The Lord Won't Mind (The Peter & Charlie Trilogy) (24 page)

“What about all the people who run off and get married overnight?”

“That’s in other states. It’s different here. Oh, my God. Birth certificates. How too utterly complicated it is.”

“I’ve got a passport. That ought to do.”

“Of course. How clever of you. So’ve I. Sam will be able to fix everything. I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

“I’ll have to tell C. B.”

“Oh, no you don’t. It’s a secret from everyone. I know families. Yours is no different from mine. You let me handle this.”

He knew that C. B. couldn’t possibly object, but for some reason he wasn’t particularly looking forward to telling her, either before or after. He decided not to push his point.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help, anyway,” he said. “My mother is coming in for lunch.”

“Your mother? You never talk about her. What for?”

“I don’t know. Shopping, I guess.”

“Well, you’d better get rid of her quickly. And you’d better tell your office you’re not coming back after lunch. I’ll need you.”

“You mean you think we can do it tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. That’s the whole point. If we can’t do it quickly, I won’t do it at all. And now I
have
to do it. Look at me. Spending the night with a man. I’ve never done it before, but you’re practically my husband.” She crowed with laughter. “What’re you like in the morning?”

“The same. Irresistible.”

“I might make your breakfast, just to see what it’s like. But don’t count on it in the future. Let me out. I’ve got things to do.” She crawled over him and left him.

He stayed where he was, finishing his drink. She was gone a long time. He found that he was almost asleep. He pulled himself up and heard her still splashing about in the bathroom. He went to the kitchen and fixed himself a nightcap. He had almost finished it when she came out. He held her briefly, feeling vague and disconnected.

“Go to bed. I’ll be right there,” he said. He went through his nightly routine in the bathroom. A quick shower woke him up. The thought of her lying there waiting to be quickened into life by him aroused him. He came out and snapped off lights, feeling her eyes on him. He imagined her legs parting, her hips lifting with need of him. It aroused him further, so that his sex jutted forward in a heavy curve, not yet quite erect. She stared at it as he approached the bed.

“It
is
fascinating,” she said dreamily. “It’s always different. I’m glad girls don’t have them. I wouldn’t know what to expect from one minute to the next.”

He staggered slightly as he got into bed. He stretched out and took her to him, counting on the contact to bring him into full erection. His sex was bulky between them, but failed to react as vigorously as he had expected. He put his mouth on hers and stroked her back, waiting for the final surge that would permit him to mount her. He found himself getting drowsy. Too much to drink, he reassured himself. It had happened before, but it had never mattered. Peter would always do something about it. Peter’s miraculous mouth. To give himself time, he feigned sleep. He let his head slide back and pulled himself up with a start.

“You’re sleepy, lover. So am I.” She reached behind him and snapped off the light. “Kiss me good-night and hold me. What bliss.”

He lay outraged in the dark. Why had she let it go at that? Did she think he couldn’t get it up? She hadn’t even felt it to see. That would have been all he needed. His sex ached. He felt incomplete and frustrated. It was always the same. Girls just didn’t understand. Her loss. Let it go. He drifted off, resentment lodged in some layer of his consciousness.

It was still there when he woke up, his morning erection lying across her belly. He took her quickly and thought only of himself, straddling her, with his body propped above her on his arms, a smile of private satisfaction playing about his lips at the hunger he saw in her sleep-drugged face and at the longing that was still in it when he left her.

“That’s quite a way to wake a girl up,” she said as she stumbled around the kitchen in one of his dressing gowns. “I mean, it really gets the day off to a flying start. Are all boys like that in the morning, like bulls?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He liked the image. She’d find out whether or not he could get it up.

“I just want to know what to expect. It’s certainly more fun than an alarm clock.”

They made arrangements to keep in touch during the day, and kissed, and he was off. She called at noon, crowing at him over the phone, to tell him that it was all settled. She would meet him after lunch to take him to have his Wassermann and they would be married later in the day. Her cousin had apparently swept aside various tiresome delays and formalities.

His mother was waiting for him at her tea shop, wearing a rather fussy suit that bore no relationship to the rough tweed coat she carried over her arm. Her hair was in gentle disarray under a sensible hat, her habitually worried look slightly more pronounced than he remembered it. She moved in an air of small crises that seemed about to overwhelm her. She had her usual effect of making him feel tired. They kissed perfunctorily and settled themselves in a little booth.

After they had ordered unappetizing food, he smiled at her dutifully, wondering as always how she could possibly be C. B.’s daughter, and asked, “How’s everything at home?” He wanted a drink desperately.

“Oh, very well, thank you. Yes, I think so. We miss you always, but we’ve had plenty of time to get used to that, haven’t we? You look a bit haggard, dear.”

He had never known her to find him looking well. He shrugged. “I’m fine. How did you happen to come over?”

“Oh, well, I thought it would be nice. I haven’t been since the spring.”

“Are you staying over?” he asked, prepared to rattle off a list of urgent business that would engage him for the next twenty-four hours if she were.

“No, I shouldn’t think so. You didn’t tell Mother I was coming?”

“No. You said not to. You mean, you’ve come over just for lunch?”

“Well, not exactly. I did want to see you.” Her worried look intensified.

“Well, here I am. Was it about anything in particular?”

“No, not really. That is, I understand there’s been some sort of trouble with Peter Martin.”

So that was it. He blushed and dropped his eyes, but he wasn’t really concerned. He knew how to handle her. “Trouble? Not at all. He’s moved, that’s all.”

“Oh, has he? Oh, I see. Well, you see dear, Mother called the other day—day before yesterday, was it?—and seemed to be in one of her states. We love you very much, you know. We want you to know that if you’re in any sort of trouble, we’re prepared to stand by you.”

“Well, thanks. But—” Food was brought to the table, and they remained silent while it was put before them. It was typical of her to assume that he was in trouble, unlike C. B., who assumed when trouble came that it was somebody else’s fault. He looked at her and smiled reassuringly. She continued to look worried. “I don’t know what it’s all about. Did C. B. put you up to this?”

“Oh, good heavens, no. On the contrary. But you know, dear, much as I admire Mother, I don’t think she’s always the best person in a jam. She’s inclined to go too far. I understand she’s refused to receive Peter.”

“Yes, she has.” He looked at her levelly.

“And she’s told you why?” She returned his look with unusual directness. Thank God for Hattie, he thought. Without her, this might have been fairly disagreeable.

“Of course,” he said.

“You see, dear, when we’re young all sorts of odd things happen to us. Especially when the affections are involved. I know you’re very highly strung. I talked to Cousin Sarah yesterday. You know all the trouble she’s had. She’s quite well now. She hasn’t had to be put away for several years. She says that psychiatry has made tremendous strides in all sorts of fields that we never even used to mention.”

He almost laughed in her face. He felt so safe that he was beginning to enjoy himself. He was tempted to lead her on just to see how far she was willing to go. “You mean Peter should go to a psychiatrist?”

“Well, maybe he should, but he can’t really be my concern. I want you to know that if you’ve been troubled in any way, if anything’s happened that’s put you under a strain—I want you to feel free to talk about it, either to me or your father. I know Mother has much more influence over you than we have, but you mustn’t think she’s the only person who loves you.”

He was unexpectedly touched. So this was the way it would have been if Peter had got them into a real mess. He no longer felt like teasing her. “Thanks, Ma. But you really don’t have to worry. I’m not troubled in the least. I’ve written you about Hattie Donaldson. I’ve been seeing a lot of her recently. As a matter of fact, we’re going to get married.”

“Why, how very nice.” She looked enormously relieved, although the air of worry never completely left her. “Married. Well, of course, you can’t think of that for a long time. But how nice you have a girl. I want very much to meet her. She must be lovely. Now, you will promise not to rush into anything, won’t you? It would be a great mistake. You’ve never had a real girl before. I was so hoping you would. You must bring her home for a weekend. I’m afraid you won’t be able to afford marriage for quite some time.”

“Well, maybe not. We’re—”

“And all this about Peter—why was Mother so upset?”

“Oh, maybe he had some sort of crush on me. He’s just a kid. It happens all the time. C. B. exaggerated it out of all proportion.”

“She distresses me. I’m afraid she’s growing more unbalanced with the years. She’s always been given to extremes. It made it very difficult for my father. He was such a gentle soul.”

“Gentle? He beat you.”

“Oh dear, did she tell you that?” She took her head with a worried little frown. He felt himself being trapped in the pattern that imposed itself on all their meetings. He let himself be drawn to her and then was engulfed in her constant nagging worries. She was never angry or indignant or gay. Just worried. She reduced life to a single thin note, endlessly struck. “He may have slapped me once a little too hard when I was naughty. He was under a constant strain. She loved him with such unbalanced passion.”

“But she hated him.”

“Hated him? I remember when he died. She screamed and tore her hair and kept calling to him to come back to her. It was terribly sad.”

Of course, she was wrong. She always arranged facts to suit herself. “What did he die of?” he asked with odd reluctance.

She looked around her vaguely. “I don’t think I’ve ever known exactly. I was just a child. Some sort of accident, of course. We were living on the plantation at the time. I’ll never forget when they brought him in. The darkies were standing around with their eyes rolling. Mother was screaming and asking him to forgive her and begging him not to die. It was most distressing. I don’t think she’s ever been quite normal since.”

He firmly rejected this version of C. B.’s tragedy. Why should she beg forgiveness of a “drunkard and a beast”? Those had surely been her words. She wasn’t a liar, or insane. “I’ll have to speak to her about this,” he muttered to himself.

“Now that you’re in love—I mean, that’s why you spoke of marriage, isn’t it? You are in love, aren’t you, dear?”

“Sure, I guess so,” he admitted, as Peter, unbidden, filled his mind’s eye.

“You’ll find it’s not always easy to be reasonable. Love is a very difficult emotion. That’s why control is so important. Remember that. Try always to exercise control. We can make such terrible mistakes if we let love get out of control.”

He shifted restlessly in his seat. He knew about control. He knew too damn much about control. The single thin note jangled in his ear.

He left her with a huge question crowding into the center of his life. Of course, Peter’s attitude toward C. B. made no sense. His mother was always wrong about everything. The question remained: Was it right to entrust his life to C. B.? He knew that that was what it amounted to. Everything that he was doing was for her: Peter’s departure, the impending marriage, even though she might not be wholly pleased with it at first, were offerings on the altar of her approval. Why should he question her now? Because of a slight discrepancy in two versions of an event that had happened long ago? His mother had been a child and was never a reliable witness. The recompense for his decisions would be immediate and considerable: freedom from emotional torment, socially acceptable married status, Hattie’s challenging companionship. There was no time for questions.

Another telephone call revealed that Hattie was in full command of the marriage plans. By five o’clock that afternoon, Charles Mills and Harriet Donaldson were man and wife. They parted immediately, Hattie to announce the news to her family and pack a bag, Charlie to see C. B. They arranged to meet at his apartment as close to seven as possible. He didn’t know what he was going to say to his mother when she discovered that she had had lunch with him on his wedding day.

C. B. put aside a book and greeted him. “I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been so looking forward to hearing the end of Peter’s sad story. Is it too early for a drink? Of course not. How dashing you’re looking. I’m quite sure you’re the most attractive man in the city.” She returned to her seat and pressed a bell. “Now tell me everything.”