Indecent Marriage (Bright River)

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “I wish we could both let the past go,” Jessica said miserably, looking away from his pitiless, perfect features. “I wish we didn’t have to carry on with this charade.”

  “You and your daddy are getting exactly what you deserve,” he said coldly, “and when it’s over you can go back to whatever you’ve been doing for the past ten years.”

  “And in the meantime I have to put up with this...treatment.”

  “Yes, you do, and be grateful that it isn’t any worse,” he said roughly.

  Jessica hesitated, taking a breath. “What if I told you there was a good reason for what I did back then?”

  “I know there was a good reason. I didn’t have any money, and you met someone who did. That was a good reason. For you. Especially for George Portman.”

  “What if I told you it was something else?”

  He smiled charmingly. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

  Jessica’s heart sank. Her father had gotten to him first. And permanently.

  “You’ve changed,” Jessica whispered. “You’re so dead, so unfeeling.”

  He nodded bitterly. “I wonder what made me that way.” He set his empty glass down and picked up his coat. “Shall we go?”

  Vanquished, Jessica shut off the lights and went with him to the door.

  Chapter 4

  Jack’s low-slung, deep red convertible was parked in the turnaround in front of the house. A brisk wind fluttered Jessica’s hair as he handed her into the passenger seat, then walked around to the other door. She waited tensely for him to join her, wondering if this was really the same person who used to take her on long drives to escape her father, laughing and telling her stories about his large, unpredictable family. But then the car had been his old green Ford, they were young and the world was a different place.

  Jack got in, gunned the engine and guided the car into the street without glancing in her direction. Jessica pressed her lips together and decided to try.

  “I was just thinking about your parents and Lalage, the kids. How are they?”

  Jack pulled up to a stoplight and turned his head. “My father died about five years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He snorted. “It was hardly a surprise. Everyone was amazed he lasted as long as he did. Cirrhosis finally got him.”

  “And your mother?”

  “As soon as I could put the money together I bought her a place in Canada. She’s back there now, raising the rest of the brood. She lives near Lalage and her husband and their two little girls.”

  “So you’re the only one left this side of the border.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m an American now, a citizen. I even talk like a native.”

  Again, his tone could have been tinged with irony, or maybe she was imagining it. She could hardly take anything he said at face value. “I noticed that. I...miss the accent.”

  The light changed and the car surged forward. “Sometimes, so do I.”

  Jessica sensed a slight easing of the strained atmosphere and felt bold enough to ask, “Did you like playing professional football?”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “It wasn’t a question of liking it. Playing football was the only thing people were willing to pay me a lot of money to do. Choice didn’t figure into the plan very heavily.”

  “You used to enjoy football in school,” Jessica said.

  “I enjoyed winning games and getting a break from people in the town who would have spit on me otherwise. Besides, comparing high school football with the pro game is like comparing a pistol shot with a cannon blast.”

  “So you quit?”

  “I was fired. My knee fired me.”

  “Your knee?”

  “Yeah. I tore it up so many times that finally it just couldn’t be repaired anymore. So I decided to take the money and run, invest it in a business.”

  “That seems to have worked out very well.”

  “My firm is successful, if that’s what you mean.” He turned into the parking lot of Mario’s, a low brick structure illuminated by floodlights and lanterns strung in the surrounding gardens. A valet took the car, greeting Jack by name, and the maitre d’ led them to a secluded table sheltered from the rest of the crowd by a wall of standing plants. A blaze roared in a fireplace to their left, and to the right a bay window displayed a view of the turning trees, bathed in a mellow glow from the overhead lamps.

  “This is beautiful,” Jessica said as they were seated.

  “There was a time when I would have given anything to be able to take you to a place like this,” Jack replied.

  “Is that why we’re here? Do you want to prove something to me?”

  The wine steward approached and Jack ordered something while Jessica waited. But when the man left it was clear Jack had no intention of answering her question.

  “I’m interested in your marriage,” he said, leaning forward and folding his arms on his closed menu. “Tell me about it.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Jessica replied shortly. “It didn’t work out.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why does any marriage break up? We weren’t suited, that’s all.”

  “That surprises me. According to your father, your husband was perfect for you. Old family, promising career. How could you fail to get along with a paragon like that?”

  Jessica looked at him over the expanse of the white linen tablecloth, longing to tell him the truth. But he probably wouldn’t believe her, as he’d said. And if he did believe her, he might well carry out his threat to ruin her father publicly. For while the truth exonerated her, it condemned her father more completely. If she could just endure these lacerating questions, the undertone of derision, she would be able to keep Jack at bay until the deal was closed.

  “I was too young, I think. I didn’t know my own mind,” she finally said.

  “I’d have to agree with that,” he commented sarcastically. “Until the day you disappeared you thought you were in love with me.” Then he lifted one shoulder. “At least that’s what you were saying.”

  “Jack...”

  The steward arrived with the wine and poured a glass for each of them. Jack picked his up and drank down a third of it.

  “Tell me,” he said, replacing the crystal goblet on the snowy damask cloth. “Were you seeing him at the same time you were seeing me? It wasn’t a sudden, whirlwind romance, was it? I mean, I’ve had ten years to think about this. All those weekend trips to visit your aunt in New York. Were they a cover for your relationship with this guy?”

  “There was never anyone but you,” Jessica whispered. God knew that was true enough.

  “Then how the hell did you wind up married to somebody else?” he demanded grimly.

  “Jack, do we have to go into all of this now?” Jessica asked faintly.

  “Yes, we do,” he answered. “I want to know, and you’re going to tell me.”

  “It was...the circumstances were unusual,” Jessica said desperately.

  “Oh, I’m sure. Was he a better lover than I was? I know we only had that one time, but I naively believed it meant something to you.”

  “It did!”

  “Did your husband realize you weren’t a virgin? Did you tell him about me, about us?” He went on as if she hadn’t spoken.

  Jessica put her hand over her eyes. “You told me we were coming here to discuss business,” she said huskily.

  “We’ll get to that. I just want to clear away these preliminaries first. You must indulge my curiosity. I’ve been wondering about all of this for a very long time.” He picked up her wineglass and handed it to her. “Have some of your drink. You look a little pale.”

  Jessica turned her head away from it, and he set the goblet down again.

  “How long were you married?” he asked, resuming the inquisition.

  “Less than a year,” Jessica answered, clearing her throat.

  “Ah. Trouble must have entered paradise fairly quickly.”

  There was no rep
ly to that, and Jessica made none.

  “Or was he just dull?” Jack asked. “I mean, you have to admit I was always colorful. Grubby, true, and certainly a far cry from the social register, but interesting in my own exotic, reprobate way.”

  “Please,” Jessica said as the waiter approached them.

  Their menus lay untouched on the table. Jack didn’t ask Jessica what she wanted, and he didn’t ask the waiter to come back. He could see Jessica didn’t give a damn. He ordered something for himself and told the waiter that the lady would have the same.

  “I’m going to the restroom,” Jessica said, rising.

  Jack was on his feet immediately. “Running?” he said into her ear as he held her chair.

  She stepped past him and found the powder room in a hallway off the reception area. Once inside, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, grateful for the silence.

  She wondered what to do. Part of her wanted to walk right out the door of the restaurant, and another part wanted to detail her entire personal history to Jack regardless of the consequences. It was easy to say that it would be all over soon, and another to face Jack’s stinging sarcasm. She knew that she was responsible for the change in his personality and wished fervently that there was some way to repair the damage that had been done.

  After a few minutes she straightened and combed her hair and redid her lipstick. Then she squared her shoulders and returned to the table where Jack was polishing off the bottle of wine.

  “Back for round two?” he asked mildly, saluting her with his glass.

  “I hope not.” She sat and toyed with her napkin as he studied her remote expression.

  “Then you’re going to be disappointed, Jesse.”

  It was the first time that evening he’d called her by name.

  “You always used to run away when you were upset,” he went on. “As if you had to hide it.”

  His reference to their shared past almost undid her. She waited a moment, then said, “My father didn’t go in much for displays of emotion. He liked quiet, well behaved girls. I guess those habits die hard.”

  “Ransom told me that you have no assets outside the mill,” Jack interjected suddenly. “Is that true?”

  Jessica nodded. “My father borrowed against the house to try to pay off some of the business debts, and now it has a big mortgage. Jean is going to school in the fall and tuition is expensive. Not to mention the care my father will require.”

  “You really are in a fix, aren’t you?” Jack said with undisguised satisfaction. “How is the old man, anyway? Dying, I hope?”

  Jessica looked away. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon. What, may I ask, is his condition?”

  “Not good. I don’t know what’s going to happen with him. I try to be cheerful for Jean’s sake, but the doctors all sound very grave when they discuss his case. It isn’t encouraging.”

  “I thought nothing could fell him. He seemed indestructible,” Jack said bluntly.

  “His problems during the past few years just wore him down,” Jessica said. “I don’t think this would have happened to him if things had been going well.”

  “So I am to blame?” Jack asked archly.

  “Do you think so?” Jessica countered, unwilling to point the finger at him.

  “I hope so.”

  “You’re happy that you’ve brought my father to ruin,” Jessica said disgustedly, shaking her head.

  “You sound like you still care about him,” Jack said.

  “Of course I do. He’s my father.”

  “So you’ve forgiven him for what he tried to do to us?” Jack asked.

  What he did do, Jessica corrected him silently. “I feel a duty toward him, a responsibility,” Jessica answered thoughtfully. “But I guess that isn’t the same thing as love, is it?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Jack said shortly. “I’m hardly an authority on that subject.”

  The waiter brought their food. Neither seemed much interested in eating it.

  “He always hated me,” Jack mused after the waiter left, and it was a moment before Jessica realized that he was still talking about her father. She pushed a scallop around on her plate, unable to refute him.

  “I saw him a few times, around town, before he got sick,” Jack went on. “He always looked right through me. He couldn’t acknowledge that I hadn’t turned out to be the bum he’d predicted I would be.”

  “Is that why you came back to Bright River? To show him?” Jessica asked.

  “To show all of them,” Jack replied. “And I have.”

  “Are you happy, then?”

  He looked at her as if she’d confused him. “Happy?” he echoed. He seemed puzzled by the question.

  “You achieved your goals. You must be pleased.”

  “I didn’t achieve all of them,” he replied, eyeing her steadily until she was forced to glance away.

  He realized that his bottle was empty and signaled the steward.

  Jessica covered his hand with hers. “Jack, please don’t drink any more.”

  He withdrew his hand, smiling unpleasantly. “You would deny me my Dutch courage?”

  “You don’t need it.”

  “Yes, I do.” When the steward approached, Jack ordered another bottle.

  Jessica thought he’d had more than enough. Although his speech was unchanged and he seemed completely alert, she knew that the Scotch at her father’s house, followed by the wine on an empty stomach, would surely have an effect.

  “You might as well eat something,” he said. “It’s very good.”

  “How would you know?” Jessica asked, indicating his full plate.

  He shrugged. “I’ve had it before.” He poured himself another drink. “Tell me about your job,” he said. “Do you like living abroad?”

  “Yes, it’s fascinating,” she replied. “I’m in Italy now, in Florence.”

  “Do you miss home?”

  “Always.”

  “Bright River is such a hospitable town,” he said cynically. “Why didn’t you ever come back?”

  How did he know that? Had he been waiting for her to show up?

  “Travel is expensive,” she said lamely. “And my work keeps me very busy.”

  He let that pass, even though it sounded inadequate to her own ears. At the other end of the dining room, a band that had been assembling for the last fifteen minutes began to play—a slow, sensuous number with a pulsing, underlying drumbeat.

  “Would you like to dance?” Jack asked her, and when she shook her head quickly he added tauntingly, “Coward.”

  “I don’t feel like dancing,” she said stiffly.

  “Too bad,” he replied. He stood and pulled out her chair, extending his hand. It was a challenge. As if moving in a dream she rose and took it, allowing him to lead her onto the floor.

  The moment Jack engulfed her, Jessica knew she had made a mistake. The years vanished as if by magic, and Jack’s body fit itself to hers in a way that told her he had not forgotten her shape, the contours he had once known so well. The fabric of his suit jacket grazed her cheek as he pressed her closer, and she felt the hard muscles of his thighs flex and relax, guiding her to the music. Her hand rested on the juncture of his shoulder and his neck, and a few strands of his hair brushed her fingers, soft, as black as jet. How unchanged the feeling was after so long. He was still the most desirable man she had ever known, the first she’d wanted with her youthful passion, and the only one she had loved. He even smelled the same, calling up sense memories of that night spent in her bed, when after he left his scent lingered on her pillow, on her skin. His hand moved up her back to her nape, and he encircled it with his fingers, stroking, caressing, until she shivered in his arms.

  He tightened his grip. “You’re trembling,” he murmured to her, his breath warm against the side of her face.

  “Jack, don’t do this. I feel weak. Take me back to the table.”

  He forced her he
ad back to compel her to look at him. “I want to make you weak. I want to make you faint and helpless with desire. I want you to remember.” His tone was guttural, ruthless.

  “I remember,” she whispered.

  “Do you?” he asked, his eyes glittering in the dim room. They were hardly moving now, locked in an embrace that barely passed for dancing. He dropped his hands to her hips and forced her into him, letting her feel his arousal. She gasped, and he lowered his head to her shoulder, trailing his lips along the bare outline of her collarbone.

  “Jack,” she moaned. “Let me go.”

  He ignored her, leading her into a darkened corner empty of diners, and there swayed with her to the cadence of the drums, low and insistent. He smoothed her dress over her buttocks and cupped her, almost lifting her off her feet, and a small sound escaped her. She realized it was one of gratification; she wasn’t protesting anymore. Suddenly the music stopped and he released her. She reached out for him unsteadily, in a daze, and he took her hand to show her to her seat.

  Once in it, Jessica couldn’t look at him. She felt the blush staining her cheeks, and her whole body seemed aflame with it. He had behaved inexcusably, making a spectacle of both of them on the dance floor, but at the end she had been limp and pliant, eager for more.

  The waiter came and removed their plates, and she dimly heard Jack asking for coffee. When the man left Jessica finally raised her eyes and found Jack staring at her, his expression unreadable.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked him, her voice shaking. “To humiliate me?”

  “Do you feel humiliated?”

  “Yes, and ashamed. You can’t resist the urge to punish me, can you?”

  “Why should I resist it?” he demanded angrily.

  Her eyes flashed to his face. “Because we’re in a public restaurant with an audience,” she answered heatedly.

  The waiter, who seemed to have a knack for appearing at inopportune moments, arrived with their coffee. They avoided looking at each other while he rattled china and silverware, and it seemed an eternity before he left.

  “Would you like some dessert?” Jack asked neutrally, as if the previous exchange had not happened.

  Jessica shook her head.