to go back to Marc.
“Yes, you can keep the earrings. I want you to have them. No matter what.”
He understood. He always understood. And somehow it made things worse. The tears spilled over and ran sadly down her face. Sobs began to shake her shoulders.
“Darling, don’t.”
“Oh, Ben… I can’t leave you.”
“You don’t have to. Not yet. Let’s just enjoy what we have.”
He hadn’t sounded that philosophical since the beginning, and she wondered if finally he had accepted what would have to be. “I love you.” Her voice was strained. She clung to him, and he closed his eyes.
“I love you too. Now, how about going to this opening of yours?”
He pulled away to look at her, and she nodded. Gently, he took one of the earrings and clipped it to her ear. And then, stopping at her mouth for a kiss, he clipped on the other. “You look exquisite. And I’m so proud that this opening is yours.”
“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and it all will have been a dream. I’ll wake up on the beach in Carmel, feeling like Rip Van Winkle, and Kim will still be waiting for me at the hotel. But every time I feel that way, I look around, and you’re real.” She looked at him in astonished delight, and he laughed.
“Very much so.” He laughed again as he slipped a hand into her dress. “And I would very much like to prove it to you, my darling. But I’m afraid we don’t have time.” He held out an arm to her with a small bow. “Shall we?”
She took his arm. “But of course.”
“Are you ready?” They had just pulled up in front of the gallery.
“Oh, God, no!” Her arms went out to him, and her eyes were wide, but he held her close for only a moment, then swept her inside. There was a photographer waiting, and there were already a considerable number of guests. The art critics were there in force, and she even saw Kim, developing a cozy relationship with one of the gentlemen of the press. Sally hovered near, agog at the beautiful heather-blue dress.
All in all the evening was a smash. The gallery sold seven of her paintings. For a moment she felt as though she were parting with old friends. She didn’t want to give up her paintings, but Ben teased her about it as he introduced her to the admirers of her work. Ben was wonderful with her: he was always nearby, yet never too close, supportive but not obvious. He was Benjamin Thompson III, gallery owner extraordinaire. No one would have known about their affair. He was as discreet as he had been that first morning with Kim, and Deanna knew she had nothing to fear. For a moment that day she had been afraid of what Marc might hear. One never knew who came to these shows, who would see, or what they would guess. But no one guessed anything that night, not even Kim, who had sent a huge bouquet of flowers to the house. She felt personally responsible for the match between Deanna and Ben-from a professional standpoint, of course, as she was not aware of any other. She had wondered, though, if Deanna had told Marc of the opening. But later in the evening Deanna told Kim that she had.
“What did he say?”
“Not very much. But he wasn’t pleased.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“I suppose he will.” But Deanna had not said more on the subject. She didn’t tell Kim that Marc had forbidden her to have the show and hung up on her in the end. He had told her it was vulgar and pushy, but for the first time in their marriage she had stood her ground. It was too important to her for her to give in this time.
“My heavens, what are you frowning about, darling?” Ben spoke softly, so no one else would hear, and Deanna drifted back from her own thoughts.
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I… it’s just… so much has happened.”
“You can say that again. Sally just sold two more of your paintings.” He looked as happy as a boy, and Deanna wanted to throw her arms around him in a hug. Instead, she just caressed him with her eyes. “Can I interest you in a celebration dinner?”
“Only if it’s pizza.” She grinned at him, knowing his preferences.
“Not this time, madam. The real thing.”
“Hamburgers?”
“Go to hell.” Without further ceremony, he put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
It was not an inappropriate thing for a gallery owner to do on the night of an artist’s first success, but as Kim watched them she suddenly found herself wondering if there was something more. Deanna had just whispered something in Ben’s ear, in answer to which, Kim had heard him say with a gentle smile, “I’m glad you liked them.” Deanna had touched the pearls at her ears and happily walked away. As Kim watched, an idea came to her for the very first time.
13
“O.K. I’m ready. Tell me the truth.” Deanna sat in the bed in the yellow bedroom with her eyes closed, her hands clenched, a pillow held over her head.
“You look like you’re waiting for the earthquake.” Ben looked at her and laughed. He was perched on the bed, next to her, the paper in his hand. “What would you like me to read to you, darling? The stock market? The comics? Oh, I know!”
“Will you read it to me, dammit. I can’t stand it another minute more.” She gritted her teeth, and he laughed again, turning to the reviews of her show. But he already knew what he would read. He had been in the business for too long to be very surprised. He generally knew what was in store. And as he glanced over the article, he knew he had been right again.
“O.K., now? Are you ready?”
“Benjamin! Read it dammit!” She said it through tensely clenched teeth and looked terrified as he started to read.
“… a luminous, delicate style that shows not only years of study and devotion to her work, but the kind of talent we too seldom see…” His voice droned on as her eyes flew wide and she pulled the pillow away from her head.
“You made that up!” She grabbed for the paper. He held it out of her reach and went on reading, until he had come to the end of the piece.
“I don’t believe it.” She looked as though she were in shock. “It can’t be.”
“Why not? You’re good. I told you that. I know it, they know it, the people who bought your paintings know it. Everyone knows it except you, you big, silly, dopey, humble…” He had reached out for her and was tickling her.
“Stop it! I’m famous! You can’t tickle me now!” But she was giggling too hard to stop him. “Stop it! I’m a star!”
“Yeah? And who made you a star? Who told you that you had to have a show? Who begged you? Who wanted to show your work the first time he saw it? Huh? Tell me, tell me.” They were both laughing now, and she was tangled into his arms, her pale-pink silk nightgown creeping up toward her waist. He stopped for a moment, and looked at her, lying in his arms. She had never looked as beautiful, as delicate, and he wanted to hold her that way forever. He wanted to stop time.
“What’s the matter, darling?” She had seen the look in his eyes and was watching him warily. “Is something wrong?”
“On the contrary. You are incredibly beautiful.”
“And entirely yours.” She slid her body onto his and smiled happily at him as she settled her mouth on his for a long tender kiss. In less than a minute the pink silk nightgown lay on the floor. It was noon before they climbed out of bed. Deanna yawned sleepily as she stood at the door to the terrace, still naked, with her hair falling down her
