She needed him in every way, and the growing intensity of that need sparked near panic. With a sickening feeling of humiliation clogging her throat, Micki faced the realization that unless she found a way to dislodge his occupation of her mind she would be reduced to calling him, as he had suggested she should.
With determination spawned by desperation, she made plans for the rest of the summer, pushing aside the nagging reminder that the best laid plans . . . She had to overcome her emotional obsession with him. She had to— somehow. For one tiny moment she allowed herself the remembered breathlessness aroused by his arms, his mouth, then, with a quick, sad shake of her head she wished him to Siberia, or some other, much hotter, place.
The sound of the sea and the music lulling her into a somewhat dreamlike state of wishful thinking, Micki convinced herself of her eventual success. She would throw herself vigorously into her new job and fill her non-working hours by finding and settling into a new apartment. Even though she had made arrangements to have her things packed and trucked to her father’s house when her lease ran out at the end of August, she could take a run up to Wilmington to oversee the removal. Born of desperation, ideas popped into her mind. There were any number of things she could do to stay busy and, she vowed fervently, she would do them, all of them, to escape the hold Wolf had on her.
Riding the crest of optimism as bravely as a surfer skimming a wave, Micki walked home from the concert with a jaunty stride, humming snatches of the music she’d heard.
“I get the distinct impression you enjoyed the concert,” her father
teased.
‘Very much,” Micki affirmed, flashing him a smile. “I always have. The tenor soloist was pretty good, at least what I could hear out at the rail sounded good.”
“I liked the aria the soprano sang,” Regina inserted quietly. “Even though I can’t remember the name of it and your father knows absolutely nothing about opera. Do you know it, Micki?”
Know it? Micki hadn’t even heard it. Shaking her head, she frowned.
“No, I’m sorry, Regina, I’m afraid I don’t know any more about opera than Dad does.”
“It doesn’t matter really,” Regina smiled. “It’s just been tantalizing the edge of my memory, if you know what I mean?”
Did she ever, Micki groaned silently. When it came to a subject tantalizing the memory, she was an expert. Veering sharply from the thought, she launched into another song, singing where she knew the words, humming where she didn’t.
“Do you have plans for the weekend, honey?” Bruce’s soft voice cut into her slightly off-key version of “A Cockeyed Optimist.”
“Yes,” Micki nodded. “I’ve been invited to Cindy and Benny’s for dinner tomorrow and I have a date with Tony Saturday.”
Micki didn’t miss the sharp-eyed glance Regina shot her at the mention of Tony’s name. In an effort to block any questions from her stepmother, she rushed on. “Why? Was there something you wanted me to do?”
“No, no,” Bruce assured her. “We were invited to a cookout Saturday evening and you were included, if you were free.”
“A cookout? Where?” Micki asked curiously.
“At Betty and Jim Grant’s,” Regina answered for her husband. “Betty wanted to meet you and thought this might be a good time and way.”
“And I would like to finally meet her,” Micki assured her. For Micki, Regina’s friend Betty had been a warm voice on the phone. They had become friends while Micki was away. Although she had not intruded at the time of Bruce’s illness, her voice had been a bracing encouragement at the other end of the line during those nerve-racking days. “Ask her if I may have a raincheck.”
“Not necessary,” Bruce put in smoothly. “I would like you to keep two weeks from Saturday open, honey. There’s a celebration party being planned for that night and, as the Grants will be there, you will meet Betty then.”
“A celebration party?” Micki’s brows went up. “For what?”
“A big-time developer and several realtors, myself included, are on the verge of closing a very big deal. It’s been in the works for some time, and we decided a celebration was in order. We’d like you with us for two reasons. First, simply to have you join us in celebrating the successful conclusion to some very long, hard negotiations. And secondly, because it will be the last evening we’ll spend together for a while as”—he paused to glance at his wife—”Regina and I will be flying to the West Coast the following afternoon.”
“You’re actually going?” Micki cried happily. ‘Terrific. How long will you be gone? Where are you going? I mean, are you going to stay in Frisco the whole time or are you planning to take in other places—Vegas, Mexico?”
“I believe you are nearly as excited as we are,” Bruce laughed when Micki finally ran down. They were almost home and as they turned onto the front walk he dropped an arm around her shoulders. “The minute we get into the house we’ll show you our itinerary.”
He removed his arm to unlock the door. “We plan to be gone the last two weeks of August” With a wide courtly sweep of his arm he ushered them inside. “So will you go to the party with us?”
“Yes, of course, if you want me to go,” Micki answered quickly. “Now, lead me to your itinerary.”
They sat around the kitchen table, tall, moisture-beaded glasses of iced tea in front of them, until after midnight, Regina and Bruce talking at the same time, cutting in on each other as they outlined their plans for Micki.
* * * *
For Micki, Friday evening was an unqualified success. Cindy had gone all out in her preparations for dinner and the dining-room table gleamed with her best china and crystal (Micki’s wedding gift to them). The menu complemented the entree of fried chicken. The consommé was delicious, the small parslied potatoes cooked to just the right peak, and the tiny creamed peas and pearl onions tender. For dessert Cindy served a rich homemade cheesecake Micki was sure she could not possibly manage, but she did.
“Is this the same girl who could not boil an egg seven years ago?” Micki asked Benny with not altogether mock surprise.
“Can you believe it?” Benny laughed. “You should see the pile of cookbooks this woman has collected.” His eyes caressed Cindy’s face. “She has been a very busy lady since you left, Micki. She’s learned to sew so well she now makes most of her own clothes and now she is knitting.” His tone was so full of pride, his eyes so full of tenderness as he gazed at his wife, Micki felt the hot sting of tears behind her lids. “I swear,” he murmured, “she began knitting tiny things the day after she conceived.”
“You big oaf, will you stop?” Cindy’s glowing face proclaimed her love as she chided Benny. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Why?” Benny’s hand caught and held Cindy’s tightly. “Because I love you and I don’t care who knows it?” He lifted her hand to his lips, bestowed a light kiss before adding, “Besides which, Micki’s our friend, our best friend, why would you be embarrassed in front of her?”
“Oh, Benny.”
Cindy’s half sigh, half whisper brought a lump to Micki’s throat and in an attempt to dislodge it she drawled dryly, “I can do a fantastic disappearing act if you two want to be alone.”
“Would you?” Benny teased.
“Don’t you dare,” Cindy gasped.
The banter flew back and forth all evening. The closest they came to a serious subject was while they considered the best location for Micki to begin her apartment hunting.
Micki was in a mellow mood when she left and as she drove along the almost deserted streets a gentle smile curved her lips. Cindy and Benny were so perfectly suited and so obviously in love it was a joy just being in their company. Who would have believed it, back when Cindy was tossing insults at Benny every five minutes? Had, Micki wondered, Cindy been attracted to him even then? Very likely, Micki decided. The insults and taunts were probably the adolescent Cindy’s way of venting that attraction. And Benny? Micki’s smile grew tender remembering how good-naturedly he had taken Cindy’s constant ribbing. What a delight they were to be with, Micki mused. If only Wolf were ... Micki put a brake on her thoughts abruptly. Scathingly she told herself
if only
must surely be the most overworked words in the English language. You can
if only
from now until the first day of forever, she scolded herself mentally, and it will change nothing. So forget it. Forget him.
Her date with Tony the following evening was a mixture of fun and sadness. The fun began the minute she opened the door to him, for she was caught in his arms and twirled around in the air.
“Micki.” Tony laughed down at her when she stood once more firmly on the floor. “You look as gorgeous as ever, only more so. God, what a sight you are for these weary old eyes.”
“Weary old eyes, my Aunt Sara,” Micki laughed back. “It’s good to see you too, Tony. What are you up to these days?”
“Oh, about five-eleven,” Tony drawled. “Maybe six feet”
“I’d have been disappointed if you hadn’t said that.”
Although Micki’s tone was teasing, there was an underlying note of seriousness to it. It was silly, she knew, yet she would have been disappointed. His predictable rejoinder had reaffirmed their friendship, their closeness.
She had been around twelve the first time he’d quipped the reply to her. It had been summer then, too, and on that afternoon Micki had felt deserted and alone as all her girl friends were otherwise occupied. Without much hope of finding a companion, she had scuffed her way forlornly to the playground. She had found the fourteen-year-old Tony, looking every bit as dejected and forlorn, leaning against the playground fence. He had been watching, with lofty teenage amusement, the antics of a group of toddlers and had not seen Micki approach.
“None of the kids are around today,” Micki had grumbled as she leaned against the fence beside him. “What are you up to, Tony?”
Maybe it was the sound of abject self-pity in her voice. Micki never knew, but when Tony turned to look at her, all signs of his own dejection had vanished. His expression was one of consideration and when he answered his tone was serious.
“Oh, about five-three, maybe four.”
“Huh?”
She was wrapped up in her own misery, so his quip had gone completely over her head. She had gazed up at him blankly for several seconds before the dancing gleam in his sky-blue eyes and the betraying shake of his skinny shoulders turned the light on in her head. Her reaction was way out of proportion to the humor in his remark. The young, very naive Micki became convulsed with laughter.
“You goof!” she had gasped when her giggles had subsided somewhat. Balling her hand into a small, tight fist, she swung it at his arm. Tony caught her by the wrist before her fist made contact and shook it gently.
“Come on, you silly ass.” Tony’s grin had held amusement, and a dash of superiority. “Since we’re both alone, we may as well be alone together.”
They had kept each other company for the rest of the day and until nine thirty that night. After they had plumbed all the diversions offered by the playground, they moved onto the beach and from there to the bay to watch the fishing boats return. From the bay they went to Tony’s home where Micki had promptly been invited to supper. After a quick phone call to her father obtaining permission for her to stay, Micki and Tony earned their supper by pulling weeds out of his mother’s flower bed. And from the time they left the supper table until Tony’s dad ran her home at nine thirty, they had engaged in a hotly contested game of Monopoly—which Tony won.
From that day until Micki left to go back to college six years ago, their greeting to each other had been the nonsensical, “What are you up to?” the only variance being the inches in Tony’s reply.
Now, they stood, one twenty-five, the other twenty-seven, laughing into each other’s face exactly as they had all those years ago.
“Tony, you are still a goof.” Micki shook her head sharply, fighting the tears of affection that suddenly threatened. Sliding her arms around his waist, she gave him a quick, hard hug. “Do you think we’ll ever grow up?”
“God, I hope not,” Tony murmured fervently into her hair, returning her hug fiercely. When he released her, he glanced around curiously. “Where’s your dad and Regina?”
“At a cookout.” Micki’s laughter, finally under control, threatened to break out again at the crafty expression that stole over Tony’s face.
“We’re all alone here?” he whispered slyly.
“Yes,” Micki whispered back. “Why?”
“You want to stay here?” he leered exaggeratedly. “Fool around a little,” His voice went very low. “We could play doctor.”
“No!” Micki exploded into gales of laughter all over again. Grasping his arm, she urged him toward the front door. “Come on, you nut, you asked me out to dinner, so let’s go dine.”
They drove to an Italian restaurant in Wildwood, where Micki declared the food almost as good as Tony’s mother’s. Tony did most of the talking while they ate, telling about his job in Trenton, why he had decided to make the move home, and all about his present job and apartment.
A soft light in her eyes, Micki watched him while he talked, noting the changes in his face. He was, she decided, one fine-looking young man. His swarthy skin tone and wavy dark hair were set off, given an appealing look by his light-blue eyes and perfect white teeth. A small pale scar, earned in a high school football game, which broke the line of his left eyebrow, added a rakish touch to his visage. Yes, indeed, a very fine-looking young man.
After dinner Tony took Micki to a bar that catered to the dance crowd. The minute the waitress had taken their order and turned away from their minuscule table, Tony stood up and tugged at her arm.
“Come on, Micki, let’s show them how it’s done.”
Tony had always been a good dancer and Micki quickly discovered he’d improved with age. Lithe, agile, he moved around the floor, and her, in a sensuously serpentine way.
From that afternoon in the playground Micki had never felt awkward with Tony, and after only a momentary hesitation, she gave herself fully to the music and the beat
“Yeah, do it, girl,” Tony encouraged, undulating smoothly in front of her. “Crank it up.”