“No, no, I do. It’s fantastic.”
“Your tone of voice tells me different, Alex.”
“I was just wondering how you managed it. Financially.”
She gave a theatrical glower and answered in a Mata Hari voice: “
“Aha.”
“Oh, Alex, don’t be so glum. It’s not as if I
That shook me. I said, “I wasn’t implying you had.”
Her grin was wicked. “But it did cross your mind, sweet prince.”
“Never.” I looked out at the mountains. The sky was pale aqua above a horizon of pinkish brown. More fifties color coordination.
“Nothing crossed my mind,” I said. “I just wasn’t prepared. I don’t see or hear from you all summer- now this.”
She handed me a soda, put her head on my shoulder.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said. “Not as gorgeous as you, but gorgeous. Enjoy it.”
“Thank you, Alex. You’re so sweet.”
We stood there for a while, sipping. Then she unlatched the sliding door and we stepped out onto the terrace. Narrow, white space cantilevering over a sheer drop. Like stepping onto a cloud. The chalky smell of dry brush rose up from the canyons. In the distance was the HOLLYWOOD sign, sagging, splintering, a billboard for shattered dreams.
“There’s a pool, too,” she said. “Around the other side.”
“Wanna skinny-dip?”
She smiled and leaned on the railing. I touched her hair, put my hand under her sweater and massaged her spine.
She made a contented sound, leaned against me, reached around and stroked my jaw.
“I guess I
“I’ve got time,” I said.
“Do you really?” she asked, suddenly excited. She turned around, held my face in her hands. “You don’t have to get back to the hospital right away?”
“Nothing but meetings until six. I’m due at the E.R. at eight.”
“Great! We can sit here for a while and watch the sunset. Then I’ll drive you back.”
“You were going to explain,” I reminded her.
But she’d already gone inside and turned on the stereo. Slow Brazilian music came on- gentle guitars and discreet percussion.
“Lead me,” she said, back on the terrace. Snaking her arms around me. “In dancing the man’s supposed to lead.”
We swayed together, belly-to-belly, tongue-to-tongue. When the music ended she took my hand and led me through a short foyer into her bedroom.
More bleached, glass-topped furniture, a pole lamp, a low, wide bed with a square, bleached headboard. Above it, two narrow, high windows.
She removed her shoes. As I kicked off mine I noticed something on the walls: crude, childish drawings of apples. Pencil and crayon on oatmeal-colored pulp paper. But glass-framed and expensively matted.
Odd, but I didn’t spend much time wondering about it. She’d drawn blackout drapes across the windows, plunged the room into darkness. I smelled her perfume, felt her hand cupping my groin.
“Come,” she said- a disembodied voice- and her hands settled upon my shoulders with surprising strength. She bore down on me and lowered me to the bed, got on top of me, and kissed me hard.
We embraced and rolled, made love fully clothed. She, sitting, with her back against the headboard, legs spread and drawn up sharply, her hands clasping her knees. I, kneeling before her, as if in prayer, impaling her while gripping the top rim of the headboard.
A cramped, backseat position. When it was over she slid out from under me and said, “Now, I’ll explain. I’m an orphan. Both of my parents died last year.”
My heart was still pounding. I said, “I’m sorry-”
“They were wonderful people, Alex. Very glamorous, very gracious and
A dispassionate way to talk about one’s dead parents, but grief could take many forms. The important thing was that she was
“Daddy was an art director for one of the big publishing houses in New York,” she said. “Mummy was an interior designer. We lived in Manhattan, on Park Avenue, and had a place in Palm Beach and another on Long Island- Southampton. I was their only little girl.”
The last sentence was uttered with special solemnity, as if lacking siblings were an honor of the first rank.
“They were active people, traveled a lot by themselves. But it didn’t bother me because I knew they loved me very much. Last year they were in Spain, on holiday near Majorca. They were driving home from a party when their car went off a cliff.”
I took her in my arms. She felt loose and relaxed, could have been talking about the weather. Unable to read her face in the darkness, I listened for a catch in her voice, rapid breathing, some evidence of sorrow. Nothing.
“I’m so sorry for you, Sharon.”
“Thank you. It’s been
“Don’t pressure yourself. Everyone goes at their own pace.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s true. I’m just explaining to you why I didn’t want to talk about them. Why I really still don’t, Alex.”
“I understand.”
“I know you do.” Deep kiss. “You’re so right for me, Alex.”
I thought of the constricted way we’d just made love. “Am I?”
“Oh, God, yes. Paul-” She stopped.
“Paul what?”
“Nothing.”
“Paul approves of me?”
“It’s not like that, Alex. But, yes. Yes, he does. I always talk about how wonderful you are and he says he’s glad I’ve found someone so good for me. He likes you.”
“We’ve never met.”
Pause.
“He likes what I’ve told him about you.”
“I see.”
“What’s the matter, Alex?”
“Sounds like you and Paul have lots to talk about.”
I felt her hand reach around and take hold of me. She squeezed gently, kneaded. This time I didn’t respond and she lowered her fingers, let them rest upon my scrotum.
“He’s my faculty adviser, Alex. He supervises my cases. That means we have to talk.” Gentle stroking. “Let’s not discuss him or anyone else anymore, okay?”
“Okay. But I’m still curious about where the house came from.”
“The house?” she said, surprised. “Oh. The house. Inheritance, of course. It belonged to them. My parents. They were both born in California, lived here before moving back East- before I was born. I was their
