She eased cautiously into the hot tub. Added scented oil to the water. She floated, sipping her iced vodka. Her weariness became a warm glow. She looked down at her wavering body through half-closed eyes.
'I love you,' she murmured aloud, and wondered who she addressed: Kenneth, Ernest Mittle, or herself. She decided it didn't matter; the words had a meaning of their own. They were important. 'I love you.'
Ernest Mittle arrived promptly at noon on Sunday, May 25th. He brought an enormous bunch of daffodils, so large that Zoe could fill vases in the living room and bedroom, with a few stalks left over for the kitchen. The golden yellow brought sunlight into her dark apartment.
She had prepared a Sunday brunch of Bloody Marys, scrambled eggs with Canadian bacon, hot biscuits, a watercress salad, and a lemon ice for dessert. She also served chilled May wine with a fresh strawberry in each glass.
They sat at the seldom used dining table, a small oval of mahogany with four ladder-back chairs set before the living room window. The china and plated silver service had been wedding gifts. Zoe had bought the crystal salad bowl and napery after she moved to New York.
Ernest complimented her enthusiastically on everything: the shining apartment, the dining table prepared just so, the excellence of the food, the fruity, almost perfumed flavor of the wine.
'Really,' Zoe said, 'it's nothing.'
They were at ease with each other, talking animatedly of their jobs, summer clothes they were thinking of buying, TV shows they had seen.
They spoke as old friends, for already they were learning each other's habits, likes and dislikes, prejudices and fancies. And they were building a fund of mutual memories: the dinner at the Italian restaurant, the Kurnitz party, the meatloaf Ernest had made, the balloon in Central Park.
Each recollection was in itself insignificant, but made meaningful by being shared. They knew this pleasant brunch would be added to their bank of shared experience, and seemed all the more precious for that. An occasion to be savored and recalled.
After the brunch, Ernest insisted on helping Zoe clear the table. In the kitchen, she washed and he dried, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He even replaced all the clean dishes and cutlery in their proper racks in the correct cupboards.
Then they moved to the living room. The May wine was finished, but Zoe served vodka-and-tonics, with a wedge of fresh lime in each. She brought her little radio in from the bedroom, and found a station that was featuring Mantovani.
The dreamy music played softly in the background. They sprawled comfortably, sipping their iced drinks. They smiled at each other with satiety and ease. It seemed to them they recaptured the mood they had felt in the park: they owned the world.
'Will you be getting a vacation?' he asked casually.
'Oh yes. Two weeks.'
'When are you taking it?'
'I haven't decided yet. They're very good about that. I can take off in June, July, or August.'
'Me, too,' he said. 'I get two weeks. I usually go home for a few days. Sometimes a week.'
'I do, too.'
'Zoe…' he said.
She looked at him questioningly.
'Do you think… Would it be possible for us to go somewhere together? For a week, or maybe just a weekend? Don't get me wrong,' he added hastily. 'Not to share a room or anything like that. I just thought it might be fun to be together this summer for a while in some nice place.'
She pondered a moment, head cocked.
'I think that's a fine idea,' she said. 'Maybe somewhere on Long Island.'
'Or New England.'
'There's a woman in the hotel who arranges tours and cruises and things like that. I could ask her to recommend some nice place.'
'No swinging resorts,' he said. 'Where we'd have to dress up and all.'
'Oh no,' she said. 'A quiet place on the beach. Where we can swim and walk and just relax.'
'Right!' he said. 'With good food. And not too crowded. It doesn't have to be supermodern with chrome and glitter and organized activities.'
'Nothing like that,' she agreed. 'Maybe just an old, family-run tourist home or motel. Where no one would bother us.'
'And we could do whatever we want. Swim and walk the beach. Collect shells and driftwood. Explore the neighborhood. I'd like that.'
'I would, too,' she said. She took their glasses into the kitchen and brought them fresh drinks. 'Ernie,' she said, sitting alongside him on the couch and taking his hand, 'what you said about our not sharing a room-I was glad you said that. I suppose you think I'm some kind of a prude?'
'I don't think anything of the sort.'
'Well, I'm not. It's just that going away together would be such a-such a new thing for us. And sharing a room would just make it more complicated. You understand?'
'Of course,' he said. 'That's exactly what I think. Who knows-if we're together for three days or a week, I might drive you batty.'
'Oh no,' she protested. 'I think we'll get along very well and have a good time. I just don't think we should, you know, start off knowing we were going to sleep together. I'd be very nervous and embarrassed.'
He looked at her with admiration.
'Just the way I feel, Zoe. We're so much alike. We don't have to rush anything or do anything that might spoil what we've got. Don't you feel that way?'
'Oh, I do, Ernie, I do! You're so considerate.'
She had turned to look at him. He seemed a quiet, inoffensive man, no more exciting than she. But she saw beauty in his clear features and guileless eyes. There was a clean innocence about him, an openness. He would never deceive her or hurt her; she knew that.
'I don't want you to think I'm sexless,' she said intently.
'Zoe, I could never think that. I think you're a very deep, passionate woman.'
'Do you?' she said. 'Do you really? I'm not very modern, you know. I mean, I don't hop around from bed to bed. I think that's terrible.'
'It's worse than terrible,' he said. 'It just reduces everyone to animals. I think sex has to be the result of a very deep emotional need, and a desire for honest intimacy.'
'Yes,' she said. 'And physical love should be gentle and tender and sweet.'
'Correct,' he said, nodding. 'It should be something two people decide to share because they really and truly love each other and want to, uh, give each other pleasure. Happiness.'
'Oh, that's very true,' she said, 'and I'm so glad you feel that way. It's really valuable, isn't it? Sex, I mean. You just don't throw it around all over the place. That cheapens it.'
'It makes it nothing,' he said. 'Like, 'Should we have another martini or should we go to bed?' It really should mean more than that. I guess I'm a romantic.'
'I guess I am, too.'
'You know what's so wonderful, dear?' he said, twisting around to face her. 'It's that with both of us feeling this way, we found each other. With the millions and millions of people in the world, we found each other. Don't you think that's marvelous?'
'Oh yes, darling,' she breathed, touching his cheek.
'Just think of the odds against it! I know I've never met a woman like you before.'
'And I've never met a man like you.'
He kissed her palm.
'I'm nothing much,' he said. 'I know that. I mean, I'm not tall and strong and handsome. I suppose someday I'll be making a good living, but I'll never be rich. I'm just not-not ruthless enough. But still, I don't want to change. I don't want to be greedy and cruel, out for all I can get.'
'Oh no!' she cried. 'Don't change, Ernie. I like you just the way you are. I don't want you different. I couldn't
