Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  “Connie, is Mr. Miles a guest here?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Since yesterday. He must have come yesterday afternoon, I think, ’cause he had dinner here last night and I sure made his bed up this morning.”

  Jeannetta wished she could check his arrival and departure dates on the office computer, but Mason had forbade her to use one until he gave her the okay. She walked on toward her room and, on a hunch, turned and called Connie. Better not to ask the woman if Clayton had been there before, because Connie had perfected gossip to a fine art. She chose her words carefully.

  “When was the last time Mr. Miles was a guest?”

  “A little over a week ago, but he only stayed a couple of days.”

  Jeannetta nodded. Maybe he’d visited her in the hospital while she slept, or when she’d still been under anesthesia. How peculiar. When had Clayton gotten to know Laura well enough to speak to her as he had? She couldn’t figure it out. With his money, a twelve-room, low-profit ski lodge couldn’t be the reason. She sat down at the little desk in her room, picked up the phone, and ordered her lunch.

  Jeannetta had never known Laura to be the object of a man’s affection; maybe it was better for her to have the experience, even with a man committed to someone else than to spend her life without it. She didn’t know, and didn’t think she had the right to judge. She and Laura had always been so close, but lately... Maybe she’d better not mention it. The phone rang.

  “How’s my favorite patient?”

  She grasped her chest to stop her runaway heart. “Feeling fine. She’d like to see her favorite doctor.”

  “Really? I promised Skip I’d help him apply to the YWHA for a music tutor. It’ll be late before I can get up to Pilgrim, but if you want to see me, count on it. Any vacant rooms in the Hideaway?”

  “I don’t know, but you may sleep on the sofa in my sitting room if you don’t want to sleep with me.”

  You could almost see him bristle. “What kind of remark is that? You think I’m a piece of deadwood? Woman, don’t you remember what happened the last time I was in your bed?” Fear rioted through her body. Had she been in bed with him? She had or he wouldn’t have asked her that question. Dear Lord, what else had she forgotten? She’d be cool about it, as though it didn’t matter.

  “Uh...”

  “Don’t you?” he interrupted. “Well, sweetheart, that doesn’t compare to what I need with you now. Not by a mile.”

  Jeannetta had to force back a swell of apprehension and tell herself to stay calm. Maybe he hadn’t meant that they’d actually made love with each other. After all, they had shared some sizzling kisses, and some of their petting had taken them right to the brink. She’d play it safe.

  “You’ve pulled out the stops more than once, so I’m not sure which one of those heady sessions you’re talking about. You want to be more specific and refresh my memory a little bit?”

  “Don’t tease me, Jeannetta.”

  Tension gripped her as the seriousness of his voice warned her that she had a problem. Her fingers clutched the bed sheet.

  “We made love in my room in a Zimbabwe hotel,” he went on in a dry, hollow voice, “and in your bed in your house up there in Pilgrim. Do you remember, or don’t you? This is your doctor speaking now. Do you?”

  Dumfounded, she struggled to remember, and her delay in answering must have increased his suspicion, because his tone lost its lover’s groove and assumed the determined professionalism of the doctor.

  “What plane did you take from Zimbabwe to New York?”

  “Mason, I’m...I...”

  “What happened after you left Nairobi?” She knew from the huskiness in his voice that he was anxious about her condition, that the man warred with the doctor for expression of feelings. She fudged the truth.

  “That escapes me right now, ’cause you’re pressuring me. Anyway, I was teasing...or I think I was. I remember us talking about your hands and me in a forest. Look...I think I’m mixing things up. I don’t remember Zimbabwe, or you in my house down the street. I... Oh, Mason, is that bad?” She paused. “Mason, did Clayton Miles come to see me while I was in the hospital?”

  Mason had begun to think that she wouldn’t have a problem with short-term memory.

  “Miles? Yeah, he did. On consecutive days. Are you asking me about that because you don’t remember?”

  Her answer was too long coming, and he knew she was denying the truth.

  “Uh... Oh, Mason, I don’t remember. Will it ever come back?”

  “Usually. And soon. Don’t try to remember things, and don’t upset yourself about it.”

  “Are you coming up here tonight?”

  “I’ll be there, but don’t wait up. If you’re asleep, and if it isn’t too late, I’ll wake you.” She could bet he’d be up there, because he didn’t like what he’d heard. To think that she didn’t remember the powerful, gut-searing way in which she’d pitched her inhibitions and loved him until she’d taken everything from him but his soul. And he’d bound her to him as securely as flesh could cement itself to flesh. But she didn’t remember, and that made her vulnerable to the ubiquitous Clayton Miles.

  “Okay.”

  She sounded reluctant. He’d learned that he wasted time when he tried to anticipate Jeannetta’s thoughts. So he waited.

  “I’ll connect you to the desk,” she continued, as though her mind were elsewhere. “Ask for a double room and, if they have one, bring Skip. I’d love to meet him, and he’d enjoy this environment.”

  He hadn’t expected that one. “Skip’s looking for a job for the next month. He had one delivering homemade bread, but his employer took a month’s vacation, and he needs work.” He didn’t want Skip sidetracked from his goal of saving a hundred dollars each summer month toward his education, but a short stay out of the city wouldn’t hurt him.

  “Bring him, Mason. You can never tell what might happen.”

  Mason smiled inwardly. “You’ve got that right. Once Skip enters your life, I can promise you it’s never the same. See you later.”

  Laura brought up her lunch. Jeannetta had thought she’d have sent it up by one of the help.

  “Thanks, hon,” Jeannetta said. “I didn’t expect you to bring it, because I know how busy you are. You work from the time you get up until you hit the sheets at night, and I’m just adding to your workload.”

  “Nonsense. Gives me a chance to see how you are.” Her words lacked conviction, and Jeannetta could see that she’d forced the smile.

  “Laura, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. Maybe I’m just tired.” It wasn’t like Laura to avoid looking at the person to whom she spoke, but she did just that. Jeannetta stared at her sister, who turned to leave without a semblance of a conversation. Laura, who never missed an opportunity to delve into your private affairs, hadn’t mentioned Mason’s name.

  “Sit down a minute, Laura.” Jeannetta didn’t believe in procrastinating, especially when it came to Laura, who could hold a grudge or nourish a misunderstanding until clearing up the matter became impossible.

  “Something’s happened to us, Laura, and it’s not good. What is it and what brought it on?”

  “Has anything changed?” Laura asked with an unlikely look of innocence.

  “You’re not talking to me, Laura. You’re fencing. Have I done something?” She watched, disbelieving, as her sister sighed deeply and curled up her thin lips at the edges in an expression that Jeannetta hadn’t previously observed.

  “No. You haven’t done anything, Jeanny, except be yourself. You never had to do anything. You only had to be.”

  Stunned, Jeannetta asked her, “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you ever noticed how different we are? No, I guess you haven’t, because you’ve had it all. You’re beautiful, with
your flawless, ebony complexion, perfect face and figure, lovely hands, and soft voice. And you didn’t do one thing to deserve it—just an accident of birth. But it’s brought you so much. Everything. My hair is straight, but it’s thin and stringy, while yours is long and thick, and you can do whatever you want with it. I’m forgettable, short and dumpy, but you’ve got a model’s height and a siren’s figure. I’ve worked so hard to make this Hideaway a four-star lodge that my hands look as if they belong to an old woman. Mom and Dad left me the controlling interest in it, because you were too precious for this kind of work. I love you, but I resent you. I always have.”

  Her cup clattered in its saucer, spilling tea in her lap, as Jeannetta tried to steady her hand and place the saucer on her lunch tray. With trembling fingers she clutched at her throat. Dr. Farmer’s revelation that she had a brain lesion hadn’t given her a bigger or more alarming jolt than Laura’s words.

  “Laura! You don’t mean...” The thought trailed off when she looked into her older sister’s implacable gaze. “I’m sorry. I never guessed. I always looked up to you, loved and admired you as my older sister, never dreaming how you felt. Does this have anything to do with your not telling me that Clayton is here?”

  Her sister was the old Laura again, and she didn’t allow an expression to cross her face.

  “Did he come here to see you, or me?” Jeannetta persisted.

  “Both of us. You might as well know that if it weren’t for you, I’d have a man of my own at last. After all these years of watching you and all the other women I know with their men, I’d have my own.”

  Jeannetta stared at her in astonishment, unable to suppress an audible release of breath.

  “Why don’t you tell him about Mason?” Laura went on. “That the two of you are lovers. Why do you keep him dangling like you do Jethro? No wonder Alma’s upset.”

  Jeannetta jumped up from the bed, stood over Laura, and shook her finger.

  “Don’t be cruel, Laura. You know I don’t dangle Jethro, that I avoid him. And you also know Alma’s paranoid about that man. She’s welcome to him. Where did you get the idea that Mason and I are lovers and that I’m dangling Clayton?” She bit her tongue when she remembered Mason’s words earlier that day. “From what I heard him say to you this morning, you’d better be careful. He’s a married man.”

  It was Laura’s turn to bristle. “Who told you that? It’s not true. He said he’s committed to someone, and when I asked him a few minutes ago who it was, he said he asked you to marry him so he could take care of you. He’s trying to make up for his past mistakes. Either marry him or tell him you can’t because you love Mason. You’re playing your cards pretty close to your chest, anyhow. When the illustrious Dr. Fenwick finds out that you had him investigated and that you plotted to meet him so you could get him to operate on you, he may decide you had an ulterior motive for going to bed with him.”

  “Laura! For God’s sake, what’s gotten into you? Yes, I schemed to get to meet him, but all that happened before I ever saw him.” She stopped speaking, and her gaze bore into Laura’s steady stare.

  “What gives you the right to say I’ve been intimate with Mason? I haven’t but, if I had, it wouldn’t be anybody’s business but ours. We’re both free, and I love him.”

  “Maybe you do, but if he finds out all of this, you’ll be in the same boat as I’m in.” Her face must have reflected the alarm she felt, because Laura’s belligerence suddenly faded. “Don’t worry, he won’t know it from me, but you remember that old saying, ‘Birds don’t go north in winter.’”

  “No, they don’t,” Jeannetta replied after musing over her sister’s words. “I gave Clayton my card so he’d know where to find me, but it looks like he found you.” Laura’s breath quickened and a deep crimson brought a youthful glow to her round face. Jeannetta reached out to her. She didn’t want to hurt her sister, and especially not about herself and Clayton Miles.

  “You’re telling me that you and Clayton care for each other?” The older woman fidgeted nervously, but she looked Jeannetta in the eye and nodded.

  “Then I misunderstood what I heard. He’s free, Laura. I never intended to marry him, and I told him his offer was too generous. I’ve never hidden from him my feelings for Mason. I’ll straighten it out.” Laura’s face brightened so quickly and so luminously that Jeannetta’s lower lip dropped.

  “Clayton is a wonderful man,” Laura said, barely above a whisper. “If he’d wanted you, I would have understood. He hasn’t told me exactly what he feels, but he’s made me know he cares.”

  “When did he get here?”

  “Last night. You had gone to bed. He... Oh, Jeanny, when I knew he’d be here, I almost went out of my mind, waiting. The feeling... It’s like something’s consuming me. Like something burst wide open in me and is just waiting for him to close it.” Jeannetta pulled Laura into her arms and hugged her for a long time, stroking her back, healing their wound.

  With wisdom she hadn’t applied to herself, she held Laura at arm’s length. “You’re in the wrong place, hon. When Mason gets here tonight, I won’t leave him alone while I chat with you.”

  Laura stood there, letting her know that their chasm hadn’t been breached, that their slate wasn’t yet clean. “Are you going to...to talk with Clayton?” So that was it. Laura wanted Clayton freed of his presumed obligations.

  “Ask him to come up here in about half an hour. I’ll talk with him. And you get out of that apron and those green slacks and put on something pretty. Make it bright-colored and, preferably, knit fabric. Something feminine and clinging. Put on some perfume and go up to his room and wait for him.”

  “I couldn’t do that!”

  Jeannetta laughed aloud as Laura gaped at her. “It’s time you got over being so straight-laced and gave in to your feelings. I remember a time when I probably wouldn’t have said that, but I wasn’t in love then. Now, go on. You’re in for something special.”

  Laura whirled around with more speed than Jeannetta associated with her sister. “You’re not saying that I...I mean that we...I...” She let the thought die, but Jeannetta was now the wiser, the more experienced.

  “I’m suggesting that you loosen up and enjoy him, that you do whatever feels right. Now, go on.”

  Jeannetta remade her bed, slipped into a simple green coatdress, and went into her sitting room. If Clayton Miles was misleading her sister, he’d pay for it.

  * * *

  Mason looked over his new medical office, checking it against his specifications. He’d gotten what he wanted, a large suite at Ninety-sixth Street and Fifth Avenue—the dividing line of wealth and poverty, because he intended to serve both. He’d have office hours from twelve noon to six-thirty weekdays, leaving mornings free for surgery. He’d see the wealthy on Tuesdays and Thursdays, those less able to pay on Mondays and Wednesdays, and those who couldn’t afford to pay on Fridays. Some rich people were uncomfortable around people who weren’t like themselves, and he needed their patronage in order to serve those who couldn’t afford to pay. But when patients had an emergency, he’d scotch that schedule.

  He liked the restful colors, sand and a soft, yellowish-green. He’d hung two landscapes, silkscreen prints by the painter Louis Mailou Jones in his waiting room, and a nearly life-size photo of the dancer Judith Jamison dressed as Josephine Baker hung in his private office. He could still remember how she’d held him spellbound on the Broadway stage in Sophisticated Ladies. Limited-edition prints by Selma Glass decorated each of his examining rooms. He loved the great painters, from Michelangelo and Rembrandt to Miró and Catlett, but he’d hung some originals by less expensive contemporary African-Americans in his office. He meant to put captions under each, so that his patients would know about the painters’ lives.

  Mason looked at his watch as Skip bounded into the waiting room. “Skip. I’ve told you a dozen
times that a man is worth no more than his word. If you say you’ll be here at two o’clock, I don’t expect you to walk in here at twenty minutes past. And I don’t ever want to have to repeat this. Got it?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, but I...”

  “Skip. Yes, sir. I’m old enough to be your father.” The boy’s sheepish expression belied his character. Now what?

  “Yes, sir. That’s what I’ve been getting at. Sort of. Why can’t you adopt me and be my real...?”

  “What the...? Say, man, what is this?” The boy’s eyes rounded, then he narrowed his eyes and took in his surroundings. Mason observed him closely; Skip never bothered to pretend what he didn’t feel, and hostility flared from his piercing eyes.

  “Ain’t this a doctor’s office?”

  Mason stared right back at him. If he didn’t deal with it openly and honestly, he’d lose the trust he’d so carefully built.

  “Isn’t this a doctor’s office? Yes, it is.” Skip moved around jerkily. Prowl was more like it, Mason decided.

  “But I thought you said meet you at your office. You ain’t no doctor. What is this, man?” He ran his hand over his hair and pierced Mason with a hostile stare. “You been acting strange lately.” He paused, less certain, and asked, “Are you a doctor?”

  “Don’t say ‘ain’t,’ and yes, I’m a neuro-ophthalmologist. I...”

  “Can the lessons, man. What about your travel agency?” Mason explained as succinctly as he could, and ended with, “And you are not to address me as ‘man’ anymore.” Mason could see the boy’s gathering rage, as his jaw worked involuntarily and he began to clench and unclench his fists. He sought quickly to dispel it.

  “You don’t have to like everything I do, but if you’re going to hang out with me, you’d better learn to respect my decisions, and fast.”