“Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” Helen said. “This is very good wine.”
“Ninety-eight cents for the bottle.”
“It’s still good. Music is good for wine, too. This is very nice, Bud.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Tell me all about you,” she said. “My God, it’s been such a long time.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“There must be.”
“No, Helen, really.”
“Why didn’t you write to me, Bud?”
“I didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“I was angry. I didn’t think you’d treated me fairly.”
“Maybe I didn’t.”
“I got just what I deserved,” Bud said, “only I didn’t realize it at the time. I thought... well, I figured your rejecting me was a slap in the face, even though... well, I can’t say I was being very sincere about anything that night. And then your going home with Tony, that added insult to injury. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said, and she did understand, and all her fears seemed to be gone now, and she wondered what it would have been like if she’d approached their last meeting with this same trustfulness, and she knew instantly it would have been impossible. This Bud was not the Bud of a year ago, not the impatient sailor she’d met on V-J Day. And it was Bud himself who somehow generated this warm trust within her now, and she knew with firm conviction that everything would be all right between them this time. This time nothing could possibly happen to them.
They were silent for a long time, listening to the music. The quiet voice of a singer came from the speaker, whispering at them.
“More wine?” Bud asked.
“No, I’ve got to be going soon.”
“I’ll be seeing you again, won’t I, Helen?”
“Are you chasing me out already?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean—”
“Do you want to see me again?”
“Yes.”
“I mean, not next year?”
“Not next year.”
“Well, fine.”
“I’ll be busy for the next week or so. I’m in charge of decorations for the Fall Ball, and we’ve got meetings almost every damn week end arguing about one thing or another. They’re really excuses for get-togethers, I suppose, but anyway I’m all tied up until the— Say, would you like to go with me?”
“Where?”
“The Fall Ball. It’s not as pretentious as it sounds. It’s just a dance in the gym. It’s on the eighth, that’s a Saturday night.”
“I’ll consult my calendar,” Helen said.
“All right, and I’ll give you a ring and—”
“I was kidding, Bud. I’d like very much to go.”
“Well, fine, fine. Then... then that’s settled.”
“Yes.”
A new record dropped into place.
“Skylark,” the voice sang,
“Have you seen a valley green with spring...”
“Oh, I love this,” Helen said.
“Where my heart can go
a-journey
ing...”
“Reminds me of Andy,” Bud said.
“Does it? Why should it do that?”
“I don’t know.”
They listened to the record, absorbed.
“And in your lonely flight,
Haven’t you heard
the music
of the night...”
“I really must be going, Bud,” Helen said.
“Sure,” he answered. He went to the closet, taking out their coats and folding his own coat over the arm of the chair. He held Helen’s coat for her, and she slipped into it quickly and then turned.
“Bud...” She was standing very close to him, and she lifted her face and her eyes and very softly said, “This was very nice.”
“I enjoyed it,” he told her.
“I almost... I almost don’t want to go.”
She looked at him curiously, as if she wanted him to say something further, as if she were testing him somehow, wanting him to make the suggestion, wanting him to say, “Well, honey, you don’t really have to go, you know.”
“It’s late,” he said, and then he began putting on his coat.
She smiled briefly, a smile kindled by happiness. “Yes, it is late.”
They went to the door, and he opened it and took a last look around the apartment through force of habit. He flicked out the light switch then, and she took his hand. The light at the end of the hallway illuminated the doorframe in a pale golden rectangle. They stood in the doorframe, her hand in his.
“Bud?” she said, her voice very small.
“Yes?”
“Let’s not go yet.” He almost could not hear her.
“What?” he asked uncertainly.
“I... I don’t want to go yet.” She spoke the words with great effort, as it they were torn from her despite her wishes. She squeezed his hand gently and led him into the apartment, and then she closed the door, and the soft golden rectangle was gone, and there was only the darkness, and she close to him in the darkness, and then she lifted her face to his and kissed him. They were very bulky in their overcoats, moving with the grace of dinosaurs.
“Bud, Bud,” she whispered, and her mouth found his again, and he pulled her closer to him, feeling the warm moistness of her lips.
“Helen, I didn’t want—”
“I know, I know, but I love you so much, Buddy, so very, very much. Please kiss me, darling.”
He kissed her again, and his hands went beneath her coat and onto the warm silk of her dress and the swelling fullness of her breasts. She kissed him again, putting all of her love for him into her kisses, and then they broke apart and walked to the modern sofa. She took off her coat, and she could hear him taking off his coat in the darkness, and she waited for him on the sofa.
He clicked on the record player again, and the record resumed where it had left off, and she could hear him moving toward her, and she waited for him expectantly, knowing she had waited for this moment for a very long time. He sat beside her, and she leaned back into his arms, and his hands found her breasts again, and his hands on her felt very natural and very good. He kissed the side of her neck, the music flooding the apartment.
“Bud, about Andy... I... what I’m trying to tell you... I don’t want you to think—”
“I’m not thinking anything, Helen. Except what a fool I’ve been. Helen, I think I love you. Helen, I love you, Helen.”