She turned to the man next to her and dropped a gentle kiss on his bare shoulder. He sighed and smiled, reflexively drawing her closer, but he didn’t wake up. She watched him in the darkened room, fascinated by her own love for him, silently wondering about his marriage proposal. It had caught her off guard, and she was afraid she hadn’t responded tactfully.
She eased away, dressed herself in one of his T-shirts, and padded to the front window. She wanted to see the sunrise. She wanted to sit in the dark, waiting for the sky to lighten, and she wanted to think about all the new beginnings in her life. And she supposed she should think about marriage.
Could she spend the rest of her life with a scriptwriter who was movie-star handsome and only recently domesticated? He’d always have a little bit of the chauvinist hustler in him. And she’d always blithely ignore it. Once the honeymoon was over, they’d drive each other nuts. She shook her head. This wasn’t exactly a match made in heaven.
Pete felt her leave his side, and the loss was enough to bring him awake. He watched her drop the T-shirt over her head and silently move to the window. He thought she looked like a tousled ghost. A sliver of cheek hung pale and tempting beneath the shirt. It was an enchanting sight, but he was sexually exhausted. It had taken hours of hard work for him to reach this state, so he felt there was no shame in his contentment. He rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes.
Three hours later he woke to the smell of blueberry muffins and coffee. He dressed in his favorite ratty old sweats and padded out to the kitchen. He slid his arms around Louisa and kissed the back of her neck. “You’re up early this morning.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Wondering about the pig?”
“Among other things.” She poured two cups of coffee. “Bucky was supposed to put pig number two on a seven-thirty flight. I sort of wish I’d been there. I feel left out.”
The phone rang and they both jumped, knowing it would be Kurt. Pete took the call. When he hung up, he was smiling.
“The pig was stuffed with the jewelry, all right. The metal parts showed up in the X ray. And when they confronted Bucky, he squealed louder than the pig.”
“I suppose that means I’m out of a job,” Louisa said.
“That’s okay. You need to get busy on those law school applications, anyway.” He sank his teeth into a muffin and reached for the paper.
“See, this is what married life is all about. After a night of outstanding sex, the wife gets up early, bakes muffins, gets the paper from the front porch, and makes fresh coffee.”
“If you’re trying to talk me into getting married, you’re failing miserably.”
“What does a woman want out of a marriage?”
“Undying devotion and a warm place to put her cold feet when she gets into bed at night.”
“You could get that from a golden retriever.”
“Exactly.” Louisa finished her coffee and put the cup in the dishwasher. “I have to go. I have to clean out my desk. Maislin won’t be in until this afternoon, and I’d just as soon have the job done before he shows up.”
“You want company?”
She kissed him on the top of the head. “No, but thanks for offering. There isn’t a whole lot to do. I need to type out a formal letter of resignation, reclaim some personal belongings, and file a sexual harassment complaint.”
“Go for it,” he said.
“How about I bring some Chinese food home with me for supper.”
“I like the hot stuff with the peanuts in it.”
It was gray and drizzling when Louisa straggled out of the subway entrance. She ran across the street to Wuc Don’s Chinese Restaurant and pushed through the double-door entrance.
Heat poured from an overhead vent, and dishes clattered in the kitchen. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that did seventy percent of its trade in take-out. The woodwork was black lacquer, the wallpaper was red flocked, the lighting was dim enough to hide the stains on the red-and-gold carpet. Louisa ordered four different dishes plus rice and fried noodles.
Fifteen minutes later she trudged up Connecticut with her bags and white cardboard cartons. She’d stayed away all afternoon, wandering around museums, trying to come to terms with her feelings about marriage. She’d almost reached the conclusion that it might not be so bad, when a mental image of her wedding had flashed into her brain.
The wedding was being held in her parents’ house, and she was in a trim white suit with her mother’s pearls at her neck. She walked down the stairs on her father’s arm, then together they passed through the small cluster of guests assembled in the living room. Her grandmother Brannigan was to one side, dressed in black, fingering her rosary, mouth set, eyes narrow.
“You’ll rot in hell for not being married in a church,” she said.
“There was no time,” Louisa tried to explain. “Besides, I haven’t been to church in seven years.”
Even now, as Louisa turned the corner, she could feel herself break out into a cold sweat of Catholic guilt.
The vision of the wedding continued. Louisa saw herself nod and smile at Mr. and Mrs. Szalagy. “You look absolutely lovely,” Mrs. Szalagy said to Louisa. “And I don’t believe any of those rumors about you being pregnant.”
Beyond Mrs. Szalagy was Aunt Ruth with cousins Margaret and Mary, beyond Margaret and Mary was Uncle Bill. And standing in front of the fireplace was the justice of the peace and Pete.
Alongside Pete stood the best man…Kurt. Kurt was wearing his black-knit watch cap pulled low over his ears. He hadn’t shaved and a cigarette dangled precariously from his lower lip. An inch-long ash dropped off the end of his cigarette and fell onto his filthy sweatshirt.
Louisa and her father stopped in front of Pete and Kurt, and Louisa’s father took her veil in hand.
“Um, wait a minute,” Louisa said. “I don’t think I want to marry Kurt.”
“You’re not marrying Kurt,” her father replied. “You’re marrying Pete.”
“Yes, but Kurt is part of the deal. He’ll come over to drink beer, and hell leave grease spots on the wall behind the couch.”
Louisa sighed. So, there it was…her wedding. Grim, she thought. Very grim.
Pete’s door was unlocked. She let herself in and plodded up the stairs.
Pete was slouched in a chair. He tipped his head back to look at her through half-closed eyes.
“I’ve got supper,” Louisa said. She took a closer look at him. “You look terrible.”
“Good. I’d hate to think I could feel this lousy and not have anybody notice.”
She put her hand to his forehead. “You feel feverish.”
“Don’t say that. I can’t have a fever. I refuse.”
“You seemed healthy enough when I left this morning.”
“It’s all your fault,” he said. “You made me go to the zoo in the rain, and then you wore me out with your constant demands for my sexual services.” He groaned. “Now I have a cold. I haven’t had a cold in nine years.”
“Poor baby.”
“My throat is scratchy, and my eyes are watering, and I keep sneezing.” He looked over at her. “Am I making any points, here? Do you want to marry me out of pity?”
“I don’t do pity marriages.”
“This cold is worthless.”
“Not totally,” she told him. “I’d be willing to fork over a reasonable amount of sympathy.”
“Would you be willing to fork it over in California? I got a call from the coast this afternoon. They’re starting production, and I need to be there.”
Louisa felt her heart stop for a fraction of a second. “You never said anything about leaving for California.”
“I guess it just never came up. I should have been there weeks ago, but I didn’t want to take off until the pig thing was resolved.”
“When are you going?”
“Tomorrow.”
“
