
He seemed to want to say something else. Finally, giving into his urge, he asked cautiously, “What is it with you two, anyway? I know it’s not my business, but you’re both nice kids. Can’t you get back together?”
Wishing the whole town didn’t know her business, Gina shook her head. “’Fraid not. We want different things out of life.”
Fred leaned back on his heels and exhaled tiredly. “Yeah. I hear that happens a lot these days.” He shook his head. “Seems like a waste, to me. But who am I to judge? Been married twice myself.” He looked at her kindly. “It’s a shame. You two seemed to have something nice together.” He paused, a slow, sheepish grin blossoming on his face. “When you’re not
shoving each other off the stage or doing mouth-to-mouth combat. Lordy, what poker-hot passions you two share! I’d give a lot to have one relationship that intense.”
She laughed, but it was sad and ironic. “No, you wouldn’t, Fred. Trust me.”
“Is it true that Curly’s leaving after the performance tomorrow night?” he asked, still looking concerned.
“Yes, but where did you hear about it?”
“Iduna. The cast party is going to be a sort of combination cast/goodbye-David party. Didn’t you know? Idi took up a collection for a gift.”
Gina exhaled raggedly. “I suppose she figured I wouldn’t want to contribute.”
Fred’s brows rose contemplatively. “Maybe. She’s sort of acted like she has a thing for the man.”
“Yes. She’s not very subtle.” Hoping Fred would get the message that she was beat, Gina rubbed her nape.
“Sorry, kid,” he apologized. “I’ll let you go. Good night.”
“See you tomorrow, Fred,” she murmured, turning away.
By the time she’d removed her makeup and changed out of her costume, everyone was gone. She’d heard some of the people talking about meeting at the drugstore for a little post-dress-rehearsal party, but she didn’t feel like partying.
“Hey, Gina,” came a cigarette-roughened voice. Too tired to deal with Max, she reluctantly turned. He was grinning at her, his ever-present butt dangling from his lower lip. “Want to go out for a beer?”
Running a hand through her hair, she shook her head. “No, and you shouldn't be smoking in here!”
Undeterred, he grinned, “Come on. Do you good.”
She frowned, eyeing him squarely. “Don’t you find the fact that you lift weights to improve your body and still smoke those nasty things a little incompatible?”
He took a drag. “I don’t know. Why don’t we go somewhere and talk about it.”
Shaking her head at him, she persisted, “Some other time. A fog’s coming in, and it’s going to make the roads bad. See you tomorrow.”
