He was turning to leave when the telephone rang. Automatically, he answered it. "Hi," Sybille said. Her voice was husky and caressing; different from the last time he had seen her, the week before. "I don't remember whose turn it is to call, but I hope you can come to dinner tonight."
"I'd like that," he said, smiling, and when they had set a time and he hung up, he was still smiling. He admired the easy way she had invited him, even though it was still hard for her. There was so much to admire in Sybille, Nick thought. There was much to pity, especially her aloneness and lack of humor, but there was more to admire.
And because he admired her, and liked her, he knew he had to tell her, right away, his plans for the future. He hadn't told anyone but his parents about the company he and Ted Mcllvain, one of his roommates, would be starting next month in San Jose, but now he thought he owed it to Sybille, because she depended on him so much. And that night, as they sat over coffee, he told her.
"San Jose!" she cried, as if it were on another planet instead of a few miles away. "But why? Everything you want to do you can do right here!"
"We might, but Ted's aunt has a house there thafs empty, and she's letting us have it for a year. So what we save on rent we'll put into the
company. Besides, San Jose is where the customers are. It's only a short drive away," he said gendy.
She shook her head. "Ifs not the miles. It's the differences. You'll look out the window and see different places; you'll be meeting different people; you'll be thinking about different kinds of work and different kinds of excitement. Palo Alto won't be real for you anymore, and neither will I."
Once again he was struck by her cold, biting intelligence. Palo Alto won't be real for you ... It was true; he knew it. When he had come to Palo Alto, he had felt a distancing from his home, his hometown, even his family. They were no longer permanent parts of the life he was making for himself. He knew he would never live with them again.
He glanced around Sybille's apartment. It was small and drab, but it was familiar. He put his hand on hers. "We'll find each other. If that's what we want, we'll manage it."
"If it what we want?" Her voice, still with that new huskiness, had turned wistful. "You know just where you're going and how you're going to get there, and you'll do it all, I know you will; but I'm still trying to find a way out of here." Her lip was quivering and she held it between her teeth as she turned her hand to clasp Nick's. "It isn't your fault that I'm in this mess; you've been wonderful to me. I know how much you have to do, and you want to do it fast; you don't want to be stuck with someone who's... lost... her way..."
Her head was bent. The smooth line of her neck trembled slightly, as if awaiting a blow. Nick's heart contracted. He laid his hand on her neck and caressed her warm skin, his fingers moving beneath the loose collar of her blouse to her shoulder.
A long, shuddering sigh escaped Sybille. "I wish..." she said almost inaudibly.
"What.>" Nick asked. His hand tightened on her shoulder and he turned her to him.
"... I was stronger and better. We could be together... and help each other I'd like to help you..."
Nick brought her face up to his and kissed her, his mouth opening hers, his hand moving beneath her blouse.
"No!" Sybille exclaimed. She pulled away, pushing back her chair so sharply it fell over. 'Tou can't, I won't let you—!" She took agitated steps around the small room. "You have a straight shot to where you want to be, you have everything going for you, and I'm not going to hold you back. You'd hate me for clinging—^"
"I'd never hate you." Nick stood beside her and put his arm around her shoulders to walk her firmly with him to her bed. "You're a strong, fine woman; you don't cling, and if you feel you've lost your way maybe I can help you find it."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "If you really mean that..."
He bent to kiss her again. "One of these days you'll stop doubting yourself"
"Maybe... with your help..." Sybille murmured. She searched his face, then smiled with more delight than he had ever seen in her. "I'm so glad..." she said, the word lingering in a sigh, and then, still looking at him, she unbuttoned her blouse.
They undressed swiftly and lay on her bed. Her body was small and compact, her breasts pointed, like a young girl's, and her olive skin was soft and moist. Her eyes were closed and she did not speak or even smile; her face was absorbed, as if she were concentrating. Someone should teach her to smile, Nick thought, and laugh and joke...
Damn it, he cried silently, and bent over Sybille as she moved beneath him. "Look at me," he commanded.
Surprised, her eyes flew open, but just as swifdy closed. She could not look at him and she hated him for demanding it. It should have been enough for him that he was in her bed and that she'd make sure he was satisfied.
She felt his weight and the heat of his skin; her hands moved over his body and she arched beneath him, and then, at the perfect moment, she opened her legs. "Mine," she said, but it might have been only a sigh, it was so low, like a single note beneath the thunder of an orchestra. She gripped Nick's narrow hips between her thighs as if to show him how strong she could be, and guided him into her. And it was all right, better than usual, because she liked him and, so far, he had treated her better than anyone she'd known. I might even enjoy it, she thought.
For a long time, she had tried to enjoy being in bed with a man; she'd tried so hard to feel the waves of pleasure she read about and could sometimes give herself. But nothing ever happened. No matter how she moved or what fantasies she conjured, nothing happened. Maybe with Nick, she thought. It was almost a prayer. Then she stopped thinking and let her body move on its own, skillftilly sensuous, not aroused but wet enough to do what it had to do to the last shuddering breath, and do it so perfectly no one had ever guessed that she wasn't the least bit involved.
When they lay quiedy, Nick held her and she turned her face to his
shoulder, her lips brushing his skin. But in a moment, tears ran from beneath her eyelids and Nick felt them.
"Sybille, what is it?" He tilted her face and searched it. 'What is it now.>" he asked and there was a thread of impatience in his voice.
"Nothing. I'm sorry, there's nothing wrong. You're wonderful. I love being with you, I love you—" She caught her breath and tried to look away, but Nick held her firmly and she met his eyes, seeing him blurred through her tears.
"Go on," he said.
"I love you," she repeated, her voice low. "But it won't work, our being together: it's the wrong time. If we'd met a year from now, when you have your company started... well, but we didn't. And you're right to go to San Jose, you're right to do everything you can for yourself; you shouldn't be thinking about me. I'll be fine, you know; I know what I want, and I'll go after it the same way you're doing. I can't stay here, either; I should be in Los Angeles or New York." She brushed away the last tear that had not yet dried. "I was just feeling lonely because this was so wonderful, being with you tonight, it's always wonderful, but I'd never try to stop you from leaving, because you don't need me right now."
Nick gazed at her for a long moment. A few minutes earlier he had been astonished at her passion, and grateful for it, because he had known then that he could feel more for her than pity and admiration. Now he felt it all: his heart ached for her loneliness and lack of confidence; he admired her courage and her determination; and he knew there were fires within her that he could free. He would teach her to love and laugh and to be sure of herself. He tightened his arm around her. "You'll come with me," he said.
Sybille drew in her breath, then shook her head, a tiny frown between her eyes. "You musm't say that. Men say things in bed they don't mean."
"Oh, for God's sake," he said impatiendy. "I don't know which men you've been in bed with but if you think I'm in a weakened condition, limp with gratitude, you've got me wrong." He grinned at her. "I won't change my mind."
Her eyes were fixed on his. "If you're sure... I couldn't sta
nd it if you weren't..."
"Sybille." He turned her to him and repeated her name, his voice caressing it. "Sybille, I want you to come with me. I can't leave you. You said it yourself: we'll be together; we'll help each other."
She was holding her breath. She closed her eyes and let it out
slowly. Little by little her muscles loosened until she lay completely relaxed within Nick's embrace, her hand on his chest, her lips touching the hollow of his throat. With another sigh, she gave herself over to him. "Yes," she whispered.
Nick felt a sudden shock as the enormity of it struck him. He willed it away and turned his head to kiss her forehead. "I love you, Sybille," he said.
A week later, in a simple ceremony in the office of a Palo Alto judge, Nicholas Fielding and Sybille Morgen were married.
They moved to San Jose and setded into a small house on the southern edge of the city. Since the house belonged to Ted Mcllvain's aunt, and the two men were setting up their company in the family room, Ted moved in, too. He took over the upstairs, with its two small bedrooms and bath, while Sybille and Nick settled into a larger bedroom and bath downstairs. The three of them shared the living room, dining room and kitchen. "I'm sorry we have to start out this way," Nick said. "It won't be long before we have our own place. That's a promise."
Sybille ran her fingers along the chipped Formica dining table. Valerie would take one look at this place and walk out. If Valerie had a new husband, she'd never share a house with anybody. Valerie would never let a stranger squeeze her into a bedroom and one bathroom, with or without a new husband.
And Nick wouldn't ask her to. He wouldn't have done this to her in the first place. If Valerie was his wife, he would have found some other way.
But Valerie wasn't his wife. Valerie was gone and Sybille was Mrs. Nicholas Fielding. And Sybille was the woman to whom Nick was making promises.
'It's all right," she said, moving into his arms. She reached up to kiss him, exulting in the tightening of his arms about her. He wanted her. And he would forget Valerie.
He'll forget her long before I do.
She spoke against his lips. "As long as we have each other, we don't need a grand house."
"But you'll have one," he promised. "You'll have everything you want."
"I know," Sybille said. And beneath the sounds of Ted moving furniture upstairs, they went to their bedroom, and Nick turned the lock with a loud click.
Holding him later, as they lay on the rumpled bed, Sybille began to think there was an advantage in having three of them there. With his work and his partner all in one place, Nick would find it natural to work long hours; he wouldn't be making a lot of demands on his wife. He'd leave her alone, but she wouldn't be alone in the house; she wouldn't have to worry anymore about filling her hours with other people, other sounds. And I'll be working, too, she thought. Tomorrow I'll be sure to find a job in a San Jose television station. It would all be fine. They'd have no trouble sharing the house, they'd have no trouble being married. And they'd be happy.
The house was narrow, on a narrow lot, with brown grass in front and back, a tilting, emaciated palm near the driveway, and a large window in the living room looking into an identical window in an identical house across the street. The rooms were painted an odd shade of mustard which glowed with an eerie incandescence in the light from the streedamp in front of the house. Sybille and Nick bought white bed sheets and hung them as curtains, but, even though that diflPused the light, still they looked strangely unearthly to each other and it was always a little startling when one of them looked up and wondered, briefly, who that oddly hued stranger was.
The three of them arranged their few pieces of furniture, put away their mismatched dishes and utensils, and shelved the cartons of books they had hauled from Palo Alto, with their furniture, in a rented van. For a week, as they cooked their first dinners in the large kitchen, they tripped over the ripped linoleum and each other, but soon they began to find their own spaces. And each night after dinner, Nick and Ted went back to work, and much later, Sybille and Nick went to their room, and Ted went to his.
'Tou're sure you're all right here?" Nick asked as he reached for her in bed.
"I'm fine," she said. "I'm happy."
He believed her. She had not complained about the house after their first day there; and she no longer talked about not being really important in his life. Even the mustard walls had become a joke between them. But still, Nick knew there was a restlessness in Sybille always simmering below the surface, and two weeks after they had moved in, when they had turned out the light in their bedroom, she lay tense beside him, turning and turning until, finally, she slid out of bed.
"Can I help?" he asked.
"No, I'm just not sleepy. I think I'll read through my television
notebooks for awhile. I usually do, at night. You go to sleep; I'll read in the living room."
He raised himself on his elbow, watching her in the light from the street. "You're worried about finding a job."
"Yes. But it's all right; I'll get over it." She picked up one of the notebooks on the bureau. "I just have to talk myself out of worrying. I'll find something. Good night, Nick."
He lay back. Talk herself out of worrying. It was amazing, he thought, that that strength was always there, even when she was insecure in so many other ways. And she would talk herself out of it; he was sure of it. And she would get a job, and be the success she always vowed to be. He did not doubt that any more than she did.
The next morning, Nick and Ted left early to buy equipment for their workshop. But Sybille had left even earlier. And that day she found a job at the largest television station in San Jose.
Now, she thought; finally, this minute, my life really begins.
Chapter 7
[ M m hey were so busy they almost never saw each other.
^^^ Nick and Ted had formed a consulting company
^1 ^ named Omega Computing Services, and they
^ ^W spent their days helping companies install and
1 I operate new computer systems. The rest of the
time they worked in the office they had set up in the family room; evenings and weekends, through lunch, often through dinner, they put together proposals to attract new customers, wrote computer programs for the customers they had, improved the programs they'd already installed, and tossed ideas back and forth for ways to use computers that no one had yet thought of When their minicomputer at home could not handle the complex programs they were writing, they rented time on a mainframe computer in downtown San Jose, and, since it was cheaper to rent time at night, they would begin after dark, often working until morning, when they would install the new program in a customer's company and teach office workers how to use it. By the time they returned home, late in the day, they were too tired even for dinner, and they disappeared into their bedrooms for a rare ftiU nighfs sleep.
And all the while, Sybille was moving up at KTOV, always moving up. Before coming to San Jose, she had written to the president of KNEX in Palo Alto, suggesting she would expose Terence Beauregard's sexual activities unless he wrote her a letter of reference. After a week of silence he had sent her one that was tepid, but better than she had expected. Still, the day she arrived at her new job, she was defiant and fearful, and her fear was with her until she realized that no one connected her with the Ramona Jackson story. From then on, it was as if that whole scandal had never occurred. She was a part of KTOV, starting fresh.
She worked from early morning to late at night, twelve or fourteen hours at a stretch, listening, watching, soaking up information, finding ways to use everything she already knew to impress those she worked for. She wasn't trying to be liked; she wanted to be respected and admired, she wanted to be noticed, she wanted to be on camera. But that was not what they wanted from her. "You're too good to be on camera," they said. "Good producers are hard to come by and you're one of the best. And that's where we want you." They increased her salary and gave her a
bigger desk in the newsroom. Putting her on the other side of the camera was out of the question.
Sybille thought about quitting. But no other station in the valley could compare with KTOV. I'll make them change their mind, she vowed, m produce whatever they want me to, and when I have enough influence, they'll give me what I want. They'll have to.
Within a year, she was writing and producing the noon news five days a week, and producing the ten-o'clock news on weekends. And she was creating a new program that would be hers to produce and direct if it was approved.
She was working at such a high pitch that for the first time in years she needed no diet to keep her weight down. Every morning before dawn, she exercised for an hour; just before she went to work she had a cup of coffee with Nick and Ted, and then she forgot about eating until dinner. That was at nine, or later, either at the station or at home, brought in by one of the three of them, or cooked by Nick. They didn't much care what it was; they were too busy to pay attention to food.
For SybiUe, thoupits of everything but work dropped away the minute she stepped tlirough the glass front door of KTOV The station sat on a small rise on the eastern edge of San Jose. A network affiliate, it reached the electronics whiz kids who were creating what was already being called Silicon Valley; and the Mexican-Americans whose
parents had come north a generation or two earlier to settle on the fertile land; and the Californians whose families had been there since the Gold Rush, and talked about the old days, when you could drive from San Francisco to Monterey without seeing a single shopping mall or fast-food drive-in. KTOV reached them all, and because it was aggressive and innovative and it successfully targeted each group, it was the fastest-growing and richest station in the valley. It was the perfect place for someone driven by ambition.
At the early hour when Sybille walked in the front door, the receptionist had not arrived, the secretaries were not due for some time, and no visitors or talk-show guests had appeared. She walked through the silent lobby and hushed corridors, almost trembling with excitement. She felt she owned everything around her, from the greenroom to the makeup rooms, from the control room to the main studio, high-ceilinged, with four semicircular sets permanendy in place for the news and weather, a cooking show, a cozy afternoon talk show, and a Sunday-afternoon entertainment hour. She had a right to be there. She belonged.
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