Who Would You Choose?

by J. M. Bronston

  He was holding her close to him and she could feel his heartbeat matching her own.

  “We can’t talk here,” he said, “in the midst of all this racket. The whole city is partying. Let’s go back to your hotel. It’ll be quiet there, and we can talk.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  She should have said no. She knew that. She knew that you can’t take two fully adult, grown-up people, each desperately hungry for the other, and put them into a hotel room together, and not know that they’re going to wind up in bed. The truth was, she felt so excited that Sam was there with her, his arms around her had felt so wonderful, it was impossible for her to push him away. So, as they walked back through the streets of celebrants, with the giddy noise and the flare of fireworks all around them, the raucous party-goers and masked children running about, waving Guy Fawkes effigies, and the feeling that the whole city was having a good time, Marge knew what she was asking for.

  But at the hotel, she made a last effort to resist the inevitable; she insisted that he book a room for himself. And she insisted that they sit in the lobby to talk.

  “I can’t stop you from staying here,” she said, “and I don’t know what you were expecting, but I can’t let you spend the night with me.”

  “What I was expecting? I had no idea what I was expecting, except to come back to London, to spend a few more hours with you. To spend the night with you, if you’d let me.” He saw the expression on her face. “Yeah. To sleep with you, if you’d let me. If you’re willing.”

  “And Jerry?”

  “Well, yeah. Jerry Germaine is the problem. We’ve been in court together, every day, looking across counsels’ tables at each other, watching each other across the courtroom, fighting it out really hard on both sides. But I have an unfair advantage, because I know what he doesn’t know, that it’s not just about our clients and their interests. Because my ‘worthy opponent’ doesn’t know that I’ve been here with you, seeing the city, walking around, having fun. That I’m here again now, hoping for more than a kiss. Behind his back. It’s unfair—I know, that’s what it is. It doesn’t matter what they say, about all’s fair in love and war. This feels so wrong—I can’t tell you how wrong it feels. And still, here I am, Marge. Here I am, so crazy to see you, to hold you, to take you to bed—I’m behaving like a maniac, flying transatlantic, just to be with you for a few hours. For the night, if you’ll let me.”

  She struggled, trying to sort out what it was she was supposed to say to him. The same old arguments—Jerry and I never promised anything—we never said we’d be exclusive—after all, am I not free to be attracted to anyone?—and Sam and I go back a long way—and I feel so good with him, so young and silly—it feels so sweet—

  And while she struggled, while Sam waited for her to figure out what she needed to say to him, the hotel’s doors burst open and a noisy group of revelers spilled from the street into the lobby, bringing the party inside with them. They swirled around, filling the grand old space, laughing, tumbling about, splashing their drinks.

  Sam smiled at her. “This conversation is too serious to be out in public,” he said. “Let’s continue it upstairs in your room where it’ll be quiet. I promise I won’t even touch you, if you don’t want me to.” As they passed the desk, he said, “Wait a minute.” He wanted to have a bottle of wine sent up. Marge waited while he did that.

  What are you doing, Marge? she said to herself.

  She knew perfectly well what she was doing. She was letting her resistance to temptation slip away.

  As they walked up the broad, marble staircase, she knew that all her internal, mental arguments had only one purpose. She was trying to justify letting Sam be with her.

  I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. It’s not fair to Jerry. I know.

  But we never promised each other—

  How would she be able to tell him?

  She wouldn’t need to tell him. He needn’t ever know. But how ugly that would be between him and Sam. If he found out.

  I shouldn’t.

  I can’t help it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She opened the door. The room was dark, and only the city’s light at the window, only the flare of fireworks everywhere let them see each other. With a single motion, he closed the door behind them, had his arms around her, and was kissing her.

  “We shouldn’t—” she tried to say it.

  “I know. Oh, God! I know!”

  He was kissing her again and they were both on the bed.

  “I’ll be sorry,” she whispered, letting him kiss her again and again, returning his kisses.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  The light sweater she’d picked up earlier that evening was already off and tossed to one side. He was pulling fiercely at his tie, trying to tear it off, and she was clutching at the buttons of his shirt. It seemed that clothing was there just to drive them both crazy.

  Her tee shirt was off. His belt was unbuckled.

  And still they were kissing, unable to let each other go. The bonfires and the fireworks were forgotten. The rules and the city and the room around them—all forgotten.

  Deaf to the world.

  Deaf to the world—almost.

  But the ring of the telephone broke through.

  He was unhooking her bra. She was peeling his shirt off him.

  And the phone was ringing.

  “Leave it!” he gasped.

  “I can’t.”

  “Leave it! Let it ring!”

  She heard his urgency. But a thousand things raced through her head.

  “I can’t. I left only an emergency number.” She felt like sobbing. She was staring at the phone.

  Sam also turned to look at the phone, which continued to ring. If looks could kill, that phone would have melted away right there on the end table.

  Sam took his hands off her. She let him go and he stood up. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll get it.” He picked up the receiver. He barked at it. “Yes?”

  Marge sat up, staring at him while she re-hooked her bra. Who could be calling? Who was in trouble? Who needed her?

  But Sam’s face registered no emergency. He looked at Marge, and he shook his head slightly, reassuring her. No emergency. And then, whatever it was, he apparently thought it was funny. Sort of.

  “Sir,” the voice on the phone said. “It’s room service, sir. You ordered a bottle of red wine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but we didn’t know if you wanted it delivered to your room, sir, or”—the man hesitated—“or perhaps you’d prefer to have it delivered to the lady’s room?”

  Sam’s expression was not hard to understand. Irritated, mostly. Frustrated. But also amused. He smiled at Marge and his smile said it all. He shook his head.

  “Well, room service, you found me, didn’t you?” he said. “Bring the wine here, to the lady’s room. And bring a couple of glasses, too.”

  Marge took a deep breath. She understood.

  Sam hung up the phone. Marge was getting up off the bed.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t go.” His arms were around her.

  She laughed and pushed him away gently. “We both knew we shouldn’t. I’m taking it as a sign from heaven.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “Doesn’t matter. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

  “You’re going to drive me nuts, Marge.”

  “Nonsense.” She was getting off the bed. “You’re the sanest person I ever knew. It’ll take more than a little frustration to drive you nuts.”

  He turned toward her as she went toward the bathroom. “I’m not as young as I used to be.” As she closed the door, he called after her, “It’s not a little frustration. This sort of thing isn’t good for my heart.”

  “Your hear
t is just fine,” she called back.

  He started to pick up the scattered clothes. “Next time, I’ll disconnect the phone first.”

  “There won’t be a next time.” He could hear the water running.

  “Yes. I’ll be back. You’ll see.”

  “You won’t find me. I’ll be gone. I’m leaving London on Monday.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Not telling.”

  “I’ll find you.” He picked her bag off the floor where she’d dropped it. It had fallen a little bit open. He glanced inside and saw what was there. “Where are you going?”

  “Really. I mean it. You won’t find me.”

  With practiced fingers, he opened the bag a little wider, just far enough. The plane ticket was teal blue, with the logo, the long red bird shape, over the letters “AUA.” He smiled to himself. Austrian Airlines.

  “Oh, yes I will,” he called to her. “I’ll find you.” The other paper was the receipt for her reservation at the Pension Kreindl. On the Kumpfgasse in Vienna. “You can’t hide from me,” he said. He smiled, closed the bag and put it with her clothes on the bed. She came out of the bathroom, brushing her hair, and he kissed her, gently.

  “That was pretty intense,” she said. “I’m glad the phone stopped us.”

  Sam sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her down next to him. They sat there together, like old friends.

  “It wasn’t the phone,” he said. “It was you. You stopped us.”

  “Whatever. I’m glad. I felt like I was cheating. I’ve never cheated on Jerry. I’d have been so sorry, later on.”

  “You’re probably right. At least, I’ll be able to face him a little more easily in court.”

  “How’s the case going?”

  “It’s a tough one. And your guy is very good.”

  “How long, do you think?”

  “Probably about another two or three weeks.”

  They both sat silently, thinking. Minutes passed.

  Marge spoke first. “Why is it, do you think, that a kiss, no matter how passionate it is, isn’t as bad, as wrong, as ‘the deed’ itself?”

  “I don’t know. But you’re right. We sort of allow lusting, but draw the line at actual fornication.”

  They both laughed at the old-fashioned word. “Seems to me,” she said, “they ought to be equally wrong, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

  There was a knock at the door, and Sam said, “Enough of the morality check. That’ll be the wine.”

  “Thank God!” They said it together.

  * * * *

  “This is feeling kind of homey,” Sam said, “this room. Feels like a replay of last week.”

  They were sitting together on the bed, side by side, feet on the floor, drinking their wine. Marge just nodded. She was feeling it, too.

  “Did you know?” she said. “You left your toothbrush here. It’s in the bathroom, in the water cup. Along with mine.”

  “Yeah. I knew I left it. I liked the idea of its being here with you, sort of intimate, and ready for me to come back.” He put an arm around her and put a light kiss on her cheek. “So here we are. Like we’re a comfy old married couple. With my toothbrush next to yours in the bathroom, and the British telly we can watch till we fall asleep.”

  “You’re not going to sleep here. You have your own room. You can go watch television there.”

  “Yeah, I know. But we can drink our wine and talk for a while. Then you can send me to my room.”

  “It’s not a punishment.”

  He laughed. “I know. I’m just kidding. I’m kind of jet-lagged anyway. And I’ll bet my room is at least a little bigger and more comfortable than this one.” He looked around him and his gesture took in the cramped space, the pictures that decorated the very limited wall space, nondescript landscapes and fox hunting scenes, and the single window looking out over a very sedate row of white stucco-fronted houses. “How come you picked this hotel, of all places? So small and so out-of-the-way? And such a small room? You live a pretty lavish life back home. I’d have expected you’d be in a big suite, with all the amenities and the upscale service. You could have stayed at the Ritz, or one of those big hotels over by the Palace.”

  “This place and this room, they’re exactly what I wanted. Small and unobtrusive, and no likelihood I’ll run into anyone I know here.” She looked around. “This little room is sort of my bat cave. It’s what I needed. For rest and recuperation.”

  “You’ve really worn yourself out, haven’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “And now you need to get back to a sane and safe place. Back to who you once were?”

  “That’s about it. And guess what?” She smiled at him. “Like magic. Here you are. Someone who knew me when I was—the person I used to be.”

  “I’m not just someone, Marge. I’m the guy who remembers how you were.”

  “Who knew me way back when.”

  “Right. Back when you were an eccentric teenager who dressed outrageous and had big grown-up dreams and the talent and drive to go with them, and was already on her way along the path that was to take her to—”

  “To—?”

  “To where you are now. Editor in chief of Lady Fair, industry powerhouse, recognizable wherever she goes—”

  “And under doctor’s orders to take a break—or break down.” She laughed.

  “Yes, Marge. That’s right.”

  They were both silent for a long time.

  And then Marge said, “So what went wrong between us, Sam?”

  He didn’t answer her right away. Finally, he said, “We were both incredibly young.”

  “I know.”

  “You never answered my letters.”

  “I know.”

  “I wrote to say I was sorry.”

  “Oh, Sam. You always were a decent guy.”

  “Did you even read my letters?”

  “No. I threw them away.”

  “That’s too bad. They were beautiful letters. I worked very hard on them.” He laughed.

  She laughed, too. “I’ll bet.”

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “Oh?”

  “That first day, Marge. In the cafeteria at school? When I came over to ask the girls about their plans for the future?”

  “I remember.”

  “I’d created that whole story about an article for the school paper, just to have an excuse to talk to you. I’d already seen you around school and I wanted to meet you.”

  “You’d noticed me?”

  He laughed. “I could hardly help noticing you. You were very noticeable.”

  “I guess I was. I wanted to be.”

  “And when I saw that seat next to you, saw that it was empty, I saw my chance.”

  “Why do kids need to be so devious—instead of just walking up and saying, ‘I’d like to talk to you’?”

  “I know. Always so scared of getting it wrong.”

  “And I remember, when you sat down—” She paused, then turned to look directly at him. Her eyes questioning his.

  “Yes,” he said. “I remember. We just barely touched, and it felt like something happened between us—something passed between us—something special.”

  “Yes—”

  “I always wanted to ask if you felt it, too. But I was afraid.”

  “So was I.”

  “There was something special between us.”

  “Yes. There was. Back then.”

  “We should have been more careful. That night. After the prom.”

  “I know.”

  “We were awfully young, Marge.”

  “I know. Awfully young, and much too proud.”

  “I’ve replayed that night a thousand times in my head.”

 
; “So have I.”

  “I shouldn’t have said what I did—about your future, not taking it seriously enough. I just couldn’t imagine a little girl from a small upstate town, getting to run the premier fashion magazine in the world. Seemed so unlikely to me. I thought I was being mature and realistic. You were right to get mad.”

  “I was awfully hurt. I’d started the night feeling so grown-up, so—so validated by your interest in me. And then you were shooting me down. Telling me to be—oh, I don’t know—just ordinary! I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I should have.”

  “Well, I’ve worked very hard to prove myself. To be not ordinary.” She laughed. “And look where I am now. On the verge of a nervous breakdown!”

  “And hiding out in a bat cave in a foreign land.”

  “London doesn’t feel like a foreign land.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And I’m glad you found me, Sam.”

  He said nothing for a long time. Just gazed at her. And then he nodded, as though he’d just had a long talk with himself.

  “I’d better get out of here now,” he said. They both stood up. “But I’ll see you in the morning. Before I leave. There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Something to show me?”

  “In the morning,” he said. At the door, he pulled her close. “I’m sorry you’re wearing yourself out,” he said. And his arms were around her as though to make a protective barrier against the whole world, and his kiss was the kiss that had begun with a magic touch between them so long ago.

  Chapter Eighteen

  She was barely awake when Sam arrived at her door.

  “I need my toothbrush,” he said.

  She laughed and gestured toward the bathroom. And got back into bed.

  “I wasn’t ready to get up yet,” she said.

  “I’ll give you ten minutes.” He went into the bathroom and came out moments later, brushing his teeth. Through a mouth full of toothpaste, he said, “I’ve got a plane to catch later this morning.”