W
e napped. There on the floor. Much later, nearly ten, she stirred and awakened me. She snuggled close to me for warmth.
“Hungry?” I asked.
“Of course.”
“Where would you like to go?” I asked. “I have Peters’ car parked downstairs. For a change, wheels come with the invitation.”
She laughed. “Uptown, huh?”
“Not exactly, it’s a Datsun.” She laughed again and got up, picking up the gown from where it had fallen on the couch and tying it deftly around her. It was lovely, but I preferred her without it. I too scrambled to my feet. She stood looking up at me, her eyes momentarily uncertain. I held her close, hoping to stifle all doubt. “Don’t worry,” I told her. “It’ll be all right.”
That seemed to give her the reassurance she needed. I followed her into the bedroom. A set of suitcases sat in one corner. She lifted one onto the bed and opened it. “I didn’t know if I was moving in or moving out.”
The suitcase was filled with clothes on hangers. I picked them up, all of them, and swept them into one end of the closet.
“Moving in,” I said.
She unpacked quickly with the practiced hand of one who has done it many times. I had never learned to use all the drawers in the obligatory six-drawer dresser, so there was room for her to unpack without my having to shove things around. It seemed as though I had been saving a place for her in my life.
While she showered, I took a lesson from the lady and called for a dinner reservation. Most people who live in Seattle regard the Space Needle as a place visited only by tourists. Not me. It’s special enough for a meal there to be an occasion, and it has the added attraction of being within walking distance. I take my kids there for Christmas dinner when they’re home for the holidays. The Emerald Suite, the gourmet part of the restaurant on top of the Space Needle, had a last-minute cancellation, so they were able to take us.
When Anne emerged from the shower, I was tying my tie and humming a little tune. I was starting to feel as though the two of us might be on somewhat equal footing. I was conscious of being terrifically happy, and for right then, at least, I was wise enough not to question it.
I had dressed while she unpacked. Now it was my turn to lie on the bed and watch her. She stood indecisively at the closet door for a moment. “What should I wear?”
“We’re not going to the Doghouse,” I replied.
She chose a muted red dress of delicate silk. Red was her color on any occasion, in any light. Before I met her I had no idea red came in so many different shades. Maxwell Cole had been more correct than he knew when he called her the Lady in Red.
Carefully she selected underwear and put it on. It was a quiet, intimate time together, with her doing things she would usually do alone. She didn’t seem disturbed by my presence or by my watching her. In the short period we had been together a bonding had occurred. I had experienced that bonding only once before, with Karen, and then I’d lost it. I was grateful to have it back. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.
Anne came to me to zip the dress and to fasten the diamond pendant. “From Milton?” I asked, surprised that there was no pang of jealousy as I asked the question.
“Yes,” she said, turning to kiss me. “Thanks.”
“Where’s your car?” I asked. “Did you bring it along with your clothes?”
She nodded. “It’s down on the street.”
“We’ll have to move it to a lot in the morning, or we’ll spend all day feeding parking meters.”
“Would you like to take it?” she asked.
I tossed Peters’ Datsun keys into the air. “Not on a bet. I don’t think I’d better press my luck. I’m just barely qualified for a Datsun. A Porsche would be overkill.”
Of course we could have walked, but I drove up to the valet parking attendant. He opened the door with a slight bow in Anne’s direction, diplomatically concealing most of his disdain for the battered Datsun.
The old Anne Corley was back. She was delighted and delightful. Everything about the evening pleased her. As the restaurant rotated she asked questions about various landmarks. She ate like a famished puppy and joked with the waiter, who regarded her with a certain awe. We drank champagne and toasted our future. It was a festive, joyous occasion.
The conversation was light, fun-filled nonsense. It was only when the coffee came and we were working our way through two final glasses of wine that she turned serious on me. I knew enough to be wary by now, to tread softly and not force her beyond her own speed.
“Do you want me to tell you about Milton?” she asked softly.
“Only if you want to, only if you think I need to know.”
“It’s the same version they wrote years ago. He sounds like a monster who took advantage of a young female patient, doesn’t he?”
“That’s why he lost his job, isn’t it?”
“People were only interested in how things looked. No one cared how things really were. It’s too much trouble to look beneath the surface.”
“But he committed suicide.”
“He didn’t do it because of his job,” she said “He was dying of cancer. He didn’t want to go on. He didn’t want to face what was coming. I understand that a lot more now than I did then.” She paused. “How old are you, Beau?”
“Forty-two, going on sixty.”
“Milton was sixty-three when I married him.” She made the statement quietly and waited for my reaction.
“Sixty-three!” I choked on a sip of coffee.
Anne smiled. “I’ve always gone for older men,” she teased. The smile faded from her face, her eyes. “He was the first person who believed me.”
I struggled to follow her train of thought. “You mean about Patty?”
She nodded. “I had been locked up in that place for five years when I met him, and he was the very first person who believed me.”
“How is that possible?”
“You told me yourself. This isn’t the best of all possible worlds, remember? I stayed because my mother had enough money to pay to keep me there. I’d have been pronounced cured and turned loose if we’d been poor.”
She watched in silence as the waiter refilled her cup with coffee. “Doctors became omnipotent in places like that. They have the power of life and death over you. The smallest kindness becomes an incredible gift. He took an interest in me. He promised he’d take care of me if I’d have sex with him.”
Outrage came boiling to the surface. “When you were thirteen and he was fifty-seven?”
“No. I said I met him then. I was seventeen when it started.” She was holding her cup in both hands, looking at me through the steam, using it as a screen to protect her from my sudden flare of anger. “There’s no need to be angry,” she said. “He kept his part of the bargain, and I kept mine. He saw to it that I got an education, that I had books to read, that I learned things. On weekends he would get me a pass and take me places. He bought me clothes, taught me how to dress, how to wear my hair. I don’t have any complaints.”
“But Anne…”
“When my mother died, I was nineteen. He hired Ancell Ames, Ralph’s father, to lay hands on the moneys left in trust for me, money my mother had been appropriating over the years. He got me out of the hospital, and we got married. Everyone believed he married me because of the money. Nobody cared that he had plenty himself. It made a better scandal the other way around.” For the first time I heard a trace of bitterness in her voice.
“Did you love him when you married him?”
She shook her head. “That came later. I loved him when he died.”
She set down her coffee cup, gray eyes searching mine. “Do you want to know about the money?”
I reached across the table and took her hand. “No,” I said, laughing. “I don’t want to know about the money. Maybe you should get Ralph to draw up a prenuptial agreement. Would that make you feel better?”
“What’s mine is yours,” she said.
“Me too,” I grinned, “but I think you’re getting the short end of the stick.”
She sat there looking beautiful and troubled. A lifetime of tragedy had swirled around her and brought her to me. I wanted to free her from all that had gone before, to set her feet firmly on present, solid ground. I took her hand and held it with both my massive paws around her slender fingers. “Considering what you’ve been through, you have every right to be totally screwed up.”
“Maybe you haven’t noticed,” she replied. “I am totally screwed up.”
“So where does all this leave us?” I asked.
“I’ve talked to Ralph. He’s coming back up tomorrow night. I want him to be a witness. What about Peters?”
“He’s out of town,” I told her, guiltily remembering that I had assured Peters the wedding would be postponed. It was too late to do anything about that, however.
Anne must have seen my hesitation. “You do still want to get married, don’t you?”
She sat waiting for my answer; both pain and doubt visible in her face, her eyes. I succumbed.
“I think all my objections have just been overruled,” I said. “Would you like to dance?”
She nodded. There was a piano player in the bar, the music soft, old and danceable. I’m a reasonably capable dancer, and Anne flowed with my body. The admiration of those watching was obvious, and I enjoyed it. I wanted to be seen with her; I wanted to be the one who brought Anne Corley to Seattle and kept her there.
We danced until one. I was sleepy when we got back to the apartment. Anne said she was wide-awake and wanted to stay up and rework the last chapter. She wanted to send it with Ralph on Sunday. She also said she planned to jog early in the morning. I kissed her good night in the living room.
“Thanks for a wonderful evening, Anne. All of it.”
“It was good, wasn’t it?” she agreed.
“Promise we’ll have a lifetime of evenings like this.”
She didn’t answer; she kissed me. “Good night,” she murmured with her lips still on mine.
“Good night yourself.”
I went to bed and slept the sleep of the just. Peters wouldn’t be bringing me any surprises when he came back from Arizona. Anne had finally told me everything.
F
reshly shampooed hair, newly dried and fragrant, awakened me on Saturday morning. Anne slipped into bed beside me, her body still warm from a steamy bathroom. “Been out running?” I asked.
“Yes.”
She rested her head in the curve of my neck and ran her fingers along the stiff stubble on my jaw.
“What time is it?” I asked, not wanting to turn to see the clock.
“Six,” she replied.
“In the morning?” I groaned. “On Saturday? You get up and run at this ungodly hour on Saturday?”
She closed her teeth gently over the muscle on the side of my neck, sending involuntary chills through my body. “What’s the matter with being up at this hour?”
“Nothing at all,” I said, “now that you put it that way. “I rolled over on top of her, pinning her beneath me.” You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish.”
“I can finish it,” she replied, placing her hands around the back of my neck and pulling my lips to hers.
What she said actually turned out to be a gross understatement. She was a wild woman, frenzied in her demands for gratification. Had I not known better, firsthand, I might have thought she had gone without for years. She crouched naked astraddle me, plunging herself down on my body with wild abandon, her head thrown back, her face reflecting a fleeting mixture of pain and pleasure. I held back as long as I could, wanting to prolong her enjoyment, but that wasn’t enough.
She came back again for more, kissing me, touching me, renewing me until I was able once more to probe inside her, to touch that part of her that had gone for far too long untouched. This time she collapsed on my chest afterward, breath coming in short gasps, her heart thumping wildly from exertion. “Not bad for an old man,” I managed.
“Not bad at all,” she agreed.
We lay together for a long time, our legs entwined, her head pillowed on my chest. She dozed. We both did. The next thing we knew it was almost eight o’clock. I woke up first, and gave her a gentle slap on the rump. “All right, now it’s time to rise and shine,” I told her. “We’ve got to go shopping, and I suppose you’re starved. You always are.”
“You called that shot,” she replied.
I got up and wandered over to the window. The first thing I saw was a diligent meter maid making her way down Third Avenue. “Oops,” I gulped. “I’d better run and feed the meter. Where’s your car?”
“I already moved it to a lot,” she said.
I hurried down to the Datsun and got there as the parking cart was pulling to a stop. “You just made it,” the driver said.
Happily I hurried back to Anne. “Saved us ten bucks just now, which I intend to blow on breakfast. I only put half an hour in the meter.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ve got a friend who left the force to run a jewelry store in Northgate. We’re going there for wedding rings. All we have right now is an engagement ring. I’m the old-fashioned type.”
“I never would have guessed.”
I took her arm and pulled her to me. “Look, young lady, just because we’ve been having the honeymoon before the wedding, doesn’t mean I approve.”
She laughed. “I haven’t heard any strenuous objections.”
We had breakfast before the jewelry store opened and made what plans we could for the day. Ralph Ames’ plane was due in at eight fifty-seven, and I thought it only reasonable that we pick him up. I found myself wondering if he was coming as a guest or if his attendance was an official function for which Anne would be billed later. It was none of my business, however, and I didn’t ask.
I wished Peters would call. He had left the name of a hotel in Phoenix, and I tried reaching him there but was told he had checked out. I wanted to invite him to the wedding, now that it was on again. He was the only guest from the department I wanted to be there.
The jeweler, Jackson Hall, was a cop until he got ulcers. A partial disability had made him take a second look at the family jewelry business. He had accepted the Northgate branch with good grace if not enthusiasm. He was happy to help us choose matching gold bands, and threw in a set of crystal cocktail glasses as a wedding present.
Jackson sent us to a friend of his in the travel business. In all the rush we had neglected to discuss a honeymoon. Now, with Ralph’s plane schedule in hand, we decided on a wedding trip to Victoria on Monday morning. I had plenty of vacation time available, and I figured Powell wouldn’t squawk too loud if I used some of it. Through a fluke, a split-level suite with a fireplace was available in the Empress Hotel. We booked it on the spot for Monday and Tuesday nights. We also got a reservation for Monday afternoon’s ritual High Tea.
Anne and I gave ourselves a shower that morning and afternoon, not the rubadubdub variety, but the bridal kind. We went from one department store to another, splurging on new sheets, towels, kitchen linens. Anne, long a nomad, had seldom purchased household items. She did it beautifully, her choices impeccable, but also with a childlike wonder and glee that made it seem a springtime Christmas shopping spree. Sometimes I paid, and sometimes she did, but there was no point in quibbling over money. Obviously, we weren’t in a position that we would have to worry about the bills.
We dragged our last load of purchases to the car, laughing and cutting up like a couple of kids. The trunk was full and the backseat was rapidly disappearing. “What now?” I asked.
“I’d like you to choose my dress,” she said.
For some reason, that touched me, put a lump in my throat. “All right, but you do so at your own risk. I know what I like. I don’t know anything about fashion.”
“Whatever you like will be fine.”
We hopscotched from store to store, with Anne gamely trying on first one dress and then another. Spring dictated pastels, which looked washed out and pale against her strikingly dark hair and tawny complexion. I was going to give it up and marry her in her red jogging suit when a saleswoman brought out a vivid turquoise suit. There was a hint of the Far East in the cut, and the material was a burnished silk. I knew it was right before she ever put it on.
The clerk, pleased to be making some progress, located a delicately feminine blouse and a suitable pair of shoes. When Anne came out of the dressing room, she had fastened her hair on top of her head, with a few tendrils dangling here and there. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and she was mine.
To give the store time to press it, we made arrangements to pick the dress up in an hour. Then we went in search of flowers. I can see how planning for a wedding can take a lifetime. We made decisions together, quickly, and in perfect agreement.
Last but not least, I too was decked out in a new outfit—a suit plucked right off the rack with a matching shirt and tie. It was late afternoon before we finished shopping and staggered back to the apartment. We unloaded the car and left again, this time in search of groceries. Anne had decided to cook a prewedding supper to be served after Ralph’s late-evening arrival.
Anne bustled happily in the kitchen while I refrigerated her corsage and two boutonnieres—one for Ames and one for me. By the time I unpacked the rest of our purchases, my linen closet bulged with new additions, and I bagged excess castoffs to take to the Children’s Orthopedic Thrift Store on Third Avenue. Already the apartment was showing signs of Anne’s presence, her blues and greens softening and diluting the masculine “statement” my decorator had undeniably achieved.
By seven my part of the job was under control. I sat in the living room waiting until it was time to go to the airport. It was then I remembered Andrew Carstogi for the first time that day. He had been so far from my thoughts that his jail cell might have been in Timbuktu. I had been too full of my own plans and concerns to give his problems any consideration.
He came to mind, and I felt a twinge of guilt. It was his pain that was directly responsible for my newfound happiness. I was sorry he was locked up. Our investigation had found nothing that would justify holding him beyond Monday. He would go free that afternoon and return to Chicago and pick up the shattered remnants of his life, having lost a wife, a child, and a week from his life, while I had gained Anne Corley. Life is not fair.
Anne came in from the kitchen, untying the apron we had purchased that afternoon. Already it was soiled with a variety of culinary debris. Stuffed Cornish game hens had gone into the oven along with some scalloped potatoes. A complex salad lurked in the refrigerator. We had chosen an exotic Häagen-Dazs ice cream for dessert.
“Ready to go get Ralph?” she asked.
“Do we have to? Can’t I just have you all to myself?”
“Let’s go,” she said. “If I followed the directions right, the oven will turn off and the food will still be hot when we get back.”
“Slave driver,” I said, but we headed for the airport.
A magnificent sunset was in progress as we drove south along the Viaduct. The snowcapped Olympics reached skyward over a mirrored sound, while the sky ranged from lavender to orange above us. “I don’t know when I’ve been this happy, Anne. Not for years.”
“No second thoughts?”
“Nope.”
“I don’t have any either.”
I laughed. “Do you realize we’re getting married on our anniversary? We will have known one another for one whole week tomorrow.”
“I think I’ve known you forever,” Anne said softly.
I glanced across the front seat at her, took her hand in mine, and squeezed it. “I think maybe you’re right.”
I had the usual hassle with airport security over the .38 Smith and Wesson under my jacket. I stuck out like a sore thumb while they verified that I really did have a permit to carry it. Once that was squared away, Anne and I wandered the airport hand in hand, watching planes take off and land, eating caramel corn we bought from the airport candy shop, and griping at one another about ruining our dinner. The passage of time was magic. It seemed to lengthen, but without a sense of waiting. Happiness can do that to you. So can grief.
When Ralph got off the plane, he had a huge box under one arm. It contained long-stemmed red roses, two dozen of them to be exact. I looked at Ralph as a brother-in-law of sorts, which is to say somewhat critically. I watched Anne open the box and wondered crabbily where the hell we would put two dozen roses once we got them home. A mayonnaise jar? Masculine decor isn’t long on vases.
I need not have worried, however. In the car Ralph produced another box from a suitcase. He gave it to Anne, with orders that I was to open it when we got to the apartment. The flowers were from him to Anne, but the box was a wedding present to both of us from the firm.
Inside the box was a tall, slender crystal vase. Anne arranged the roses in it and set it on the stereo. Dinner was festive. Ralph was interested in our plans and, to all appearances, more than happy with Anne’s decision to marry me.
“She’s a wonderful lady,” he said to me later in the evening when we were alone in the living room for a few minutes. “She deserves a little happiness out of life, and I’ve never seen her happier than she is right now.”
I felt as though someone had just placed the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval square in the middle of my forehead. “Thanks, Ralph,” I said. “I’m pretty happy myself.”