Sandcastles

by April Hill

  “Well, I haven’t got family either, except for a few distant cousins somewhere in Wales. I suppose I should warn you now that this might well be a rather unconventional—maybe odd marriage,” he said quietly.

  “As odd as the courtship?” Gwen asked.

  * * * * *

  They landed at JFK the next afternoon and took a cab directly to the Plaza. “I don’t believe this!” she cried, whirling around their spacious suite. “There’s a crystal chandelier in the living room! All I’ve ever done in this place is steal matchbooks! Whenever I had an assignment in New York—like twice in my life—I used to sneak by the doorman and wander around the Plaza lobby, wondering what it would feel like to stay here and steal a towel or two. But I always had to settle for a few lousy matchbooks from the bar.”

  “At least you think big,” Josh grinned. “On our first trip to New York, Susannah and I stayed in a dump that had the biggest damned cockroaches I’ve ever seen in my life. We found the emperor of all roaches in the shower stall one night and she wouldn’t get in the shower for the rest of the trip—just took sponge baths in the sink, standing on a phone book. We were afraid to touch the towels, let alone steal one.”

  The next morning, early, with Josh’s not so gentle prodding, Gwen began the difficult transition from what he called “unkempt street urchin” to bright, forward-looking self-confident author. The first step in the process was a haircut.

  “Why are you so fucking obsessed with my hair?” Gwen asked rather unnecessarily, looking at herself in the large gilt mirror as she stepped out of the shower. “What’s wrong with it?”

  Josh’s answer was blunt: “Besides the pony tail and the rubber band you took off a bunch of celery, probably nothing that paying more than eight bucks for a haircut won’t fix. There are at least two very grand spas and beauty parlors right here in the hotel and another twenty within walking distance, any one of which can probably repair what Francine did to you. It was barely passable in Grove City but here....”

  Gwen made a face and wrapped herself in a huge white towel. “All right, I promise I’ll go down there and get my hair cut this afternoon if I can get an appointment. And while I’m doing that, you can figure out what we’re going to see tonight and where we’re going to eat.”

  Josh grinned. “Nope. I’m going with you to get your hair cut. I’m planning to sit on that gorgeous lobby and read the ‘Times’ and wait for you to come out with a decent haircut and a paid receipt. If you show up with the same ponytail, you’re going to get your butt paddled all the way up in the elevator. And you don’t want to know what’ll happen when we actually get to the room.”

  “I can imagine,” Gwen groaned, rummaging through her suitcase.

  “No you can’t. I may have to improvise, but I’m pretty good at improvising.” He pulled several items from the closet. “I think I can promise you won’t be sitting down on any of these lovely brocade chairs after getting your butt blistered with this plastic shoehorn or maybe one of these nice fat wooden hangers here with the ‘Plaza’ logo.”

  As she bent over the bed to take something from her bag, he lifted the edge of her towel and provided a vigorous sample swat on her naked rear end with the long-handled plastic shoehorn. “Get going, now, and after you get your hair done, we’ll go shopping for a decent dress.”

  She rubbed the stinging mark on her rump. “I don’t do dresses,” she grumbled.

  “Fine—a pant suit then. And shoes would be a nice touch. Something other than canvas sneakers?”

  “God!” she cried. “What else?”

  When the dreaded haircut was finally accomplished, the shopping commenced and turned out to be less arduous than Gwen expected, since for the first time in her life price tags were no deterrent.

  “This suit costs more than I paid for my car!” she whispered to him when the Bloomingdale’s sales clerk turned her back. “Don’t they have Wal-Marts in New York?”

  “Take the suit,” he said wearily, opening his wallet. “It’s the right color you look great in it and it doesn’t need alterations. Take the other one, too, and all those pants and blouses you tried on. That blue thing, too, with the jacket. We haven’t the time to look for a Wal-Mart. You can dress like a bag-lady at home.”

  Gwen would have pursued the argument further, but something about the way he used the word “home” took her off guard and pleased her more than she could have ever imagined. While she was pondering the precise meaning of this, Josh had already paid for the items and told the beaming clerk to have them delivered to the Plaza.

  “I’ve never had a man pay for my clothes before,” she observed over lunch. “Or a hotel, as far as that goes. It feels funny—like I’m a kept woman.”

  “You watch too many old movies. I don’t think they have kept women any longer. Besides you’ve never been in a hotel with a man before?” he asked, incredulous.

  She grinned. “I’m more the motel sort, actually. A guy did buy me a new shirt once when I got mustard and relish on the only one I had with me, but it said ‘L.A. Lakers’ on the front, so I guess that doesn’t really count.”

  Josh smiled and took her hand across the table. “While we’re here, I think it’s time to buy a ring, as well. You’re a ‘Truman Capote’ fan. We could go to Tiffany’s. It’s just a few blocks.”

  Gwen frowned. “Tiffany’s is hideously overpriced. I read once that Sears and Roebuck sells more diamonds than any other store in the world.”

  He laughed. “Why not QVC?”

  She yawned, finished the last bite of her sandwich, then attempted to change the subject. “What I need most is a nap, Josh. Tomorrow’s a big day. Would it be all okay if we just went back to the hotel now?”

  He nodded, but could hardly miss the abrupt change of subject.

  * * * * *

  The next morning dawned rainy and humid, and even in the short dash from the cab into the building, they both got soaked. They took the elevator to Lyle Porter’s fifteenth-floor offices, and with ten minutes to spare, Gwen darted into the ladies’ room to dry her hair under the hand-blower.

  “Well?” she asked nervously, when she came back. “What’s the verdict? I look like a drowned rat, right? Maybe we should just leave and come back some other time? Like in 2050?”

  Careful not to wrinkle her further, Josh kissed her lightly and straightened her collar.

  “You look beautiful—and confident.”

  “And wet,” she grumbled. “I feel like I’m going to vomit.”

  “Hold it until after you talk to Porter. Everyone throws up after talking to Lyle Porter. Let’s go.”

  As they opened the thick glass doors to Lyle Porter’s spacious and elegantly appointed waiting room, Gwen felt her knees weaken. Trying to ignore that fact that she was probably dripping on the ankle-deep plush of the forest-green carpeting, she gave her name to the receptionist and sat down next to Josh to wait. It was only a moment until the huge rosewood doors opened and a giant of a man with a full, neatly trimmed beard bore down on them. Lyle Porter, publishing magnate, Gwen assumed.

  “Josh!” he boomed. “My God it’s good to see you. How long has it been, anyway?”

  “Quite a while, Lyle, but you haven’t changed a lot. Still keeping trim, I see.”

  Porter patted his stomach. “Ah yes. There’s nothing like four hours a day in the gym. It’s taking more time on the old treadmill every year. You look fit, Joshua. Still building houses?”

  Josh smiled. “No, just the one.”

  Porter extended his large hand to Gwen. “And you must be Gwen Walden?”

  “Yes,” Gwen said, “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Porter. Josh has told me how helpful you’ve been to him and - .”

  “All lies, my dear. Joshua Denning was sprung from the forehead of Zeus a genius complete. All I did was teach him which fork to use at dinner and how to rob me blind on royalties, of course. I’ve been going over the material you sent me Miss … May I call you Gwen?”

&nb
sp; “Yes” she replied nervously “of course.”

  “I’ve had Gerald Ramsey look at them, too, and you remember Gerry Ramsey don’t you, Josh? Well anyway, why don’t we all just go on in my office and talk, shall we?” He waved a beefy arm toward the open door and Gwen started through. Josh took Porter’s hand and shook it again. “Good seeing you, Lyle. I’ll just wait downstairs while you and Miss Walden talk.” Shocked, Gwen turned quickly, opening her mouth to protest, but Josh gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. “I’ll be at the coffee shop in the lobby.” With that, he walked through the glass door and toward the elevator. Gwen swallowed hard.

  Porter took her elbow. “Right this way, Gwen. Gerry’s inside waiting for us.”

  * * * * *

  It was two hours later and Denning was on his third cup of coffee and his second jelly doughnut by the time Gwen came into the crowded coffee shop looking for him. From the corner booth he’d been protecting from irritated and hungry patrons for almost an hour he waved to her; she made her way through the mob and sat down.

  “I will never forgive you for that!” she said wearily. “I felt like an absolute idiot! They hated everything! I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life!” She glanced around the coffee shop miserably. “Maybe I could get a job as a waitress here.”

  Josh said nothing, but took another bite from his doughnut. “Bad, huh?”

  She looked at him in disbelief. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? After everything you put me through? Just so I could come three thousand miles to be rejected and?”

  He pushed a doughnut across the table to her. “How much of an advance did they offer?”

  Gwen threw her napkin at him and grinned. “You rat! You knew all along!”

  “Sorry, kiddo, but you’re a truly rotten liar. I knew the minute you came in here that you’d aced it. How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Gwen said, with a small laugh. “Is that unusual?”

  “Nope. Absolutely normal. It’ll hit you later tonight. You can give me all the details later. How do you want to celebrate?”

  “Can we just go back to the hotel? If I don’t get these shoes off I’m going to scream. There’s a blister on my heel that’s killing me!”

  “You can walk down Fifth Avenue barefoot like Holly Go-Lightly, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Pigeons.”

  * * * * *

  They ordered dinner in the room, and Gwen abandoned her suit and heels for a long shower. Afterward, dressed only in the hotel’s luxuriously thick white terrycloth robe, she sat cross-legged on the end of the lush king-sized bed and told him about the interview. Josh lay down on the enormous bed, leaned against the gold brocade headboard and listened with pleasure as she gushed with excitement for close to an hour. Tomorrow, with Josh Denning at her side, she would return to Lyle Porter’s office to sign her first book contract.

  Finally, when she began to wind down, the inevitable letdown set in. “There’s still a lot of work of course,” she sighed. “They made that pretty clear, and I’m not going to get rich, I suppose.”

  “On short stories the chances aren’t good,” he observed. “Disappointed?”

  “No. Not really. I guess if I had wanted to be rich I could have stayed in the sleaze business. My lucky break might have been right around the corner. Who knows; I might just keep my hand in, you know, to pay the bills. I’m sure they’d take me on again if I crawled back on my hands and knees and offered my editor a first-rate blowjob.”

  Josh pulled her across his lap, pushed the tail of the robe up and gave her bared bottom a swift, very hard smack and then in rapid succession, four more. Gwen yelped and threw one hand back as he swatted her until each cheek was pink and hot. As each blow landed, she squirmed and kicked a bit but didn’t try to get away.

  “Consider that a temporary cure for depression,” he explained, pulling the robe down again and pulling her up from his lap. “And a warning. You’re not allowed to start whining until the first reviews come in. After that you can start drinking too much, like the rest of us.”

  She leaned over quickly and kissed him. “Thank you Josh.”

  “For that?”

  “For everything.”

  He smiled. “My pleasure.”

  Gwen moved up and knelt over him, straddling his body. Smiling demurely, she slipped the robe off her shoulders. “Now about that celebration.”

  * * * * *

  After the contracts had been signed, they celebrated again the following evening with dinner at the famed Algonquin Hotel and a Broadway play before they returned to the Plaza to make love.

  “Can we go home tomorrow?” Gwen asked. “I know it’s impolite after all the planning, but....”

  “This is your trip, Gwen but there’s still a lot to see and do. Lyle’s champing at the bit to wine and dine us and show off his newest wife. His fourth, if I haven’t lost count. This one’s only thirty years younger than him so he must be running down finally. The last one was one step short of being jailbait. Anyway the dogs are all happy enough with Linda at the house. She spoils them rotten, feeds them liverwurst and cookies and lets them on the couch.”

  “I know,” Gwen said, “but don’t you miss the quiet?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “but I didn’t think you would.” He looked out the window and thought for a moment before bringing up the subject he had been wary of discussing.

  “There was something I wanted to talk to you about, Gwen, before we went home.”

  Noting an odd sound in his voice, Gwen stopped her preparations for bed and sat down across from him. “What is it, Josh?”

  “There’s something I have to do by myself. It’ll just be for one day. I’ll fly up there early and get it done. I’d planned on letting Lyle show you around the city for the day while I was gone, but if you’d rather wait for me here or fly home early.”

  “Gwen frowned, worried now. “But Josh, what?”

  “There’s something I need - I want to do, Gwen, up near Portland.”

  Gwen was startled. “Oregon?”

  He shook his head. “Maine. I want to take Susannah … Susannah’s ashes back to Hadley’s Cove. Where we lived before we … when we were first married. I’m sorry I didn’t discuss it with you earlier before we came, and if it upsets you, I’ll take care of it some other....”

  “No, Josh. It’s fine, but I’d like to go with you, if it’s all right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Gwen nodded. “I think it’s important—for both of us.”

  * * * * *

  They flew to Portland the following morning and rented a car at the airport for the short trip up the coast to the small fishing village where Josh and Susannah Channing had, met married and spent their happiest years.

  Josh was quiet on the drive, lost in thought, and Gwen could only imagine how hard it was to make this familiar trip again after all these years. Even odder for her was the fact of the simple brown paper box that rode in the back seat in Josh’s briefcase—the box that until three days ago had been sitting on a shelf in Josh’s bedroom closet—since Susannah’s death

  They were only halfway to their destination when he suddenly pulled off the highway and turned off the ignition.

  “I planned to do this a few months after she died,” he explained, leaning his head back against the seat wearily. “But her mother was ill and died shortly after after Susannah did, and by then there was really no one back here to.... Oh hell, I don’t know! Maybe I was afraid to come back here after everything that had happened. She was so happy here. I thought about burying her in California, and that would have been the easiest thing—for me at least. And then after a year passed, I just kept putting it off, until now.”

  Gwen sat quietly and didn’t speak, afraid he’d stop.

  “I love you Gwen,” he said quietly. “I should have said it earlier. Much earlier. Maybe it’s like you were with the book. Better to not risk it than be rejected.”

  The words
she had waited so long to hear seemed so simple and familiar now, as though he had been saying them aloud all this time and that somehow she was just hearing them for the first. It was a peculiar reaction, and one she couldn’t have explained, yet very real—as though she had always known but needed to hear the articulated words to make it true. Gwen was learning what all women know and that few men understand—the profound power of three small, simple words.

  “I love you more than I can tell you. It’s not something I’m especially good at, and God knows I failed Susannah in that way almost as badly as I have you. I don’t want to do that again, and in some way this trip is part of it. I owe her this much and a lot more. Most of all, though, I need to say good-bye to her and let her go. Until you came along, I thought I had. I hung on to those terrible paintings for all this time because I thought it would be like killing her again, somehow. But they weren’t part of Susannah. They were part of her illness and maybe part of my bitterness, in some ways.”

  He took her hands in his. “I think we can make it, Gwen, if you can stand living with an arrogant domineering … I forgot the rest of your description.”

  “The one that got my mouth washed out with soap and my ass blistered?” She smiled.

  “That’s the one. Can you remember it?”

  Gwen relaxed, feeling the tension in the car relax as Josh smiled again at her. “If you think I’m going to repeat that,” she said, laughing, “and have you spank me senseless in a public rest stop, you’re crazy.”