Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  “Casper and I were on the beach.”

  “Oh, yes; let us not forget Casper.”

  She didn’t see the need for sarcasm, and she wondered at it, because he didn’t usually resort to that. “Have you seen my test?”

  “I got a preliminary report. So far, so good. But that isn’t why I’m calling. I’d prefer to discuss this face to face, but that isn’t possible, and I need to talk about it right now.”

  She flinched at his cool and impersonal tone. “What is this about, Mason?”

  His brief silence did nothing to allay her anxiety. “I can understand why you would have investigated the agency, and even why you hired a private detective investigator to scour my record and dig up whatever dirt he could find, but I do not understand and cannot accept your letting the relationship between us get to this point without telling me you did it. You didn’t know me last March; I could have been a larcenous crook, so you were entitled to satisfaction that you were making a good investment. But that wasn’t your purpose. You claimed that you only wanted to see the world, but what you wanted was certainty that I could do your operation and that I hadn’t left medicine in disgrace. Fine. Suppose I say that, too, was your right. But you had no right to tell me you loved me, to make love with me, and to encourage my caring for you, without telling me you’d done this.”

  She released a deep sigh as she recalled Laura’s prophesy. The piper had come to collect. “I can’t deny what you’re saying because all of it’s true. My excuse for not telling you is that I was afraid of hearing you say no when I asked you to operate. I kept putting it off. Then, as I got to know you and learned to love you, I didn’t want to hurt you by telling you about the investigation, so I kept quiet about it and prayed you’d never find out.”

  “As I think back, it’s clear to me that I gave you plenty of chances to tell me about this and about your scheme to get me back into medicine. I’ve been sifting through this, and I don’t much like what I see. I can’t accept it, Jeannetta. I’m sorry.”

  Sheer black fright swept through her and pinion-like darts of panic knotted her belly. “What are you saying?”

  “You said we’re not suited to each other, that I don’t meet your needs. Maybe some of your reasoning is subconsciously based on my humble background. Some of it could be more personal. Whatever. I’m accepting your judgment. I’ll call tomorrow with a final report on your health. Take care.”

  She gazed at the phone, horrified. “That’s it?”

  “’Fraid so. Good-bye, Jeannetta.”

  She’d gambled and lost. Would he have reacted in this way if she had agreed to marry him? She supposed she’d never know. Calmly, she opened her computer, began chapter eighteen of her novel, typed five or six lines, and wiped the water from her face with the back of her hand. She typed faster and faster, then she looked at the screen and saw rows of nonsensical phrases, half-spelled words, sentences in which “Mason” appeared a dozen times. The water of her pain pooled in her lap, and some of it settled like brine on her tongue. She got up, washed her face, and went back to work but, within minutes, the tears that poured from her eyes obscured her vision. She wanted to ignore the phone, but the persistent caller won out. She moved slowly toward it; it could be anyone. Anyone but Mason.

  “Yes,” She spoke softly to hide the trembling she knew her voice would display.

  “Jeanny, this is Laura. You alright?”

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  “Well, you won’t be for long. Alma Williams has told everybody in town that Jethro left her for you. She says he’s spent the last month with you.”

  Jeannetta imagined that her shriek could be heard for miles.

  “I needed this. I’ve been leading a dull life out here with not a thing to occupy my mind. This is just the ticket.”

  “Jeannetta Rollins, you sure you’re alright?” Jeannetta rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

  “Fine as French perfume. Anything else?” She looked around her at the house that wasn’t hers, the furniture that wasn’t her taste, the paintings she would not have chosen. If she had her car, she’d get in it and drive until it needed repair, no matter what Mason said. Laura’s scolding got her attention.

  “This isn’t like you, Jeanny. You get on that train and come on back home. You hear?”

  “I’ll be back when Kay and David get here. Not before. Now for heaven’s sake, calm down. I’ve had as much as I want to handle today.” She regretted the words as they were leaving her mouth.

  “What do you mean by that? Something’s gone wrong between you and Mason. I just know it. I told Clayton that if you didn’t stop stringing him along, you’d regret it.”

  “Laura,” she began patiently, “does Mason strike you as a man anybody can dangle? Does he?”

  “Oh, he can dangle, alright, but not the way you’ve been doing it. If you want the fish to bite, you got to know how to cast.”

  Her mouth dropped open; this new Laura became more amazing with the passing days.

  “This fish bit.”

  “He sure did, but is he still on the line? Or was your reeling so fancy that he got loose? You come on home and deal with Alma. You hear? For all you know, that foolish Jethro will show up at your front door. Then what’ll you do?”

  “Let him. Casper could use a little exercise.”

  They said good-bye and she dropped the receiver into its cradle. One more hassle. Feeling miserable, and fighting a slowly rising tide of anger, she turned back to her computer, erased what she’d written after Mason’s unsettling call and began the culmination of her novel. Anger, she realized, could be energizing. She had pitied Alma for her marriage to a man who didn’t love her, though the woman had gone into it fraudulently, but she would have to put a stop to that vicious tongue. Pilgrim was as puritanical a town as its name, and she couldn’t risk being the subject of every sermon preached there for the next month. And gossip was the fuel that kept the town’s motor running.

  She let the phone ring, but when she heard Skip’s voice on the answering machine, she picked up.

  “Hello, Skip, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Hi, Jeanny. How you doing? My dad told me last night he’s not sure you’re going to marry him. It’s not because of me, is it?”

  “Darling, I’d love to have you for a son, but this is between your dad and me.” She understood his longing to be a part of a real family, to have a mother and father to love and who loved him, and she would have loved to help make his dream come true. But that gift was no longer hers to bestow.

  “I don’t think my dad wanted me to call you, so I better not say anything else. I’ll ask him when I can go see you, okay?”

  “Of course. I’d love to see you.” Absentmindedly, she dropped the receiver toward its cradle and heard it bounce on the table top. She had put it in place and had started to the terrace when she heard Casper’s growl and then the wheels of a car crunching the gravel. Her heart skipped wildly in her chest and then slowed. The postman. She should have known it wouldn’t be Mason, because he was not a wishy-washy man; if he said good-bye, he meant it. She talked aloud to herself, reaching deep inside for inner peace.

  Chapter 13

  Jeannetta’s fragile peace of mind deserted her the next day at noon when she heard the urgency and anger in Laura’s voice. “Mason and Skip just got here, and Mason brought the Morning Herald. I told you to put a stop to Alma. You know Ed Wiggins; he publishes the paper. Well, she told him she’s suing you for alienation of affection. I called him up and told him to get out of here with that nineteenth-century stuff, but he says she can do that. Honey, Mason is pacing the floor like a caged tiger. You want to talk to him?”

  She did. Oh, how she wanted to hear his voice utter a loving sound, but she declined.

  “If he wants to talk, Laura, he’ll cal
l.”

  “There you go being clever again. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have your degrees; my uneducated way of doing things makes a lot of more sense. What are you going to do about Alma Williams?”

  “I’ll take care of it. Save me a copy of that paper, please, and don’t worry about it.”

  * * *

  Mason sat in the coffee shop with Laura and Clayton, while Skip broadened his mind on the Internet.

  “Who is this Alma Williams?” Mason asked Laura. He listened to the story, strumming his fingers on his knee while Laura related it. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Clayton sipped his cappuccino and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t believe it?”

  Mason knew he was releasing his own frustration when he eyed Clayton with a steel-like, unfriendly gaze. “Anybody who has spent any time with Jeannetta ought to know that such behavior is beneath her.”

  Clayton’s loud laugher, unusual for him, told Mason that he’d just been tested. “How are you planning to help her?”

  “Leave it to me, man; I’ll think of something.”

  “Aren’t you at least going to ask her whether it’s true before you stick your hand in the fire?” Laura asked. “You know, let her know you’re there for her.”

  The temptation to laugh at Clayton’s stern glare at Laura was too great. Mason dropped his head in his hand and his shoulders shook. He had a mind to ask them if they knew how much like a long-married couple they appeared. Skip bounded into the room, ending that conversation.

  “Dad, there’s a hurricane watch for the East Coast, and it’s supposed to hit Long Island. Jeanny’s on Long Island. I found the place with my web crawler. Shouldn’t you call her and tell her to come home or something?”

  Apprehension gnawed at him, but he kept his expression neutral; Skip adored Jeannetta, and he didn’t want to worry him.

  “I’ll call her; I was planning to do that anyway.” He didn’t bother to explain that his call wouldn’t be a professional one. He hadn’t wanted to come to the Hideaway; the sooner he got some distance between Jeannetta and himself, the quicker he’d get his life in order. But he had promised Skip that they would visit Laura and, if he did nothing else, he would keep his word to his son. He went up to their room and telephoned her.

  “Hello.” The soft, unsteady voice crept into him, shook him, its ability to clobber his senses taking him unaware.

  “Hello, Jeannetta.” His hand reached voluntarily for his chest as though to still his galloping heart. He was too old to be experiencing the kind of ache that tore through him. He needed her.

  “Mason. How are you?” He couldn’t let himself hurt her by using a professional tone, because no matter what she’d done, he loved her.

  “Well enough. Skip tells me a storm’s headed your way. Are you planning to come in?”

  “I hadn’t heard of it, but I’m in a protected cover, and Kay said this house never gets storm damage. I’ll be alright.”

  “Don’t be too sure; Skip said it’s being projected to move right over you.” He paused, unwilling to give her his news, because that would end their conversation, and he’d have to hang up. He made himself do it.

  “You’re free of me, Jeannetta. Your tests showed excellent results, and if you avoid stress, limit reading, writing, and TV hours to four hours a day for the next two weeks, you’re home free.”

  “I see... I mean, thanks. Thank you for everything, Mason.” She didn’t want to hang up and neither did he. He switched the phone to his left hand, stuck his right one in his pocket and fingered the old keys. How on earth was he going to give her up? Her and all of his dreams.

  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself, Jeannetta,” he managed, when the silence roared in his ears, broadcasting the extent to which their once warm and loving relationship had skidded.

  “I... You, too, Mason. Mason, you may send your bill to me at Hideaway.”

  Sputtering wasn’t something he did, but words nearly failed him. “Jeannetta, I hope that’s the last time I hear you mention compensation to me. I should pay you for having led me back to my true calling, the life I love most. Consider us even. All the best.”

  “Good-bye, Mason.” He looked out of the window at the autumn-hued mountain and wondered what his life would be like a year hence. Well, standing there wouldn’t give him the answer, and he could at least get the rest of his life in order. He had to get back home and get ready to open his office after Labor Day. He called Skip as he ambled down the stairs.

  “I’m ready to go. You stay with Laura for a few days and let Clayton help you finish building that chemistry lab.”

  “Okay. But you sure you won’t need me for something?”

  Mason ran his fingers over the boy’s tight curls.

  “I probably will, but I think it’s best you stay here for two or three days. You’ll know where I am.” He looked down at Skip’s hand tugging at his wrist.

  “Are you going to West Tiana to look after Jeanny?”

  Mason had promised never to lie to Skip, but he didn’t know the answer to that himself.

  “I don’t know, Skip. I...I just can’t say.”

  “She’s real nice, Dad.”

  “I know, son. Believe me, I know.”

  He made it back to New York in an hour and a half.

  “Any messages, Viv?” He wished he could have Viv at his medical office when he opened up in a couple of weeks, but she’d become indispensable to the travel agency and, if he persuaded Steve to manage it, his brother would need her.

  “Steve called, and we had a nice long talk, but I couldn’t get him to say he’d be my new boss. He did promise to stop by here, though.” She winked at him. “How’m I doing?”

  “Great. What about that storm? Heard anything?” She confirmed Skip’s information that the storm would pass directly over Long Island. He twirled two pencils. No way could he leave her out there alone in a storm on that dead-end street; if anything happened to her, he would never get over it. He picked up the phone and dialed Skip.

  * * *

  “You leave that place right now, you hear?”

  Jeannetta wanted to cover her ears, but instead, she said, “Laura, you mean well, but even if I wanted to leave here, I’d have to take Casper with me, and I can’t. The place is secure, so stop worrying.”

  “Well, if you won’t listen to me, maybe you’ll pay attention to Clayton,” Laura told her.

  Exasperated, Jeannetta released a sally. “Laura, I know Clayton has replaced the King James version of the Bible as your source of Gospel, but what he says isn’t sacred to me, so give me a break. I can’t use any of Clayton’s wisdom right now. I have to get back to work. Good-bye.” She finished taping the window panes and went outside to look at the clouds. Casper’s whimpers alerted her to his precarious situation, and she decided to put him on the screened back porch. She remembered having seen a piece of oilcoth in the pantry, got it and nailed it over a section of the porch-screen to provide dry shelter for Casper. Then, she gathered as many candles as she could, found a portable radio, a flash light and some matches, made some sandwiches, and settled back to await whatever came. The black clouds soon released torrents of rain that pelted the house in an ominous rhythm. As she lighted the woodburning fireplace, Casper’s low growl brought her upright. The growling increased, and she glanced toward the window just as the headlights illumined the driveway.

  “Who on earth...?” She thought her heart slammed into her belly when she saw Mason’s white Cougar. She had thought he was at the Hideaway. Casper growled furiously and she rushed to the porch to pat him and reassure him. She got an umbrella and opened the front door, but the rain and wind nearly knocked her backward, and drenched the marble foyer floor. She braced herself, stepped out, and attempted to open the umbrella, but within seconds she had no idea
where the wind had taken it. Mason stepped into the foyer, drenched from the short run in the rain, pulled her from the door, and managed to close it.

  She took his wet hand and walked them into the living room, pulled his jacket off of him and laid it in front of the fire. Then she brought several bath towels and wrapped one around his shoulders. She stood behind him trying to dry his trousers with a towel, and he turned and looked at her, seared her with the hot longing in his eyes. Her breathing quickened and deepened, and she knew he couldn’t help noticing the sharp rise and fall of her bosom, and the way she longed for him.

  “You’re wet, too,” he said, the first words spoken since he’d stopped the car in front of the house.

  She shook her head vigorously. “It’s okay. I don’t care.”

  “I do.”

  She lost her battle to stop the trembling of her lips. “Do you?”

  “Oh, sweetheart.”

  She was in his arms, and his mouth moved over her, plundering hungrily until she parted her lips and took his tongue into her mouth. He hadn’t forgiven her, and she still needed something that he hadn’t given her, but their bodies gave the lie to it as they clung to each other. She wanted to wrap herself around him, to know the limits of his virile power, and she held him as tightly as she could until he groaned and stepped away from her.

  He answered her inquiring look with a rueful smile. “Walking away is easier said than done.”

  She didn’t want to hope in vain, but she began to believe they had a chance. Maybe Laura was right about her fishing theory.

  “I missed you, Mason. Oh, I know, all this happened yesterday, but it seems like years to me.”

  “Don’t I know it. By the way, where’s Casper?”

  She was not going to let that hurt her. She’d try instead to understand him. “Do you want to change the subject?”

  His half laugh was that of a person caught out. “Actually, no. I just wondered.” His attention seemed to shift to the sounds of the storm, the rain that pelted the house, and the noise of the wind, giving the impression of someone anticipating danger. And she knew his thoughts focussed on the storm and their safety.