An Abundant Woman

by Elizabeth Neff Walker

  “Your mother's manic-depressive?” he asked, startled.

  “Um hum. And her sister. And my grandfather. The family is full of them."

  He looked rueful. “No wonder you notice the signs of depression. What would you like to drink?"

  “Nothing, thanks. You go ahead.” I get a little flirtatious when I drink sometimes, and this would not have been a propitious time to do so. Though I felt that I had myself under tight control now, it was better to be on the safe side.

  Jack returned with a glass of white wine and sat down to the backgammon game I'd set up. He set a bowl of pretzels on the table between us. “In case we get hungry,” he said with a complicit smile.

  Actually I was feeling like a nibble and I stretched out a hand to help myself. “I do like an understanding man.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I thought how provocative they sounded and I fought to control a flush. “My husband,” I added firmly, “doesn't believe in encouraging my eating, but then he's naturally thin."

  Jack had a good solid body, neither thin nor heavy. Muscular, I suppose it would be called, undoubtedly from all that sporting activity. I enjoyed watching the way he moved, with a fluid, vigorous grace that made the breath catch in my throat. He was a few inches shorter than Nigel, but still a good half foot taller than I. So that he didn't misunderstand, I added, “He's a sweetheart, Nigel. Caught up in his work, of course. We both are. Have I mentioned that he's a biochemist?"

  “I don't think so."

  “And Cass is studying physics. This was her first year at university. I'll miss them, being away so long.” Babble on, Amanda, I thought.

  Jack regarded me with a singularly bland expression. “I'm sure you will."

  For some time we concentrated on the backgammon game. Though I was no expert, I found myself wanting to beat him. There was an aura he gave off, of being a winner, that set up my back. I rolled a number that would allow me to send him back, but would leave me vulnerable. Without hesitation I did it.

  A flicker of something sparked in his eyes, and he set himself to battle back. We were silent for long minutes, only breaking the stillness to throw the dice or grunt with annoyance at each other's luck. His compact surgeon's hands moved precisely each time it was his turn, and rested with aggressive ease when it wasn't. I could hardly take my eyes off them.

  As we approached the denouement, there was a palpable tension in the air. Academic medicine is extremely competitive, as are most sports. I don't think Jack was used to losing.

  When I rolled the perfect combination to end the game, Jack grumbled, “You didn't tell me you were good at this. We could have played something where I would have for-sure beaten you."

  “There is no such game,” I declared dramatically. “When challenged, I play my best. And I'm always lucky."

  “Oh, I doubt that.” He grinned at me and pushed the bowl of pretzels toward me. “Have another pretzel."

  “Too late. I can always be distracted by food, but you have to do it while we're still playing."

  “Aren't we going to play another game?”

  Considering my state of awareness of him, I thought that would be pushing my luck. “Not a chance,” I said. Tucking the bowl of pretzels against my stomach, I rose and grinned at him. “I'm going to take these along in case I get hungry later. Good night, Jack. Thanks for bringing me."

  “My pleasure."

  The last glimpse I snuck of him before I slipped out the door was disturbing. His face had a naked, hungry look that stung my heart. Jack Hunter was a very needy man, no doubt about it. He needed someone to comfort him, to ease the burden of his professional losses, to be a psychological support to him. And since he was a man, chances were he would settle for the “comfort” of a sexual encounter. Which was a very tempting thought to me at that moment, with my body still uncalmed. With great force of character I marched up the stairs.

  Chapter Eight

  Rain was beating against my window in the morning. I groaned and rolled out of bed, pushing back the curtain and staring mournfully at the gray clouds and dripping trees. This was going to put a bit of a damper on my plan to explore the area, or to ride the bike, or just sit outside and drink in the country air. Though I was tempted to climb back in bed, it was already half eight and I'd look like a slug if I stayed holed up in my room any longer. From my suitcase I chose a salmon-colored cotton shirt and brown corduroy pants, and donned the least elaborate of my silver earrings. I decided I would call Nigel first thing.

  When I came out my door I could smell bacon cooking and it occurred to me that Jack was cooking breakfast for the two of us. Probably I should have offered to do that. Nigel was awkward in the kitchen, possibly because he wasn't much interested in food.

  Downstairs I could hear the clatter of pans in the kitchen, and I presented myself at the door with a smile. “Morning,” I said cheerfully. Jack looked like he hadn't slept well, but I had no intention of commenting on that. “The rain is disappointing, but you probably have a dozen things you do in the rain, eh?"

  “I stay indoors like a sensible person,” he retorted. “Pancakes okay?"

  “Sure. I love pancakes."

  “We usually eat on the porch, but if you think it will be too cold or wet, we can eat in the living room."

  “I'll set places for us out there,” I said, indicating the porch. His irritableness seemed to be directed at me, for some reason, so I went about my task with few questions. Maybe he'd been waiting for a long time to hear sounds that I was up. After all, the Prozac would take several weeks to offer the full effects of its magic, and Jack had only been taking it for a few days, if he'd actually begun. Rather than ask him, I decided to take a peek in his bathroom cabinet when he was out somewhere being a jock.

  We ate in comparative silence, with me commenting on how good the pancakes were, and Jack asking me to pass him the syrup. Jack was looking everywhere but at me, which seemed a little odd, until I noticed the guilty flush in his cheeks. Then I realized as if he'd spoken it aloud that he'd dreamed of me the previous night. Which was only fair, since I'd dreamed of him and could still feel a lingering arousal.

  Jack's embarrassment was endearing, if misplaced. He'd probably forgotten how potent proximity could be to a sexually deprived individual. I myself had experienced the problem many times, and had long since ceased to blush for my uncontrollable dreams. I had always assured myself that they had no more significance than a song on the radio, buzzing through one's mind one moment and gone the next, occasionally with a lingering wisp of interest.

  As we rose from the table his hand accidentally brushed my arm and he jerked it away so quickly I almost had to laugh. “I'll do the washing up,” I said, “since you cooked."

  “Fine,” he murmured. “I have a few calls to make."

  That reminded me of my own call to Nigel. While I sudsed the dishes—and rinsed them, Americans being particular—I thought about what I would say to my husband. Most of the week I hadn't thought of him at all, but it had been a busy week. I would tell him about the problem in the department, of course, and he'd offer me sage advice. I'd tell him about learning to ride a bike. I'd tell him I'd gotten away for the weekend, but perhaps not that I was at Jack's. Not that there was anything wrong with my being there, but I didn't want to have to go into a long explanation.

  Jack was still on the phone when I appeared in the living room, so I went into the game room and picked up a People magazine to peruse and keep me from training my ear to hear his conversation, which seemed to be with someone local about a repair job. His deep voice continued for some time, and when it finally ceased, he appeared at the game room door.

  “Were you waiting to use the phone?” he asked.

  “For my call to London, but there's no hurry."

  “I'm finished. Go ahead."

  Instead of disappearing off somewhere in the house, he followed me back into the living room and sat down in a cushioned chair there. Was he trying to see if I'd put the
charges on his phone? I distinctly told the operator that it was to be charged to my calling card, but Jack remained in the room, intent—apparently—on the newspaper he was holding in front of his face.

  The phone rang at the London house, and much to my surprise was picked up on the second ring. But it wasn't Nigel's voice that answered. “Tony? Is that you?"

  “Amanda, darling! So good to hear your voice. How's America, love?"

  “Just fine. Is Nigel there?"

  “We just got back from a set of tennis. He's up in the shower and I'm raiding your fridge. I was about to take him off to mother's for dinner."

  “Have him give me a call before you go, please. I'll give you the number.” Which I proceeded to do, while Jack looked over the top of his newspaper, with brows lifted questioningly.

  Tony had rung off and I lowered the receiver to the cradle. For no reason I could think of, I began to explain the situation to Jack. “Tony's a great friend of ours. He lives with his mother not too far away, in Finchley Common. Mrs. Growalter has us to dinner regularly, and she's a fabulous cook. She's rather adopted Nigel."

  Jack looked thoughtful rather than bored by this unnecessary tale. “Her son still lives with her? How old is Tony?"

  “Mid-thirties, I should think. No, wait, thirty-seven last birthday. I remember because of the party. He runs the other biochemistry lab. The whole group came to our house. For a bunch of lab rats, they do enjoy a party, as long as there's plenty of liquor."

  “Not unlike my very own colleagues.” His gaze turned to the window, which was still dripping down rivulets of rain. “We have a great assortment of puzzles for days like this. Want to start one?"

  “Maybe in a while. I think I'll just wait here for Nigel to call back.” How long could it take, right? But I waited for ten minutes, and then twenty, when I finally had to go upstairs to the bathroom. Naturally it was while I was completely indisposed that I heard the phone ring. I hurried when Jack called me and arrived breathless in the living room.

  “Where are you?” Nigel asked.

  “At a friend's retreat not far from Madison. Tony said you were going to his place for dinner. Give my best to Lydia. Has it been a good week?"

  “Not too bad. The grant came through."

  “Splendid! That will rid you of a whole layer of worry. Has Tony heard about his?"

  “No, but I think there's little doubt he'll get it. Tonight, though, we're celebrating mine."

  When I mentioned that things hadn't been going smoothly in the OB/GYN department, Nigel said, “You can be a diplomat when you try, Mandy. You'll get things sorted out in no time."

  This vote of confidence seemed a little detached to me. Usually Nigel would have very specific advice, but he sounded a bit rushed, telling me Lydia would be expecting them.

  “Have a lovely time, then,” I said. “Congratulations on the grant. I miss you."

  “Have a good weekend."

  “Thanks.” Looking pointedly at Jack so he wouldn't miss my message, I added, “I love you, Nigel."

  “Good-bye, dear,” he said, and rang off.

  Jack folded his newspaper and set it aside. “Everything all right at home?"

  “Fine. Nigel got the research grant he'd been counting on. That should keep his project very much alive for the next three years."

  “I'm glad for him.” But Jack looked neither glad nor impressed. He looked restless, and a little downhearted. “Interested in the puzzle now?"

  “Sure,” I said, having established that I was more or less a happily married woman who took an interest in her husband's work.

  Jack poured the pieces of an incredibly difficult puzzle onto the card table we'd used the night before. The picture on the box was of trees, and lake reflecting trees. With a sigh I began turning pieces right side up. “I haven't done many jigsaw puzzles in my life."

  “They're fun, and not a source of competition."

  I regarded him with a skeptical eye. “Oh, I'm sure you could make anything a competition."

  He nodded in acknowledgement. “But with puzzles you can't quantify it, so it doesn't count. I'm sorry about last night. When I'm edgy I get more pushy."

  “Well, this seems the perfect place to ‘mellow out,’ as you Americans say. Or can you only relax when you're getting a lot of exercise?"

  Jack shrugged. “Exercise does get rid of my aggressive impulses, but I can relax if I try."

  Unable to resist, I asked, “Have you started the Prozac, Jack?"

  “Two days ago. But it doesn't work for everyone."

  “It will work for you,” I promised, though what did I know? “You're not drug aversive, are you?"

  His fingers paused on the puzzle piece he was holding and his lips twisted ruefully. “Maybe a little. I like to solve my own problems."

  “In this case you're likely to solve them by taking your medication."

  “Yes, ma'am."

  He said it lightly, but there was an edge to his tone. For some time he worked on turning over the cardboard pieces, and then began sorting out the edge pieces. In ten minutes he had most of the flat edges connected to each other. I began to work on one area of the water that was churning with foam, making it different from the rest. Fairly soon I had a three inch square more or less lodged in its correct spot. Pleased with myself, I glanced over at him.

  His gaze was already on me, moving from my eyes to my lips to my neck—no lower. Personally, I have always thought my eyes, being an interesting shade of green, my best feature. But men have told me—obviously when they shouldn't have, me being a married woman—that my lips, which are rather full and red, look very kissable. Jack was probably noticing the two streaks of gray in my hair and the “laugh” lines radiating from my mouth and eyes.

  He dropped his eyes hastily to the puzzle and asked, “How old are you, Amanda?"

  “Forty-four."

  His brows rose. “Really? I'm forty-three. You look younger than me."

  “Only because you've been depressed. That will ruin your looks if you're not careful."

  “And you, on the other hand, have no worries at all."

  “Quite the contrary.” I slipped a puzzle piece into a section he'd been working on and sat back in my chair. “But heavy people often look younger."

  “Hmmm. Why is that, do you suppose?"

  “Because there's not as much possibility of deep wrinkles or an aging gauntness in our faces. And overweight people often look robust in a way thinner people don't."

  His amused gaze ran over the part of me he could see. “You do look robust,” he admitted. “You look healthy and energetic, and ... and full of mischief."

  I don't know if he'd meant to add that last quality, but I could feel myself grinning. “And you think that perhaps I'm teasing you."

  He shrugged, not quite meeting my gaze. “Maybe. You seem to be radiating a ... playful aura. I'm not sure whether you're doing that intentionally or not."

  “Hmm. Playful. Yes, that might be how I feel. On the other hand, there's something more voluptuous to it than that. I think a rounded body can make a woman feel earthy, nurturing, rich with possibility. I don't suppose most men look at a large woman that way."

  Jack swallowed rather painfully. His thumb rubbed the glossy side of a puzzle piece in unconscious circles. “I'm sure many men are attracted to larger women."

  “Not many, I'm afraid."

  “But how would you know? You've been married forever. Men aren't going to let you know they're attracted to you."

  “What century are you living in, Jack?” I asked mildly. “If a man is attracted to me, he often lets me know, subtly, husband or no husband, just in case."

  “That's reprehensible. And probably harassment.” He dropped the puzzle piece and shifted his hands to his lap. “Just in case of what?"

  “In case I'd be interested in a little dalliance. Men never like to miss a chance for lack of trying."

  He paid close attention to trying to fit a missing piece into
the bottom of the puzzle. “And have you been interested?"

  I sighed. “No. I've been a very good girl."

  “Well, of course you have,” he said stoutly. “Why shouldn't you be?"

  Better not to ponder that one. “Indeed. Why shouldn't I be?” I rose and said, “I'm going to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

  In the kitchen I paused for a moment to lean against the stove and get a grip on myself. There was no excuse for my behaving so provocatively, but I seemed to have a playful devil urging me on. Jack would be better, I told myself, for my having brought the sexual tension out into the open. And my honest declaration that I'd never fooled around would no doubt act quite effectively on him, even if it didn't seem to be making any impression on my own body.

  Going through the motions of preparing tea, a time-honored ritual where I came from, I worked to calm myself and gain control over my impulses. There is something infinitely soothing about familiar tasks, and I allowed tranquility to seep into me while the tea steeped in a chipped golden teapot I found on the shelf. By the time I brought Jack his cup of tea, I was able to say, “I really ought to study that departmental manual for a while. Maybe I can work on this later with you."

  “Sure.” He scarcely looked up. “Thanks for the tea. I'm probably going to go for a walk in the rain in a little while. It's too claustrophobic inside."

  Wasn't it, though? “Good idea."

  Chapter Nine

  In my room I did indeed attack the manual. By focusing my entire concentration on it, I managed to skim my way through most of it in two hours. Pleased with myself, I set it aside and walked over to stand at the window. the rain continued beating down and a mist made it difficult to see very far. My stomach was telling me it was close to lunch time, and I hadn't heard Jack return. Well, I was perfectly capable of making my own lunch.