"Maybe, love. Maybe that. Has it occurred to you that while you go home to your darling little elderly husband, I am out of a job, out of a romance, and possibly out of a country? I'd say I have good reason to be concerned."
Suddenly she felt for him. He was right. She did have Ivo. And what did he have? From the sound of it he had nothing left. "I'm sorry, Anthony." She went to him and touched his face with her hand. "I'll let you know what's happening as soon as I know myself."
"Wonderful. This is beginning to sound like a job interview. Well, let me tell you one thing, Miss Assistant Director, whatever you may think, whatever I may or may not mean to you, I want to make one thing very clear before we go. And that is that I love you." His voice quavered on the words. "And that if you'll be so kind as to leave your husband, I want to marry you. Immediately. Do you understand?"
She looked at him, stupefied. "Are you serious? But why?"
He couldn't keep from smiling at her words, and then softly he ran a finger around her face, down her neck, and slowly toward her breasts. "Because you're beautiful, and you're intelligent, and wonderful, and" --he looked at her seriously for a moment--"you're not the sort of girl one just plays around with. You're the sort of girl one marries, Bett." She looked at him in amazement and he smiled. "So, my darling, if I can pry you out of your existing situation"--he went down on one knee next to her and kissed her hand--"I would like to make you Mrs. Anthony Pearce."
"I don't know what to say."
"Just call me the day after we get to New York and say yes."
But she knew that she wouldn't do that. She couldn't have done that to Ivo. What she hadn't counted on was Ivo doing it to her.
Chapter 20
"Ivo, you don't mean it." As she stared at him her face turned an ashen gray. "But why?"
"Because it's time. For both of us." What was he saying? Oh, God, what did he mean? "I think it may be time for both of us to start with lovers our own age."
"But I don't want that!" And then with horror, "Do you?" He didn't answer. But only because his guts were being torn apart. He was certain of what had happened. And he had availed himself of certain reports. She was involved with the actor. And she had been involved with him for months. Perhaps even before they left New York. Ivo wasn't going to stand in the way of that. She had a right to something more. She was so young. "But I don't want to leave you!" She almost shrieked it at him as he sat calmly in his den.
"I think you do."
"Is it because of the other women I've been reading that you're going out with? Is it because of them? Ivo, tell me!" She was suddenly frantic and frighteningly pale, but he held firm.
"I told you, this will be better for both of us. And you should be free."
"But I don't want to be free."
"But you are free now. I'm not even going to drag this thing out unbearably for both of us, I'm going to fly to the Dominican Republic next weekend and it'll all be over. Finished. You will be legally free."
"But I don't want to be legally free, Ivo!!" She was shouting so loud, he was sure that Mathilde could hear everything through the door. Gently he reached out to Bettina and held her close to him.
"I will always be here for you, Bettina. I love you. But you need someone younger than I am." And then, as though explaining to a very slow child, he told her, "You can't be married to me anymore."
"But I don't want to leave you." She was wailing now and almost hysterical as she clutched at his hand. "Don't make me go ... I'll never do it again ... I'm sorry.... Oh, Ivo, I'm so sorry...." Now she knew that he knew. He had to. Why else would he be doing this to her? As she clung to him she wondered how he could be so cruel.
And the tragedy of it was that inside he was dying, but he felt that it was the one thing he owed her. And yet it was the one thing she didn't want. He tried to explain to her through her hysteria that there would be a sum of money provided for her every month. He would never leave her penniless or stranded. He had also provided for her in his will. She could stay in the apartment until after he got back from the Dominican Republic, after which he suggested she move in with--er--a friend. And while she remained in residence, he himself would stay at a friend's club.
Bettina listened to him in a stupor, she couldn't believe this was happening to her, this man who had rescued her, whom she had so desperately loved. But she had spoiled everything by sleeping with Anthony, and Ivo knew. Now she had to be punished.
The next days passed by her like a nightmare, and she could remember no more painful moment in her life. Not even the death of her father had left her feeling so broken, so abandoned, so desperately unable to turn the tides of what had come. She didn't even want to speak to Anthony, yet the day before Ivo returned from the Dominican Republic, she sat in her bedroom late at night, almost hysterical, and she could think of no one to reach out to but him.
"Who? What? Oh, my God, you sound awful ... are you all right?" And then after a pause, "Do you want to come over?" She hesitated for a moment, and then she said yes. "Do you want me to come and get you?" It was a gesture of chivalry she appreciated but didn't feel was quite right. So she climbed into blue jeans, sandals, and a shirt, and a few minutes later she got in a cab and was on her way to him.
"He what?" Anthony was making them coffee as they sat in his comfortable kitchen on ladder-back chairs.
"He told me he wants a divorce, and he's in the Dominican Republic this weekend getting it," She repeated it mechanically as fresh tears washed over her face.
Anthony stood there and grinned. "I told you, ducky, he's senile, but who am I to complain? You mean he's divorcing you?" She nodded. "This weekend?" She nodded again and he gave out a whoop.
"I might tell you, Anthony," she sniffed loudly, I think your elation is in very poor taste."
"Do you?" He grinned at her. "Do you, my love? Well, I don't. I've never been so bloody happy about anything in ray life." And then with a polite bow he turned to her. "Will you do me the honor of marrying me on Monday?"
She curtsied equally politely and said, "I will not."
He was momentarily taken aback. "Why the hell not?"
She sighed and walked to the couch and sat down, blowing her nose again. "Because we hardly know each other. Because we're both young. Because ... Jesus, Anthony ... I've been married to someone for seven years whom I cared about a great deal, he's gone off to get a divorce, and you expect me to get married the next day? I'd have to be crazy. At least give me a chance to catch my breath." But catching her breath wasn't the point really. She didn't want to marry him. She wasn't sure of him. As a lover yes, but not as a mate.
"Fine. And you can write to me in England." He looked suddenly sour.
"What's that supposed to mean?" She looked over at him and frowned.
"Precisely that. I have to be out of the country by Friday."
"At the end of next week?"
"That's when Friday usually comes around."
"Don't be cute, I'm serious."
"So am I. Extremely so as a matter of fact. In fact I was about to start packing when you called." And then he brightened. "But if we got married, I wouldn't have to go anywhere, would I?"
She looked at him squarely. "That's a hell of a reason to get married."
But he moved close to her as she said it, and then he sat down and took her hand. "Bett, think of our months with that damn road show. If we can stay happy and close through all of that, we can make it through anything. You know I love you. I told you I wanted to marry you, so what difference does it make if it's this week or next year?"
"Maybe a lot of difference." She looked at him nervously and shook her head, and quickly he dropped the subject. A little while later they wound up, in bed, and the subject didn't come up again until the next morning, when he reminded her that she was not only about to lose her husband, but her lover as well. That dismal reality had not yet fully come home to her, and she burst into fresh tears.
"Oh, for God's sake stop crying. The
re's a way to solve everything, you know."
"Stop pushing for your own goddamn interests." But he did, and he was brilliant at it. By the end of the afternoon, she was a nervous wreck. And then, checking her watch, she realized that she had to go back to Ivo's apartment. She had to finish packing the rest of her things and get them to a hotel. But when she told Anthony, he insisted that she stay with him. She wasn't absolutely sure that she ought to, but on the other hand it would be less brutally lonely for the first few days than a hotel. And as long as she had lived with him in hotel rooms all summer, there was no reason not to stay with him now. She also realized with a dull thud that she was no longer married. By that day Ivo would have gotten the divorce.
So at five o'clock she went uptown in a taxi to collect the rest of her things, and she was oddly reminded of when she had moved out of her father's empty apartment and come to stay at Ivo's. It was seven years later, and now she was moving in with another man. But only briefly, she promised herself. And then she reminded herself that she had only come to Ivo's to stay briefly too.
By Monday she was feeling more herself. On Monday evening he took her out to dinner. And on Tuesday he started to pack. By Wednesday the apartment was a shambles, and it was clear that in two days she was going to have to face another wrenching adieu. That morning she spoke to Ivo, and he was odd and cool and determined about what he had done. And when she hung up, she looked at Anthony, with fresh tears in her eyes. In two days he would be gone too. But he knew what she was thinking, and he had looked pointedly into her eyes. '"Will you do it?" She looked at him blankly. "Will you marry me, Bettina? Please?"
And then she had to smile. He looked like a small boy as he asked her.
"But it doesn't make any sense. It's too soon."
"No, it's not too soon." And this time there were tears in his eyes. "It's almost too late. If we don't get a license today, we can't do it by Friday. And then I'm going to have to leave you. No matter what I feel ... no matter what...." The words had an oddly familiar ring to Bettina and she remembered Ivo saying them to her on the phone when she was in California with Anthony. She also remembered his telling her to pay the price for what she believed in, "no matter what."
"And if it doesn't work?" She looked at him steadily.
"Then we get divorced."
She spoke softly. "I've already done that, Anthony. I don't want to do that again."
He moved closer and reached out to hold her. "We won't have to. We'll be together forever and always...." And then he held her tighter. "We'll have a baby ... oh, Bettina, please...." And as he held her she couldn't resist him. She wanted so desperately to cling to him, not to lose yet one more person who had meant something to her. And she wanted equally desperately to be loved. "Will you?"
She held her breath for a moment and nodded. He could barely hear her answer. "Yes."
He got to City Hall before closing on Wednesday. They got the license, the blood test, and Anthony got the ring. And on Friday morning, at City Hall again, they were married. And Bettina Daniels Stewart became Mrs. Anthony Pearce.
Chapter 21
Anthony and Bettina spent the autumn months hibernating quietly after their September wedding. He hadn't gotten cast in another play and she hadn't returned to her job. She realized that she had the background she needed. And she certainly had the experience, the heartache to begin to write. Anthony didn't feel pressure to return either. Married to Bettina, he could stay in the States. And living on her alimony from Ivo, he decided that he could wait for the right part. Once or twice Bettina felt awkward about it, after all Ivo had provided the money for her. But it was obvious that Anthony felt embarrassed enough about his lack of employment, so she didn't press the point. And after all she wasn't working either. She decided she would take a break, get to know Anthony, every nook, every corner, every cranny of his mind. There were parts that she realized she didn't really know, parts of him that she knew he kept from her, however close they might seem.
So they tucked themselves into his apartment, read plays, cooked spaghetti, went for long walks, and made love. They laughed and talked and chuckled into the morning hours ... when Anthony was at home. There were many evenings when he went to see other actors perform, and afterward he and his friends talked far into the night. Alone in the loft, she understood how Ivo must have felt when she left him to work at the theater.
In fact she thought about Ivo a lot. She wondered what he was doing, if he was still so tired, if he was all right. She found herself wanting to turn to him, to hear his gentleness, his encouragement, and his praise. And what she found instead was Anthony's nonchalance and his humor, his warmth, and his passion, which spent itself so readily in her arms.
"What are you looking so glum about, love?" He had been watching her for a while, gnawing at a pencil as she poised over some notes for her play. She looked up in surprise as she heard him. He had been out for hours and she hadn't heard him come in.
"Nothing. How was your evening?"
"Very pleasant. Yours?" he asked her casually as he unwound a long cashmere scarf from around his neck. Bettina had bought it for him at the first sign of winter. After he insisted that she sell her mink coat. They had been living on the proceeds for two months.
"It was okay." But she was looking gloomy, and she hadn't been feeling well all day.
He smiled as he looked at her and came to sit down on the edge of the bed. "Now, come on, lover. Tell me. Something's wrong."
At first she only shook her head, and then she laughed softly and took his face in her hands. "No. I was just thinking about Christmas. And I wanted to give you something wonderful. But I don't see how I can." She looked at him regretfully and he pulled her into his arms.
"That doesn't matter, silly. We have each other. That's all I want." And then he grinned mischievously. "That and a Porsche."
"Very funny." But it was odd to remember that Ivo had given her a diamond bracelet the Christmas before. And she had given him a new cashmere coat, a four-hundred-dollar briefcase, and a gold lighter. But those days were gone forever now. All she had left was the jewelry, and that was carefully stowed in the vault. She hadn't even told Anthony. She had simply told him that she'd returned it all to Ivo when she left. As a matter of fact she had offered to return to him all the pieces that he'd given her, but he had insisted that she keep them, on the condition that she told no one where they were. He wanted her to keep them, like a nest egg, and she had followed his advice. Now, for a moment, she contemplated selling something, just for Christmas. But she knew that to do so would arouse Anthony's suspicions that she was hiding something more. And she was. Now she sighed as she looked at him. "Do you realize that we can't afford to give each other anything?" She looked like a child who had just lost her most cherished toy.
But Anthony was undaunted. "Sure we can. We can give each other a turkey and a Christmas dinner. We can write each other poems. We can go for a long walk in the park." And he made it sound so lovely that she smiled and brushed away her tears.
"I wanted to give you much more than that."
And then, reaching out for her gently, he whispered. "You already have."
But in the week that followed, her thoughts of Christmas were all but obscured. She became violently ill with some kind of flu that had her retching and gagging most of the day on the bathroom floor. By evening she would feel a little better. But it all started with fresh anguish in the morning. And by the end of the week she looked ghastly and wan.
"You'd better see a doctor, Bett." Anthony looked at her one afternoon as she staggered out of the bathroom.
But she was hesitant about going to Ivo's doctor. She didn't want to have to explain to him, didn't want him to report to Ivo, or to pry. So she got the name of a doctor from a friend of Anthony's, some girl they had worked with on their last show. The waiting room was tiny and crowded, the magazines dog-eared, the furniture old, and the people all downcast and poor. By the time she got in to see the doct
or, she was feeling not only nauseated but faint, and it was only a few moments later that she was retching violently into a bowl. But as she looked up at him his eyes were gentle, and with kind hands he helped her smooth back her hair.
"That bad, huh?" She nodded, trying to catch her breath. "Has it been like this for long?" His eyes looked her over carefully, but they were nice eyes, and Bettina felt less frightened as she lay down on the table with a soft sigh.
"It's been almost two weeks."
"Any worse? Any better? Or has it been like this the whole time?" He pulled up a stool on casters and sat down next to her with a small smile.
"It's been pretty much like this the whole time. Sometimes it's better in the evening, but not much." He nodded slowly then and made a note on her chart.
"Has this ever happened before?"
She shook her head quickly. "Never."
And then he looked at her very gently and searched her eyes. "Have you ever been pregnant before?"
But she only shook her head as she watched him. And then it dawned on her, and she sat up quickly. "Am I pregnant now?"
"You might be." And then, "Would that be very bad?"
She shrugged pensively, and then a small smile dawned in her eyes. "I don't know."
"Is your husband an actor?" Most of his patients were. It was a world in which everything spread like wildfire, recommendations, referrals, gossip, diseases. And along with the rest, his name had been passed along. She nodded. "Is he working right now?" He knew how that was also. Sometimes he had to wait to get paid for five or six months, if at all.
"No, he's not. But I'm sure he will be shortly."
"What about you? An actress?"
She shook her head, smiling slowly. What was she? An assistant director? A budding playwright? A gopher? She was nothing now. She could no longer just say, "I'm Justin Daniels's daughter" or "I'm Ivo Stewart's wife." "I'm just Anthony Pearce's wife." She said it as though by reflex as the doctor watched her, sensing that there was a lot more to her story than that. The sweater she was wearing was expensive, as was the tweed skirt. The loafers were Gucci, and although the coat she had been wearing had been oddly cheap in contrast, he saw that she was wearing a very fancy gold watch.
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