Shining Through
Page 46
“Better than SS.”
“You look nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Very businesslike.” He rotated his hat on his lap. “You want to get out of here, don’t you?” He didn’t answer. “Why? Why do you want to leave me?”
“Linda, I have to—”
“You love me, you know. I figured it out last night.”
He stood up. “Please don’t do this. There’s no point—”
“I love you too.”
“No you don’t.” He sat down again and took my hand. “Any feelings you have for me are just an outgrowth of our…adventure.”
“I’ve loved you at least since Washington. Maybe even in New York.”
“Linda, don’t subject both of us to—”
“When did you start loving me?”
He lifted my hand and kissed my fingers. “In New York, I suppose.”
“You suppose? Come on, Ed. We’re having a crucial conversation.”
“In New York!” he boomed in his deepest, loudest voice. “Is that better?”
“Yes.”
“There were at least twenty bright, German-speaking lawyers I could have asked to come to Washington and work for me. Why do you think I chose John Berringer? I came to your apartment that day, a Saturday or a Sunday, telling myself how stupid I was, that I should just get the hell out of town and forget about you. It was right before Christmas. You were wearing a yellow robe when you answered the door. A fluffy sort of thing, beautiful, and your hair was so soft…I desired you. And I desired your company.”
“Last night,” I said, “lying here, I was thinking how much I want you. Not only that way. Every way. I wish you could take off that suit and just lie under the covers with me and hold me for a while. Wouldn’t you like that? To feel each other—”
He got up. “No!”
“No?”
“I think this should end now.”
“Edward, I love you. You love me.”
“I’m twenty years older than you are.”
“Big deal. Sit down.”
He sat, but stiffly, on the very edge of the bed. “I want to tell you something,” he began. “Something…humiliating, but I want you to understand. In Washington. It was one of those times I’d blown up at you: just being next to you in the car all day, joking about something, talking…and then the frustration of knowing you were going home. So I behaved badly. You left. I knew you were upset. I sat at my desk trying to understand myself: I don’t attempt to captivate her and I can, on occasion, be captivating as hell. But instead, I don’t even try. I alienate her. It’s certainly not because of my belief in the sanctity of marriage, or at least not that marriage, because it’s a sham. I push her away whenever she gets too close because I know she can never love me—”
“But I do.”
“—never love me as I love her. Passionately. Obsessively. That night, and several other nights…I called a man known in Washington. A procurer. I arranged for a room at a hotel and asked him to send me a woman. I described her. I described you. What he actually sent me was someone with bleached hair and an overripe figure, but I paid her twice what she had expected, on the condition she didn’t say a word. And in that dark room…” His eyes filled with tears. “…I pretended she was you. I made love to her and called her Linda. The next day, I said, Good morning, Linda, and gave you a list of telephone calls to place.”
I reached out for his hand and put it against my cheek. “But now you can have me.”
“It won’t work out.”
“Why not?”
“Because you can never feel about me the way I feel about you.”
“This is the first time in all the years I’ve known you that you’ve talked down to me. What’s the matter? You think I don’t feel passion for you? You think I’m not capable of the same deep, true love you’re capable of feeling? Damn it, I want you!”
“I’m going to be a grandfather.”
“How about being a husband?”
“You need someone—”
“Why won’t you marry me? Because you went to Yale and I went to Grover Cleveland?”
“Linda!”
“Because I’m a Jew? You’re afraid to say to your partners, ‘Here’s my wife, the lusty Jewess’?”
“You’re a Jew now?”
“Yes. You called me that, and I said I wasn’t, but I changed my mind in Germany. Listen, if I can love a Republican, you can love a Jew.”
“This is a ridiculous conversation.”
“Is it because of John, Nan, that whole business?”
“No!” But he was starting to smile. “Although you must admit it might make for an awkward Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Just the first year.”
“And after that?”
“Nan, Quentin, the baby. You, me…and maybe the baby.”
He lifted up the cover and, wing-tips and all, got under the covers and pulled me close to him. “The man is supposed to propose to the woman.”
“But he’s not going to be able to if he’s crazy and hysterical that she doesn’t love him enough. So let her do it for him. Edward, will you—”
“Quiet! Things should be done properly. So I am going to make a short speech. My dearest Linda, you and I, we’re two of a kind. I think…no, I truly believe we were made for each other. Will you marry me?”
“Oh, Edward! Yes!” And I kissed him. What a kiss!
“I love you.”
And God, what a man!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I sought help from the people listed below; they gave it freely and cheerfully. I appreciate their generosity:
Arnold Abramowitz, Consuelo Saah Baehr, Jonathan Dolger, Sheldon Elsen, Janet and Robert Fiske, Phyllis and Milton Freeman, Helen Isaacs, Inga Joseph, Rita Kashner, T. Barry Kingham, Edith and Herbert Mendelsohn, Otto Obermaier, Frank Perry, Mary Rooney, Angelica Rosa, Cynthia Scott, Jeff Stolow, Hilma Wolitzer, Hon. Inzer B. Wyatt, Susan Zises, and the staff of the Port Washington (New York) Public Library.
My assistant, AnneMarie Palmer, deserves commendation not only for her loyalty and good humor but also for the formidable amount of work she did. Tim Guzley was a great help with research and translations.
Owen Laster more than lived up to his celebrated reputation. He is a talented agent, and a wise, congenial and kind man as well.
Larry Ashmead, my editor, offered me reassurance, guidance, sound criticism and a lot of great jokes. As usual, he was wonderful.
In addition to their warmth and support, my children, Andrew and Betsy Abramowitz, gave me valuable editorial comments. They also, on occasion, pulled me away from my word processor. I thank them for their impatience, as well as for their patience, their love and the pleasure of their company.
And after four novels, two screenplays and twenty years of marriage, Elkan Abramowitz continues to hold on to his title: Best Person in the World.
About the Author
SUSAN ISAACS is the author of eight bestselling novels including Red, White and Blue, Lily White, After All These Years, Compromising Positions, Magic Hour, Close Relations, and Almost Paradise. Her first book of nonfiction, Brave Dames and Wimpettes: What Women Are Really Doing on Page and Screen, was published last year. A former political speechwriter, she has also written the films Compromising Positions and Hello Again. She lives on Long Island with her husband, a criminal defense lawyer.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Books by
Susan Isaacs
COMPROMISING POSITIONS
CLOSE RELATIONS
ALMOST PARADISE
SHINING THROUGH
MAGIC HOUR
AFTER ALL THESE YEARS
LILY WHITE
RED, WHITE, AND BLUE
LONG TIME NO SEE
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be constru
ed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SHINING THROUGH. Copyright © 1988 by Susan Isaacs. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © JUNE 2008 ISBN: 9780061853098
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