Hold Fast 'Til the Dawn

by Mary Haskell

  The thought startled her. It was the first time in hours that she had mental y acknowledged the uneasiness that had invaded her life.

  She shoved an enormous platter of hamburger patties and weiners into his hands. "Here, make yourself useful. Take these out to Larry." He deliberately covered her hands with his as he took the platter, forcing her to slide her hands under his firm smooth palms. His sensual, too-knowing eyes held hers in a peculiar battle of wil s. Jenny stood her ground, her gaze steady. She'd be damned if this young Lothario- in-training was going to rattle her.

  "Tel you what," he said. "I'll make you a deal. I'll run the errand if you'll dance with me when I get back."

  Jenny firmly extracted her hands. "Me, go in there?" She waved a hand in the direction of the family room a short distance down the hal , where music was blaring at a volume that threatened the underpinnings of the house. "If I get one inch closer to that room, I'll be struck deaf."

  Bil y laughed. "No you won't, I guarantee it. Deafness from that music takes at least thirty minutes. I promise we won't dance longer than twenty." Having extracted a doubtful agreement from Jenny, he left with the platter.

  "Good grief!" she exclaimed, alarmed to realize that she was faintly shaken by the encounter.

  Bil y reappeared quickly and dragged a reluctant Jenny into the midst of the wildly gyrating bodies. To the gleeful encouragement of the other young people in the room, she soon loosened up and joined in the ruckus, losing herself in the fun of the moment. It seemed to strike the other youngsters as no more strange to see Mrs. Andrews squashed in the middle of their dance floor than it did to see her, as they often did, fil ing in for third base or evening up sides for touch footbal . She was always wil ing to give something a try.

  Bil y was a wonderful dancer; he didn't just bob up and down like so many of them did. Why should that surprise her? Jenny wondered cheerful y. If he was going to be a lady-kil er, he had to know how to dance.

  She glanced up and saw Larry watching her from the doorway, his face a beaming signal of loving pleasure.

  He often teased her about being a little girl in grownup disguise. She waved to him as Bil y swung her around.

  She had no idea what dance they were doing, but she had caught on to it easily, fol owing his expert lead.

  When the music stopped and one of the boys went to restack the records, Jenny extricated herself from Bil y's grasp and joined Larry. "Hi, hon, did you final y get released from chef duty?"

  "Finally is right. Boy, how these kids can eat. And now look at them, building up an appetite again. How soon can we send them home?"

  Jenny studied him to see if he was serious. He wasn't.

  He enjoyed having the gang around as much as she did. "I know what you mean about the food," she said. "I only danced for about fifteen minutes, and I'm starved."

  "Wel , that's legitimate—you haven't eaten anything yet. Come to think of it, neither have I. How about a hamburger, m'dear?"

  "Umm, yes. Medium rare, if you please."

  As they turned to leave, Bil y appeared at their side. "Hey, Jenny, you're not going already! I wanted to teach you another dance."

  She touched his arm in what she hoped was a motherly gesture. "Maybe later, Bil y. I have to have something to eat."

  "Okay." His eyes flicked from her to Larry and back to her again. "Why don't you go stoke up the fires and then come back."

  Larry's hand reached out to claim hers as they wended their way through the crowd of teen bodies. "What was that remark?" he inquired.

  Jenny giggled. "It did seem to have definite sexual overtones, didn't it. I think, believe it or not, that Bil y Samuelson is making a pass at me." Now why had she told him that? Then her tel -the-truth mind-sentinel chided her that she knew exactly why.

  "He is, eh? Wel , tel that young whippersnapper to keep hands off."

  "Whippersnapper! Where did that one come from—Yankee magazine?"

  Larry laughed and tightened his grip on her hand. "As a matter of fact, it used to be a favorite of my grandfather's. Somehow it seemed to fit this occasion."

  "Bil y Samuelson," Jenny announced, "is going to leave a trail of loved-and-left ladies behind him."

  "Great. Just be sure he doesn't try to practice on you."

  Jenny smiled smugly. "Oh, he's already trying, but I'll probably decide not to let him get too far."

  "Probably! And just what do you mean by probably?" Jenny giggled again as Larry playful y swatted her on the rear. She was secretly grateful to Bil y for this smal , admittedly insignificant incident. Her instincts told her that it was a good time for Larry to be reminded that she was attractive to other men. She could feel his protectiveness reasserting itself, and she had to admit that she liked it.

  By the end of the weekend, Jenny's easy, genial relationship with Larry seemed to be in order once again. She blessed the tennis tournament and the party for once more placing them firmly into their accustomed roles of supportive mother and father and husband and wife.

  On Sunday evening she and Larry sat scrunched together on the family-room couch, flanked by Rick and Christy. They were watching a replay of an old favorite movie, Singin' in the Rain, howling at Donald O'Connor's rendition of "Make 'em Laugh," and humming along as Gene Kel y sang and danced the title number. Jenny snuggled close to her husband, his arm around her and her head resting on his shoulder. How lovely it felt, how familiar and safe and lovely. The ghost-shadows were nowhere to be seen or felt, and Larry's jovial disposition was restored.

  Larry arrived at the office early on Monday morning, determined to catch up for the lost day on Friday. Ky's visit stil haunted him, but haunted was now the right word. It had taken on an otherworldly, unreal quality, like a much more distant memory. He was more than ready to shove the whole business out of his mind and get on with his life.

  What a great weekend it had been! He smiled at the memory of Jenny, looking al of sixteen, whirling around the dance floor with Bil y Samuelson. He hadn't missed the acquisitive gleam in the young man's eyes. "Young whippersnapper," he said aloud.

  The phone buzzed. Larry reached for it as he shrugged out of his suit jacket. "Hel o?"

  "Hi Larry, it's Wil ."

  "Wil ! How are you, buddy?"

  "Great. I hear you folks had quite a party the other night. Bil y said he had a good time."

  "He should have had a good time—he spent the evening flirting with my wife."

  "Good for him. It'll keep you on your toes. Say, I understand you had a chance to see Ky Kayle."

  "That's right." Did his voice sound funny? No, of course not.

  "Some looker, isn't she? No wonder you remembered her so wel . She wanted to stay long enough to see you.

  Said she'd been wanting to look around Boston for a long time, anyway. Did you have a nice visit?"

  Oh sure, great. "Yes, just fine, thanks. We caught up on news about old friends and what's gone on with us."

  "Good. I'm sorry we al couldn't have had lunch together, but maybe another time."

  Wil , Larry wanted to yel , shut up and hang up. Aloud he asked, "How did the meeting go? Everything working out al right?"

  "Sure, terrific. There were two shops competing for her stuff, and she's supposed to decide by tonight. That little woman wil do just fine; there's more than a touch of the barracuda in her."

  Now just what did he mean by that? "Wel , I'm glad it al worked out. Guess I'd better get to work."

  "Yeah, me too. Oh, how would you like to have lunch at the Bay Club today?"

  "Sounds fine." The last thing Larry wanted to do was have lunch with Wil , but that was unreasonable. He couldn't avoid an old friend and partner indefinitely in hopes of skirting discussions about Ky. Hel . Al of a sudden he didn't feel nearly as good as he had earlier. Oh wel , enough already. He had to get some work done. The rest of the morning flew by as he lost himself in the discipline of productivity.

  He and Wil walked to the Bay Club with a couple of men who worke
d for another firm in the same building, so the conversation remained general until the two of them were seated by a window overlooking the city. Wil 's genial countenance beamed at him from the other side of the smal round table. "I've got some good news from our friend Ky."

  At that moment the waitress arrived to take drink orders. Larry asked for an iced tea, and Wil a vodka martini.

  When the girl left, Larry commented, "I don't know how you

  work al afternoon after one of those, Wil ."

  "Practice, my boy, practice. Now where was I?" Damn, Larry brooded, he's going right on with it. I guess there's no avoiding the subject. "Oh yes. Miss Kayle cal ed me about an hour ago to inform me that one of the shops, that exclusive little place down the road from the Ritz—what's the name? Oh yes, Leanne's—contacted her again and offered to up the ante a bit, plus do an al -out publicity stint for her designs. It sounds like a very good deal. So she's coming back the end of this week to get things rol ing."

  Inwardly Larry groaned. How could he have blocked out the fact that she would undoubtedly be coming back?

  "The end of this week?" He felt a trap closing.

  "That's right. I talked to Martha, and she and I thought, since Ky is not only a new client of the firm's but an old friend of yours and Jenny's, that we'd give her a reception on Friday night. You know, some of our friends plus the owners of the shop and a few other business contacts who might be helpful to her."

  Wil , how can you do this to me? And Ky is definitely not a friend of Jenny's. "Wel , I don't know. That's a lot of trouble for you to go to. I'm sure Ky wouldn't expect you to do that."

  "She certainly didn't expect it, but she seemed to be most grateful."

  "You already talked to her?"

  "Yes, cal ed her back just before we left. She was particularly eager that you be there. You and Jenny, of course."

  Sure, Larry thought, she's just dying to have Jenny there. The trap was sprung. There was no way he could come up with an excuse by Friday, unless he could catch dengue fever by then. He stared at the iced tea in his hand, wishing there were two shots of gin in it.

  Jenny rubbed the back of her neck. Boy, this constant reading and making notes sure got to the back and shoulder muscles. She smiled, mental y replaying Professor Clemens's early morning phone cal , which had come about five minutes after Larry had left. The professor was clearly in a tizzy.

  "Jennifer, the fit has hit the shan!"

  "Hal?" she asked tentatively, not immediately recognizing his voice on the phone.

  "Oh yes, sorry, this is Hal. I got a cal at the crack of dawn from the publisher of this book. Bit of a surprise, I must say. I thought those blokes in New York al slept until noon." Hal had emigrated from England twenty-five years ago, but the accent was stil strong. "He was al a-twitter. He had looked over the outline I sent him and discussed it with some fel ows who do their TV contact work. Anyway, to cut the thing down a bit, it appears that violence is 'in.' Not just in the street, you understand, but 'in' in the other sense of the word."

  "Yes," Jenny prodded him, smiling to herself. Hal Clemens was a real character. He was tal , slightly over six feet, and thin as a rail. He looked and acted, in every way, like the much publicized absentminded professor, but his mind was razor-sharp and his writing style so clever that he made a treatise about the dominant period of the Visigoths read like a Sam Spade mystery. She was not surprised by the interest being shown in his book. "So what do they want you to do about it?"

  "Wel , now that's it, isn't it. The wel -rounded-out question. What they want, my pretty col aborator, is a finished book in eight months."

  Jenny gasped. "Good heavens, Hal, is that possible?"

  "Why of course not; there is no way it can be done. But I suppose we shal , in any case."

  By the time Jenny hung up the phone, she was absolutely dumbfounded to realize that she had agreed to five eight- hour work days per week, which would probably get stretched in the bargain. Good grief, how was she going to slide that bit of news into a conversation with her husband?

  It had simply been too tantalizing to resist. She had been offered the title of Hal's assistant. Just how that would appear in print she wasn't sure, but appear it would. Hal not only liked the quality of her research, he thought the way she expressed her ideas was excel ent. So good, in fact, that he planned to have her do some of the writing, which he would then edit to reflect his own distinct style. And he said they were already talking about a TV documentary. She was so excited.

  She turned the page and picked up her pencil, tapping it nervously on the library table. She hoped Larry would be pleased.

  Jenny was so mental y involved with the change in her own life, and in waiting for just the right moment to bring up the subject of her extra working hours that she scarcely noticed how quiet and withdrawn Larry was al through dinner. As soon as they were finished, Rick and Christy dashed for the stairs, remembering at the last minute to cal out, "Thanks for a nice dinner, Mom."

  As she poured the coffee, Jenny spoke tentatively. "Larry..."

  He looked startled, as if he had forgotten she was there. "What?"

  "Honey, I hope you're not going to be upset, but Hal Clemens has to get his book finished faster than he anticipated, and he's asked me to work ful time until it's done." She held her breath, waiting for a lecture on overtiring herself.

  "Is that right?"

  She exhaled, completely dumbfounded. Larry seemed total y unconcerned. No, more than unconcerned—

  uninterested. She cocked her head, trying to catch his eyes with hers. "Larry?"

  He jumped slightly, seeming to have difficulty focusing on her. "Oh, so you're enjoying your project? That's good." He stood up and crossed to the refrigerator. "Do we have any ice cream? Oh, here's some. Do you want any?"

  Jenny sat down heavily, anxiously watching the movements of her distracted husband. "No, thank you."

  Larry fil ed a big dish ful of chocolate chip and brought it back to the table, scooping the spoonfuls into his mouth, avoiding her eyes. She waited. He final y finished the ice cream and carried the dish and spoon to the sink, washing them off with overly solicitous care. "Jen."

  "Yes?"

  "I have something to tel you."

  "I thought you might."

  There was a momentary flash of humor around his eyes as he glanced over at her. "That obvious, eh?"

  "Yes."

  He came back and sat in his chair opposite her at the table. "Jenny, I saw Ky at the office last Friday."

  Her throat closed. She remembered the tension, the silence, the abstraction she had attributed to his not seeing Ky. She also remembered her feeling that it couldn't have been worse if he had seen her. She was wrong. It was worse. "Why didn't you tel me?"

  He took a sip of his coffee, his attention seemingly glued to the rim of the cup. "I couldn't see any point in tel ing you. It was a bad scene, one that I was eager to forget. But,"—he went to the stove and refil ed his cup, even though he had only taken two sips—"she's settled on a store to handle her clothes. Someplace on Newbury Street—I can't remember the name."

  Who cares about the name? Jenny wanted to yel . How did she look, what did you talk about, does she stil attract you?

  "Anyway, she has to come back here at the end of the week to finalize the arrangements. Wil and Martha decided it would be nice to give her a big reception, since she's not only a client but a good friend of ours."

  "Ours?"

  "That's the way Wil put it."

  Jenny studied his face. How could she have missed the new strain lines at the corners of his mouth? Why did his eyes look so veiled and secretive? She tried to stay calm, to ignore the threatening signs popping up al around her. "I suppose we'll have to go."

  Larry reached over and took her hand. "Jenny, we could find some excuse, or I could go alone for a short time and say you were il . You real y shouldn't be forced into this."

  The sharp ring of the phone cut short her answer,
or rather the immediate need for an answer. She wasn't at al sure what to say. She found her way to the kitchen phone. "Hel o?"

  "Jenny, hi! This is Martha. Did Larry tel you about the party on Friday night? Doesn't that sound like fun? I wondered if you'd be wil ing to come over early in the day and give me a hand with some of the setting-up. I have help coming in that evening, but I could sure use two more hands for a few hours in the morning."

  Jenny's mind dashed around, looking for an out. She was working, she had a perfect excuse, but she found herself saying. "Of course, Martha, I'll be glad to help on Friday." She looked through the doorway and saw Larry's head snap up and swivel in her direction.

  At that precise moment she decided to handle this as though it were no threat at al . After al , why should it be?

  Ky was simply an old girlfriend. She would come, visit, and leave. Jenny would treat her with the same hospitality and warmth she would offer any other friend of Larry's. Larry was her husband. Why should she be frightened by someone who had had nothing to do with his life for almost twenty years?

  Straightening her down-Maine steel backbone, she faced Larry squarely, sending her firm message to him as wel as to Martha. "Larry and I wil be happy to help in any way we can. We're both looking forward to Ky's visit, and yes, we're terribly pleased that everything is working out so wel for her."

  Chapter Six

  Martha lifted the last chair away from the dining-room table and asked, "Can you get that end, Jen, and we'll move this."

  "Sure." They hoisted the highly polished, cherry wood table and placed it against the long wal of the dining room, opening up the area for more pedestrian traffic.''

  Martha positioned the gala centerpiece of colorful flowers, then stood back to survey their handiwork. "If I do say so myself, the place looks great. Miss Ky Kayle had better appreciate al this work."

  Jenny sank into the dark blue sofa, surprised at how tired she felt. "I'm sure she will," she assured Martha.

  How would I know? she thought. I don't know anything about Ky except that my husband was once madly in love with her, got her pregnant, and stil , after al these years, can't see her without getting al upset. "What else do we need to do?"