Love, Louisa

by Barbara Metzger

  “Isn’t she a beauty?” he asked. “She’s a classic, an old Hubert Johnson wooden lapstrake. They’re always black, you know.”

  She didn’t, of course. Or what lapstrake was, or who Hubert Johnson might have been.

  “I had to rebuild her from scratch, due to the dry rot. New engines, of course. And I totally refitted the cabin. These old babies didn’t have any of the modern conveniences. The teak’s original, though, most of it, anyway. You can’t destroy that stuff.”

  While he went on about the marvels of his boat, Louisa had to wonder what it was about men and their toys. Howard and his Porsche, Alvin and that motorized masterpiece, now Dante and his old boat. No, Dante didn’t seem so obsessed; he just liked repairing things. For a minute she worried that he was trying to repair her, that he’d invited her to come fishing because he thought she was broken. Nope. She wouldn’t let her doubts bob to the surface. They both knew she didn’t need fixing.

  He went around, stowing supplies, checking the boat’s readiness under mysterious hatches, showing her where the life jackets were stowed. He even took one orange vest out of its cubby, leaning it near her. “Just to give you confidence.”

  She’d have a lot more confidence in one of those big fiberglass yachts moored at the marina.

  “I named her Celia, after my mother,” he was saying.

  Uh-oh, more shades of Howard, Louisa thought, trying to stay out of his way. But at least he hadn’t named the boat after his first wife.

  Rick helped Dante cast off, then jumped back onto the dock, nimbly for an old guy, and they headed out into the bay.

  “It’s a little rougher than I thought,” Dante apologized for the ground swells, “but that’s no problem.”

  Not for Dante or the boat, it wasn’t. Louisa felt her stomach complain. She hadn’t had any lunch, she told herself. That was all.

  Soon enough, Dante cut the engines. “We drift for fluke.” He handed her a pole and started to unknot a plastic bag.

  “What’s that?”

  “Squid.” He started slicing the things into strips.

  “Is it alive?”

  “No. Don’t tell me you’re getting squeamish.”

  Okay, she wouldn’t tell him, but that slimy, smelly, inky stuff was not making her stomach feel any better.

  “You eat fish, don’t you?” he asked as he threaded a loop of the squid onto a hook and handed her the fishing pole.

  “Yes, but it’s in nice little chunks on plates.”

  “Well, supper will be, too. After we catch it.”

  He showed her how to let the sinker weight hit the bottom, then jig the pole up and down to make the fluke think the hooked bait was still swimming. Every ten minutes or so he’d tell her to reel in, then he’d start the engines, steer them back where they’d started, and set the boat to drifting in the current again—right where Louisa could breathe the boat’s exhaust…and the mildewy smell of the life preserver, the stink of the squid. The swells were hitting the boat broadside, not front—not bow, that was—first, which was not helping matters. She had to hold on to the side of the boat to keep her balance.

  Louisa didn’t pick up her pole for the next drift. “I think I’ll let you catch dinner,” she said, trying to smile for Dante.

  Dante grinned back at her, almost bursting into song. An afternoon fishing, an evening of lovemaking, separated by a good meal. Fluking and fooling around. He felt like Maria in The Sound of Music. These were definitely a few of his favorite things. Then Carly Simon started singing in his head, “Anticipa-ation.” Yup, driving him crazy, but a good kind of crazy, the kind that couldn’t keep a smile from his lips.

  No nephew, no dog, no work. No distractions, detours or doubts, just Louisa and him. Heaven. This afternoon was the fishes’. Tonight was his. “Maybe we’ll quit soon if we don’t get any fluke. It’s cheating, but I can see where you might be getting bored.”

  She was looking over the side of the boat, watching the seaweed drift past. Then she was leaning over the side of the boat.

  “Oh hell.” There went her breakfast—and his hopes for a romantic interlude. She was limp and green and too weak to stand, much less survive the vigorous lovemaking he’d been planning. Dante cursed the whole ride back to the dock, and the drive back to her house.

  Louisa managed to lift her head from the seat back when they reached her street. “I don’t know why you’re so angry,” she told him. “I missed the boat, didn’t I?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  No man looked bad in a tuxedo. That was a given. Mr. Bradford looked like a distinguished elder statesman in his, the lion in winter with a red rosebud in his lapel.

  Dante looked…gorgeous. Oh, boy, did he ever. Tall, dark and handsome took on new meaning for Louisa, and the meaning was Drool, ladies, he’s mine. Or he was going to be, as soon as Louisa could manage. He put every other man in the shade, in the crowded room at the opening reception of the college ball, like a single star on a murky night. Louisa couldn’t take her eyes off him during the cocktail hour, after he greeted them and moved on, but not too far away. Three hundred people must have been in that hall and the tent outside, half of them wearing tuxedos, but she always knew where Dante was. If she had any trouble picking him out of the crowd, she merely had to look to see who was staring at her. Actually, a lot of men were staring at her, but she only noticed Dante.

  Louisa had not seen much of him after the fishing fiasco, partly because she was working twice as hard to make up for lost time with Mr. Bradford and his book. She knew Dante was busy with the charity golf tournament, besides. Now she couldn’t see enough of him. If he did not make another move soon, she was prepared to invite him for dinner at her house, on dry land to…to thank him for help with the roof. Yes, that was a good excuse. And she’d say her stove was broken, as an excuse for bringing in Chinese food. Why take chances?

  Dante had stayed away, thinking. A woman who couldn’t cook was one thing. One who didn’t know Mickey Mantle from Mickey Mouse was another. But a girl who got seasick? What about long lazy afternoons on his boat? Damn, what about heated nights on his houseboat? Granted it was solid as a rock and tied at the dock, but what if she hated it? Then he saw her walk into the reception on Mr. Bradford’s arm, and he stopped thinking. He’d sell his boat— Hell, he’d sell his soul—to make her his. He would have snatched her away then and there—her look said she was willing enough—except for Mr. Bradford and the college dignitaries. He pretended to socialize, instead, feeling anything but social or civilized.

  Louisa was wearing a long black, drapey chiffon gown with a slit up the side, way up the side. The fabric of her clinging gown was so sheer it could have fit through the gold bracelet she wore on her wrist. It was the dress she’d bought to celebrate her New Year’s Eve engagement to Howard, when he’d given her the diamond ring from Tiffany’s. Now she wore a diamond pendant on a gold chain, one Mr. Bradford had presented to her early that afternoon.

  “I was going to save it as a bonus for when the book was finished,” he’d said. “But you should be wearing it tonight, especially if that fool is going to be there.”

  “Howard?”

  “Not that fool. The other one.”

  He refused to explain further, but Louisa didn’t care. The necklace was exquisite, and she felt like a princess in it and the silky, swishing gown. For once, even her hair cooperated. It was long enough now that Janie Vogel had been able to gather the sides into some fancy twist at the back of her head, held with a clip covered with three red rosebuds to match the one in Mr. Bradford’s lapel.

  “It won’t come undone in the middle of the night, will it?” she’d asked.

  “In the middle of the dance?” Janie had replied. “No way. In the middle of the night?” She’d winked at a woman with silver foil on her head. “That’s between you and Dante.”

  So much for thinking that the gossip hadn’t traveled past the dirt road dock. Louisa had ignored the ladies’ smirks. “I am go
ing to the ball with Mr. Bradford.”

  “Honey, word is you ain’t going nowhere with the old man.”

  Where was Mr. Bradford, in fact? Louisa stopped staring at Dante long enough to find her employer surrounded by well-wishers from the college, greeting one of the lady trustees like an old friend.

  He didn’t need her. Howard did. Her former fiancé bustled over toward Louisa, towing a reluctant blonde with larger than normal lips, boobs, and eye pupils. Howard gave Louisa a cursory look, obviously not recalling her gown. He was more interested in Dante, anyway. He jerked his head across the room, where Dante was talking to Mr. Siegal, head of Howard’s accounting law firm. “Isn’t that your plumber?”

  “Dante? Didn’t you come across him during the golf tournament? I heard his foursome came in second.”

  Howard didn’t care who won, if it wasn’t him. His foursome had not placed in the top ten. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “He is honoring my beloved boss and my good friend, Mr. Wesley Bradford, like almost everyone else, I suppose. Other than that, I believe he is speaking to your boss, who begged me to introduce him, after he begged me to come back to work, that is. I do recall Mr. Siegal mentioning how the law firm would love to get the Rivera Corporation account. Dante would love to get some of the company’s new PR money for the Harbor’s new community center. He’s the chairperson of the building committee, you know, and the chief benefactor. I heard Dante and Mr. Siegal making a golf date for next weekend. Or were they going fishing on Dante’s yacht?”

  “He’s that Rivera?” Howard looked almost as green as Louisa had on the boat, as Dante came toward them. “Your plumber?”

  “Oh, he’s a lot more than that,” she said, turning her back on him to go into dinner between Dante and Mr. Bradford.

  They sat at the head table with the college president and her husband, the dean of the art department and his wife, the senior partners at Howard’s law firm and their wives or girlfriends, Mr. Bradford’s agent with his fourth wife, who was younger than Louisa, and that handsome woman of a certain age who was one of the college trustees. She and Mr. Bradford had known each other for ages, it seemed, but not well enough that Ms. Martin appeared in his book.

  Dante sat on Louisa’s other side, his thigh pressed against hers, his arm brushing against hers when he reached for his fork. She didn’t taste the soup or hear the opening speeches.

  Then it was Mr. Bradford’s turn. He was charming, eloquent and witty as he thanked the college, the law firm, and all his friends for coming. He was proud to have a new professorship in the art department named after him, he told the gathering after dessert, because no one could ever have enough art in their lives, especially young people. If one student went on to be an artist, he would be thrilled. If one went on to truly appreciate great art, he would be equally as happy.

  “Mostly I want to thank you for giving me this honor now, while I can take pride and pleasure in it. Too often men of arts and letters have to wait to die to be recognized. What good does a posthumous statue do anyone? Your heirs will only stash it away in the attic, if they don’t sell it first. But this honor, this great act of generosity you are bestowing on me by using my name, gives me great joy here”—he patted his heart—“and especially now, with my good friends surrounding me.” He circled the room with his hand, but looked at Dante and Louisa. “Thank you, my dears, and may you always find great beauty in your own lives, the way I have in mine. Oh, and be sure to read my autobiography when it comes out.”

  After a standing ovation, everyone wanted to shake Mr. Bradford’s hand and congratulate him. Dante patted Louisa’s back while she dabbed at the tears in her eyes with his handkerchief, leaving mascara streaks on it.

  After coffee and cordials, Mr. Bradford grumbled about having to dance, but he took the floor with Louisa because everyone was waiting for him to start the ball. He swore that was the last time he put on a show, but he relented and asked Ms. Martin, but not for the fast dance the orchestra was playing. A man with a new, lofty distinction had to maintain a degree of dignity, he insisted.

  Louisa danced it with Dante, regretting the tempo and the dance style that kept them from touching. She might have been dancing with the man next to her, his toupee flapping, for all the closeness. She did have Dante’s promised “Later” to keep her smiling at her next partner, and the ones after that.

  She kept glancing back. He danced with the college president and Ms. Martin, then settled in, it appeared, next to two of the law partners to discuss business, or maybe golf. Mr. Bradford was still accepting congratulations and good wishes, with Ms. Martin at his side, so Louisa accepted a dance with Mr. Bradford’s agent, whose hand wandered only an inch or two into overfamiliarity.

  Howard intercepted her after that song, before she could return with the much-married agent to her table.

  “What, did you lose your date?” Louisa asked, knowing she was being catty. “I’d think she’d be easy to find in that gold dress.”

  He looked disgusted. “She’s in the ladies’ room. Again. God only knows what she’s doing there.”

  Enhancing her mood, to match her lips and boobs, Louisa thought, but she didn’t say it out loud. If Howard wanted to date a woman whose dabbling in controlled substances could get him disbarred, so be it. That was on his head, or up his nose. She made to step past Howard but he held her arm. “You could have told me about Rivera, you know. I could have made some points with the boss.”

  “And you could have been nicer to someone I said was a friend. Instead you treated the kindest man in Paumonok Harbor—maybe the richest, too—as if he was the scum in the sink, instead of doing me the favor of fixing it.”

  “Yeah, well Fred said—”

  “And you aren’t the one finding Fred a new job, either. Dante is. So you lied to me, besides everything else.”

  “Give me a break, here. I didn’t know who he was, all right?”

  “Because you were too wrapped up in yourself and your own interests to ask.”

  Howard decided talking was getting him nowhere but in trouble. “Let’s dance.”

  “Sorry. My feet hurt.”

  He pulled her toward the dance floor anyway. “But they’re starting a waltz. You know we perform it well together. Didn’t we take those dumb ballroom dancing lessons before the wedding?”

  “There was no wedding, Howard. And there will be no dance.”

  He did not let go of her arm. “I thought you were over all that crap. I apologized, didn’t I?”

  “You—” Louisa did not get to finish, as someone reached between her and Howard, pushing his hand away.

  “My dance, I believe?” Dante said, his head tilted slightly, his eyes narrowed slightly, his fist clenched, slightly. Louisa floated to his side, letting his arm around her waist guide her toward the dance floor.

  “Hey, I thought your feet hurt,” Howard called after her.

  “Funny, I thought you didn’t care.”

  Dante threw back, over his shoulder, “Good night, Homer.”

  The dance was everything Louisa could have wished—except they were dressed, in front of hundreds of people, and her feet really did hurt.

  “Hmm,” Dante whispered on a sigh, after inhaling the scent of the roses in her hair. “Maybe we could go out for a drink, later, after you take Mr. Bradford home?”

  “I have some wine in the refrigerator.”

  “That’s even better.”

  They finished the dance in silence because nothing else needed to be said, not until they were alone.

  What seemed like an eternity later, although it could only have been a few dances, when some of the party-goers had gone, Mr. Bradford decided he could take his leave too. Without Louisa. Dante could take her home in his car, he declared with a look toward the younger man, who nodded, grinning like a fool.

  “Rosemary—that’s Ms. Martin—will drop me back here later, to fetch the Mercedes.”

  He was going home with th
e college trustee? Louisa swallowed, getting used to the idea. “But you don’t like to drive in the dark.”

  Mr. Bradford raised his eyebrow. “Who says it’ll still be dark by then? Stop worrying like a mother hen, my dear. I’ll be fine. Better than fine. I intend to cap this lovely evening off with a wondrous night, and I suggest you do the same. Time goes by too fast to waste. None of us is getting any younger, you know, and such golden opportunities come few and far between, if at all.” He pulled the flower from his lapel and tossed it to Dante. “Gather ye rosebuds, and all that,” he said, as he headed toward the door where his new old friend was waiting.

  “I think we have just been given his blessings,” Dante said as they both stared after Mr. Bradford while he waved good-bye to everyone on his way out. Now Louisa had nothing to feel guilty about, nothing to regret.

  “For…for tonight?”

  “For whatever we want, tonight and tomorrow,” he told her, “and all the tomorrows to come.”

  “I like the sound of that, Mr. Rivera. I really do.”

  They decided to have one more dance together, a slow one, after Louisa kicked her high heels off. There was no hurry; they’d have all night, at least. Now the other dancers and watchers didn’t bother them. No one else even existed, in the world of their two bodies pressed against each other, touching everywhere as they barely swayed in time to the music. The dance was a prelude, they both knew, a tease, a tender torment that would make the real dance that much more enjoyable.

  One of his hands was on her rear end, the other on her neck. One of hers was under his jacket, while the other toyed with the curls on the back of his head. Their lips met because they had to, and neither cared that the music had stopped minutes ago.

  The silence didn’t bother them. Neither did the chuckles. The sirens did.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A security guard came into the room and looked around for the college president. She headed toward Dante and Louisa.