“Thanks, but there’s no one.” As she said it, she had a thought. “Wait. There is someone I’d like to be there. She’s an undergraduate, but she’s around, because I ran into her last week. Meg Kellaway.”
Bernice was at a loss. “Meg — the girl who used to trail Don around. You want her to be there?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought you would come with Don.”
“He hasn’t mentioned it.”
Bernice sighed. “Well, honey, I’ll send an invite to Meg, if that’s what you want. After all, it’s your big night. Do you have something beautiful to wear?”
“Something I like.”
Ever since the night of the disco and its sequel, Don had made mental scenarios for his next meeting with Sarah. He had to expunge a nightmare. He was haunted by the image of Sarah stripped for sex, saying take off your clothes and give me what you came for. That was how clinical it had been. He had handled it ineptly, and he deserved every insult she had thrown at him. The one positive thing to be salvaged from that ruinous night was that she now knew he loved her. What her response would be, now that there had been time to reflect, he did not dare speculate on. He was left trying to contrive ways of meeting her that would give them both the chance of rebuilding confidence.
About nine Wednesday evening his phone rang. Sarah? He snatched it up. “Yes?”
“Is this Don Rigden?” A man’s voice, goddammit.
“Speaking.”
“My name’s Cunningham, Ed Cunningham. I was on the TV team that visited you in the spring.”
“I remember. You interviewed me.”
“Yes. The shrink. This isn’t about that, Mr. Rigden, not directly, anyway. It concerns Sarah Jordan. I believe you and she are friends.”
“We work together.”
“Of course. This is confidential, if you don’t mind. I’ve seen Sarah quite a few times since we made the Never Fear series.”
“Is that so?” said Don coolly. It seemed unlikely. “Do you mean professionally?”
“Socially.”
A man in his fifties? Don let him talk on.
“We had a couple of meals together, walked in Central Park a few times. I helped her find an agent. She also took my advice about her role as Spider Girl, and that’s what concerns me, Mr. Rigden. You must know Sarah pretty well by now. Have you noticed any change in her behavior since she went to NBC?”
“I’m sorry,” answered Don, “but I don’t care to discuss Sarah over the phone with someone I hardly know.”
“I respect that, Mr. Rigden. I’m not communicating as well as I’d like. Listen, I may be totally wrong, but I believe Sarah is approaching a crisis. As you know, she’s been the focus of a lot of media interest lately. There has been heavy pressure. She’s been through an exciting time as a TV star. And as Spider Girl she discovered a fantasy that released certain tensions deep in her personality. That needn’t be harmful so long as she recognizes that it is only fantasy. My worry is that with all the pressure, she could lose her grip on reality.”
“You claim to be her friend, Dr. Cunningham, but you’re talking like her analyst.”
“The two aren’t incompatible. Would you tell me if you have seen Sarah lately? I believe you go hang-gliding sometimes.”
“You seem to know a lot more about me than I do about you. No, we haven’t gone hang-gliding since before the TV series. She’s been too busy.”
“But you’ve seen her?”
“Yes.”
“And — it is important — was she acting normally?”
That image of Sarah naked flitted before his mind’s eye. “I thought I made it clear that I don’t propose discussing her.”
“I see. Maybe you’ll let me give you my number. Then, if you feel she needs help at any time, you could contact me.”
“If you like,” said Don without enthusiasm. He took down the number.
“I respect your protective feelings toward Sarah,” Cunningham added. “I feel a certain responsibility myself, and that’s why I called you. I presume I’ll see you Saturday night at your department’s party. If you don’t mind, we’ll forget that this conversation took place.”
“It didn’t,” said Don. “Good night.”
He made himself some coffee and drank it black. Then he picked up the phone and dialed Sarah’s number.
“It’s Don. Isn’t it time we talked?”
“I’m not sure what there is to say.”
“Sarah, I’m not suggesting a post mortem on the other evening. You know the way I feel about you. I meant it. Would you let me take you to Jerry’s party on Saturday?”
“Isn’t that a little old-fashioned, Don? The modern girl doesn’t get taken to parties. I have an invitation, same as you. I guess we’ll see each other there.”
“You’re going with someone else?”
“I didn’t say that, did I?”
“Cunningham — the shrink?”
There was a pause before she spoke. “Why do you mention him?”
“You’ve been seeing him a lot, haven’t you — meals out, walks in Central Park?”
“What if I have? There’s no law against it.”
“You asked why I mentioned Cunningham, that’s all.”
“Have you been checking on my friends?”
“I happened to hear something. You hadn’t mentioned he was your friend.”
“I don’t have to account to you for the people I meet. Has Bernice been gossiping again? That woman’s a menace.”
“Slow down, Sarah. This has nothing to do with Bernice. I’m sorry I mentioned Cunningham, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me right out whether you’re going with him on Saturday.”
“What makes you think I might be?”
“I happen to know he’s very protective toward you. How you feel toward him I just don’t know, but it’s obvious he has a more than friendly interest in you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I heard him talk about you.”
“When was this?”
“Never mind. But I think you should know about Cunningham. Just because he has silver hair, it doesn’t mean he’s decrepit. A lot of older guys go after girls in their twenties, and get ’em.”
“I believe you’re jealous.”
“I’d just like to get things straight before Saturday. Do we have a date, or not?”
She answered in a controlled voice. “It’s better if we don’t. I don’t blame you for anything and I’m not saying we can’t be friends, but let’s keep Saturday casual, shall we? I give you my word that I’m not going to the party with Ed. I don’t even know for certain if he’s going.”
“He’ll be there.”
“Well, let’s hope it’s a nice evening, huh? And, Don, thanks for calling.”
He immediately regretted having made the call. It had achieved nothing except to confirm that Cunningham really had been seeing her. This was pathetic, sweating over things said on the phone like some kid of sixteen. He could have any girl in the university he wanted. lie could have had Sarah, only he wanted something more permanent than sex, and she, apparently, didn’t.
The reason he loved her was that she was unique. To win her, he would have to forget what succeeded with other girls.
The dress was from Saks and it was peacock blue. It had a small Oriental collar and a twist halter of two bands of silk crossing the breasts to a full, flowing skirt, leaving a bare back and midriff. Meg had never owned anything so lovely in her life, or spent so much on a dress. She had gone directly to Fifth Avenue on the morning she received the invitation, which could only have been sent at Don’s personal request — Meg didn’t know anyone else in the Ecology Department. What a brilliant way to make up: no embarrassing apologies, recriminations, promises. A simple invitation to a party. If she were still angry about the Amnesty concert, she could turn it down and no more need be said. But of course she wasn’t angry; she wanted Don back, and here she was, arriving at the party in the most sensational dress she could find. The moment he saw her, he would know she was his.