Elizabeth put out her cigarette, letting the butt sizzle against the cold, moist glass. “Martin is a saint,” she said.
Beamer sat up. “Are there Jewish saints?”
Martin entered, paused to lay a hand on Beamer’s shoulder, then went to Elizabeth. “You okay?”
Elizabeth lit another cigarette. “My mother should be half so kind as you. And my husband half so smart.”
Martin sat on the sill. “Go talk to Rupert. Apologize. For me. If you don’t, he’ll ruin all my tapes and botch up everything for everybody for days.”
“He’s fired.”
“You can’t fire your own husband. Just apologize.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “For you. Why don’t you go tell him?”
“Please come too.”
“Calm him down first, then I’ll grovel and apologize.”
Martin nodded, kissed her on the cheek, and left. Elizabeth shook her head. “So smooth, so manipulative.”
“Rupert?”
“No, dear, Martin.”
“A minute ago he was a saint.”
“He’s complex, of course. Attractive men always are. But he always manages things to his view. Do you want to know how he does it?”
Beamer was quite certain she didn’t, but she had long ago learned from listening to the Woodies that once a confession, manifesto, or statement was begun, its delivery was unstoppable. “How does he do it?” she said wearily.
“It’s that flattering way he listens—it makes the men feel wise and competent and the women feel like they’re being seduced.” She rose and moved to the door. “Be careful, young lady. What he wants may not be what you want.” She left the room.
Beamer checked her watch. “Darn you, Martin,” she said. “You promised.” She went to look for Martin but found no one, and was deterred from searching further by the sound of angry voices coming from a nearby room. Finding a phone in an empty office, she called Andy. His youngest sister answered the phone, and as she yelled his name it was echoed by a succession of family members. The long wait until he came to the phone was punctuated only by the little girl’s intermittent giggles.
“Hello?” Andy said finally.
“It’s me. I’m at KKKJ. Could you pick me up here? The sooner the better.”
“What are you doing there?” He sounded unhappy. “Martin dragged me along on an interview and now he’s tied up and I can’t get home. I know it’s early, but can you come?”
“Well, you’ll have to wait until I cover my wet and nearly naked body. I was in the shower.”
Later, when Andy walked into the station, he looked at Beamer and came to a stop. “Hey, don’t bother to dress up or anything. It’s only Sarah’s birthday party.”
“Not only will you have to put up with my clothes, but I don’t have any money on me. You’ll have to buy supper.”
Andy whistled. “You mean I actually get to pay your way for once? Are you sure you want to do this? I might demand a lot in return.”
Beamer rolled her eyes. Andy’s still wet hair had been frosted lightly by the cold air; she felt tempted to lift her hands and gently crush the crisp cap of blond curls. “Let’s go,” she said, leading him outside.
Chapter 11
“This music is awful,” Andy shouted in Beamer’s ear. Beamer hushed him, then rose from the sofa and made her way across Tyler’s crowded living room. Sarah was standing in the doorway, directly under a sprig of mistletoe, accepting birthday kisses from any boy who tried to enter the kitchen.
“Christmas was weeks ago,” Beamer said to Sarah. “Where did Tyler get the mistletoe?”
“He saved it just for the party. You can have it next week for yours.”
“No birthday party for me.”
“Just a nice quiet time with Saint Andrew?”
“Something like that.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. “Sounds like fun. Why don’t you at least make him get off the sofa and come give me a kiss? My day won’t be complete until he does.” Someone turned the volume of the music higher and the crowd whooped as a favorite song began. Beamer shrugged a noncommittal response, eased around Sarah, and went into the kitchen. Tyler and Sarah had been going together since eighth grade, and every year they gave each other a birthday party. Together they had an unusual mix of friends, and Beamer always looked forward to their parties.
She helped herself to two large slices of cake and, balancing the plates on top of cups of soda, cautiously made her way back toward the sofa. Halfway, she stopped to observe Wendy riffling her long fingers through Andy’s hair. Andy was not unhappy.
“Here’s your cake,” Beamer said when she stood in front of him. “That looks like fun,” she said to Wendy.
“Confetti,” Wendy said. “Somebody popped a bag all over him. There was just a ton of it in his hair.”
Andy grinned at Beamer. “It’s gone now.”
Wendy hopped off the sofa. “That was fun, Saint Andrew. Let’s do it again.” She was quickly lost among the dancing bodies.
Andy took his cake. He ate a bit and made a face. “Carrot cake? For a birthday?”
“You’ve always liked carrot cake.”
“Well, yeah, but you should have chocolate for a birthday.”
Beamer slipped a finger into his shirt collar and lifted out a tiny confetti square. “She missed one.”
“I was saving that one for you.” He spread the collar open and peered down. “I think there may be more.”
Beamer laughed. “By the way, Sarah wants a kiss.”
“Looks like she’s getting enough. Doesn’t Tyler mind?”
“The mistletoe was his idea.”
“You can spread diseases that way.”
“We’ve all had chicken pox. Don’t be so old.”
“I just think Tyler should be jealous.”
“What would you know about jealousy?”
They squared off with looks, then he rose, walked resolutely through the dancers, and approached Sarah. The kiss was a long one. As Beamer watched them, she pinched the rim of her plastic cup until it cracked. “Tie game, Andy,” she whispered sharply, the words unheard through the loud music. “Now you can stop it.”
Andy finally stepped away from Sarah and returned to the sofa. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Let’s dance.”
“Let’s go.”
“Andy, we’ve been here forty-five minutes and almost that entire time you’ve sat like a lump on the sofa. Try to have fun.”
He brought his face near her own. “Bea, I don’t like the music, I don’t like the cake, I don’t like the keg of beer in the bathroom. You can ride home with Sarah or you can ride home with me. I’m leaving.” She watched him return to Sarah to say goodbye. Sarah made a face at Beamer, then grabbed Andy’s arm as he started to head for the closet. He shook free and disappeared through the crowd in a hallway. Sarah pretended to pout.
Beamer stayed on the sofa. Tyler came and signaled an invitation to dance. She shook her head. Finally Andy appeared in the front hall with both their coats.
Beamer swore under her breath. “I should have gone with Martin tonight,” she said aloud, though no one could hear. She rose and inched her way around the dancers, then turned to wave to Sarah, who was busy with another kiss.
Beamer took her coat from Andy. “Okay,” she said. “You win.”
They didn’t speak as they walked to the car, or during the first five miles out of town. Beamer watched Andy while she searched her own feelings. The lights from the dash cast an eerie illumination on his face. “Thanks for leaving,” he said at last.
“I wish you hadn’t asked, Andy. I wish just once you could loosen up around my friends and accept them. And I don’t mean loosening up the way you did with Wendy and Sarah.”
“That’s not it, Bea. That’s not why I was feeling so lousy.”
“Why, then?”
“I wanted to be with you.”
“Well, you were!”
He pulled the car over onto the shoulder. He closed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel.
“What’s wrong?”
He slapped the wheel. “Are you dense? Are you just plain dense? You spent the whole day with Martin. Is it too much to ask that you spend a few hours with me? Just me?”
He shifted and drove back onto the highway. More miles passed in silence. Barely slowing to a safe speed, Andy turned the car into the store driveway. It began
a light spin, and they skidded sideways to a spot almost in front of the store door.
“Oops,” said Andy, and he grinned sheepishly at Beamer. “A little fast, I guess.”
She smiled and leaned over to kiss him. He pulled her close, and his thumb rubbed her neck while they kissed.
“Ow!” he said suddenly, pulling back. “Darn stick shift. May I come in?”
Beamer looked at the dark, empty store, the vacant parking lot. Her parents were at Johnny’s hockey tournament. The store was empty—rare for a Saturday night.
“Sure,” she said to Andy. “We have it all to ourselves.”
She unlocked the back door. Inside, they took off their coats. Andy hooked a finger in her belt loop as they walked up the stairs to the family kitchen. She paused at the top to unlock another door, then pushed it open. The spacious room was dark except for the thin beam from the bold white digits of a clock radio.
Beamer reached for the light switch, but Andy held her arm and pulled her close for a kiss. Then he stepped back.
“Why do you put up with me?” he asked. “I’m moody, I complain, I’ve got another girlfriend, I’ve forgotten dates. And it’s not as if we have great sex or anything. So why?”
“Picked a funny time to talk, didn’t you?”
“This is a great time. We’re alone for once; I hardly know what to do. Now tell me, why?”
“You’re a nice guy.”
“That’s it? I’m a nice guy?”
She felt she knew what he wanted to hear—that he was irresistible and she couldn’t help loving him. She leaned against the door frame and watched his face, its expression muted by the shadows. “Who knows why anyone likes another person, Andy? I just do. I like being with you. I think you’re funny. And your moods aren’t that bad—no worse than mine.”
“Doesn’t take much to make you happy.”
“You’re like nobody else around here, Andy. I like that a lot. What it all adds up to, I don’t know. Do I have to?” She switched on the light. “I’ll make some cocoa.”
Andy straddled a chair and watched her for several minutes. “I like this kitchen,” he said. “I can see why everyone wants to hang out here.”
Beamer set two mugs on the table by Andy, then spooned out the cocoa mix. She wondered why he had decided to change the subject, why he was watching her so intently. She avoided looking at him. The kettle of water on the range started making noise. She moved to the stove and watched it.
“It will never boil now,” he said.
Beamer didn’t answer. Andy went to her and kissed her gently on the neck.
No,
she thought.
No.
It slipped out aloud: “No, don’t.”
“Don’t what? Touch you? Don’t kiss you? Don’t make love to you?”
She gripped the handle of the kettle. It was warm, and the warmth felt good. She didn’t speak.
Andy lifted his hand and with a single finger pressed against her chin turned her face toward him. He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Bea, we’ve been going out for six months. And just when I think we should be getting closer, it seems that you have started to draw these lines all around you, and I can’t cross them and you won’t cross them. And I want to. I want to get closer, I want a sign that I can do that.”
“What sort of a sign?”
He didn’t answer, except to lift her hand and gently trace her fingers.
“Would having sex be a sign, Andy? Is that what you’re saying?”
He dropped her hand. “Bea, you are so, so…” He looked around, as if he could find the needed word pinned somewhere on a wall. “So controlled. If we did have sex, yeah, it would be a clear sign that things were moving the right way. God knows you would never say how you feel out loud.”
Beamer crossed her arms and turned toward him. “Do you mean, Andy, that if I love you I should prove it? That is the oldest, the oldest—”
“Of course not,” he snapped. “Believe me, I’d settle for your saying it.”
“Hey, Saint Andrew, whatever happened to the idea of waiting for marriage?”
He stepped away. She had never used the hated nickname before. He brought the mugs from the table. Beamer poured the hot water.
“If people wait, that’s fine. That’s smart. But I’m ready. Mostly because I want to get close to you and
I don’t know how else to do that.” He laid his hand on her back and rubbed gently.
Beamer stirred the steaming cocoa. The tapping of the spoon against the ceramic mug was a soft, rhythmic breach of the quietness. His hand moved up and down. It had always felt so good when he had touched her, had held her. But now his hand moving on her back felt like a scalpel making a clean, deep incision. She shivered and stepped aside.
“No, Andy.” She shook her head. “No.”
He nodded slightly. “Okay, Bea. It’s your call.” He turned and sat at the table with his cocoa.
She sat and sipped, eyeing him over the mug rim. He smiled. “Thanks for leaving the party,” he said. “Obviously, I needed to talk.”