Yes, I Do

by Gwynne Forster

  “Why didn’t you sit down?” she called out in a tone of gaiety that he knew was forced.

  Well, he wasn’t going to string it out. Quick steps took him to her, and she stared up at him with want blazing in her eyes. Hot energy shot to his belly, and he pulled her into his arms. Her breasts nestled snugly against his chest, and when their hard tips rubbed against him, he lifted her from the floor, parted her lips with his tongue, and knew heaven at last. When she took him into her warm, sweet mouth, desire vibrated through him like atomic waves. She asked for more of him, and he gave, visiting every nook and crevice of her mouth, sampling the sweetness he found there. He thought he’d explode as the fullness of his manhood nestled against her belly. What sense he could muster told him he’d better ease up, but she wouldn’t release him and clutched him to her as she groaned in pleasure. He wanted to burst within her, but if he did, he’d regret it. They both would. What they needed wasn’t a quick fix standing in the middle of a room, but a place and time to savor, to revel in each other’s bodies.

  With one hand, he loosened her grip on him. “Ginger, sweetheart, if we can lose ourselves in each other as we just did, nature is telling us something. I’m not going to see any other woman. Will you cut any romantic ties you have, and let’s see if we can make it together? We haven’t spoken about our lives, things we experienced that might affect us now, but it’s time we did that. I’m in deep here and so are you. Right?”

  She nodded. “All right. I won’t see any one else until we know where we’re going.”

  He hugged her to his heart. “You want me to leave?”

  “I don’t think we ought to make love right now, if that’s what you’re asking. Oh, I know I would have, but I believe we can have more if we do as you suggested.”

  “I know we can. See you tomorrow evening?”

  “I’d like that, but I have to prepare for a case, and I don’t know anything about the business involved. I need to do some research at the Schomburg Library, and it doesn’t open till noon. We can talk when I get home, though.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you about nine-thirty. Right now, I’m out of here before things start to heat up again. Kiss me?”

  His heart turned over when she raised her mouth to his, and he knew he’d never be able to live without her. Her lips brushed his, then parted for his tongue, but he resisted her invitation. No point in steaming himself up again. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

  “’Night.” She opened the door, and as he walked through it she reached up and kissed his cheek. “Till tomorrow.”

  He had to control the temptation to follow her back into that apartment.

  Ginger grabbed the nearest chair and barely missed sitting on the floor. No use lying to herself; he made her come alive, and she couldn’t wait to know the ultimate about him—how he’d make her feel and whether what churned inside of her was strong enough to last a lifetime. But maybe he wouldn’t want that. With his steel-like willpower, he could dance on the edge and walk away without a backward glance. Well, she wasn’t bad at that herself. She jumped up, crossed her arms, and stroked her shoulders. Laughter poured out of her, and she whirled around and around. Work, her conscience reminded her, but who could think of work when the taste of him still lingered in her mouth?

  At seven the next morning, she took a brisk walk along the river, after which she went to Andy’s Place for breakfast. Amos Logan sat at his usual table in the corner reading The New York Times.

  “You want to read, or may I join you?” she asked him.

  He put the paper aside. “I can read any time. How’d that case go?”

  She gave the waiter her order of half a cantaloupe, toast, eggs, and coffee. “The opposing attorney and I got into a hassle over the charges, and that apparently inspired the couple to make up. At their request, the judge dismissed the case.”

  “You got into an argument with the attorney of your client’s wife? In front of the judge?”

  She took a few sips of coffee. “Yes, and yes. Judge Williams called us on it, too.”

  “Agatha Williams?” Ginger nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I taught her. She’s just the type. Agatha can split any kind of hair. What did you argue about?”

  She told him, and had to experience the discomfort of a knowing look from a man of the world.

  “Ginger, if I may call you that. Sounds personal to me.”

  “It was personal. The problem is that I don’t know in what respect.”

  “You’ll find out,” he said and beckoned the waiter for more coffee. “I expect he’ll let you know pretty soon, if he hasn’t already done so. Keep me posted.”

  They talked of the local political scene, of the candidates running for different posts and what they thought of them. “A lackluster bunch,” he pronounced.

  “I’d better be going,” she said as Clarice walked in dressed in white slacks and a yellow T-shirt that proclaimed, “Pray for Spring. Summer is killing me,” and brought a gale of laughter from Amos.

  “You two know each other?” Ginger asked.

  They didn’t, so she invited Clarice to join them and soon made her way back to her apartment to dress for work.

  Her afternoon and evening at the Schomburg netted her the information she needed on the nightclubs in Harlem and on The Cat’s Pajamas in particular, and she left there shortly after eight o’clock to begin preparing her case against the city, which had begun closure proceedings against the club. The club’s owner had a right to bar from entrance anyone who had ever been evicted from the premises legally for drunkenness, use of drugs, or similar undesirable behavior. If the owner rejected the offender’s apology, that was his right. Too many Harlem establishments had been closed for a first violation of a city ordinance, and the owner of The Cat’s Pajamas wanted to avoid that penalty. She stopped by Andy’s Place, got a hamburger and soup, and took it home with her.

  Exhausted but fulfilled after a productive day, Ginger finished her supper, took a shower, and prepared for bed. With an eye on the clock and nine-thirty—when Jason had said he’d call—she found Donna Hill’s book, Pieces of Dreams, and got set to find out what happened to Maxine, the girl Quinn Parker had left behind. Trouble was, she hated to put the book down once she’d started it, and Jason would call at any minute.

  By ten minutes to ten, she had stopped wanting to hear his voice and had developed an urge to tell him what he could do with his silver sails and golden wings.

  When the phone rang at seven minutes after ten, she was tempted not to answer it, but decided to hear him out.

  “I thought you’d decided not to answer,” he said after a greeting that she was certain would have been more affable if she’d picked up on the first two or three rings. “I called as soon as I could. After dinner downtown, I took a taxi home and would have been here in plenty of time, but the taxi driver elected to drive through the park and went right into a police check. So there I sat for forty minutes, while the police investigated the driver’s green card and driver’s license, and the cab’s inspection certificate. And trust me, they took their time doing it.”

  In her impatience for his call, she hadn’t considered that he’d have good reason not to keep his word. “I admit I was annoyed, and I know I should have waited for your reasons. I’m sorry.”

  “If your dander got up because you couldn’t wait to hear my voice, I won’t find it hard to forgive you.”

  “And if I tell you that’s not why I got annoyed—”

  “Then you’d be lying, honey. His low, sultry laugh warmed her soul. “We promised honesty, remember?”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself, mister.”

  “I’ve learned it never hurts to give that impression.”

  “What about that honesty you were talking about a second ago?”

  A teasing laughter colored his voice. “That was seconds ago. I’m sure you’re familiar with the saying, ‘Never look back, something may be gaining on you’? Say, I love the woods in spring.
You’ve got the rest of the week to get that brief together. How about going hiking with me in the Catskills Saturday morning? Some of those trails are magnificent. We could go fishing, too, if you’d like.”

  She loved the outdoors, though hiking wasn’t high on her list of fun things. Neither was fishing. But if that’s what he enjoyed, she’d learn to love it if it would enrich their time together.

  “I’ve always been able to take both or leave them, but I might enjoy hiking and fishing with you. All right, I’ll go.”

  “Great. All you need is a pair of sturdy shoes and a sweater.”

  She couldn’t resist the jab. “Good heaven, Jason, that’s what you wear in the woods—shoes and a sweater?”

  “Your imagination is telling tales on you. If that’s what you want to see, we don’t have to go to the Catskills.”

  A picture of Jason in shoes and sweater flashed through her mind, and her amusement at it manifested itself in a hearty laugh. “Hmm,” was all she said.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “My imagination is both mental and visual.”

  She supposed that he’d settled back for a good set-to when he said, “Like what you saw?”

  Catering to the wickedness that always hovered near the surface, she shot back, “Well, I suppose I’ve seen worse.”

  “You bet you have. Give me a kiss, huh?”

  She made the sound, and added, “Sweet dreams.”

  Letting her know that he was as devilish as she, he said, “Oh, I’ll dream. Be sure of that, because I’ll doze off with a picture of the two of us gamboling through the woods in our shoes and sweaters.” He hung up before she could tell him what she thought of his observation.

  Ginger got up early Saturday morning, fried some chicken drumsticks Southern-style, made buttermilk biscuits, and put the food in a thermal bag. She put a box of ginger snaps and some bananas and apples in her wicker basket along with linens and cutlery. If she were going to walk herself to death in Jason’s fairy tale woods, at least she’d be able to eat when she got hungry. She dressed in a cotton shirt, jeans, and low-heeled leather boots, and dropped a sweater on the wicker basket.

  At seven sharp, the doorman announced Jason’s arrival.

  “Hmm,” he said, after a quick kiss on her mouth, “do I by some rare piece of luck smell buttermilk biscuits?”

  She nodded and picked up the basket, ready to leave.

  A look of incredulity masked his face. “Wait a minute. You just made buttermilk biscuits?”

  What was so unusual about that? she wondered, but she answered, “Yes,” and pointed to the thermal bag. “I put some in here. Come on. It’s after seven.”

  He cocked an eye and stared at her. “If you just made them, that means they’re still hot. You’d need a towtruck to get me out of here before I sample some of those things.”

  So much for getting to the Catskill Mountains by eleven o’clock. “All right. All right. Just have a seat. She pointed to a dining room chair, but he followed her into the kitchen, sat on a stool, and watched her. She put four biscuits in the toaster.

  “Any butter and jam? Just give it to me right here,” he said when she started toward the dining room. “I grew up eating in the kitchen.”

  She poured a mug of coffee for him and learned that he drank it straight. Minutes later, he stood, patted his stomach, and extolled her virtues as a biscuit maker. “A woman who can make biscuits that taste like that,” he marveled, shaking his head. “Ginger, you have so many talents. You’re a fine attorney, a pianist with a wonderful voice, a gardener, and now, a biscuit maker. Before I start to feel inept, tell me about some of your shortcomings.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got my share of them. For one thing, I’m notoriously lousy at judging men.”

  “At judging…” As though frozen, he stopped unlocking the door of the Buick he’d rented and stared at her. “What do you mean by that?”

  He had to know sometime, and the sooner she could test his reaction the better. “Just what I said. And that’s one reason—maybe the main one—why I’m so indecisive about you. With my record, I’ve gotten cautious.” She wished he wouldn’t look at her as though he could see through her.

  “We need to save that for serious conversation, for that time when we get down to the business of sharing everything about ourselves.” He threw the keys up, caught them, and looked into the distance. “Ginger, I don’t believe in saying important things in a casual manner, playing down their significance. Besides, when I’m driving, I don’t like to concentrate on anything else.”

  She wished she hadn’t let those words slip off her tongue, for she hadn’t meant to diminish the importance of Harold’s request for a divorce. She had poured one hundred percent of herself into the marriage, while he’d merely watched her do it. She’d been devastated. In her reckoning, it was she for whom the marriage had not been fulfilling and when, without warning, he’d said he wanted his freedom, the wounds that his demand inflicted on her pride had scarred her deeply.

  Jason took the New York State Thruway to Elmsford and crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge without slowing down.

  “I knew this was too good to be true,” Ginger said when he came to a complete stop on Route Eighty-seven behind what seemed like miles of stalled traffic.

  He shook his head. “Beats me. At this rate, it’ll be dark before we get to Stone Hollow. You dead set on it?”

  Was she breaking her neck for the opportunity to expose herself to ticks and poison ivy? She let a look of concern cover her face. “I would have enjoyed it. Yes. But I’d be content if we just found a place to have a little picnic.”

  He pinched her nose in what she recognized as a gesture of approval and affection. “Great. If I drive along that zebra for about a quarter mile, I can get off this highway. There’s a nice park and lake not far from here. We can go there. What do you say?”

  “Sounds good to me. All we wanted was an outing together, and we’ll have that.”

  He moved onto the white-striped lane and was soon able to turn into Route Nine W. He stopped, turned, and faced her. “Are you always this agreeable?”

  “To anything reasonable that doesn’t inconvenience me, why not?”

  He moved onto the road and headed for the park. “That has not been my experience with most people, and certainly not with the women I’ve known. The lake’s about a mile from here. I think I’ll pull over there and get some soft drinks. Come in with me and have a stretch.”

  They entered the shabby building and rang the bell.

  A woman stopped mopping the floor, wiped her hands on the sides of her skirt, and looked them over. “We don’t have no rooms right now. Come back in a couple of hours.”

  Ginger knew she gaped at the woman, but Jason stuck his balled up fists to the sides of his hips and glared. “Run that past me again.”

  And run it past him, she did, adding, “It’ll cost you seven-fifty an hour.”

  He ran his fingers through his silky curls in an air of frustration. “But that sign says… All we want is a Coke and a bottle of ginger ale. What kind of place is this?”

  The woman went back to her mopping. “Rooms by the hour. The drinks are next door.” She nodded to her left. “Be sure and tell ’em Effie sent ya.”

  Jason took Ginger’s hand and stepped outside. “I’m sorry about that. Wait here. No misunderstandings like that one. I’ll get the drinks.”

  “For goodness’ sake, don’t mention Effie,” she called after him.

  He walked back to her. “You think I’m crazy?” A grin played around his lips as he flashed a set of white teeth, and mischief sparkled in his eyes. She knew she could expect some of his special brand of deviltry, and he didn’t let her down. “Of course, when I turned Effie down, I was only speaking for myself. If you want to go back in a couple of hours, I’m not totally opposed, though I’d prefer something elegant, more worthy of you.”

  She punched her finger in his middle. “In your dreams, Bust
er.”

  She loved his laughter, and he gave her a good sample of it before going to get the drinks. As he walked away, she asked herself if she cared for him but refused to hear her heart’s answer. They ate lunch by the lake, with their bare toes cushioned in the grass.

  “Time flies when I’m with you,” he told her. “We’ve been here three hours.”

  She sat on the grass with her back resting against an old tree, and he lay supine on a blanket with his head in her lap. “I could spend forever right here with you.”

  His hair held a peculiar fascination for her, and she yielded to temptation and stroked it with the palm of her right hand. “Worse things could happen,” she admitted. “What would we do? Forage for berries and nuts?” She let her thumb caress his lower lip. “What would happen when it got cold? Oh, I know. We could scoot back to New York and hibernate.”

  Suddenly his hand gripped her wrist, and she realized she’d been stroking his neck. He sat upright. “Do you know you’ve been making love to me for the last twenty minutes?”

  “I…no, I wasn’t.”

  “Deny it all you want.” That grin again. “If you’re that skilled at it when you’re not thinking about it, I can’t wait to have your undivided attention.”

  “Jason, you’re starting to get a one-track mind.”

  “Don’t blame me, sweetheart. It’s your influence. I think we’d better start back.

  “How about stopping by my place while I change? Then I’ll return the car, get a cab, and take you home. You change, and we can have dinner and take in some jazz down at The Village Vanguard. Would you like that?”

  You’re going to his place. If it gets out of hand, are you prepared to make love with him? She was, she admitted to herself, though it didn’t matter. If she said she wanted to leave, she knew he would take her home at once. Nonetheless, the little mental exercise had been useful: she’d made an important decision.

  “You’re pretty quiet, lady.”

  “I was thinking. Sounds good, but why not drop off the car before we stop by your place?”

  He shot an inquiring glance in her direction, so she hastened to explain. “That way, you won’t have to look for a parking space.”