Morning Rose, Evening Savage

by Amii Lorin

  He went still for a breathless moment, then his fingers dug painfully into her hair and, his lips close to hers, he groaned, “Well, I guess that’s better than indifference. Hate me some more, Tara Rykovsky.”

  It was late in the morning when Tara woke, wondering why she ached all over. Memory returned in a rush and, turning her head, she gave a long sigh of relief on seeing she was alone. She felt un-rested, not very well, and worst of all, used—badly, unjustly used. The thought made her wince, and with a dry sob she covered her face with her hands. Silent tears of conviction running down her face, Tara knew she had to pack and leave, today, before she found herself blabbering her love to Alek like some demented, love-starved idiot, and cringing under his amused triumph.

  Giving herself a mental shake, Tara left the bed tiredly, her eyes avoiding the rumpled sheet and comforter. Feeling drained, she went to the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, watching it trickle dully while she sipped her orange juice. Where was Alek? The answer that presented itself brought pain, and she rejected it with a sharp shake of her head. She didn’t know why, but somehow she knew positively that Alek would not leave her bed and go to another woman.

  Impatient with the coffeepot, she left the kitchen, stopped at the closet in the short hall, removed her suitcase, and went back to the bedroom. With swift, jerky movements she straightened the bed covers then opened the case on the bed.

  For some reason the mild exertion had brought a light film of perspiration to her face and hands and she turned from the case to go to the bathroom. As she stood under the hot, stinging spray in the shower a shudder tore through Tara’s body. What was she going to do? For the first time in many years she was uncertain about the direction of her life. Her mind gnawed away at that thought as she dried herself, dressed quickly in jeans and a white rib-knit sweater, and slid her feet into sneakers.

  Since her early teens she had set goals for herself and one by one had achieved them. And now all of them seemed unimportant. The thought shook her, and she stopped in the act of placing underwear in her case, her arm motionless in midair. Suddenly she felt very, very old, while at the same time very, very young and she was consumed with the need to talk to someone. Someone older, with more experience of life.

  The filmy underthings dropped into the case from numb fingers at the face that flashed into Tara’s mind. Her mother? She hadn’t sought her mother’s counsel since her thirteenth year and yet she had an overriding urge to go to her now.

  Before she could change her mind, she dialed her mother’s number. While her mother’s phone rang, she walked to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee, only to set it onto the counter with shaking hands when her mother’s voice said hello.

  “Mama. It’s Tara,” she said breathlessly, then went on in a rush: “Are you busy? I—I need someone to talk to and I wondered ... oh, Mama, can I come talk to you? Please?”

  There was a short pause, then her mother’s voice, strangely calm, responded quietly. “Yes, of course, Tara. Come right away. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Hands still shaking badly, Tara hung up. She dashed into the bedroom, shrugged into a Navy pea jacket, scooped up her handbag, and left the apartment. The untouched coffee sat cooling on the counter; the half filled suitcase lay open on her bed; the dresser drawers remained ajar.

  On entering her father’s house, Tara stood inside the door, glancing around in question at the unusual quiet.

  “I’m in the kitchen, Tara,” her mother called. “Come have a cup of coffee.”

  Marlene Schmitt stood at the sink, pouring coffee into two heavy earthenware mugs and, as Tara seated herself at the table, she turned and said, “We can talk here. Betsy is spending the day with Kenny and his parents, and your father took the boys out to give us some privacy.”

  “Mother!” Tara exclaimed. “You didn’t say anything to Dad, did you?”

  Marlene’s eyebrows went up as she sat down opposite Tara. Then, her tone slightly chiding, she murmured, “There wasn’t much I could tell him, other than that you seemed upset and were coming over to talk. He didn’t ask questions, simply gathered up the boys and left.”

  Tara eyed her mother wonderingly as she sipped her coffee. Never before could she remember hearing quite that calm, unruffled tone and for the moment she was left speechless. Her next words left her stunned.

  “Your father is not the unfeeling brute you think he is, Tara.” And when Tara tried to speak out in protest, her mother held up her hand and added, “Nor am I quite the blind fool. No, don’t interrupt. Please, let me finish. Failure to do all you’d like to for your family can do strange things to some men, and that is what has happened to your father. I’ve watched it happening for a long time. But he is a good man, Tara. I love him. I always have.”

  Tara stared at her mother as if at a stranger. Had she been wrong all these years? Misread the situation? She had thought her mother stayed with her father because of her and her sister and brothers, and out of a sense of duty. But now?

  Marlene’s soft voice brought her attention back to the present and her own situation.

  “There’s a problem with Alek, isn’t there?”

  Looking at her mother through different eyes, Tara felt her throat close and she whispered, “Yes.”

  “I thought so. I have for some time now. For all your bright smiles and happy chatter, I knew you were unhappy. And so is Alek.”

  “Mama, you don’t understand,” Tara cried. And her mother came back, “Possibly not, but I understand this. Alek is a bright, ambitious, very attractive man. And he is a man, Tara. The kind of man who needs a mature woman beside him. One who is willing to give, as well as take.”

  Tara felt tears sting her eyelids. Was that the type of woman that, in her single-mindedness, she had projected? One who was not willing to give? Before she could form an argument, her mother said, “Less than a month ago you made a commitment to that man. Have you lived up to it?”

  Vision blurred by tears, unable to speak, Tara shook her head.

  “Honey, do you love him?”

  Tears now unashamedly running down her cheeks, Tara sobbed, “Yes. Oh, Mama, yes. But he doesn’t love me.” She paused, then added bitterly, “He says he wants me, and that’s not the same, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” Marlene answered very softly, her fingers brushing gently at the tears. “But that’s something, and as long as there’s something, some emotion, there’s reason to work at it. It probably won’t be easy, Tara. But then nothing worth having ever does come easy.”

  As Tara drove back to the apartment, her mind went over what her mother said. There had been more, much more, but in essence, what it had amounted to was this: Tara had worked hard for everything she had wanted; surely the one thing she wanted most in the world was worth twice the work.

  Tara was still unsure of what she’d do or say to Alek, if anything, when she got home. But she was grateful for one thing: This new and deeper understanding between her mother and herself. She had been on her own for some time; now, for the first time, she felt really grown-up.

  Suddenly Tara knew she was not yet ready to go home. She had to think this through, make a decision one way or the other. Eyes steady on the road, she drove into the mountains. All the splendor of fall was gone now, but even denuded of their summer finery, the Poconos were a balm to her mind.

  Time slipped by unnoticed as did the large and small billboards advertising the lodges, motels, and many points of interest and activities offered.

  Her mind drove on in rhythm with the car’s engine, paging back over the last few months, going over everything, step by step. And over and over, threading through her thoughts, her mother’s voice asked softly, “Honey, do you love him?”

  What should she do? The events leading up to this day, many of which were caused by Alek, no longer held any importance. The question driving her on now was: Did he still want her? Her body still hurt from last night. Every muscle felt sore. She felt sure he had not
set out to make love to her, but to punish her. He had been rough with her, as if deliberately acting out the role of savage she’d cast him in. His stated intention had been to own her. Now that he did, had he lost interest?

  * * * *

  He had become so cool, so withdrawn over the last week. A shudder rippled through her as she remembered the previous Thursday. She had left the office to find a mist-shrouded fairyland of ice, glittering and treacherous. She had driven home at a mere crawl, holding her breath each time she felt the tires lose their grip and begin to slide. By the time she had shut off the engine inside the apartment building’s covered parking area, her palms and forehead were damp with sweat, and she had felt totally exhausted.

  As she’d thrust her key into the apartment door, she’d had one thought in mind: to soak in a hot tub and forget that world of ice outside. She took one step through the doorway when Alek’s voice rapped, “Where the hell have you been?”

  He was standing at the bar, phone at his ear, his one palm covering the mouthpiece. Before she could answer, his hand slid away and he said shortly, “Yes, it’s her.”

  Just as she was about to close the door, Tara had stopped, frozen by his next words.

  “Yes, Kitty, I know, but I don’t know what else to tell you. Perhaps in a week, maybe less.”

  What had possessed her? Even now Tara didn’t know. At the time she had not stopped to think, to ask for an explanation. She had run out of the apartment to her car and back to that ice-covered world that had nothing on her heart.

  How long she’d slithered around aimlessly, she had no idea, but when finally she had turned back to the apartment, it was raining hard, the ice fast disappearing. There was no sign of Alek when she got back, and as she soaked in the tub, Tara wondered dully if he was with Kitty. The searing pain of jealousy she’d felt on the night she’d first realized she was in love with him was nothing compared to the agony she’d gone through while sliding around on the glassy streets. And now, tired to the bone, she was almost beyond feeling.

  She was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her bedside lamp still on, when she heard the front door slam moments before Alek was standing in her doorway, face cold, eyes blazing.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A—a half hour or so.”

  “While I’ve been running around nearly killing myself looking for you.” His voice had been ugly, not much more than a snarl. “Would that have made your revenge complete, I wonder?”

  “Alek, please, I’m sorry—”

  But it had been too late; he was gone, slamming out of the apartment as violently as he’d entered.

  * * * *

  Tara’s hands gripped the wheel as she shivered again. Vaguely she registered the road sign indicating the number of miles to Camelback. Then last night, she wondered, had his neglect, indifference, been his way of showing her he no longer cared if she left him, got a divorce? But then why had he been so angry about Craig? His pride? Of course. She could hear him now. “Has he made love to you?” That fierce Rykovsky pride would not be able to bear the thought of someone else having what he still called his own. The thoughts swirled and whirled, leading nowhere.

  Camelback! Good grief, she had to turn this car around, go home. And there was her answer, clear as a perfect spring day. She had to go home, and Alek was all the home she ever wanted. Silently she answered her mother’s question. Yes, Mama, I love him. More than I ever thought it possible to love any one person. I’m afraid, Mama, so afraid. For if he no longer wants me, I’ll be devastated.

  Alek’s car was parked in the apartment lot and with trembling fingers, Tara let herself into the apartment. She stood listening to the silence in the empty living room a moment then, slipping off her jacket, she went to her bedroom to stand staring at the open case on her bed. Alek’s voice, from the doorway, went through her like an electric shock.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Alek, I—”

  “No. Never mind. As long as you’re all right. The way you left the apartment, I thought something had happened.” His voice was so cool, so withdrawn, Tara shivered. His eyes left her face, rested long moments on the suitcase, then came back to hers. “Before you leave, I have something to say to you. If you’ll come into the living room, please?”

  He turned and walked away, and Tara was left staring at the empty doorway, fingers of real fear digging at her stomach. She didn’t know what he had to say, but she was almost positive she didn’t want to hear it and she actually had to force herself to follow him.

  He was standing gazing out of the window when she entered the room, and the sight of him clutched at her heart. Why, of all the men she had known, did it have to be this one who could rob the strength from her knees, make her ache in anticipation? He was everything she had avowed she had not wanted in a man, yet he was the only man she wanted.

  He was standing very straight, almost stiff, and as he turned from the window, Tara felt the breath catch in her throat. His face had an austere, lifeless cast and the usually glittering blue eyes looked flat, empty. His eyes went over her slowly as if studying every detail, and when he finally spoke, it was in that same cool, withdrawn tone.

  “I’m a proud man, Tara, as you know. This is possibly the hardest thing I’ll ever have to say, and I’ll only say it one time. Don’t leave me.” He paused and his tone became softer. “I beg you, stay with me. I give you my word I’ll do everything in my power to make it a good life for both of us.”

  Eyes wide with astonishment, Tara stared at him, unable to move for a full fifteen seconds. Then, with a small incoherent cry, she was across the room, flinging herself against his chest.

  “Oh, Alek,” she whispered. “And here I was, about to beg you to let me stay.”

  “Let you stay?” he repeated incredulously, his arms hard and tight around her. “I never wanted you to go. You know that. I’ve been berating myself all day for what happened last night. For giving you what I thought was the perfect excuse for leaving me.”

  Her hand slid underneath his sweater, then up and over his warm skin, with an urgency in her to touch him. She felt a shudder ripple through his body as he buried his face in her hair and groaned, “Oh, God, Tara, I love you. These few weeks have been pure hell, wanting to hold you like this all the time I tried to work during the day, lying alone in that damn bed at night.”

  “Which reminds me,” Tara stepped back and looked up into eyes now alive and glowing with love and tenderness. “Where have you been every night? You didn’t spend very many hours alone in that bed.”

  “Are you jealous, Tara?” he laughed down at her.

  “Yes, damn you. And what were you and Kitty up to last night?”

  He laughed again, kissed her fast and hard, then said softly, “Simmer down, hellion, and don’t swear at me. Kitty wants to open her own boutique and needed some backing. I’ve looked over her plans and decided to invest. And that’s all.”

  “On New Year’s Eve?” she cried in disbelief.

  “Well, I may have been trying to punish you a little. Damn it, Tara, you’ve been driving me crazy for months. I thought, after that unbelievable wedding night, that you’d realize what you meant to me. What you have meant to me since not long after I met you. In the last week I’ve felt at the end of my wits and patience. It was either stay away from you or drag you off to the nearest bed. It seems I did both.”

  He stopped long enough to give her another hard kiss, then a little shake. “As for Kitty. There is nothing between us but business. Anything else was over some time ago. And she never lived in this apartment or slept in our bed.” His arms loosened and his hands came up to cup her face, long fingers sliding into her hair. Lips close to hers, he rasped, “Tara, if you don’t soon tell me you love me, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  Soft brown eyes gazed into anxious blue ones then, quietly, but very clearly, Tara said, “I love you, Alek.”

  “Dear God,” he moaned.
“I was beginning to think I’d never hear you say it.” Then his mouth was crushing hers, his hands moving down her back, molding the softness of her body to the hard strength of his. Tata’s mind whirled, then the room spun as he scooped her into his arms and strode into the bedroom. Their bedroom.

  As he lowered her gently onto the bed, Tara whispered, “Since right after you met me, Alek?”

  “Yes, pansy eyes.”

  “But, I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, Tara. You were so cold. You seemed to take such an aversion to me. I guess, at first, my vanity was stung. I made up my mind to find out more about you.”

  Kicking off his shoes, he slid onto the bed beside her, then proceeded to drive her slightly mad with tiny, fervent kisses, until she caught at his head and pulled it back with a pleaded, “Alek?”

  “All right,” he sighed. One long finger tracing the contours of her face, as he went on. “It didn’t take long to find out you went out only with men who had—ah—shall we say, good prospects? But somehow that didn’t seem to quite fit you. So I dug a little deeper, observed a little harder, and came up with the answer. You were scared to death of strong-willed men. By then I was so damn in love, I knew I had to have you, by whatever methods. But how to get close to you, get under the fence you’d built around yourself? You avoided me whenever possible, cut me dead whenever I spoke to you. That’s when I put my plan into motion. I didn’t want to hurt you, for when you hurt, I hurt. But I did want you.”

  “And in all this time, until today, that’s all you’ve said. ‘I want you.’ “

  “Not true, pansy eyes. I’ve been telling you I loved you since the first night I came to your apartment. I knew you were not yet ready to hear it, so I said it in Russian. If you remember the morning after our wedding I said I had something to tell you when I asked you to come back to bed. I was fully prepared to lay my heart and my life at your feet. In English.”

  “Those Russian words!” Tara exclaimed. “But how could I know?”