“Oh, I’ve seen many girls like the one you describe. All that suppressed guilt and sexual tension, waiting to be released, demanding to be released, but they can’t allow it, because to allow it would mean to admit these feelings. There is one girl in particular who desperately needs this release, who needs my help to gain this release, but there is still the lack of trust, her fear of herself and these feelings, her blindness to her own needs—Ah, well, it is late, isn’t it? My dear fellow, I am delighted you dropped by. By all means give my regards to Joe. I hope his arthritis gets better.” Gruska rose and extended his hand. Taylor obligingly took it and gave it a healthy shake.
He returned to Eden’s apartment two hours later.
13
Taylor / Eden
Even as he rang Eden’s doorbell, Taylor knew he wasn’t going to say anything to her about meeting Dr. Gruska at Columbia. Not yet. He was fairly certain that the young woman Dr. Gruska spoke briefly about was Eden. She was terrified of men, that was true, and she sure as hell didn’t trust Gruska. As for that sod, the man was certifiable. Taylor didn’t think Dr. Gruska could even be taken with a half-grain of salt. How, then, to unmuddy the waters?
Lindsay stared through her peephole, then unlatched, unfastened, and unbolted her front door. “Goodness, Taylor! You’re early and I’m a mess.”
He hadn’t realized he was early until that moment. “I’m sorry, but I was in the neighborhood and—”
“Oh, come in, no problem. I just need to jump into the shower.”
Taylor saw that she was wearing an ancient white terry-cloth bathrobe and nothing else. She’d tied her hair up in a rubber band. He smiled. “Again, forgive me. Why don’t I grab a beer and watch the news?”
She waved him away and retreated into her bedroom. He shook his head at himself as he moved several novels out of the way on the sofa. He didn’t turn on the TV; instead, he thought more about Gruska and what he’d said and what he obviously believed. And he recalled Eden’s words, seemingly a jumble: . . . the way he thinks, what he’s found out, what he now knows, what he threatens… .
His mind latched on to what had really scared her. What Gruska had found out about her. And that something he needed to discover himself if he was going to be of any help to her. Taylor stopped cold with that thought. He’d just made the quite conscious decision that he wanted Eden in his life, that he wanted her whole and healthy, that he wanted her in bed as well as out of bed, that he wanted, quite simply, all of her.
He felt slightly stunned with the realization. Jesus, he was the bugger who’d sworn off a second marriage. Now he wanted a woman he’d known for only four days, and he wanted her forever. He thought of tall lanky-legged girls in white karate outfits with her gorgeous eyes who would be their offspring. He shook his head. He was losing it.
Taylor rose and walked to the telephone. First things first. He dialed Valerie’s number. It was Tuesday and he had promised to call her on Monday.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, Valerie, it’s Taylor. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” She didn’t continue with her usual spiel. She paused, then said, “Look, Taylor, I’m sorry about the other night, really. I was just stressed out and flailed at you. Will you forgive me?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“Are you busy tonight?”
“Yes, I am.”
There was another very long pause. “Are you still working on that same job?”
“No, it’s been resolved.”
“Successfully, I hope.” He heard the strain in her voice, recognized her attempt at civilized behavior, and wondered why it was so difficult for her.
“Yes,” he said, “very successfully.”
He could picture her sitting on the plush silk chair beside the Louis XV table. The phone was pseudo-antique in an old-fashioned cradle. He wondered what she was thinking. He was on the point of softening his answer to her when she said, her voice sharp, “It’s another woman, isn’t it, Taylor?”
“We aren’t married, Valerie,” he said mildly.
“But I wanted you to come over tonight.”
“Are you free tomorrow night?”
“No, damn you, I’m not.”
“Well, then, as I said, we’re not married. How about Thursday night?”
“You just want to see me so you can screw me!”
“I take it the thought doesn’t entice you in the least?”
“Eight o’clock. I’ll have Carrousel send over dinner. Don’t be late.”
She hung up on him. Tit for tat, he thought, slowly setting down the phone, since he’d hung up on her the last time they spoke.
When he saw her on Thursday, he’d break it off. He had to because the only person he could see in his present, in his future, was Eden.
Eden, who was terrified of men. When she came out of the bedroom, freshly scrubbed, dressed in a pale yellow silk dress, her long legs in panty hose and impossibly high heels, he laughed.
“You’re going to look me straight in the eye now? You’re going to put me in my place?”
“Intimidation,” she said, smiling at him. “I thought you could use a good dose. I should even be a bit taller than you.”
“Have at it, any abuse you like. You look beautiful. I like your hair up in an old-fashioned bun like that.”
She merely nodded. She stood next to him then quirked her eyebrow at him. “Maybe not just a little bit,” she said.
And he was thinking there was so much of her to learn, to explore, to appreciate, finally, to savor. He thought about buying her some four-inch heels.
“Where are you taking me?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He took her to meet Enoch and his mother, Sheila, 230 Maple Street, Fort Lee, New Jersey, for dinner that evening.
Sheila was going through her muumuu phase and she even served roasted pig in palm leaves in a grill in the backyard. She appreciated the fifty-degree weather, she said, or she and the pig could have been the same temperature. There were yams and poi, gray and thick and disgusting, and wonderful rolls. She gave Eden long looks, then turned on her charm, which she had in abundance. If she occasionally gushed or overwhelmed, they handled it, at least until dessert of scooped out papaya filled with vanilla ice cream. As for Enoch, he just stared at Eden as if trying to figure something out.
“Enoch’s six-foot-four. You’ll have to tilt your head just a bit.”
Lindsay laughed as she shook her head.
“It’s nice not to have to crick my neck,” Enoch said.
“What’s your last name, dear?” Sheila asked as she expertly sliced up her papaya. “I must have missed it. That damned pig required too much of my attention.”
Taylor’s spoon paused on its journey to his mouth.
“Oh, I don’t have one, Mrs. Sackett. Just Eden.”
“You entertainers, so coy and elusive.”
“I’m a model, ma’am, not an entertainer.”
“It’s close enough, I’m sure,” Sheila said to the table at large. “More dessert, dear?”
“No, ma’am. This is wonderful.”
Too bad, Taylor thought. He’d already made up his mind he wasn’t going to find out Eden’s real name, no, she would have to tell him herself, when she was ready. He wasn’t going to stoop to going through her mail to discover her real name. He wasn’t going to muck about in things she evidently wanted kept hidden.
“Is Eden your real name, then?”
“Sheila,” Enoch said, waving his fork at her, “it really isn’t any of your business. Leave Eden alone.”
Lindsay just smiled, but it was hard. The woman wasn’t any nosier than others she’d met, but she was persistent and Lindsay was her prisoner for the evening. She slipped a glance toward Taylor and saw, to her surprise, that he understood, for he nodded. Not five minutes later, he said quite loudly, “Goodness, Sheila, would you look at the time.”