And in that moment, Marge Webster, grown-up woman, powerful executive and industry driver, figure of legendary independence and drive, practically a force of nature, was ready to go anywhere with Sam Packard, anywhere in the world he wanted to go.
Can’t help it. I just can’t help it.
They were near a taxi stand, outside the Luxembourg. In ten minutes, ten excruciating minutes in the back seat of the taxi, they were at his hotel, through the lobby, and into his room.
* * * *
The next minutes could not be counted. Time disappeared as they managed, somehow—so clumsy in their eagerness—to get each other’s clothes off, to get their bodies onto the bed, to bring together mouths and hands and every inch of skin, as though to make one person out of two, to let all the years slip away and be again young, hungry animals filled with the discovery of their passion for each other.
Was it all a few minutes? Or had hours passed?
The room, with the curtains still drawn since that morning against the light, was dimly lit. They lay tangled up together, exhausted, bedclothes every which way, pillows on the floor. Hearts pounding. Sam got himself up on one elbow and looked down at Marge. He seemed to be marveling at the very fact that she was there, in his bed. His few whispered words were simple.
“I am so much in love with you.”
She closed her eyes and pulled him down close to her. They kissed, and right there, in the corner of her mouth, she felt his tongue touch that very spot that belonged to him.
* * * *
It was hours later that Sam left the bed, walked to the window, drew back the curtain and saw that it was nighttime. He turned to Marge, who had pulled a sheet around her.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“What?”
He laughed. “I mean for dinner?”
“Oh.” She laughed, too. “I guess. I hadn’t thought about food.”
“Should we go out or call room service?”
“I don’t care.”
“Will you stay here with me tonight?”
“I’d like to.”
“We can go back in the morning to your place if there’s anything you need.”
“Some clean clothes, I guess.”
And that’s how they managed the next days—back and forth between the two places, taking only what they needed. Sam charmed Mme. Pilard with his good French, and she made it clear to him that she approved of him and not “that other one.”
They spent their days walking and walking and walking around the city, exploring all the places where no one in the fashion industry, no media person, and no one who had ever worked with Marge was likely to recognize her. They stayed mostly to the outer arrondissements, where they discovered wonderful bakeries and local jazz spots and Asian and African and Middle Eastern neighborhoods, tiny thrift shops and local galleries and everywhere, beautiful architecture and two-hundred-year-old city streets where two-thousand-year-old paths used to run. They sat in out-of-the way cafés, inside to talk and outside to people-watch. They fantasized the private lives of passersby and made up names for them. They went to the Père Lachaise cemetery and marveled together that it held the graves of countless world-renowned artists, writers, movie stars, politicians, so many that they needed to buy a printed set of pages, available at a little nearby shop, to help them find even a small number of them—too many for a single afternoon.
And at night, he held her in his arms and told her that he’d always known she was the most extraordinary woman in the entire world, and that these hours in bed proved it.
He was a happy man.
And Marge was happy, too.
Chapter Thirty-one
And then it was time to go home. Sam got a message from his office that he was needed there, and Marge knew these fantasy days had to end, that she was quite strong and healthy, and ready to get back to work. They agreed to travel separately. Sam was needed immediately but Marge needed to close up Bridey’s place and alert her staff that she was fine and was on her way home. She let Gena Shaw know that a full presentation of everything she’d missed and everything that was planned needed to be ready in three days, and if the mice had been playing while the cat was away, now was the time to hide the cheese and get everything ready for inspection.
Gena’s message came back.
Can’t wait 2 c u.
We missed u, but yr systems worked well, the “class president” kept order in yr absence, and now “the teacher” can take over again. No harm done. LOL c u soon
Back in New York, her first call was to Bridey. Who greeted her with, “I want to hear every word. Your call was so mysterious. Tell me. Tell me everything.”
“Too much for a phone call. I need to shower and make a couple of calls. I won’t be expected back at the office for another couple of days, but I have plenty to do in the meantime. I have an appointment to see Dr. Diaz uptown. She said she wants to see me when I get back, be sure I’m ready to go back to work. Can you meet me at the place over on the Upper West Side? The one up by Columbia. It’s quiet and we can talk. And no one knows me up there.”
“Why do you have to be where no one knows you? You should be used to being a celebrity by now. Plenty of people on the Upper West Side know me—from the cooking show. I don’t mind. It’s good for ratings.”
Marge laughed. “I guess that says something about the demographics of our markets. Yours is up by the university, where people cook. Mine is the Upper East Side and the Garment District.” She paused for a minute to think about that. “Anyway, I think I got used to hiding while I was away. I kind of liked it.”
“Well, it’s time to come out of the closet. When should we meet?”
“Right away. No, soon. I can be there in forty minutes. Can you get away?”
“Mack is here. He’ll watch the kids. See you in forty.”
* * * *
She ordered a hamburger and sweet potato fries. And a glass of red wine. Bridey had coffee.
“Where to start? There’s so much.”
“Start at the beginning.”
“You were there at the beginning. It started in high school. You know that part. You know that Sam and I go back that far.”
“So that’s what this is about. Sam Packard.”
“Right. And you can stop leering at me. This is serious.”
“Okay, honey. I won’t leer. What happened while you were in Paris?”
“It wasn’t Paris. Well, it was Paris, too, but it was before Paris.”
“You called that you needed the place in Paris so I figured—”
So Marge filled her in. She told her about Sam tracking her down in London.
“Everywhere I went, there he was. He came over twice while I was in London. And oh, Bridey, he was wonderful. Sam Packard is really wonderful.”
Bridey looked at her friend with that expression that asks the question only a good friend is allowed to ask. “And did you— you know—?”
“I would have. Would I ever have.”
“But—?”
“A divine providence intervened. It was funny, actually. But that’s not the story.” She went on to tell the rest, about her determination to keep Sam away so she could think, and about Vienna, the mysterious Christiane Riemer, and the children in the playground chattering in German, and the sweet little toddler with the round cheeks who waved his bye-bye at her. “Bridey, that little boy looked into my eyes as though he had a message he really wanted me to hear, only he hadn’t any words yet. And for the first time, it broke my heart that I have no children.”
Bridey looked at her friend lovingly. “I think you will, Marge. I really think you will.”
“Well, let me go on. You may be right.”
“Oh?!”
“Oh, no! I didn’t mean—Oh, no. Heavens! No, let me go on.”
A
nd she told her the rest. How Sam waited till he and Jerry didn’t need to see each other in court anymore, and how he then went to him and told him everything and how Jerry showed up in Paris, and Sam showed up in Paris, and they duked it out in their lawyerly way and Jerry left her alone in Paris with Sam. “And that’s the whole story.”
“Not exactly. That’s not exactly the whole story.”
“What do you mean? It is. That’s everything.”
“Are you kidding? Look at you. You look great. You’re glowing, and it’s not the extra couple of pounds you’ve put on. Marge, you look happy. You look happier than I’ve seen you in years. You look happier than you did the day Lady Fair took the lead in circulation figures and ad revenues for all fashion periodicals, worldwide. You look happier than the day you broke two stories, the ‘two scoops in one’ issue—the Sonny Gaile wedding and the Romy deVere revelations. You look as happy as a teenager with her first love. That’s it. That’s what it is. You have the glow of puppy love about you. Hot damn, Marge! You are well and truly in love with Sam Packard, aren’t you? You’re goofy about him now, as much as you were goofy in love when you were a freshman in love with the most popular senior boy.”
“But it’s crazy, Bridey. Isn’t it? But still, he’s adorable. And he’s funny and sweet. And he’s smart. He’s very, very smart. And I feel like a teenager again.”
“And in bed?”
Marge just raised her eyes, as though to heaven. And shook her head, to say there were no words.
“That good, huh?”
Marge nodded. And sighed. The memory alone took her breath away.
“Well,” Bridey said. “That’s tough competition. What does Sam want?”
“To hear him, I am the moon and the stars, and all he wants is me and he’ll do whatever I want.” She paused. “He’d go, if I sent him away, but he wouldn’t go easily. I know that.”
“I get it. With sex that good, you’re not about to send him away.”
“It’s not about the sex. It’s how he makes me feel.”
“And that is—?”
“He makes me happy. Bridey, I don’t know how else to say it. He makes me happy.”
“Oh, dear. I think you’re right. You definitely look happy. But then, there’s Jerry.”
“Right.”
“Who you’ve been with for a long time—”
“More than six years—”
“And who’s a good guy and this will break his heart.”
“Yes. If it hasn’t already. He’s being a good scout about it, but it hurts. I know.”
“I’m sure you’ve asked yourself if this is one of those fling-type things, like at a summer resort or a Caribbean cruise, where it’s all fantasy and after a little while, it peters out and that’s all it was, just a fling.”
“Of course I have.” Bridey saw her friend’s expression change, in an odd way. As though she was letting something peel away and letting Bridey see into a part of her soul that she’d always kept to herself. “Bridey, life with Jerry would not be bad. Like we always say about him, he’s a good guy. Any woman would make a good choice to marry Jerry. But I’m not any woman. I never was. I’m not an ordinary person. You’ve known me forever. You, of all people, know that’s true. I’ve been odd, and weird, and driven, and super-focused, ever since I was a little girl. I didn’t get to be at the top of Lady Fair by being ordinary.
“And Sam is not ordinary. There are levels to him that make him very special—and maybe mysterious. Not bad, I think. But special. Definitely not ordinary. I think there are things about him that I’ll never know.” She paused and put her fingertip to the corner of her mouth. But she wasn’t going to tell Bridey about that. She went on. “So he’s a good fit for me. Much better than Jerry. I like Jerry. He’s okay. But he’s just okay. That’s why I never married him. That’s why he never made me happy. He never made me sad or angry. He just never made me happy. I didn’t realize it until I was with Sam. Sam puts me together, the weird, wild kid I was along with the very special adult woman I am. Sam is like that, too. Adult in a way most men can’t be, tough and strong and capable in interesting, mysterious ways that maybe I’ll get to understand and maybe I won’t. And he can still be a kid, a little boy, a very unordinary person. And I’m happy with him—because we fit together.”
Bridey looked at her friend long and hard. She knew she was seeing into a deeper layer of Marge’s soul than had ever been exposed to her before. But it was a layer she’d always understood was there. It was what had attracted her all those years ago and made her glad to be Marge’s friend.
“You’re right, Marge. I understand, and I wouldn’t try to argue you out of it. I don’t know if you and Jerry can be friends after this. Probably not. But Mack and I, we can go on as his friends, if he wants to. And I know you won’t mind.”
“Of course not. Who knows? He and Sam may need to meet up in court again in the future, and they’ll be just fine. They know how to be grown-ups.”
Bridey laughed. “Not like the girls. Remember how you described it: ‘I hate her guts. I’ll never talk to her again.’”
“Exactly.” Yes, they’d had that conversation, months ago. “I wish girls could learn to shake hands and be over it. But I guess they don’t feel strong enough.” She ate up the last of her fries. “Anyway, I’ve got to go now. Gotta talk to Jerry. Gotta talk to Sam.”
“I need to get home, too. Mack has had the kids since this morning. He’s probably ready for a break by now. And I’ve got recipes to test.”
“I’ll be in the office on Monday. Come in and we’ll talk about some ideas I have.”
They went out onto Broadway, air-kissed, and hailed separate cabs, Marge to go uptown and Bridey to go back home, across town.
Chapter Thirty-two
“How did he take it?”
“I think he already knew. I think he knew when he left Paris. I think he knew before I did.”
Sam smiled at her and brushed a curl back from her forehead. “Was it so hard for you to know? To decide about me, I mean?”
She was in his arms and in his bed, and soon the lights would be out and they would no longer be thinking about anything at all, because they’d be among the moon and the stars, in the world of fire and ice, and the ordinary world would have disappeared for a while.
He ran the tip of his tongue across her lower lip where a drop of duck sauce lingered from the take-in food they’d ordered.
She returned the kiss. “You’re a sly one, Sam Packard, but you’re not catching me in that trap. You know perfectly well, it was easy to love you.” Again, she kissed him, lightly. “I’ve always loved you.” And again, another light kiss. “But it was hard to hurt Jerry. And he was hurt, he really was. It came out of the blue, no warning at all. Within twenty-four hours, a relationship of years was taken away from him. And it was done by a man he knew only as a courtroom opponent, so it was a professional blow as well as a personal one. Of course it hurt him. And of course it was hard for me to do that to him.”
“Okay, that’s a very pretty speech. But I saw his face the very first night, when he came out of the courtroom and saw us talking there in the corridor. He knew something was up.”
“I wasn’t so sure.”
“Well, there you are, darling. You don’t have the thousand-eyes vision that I have.”
“Like a house fly?”
“Right.” He laughed. “Like a house fly.” He reached across her to turn off the light, leaving the room only dimly lit by a small lamp that had been left on in the living room. His naked body was across hers and she looked so lovely, looking up at him from the pillow, he had to kiss her. “You know, there have to be some things I can do that you can’t.”
“Oh?”
“Of course. So we can tell the boys from the girls.”
“Name one.”
“I c
an pee standing up.”
“Really? Well, so can I.”
“Oh?”
“And what’s more, I can do it no hands.”
He had to laugh. “Shut up, dear,” he said, kissing her again. “No man likes a smart dame.”
“I know.”
“Here. Let me show you something I know you can’t do.”
And they both shut up, because there were no words for the slow, patient exploration he made of her body, of all her senses, and her capacity for deep, primal, exquisite responses. There were no words, and there was no passage of time, because he took her to where time begins and ends and the world is created and the world ends and there are stars and fire and oceans rise and fall.
And then, after a while, after she had done the same for him, he whispered the only words that would be heard that night.
“My God, Marge. I am so much in love with you.”
And they rested and were quiet in each other’s arms.
About the Author
Joan Myra Bronston grew up in New York City, married her college sweetheart, and went with him to Germany for a year while he was in the Army and where she worked as a telex operator and mail clerk. They then moved to Austria where Joan spent five years teaching at an international school. She is the mother of three wonderful girls and the grandmother of a super-wonderful grandson. Joan was also a secretary, social investigator, and psychiatric researcher, before entering law school and eventually becoming a corporate attorney. In addition to her years in Europe, Joan has lived in Pittsburgh, Chicago, and, for 18 years, Salt Lake City. At last, she has closed the circle and returned to her first and most beloved—New York City. Visit her website at jmbronston.com, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @JMBronston.
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