Pot of gold : a novel

by Michael, Judith

  Claire sat very still, letting his words settle within her. She felt a long, sweet sense of expectancy, like a child contemplating Christmas. It was nothing like the thrill she had felt when Quen-tin and his friends took her into their lives; this was slower and deeper. She felt as if the pieces of her life were falling into place and she was finding order and harmony. She felt she was coming to a place where she belonged.

  Alex was waiting for her to say something; he would not go on if she stopped him. But he knew she would not; their thoughts were as close now as they had been in the theater when their eyes met and they shared those special moments. "Something I've been thinking about," she said, "is how slowly things used to happen, before our world speeded up, especially the way people got to know each other. There was a rhythm to it that they understood, a way of moving gradually and gracefully from one stage of friendship to another, instead of lurching from the first drink or dinner into bed."

  She gazed at him for a long moment, liking the look of him: the sharply defined bones of his face that made him look as purposeful and intense as she knew him to be, his brown hair, turning gray, curling on the back of his neck, his mouth that pulled down at the corners, and his deep-set eyes that never wandered when they were talking, but stayed on her face, as if the most important thing to him was to keep in close contact with her. "I like the way our friendship has grown, and what it's still becoming," she said, and watched his face change, the corners of his mouth lifting, his eyes seeming to grow lighter.

  He moved to her on the couch and they held each other as naturally as if they had done it many times before. And when they kissed, that, too, seemed familiar to Claire, her mouth and his opening together, welcoming each other, as if their bodies were homes, each giving the other a place to belong.

  They held each other more tightly, feeling the beat of each other's heart. Within Claire, something seemed to let go; she felt loose and at ease, with nothing to prove. Not a contest. The words sprang to her mind; it was the last time she would think of Quen-tin when she was in Alex's arms.

  They stood and she felt Alex's lean body pressing against hers, his shoulder bones and the long, hard muscles of his arms beneath her hands. For the first time since they had met, they were silent, their bodies taut and locked together. Not a contest. A Journey that two people take, together.

  They pulled back and looked at each other. "Wonderful," Alex murmured. "Filled with wonder. I love you, Claire. I love what you are and what we are together, and the way the world seems filled with possibilities since we met, instead of—"

  "Alex, even writers ought to know when words are unneces-

  sary." She curved her hand on the back of his head and brought his mouth to hers again. Together, they moved toward the bedroom, their arms around each other. And then they heard a key in the front door.

  Alex's head shot up. "David," he muttered. "What the hell ..." He took long strides toward the door, but it opened before he got there, and a tall, thin young man came into the room with casual familiarity. He was a young, gangly version of Alex, with the same curling hair and deep-set eyes, but his face was not as sharp and his mouth not as thin. He was handsomer than his father, and soon, Claire saw, he would be irresistible.

  "Hi, Dad," he said. Then he saw Claire. "Oh." His palm struck his forehead with a dramatic slap. "I am the world's most incredible jerk. I never even thought . . . Well, you know, you never have anybody up here—"

  "It's all right," Claire said, coming to him with her hand outstretched. She was trembling, and she had no idea how disheveled her hair was, but in a way, David's bursting in was like a farce, and the corners of her mouth were lifting with the humor of it. "I'm Claire Goddard."

  "David Jarrell," he said, taking her hand and pumping it, "and I'm really and truly, fervently sorry. I'm not usually a total dork, but, you know, usually when I come here—"

  "David," Alex said. His voice was husky and he cleared his throat as David turned to him and they hugged each other. They were almost the same height.

  "Hi," David said again. "It's okay. Dad, I'm gone; I'll come back tomorrow, or, you know, whenever."

  Alex was studying him. "What's wrong.''"

  "Nothing. Why should anything be wrong.''"

  "Because it's almost midnight and it's a school night—"

  "Nope; Christmas vacation."

  "Do Diane and Jake know you're here.'"'

  "Uh, not exactly."

  "What the hell does that mean.'"'

  "Well, I didn't exactly punch the time clock."

  "You just left.'' Without telling them you were going out.^"

  "They were out."

  "And vou didn't have the courtesv to lcac them a note."

  "Hey, Dad, could you not get all bent out of shape? I mean, I'm going; I'm sorry I butted in."

  "No, hold on. I'm sorry I got angry. Get yourself something to drink and we'll talk. But you've got to call Diane and Jake first."

  "We sort of had a fight. At dinner."

  "Over what.?"

  "This place some guys are going to tomorrow night. It's in New Jersey, and Diane said I couldn't go and then so did Jake."

  "What place in New Jersey.'"'

  "I don't know. I don't know anything about it. Some place that has music, you know, rock stars. They said it's sort of a barn. Lots of guys go there."

  "You want to go someplace, but you don't know where it is or what it is or who goes there or what goes on there, and you're fourteen years old. And you're surprised Diane and Jake said no.''"

  There was a silence. David shrugged and went to the kitchen and took a soft drink from the refrigerator and flipped the metal tab into the wastebasket. Then he went to the telephone at Alex's desk.

  "I'm sorry," Alex said to Claire. "That is a meager, inadequate word for the way I feel."

  "You can't do anything else." They were speaking quietly, with David's low voice in the background. "He's a lovely boy."

  "Yes, he is; I think he's wonderful. In fact, I'm crazy about him, and most of the time we get along pretty well, but then I get worked up, feeling helpless because I don't always know the right thing to do, except back up whatever Diane and Jake do, because they're the real parents right now, and I always remember—and so does he—that I gave him up."

  "You think he holds that against you.'"'

  "I'd be surprised if he doesn't."

  "Maybe he does," Claire said reflectively. "But you gave him to loving people when you were in a crisis, and you moved to a place close by and never stopped loving him and being part of his life, and he knows all that. And I'll bet he doesn't hold anything against you. He looks to me like a boy who's as crazy about his father as his father is about him."

  Alex watched David talking on the telephone, slouched against the desk, absentmindedly probing with a finger in one ear.

  "Thank you," he said. "I'll hold on to that. You're very generous." He hesitated. "I'm sorry you had to see this side of me; it hardly fits a romantic image of—"

  "Alex." Claire briefly considered David watching them from the corner of his eye, then thought, oh, the hell with it; he's fourteen; he can handle it. She stood close to Alex and laid her hand along the side of his face, "I don't want a romantic image; I want you."

  Alex took her hand in both of his, turned it over, and kissed her palm. "Do you mind waiting while I talk to him.^"

  "You might not want me to be part of this. I could take your car and bring it back in the morning."

  He thought about it for only a moment. "It's up to you, but I'd like you to stay."

  "Then I'd be glad to. Unless David objects."

  David turned from the telephone, holding the receiver. "Diane wants to talk to you, Dad."

  Alex went to the desk and David dropped into the armchair with a long groan. "They forget what it's like."

  Claire returned to the couch, to the same place she had been sitting, and picked up her wineglass, still full. We were too preoccupied to eat and
drink, she thought wriy. "Maybe they do remember, and that's why they're worried."

  He shook his head gloomily. "They're too old." He looked up. "Have you known my dad long.'"'

  "For a few weeks."

  "So, is this something special.^ I mean, you're here, which I have to tell you is a major surprise, so is this something I should know about.'*"

  "Does your dad tell you about his friendships.'*"

  "Sure, but he never said anything about you."

  "Did he tell you he was writing a magazine article on someone who won the lotterv.''"

  "Yeah, somebody in Connecticut. She won megabucks. She has a big house in the woods, in Wilton; he showed me pictures. Oh. That ffi'tfj youf'^^

  Claire nodded.

  "You won the lottery.'* That's cool. I never knew anybody who won anything. So Dad interviewed voii; is that how voii met?"

  "Yes." Claire was amused, and touched, that nothing could distract him from talking about his father.

  "He never dates people he interviews; he tells me about his interviews, he tells me about everything." Claire sat quietly, smiling at him, and he squirmed lower in his chair. "Well, I mean, he can, there's no rule or anything that says he can't; he just never did. But I guess he likes you better than the other people he's interviewed."

  "I hope so."

  "You like him a lot.?"

  "Yes."

  "And he likes you a lot.'*"

  "That's what he told me."

  David contemplated his soft drink can. "So, if you got married, would you live here or in your house in Connecticut.?"

  "We haven't gotten that far," Claire said gently.

  "I'll bet your house has lots of bedrooms."

  "Yes, it does."

  "But they're all full, I guess."

  "A couple of them are. My daughter is in one, and my cousin —or maybe she's my aunt, I'm not sure which—is in the other." She thought of suggesting that he come for a visit, but decided not to. That was something she should work out with Alex. She tried to change the subject. "What do you and your friends do besides go to rock concerts in New Jersey.?"

  "I don't go to rock concerts in New Jersey," David muttered. " 'Cause I'm treated like a little kid instead of somebody who's in high school. They haven't got a clue how to be parents; they never had any kids of their own. My mother and dad knew; we had a house, I guess Dad probably told you, and it was just the three of us, and they let me do whatever I wanted."

  Once again he was talking about his father. Claire was impressed with his determined single-mindedness. "Is that so.?" she asked. "That's amazing. You were nine years old—is that right.?— when your mother died, and they let you do everything you wanted.?"

  "I was almost ten. It was three weeks and one day before my birthday. Do you know, I'm the only one in my class who has a dead mother.? Everybody else, their parents are divorced, nobody

  lives with everybody in their family, but they don't have anybody dead. Just me." He had sunk deeper in the chair, holding the soft drink can on his chest. "My parents never ever said no about anything. If they did, I'd remember it."

  "Remember what?" Alex said. He put a hand on his son's shoulder, then walked to the other end of the couch and sat down.

  "If you and Mom ever told me I couldn't do things."

  Alex dodged it. "Are you still talking about the barn in New Jersey.^"

  "She asked." He saw his father's frown, the stern tightening of his lips. "Claire," David said hastily. "Claire asked what we did, you know, where we went, stuff like that."

  "Well, tonight where you're going is right here."

  David's eyes brightened. "I'm staying over.^"

  "Isn't that what you just told Diane on the phone.'"'

  David ducked his head. "Well, sort of. I mean, I said I hoped I could. I mean, I said . . . well, uh, yeah, I guess I did. Say I was staying here."

  Claire's eyes met Alex's, as they had in the theater, sharing, this time, pleasure in David's honesty.

  "But I thought maybe you'd, you know, want privacy or something, like, I didn't want to be in the way."

  Alex glanced again at Claire. Not anymore, they thought together, and shared a smile. "You're not in the way," Alex said. "This is your home, too, you know; that's why you have a key."

  "So you could let me go with the guys tomorrow night."

  "To New Jersey.^"

  "Right."

  "David, you know without a shadow of a doubt the answer to that; you're too smart to tr' this game." Alex waited. "Look at me." David looked up at him from under his brows. "You know I wouldn't second-guess Diane and Jake; you know I wouldn't undercut their decision; you know I have no reason to let you go and even*' reason to say exactly what they did. You can't go."

  David stared at his feet, crossed on the coffee table, at the same level as his head. Suddenly, he shot up, crossed to the kitchen, and took another can from the refrigerator.

  "David," Claire said suddenly as he slumped back in his chair, "how are these guys going to get to New Jersey.''"

  He flashed her a look. "Driving."

  "Then they aren't freshmen, or even sophomores. They're probably juniors and seniors. Are they guys you're close to.'"'

  "Not usually."

  "What does that mean.^" She waited. "What is it that you have that they want.''"

  "Sheesh," David muttered. He stared at his feet. "They have to write a computer program, it's a group project, and they're having trouble, and they want me to write it."

  "That's cheating," Alex said.

  "It's okay to get help," David said uncomfortably. "They asked the teacher and he said they could get help."

  "What kind of help.?"

  "You know, showing them ways they could write it."

  "But you're talking about writing the whole program. Which is unethical and could also get you into a hell of a lot of trouble."

  After a moment, David nodded. "Yeah, I know. It was just, when they asked me ... it was . . . you know ..."

  "They made you feel grown-up and part of their group," Claire said. "And that was exciting."

  David looked at her, frowning. "Yeah."

  "I had that happen once," she said casually. "It was as if doors were opening to a whole new world. It was a lot of fun for a while, but then it sort of wore out and I decided I wasn't crazy about it. I didn't feel I really belonged there."

  "Yeah.''" David asked.

  Claire looked at Alex, thinking she was interfering too much, and caught her breath at the warmth in his eyes and a love she had never seen in a man's eyes before. She turned back and contemplated David's newly interested face. "I think you should forget the barn in New Jersey and writing computer programs for anybody but vourself. I guess you're pretty good at it, and thev're not-^"

  "They're awesomely stupid," he blurted. It was as if a load had been lifted from him. He sat up. "But, you know, they're cool and they said this place was the greatest . . ."

  "Then you can go on your own, when you're a senior," Alex said.

  "If I have a car when I'm a senior. Diane and Jake said—"

  "Well, that's a discussion I'll be part of," Alex said. David's eyes widened, but Alex stood up, forestalling any more conver-

  sation. "Now, look, it's getting late. I'm taking Claire home. If you're still awake when I get back, we can talk some more."

  "Well, but couldn't I—"

  "No," Alex said.

  Claire looked at him, her back to David. "I think it would be a good idea," she said very quietly.

  Almost without hesitation, Alex nodded. "Okay," he said to his son. "You come along for the ride."

  David sat up. "Right. Thanks." He unfolded his long body from its contorted position and stood up, in front of Claire. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then kissed the other cheek. "You're great. I'm glad you won the lottery." He looked from Claire to Alex and back. "I'll wait outside," he said, and in the next minute he was gone.

  In the silence, Alex too
k Claire's hand. "You were wonderful. You made it seem easy."

  "It's always easier with someone else's child," Claire said ruefully. "But I was right about him, Alex: he is a lovely boy. You should be very proud; your sister and brother-in-law didn't do that alone."

  Alex stood, bringing her with him, and took her face between his hands and kissed her. Claire held him and she felt the warmth of his arms, encircling her, pulling her to him. Their bodies seemed to flow together; Claire wondered at it, that everything they did made them seem to be one. She had never felt that before. Their kiss grew in intensity until she was dizzy and a low-moan started in her throat, and then, simultaneously, they both pulled back. "We'll never get out of here if we don't do it now," Alex said. "Tomorrow night . . . can I see you tomorrow night.'"'

  "Yes. Oh, yes, of course, but do we have to wait for nighttime.?"

  He laughed, a joyous laugh that brought lightness to his face and buoyancy to his step. "We can start at the crack of dawn, though that's only a few hours away. Tell me what you'd like."

  "I'll call you in the morning." She was regaining her sense of separateness. "I want to see what's happening at home."

  Alex helped her on with her coat and kissed the back of her neck. "It doesn't matter what time we start. \'c have a lifetime ahead of us."

  SIXTEEN

  H

  ,A N N A H had invited Forrest Exeter for lunch and he arrived early, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, striped tie, and a homburg that sat squarely on his head. He swept it off as he was introduced to Gina, whom Claire had invited. Then he bent over Claire's hand, lifting it reverently to his mouth. "It is an honor to meet you, Mrs. Goddard; you are one of our special friends."

  Claire looked at him quizzically. "You mean, I've given you money."

  "Ah, no," he said, brushing it aside. "No, no, no; I never equate friendship with money; I do not speak of them in the same sentence. Friendship is a sacred trust: within it we flourish and bloom; without it we wither and die. Poets know this; they write of friendship. It is the bankers, a barren lot, who write of money."