Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  “A friend. Someone I met in my travels. If he calls again, tell him I’m fine.” It occurred to her after she hung up that Laura hadn’t asked about Mason, and that didn’t ring right.

  * * *

  Jeannetta smiled when she saw that the hotel served breakfast on a terrace facing the garden. She relished the cool crisp air, the smell of perfume from the rose garden, and the flitting and chirping of birds, and she wished she’d brought her cassette recorder. A matronly woman approached.

  “Mind if I join you? I used to live here years ago, but I live in London now. I’m on vacation.”

  Jeannetta put the local morning paper aside and gestured to the chair facing her.

  “Please. I’d love some company,” she told the woman, wondering where she and her family had stood politically when the former Rhodesian government ceded power to the African majority.

  “How does it feel being back?” she asked the English woman.

  “It’s easier than I thought it would be. I do miss the old days here with my family and all that.” She spread her arms in an all-encompassing gesture. “But time marches on, and it’s good to see that the blacks have done a good job of preserving the country. Salisbury—I mean Harare. It’s hard to keep up with these name changes—is still clean and beautiful, and so many new buildings, new schools and such. That’s progress, I suppose.”

  “That’s because you people gave it up graciously and didn’t tear it up fighting to stay in power.”

  “Yes. I’ve thought about that a lot, but look at what’s happening in Liberia. You can’t blame that on colonialism. And look at some of these other countries that are torn apart by tribal conflict.” Jeannetta took a deep breath. She had heard this argument before. Which was best? Colonial control or tribal conflict and devastation?

  “Don’t forget that the colonial powers cut across tribal lands and boundaries when they carved out these countries, establishing nations without regard to tribal affinity. Arch-enemies under one flag? In this region, one’s tribe is more important than country will ever be. You know that. What can you expect?” The woman heaved a deep sigh of resignation and sipped her morning tea.

  “What we’re getting, I suppose. But it’s such a waste of human life and resources. Kids ought to be able to play without dodging gunshots. Thank God, the children here can grow up normal.”

  Jeannetta wondered about the woman’s sad expression until she heard her say, “The whole world needs to clean up its act.”

  She told her breakfast companion good-bye and went to her room, but she couldn’t fit her key in the lock, and had to try repeatedly before her shaking fingers found the keyhole. She went in and lay down with her eyes closed. A few minutes later, she opened them and said a prayer of thanks. She walked out to the balcony, and her eyes widened as she exclaimed with pleasure, “Let me get my recorder.”

  Dozens of colorful birds perched on the banister of her balcony, and she spread cookie crumbs to keep them there while she described each one. She went back inside and attempted to write in her novel, but didn’t like the story line and couldn’t think of a way to change it. Mason crowded her mind, but she pushed thoughts of him aside. She’d sell her house in Pilgrim and buy a small bachelor apartment in New York City, one in which she could easily maneuver.

  “No, I won’t,” she swore, as the bile of it seeped into her mouth. Why should she give up everything she loved? Her little house? Her work? Her mountains? And Mason! She answered the phone.

  “Grace Tilden here. We took our morning tea together.”

  Did we? Jeannetta, who wouldn’t taste tea before noon, smiled inwardly at the British manners.

  “I have a friend who would take us for a spin around the city, out to the zoo and back to her house for dinner, if you’d like.”

  Jeannetta thanked her, but declined. “I’ve got to get back home, and put my life in order.” No more running from the inevitable. She threw her suitcases on the bed and started repacking.

  Chapter 8

  Mason woke up with a start and patted the rumpled sheet beside him. He hadn’t been dreaming; the musky scent of their lovemaking confirmed what his body remembered. Their night of loving had lifted him to heights he’d never known. And still she’d left his side. He had sensed her desperation that second time but, after what they’d shared, he wouldn’t have thought she’d leave him. He phoned the desk.

  “Miss Rollins checked out, sir, and I don’t think she used a hotel taxi, because none of the hotel drivers logged in a trip for her.”

  He thanked the clerk, and called Laura.

  “She checked out,” he said, “and I don’t know where she is. Think she’ll go back home?”

  “I don’t know, Dr. Fenwick, but, when we talked, I got the feeling she was getting tired of running from place to place. What will you do now?”

  “Find her.” Telephone calls to the local hotels yielded no clues. He headed for the airport and bought a ticket to New York. When he found her, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight until he had her under anesthesia. But that had better be soon.

  * * *

  Two days later, wearing a thick beard, his body weary from the loss of sleep during forty-eight hours of flights and layovers, he got off the train in Pilgrim, New York. At the local post office, he telephoned Steve.

  “What in Job’s name are you doing in Pilgrim? Viv hasn’t heard from you in days, and she wants your okay on over a dozen appointments. Some of the cases are urgent.” Mason put his right hand in his pocket and fingered the keys. Wasn’t this what he’d left? This stress, race after race against time? A lot of people wanting immediate and undivided attention? Steve would have to understand.

  “Tell Viv not to make any firm appointments. Man, I haven’t even announced that I’m reopening my office, and I’m not available to anybody until I take care of one thing. Someone needs me, and she comes first. After that, we’ll see. How’s Skip doing?”

  “I suppose you’ll get around to telling me who she is. Skip’s fine. He got a scholarship from his choral group, and he’s anxious about when you’re coming back. He’s real proud of that scholarship.”

  “Me, too. I’ll call him tonight.” Mason went to the postal clerk’s window.

  “Can you tell me where I’ll find the Rollins family?”

  “Sure can,” the pretty woman replied. Part Native American and part Caucasian, he judged. He wrote the directions to Rollins Hideaway, put the note in his pocket, and turned to leave. He had to call Skip.

  “Mason!” the boy shrieked. “Where are you? Can I come over right now?”

  “Calm down, son. I’m upstate, and I may be here for a few days, but I wanted you to know that I’m back in the States, and I’ll see you soon. Congratulations on that scholarship. I’m proud of you.”

  “You are? Gee. Thanks.”

  “How’s Mabel?” He sensed from Skip’s diminished buoyancy that his aunt might have deteriorated.

  “Not so hot. She wants see you.”

  He had to look into that situation as soon as he got Jeannetta to see reason and treated her.

  “I’ll call her tonight. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of things there.”

  He hung up, got into a taxi and headed for Rollins Hideaway. The woman who greeted him bore no resemblance to Jeannetta, so he assumed she wasn’t Laura.

  “Don’t ever come up here in winter without a reservation,” the woman said. “You want something on the first floor or the second? Second’s quieter.”

  “I’ll take one on the second. Is Miss Rollins here?” He hoped she’d say no, because he wanted Jeannetta’s sister to be friendlier and more...

  “She’s at the market. I’ll tell her you want to see her.” He got a shower and lay down for a few minutes, only to be awakened by the ringing phone seven hours lat
er at six o’clock in the evening.

  “Dr. Fenwick, this is Laura. Nice to have you with us. We start supper at six-thirty, but if you don’t want to come down, you may eat in your room.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll be down in a couple of minutes.” He pulled on jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers, and walked down to the lobby. Laura met him, but he noticed she didn’t offer to shake until he extended his hand. After an exchange of greetings, he watched her size him up. And frank about it, too, he mused.

  “She’s not as foolish as I was beginning to think,” Laura said dryly as she motioned him to sit down.

  “Any idea where she is?” he asked.

  “She’s been wrong all through this,” Laura said, “but she didn’t plan for it to happen like it did. I hope you can talk sense into her.”

  But what about answering my question, he wanted to ask her. Instead, he told himself to have patience.

  “Tell me where you stand in this. I have to know precisely what I’m dealing with.”

  “Do whatever you can for her. She thinks she’s strong, that she can face anything, but she hasn’t dealt with blindness. Except for music, everything she loves comes to her through her eyes.”

  He nodded. “I’ve noticed that.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and strummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I have to find her, because she doesn’t have that much time left, and I don’t want to be faced with the impossible. Where do you think she’ll go?” Laura looked intently at him, and he didn’t doubt that she judged him.

  “You want to put another trophy on your mantelpiece, or do you care about her? Which is it?”

  He tilted his head and weighed his answer. Her audacity didn’t bother him, but what he felt for Jeannetta was private.

  “Because of her, I’m returning to a profession that I gave up when it began to bring me more pain than pleasure. Going back will not be easy, but I’d walk off a cliff blindfolded before I’d refuse to help her. I have to do this, as much for myself as for her, and I hope I have your blessing.”

  “And my prayers. Her train pulls in tomorrow afternoon, but I wouldn’t meet it, if I were you. You’ll be more successful if you wait until around six-thirty, when she’s home.” She looked squarely into his eyes. “Do you love my sister?”

  “She’s everything to me.”

  Her deep sigh told him that his answer wasn’t what she wanted, but that she accepted it.

  “Alright. I’ll let you know when she gets home.”

  * * *

  The following evening when the sun hovered low, near the time of day that Jeannetta loved most, he covered the few blocks from the Hideaway to her house, with his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn’t force Jeannetta to do what was best for her, and if she refused help, he didn’t know what he’d do. He took the neat brick walkway to her door in three long strides, his eagerness to see her overcoming his anxiety. The door cracked open, but the chain separated them.

  “Who is it?”

  His stomach muscles tightened, moisture beaded his forehead and he could hear the thudding of his heart. She stared directly at him and asked who he was.

  “Open the door, Jeannetta.” A painful knot clutched his insides when she squinted in an effort to bring him into focus.

  * * *

  Her whole body came alive when she heard his beloved voice, but immediately she tensed. He had outmaneuvered her and, now, she wasn’t able to get away from him. She’d talk with him, but she wouldn’t budge from her position.

  “Why did you come? Haven’t I made it clear that I don’t want your help?”

  “Open the door, sweetheart, or I’ll break it down, chain and all.”

  A warm glow enlivened her, raising her spirits. Did he care that much?

  “Why?” She kept her voice cool, a part of the armor she’d have to wear in order to stand her ground. She heard the tired exasperation in his voice and felt herself softening.

  “You ought to know by now that I will not give up. You don’t know what you’re facing, but I do.”

  “Please go away.” She would have closed the door, but he prevented that with his foot.

  “I need you, Jeannetta. You let me make love to you, and you held me in your body and loved me until I lost touch with myself. And now you tell me to please get lost. Just go to hell and leave you alone. Haven’t you thought about what I felt with you that night and what I went through the next morning, when I reached for you and you weren’t there?”

  “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is. Please, I...”

  He interrupted her, and she wished she could see his eyes more clearly; she’d always depended on his eyes rather than his words to tell her what he felt.

  “How did you think I’d react to your leaving like that after you pulled out the stops and showed me what loving you could be? Did you lie when you told me you’d love me as long as you had breath in your body, or were you just caught up in the moment, in getting what you wanted?”

  Her hand reached out involuntarily, but she let it drop to her side. She couldn’t let him think she’d used him to satisfy her physical needs, but she couldn’t let him risk performing that operation.

  “Please, Mason. You don’t believe any of that—you couldn’t. So, let it rest. I’m glad you’ve gone back to your profession, because I know that’s where your heart is, but you can’t jeopardize your chances of succeeding by making me your first case. I won’t let you.” She wished he’d leave, because she wouldn’t hurt him by closing the door and, if he stayed there—his presence more palpable than when she’d been able to read his mesmeric eyes, and her need to feel his arms around her overwhelming her—she knew she’d give in. He shifted his stance then, and the low hum of excitement that had teased her since she’d cracked open the door and heard his voice suddenly galloped through her nervous system. His male aura curled around her, and she sucked in her breath.

  “I nearly went out of my mind when I realized you’d disappeared again, and you didn’t leave me a clue as to where you’d gone. Don’t you care that I need you? Don’t you? Open this door, baby, and let me get you in my arms.”

  She lifted the chain.

  A groan tore from him as his hands encircled her body, and he crushed her to his big frame. She had no shame about the desperation and passion that he must have heard in her answering cry. Her pulse leaped, and her heart nearly burst when at last she could clasp his head with her hands and feel his mouth possess hers in a plundering kiss. She savored his tongue swirling in her mouth as though he had to relearn every crevice, and an unearthly sensation heated her blood as his arms tightened around her, fitting her to his body. She moved against him. It wasn’t enough. She needed more. All of him. Everything. But he broke the kiss and held her away.

  His fingers traced her eyes, opening the lids as his fingers moved from side to side, and she realized that he examined them.

  “Thank God,” she heard him whisper, and he seemed to release a gush of air.

  “What? What is it?” she asked, as he pulled her back to him and rested his head in the curve of her shoulder.

  “I don’t think I’m too late. I read your tests last week, thanks to Dr. Farmer’s help. You’ve lost your peripheral vision, and there’s more, but I can handle it. Oh, honey, why don’t you trust me?”

  “I do. Oh, Mason, I do. But you’re human, and I don’t want to be on your conscience.”

  He didn’t move, but she could detect the restlessness in him from the muscle that twitched in his jaw where her fingers rested.

  “You’re worried about me?”

  She shook her head, unwilling to burden him or to give him ammunition with which to persuade her to do as he asked.

  “Then, you do love me. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You were willing to let me t
ake the chance. In fact, you wanted me to take the chance until you loved me. Isn’t that right? Tell me!”

  She couldn’t lie to him; the words wouldn’t come. She nodded.

  “Jeannetta. Sweetheart.” His arms went around her and brought her into the protection of his warmth and caring.

  “Mason. Oh, Mason,” she sobbed. So near to her, and yet so far. It was more than she could bear. She leaned away from him, and her hands traced his face until his skin warmed her palms. Her fingers caressed his closed eyes, roamed over his lips, nose and ears, and her palms grazed lightly over his cheeks and forehead until tremors shook her body. She hadn’t wanted him to know that she only saw his shadow, but she couldn’t help herself; she had to see him, really see him. He must have realized why she’d done that, because he beseeched her.

  “Sweetheart, don’t. It will be alright, if you just trust me.” His arms brought her closer, and she relaxed in their loving circle.

  “I do. I trust you implicitly. I have from the moment we met.” She sensed the quickening of his breath and the easing away of his tension, and she raised her lips to his. The deep and rapid thrusts of his tongue sent the fire of desire shooting through her. She needed to feel him against her, inside of her, and her right leg raised to grip his hip as her groan of passion echoed through the foyer. Her need became a flame burning out of control. He rose against her, pressing into her belly, and her fingers caressed him, encouraging, urging until his cries pierced the silence, and the powerful man shuddered against her. She undulated wildly, all control dissipated.

  “Jeannetta. Stop it, baby. Give us a chance to make this memorable. Let me love you the way I want to. The way I need to.” He carried her up the stairs, strode unerringly to her bedroom and set her on her feet.

  * * *

  Mason knew he couldn’t communicate with her with his eyes, so he asked her, “Do you want this, Jeannetta?”

  “Yes. Yes. Oh, yes.” All woman and all his. His blood quickened when his hands met the thin sheen of moisture on her arms, and he knew he’d find more where it counted most. She grasped him eagerly, and he drew the snug-fitting T-shirt over her head, gripped her shorts and heard the button hit the bedpost. Her fingers fumbled with his tie and the buttons of his shirt, and it saddened him that he had to still her hands and do it himself. His blood began to simmer when her fingers grazed his pectorals, and he grabbed her bra, pulled it up over her head and bent to her swollen nipples. With unsteady hands, she unbuckled his belt, eased her fingers past his navel, groped for him and found him. Her busy hands made him want to relax and take it, but his heart wouldn’t let him do it. He thought he’d blow up before he could finish undressing them both and lie her in bed. He looked down at her, arms raised to him in a gesture as old as woman, and sprang to full readiness. Her nostrils flared and perspiration beaded on her forehead as he knelt to her embrace.