“Anyway…” His eyes flicked back to Mark, sparkling as he continued. “Top to bottom, everything I could see, and I could see most everything, was looking really, really good. I was thinking, ‘This is the night, this is the night.’ She began to pant, her body started writhing…” Richard took a deep breath.
“As I reached to unbuckle my belt, she suddenly screamed.” He threw his hands in the air, seeming to still be mystified by her behavior. “She tells me she said no. Told me to stop. And shouted, ‘Get off me.’ I was so stunned, I didn’t move. Then she balled up her fist and pounded it into my side, three times, one right after the other. Wham. Wham. Wham.” He smacked his fist into the palm of his left hand.
“Came out of nowhere. Bruised my ribs. Can you believe that?”
He couldn’t. “Imagine,” Mark said, managing to sound sympathetic.
“Hurt like…You know what it means to see stars?”
Mark nodded, suppressing a smile.
“I saw them. Tiny lights—yellow, red, blue—floating in front of my eyes. I sat back and popped her across the face…”
Mark raised an eyebrow, questioningly.
“Okay, I pulled my arm back and slapped the living hell out of the flippin’ tease. The least she deserved. She yelped like she’d been shot, drew back her leg, and kicked me right where it hurts the most. With a stiletto.”
Mark covered his mouth to keep from laughing. While he had no doubt that Karen had it in her to slug a guy if she had to, he had equal doubt that even fifty percent of Richard’s story was true.
“Next thing I know, I’m on the floor beside the couch, bent double, trying not to pass out.” The memory of the pain—real or imagined—showed on Richard’s face.
“Is she sympathetic? Not at all. Not a bit. She pushes past me, her hip smacking against my head, and while I’m sprawled across the carpet, she flings the door wide open and orders me to get the hell out. As I stumble down the steps, I turn to tell her what she can do with herself, and the class ring I gave her hits me in the face.” He rubbed his cheek as though remembering the impact.
“Now don’t get me wrong.” Richard held up his right hand. “I’m not the kind to force myself on a woman. I’m not into that nonsense, but after my experience with that witch, well, I can surely understand how it might happen.” He shook his head. “I swear I never want to see that…that…woman again as long as I live.”
“Hi there. Sorry I took so long.” Margaret slipped up beside Richard then, linking her arm through his. “Ready to go back to my place?” she purred.
Richard’s eyes lit up. “Completely different from the other one,” he whispered to Mark.
Mark managed to hold his laughter until Richard had followed Margaret through the door. He felt certain he was not the first to hear Richard’s story, and he was confident the others had heard it exactly as he had, word for word. He could well imagine the scene. Despite his denial, Richard had assaulted Karen and she’d fought back. No man would ever score an unearned run when he came to bat against Karen Wingate.
Never saw it coming.
He chuckled. Such things happen, just out of the blue. He felt sure Margaret Bowman would help Richard recover from the pain of rejection.
He thought about Richard’s story as he walked home in the darkness. He shook his head, guessing Karen’s version would be somewhat different, particularly in the details. Reaching the corner of King Street, he looked north, in the direction of Karen’s apartment, wondering how she was faring. He could imagine her alone in her second-floor apartment, looking out of the window, watching couples parade along King Street on their way to dinner, on their way home for kissing and cuddling.
A couple brushed past him, their arms linked, the woman giggling as the guy pulled her to the side and kissed her. He knew how Karen felt, and, for some reason he failed to understand, he wished he could make her feel better. He slipped his cell phone out, intending to call her, but he thought better of it and continued walking, leaving the man and the woman behind, still locked in a tight embrace.
***
The next afternoon, Mark hurried across the campus. He had worked through lunch and he wanted to get home, hoping he could find something in the refrigerator to tide him over to dinner. As he crossed the old quadrangle, he spied Ben Chalmers and Sara Wilkins, two students, walking hand in hand on the other side of the quad. Both were math majors and both had taken classes from Mark. He recalled that Sara had been the student for whom a bouquet of flowers had been delivered in the middle of his second-period lecture on Valentine’s Day.
Mark had stepped away from his lectern when the delivery man had arrived, knowing his class would be disrupted for at least five minutes, recalling the previous year when three separate deliveries had occurred during a single period, and hoping that, this year, Sara’s would be the only one. After the delivery man had departed and the students were quiet again, Mark had looked up from his notes and glared at Sara.
“From Mr. Chalmers?” he had asked.
“Yes, Doctor Stuart.” Sara had been unable to suppress her smile. “Had I known he was sending them, I’d have asked him to send them to my apartment instead of class.”
“Right,” Mark had replied, eliciting laughter from the students. “What’s the occasion?”
“Why, it’s Valentine’s Day, Doctor Stuart,” she had exclaimed.
“Oh.” The class had laughed again as he rolled his eyes. “Well, of course. Love trumps math.” He had smiled just enough for Sara to realize he was teasing her.
As he watched now, Sara turned to Ben, a scowl on her face, snatching her hand away from his. Then, placing her hands on her hips, she confronted him. Ben matched her, anger on his face, his hands on his hips.
Mark was too far away to hear what was said, but he paused to watch the face-off. They seemed to argue, then Sara turned away, her arms crossed over her chest. Ben turned and strode off, looking back over his shoulder and shouting, “Just go away, then.” Sara began to cry, and she set off in the other direction, apparently taking him at his word.
Mark paused, thinking about the two students. He had watched them together for three years, and if they were not in love, then love didn’t exist. Nevertheless, the argument he had witnessed seemed serious. He could imagine it as the end of their relationship.
Perhaps love was not a sound basis for a relationship, not for one intended to be permanent like marriage.
Karen apparently had decided it was not necessary. When he had run into her on the Monday after the basketball game, her admission of the nature of her intended marriage to Richard had startled him, but it also had prodded him to reconsider his own views.
The previous fall, his decision to break off with Karen had rested primarily on his belief that he would never fall in love with her, and his perception that she had no interest in him. However, if he were to entertain his mother’s suggestion of a marriage of convenience, the type of marriage Karen had intended with Richard, then the need to fall in love would not be an impediment. Might even be considered a plus.
He had mulled the issue over after arriving home the night before, and his discovery that Karen was no longer involved with Richard had given him direction. If she would enter such a union with Richard, might she be willing to entertain one with him?
As he stood in the quad, Mark could list several advantages to such a marriage, but the primary attraction was the reduced level of emotional involvement. A friend in the psychology department had told him that all relationships involve a commitment of some sort, and making a commitment to another person implies a surrender of some portion of control over one’s own life. At the very least, his friend had continued, you give up the right to do as you please without considering the needs and feelings of the other person.
Falling in love, his friend had pointed out, involved a greater degree of commitment than did friendship, more loss of control, and, as a result, stronger feelings when things did not go as expected.
Mark nodded. It made sense.
He and Vicky were friends. They had both been angry at the end of their conversation back in October, when she had telephoned to discuss his date with Karen, but she had appeared at breakfast the next week and they’d had coffee together, not discussing Karen, of course, but having a pleasant conversation.
He glanced to his right, catching sight of Sara as she turned a corner, her arms wrapped protectively around her body. She and Ben had been in love, but he supposed Sara would not readily sit down with Ben for a pleasant conversation any time soon.
During their visit to the Mountain Grill, he had felt jealous of the other guys, the ones who had danced with Karen. Had he not imagined he was falling in love with her, had they simply been two friends out for a good time, instead of becoming angry, he would have danced with the other women.
If he was not in love—had not been in love, he corrected himself—with Lucia, then…then all sorts of things would be different.
He shook his head to clear Lucia’s image from his mind.
If he were to marry, a marriage based on friendship, not one based on love, was what he needed.
A colleague had given him tickets to a play the following weekend. He had intended to pass them on to his parents or to Emily, but as he continued across the quad he decided to call Karen and ask her to go with him. He realized this invitation could not be a simple “Would you like to go the theater?” Too much had passed between the two of them for it to be that easy.
Karen would wonder what had changed, why he was asking her out now, why he had never called her last fall, not for another date, not to break off with her. She would want an explanation for what he had told Vicky about dinner and dancing at the Mountain Grill. She would question how he knew she was free from Richard.
And she still might have no interest in seeing him.
As the issues multiplied in his mind, he thought, perhaps it would be better to forget about Karen entirely, to turn to someone else. If he was going to accept the notion of a marriage of convenience, then he knew several women with whom he could imagine marriage.
He walked on, but stopped a few steps later. He didn’t want to find another woman. He liked Karen very much. They had shared interests. If his marriage was to be one of convenience, if love were not to be an issue, she met all of his criteria. She would make a perfect wife.
As he passed the museum, he decided he ought to issue his invitation in person, rather than by telephone. He turned back and walked inside. A banner hung in the atrium, advertising the current exhibit, “The Holy City in Art.” He had read it contained paintings, drawings, and photographs of the city of Charleston, “the holy city” being the name Charleston’s residents used to refer to the city in which they lived.
The stairway that led to Karen’s office was on his right, just past the museum store.
She might have no interest in seeing me at all.
The thought passed through his mind as he placed his foot on the first step, and he paused. Suddenly, he heard Karen’s voice, calling to another staff member.
“Alicia, come on down to my office. We can talk there.”
He certainly didn’t want to appear at her door and find Karen occupied, so instead of mounting the stairs, he turned into the museum store and began browsing the merchandise related to the exhibition. He knew it was a delaying tactic, but he finally found the catalog for the exhibition and began to flip the pages.
“They couldn’t have scheduled this exhibit last fall, could they?” he mumbled.
“What is that you’re saying?”
Mark turned to find Vicky looking over his shoulder.
“Preparing for a date?” she teased. “With a woman from an old Charleston family?”
“Had this been your exhibit last fall, I wouldn’t have needed to read the catalog.”
“Really?” She took the book from him and turned to a picture toward the end. “What is this?”
Mark laughed at the smug expression on her face.
“Remember, Vicky, the Stuarts are an old Charleston family.” He pretended to study the picture.
“Give up, old Charlestonian?”
“I would say it’s a photograph looking south on King Street, taken about, oh, about forty years ago.”
“Are you certain?” Vicky raised one eyebrow. “The buildings look rather rundown for King Street.”
“I’ve been told it was dilapidated back then. But look.” He pointed to a building on the right side of the street. “That’s the door to Karen’s apartment.” He nodded. “Definitely King Street.”
“Very good.” Vicky chuckled “Very good. Last evening, I heard two older ladies who were touring the exhibit, ladies from old families like yours, arguing about the location, and they were old enough to remember forty years ago.”
“You were here last evening? On Valentine’s Day?” He raised his eyebrows. “Not the Vicky I know and love.”
Vicky placed her hand on her hip. “It was early last evening, and, anyway, John and I stayed in for a romantic dinner alone. It’s a lot pleasanter, you know. No crowds, you don’t have to dress…”
He nodded. “Not dressing would appeal to you.”
Vicky blushed. “You’re awful. You know what I meant.”
“I know exactly what you meant.” Mark smiled innocently. “John is a lucky man.”
Vicky’s face became even redder.
“Speaking of Karen, how is she doing?”
“Were we speaking of Karen?”
“You showed me a photograph of her apartment.” Mark pointed to the catalog. “How is she doing?”
“She’s doing fine,” Vicky snapped. “Why would she not be?”
“I hear she and her almost-fiancé had a falling out.”
Vicky stared at the book as if she were trying to memorize the description of the photograph.
“I lied.” Vicky sighed. “She’s a basket case. Not about losing that piece of scum she had planned to marry, but because she’s resolved herself that he was her last hope. I’m afraid she’s ready to start collecting stray cats to keep her company.” Vicky shook her head.
“I’m concerned about her and I came to see her,” Mark said.
“And you were looking for me in that book, Doctor Stuart?”
Hearing Karen’s voice, both Mark and Vicky jumped. She was standing directly behind them, her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face.
“I…uh…I didn’t hear you walk up.” Vicky stepped back. “I…how long have you been here?”
“John is a lucky man, I was planning to marry scum, and I’m going to be an old maid.” Her eyes flashed. “And I prefer dogs, by the way…If my friends are talking about me like that I can imagine what others are saying,” she growled at Vicky.
Vicky stared at Karen and gulped. “Sorry. Mark is here to see you…and he asked, so…uh…I think I’ll…uh…leave.” She slipped through the door, disappearing.
Karen glared at Mark. “Does the entire city know what happened?”
“Em and I took our parents out to celebrate their anniversary last night. As I was leaving the restaurant, I ran into Richard and he wanted to tell me why he was not with you.” He shrugged. “So I doubt I truly know what happened, but I hear you have a wicked right cross and steel spikes on your shoes.”
Karen looked down, seeming to be suppressing a smile.
“He came over to my apartment…”
“I don’t need to know.” Mark held up a hand and shook his head. “Don’t feel as if you have to tell me.”
“If it’s not to hear what happened, why are you here?” she snapped.
“A friend gave me theater tickets. Would you like to go with me?”
Karen glared at him.
“A pity date? Or are you thinking that if I’m a basket case, then you might be as lucky as John was with Vicky on Valentine’s Day? If you are, think again.”
“No.” Mark had anticipated the question. “I wo
uldn’t do either of those to you. Given my feelings about Richard, it would be more akin to a celebration than a pity party.”
Karen frowned. “You think I want to celebrate being dumped? Go away,” she ordered, turning to leave.
“Wait. I didn’t mean…” He caught her arm. “I feel badly about the way I behaved after our hiking trip, acting like a baby, refusing to talk with you…”
“You certainly did act like a baby,” she exclaimed. “Had you actually expected to take me to that restaurant and to have me dance with no one but you?”
“Yes…I had hoped.” He’d intended it to sound like a joke, and he glanced away, hoping the disappointment he still felt did not show.
“Oh. I…uh…” She swallowed hard. “Sorry.”
Mark closed the catalog and placed it on the table.
“I should not have behaved like a spoiled brat, and I should have talked with you about my feelings…I know what it’s like to be left hanging, and it’s unforgivable that I never called you.” He looked into her eyes “Is it possible we could start over? Three dates, no strings?”
Karen eyed him warily.
“Our dates haven’t turned out very well in the past, and I’m not looking for a replay of last autumn.”
“We didn’t want to go out together last fall. Most of the time, we both were simply keeping promises we’d made to our mothers. How could our dates possibly have ended well?”
“You said you never wanted to see me again. Not until hell turns cold, you told Vicky. It’s not freezing in Charleston, Mark, much less in hell. What changed?”
“I’ve come to my senses?” He half-smiled. “Honestly, I was angry. I was angry at you. I was angry at Vicky. I was likely angry at myself. My father has always told me not to speak in anger, and I…I ignored his counsel. Deep down, I knew what I said wasn’t true as I spoke the words.”
“How could you think…?”
“Karen, look, despite everything that has happened, I like you.”
She turned away, but he touched her cheek, gently turning her head to face his.
Just Three Dates Page 20