Save the Best for Last

by Bettye Griffin

  “I wasn’t ready to leave just yet,” Barry said stubbornly. “There are some things I need to talk to Genevieve about.”

  “I came here to discuss something important with Jenny as well,” Dexter said, undaunted. “We have an important meeting coming up, and we need to prepare for it.”

  For a few tense moments it looked as if Barry would not relent, but propriety won out in the end. “Yes, I know all about that,” he snapped. “And only because I know this is important to Genevieve, I’ll leave.”

  Dexter knelt to retrieve Genevieve’s crutches while Barry returned to the kitchen for his jacket and cap. “And only because this is important for Genevieve’s future,” he practically snarled to Dexter as he passed. Then he walked the few steps to where Genevieve stood on her crutches, took her hand and held it lingeringly. “I’ll call you tonight,” he said confidently before letting it go and walking out the front door.

  Dexter, who’d been standing with his legs apart and hands stuffed into his pockets, moved to lock the door behind him, then turned to Genevieve, who now leaned against the console table in the foyer, and spoke for the first time. “You want to tell me what that’s all about?”

  She took a deep breath. “Barry is a friend,” she explained. “A good one.”

  “Yeah, well he acted like he wants to be more than a friend.” He didn’t get it. He’d been dazed to learn about Jenny’s ‘boyfriend’ from Brenda Smith, but after giving it some thought, he decided that they must have had some kind of falling out that Brenda hadn’t known about. Otherwise, why would Jenny propose to him instead of Barry? That might explain why, when he tried to find out about him, she insisted she had no boyfriend. But what was Barry doing at Jenny’s now? Had they reconciled or something?

  For all he knew, Jenny could have been seeing this dude the whole time they’d been married. She’d stressed to him that he’d be free to see other women, but she never voiced her own intentions. Suddenly he felt like a fool, so enthralled by her telling him she loved him that he rushed uptown to see her, to tell her that he really did love her...and that his feelings weren’t just make-believe for the benefit of INS agents. The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to tell him where she lived. She wanted to keep her little love nest open to entertain Henderson.

  “Is he the reason you insisted our marriage not be—” he began.

  “Don’t even go there, Dexter,” she warned.

  He scowled at her, a burning in his heart. “Why didn’t you just ask him to marry you? Something tells me he wouldn’t have refused.”

  “He wanted to marry me. But he couldn’t, because his divorce wasn’t final yet.”

  “So that’s it,” he said with a knowing nod. “He’s married. You would have married him if he’d been available instead of me.”

  She wearily maneuvered to one of the chairs flanking the console table and sank into it. “At the time he was the only one who could help me, the only person I allowed myself to confide in. And when he offered to marry me...it had never occurred to me that marrying an American citizen would prevent me from being deported. What was I supposed to do, Dexter? What would you have done if you were me?”

  He forced himself to ignore the tremble in her voice, to put himself in her place, young, no family, and in danger of being shipped back to her homeland to face, if not death, the cancellation of her passport. Instead he had to get an answer to the question burning in his brain, although he didn’t know what he would do if she gave the answer he dreaded. “Jenny. Do you love him?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “No. At least not in a romantic sense.”

  “He obviously feels more for you,” Dexter muttered through his relief.

  “I’ve always been uncomfortable with that,” she admitted. “He originally told me he didn’t love me, and that we’d make the most of it. He needed to save face, since the first thing I said when he suggested marriage was that I didn’t love him. He came clean later, but in hindsight I should have realized something was wrong. Even at the beginning he wasn’t talking about marriage on a temporary basis, like I did with you. The indication was always that we would stay married. Forever. Have children together. The whole nine yards.”

  Dexter saw the pain on her face, and he wanted to gather her in his arms and kiss it away. For a generous, giving woman like Jenny, being trapped in a loveless marriage would nearly be as bad as dying. Swallowing hard, he resisted the urge to embrace her, knowing he had to hear the rest of what she had to say. Wordlessly he took the chair on the other side of the console.

  “Can’t you understand, Dexter?” she pleaded, desperation in her voice. “I had no choice. I tried and tried to think of an alternate solution. Barry kept saying I’d learn to love him, but I never believed that, and I knew he’d grow to hate me when it didn’t happen. Then he and his wife couldn’t agree on a settlement, and the divorce got pushed back to November. Between that happening and my inability to come up with another plan, it all started to fall apart. I started to get irrational. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d be taken into custody at any moment.”

  Her plea for understanding pulled at Dexter’s heartstrings. His hands, resting in his lap, balled into fists as he recalled how nervous she’d been that day in Harlem when she proposed to him, her hair and face concealed by a baseball cap and sunglasses, looking over her shoulder, stumbling all over the place. She was torn between the dread of what settling down with Barry would mean for her and her desperation to stay in the country. No wonder she’d been unable to think straight. It must have been pure hell for her.

  “Then, out of the blue, it occurred to me that you could probably help me,” she continued. Then she made a grunting sound. “I thought we could have a nice, congenial arrangement with no complications.”

  “I know that’s what you wanted, Jenny,” he said quietly, “and I understand a lot better now why you were so insistent, now that I know your only option was having to spend the rest of your life with a man you didn’t love...at least before my tuition problem gave you an alternative. But I think you failed to realize that it’s always been personal between us, right from the very beginning, when you walked in on me using the bathroom. And then that night we had dinner together, it only became more so.”

  She nodded. “I kept trying to forget about that.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible for either one of us. And one of these days we’ll have to do something about it.”

  Genevieve found his easy assessment of the situation maddening. How could he sum everything up so neatly? And why did he leave the ending so vague? That was what bothered her the most. “Is that all you’ve got to say?” she said crankily.

  “I’m not the one who’s all conflicted about this. It’s your game, Miss Riddle,” he said, winking at her.

  “So I’m conflicted. I’ve got a right to be. I’ve been through hell.”

  “I think I know what you might be thinking, Jenny.”

  She raised her chin defiantly. “And what might that be?”

  Dexter leaned forward in his chair, his head turned toward her. “Oh, just that here’s this nice man who offers to marry you and save your life, even knowing you don’t love him. And then I come along, poor—at least for the moment—and half starved, and you offer me a deal. I jump at it because I want to graduate, but in the back of your mind you wonder if I might be some kind of gigolo. After all, anybody can say they’re going to pay you back the roughly twenty grand you put out. But I haven’t given you a cent yet, and you have no way of knowing if I gave anything to my grandparents or not.”

  “Well, maybe that did occur to me,” she acknowledged truthfully. “But can you blame me?”

  “No. But Barry comes off looking saintly and unselfish, and I look like a money-grubbing boor. Jenny, don’t you believe that I would have helped you if I knew about the predicament you were in without your having to offer me an incentive?”

  “But I c
ouldn’t tell you, Dexter. I couldn’t tell anyone. Even Cesca and Livvy don’t know. The only reason Barry knows is because he was with me when Z.L. told me the INS had been by to see me.”

  Dexter sighed. “If you ask me, Barry’s going through a midlife crisis, losing his hair, and feeling old. He just wants to impress people with a pretty young wife.”

  “His motives don’t really matter, do they, Dexter?” she said softly.

  “Maybe not, but it’s important that you understand he’s not the saint you think he is, Jenny. You don’t seem to know this, so let me clue you in. No man is going to do such a huge favor for a woman without expecting something in return. You can put a price on my tuition, but you can’t put a price on what you promised him.”

  She recoiled at the implication as if he’d slapped her, then angrily jumped to her feet. “I want you to leave, Dexter. Now.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Jenny. Maybe I did go too far.” He headed for the door, then turned around to face her. “But ask yourself this. Was I wrong?”

  An exhausted Genevieve collapsed into a chair. How many more surprises would she have to endure today? First the INS showed up, out of the blue. She’d managed to ace that, in spite of Barry showing up bearing lunch. Dexter’s unexpected arrival had been by far the most difficult of the three surprises to deal with. The demanding way he’d kissed her, leaving her dizzy with wanting. No wonder Barry had been taken aback. It must have come as a stunning blow, seeing her react to Dexter in a way she’d never done with him.

  But why had Dexter said such a vile thing to her about Barry? Just minutes before he said he understood why she was so anxious for their relationship to be platonic. Why did Dexter have to remind her that intimacy had been part of the bargain she’d made before she even knew him?

  When her phone rang at seven-thirty she hoped it would be Dexter calling to apologize, but quickly discarded that notion once she realized the call had come through on the landline. Dexter had her cell number only.

  Sure enough, the name in the caller ID screen read ‘Barry Henderson.’ She languidly picked up the phone. “Hello, Barry.”

  “I called to apologize,” he said without preamble. “I acted like a jerk this afternoon.”

  “I won’t argue with you there,” she said quietly.

  “Cut me a little slack, Genevieve. Not only did I learn that you married Stan’s tenant, I came out of the kitchen to find the two of you kissing. That’s a lot to absorb in one afternoon.”

  “Correction. He kissed me.”

  “From where I stood it was a joint effort, one that looked like you were enjoying fully.” He paused. “You haven’t allowed me to kiss you since the night you found out my divorce hadn’t gone through. And this man comes out of nowhere and gets to hold you in his arms while I can only dream about it.”

  “It was a spontaneous action on his part. Like that famous Life magazine picture of the sailor kissing the nurse in Times Square when World War II ended. And in all fairness, Barry, he was equally shocked to see you.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t trust him. But did you two at least get ready for your appointment?”

  “No. I sent him home.” She knew Barry would be surprised by this. “He kept questioning me about you. I’d already been interrogated by the INS people. Frankly, I couldn’t stand any more questions.” She hoped he would get the hint.

  He did. “All right. I won’t ask you about him, but there is something I’d like to know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “What do you see happening between us, Genevieve?”

  She thought for just a few seconds. “I see us always being good friends. But with your divorce about to be made final and with me safely married and, if all goes well, not in danger of being sent back, I see our contact becoming less frequent. Let’s face it, Barry. I know how you feel about me now, but it’s human nature to move on. Eventually you’re going to meet a woman you’d like to pursue socially, and most women aren’t understanding about the man in their life having a female friend. We’ll probably cut back to a couple of lunches a year, and I’m afraid even that might be problematic for you.” Her tone became warm with affection. “But I want you to know, Barry, that I’ll never forget what you offered to do for me.”

  “I appreciate that, and your consideration for my social life as well. But, Genevieve, what if the only woman I want to see is you?”

  Her grip on the phone loosened out of sheer astonishment, and only quick reflexes kept her from dropping the receiver. “Barry ...that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Why doesn’t it make sense? I love you, Genevieve. You know that. Why would you think I’d settle for just being your friend?”

  “Well...because everything’s different now. You don’t have to marry me and hope my feelings for you will change. You can find someone who loves you.”

  “The only thing that’s different is that you’re married to that...overripe juvenile,” he spat out. “That doesn’t change my feelings for you. Genevieve, listen to me. You said nothing would happen between us as long as I was married. Well, soon I’ll be single again, and your marriage is just an arrangement.” When the silence between them lengthened, he said, “It is an arrangement, isn’t it?”

  Genevieve felt heat rush to her cheeks, remembering how she’d willingly kissed Dexter back each time he’d taken her in his arms, of how she’d dozed off while pressing her face to his pillow. She knew she could never explain her relationship with Dexter to Barry when she didn’t understand it herself, and because she couldn’t bear to tell any more lies, she chose to be evasive about it, as gently as possible. “That part of my life really doesn’t concern you, Barry.”

  “So now you’re telling me to butt out.” There was no mistaking the hurt in his voice.

  “I don’t mean to be unkind, but it’s a complicated situation.” I’m not even sure I understand it myself.

  He ignored her, asking yet another question, his voice low with suspicion. “When you got married, did you make the same promise to him as you did to me?”

  Her shoulders stiffened. First Dexter, now Barry, accusing her of trading sexual favors. “I promised him nothing! Barry, you’re confusing me, and this is the worst possible time! Do you have any idea what’s at stake on Friday, for both Dexter and for me?” She was beginning to regret having picked up the phone.

  “It’s you I care about, Genevieve. I don’t give a rat’s ass about what happens to Dexter.”

  Well, she did. She thought she was falling in love with Dexter, and she’d never been so confused. “I can’t handle this.” She sounded dangerously close to tears.

  He was silent for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you, Genevieve. Get ready for your meeting. I won’t even call you until Friday night, after your interview, so you can concentrate on it. How’s that?”

  “All right. Good night, Barry.”

  Genevieve quickly hung up the telephone and raised her head to look at the ceiling. This was becoming a mess.

  But Barry had been absolutely right in his suspicion. Dexter made her skin tingle and made her moist between her legs just by kissing her. There was no point in trying to kid herself any longer. If Barry hadn’t been in the apartment she would still be in Dexter’s arms now, hours after their kiss.

  Agent Marybeth Galasso had thought it so fascinating that she had two men who wanted to marry her. Maybe it sounded romantic, but it was a huge headache.

  In her heart she knew that she hadn’t heard the last of this. Barry would be raising this topic again, and she hadn’t the faintest idea what she’d say to him.

  She sighed. She probably wouldn’t hear from Dexter. He’d already acknowledged that he’d probably been too harsh, and apologized for it. She knew he wasn’t the type of man to dwell on the unpleasant; he believed in moving on.

  She just wished she’d known what he’d been about to say before he kissed her.

  In his spacious loft in a ninet
eenth century Williamsburg building, Barry poured himself a Scotch on the rocks. Since baring his true feelings to Genevieve, and even before, he’d done everything as she wanted, barely touching her hand. He thought he had a clear path to her heart, but then along came that wild-haired student she was now married to. If he’d known that would happen he never would have suggested she hide out at the Smith’s.

  He thought rationally about the situation. Brenda Smith had said that Dexter appeared to be running out of financing for his expensive education. When Barry bide Genevieve farewell he noticed a thick textbook on top of the console table in her foyer. Apparently Dexter had managed to get enrolled for the fall semester. It had to be because Genevieve was picking up the tab. That was the carrot she’d dangled in front of his nose to get him to marry her.

  That in itself was fine. That was what marriages of convenience were all about, something of benefit to both parties. But there was a current flowing between Genevieve and that slob. Barry had seen the longing in her eyes, even as she pushed Dexter away from her.

  He thought as sipped on his Scotch. All this time he’d figured Genevieve had married some totally insignificant being, that all he had to worry about was that he’d try to extort her for more money. That he could have put a quick stop to. But Dexter Gray was hardly insignificant, and not only did he have the height and looks that women went for—even under that rat’s nest growing out of his head —he’d obviously fallen for Genevieve, and Barry wasn’t convinced Genevieve didn’t feel the same. She’d managed to duck his questions for the most part. That made Dexter a far greater threat, a rival for Genevieve’s affections. And if the dreamy look on her face after breaking out of his embrace was any indication, Dexter might just win.

  He drained his drink and slammed the highball glass on the counter. What he had to do was figure out a way to get Dexter Gray out of the picture entirely.

  Dexter lay on his back, staring at the whirring ceiling fan. As tired as he was, he couldn’t seem to get to sleep. He punched his pillow in frustration, the way he’d been doing since he got into bed. If his pillow had been an opponent in a prizefight, the referee would have stepped in and stopped the unmerciful battering.