“Well?”
“Her nipples,” Jennifer said.
Coltrane had no idea what reaction to have expected from her, but this certainly was not one that he could have predicted.
“The nipples and the aureoles around them,” Jennifer said.
“I don’t understand.”
“Mine are different from hers.”
Coltrane found himself blushing. “I wasn’t trying to imply that…”
“That hers are more attractive than mine? They are. Rebecca Chance was an astonishingly beautiful woman. She was blessed by nature. But that’s not what I’m getting at. My nipples are small, the width of the tip of my little finger. Rebecca Chance’s are as wide as the tip of my index finger. The aureoles around my breasts aren’t pronounced the way Rebecca Chance’s are.”
“And?”
“I could get my nipples and aureoles to start looking like hers, however.”
“You’re talking about surgery?”
“If I got pregnant.”
Coltrane’s heartbeat lurched. “You think she was pregnant?”
“I suspect it was her first time. I don’t see any stretch marks to indicate that she previously had had a baby. I’d say she was about three months along, still able to keep her stomach flat. But she couldn’t keep her breasts from getting fuller and the nipples larger as the photographs progressed. The glow on her face and the luster on her skin make me think that some powerful hormones had started to kick in.”
“Pregnant,” Coltrane said with wonder, then looked with new eyes at the photographs.
“So the obvious questions are: Who was the father? Was he Packard? And, assuming that the child was born, whatever happened to it?”
6
COLTRANE ARCHED HIS BACK AND TILTED HIS HEAD UPWARD, a surge of pleasure seizing his body. Moving slowly, he tried not to disrupt the delicate balance between immediate need and exquisite postponement. Jennifer kissed him, thrusting against him: “Don’t hold back.” Moving faster, he felt her urgent rhythm match his own. Climaxing, he felt as if the present stretched on forever. Too soon, time became separate moments, and he eased out of Jennifer, settling next to her. Neither moved. Streetlights glinted through the bedroom’s open blinds. A breeze made tree branches sway, casting wavering shadows across the darkened room.
She turned onto her side, facing him. “It’s been a long time.”
“Too long.”
“We’ll have to catch up.”
“The spirit is willing, but the flesh might be weak.”
“I’ll see what I can do to put some strength back into it.”
“Some food might help, too. If I don’t start making that marinara sauce pretty soon…”
“No.” Jennifer touched his cheek. “Lie there awhile longer.”
“It’s a great way to end what in other respects was an awfully bad year,” Coltrane said.
“In one respect, it wasn’t such a bad year. You took some wonderful photographs. You found a new direction for your work.”
Coltrane shrugged.
“Your work still doesn’t seem important to you?”
“Not compared to everything that happened.”
They lapsed into silence.
Jennifer was the first to speak. “When you were making love to me, did it occur to you that Rebecca Chance and Randolph Packard might have made love in this bed?”
“… No.”
“It did to me. I imagined that she and I had changed places. Did the nude photographs of her excite you?”
“A little.”
“Did they make you more eager to have sex?”
“I suppose.”
Jennifer lowered her hand from his face and drew it along his body, fondling him.
“Like this excites you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
When Jennifer kissed him, he tasted the salt of a tear on her cheek.
“Because I can’t compete with her, Mitch. I’m not a goddess. I’m only a woman.”
7
ALTHOUGH THE MORNING WAS BRIGHT AND THE SKY CLEAR, a cold breeze, at least by Southern California standards, made Coltrane retreat from the patio outside his bedroom. “Brrr,” he said, cinching his robe tighter, turning toward Jennifer, who still lay in his bed. “I was hoping we could have coffee out there, but I’m afraid it would have to be iced coffee.”
“It’s nicer in here anyhow,” Jennifer said. She raised the covers, giving him a glimpse of her breasts, her inward-curved tummy, and her light-colored pubic hair, gesturing for him to crawl under and join her.
“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”
“And the day’s young yet,” Jennifer said.
“You’re going to wear me out.”
“As long as I didn’t wear this guy out.”
She pointed toward the erection that he showed when he slipped off his robe.
“Since when did you like talking dirty?” He eased under the covers, feeling her warmth.
“You call that talking dirty?”
“At the very least, I’d call it suggestive.”
“And what do you call this?”
“I’m a little distracted at the moment. Maybe the word will come to me if you do it again.”
“Something better come.”
“And the day’s young yet,” Jennifer had said. But she was wrong about implying that there would be more opportunities in the day for them to make love, for after they collapsed into each other’s arms, after they nestled against each other, got up to take turns showering, and finally dressed, Jennifer told him that she was expected at her parents’ house around one o’clock. “You remember from last year,” Jennifer said, “it’s a tradition. I always go over and help Dad watch his marathon of New Year’s Day football games. You want to come with me? He and Mom will be glad to see you, and there’ll be more than enough food. You seemed to enjoy yourself last time.”
“I did. It was fun. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to beg off.”
“Oh?” Jennifer’s voice was frail with disappointment.
“Yes. I promised Greg’s widow that I’d come over and spend some time with her and the kids.”
“Oh.” The inflection was now one of understanding. “I didn’t know you’d spoken with her.”
“I guess it slipped my mind.”
“I’ve never met her, but please tell her I’m very sorry about her husband.”
“I will.”
“That coffee you mentioned would sure taste good right now.”
The kitchen was a mess from the marinara and meatball dinner that Coltrane had made, the dishes having been left in the sink while they finished a bottle of champagne and watched a TV celebrity narrate the countdown in Times Square. Coltrane had only a dim memory of the two of them stumbling up to his bedroom.
“Ouch,” Jennifer said, surveying the damage. “I’m going to need that coffee to brace myself to help with this.”
“Forget it,” Coltrane said. “Come on. We’ll go out for breakfast.”
When they got back at twelve-thirty, they lingered in front of the house.
“If your visit with Greg’s widow ends early, come over to my parents,” Jennifer said.
“I will,” Coltrane said. “Wish them a happy New Year for me.”
Jennifer looked uncertain about something. “Would you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Get a camera and take my picture?”
“Take your picture?”
“It’s a new year,” Jennifer said. “A new beginning. It would make me happy to see you taking photographs again.”
“If it would make you happy, it would make me happy.”
A minute later, he was back with his Nikon, positioning Jennifer against the ivy-looking greenish blue copper trim on the corner of the house.
“The background makes you look even more blond,” Coltrane said. “In fact, you look radiant.”
As her eyes brightened the way he had hoped they would in response to his compliment, Coltrane snapped the picture.