“You can send Laura back to her party.”
“I’d be glad to, if I could.”
“People are beginning to wonder where she is.”
“You, of course, knew right away.”
She was furious, but she was controlling herself pretty well. She even attempted an appeal to his better nature. “She’s only sixteen, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I think I’ll take her back with me right now.”
“By all means.”
Neither of them moved. The room was silent.
Suddenly she raised her voice. “Laura! You’re to come back to the house with me right now, do you hear?”
His throat felt tight with anger. “You’re pretty sure she’s here, naturally. Naturally you’re always sure of everything, Mrs. Pearson.”
“She’s here. I saw her.” She didn’t get shrill, as he expected. She just quivered, her whole body quivered, so that every sequin was winking at him like little wise eyes. “You’re so shameless and stupid, you haven’t even sense enough to pull down the blinds.”
“Maybe that’s because I don’t expect people to be outside peering in and minding my business for me.”
“Laura’s my business.”
She brushed past him. Her eyes swept the room.
“Try the second drawer on the left in the bureau,” he said. “It was a tight fit but I managed to squeeze her in.” His mouth was dry and dusty, as if he’d been eating ashes. “Of course, she’s only sixteen, you know. Some of these sixteen-year-olds are very supple.”
“Laura!”
She spotted the closed door of the kitchen and headed for it. He darted across the room and reached the door first.
“Allow me,” he said, and opened the door.
Beatrice was drying the glasses with a dish towel. The Scotch and the ice trays had been put away and the sink wiped off.
“Hello, Martha,” Beatrice said soberly.
Martha drew in her breath. “Hello — Beatrice.”
“I haven’t seen you for ages.”
“No.”
Beatrice folded the dish towel carefully and put it on the rack. “I thought I’d better clean up before I left, Steve. I hate a messy kitchen, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” Steve said.
“Well, I guess I’ll run along. I promised Mother I’d just stop long enough to say hello and see how you were. I’ll tell her you’re just — the same as usual.”
“Do that.”
“Thanks for the drink. And don’t bother coming to the door with me.”
“I’ll take you down to your car,” he said.
“No, please.”
He followed her into the living room and picked up her coat, while she put on her gloves.
“Ready?”
“Don’t come with me,” she said and turned abruptly. She was gone before he realized it.
He heard the clatter of her heels on the steps, then the crunch of pebbles on the driveway and the impatient snarl of an engine.
Martha came slowly out of the kitchen. She didn’t appear embarrassed or disturbed. She was pale, that was all.
She said, “I suppose you expect me to apologize.”
“That’s the last thing in the world I expect.”
“It was a natural enough mistake. Knowing you, and realizing how easily Laura can be taken in, I thought the woman I saw was Laura.”
“Maybe you ought to get new glasses.” He began walking toward her. “Maybe I ought to smash those for you to make absolutely sure you get yourself some new glasses.”
He reached out and jerked the glasses off her face. The frame caught in her hair and he had to give a sharp pull, but she didn’t change expression.
She said, “My, how strong you are!”
He crunched the glasses in his hand. A piece of broken lens dug into his hand. The pain and the wetness of blood made him feel better.
“Don’t,” she said. “Steve, don’t!”
He unclasped his hand and the shattered glasses fell on the floor. The blood began to slide along his fingers and drip off the tips.
“That’s what I’d like to do to you,” he said. “Take you in my hands and squeeze you until you squeak like a raw oyster. I’d like to do that to you because you just made a mistake about my character, if you can call it that.” He held his hand up and watched the blood fall off the ends of his fingers. “Let’s get it straight now. When I want a woman, I don’t look around for a pair of bobby socks. I’m quite a big boy now. I need quite a big girl. Like you.”
He wanted to strangle her and make love to her and sit down and bawl like a kid and put a bandage on his hand and shoot himself.
He sat down, holding his head with his good hand.
“Steve.”
“You better go home.”
“You’re bleeding. You might have cut an artery.”
That one was too silly to answer, so he just closed his eyes and waited for her to go home.
“Charles bit my hand once,” she said. “You can still see the marks.”
He said nothing.
“Do you want to?”
“No, thank you.”
He heard the swish of her dress against the floor as she walked toward him. He opened his eyes. She stood in front of him, holding out her hand with the palm up.
“See?”
He saw the little scars. “It must have hurt.”
“Not awfully.”
“Did I — hurt your head?”
“No.”
“I love you.”
“Yes, I know.”
He couldn’t see her face, only her hand that looked so small and sad with the little scars on it. He got up suddenly and walked away from her.
“Do you want to hear about how I love you?” he said.
“Yes.”
“It’s not a nice kind of love. I don’t want to marry you or even live with you. I don’t want to have children by you.”
She didn’t make a sound, and he had to turn around and look at her to see why not, or just to look at her, he didn’t know which.
She had sat down in a chair and was watching him gravely, not acting injured or surprised, the way another woman might.
He said deliberately, “I don’t want to look after you when you’re sick or see you first thing in the morning or...”
He went back to her and knelt down and put his head against her knees.
“I’m lying,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You’ve been lying, too.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth moved against his cheek. He felt her breasts against him, the nipples erect and straining against her dress as if they had lives and longings of their own and must be considered.
Let us consider your breasts, my love, my beloved.
“You are my beloved,” he said. “My beloved.”
He felt a great power rising within him, a power without violence, a strength that disdained challenge. Her mouth was no mouth to be bruised, it was a flower that breathed and obeyed his will. It opened for his tongue and closed softly over the lobe of his ear.
“Shall I turn off the light?” she said.
“No. No, I will.” He switched the lamp and went back to her. He stood behind the chair where she was sitting and very gently he took off her hat and began to pull the pins out of her hair while she sat with her hands over her breasts as if they ached.
Her hair loosened and slid over his wrists like silk.
Slowly. He had waited a long time, and there was no need to hurry now. He didn’t have to pull up her skirts or rip off her clothes. He could afford to wait.
“Come here,” she said, in a stifled voice. “Come here, Steve.”
She stood up and he walked around the chair and stood up against her. He was just a little taller than she was and they exactly fitted.
“Steve...”
In the dizzy dark, the room rose, floated, held down only by threads of whispers, words muffled against the curves and hollows of bare flesh. He spoke not to her, but to her breasts and her hips and her belly. She could listen if she wanted to, but these were what he spoke to. She listened, memorizing his shoulders with her mouth.