Summer’s End

back like an ebony stream. He watched her from the bed, wanting her to stay there forever.

“You know, I think you’re destroying my career.” He kept his eyes on her as she turned to him again. She looked so fragile and so young. Her looks belied the toughness he knew lay within. There was a certain steel in her, or she would never have survived the loneliness of her years with Marc.

“Why am I destroying your career? I thought I was going to make you a fortune with my brilliant paintings.” She looked imperiously over her shoulder.

“You would if I’d ever go to the office. It’s a good thing I told Sally not to expect me in today. Do you know I’ve never done anything like this in my life?” But he didn’t look unhappy with his new life-style as he wrapped himself in a towel, threw her his robe, and followed her out onto the terrace where they sat comfortably in the two green canvas chairs. “You make me lazy and happy and horny and young.”

“Which is precisely what you do to me.” She leaned toward him and they kissed. “I feel about twenty-one. Maybe twenty-two.”

“Good. Then let’s get married and have twelve kids.”

She glanced at him again, and for a moment she almost thought he was serious. “That would certainly give us some fresh problems to think about. Wouldn’t it?” She tried to keep her tone light. She didn’t want to talk about that with him again. She couldn’t. It wasn’t right. Instead, she asked, “What are we doing this weekend?”

She held her face up to the sun and closed her eyes contentedly. It was lovely being with him, living with him, going to Carmel and staying in town, waking up in the morning and falling asleep at night beside him. She felt as though they had been together for the last hundred years, not merely seven weeks. Was it already that? Had their lives soldered together that quickly? It was remarkable how much had happened and how rapidly.

“Do you want to go down to Carmel, or are you tired of that?”

“I’ll never be tired of that. It is the most perfect, peaceful place to be.”

“I’m glad.” He reached over and took her hand. “That’s how I feel too. But I keep thinking that you might like to do something more exotic.”

“Like what?” She was amused at the idea. Athens? She forced her mind back from thoughts of Marc.

“I don’t know. We could go down to Beverly Hills. I haven’t been down there in weeks.” He usually went just for the day and was back in time for dinner. “Or one of these days we could even go to New York.” He was never very far from his work-other galleries, other dealers, auctions, artists. In his own way, his passion for his profession wasn’t so different from Marc’s. The differences were that he included her and that it was a passion which she shared as well. “In any case, my darling, what is your pleasure this weekend?”

“I told you. Carmel.” She opened her eyes with a warm, happy smile.

“Then Carmel it is.”

“And that reminds me…” She put her head back with a frown. “There are some things I want to pick up at the house.” She hadn’t been there in days. Now and then she wondered what Margaret must be thinking. She had explained that she was working in a friend’s studio and that it was easier to sleep there most of the time. But her occasional morning stops at the house to rumple her bed after Margaret had had the night off wouldn’t fool anyone, least of all a woman who had worked for her for years. But what could she say? I’m in love with another man? So she simply kept her peace and avoided the old woman’s wily, blue eyes.

It was two in the afternoon when Ben dropped her a block from the house. She wanted to look at the mail and sign a few checks. She had to pay Margaret and leave her more money for food, not that she ever ate at home anymore. Her heart and her stomach all lived somewhere else. She didn’t even work in her own studio anymore. She did all her painting at Ben’s, including the painting she had been working on secretly, whenever he wasn’t at home.

Deanna let herself in and called out to see if anyone was home. But Margaret wasn’t there. Why should she be? Deanna never was, and there was little to do. There was the usual stack of bills and uninteresting invitations, no letter from Pilar, and nothing from Marc. He didn’t write to her. He called. There was no mail for him either. Whenever he was away, Dominique came to the house three times a week and collected his mail to send by pouch, along with official papers.

She walked slowly up to her room, the mail in one hand and the other holding the banister, and stopped at the head of the stairs. It was depressing to be back here. It was like being forced to give up a dream, to grow old again, away from the man who talked about marriage and twelve kids. She smiled to herself at the thought and sighed when she heard the phone. She decided not to answer it, but then wondered if it might be Ben, stopping at a pay phone while he waited. It was as though no one else existed anymore, only the two of them. She couldn’t imagine that it would be anyone but him.

“Yes?” There was a smile in her voice when she answered.

“Allo?” Oh, Jesus, it was Marc. “Allo?”

“Marc?”

She was buying time.

“Obviously. And I’d like you to explain this nonsense about the show. Dominique just called me.”

“How convenient.”

“I told you what I thought. And what you’ve done is in very poor taste.” He sounded livid.

“On the contrary, I can assure you it was all in very good taste.”

“That, my dear, is debatable. You know perfectly well I forbade you to have the show. And the publicity! For God’s sake, Deanna, it makes you sound like some sort of hippie.”

“It most certainly does not.” Her back stiffened at the thought. “The reviews made me sound like a serious artist. And it could just be that I am.”

“I thought we had resolved that quite a while ago.”

“Maybe you did, but I didn’t.” Damn him. He didn’t understand. He never had.

“I see. In any case, I hope this gala new you isn’t planning to indulge in conspicuous events like this every day.”

“Hardly. I’ll be lucky if I show every five years.”

“In that case, I’m sorry I missed this one.”

“No, you’re not.” She was furious now and she would not play his game.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said you’re not sorry you weren’t here. I’m sick and tired of your hypocrisy. How dare you belittle my work.”

“Deanna?” He was shocked.

“I’m sorry, I…” God, what was happening? She couldn’t keep her stuffing inside anymore. It was as though she had to let everything out. “I don’t know, Marc… I think I’m tired.”

“I think you must be. Was this a bad time to call?” His voice dripped sarcasm and ice. He didn’t like her attitude at all. She should have been made to go to Cap d’Antibes for the summer.

“No. I was just leaving for Carmel.”

“Again?”

“Yes. With Kim.” Oh, God, not again. She hated lying to him. “It’s not as though I have a lot to do, you know, when you’re gone.” She knew that would keep him at bay.

“Well, it won’t be for much longer.”

“How long?” She closed her eyes and held her breath. Make it long, oh, please, don’t let him come home…

“About a month.”

Deanna nodded silently. She and Ben had one month left. That was all.

They sped off on the familiar road to Carmel half an hour later. Deanna was unusually quiet as they drove. Ben glanced at her, beautiful and troubled with the breeze whipping through her hair.

“Anything wrong?” he asked. She shook her head. “Bad news at home just now?”

“No.” After a long hesitation, she looked at the countryside speeding past and spoke again. “He called.”

“How was it?” Did you ask for a divorce…?

“As usual. It made me angry. He was furious about the show. His secretary called Paris especially to tell him.”

“Does it matter?” he asked. She shrugged. “Do you still care so much if you make him angry?”

She turned to look at him then. “In some ways he’s like my father. Marc has been my authority figure for