by Jane Heller
“What are you going to teach your kids about tomorrow?” he asked as he traced circles around my breasts with his fingertip, sending exquisite sensations throughout my body.
“Tomorrow?” I repeated, my excitement making me stupid. “Tomorrow we’re finishing up a unit on money.”
“Money?”
“That’s right. We’ve been collecting coins all week and learning the difference between the penny, the nickel, the dime, and the quarter in terms of their color, size, and value.” He was playing with my nipples now. I was losing consciousness, never mind concentration. “The idea is to familiarize them with numbers and the concept of counting as well as introduce them to actual currency.”
“That’s very practical,” he said as he moved his hand down to my stomach and rubbed me there, rubbed me all around.
“Yes,” I said, my breath quickening. “We’re making little purses for the children, so they’ll have something to put the coins in. We’re taking cut-outs of old rags and tying them together with colored yarn.”
“Old rags.” He smiled lazily, his own excitement growing.
“Well, that was the hard part, getting the rags.” I blushed when I said “hard part,” given the situation. “Small Blessings mothers don’t seem to have any.”
“What do they do with clothes they don’t wear anymore?”
“They call one of the high-end consignment shops in town and have the clothes picked up, sometimes with the price tags still on them.” Bill’s fingers had ventured further south at this point. He had reached pay dirt, speaking of money.
“Go on,” he urged.
“No, you go on,” I said. “I’ll finish the story later.”
An hour later, as it turned out.
Since we both had to get up early for work in the morning, we decided it would be better if Bill didn’t stay over that night. Reluctantly and after yet another round of serious kissing, he got dressed, I put on my robe, and we walked, arms around each other, to the door of my apartment. We were standing there planning the sequel to our torrid evening when my mind drifted and I caught myself trying to pick out my outfit for school the next day. That thought led to the silk scarf that Joshua Eisen had gotten me for Christmas, and that thought led to the pin Fischer Levin had gotten me for Christmas, and that thought led me to remind Bill that he’d forgotten to return the pin—the original reason for his coming over.
“Before you leave,” I said, nuzzling my head against his chest, “could you give me back the pin?”
“The pin?”
“The brooch, as you would say.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I said, still nuzzling.
“It didn’t survive the testing,” he said.
I looked up at him. “What happened?”
“Well, as I may or may not have explained to you, diamonds are the hardest substance—the only substance that can stand up to the testing. Since the stones in your brooch weren’t diamonds or even moderately expensive knockoffs as you’d hoped, they melted. Disintegrated, actually. We tossed the whole piece.”
“Tossed it?”
“It fell apart, Nancy. There wasn’t anything to save.”
“Gee, that’s a shame. Even though it was junk, it was a gift and I wanted the person who gave it to me to see that I appreciated it.”
“Aw, sweetie. You’re upset.” He kissed the top of my head. “I probably should have gone into the techniques we use when we appraise a piece and laid out the risks involved. My fault entirely.”
I nodded. I did understand. And yet I felt awful that I wouldn’t be able to wear the pin at school, awful that I wouldn’t be able to show Fischer how much it meant to me. He was going to ask me why I wasn’t wearing it, I was sure of that, and I’d have to come up with some lame excuse—like the dog ate it. Oh, well.
“One of these days, I’ll buy you the real thing,” Bill said, hugging me tightly.
“Why? Does Denham and Villier give its store managers a deep discount?” I kidded.
“Yes,” he said. “So be a good girl and you might get lucky next Christmas.”
Next Christmas. That was nearly a year away. I wondered where Bill and I would be in our relationship by that time.
I suddenly pictured us living together, pictured us getting married, pictured his sons filled with adoration for their new stepmother, pictured us becoming the parents of our own dear children.
Yeah, I know. I was getting way ahead of myself. But that’s what happens right after you meet a man and fall in love. You get way ahead of yourself. You dream. You dream that life will now be a bed of roses, a bowl of cherries, a picnic. You dream that love conquers all, that hope springs eternal, that the road will be paved with gold. You dream in clichés when you fall in love. And then you wake up and find that the road is paved with boulders, not gold, and the best you can do is drive carefully.
Chapter Seventeen
Bill and I saw each other Friday night and Saturday night and, since it was his day off, virtually all of Sunday too. By Monday morning, I was as giddy as a honeymooner and every bit as exhausted.
“You look radiant,” Janice commented when I arrived at school. “Radiant but racoonish.”
“You’re referring to the dark circles.” I had applied a ton of concealer under my eyes, to no avail, apparently.
“Yeah, and I’m envious,” she said. “You two must be in that we’d-rather-have-sex-than-sleep stage of a relationship.”
I nodded shyly.
“You’d better enjoy it,” said Janice. “It won’t last.”
“What won’t?” I challenged, thinking she meant Bill and me.
“The marathon sex,” she said. “After a while, you’ll only have it once a day. Then once every couple of days. Then once a week, and so on. You’ve been married, Nance. You know how these things go.”
“Yes, but what Bill and I have doesn’t even come close to what I had with John. Unlike my cold-fish ex-husband, Bill is affectionate. He initiates. And he’s protective of me without being smothering. He’s so concerned about my welfare that he insists I lock my door after he leaves the apartment, because the police haven’t solved the other Nancy Stern’s murder and there could be a psycho running around loose in the building. In fact, the other day we were supposed to meet in my lobby before going to a movie. When I showed up, he was in the middle of a conversation with that detective, Burt Reynolds, who’s still hanging around interviewing tenants. I asked Bill what they were talking about and do you know what he said?”
“Not a clue.”
“He said he told Detective Reynolds that his special lady lived in 6J and that he wanted to make sure she was safe. I mean, how nice was that of him to take it upon himself to speak to the cop?”
“Very nice,” Janice agreed. “Very impressive.”
“I realize I haven’t known him that long, but if I made a list of the characteristics I was looking for in a man, Bill would have every one of them.”
“He almost sounds too good to be true.”
“No. I just got lucky. I never thought I’d find someone like him, Janice, but I did find him. I still can’t believe it.”
She hugged me. “When do I get to meet this embodiment of perfection?”
“Whenever you want. Why don’t we all have dinner some night this week?”
“Great. Let’s do it Wednesday night. I’ve got a date and we could make it a foursome.”
“A date? Who are you going out with?” I hadn’t recalled Janice mentioning any new men in her life.
“His name is Cummings.”
“What’s his first name?”
“Cummings. He’s from one of those families where they give each other last names for first names and first names for last names. Cummings Gilbert is his full name. It’s confusing, I know. I’ve already slipped and called him Gilbert, but he was completely cool about it. I guess it’s happened before.”
“When did you meet him?”
“Yesterday at Barnes and Noble. Sunday afternoon’s my day to cruise the stacks, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Well, I got there at about two-thirty and immediately positioned myself in the business section, and that’s where I met Cummings. I had decided on the subway ride over to the store that I’d had enough deadbeats for boyfriends and that it was time I went after a man of means for a change. I figured the best place to bag one was in the business section.”
“Gee, you really thought this out, Janice. What does Cummings do for a living?”
“Nothing. He has a trust fund.”
“So he’s a rich deadbeat.”
“Yes. My strategy was only partially successful.”
I smiled. “I’ll ask Bill about Wednesday night, but I’m sure it’ll be fine with him. He’s as curious about you as you are about him.”
“Why? What have you told him about me?”
“That you encourage me to take risks.”
“Used to encourage you to take risks. From everything you’ve said about your relationship with Bill Harris, your risk days are over, Nance.”
Cummings, Janice’s date, had a cowlick. That was the first thing that struck me about him. The second thing that struck me about him was that he was a good ten years younger than Janice—not long out of the University of Virginia as it turned out and still contemplating which career path to take, if any. And finally, I couldn’t help noticing that he was a man of means, just as advertised, full of stories about the family place in Newport, the family place in Barcelona, the family place on Jupiter Island, egads. While Janice seemed genuinely awed by the apparent size of the Gilbert fortune, she was considerably less awed by Gilbert—sorry—Cummings himself, judging by the fact that she mouthed the word asshole to me the minute his back was turned.
Her attitude toward Bill, on the other hand, was decidedly more positive and the feeling was mutual. From the moment we were seated at the restaurant—the same neighborhood bistro where Bill and I had shared our first meal—the two of them really hit it off, chattering away like old pals. I was thrilled that my two favorite people liked each other.
We were in the middle of dinner when Cummings glanced across the table at Bill and said between bites of his veal medallions, “How long have you worked at Denham and Villier, sport?”
“Ten years total,” said Bill between bites of his chicken paillard, “but only three months at the New York store. I was at the D.C. store before I relocated here.”
“Is that right,” said Cummings. “It’s such a small world when you get down to it. When I was at UVA, I spent a lot of weekends in Washington, many of them shopping at Denham and Villier. I’d pop in to buy a trinket for Mother or for my sister, Perkins, or for the occasional fair maiden from Hollins or Sweet Briar.” He washed the veal down with some wine. “Come to think of it, I was quite chummy with the sales people there and yet I don’t recall ever seeing you at the store, sport.”
“Probably because I had shorter hair then,” said Bill, whose dark brown locks curled just under his ears. “I grew it for the new job. I thought I needed a more sophisticated look for Manhattan.”
I reached out and finger combed his hair. He responded by leaning over and kissing my cheek. We were disgustingly demonstrative, I admit.
“You say you were the manager of the D.C. store?” Cummings asked him.
“Actually, I didn’t say,” Bill replied, sounding irritated now. And why not? Cummings was an irritating little twit. “But the answer is, yes, I was the manager there. Sport.”
“How odd. The manager I dealt with was Dennis Peet,” Cummings persisted. “Quite a pleasant fellow, although a little light in the loafers, if you get my meaning.”
“No, Cummings. Spell it out for us,” Janice snapped. She was growing to hate him, money or no money. Thank God.
“Dennis was the assistant manager,” Bill explained, more tolerantly than I would have. “He was promoted to manager when I left.”
“Oh. Then good for him,” said Cummings. “I’m all for equal opportunity. They have a right to earn a living just as normal people do, provided they don’t call attention to themselves with that constant swishing.”
Janice and Bill and I exchanged looks. Obviously, Cummings wasn’t winning our hearts.
We managed to finish dinner without pummeling him, then the three of us went back to Janice’s.
“Was he a piece of work or what?” She groaned as she handed Bill and me mugs of chamomile tea.
“I think I liked the last one you picked up at Barnes and Noble better,” I said. “The one wearing combat fatigues. At least he had some edge.”
Bill put his arm around Janice. “A woman like you shouldn’t have to settle.” He turned to me. “Your friend’s a keeper, Nancy.”
“He’s not so bad himself,” Janice said, thumbing at Bill. “If he ever finds out he’s got a twin brother, let me know.”
I sat there beaming. My best gal approved of my best guy and vice versa. What more could I ask for?
For the next few weeks, Bill and I spent nearly every night together. Sometimes, we had dinner at my place; sometimes, we had dinner at his place; sometimes, we went to restaurants for dinner with Janice, who continued to try out new men on us even though we kept vetoing them.
No matter what we did, we enjoyed ourselves, especially in the bedroom. I kept waiting for things to calm down between us, sexually, just as Janice predicted they would. But no. Bill Harris and I were drawn to each other, red hot for each other, and every night was an adventure in intimacy. Wherever Bill touched me became an official erogenous zone.
Things were going so well for us that I took the plunge and told my parents about our relationship. My mother, in particular, was ecstatic and wanted to know every detail about Bill. I volunteered the information I felt was relevant. She wasn’t satisfied.
“What are his sons like?” she asked.
“I haven’t met them yet,” I said. “They’re not coming to New York until February.”
“What are his parents like?” she asked.
“I haven’t met them either,” I said. “They’re from Maryland.”
“How nice. Has he said the magic words?” she asked.
“Which magic words?”
“I love you, silly.”
“I know you do, Mom. Which magic words?”
She sighed, frustrated. “Has he told you he loves you?”
“No, but I know he does. He’s probably just waiting for the right time.”
“And when do you suppose that will be?”
I sighed, frustrated. “When he feels like it, Mom. He went through a tough divorce. He may not be ready to say the ‘L’ word.”
“Then don’t you say it to him,” she warned. “It’s the man who has to say it first.”
I laughed. “Is that a law?” My mother was sweet but she was rather provincial, as I’ve already explained.
“Fine. Make jokes. I only want you to be careful, Nancy. You’re my—”
“Special baby. I know. I’ll be careful.”
I shook my head as I hung up with my mother, who, despite her obvious delight that her daughter, the divorcée, was finally in a relationship, had managed to put a damper on it with her questions about those dopey magic words. Before I’d opened my big mouth and told her about Bill and me, I’d been more than content with the course our romance was taking, more than happy to wait for him to confirm his feelings for me. And yet the minute my mother raised the subject, I suddenly started to doubt his level of commitment.
He does love me, doesn’t he? I asked myself. Why else would he act as if he loved me? Nobody’s that good at pretending.
I wandered into my living room where Bill was stretched out on the sofa reading a crime novel by Sue Grafton. I think it was the one that started with H. H Is for Hernia or something like that.
I snuggled up next to him. “Come here often, big boy?”
He put the
book down and wrapped his arms around me. “Now and then,” he said, playing along. “How about you, little lady?”
“Whenever I’m in town,” I said.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he said.
“Sure.”
He kissed me. “What do you say we get naked?”
“I say okay.”
We were about to rip off each other’s clothes when I abruptly called a halt to the proceedings.
“What’s wrong?” said Bill, his face flushed with ardor interruptus.
I lay back on the sofa. “Is this just about sex?”
“Is what just about sex?” He lay back next to me after zipping up his pants.
“Us. Our relationship.”
“Of course not. You know better than that, Nancy.”
“Then what is it about?”
“It’s about the connection that’s been there between us from the moment we met.”
“Connection,” I said skeptically. “You make us sound like the phone company.”
Bill looked at me as if I had two heads. “What’s going on with you?”
“With me?”
“Yes. I was reading a book, minding my own business, when you undulated over here, got me all turned on, and then pulled the plug.”
“Undulated! Ah, so we are about sex.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Simple. You wanted sex, I denied you sex, and now you’re angry at me.”
“I’m angry at you?” He scowled. “Are you getting your period?”
I bolted up from the sofa. “God, that is so typical of men, so predictable. The minute women are the least bit critical of them, they blame it on our hormones.” I had heard Janice say that once and decided it was worth quoting.
“Nancy, sit down, will you? I honestly don’t know where this is coming from.”
I sat down. It dawned on me that Bill and I were having our first fight and that it was all my mother’s fault. “Where this is coming from is that I’m questioning the basis of our relationship, the real reason you’re here.” Much to my embarrassment, I started to cry at this point. Why couldn’t I have left well enough alone? “I’ve been wondering (sniff sniff) if your feelings for me (blubber blubber) are as—”