unreadable in the soft light.
“To all the good times,” he said, echoing my own memories.
I probably took two good sips before carefully setting my glass down where it wouldn’t get knocked over.
“I think I like the beard,” I said and leaned forward until our lips met—gently, tentatively at first, then with such deepening hunger that searing jets of purely carnal desire shot through me, blocking out all voices of reason and prudence, leaving me sensate and reckless.
His hands. His big and wonderfully familiar hands were everywhere, burning through the thin cream-colored silk of my jumpsuit, touching me where no one else had touched in much too long. I tugged at his shirt, wildly impatient to feel and taste his skin again. His hair tangled in the crystal beads against my breasts. I was trying to untangle them and he was undoing my buttons, when we heard the hatch opening up above.
A light voice called, “Ahoy, the
“Did you think I got lost, honey?” Linville Pope caroled. “One of those long-winded—”
She reached the bottom step and the smile on her lips froze as she saw us.
“Oh,” she said finally when it seemed as if the leaden silence would go on forever. “You started without me.”
Give her points for poise.
Lev had sat up so abruptly that my necklace broke and a shower of crystal spilled into my lap.
“I thought you said you weren’t coming,” Lev said harshly.
“I said I might not be able to get away,” she corrected him quietly. “Obviously I should have called first. Sorry.”
Clutching her purse to her chest, a just-in-case purse that probably held a toothbrush and a couple of other necessities should champagne turn into a sleepover, she set the bottle on a nearby counter and turned to go.
“Don’t leave on my account.” I had rebuttoned my blouse and was now scooping up crystal beads and shoving them into my Mexican purse. “I’m just going myself.”
“No,” she protested.
“Yes,” I said firmly. Passion was gone and so was I, just as soon as I could find my missing shoe. A cold thick rage consumed me.
Lev took one look at my face and silently handed over the high-heeled slipper that had come off before. So at least he’d learned that much over the years.
More beads sparkled across the floor when I stood, but I was too angry to stop. All I wanted was out of there. Linville stood aside to let me pass, but then I heard her steps behind me as she followed me up the ladder and off the boat.
We walked half the length of the planked dock in stony silence until the whole farcical ridiculousness of the situation abruptly hit me and I started giggling.
After a startled glance, Linville Pope gave an unladylike gurgle and by the time we reached the parking area we were both laughing so hard we had to hold onto each other to stand up.
“God! What bastards they can be,” she said at last when we had finally gained control again. “Come on over to the Ritchie House and let me get us another bottle of champagne.”
“I’m sorely tempted,” I told her truthfully, “but I probably shouldn’t show up in court tomorrow with a champagne hangover.”
• • •
On the long drive back to Harkers Island, though, I almost wished I’d accepted Linville’s invitation. I still didn’t have a handle on her, but I was starting to like the cut of her jib.
Lots of people came to her party, but Barbara Jean thought she was manipulative and coercive. Chet seemed to find her amusing except when she threatened Barbara Jean’s equanimity. Even Lev, damn him to holy hell, thought she was beautiful and smart but “maybe just a little too cute about the way she acquired property.” There had been that angry scene in the Ritchie House, something about the fraudulent sale of a boat? And I had a feeling that Mahlon Davis’s “bitch over to Beaufort” was going to turn out to be Linville Pope, too.
But anybody who could see the absurdity of the situation tonight and laugh that hard surely couldn’t be all bad.
It was well past midnight when I drove up to the cottage. Except for scattered security lights on tall utility poles, all the nearby houses were dark. No light out at Mahlon’s, but I saw the shape of Mickey Mantle’s pickup parked behind the boat shelter and wondered if his triumph in court had him driving without a license again.
The only thing I could hear was wind in the live oaks and low waves splashing against the shore. I got out of the car, walked up onto the porch, unlocked the door and set my garment bag inside without switching on a light. At that moment, the telephone began to ring—an intrusively mechanical, almost alien sound amid the island’s natural quiet. When I picked up the receiver, Lev’s voice said, “Red, I—”
I broke the connection, then laid the receiver under the pillow and walked away from its insistent beeping.
The wind was blowing in smartly off the water and it was chilly, but I slipped on Sue’s old windbreaker again and went back out to one of the porch rockers, hoping the rhythmic flash of the lighthouse and the sound of the surf would lull me into drowsiness. Seeing Lev again after all these years had roiled up so many old memories and conflicting emotions that if I tried to go sensibly to bed, I knew I’d only toss and turn till morning.
When we met, I was still running from a really stupid marriage, living on part-time jobs and money Aunt Zell sent. It was a bitter cold winter and the New York Public Library was a good place to stay warm. For some reason, I’d gotten it into my head that I needed to read Proust, and that winter, I did. From
