Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  “You shouldn’t be carrying luggage.”

  “I can carry it, Dad,” Skip exclaimed. “I can go to the station with her.” Mason smiled at the boy, whose voice caressed the word “dad” as though it had magic properties.

  “No, son. You have to come with me to see Mabel. We’ll get a taxi for her.”

  “Can the taxi take her all the way to the Hamptons? Huh?”

  Mason rolled his tongue around the left side of his jaw. “It’s a thought. A good one.”

  “No way,” Jeannetta interjected. “I know you fellows mean well, but I’m taking the train.”

  “Call us when you get there. We’ll be home,” Skip advised.

  “Where’s home?” Jeannetta wanted to know.

  “With my dad,” the boy answered proudly.

  * * *

  Jeannetta sat on the terrace facing Shinnecock Bay and the distant Atlantic Ocean, anxiously awaiting her first glimpse of the sunset. Robins, a finch and a few blackbirds serenaded her, and the cool ocean breeze sent her inside for a sweater. She couldn’t see the sun, but the sky had become a rainbow of colors, settling slowly into a dark bluish gray with flashes of red and pink, the only sounds the rustling of the birds. Her longing for Mason intensified as darkness closed in, but she worked hard at shoving the yearning aside and concentrating on her work. She couldn’t help being amazed at the way in which her fingers had flown across the keyboard of her laptop. She hoped Mason would lengthen her work time. She hadn’t written about him; she couldn’t bear to commit her thoughts of him to paper. But the hero of her story had closed his heart to everyone, even to himself. Neither the woman he loved and needed nor his precious golden retriever was allowed to sense his sadness and the way in which his soul ached. She saw her task as that of imbuing the hero with such self-knowledge as would bring him to share his inner self and, in so doing, accept himself and let the love of his woman heal him. Close to home, she reasoned, but once begun, she hadn’t been able to steer the story in any other direction.

  She nibbled absentmindedly on a cold chicken sandwich as darkness settled around her, fireflies rose from the grass, and crickets began their evening song. She sucked in her bottom lip and told herself that she had gambled for high stakes, wanting all of Mason and not that small portion of himself he’d so readily given. The sound of the telephone crashed into her reverie.

  “Yes?”

  “How’re you getting on out there, Jeannetta?”

  “F...f...fine.” She hadn’t expected his call, and she hoped the man and not the doctor was on the other end of the wire. “It’s wonderful out here, Mason. Quiet, cool, and a sunset you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember that you have a passion for sunsets. I love the sunrise.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” She wondered at his surprise. “You remember?” he asked.

  “I don’t know why I know it, but I do.” Tendrils of fear sneaked over her nerves at the thought that she might have a permanent disability. “Why are you asking me that? Am I having chronic memory problems?”

  “A few problems, but you’re getting over them. We’ve discussed this at least once since your operation. Do you remember that?”

  “Well, yes, you said we’ve made love, and I’d give anything to remember it. You wouldn’t fool me, would you?”

  “Fool you?” She thought she detected testiness in his voice. “I’ll be delighted to prove it, and maybe I’ll shake up your memory in the process.”

  “You sound pretty confident,” she replied lamely. She’d been so certain that he’d been having fun at her expense, but if he could prove it...Laura’s words came back to her.

  “How can you prove it?”

  “Jeannetta, if you’re interested in the proof, just say it. Do you want to know?” That impersonal tone, again.

  “With whom am I speaking now? The doctor, or the man who kissed me on a road in Pilgrim as though he could eat me alive? Which one?”

  “Both,” he shot back. “And if you think you can stand another round of that, I’ll be in my car in five minutes.”

  “What’ll you do with Skip?” she asked, not sure that she’d done the right thing in challenging him, and certain that he wouldn’t come prepared to divest himself of his emotional armor.

  “Skip’s back at the Hideaway; I can’t pry him loose from the place. Well?”

  “I...uh...”

  “You want to see me or not?” he broke in.

  “I want to see you.”

  “It’s six-forty; I’ll see you in two and a half hours.”

  She begged him to drive carefully, and gave him the directions.

  “Who else lives at the end of that road?”

  “Just me.”

  “That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. I’ll be there soon.”

  Had she lost her mind? Unless he offered more than when he had proposed, what did she stand to gain from an evening with him? She took the menorah that David had inherited from his grandfather off of the mantelpiece to ensure its safety, and lit the fireplace. The evening had cooled and, face it, she thought, dancing flames would drive a man’s heartbeat into a trot quicker than warm radiators. She put on a long red cotton shift and shod her feet in gold thongs. As usual, she didn’t wear makeup or jewelry; she didn’t want props. She wanted him to know exactly what he got—if and when she gave herself to him.

  * * *

  Mason called the Hideaway, and Skip answered. “Hiya, Dad?” He had to get used to his new title, but he didn’t think he’d find that difficult. As any father would, he had called to tell Skip where he would be if needed.

  “You gonna stay with Jeanny for a while?” the boy asked hopefully.

  “Skip, you’re still twelve, and you don’t get into my personal business. Right?”

  “No, sir. But you’re going to see her?” The boy was incorrigible.

  “Yes. Get Mrs. Ames to go over your chemistry and geography with you.”

  “I don’t need that, but I don’t guess it could hurt. Say, Dad...” Here it comes.

  “What is it, son? I’ve got to be moving.”

  “That’s just my point, Dad. Hurry up and get going and...and...”

  “And what?”

  “Stay as long as you want to. That’s not meddling, is it?”

  “Not really.” He had to laugh. Skip was determined to have Jeannetta for his mother and had begun to nag his soon-to-be father about it. The night before, Skip had practically lectured to him on Jeannetta’s virtues, though he couldn’t imagine how the boy had been able to chronicle them so accurately. He supposed that Skip’s difficult life had equipped him to evaluate people; it certainly hadn’t left him shy about going after what he wanted. And what he seemed to want and need most was to be a part of a normal family with his own mother and father, something he’d never known.

  Mason bought a large vase of red roses, stargazer lilies, and calla lilies, and two bags of fresh-roasted unshelled peanuts. He slid into his Cougar, strapped his seat belt, turned the radio to WKCR jazz and headed for Long Island. With rush hour over and the traffic sparse, he’d see her in less than three hours. And when he left her, she’d be a different woman. He caught himself. If she had used him, he’d know it, and if she had leveled with him, he’d know that, too. He settled back, flipped on the cruise control, and quit thinking; he intended to greet her with an open mind.

  He followed her perfect instructions, arrived at the end of Burkes Road, and killed the motor. A dead end. As he sat there getting his bearings, a bloodcurdling sensation plowed through him. She walked toward the car shrouded in bright moonlight with a big German shepherd leashed close to her side. He released a long harsh breath and gripped the steering wheel. She could never know what that image had engraved in his mind, kicking his
heart into runaway palpitations. If he hadn’t done the job and done it well, that would have been her life. She tapped on the window as he sat rooted to the driver’s seat, appalled by that sickening symbol of what might have been.

  “Hi.” He relaxed as her brilliant and intimate smile began to warm his soul. Could she smile at him that way if she didn’t care deep down? He started to unlock his door, but she motioned him to remain inside.

  “Hi. Roll down the glass and stick your hand out. I have to introduce you to Casper.” He tensed as the big dog smelled his fingers, looked up toward their owner, and sniffed again before wagging his tail.

  “Now, pat him gently on the head a couple of times.” Mason complied, and waited for the next ritual. Finally, Casper sat down and thumped his tail, and Jeannetta told Mason that he could safely open the door, but that it would be wise to get out slowly. Out of the car at last, Mason thought he’d better pat the dog again for insurance’s sake, did as much, and was rewarded with a wagging tongue and a thumping tail. He opened the trunk, removed the flowers, nuts, and his medical case.

  “I take it he’s a guard dog.” He watched the animal from the corner of his eye as he stepped closer to Jeannetta. Her smile broadened, and her lips met his in a kiss that was warm and brief, too brief. They walked around the back of the house, and he stopped them at the patio lamp.

  “Let me look at you.” Stepping back, he let his gaze roam over her face, her slim rounded figure, and he sucked in his breath. He wanted to hold her, love her, and keep her close to him for the rest of his life. Couldn’t she see how much he loved her and needed her? She grasped his hand, and he hoped that meant she felt what he felt.

  “I have to take Casper to his house, because he won’t go in otherwise. He’s trained to do as he’s told.” She patted Casper’s head, and the dog went inside his elegant dog house. Mason didn’t attempt to guess the implications when she glanced up at him, took his hand and said, “Let’s go in.”

  Inside, she took the flowers, and he watched her hips assert themselves beneath the simple red dress. On some women, it would have been an ungainly sack, but she wore it with sexy, feminine grace. He had expected a beach house but, looking around the living room, he saw a well-appointed place for year-round living. His gaze landed on the menorah.

  “Your friends are Jewish, I take it.”

  “Yes. Kay and I roomed together in undergraduate school, and I was one of her bridesmaids. We’ve had a lot of fun together.”

  He nodded. “I had some good times in my college days, too.” He tried to figure out her mood. She seemed accepting, but was she?

  “It’s strange, your being here, but I’m glad you came.”

  “Me, too.” He hoped she hadn’t forgotten that he’d come in response to what amounted to a challenge from her. He opened his medical bag. “Let’s get this over with, so we can send the doctor packing.” He couldn’t help grinning at her skeptical look and raised eyebrow, which he took as a warning that she wouldn’t bend easily. How could he have fallen so deeply in love with her without knowing important things about her, essential aspects of her character? This woman had a backbone of steel. He examined her and, satisfied, closed the bag.

  “Where do I put this?”

  Her answer should have told him what to expect, but she didn’t tip her hand when she suggested the foyer. Not in her bedroom or the guest room. He stuck his hands in his pants pockets, wiped his face of all expression, and gazed at her.

  “We’re acting like strangers, Jeannetta.”

  “Our last conversation left me feeling like one,” she said. Funny, she had a habit of remembering things one way when he saw them from a different perspective.

  “The last time we were together, I hugged you, woman.”

  “A hug and a conversation are different forms of communication.”

  He frowned, although he took courage from the fluttering of her long, thick, black lashes, but a smile fought for and won possession of his face. He caught her looking at his mouth and sucking the inside of her lip, and his smile became a broad grin.

  “What kind of communication is kissing?” That was what he wanted right then, some mind-boggling loving, not the flirtatious bantering at which she was such a genius. But when she tossed her head back and propped her left fist on her left hipbone, he knew that sexual fencing was what he’d get.

  “You should know; you’re a master at it.” He tried not to show too much pleasure at her remark, but he must not have succeeded, because she frowned and asked him, “What are you up to, Fenwick?”

  He spread his hands in a gesture of defenselessness. “Who, me? I’m just trying to make some headway here. And if you’d just take your hand off your hip, I’d feel a lot more comfortable. I had an aunt who used to stand like that, only she usually waved a heavy skillet with her other hand. No offense meant, of course.” He ran his hand over his tight curls. So far he hadn’t made any progress with her. He looked around for some help, saw the screened-in side porch and took her hand. “Let’s sit out here.”

  She went with him, but protested that the night air chilled her.

  “That’s why I’m here,” he said with a wink. “To warm you up.”

  He reclined in the chaise lounge with his arms around her. “Can’t you imagine us growing old together like this, after our kids are grown and married and we have a gang of grandchildren?” His hand smoothed her thick hair away from her face as he talked, and it excited him when she snuggled closer and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “What do you say? Wouldn’t we make terrific grandparents?”

  She giggled almost to the point of strangulation.

  “Mason do you realize how far out of character you’re being?”

  “Sure I do, but being myself got me nowhere, so I’m trying to imagine how all those married fellows did it.”

  “This business is woman-specific, honey,” she purred, “and each one of us has...uh...different requirements.”

  “I’d hoped that when you finally got around to addressing me with an endearment, it would at least have the ring of intimacy.”

  The clock chimed, and she leaned away from him. Regarding him intently, she spoke softly, almost as though to herself. “Romance is like everything else, you gain by giving.”

  “Now, we’re getting somewhere.” He gripped each of her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “What do you want? Name your terms.” Her narrowed eyes and the sound of her throat clearing weren’t reassuring, but he refused to back down.

  “Well?” he urged. “You can be pretty frisky when we’re talking on the phone and, come to think of it, you know how to be aggressive when it suits you.” He paused and decided to let if fly. “I hope you haven’t forgotten the way you nearly seduced me on that tour bus when we were in Singapore, and in broad daylight, too. I knew what you wanted then, because you telegraphed it to my brain, my nervous system, my libido, my whole body. Use a little of that ingenuity right now, and tell me what you want.” Her eyes seemed to search for something deep inside of him, and he found himself automatically closing an emotional gate. Her eyes dimmed, and he knew she had discerned it. He’d deal with that later, but right then he had to know what she required of him.

  “You told me you love me,” he went on, “and I can’t find a reason to disbelieve you. Yet, you won’t agree to marry me. What do you want that I’m not giving you? You’ve got a price. Name it.”

  “You,” she answered, boldly meeting his gaze. His eyes widened in astonishment. Hadn’t he offered to give himself when he proposed? Perplexed, he shook his head.

  “Me?”

  “You. Your whole self.” Her hand caressed his jaw and, with a tenderness that amazed him, he trapped her wrist, but her lips parted in surprise, and he released her.

  “Shut-eye time,” she announced, standing and suppre
ssing a yawn. He took his time getting to his feet. She walked ahead of him, turned, locked the door after he’d entered the dinette, and faced him, questions mirrored in her face.

  Did she know that her body had relaxed, her pelvis tilted toward him, and her nipples were little hard pebbles peeking at him through that dress? He sucked in his breath and gave himself a silent lecture. This night could be the most important one of his life. His gaze settled on her mouth as she absentmindedly licked her lips, and he rubbed his damp palms against the sides of his pants, swallowed, and reached out to her, unable to withstand their fencing, incapable of denying himself any longer.

  Jeannetta hurled herself into his waiting arms. Shivers of anticipation crept over her limbs as she waited for the touch of his mouth. Of their own volition, her lips parted for him in her longing for greater intimacy with him, and her body pressed itself to his. He tried to slow it down, to pull away, but she clung to him until he relented, thrust his tongue between her lips and let her feel his virile power. Her body rocked with the awareness that slammed into her, and her control shattered when he trembled against her. She had forced him to that point, but she didn’t care; she needed it, needed some evidence that he belonged to her, that she could somehow pierce his emotional shell and know the man whom she loved. With obvious strain, he moved away from her, though his fingers rested lightly on her arms.

  “Sweetheart, I wanted a kiss, but you know we can’t take this any further until your doctor releases you.”