How could this be? He thought he would’ve been comparing her to women of his past, eager to judge which motions of hers were too quick, too needy, or too awkward as he had witnessed in others before. But none of these thoughts existed. His mind was clear enough now to see how none of his life before Elizabeth mattered. Only this moment, here, with her in his arms was real.
At the same time shame—searing, heart-wrenching shame—poured through his veins. His vanity and pettiness attacked like rabid canines and their bite wouldn’t let him forget how dishonestly Elizabeth came to be there. Could he ever deserve her? Could he walk through the world with his faults so fully exposed? But he stepped around these thoughts. He had to believe none of it mattered, that the shame was a last-ditch attempt by his former self to reclaim him. He stuffed it down and resisted. He was determined to live only in this new world and show her how much he belonged there.
Once he understood his surroundings he slid a hand down over her belly, between her legs and into her. He wanted to know where she lived and mark the place where he would stay. The lower part of him responded in envy and hardened. It coveted the place, silky and close. She lifted her arms above her and her hands perched like little brown birds on the bed’s headboard. She pushed against it and her hips slid down allowing him to slide his hand deeper into her. She sighed.
He took this as an invitation to travel further. But he was careful to sense, to linger, to appreciate every measure he took of her being. He found the tiny starburst blot of scar tissue above her left knee, and the thin long one on the knob of her right elbow, and the rest of the cosmos of sights and smells that told him he would arrive and know what this place was and who he would be once more when he entered. Home.
A home that was her, but really him too, a part of him returned he hadn’t known was missing. The recognition of the unity was more than he could bear. His body burned with this wholeness. He knew such energy could not remain in him and the only place for it to go, the only place that made sense, was into her. When he released into her, it was in utter surrender. She drained him of essence, of ego and shame.
He wept. He held her tightly with his face buried in her hair so she wouldn’t see, but he felt her chest billowing against his and realized she was crying too. He pulled away and saw her eyes shone bright in their own pools. She gulped and laughed. Her warm palm cupped over his cheek and brushed away his tears.
“Oh dearest,” she said. “Please don’t cry. I am here.”
But her words only broke the dam and he cried harder. He didn’t need another moment beyond this one. He could happily welcome the apocalypse, watch the world consumed in floods and fire. He didn’t care. The disaster would only confirm the one certainty, the one thing in his whole life he now knew to be true: he would never leave her.
CHAPTER 41
Elizabeth
Harlem, Mid-August 1947
When Elizabeth awoke she found herself still burrowed against Val, his arm around her. Her head was half on the pillow beneath him and half lying against the dark and smooth skin of his chest. She didn’t want to move and considered falling back asleep, but then she realized she wanted to just be there and turn this little bit of happiness over and over in her hands like a child with a snow globe. She had thought she would feel like another person, a stranger, when she saw herself making love to Val, reaching into him as if she could step inside his very skin. Isn’t that how women usually saw themselves when they were consumed by fits of passion? They said things like, I didn’t know what I was doing; I was out of my mind; That wasn’t me doing that.
But Elizabeth felt down to the marrow of her bones that she was herself, truly, blessedly, boldly herself, perhaps for the first time in her whole life. She had reached for what she wanted and received it glowing and whole. And perhaps because of that sensation she feared neither pain nor punishment. She didn’t know how to resolve that with her long-held beliefs about right and wrong. She knew only that she didn’t see how anything bad could happen to her when she felt so strong in her body and so present in her mind. It was the Elizabeth who existed before this moment who seemed like a stranger. The new Elizabeth didn’t want to confront or blame this relic—she only felt sorry for her, for how little she knew of herself. What was it she had been struggling against? What had she been trying to hold on to? It could only have been a wan sense of contentment that provided neither solace nor peace. In the drab landscape of “before,” she’d considered herself happy because of her untroubled mind. Really it had been unstirred and flat. And she’d carried this lackluster way of being throughout her days with Kyle, thinking this had been good enough. That she hadn’t had the right to ask for more.
But to her everlasting surprise she learned she didn’t have to ask. It was there, presented to her with love and glory. It found her when she thought she was hidden. It humbled and softened her. It scolded this Elizabeth who’d seemed content with keeping her heart in one small box when all the time it had been whispering for more space—and she had refused to listen. Or she hadn’t known how to respond. She was like a mother whose hungry child had asked for food, but she had none to give. She knew with all her heart she could never tell the child they had nothing to eat. She would dance over the words, toss up distractions, play games, anything to distract from the emptiness gnawing at both of them.
But her heart, refusing such controls, finally leapt out of its box. It made her reach out to Val the way she did. Yes, she ached at the thought of him going away and being sad and lonely because of it, but her heart acted jealously, desperately, because it knew how cold and constricted everything would be when he was gone.
She felt the wetness of him between her thighs and considered her body—she’d never known it was capable of such pleasure. And yet when she reached the moment of its peak, when her body felt so full of electricity she thought it would burst into tiny pieces of light to be absorbed into the earth, it seemed obvious the body, divinely designed as it was, would have such potential. This physical aspect of love made her feel human—she didn’t know how she would have described herself before, but now she was freshly human, walking in Eden with her eyes open in awe and wonder of what she sensed of the world.
One day she would have to find words for this—words she would write down and send to him. She saw how ridiculous her earlier letters had been and she wanted him to have meaningful words from her, not lies and evasions. She decided to begin collecting the thoughts and tucking them away. When she had gathered enough she would take them out and write to him.
In small increments she lifted her chin so she could see his closed eyelids and feel his soft sleeping breath sweep across her forehead. He seemed peaceful, his body heavy in deep slumber. She wondered when was the last time, if ever, he slept so soundly? He was happy. He was happy! The thought gave her deep satisfaction, even more so than the physical epiphany she experienced earlier. She found what she’d sought for so long: purpose. Not a high purpose, such as feeding the hungry or guiding a lost spirit, but a purpose uniquely her own. Only she could fulfill it. He was happy because of her, and her life, as such, carried a new preciousness to it. She would carefully preserve her life because it had this single, shining use: to love him.
He stirred. “Uh?”
She stroked his chest with her fingertips. “Shhh,” she whispered.
The room darkened as the late summer sun waned. She knew she should sleep too, but the room still teemed with their energy. She thought she could see it, like shooting stars or a host of fireflies darting about before her eyes.
She draped her arm across Val’s torso and pulled herself closer. He might tire of her someday. She wouldn’t delude herself into thinking he was another kind of man. He could easily decide his happiness no longer depended on her, a decision he no doubt had made countless times before her. But she would deal with that decision and whatever it told her about her life when the road presented itself. She only knew she wouldn’t be divided from him. She did
n’t know what that thought meant or what she might have to do to stay in his arms. But then she realized it didn’t matter. His tears had been real. The way he’d held her had been real. She had touched him and seen the effects. He would never be able to deny this and make her believe it. Val could get up tonight and still go to California but he would never go alone, not really. Now she was within him, and he lived in her. Separation as she knew it no longer existed.
CHAPTER 42
Mae
Harlem, Mid-August 1947
Mae saw Val’s arrival, of course. She’d been looking for him every day since she walked out of his apartment. She knew Valiant Jackson like she knew herself—they had roamed the inner rooms of each other’s minds enough to know. Val’s sense of shrinking time would push him to the point where he would come to her. But he didn’t do so as quickly as she had expected, and she was surprised when she saw Val skipping—truly skipping!—up the steps to her front door. She stood at the window mulling over his energetic display when Justice showed him in.
“Well, my conquering hero!” She offered him a bright smile but he had already thrown himself onto the sofa with his feet up and his hands behind his head.
“Yes, ma’am, that’s what I am!”
“How was it?”
“She was sublime.”
“Is that so?” Mae slowly walked over to the table of cocktails and poured herself a half a glass of gin.
“Total release on both sides,” Val said. He grinned like an idiot. “Joy! Just sheer joy! I swear I’ve never felt anything like it. It was the drink after the drought, the feast after the fast.” Val paused and at first it seemed like he was searching for a word but then Mae realized he was going back into the memory. Finally he finished: “Just happiness.”
She said nothing and sipped her drink.
“And don’t you know I almost believed it all? Almost forgot it was a game.” Val laughed and put up two fingers pinched together. “I came this close to proposing! Can you believe it? Me. But I got ahold of myself. Then it was over. And what was the first thing I did? Rush right over here to deliver the news.”
“Oh, did you?” Mae looked at him hard. “You’ve got a funny way of rushing. I know for a fact you went to her on Thursday. It’s Tuesday, Val, in case you’ve lost track.”
She had thrown him. She saw the moment of hesitation right before he jumped up from the sofa. Val knew well not to get stuck in a vulnerable position like that. When in doubt, best to get up and move. That’s what he did. He walked right up to her, took the glass of gin, and sipped from it before placing it down.
“Whatever. What matters most is I can now claim my reward.”
He tilted his chin down and toward her face, but Mae turned away.
“Oh, so you brought your proof? May I see it?”
“Oh. That.”
She poked him in the chest. “Yes. That. Remember our terms. Or are memories being worn short these days? You’ll probably call me a stickler for details, but it’s how I know I won’t be taken for granted.”
“Taken for granted?”
“Yes.” She shrugged. “Otherwise I’ll be just an easy conquest and you’ll run right back to your ‘sublime’ other.”
Val laughed. “What? You think I care a flying hoot about her?”
“Yes, I do. You’re in love with her.”
He touched the back of her neck. “You’re crazy. And maybe a little jealous?”
“Do not toy with me, Val. And stop trying to hide it.” Mae gently touched his face. “Remember, I know what you look like in love. I used to be the only woman who knew.”
“You think I don’t love you anymore?”
Mae felt a tiny twitch under her left eyelid and she lightly touched her middle finger to it.
“It doesn’t matter. Besides, I have my own distraction at the moment.”
“Yeah? Who?”
“Another time, Val. I’m in no mood to share secrets today.”
“Well, I am in the mood for a lot of things.” He kissed her on the forehead. She endured it. “I know what I want. And you could be right. But things being as they are—” Val threw up his hands, shrugged his shoulders, and grinned. “I just can’t help myself.”
Mae froze.
“What did you say?”
He shook his head and laughed. “I said I just can’t help myself.”
Mae nodded slowly. “All right.” She smiled and crossed the room to the door. She called for Justice to see him out because the last thing she needed was to see Val’s back walking away from her after saying those stupid words. “Goodbye, Val,” she said.
Before she turned she saw him open his mouth to say something but she was out before he had the chance to draw breath. She didn’t want to hear it, not even his goodbye.
Mae climbed the stairs. When she reached her bedroom she stood for some minutes in the hall with her face in her hands. She needed to shift what she was feeling into other places where it wouldn’t distract her. She took a deep breath and rubbed her temples between her fingers. When she lifted up her face she knew it showed the picture of calm punctuated with her trademark smile. Only then could she grasp the doorknob to her room and go in to where the eager young man awaited her.
“Mae!”
Sam lifted her up and whirled her into the room. She detested when he did this. Mae didn’t like being off the ground and out of control. But Sam displayed such joy in picking her up, and he seemed to recognize the privilege of being so free with her that she allowed him the indulgence. This time she even went so far as to put her arms around his neck and kiss him while he still held her aloft.
“When do we leave?”
“Tonight.” She kissed him again.
“And we’re really going to Paris?”
“Yes.” She nodded and he kissed her back.
“Yes!”
He twirled her around one more time before setting her down. She unbuttoned his shirt.
“What’s it like, Mae?”
“Paris?” She glanced up at him.
He nodded.
“It’s still August. Parisians enjoy the summer. We don’t know how to do that here. There will be music and dancing everywhere. Paris is still waking up from the war, Sam, and you’ll feel like it’s waking up just for you.” She ran a hand along his chest. “That’s how I felt when I first went. It’s not like here. Black, white, doesn’t matter there. We can be who we are.”
He picked her up again and placed her gently on the bed. “They say it’s called the City of Lights.” He kissed her between her breasts.
“Lights everywhere.”
Mae smiled and relaxed beneath him. She noticed immediately how different making love with Sam was now compared to the first night when she met him. Back then they both acted out of lust and hunger. There was a naked aggressiveness to their desire—she didn’t mind because she was in charge and he most likely followed her lead. Many of her assignations took on this quality. But making love with Sam now showed her the hollowness of that brand of tryst, and she would continue to fall through the emptiness again and again without ever reaching bottom. If she didn’t steel her heart she would be sad at this realization. In Sam’s arms she didn’t fall. He caught her and wrapped her up in a cocoon so charming she felt like a girl again. Sam touched her reverently, and explored her with genuine curiosity.
If she could bring herself to be charitable, Mae might have felt some compassion for Val because she could only think he was having a similar experience with Elizabeth Townsend. He was smitten with the joy of a guileless lover, someone who saw him as being much, much better than he really was. Now Val was suffering from the delusion that he could be the person Elizabeth saw in him. In doing so he had betrayed Mae and, what’s more, he didn’t even know it. He could have easily followed her example. Sam was entirely devoted to her, but Mae still kept her wits and knew who she was and what she wanted. She would never neglect Val the way he’d neglected her. Trying to lie to her toda
y had been the height of his disrespect.
Five days. Five days he’d spent with that woman and then had dared to play it off as an overnight victory he could hoot about. She would continue to make her moves.
IN THE MORNING, while Sam dressed and the servants took their bags downstairs, Mae wrote a quick note at her desk.
My dear Val,
I’m sorry we parted on such ambiguous terms. I’m leaving town for a few days, so let me be clear. When I return, provided that you’ve obtained the proof I require, we shall have that magical one night together. I can’t promise anything beyond that, but we are the choices we make. I trust you will hold up your end of the bargain?
M.
When they were ready, Mae and Sam got into the Packard, and Lawrence drove them to the airport. Once there, Lawrence helped her out of the car and as he did she slipped an envelope into his hand.
“Make sure Mr. Jackson gets this,” she whispered.
Lawrence nodded.
Val’s response found its way to her home quickly, but since Mae left no orders to forward her correspondence the note would remain stacked with other papers on Mae’s desk to wait for her return.
As always, Mae, your wish is my command. But don’t stay away long, okay, baby? New York ain’t the same without you. And baseball season’s almost over too. I guess I’ll just have to be satisfied with getting your proof and finding other ways to have my fun.
CHAPTER 43
Val
Harlem, Late August 1947
Val buttoned his shirt. Louise tugged up her stockings, pulled the skirt of her dress down over her thighs, and flopped herself back down on the sofa.
“I was so glad you called, Val. You know a girl like me needs her steady business.”
“And you know a man like me gets very busy. But I always come around, don’t I?”
He leaned down and kissed her. She took the chance to loop her arms around his neck and hang on.
“Mmm-hmm, yes you do.”
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