The Marriage Merger

by Leiber, Vivian

“Oh, no,” he said, and leaned back against the console table. “You don’t want to make love to me.”

  “I do. I really do. But I should tell you...”

  “First,” he prompted, and waited. Here it would finally come, when he desired her so badly that he would even get down on his knees.

  Perhaps she meant to ask something of him, something important; whatever it was, he would give it to her. Even as her request would confirm, once and for all, that everybody did things for a reason, with an expectation of a payback.

  “First thing is...I’m a virgin.”

  He faltered, stepping back and nearly losing his balance until he realized he had never even managed a sip of the wedding champagne. It was shock that nearly toppled him. He hadn’t expected this. And yet, the moment she said it, he realized all the signs had been there.

  “A virgin?”

  She nodded, chin at her collarbone, her hair tumbling in front of her face.

  He had done wrong—he had taken her higher and higher, and she didn’t even know where she was, how close she was to losing that most precious gift of womanhood. Her cheeks were red, her eyes dark as night and her breasts swelled and strained against the gauzy fabric, her nipples stiff. And unconsciously she rubbed one thigh against the inside of the other.

  “Oh, man,” he muttered, and he sat down on the second stair leading up to his bedroom. “And what’s the second thing?”

  He stood back up and came to her. He knew he had not just brought a woman to the brink, but he had taken the heart of his best friend. She was in love.

  “Don’t tell me,” he whispered. “Please don’t tell me. I think I already know.”

  She tugged her floral wreath off her head.

  “So now you know my one terrible secret. And you probably can guess my second terrible secret.”

  He brought her chin up with a gentle finger.

  “Not so terrible.”

  “Which one’s not terrible? Being a freak of nature at twenty-nine...”

  “Being a virgin doesn’t make you a freak.”

  She ignored him, blinking back tears.

  “I never should have gotten you into this.”

  “You didn’t know. I didn’t tell you. I was ashamed and worried that you’d think less of me.”

  He rubbed his jaw.

  “A woman’s virginity is a precious gift.”

  “I’m ready to give it to you, and you don’t look like a kid on Christmas morning.”

  He put his arms around her. She felt the quickening of hope, but then faltered as he kept a decorous three inches between them.

  “No, I won’t take advantage of you,” he said.

  “I’m asking you to,” she replied. Her aching need for him was making her reckless and bold.

  He shook his head.

  “I’m not that kind of man,” he said. “I’ll go make up the bedroom for you.”

  “Where are you going to sleep?”

  “The couch.”

  The gently delivered words were nonetheless as painful as a knife. She kicked off her peau de soie heels. Fumbled with a hairpin that scraped the back of her neck. Wiped away a tear with the back of her hand, not even caring that her lipstick and eye shadow smudged into a big purple stain.

  She went upstairs. He was making the bed.

  “I admit it, Sam. I hoped if we spent a lot of time together—pretending to be a couple—that you’d take a look at me and decide that I was...”

  “Was what?” He looked up.

  “pretty enough. Smart enough. Lovable enough.”

  “Oh, Patricia. You always were those things.”

  “But you didn’t notice.”

  “You’re right. But maybe I’m not the kind of man you should have noticing you. Oh, Patricia, you did this all because you hoped I’d fall in love with you?”

  “That wasn’t the only reason I did it. I just plain want the best for you, enough that I’d do anything to help you get the happiness you want.”

  “Even if nothing was given to you in return? Even if I’m telling you that I’m not the kind of man who loves a woman completely? Even if I’m saying my career and my ambitions will always come first?”

  She nodded.

  He countered with an emphatic shake of his head.

  “If it ended right here, Patricia, would it have been worth it?”

  “If you got to keep the job you love, yes,” she said without hesitation. “Sam, I don’t think this has to change anything. We’re still going to get a divorce when Rex is happily settled on his tour and your job is secure.”

  “I think it changes everything,” Sam said. “I’ve taken advantage of someone. No, not just someone. I’ve taken advantage of a friend...my best friend.”

  “You didn’t take advantage of me,” she said, reaching across the bed, but he stepped back. “I knew what I was doing.”

  He shook his head emphatically.

  “You haven’t had enough experience in life to know what you’re doing. You’re like a kid playing with matches. You didn’t mean to get burned but you did. We both did. Now get some sleep. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”

  “I’m still going to give you the divorce when the time comes,” she said, using the back of her hand to wipe away the tears that just wouldn’t stop coming. “I’m still going to do everything we agreed on. And I won’t regret it. Not one little bit. Because I did it for you. Oh, that’s not true. I did it for me. I did it...for us.”

  He paused at the door.

  “Patricia, you’re the only woman I trust well enough to know that you would do what you said you’d do. But you’re also the one woman I wouldn’t want to ask.”

  As he gently closed the door behind him, Patricia slumped onto the bed.

  Why did I tell him about my being a virgin? she asked herself.

  Because he would have known.

  If they had made love, he would have known.

  And all the fancy hairdos, new clothes and heels wouldn’t have made any difference. She was a simple woman with simple tastes, looks that pulled her fair share of male attention but not a smidgen more, and experience in sex that was little enough to get her a place in the Guinness Book of World Records.

  She pulled apart an acrylic tip, wincing as it peeled off the slim natural nail bed. Then she did another. And another.

  When she had her nails back down to normal, she combed her hair out, put it in a scrunchie and fished a T-shirt and panties from the bottom of the suitcase she had packed for the two-day honeymoon Mildred had planned at the Barrington Spa in New Mexico. She scrubbed off her makeup, saying hello to the freckles that had become almost unfamiliar in the past two weeks. She scoured her wrists and neck of the expensive perfume—the clean smell of soap wasn’t seductive, but it was her.

  She got under the covers, inhaling the scent of him on his bed.

  It was too much.

  She came downstairs and found him sitting on the couch, holding a snifter of brandy in one hand, the other hand tightly bound in a fist.

  “Sam, I’m not going to be able to sleep,” she said. “Will you please come to bed with me?”

  He looked up at her. Dark lines of worry crisscrossed his forehead.

  “I won’t make love to you.”

  “I’m not asking that. I’m asking for something much more difficult.”

  His jaws throbbed and then he nodded. He put down the glass and followed her upstairs. He pulled off his tie and belt, allowing himself the top button on his shirt undone. Then he got into bed and as gently as he would cradle one of the butterflies that Mildred had flown in from out East, he held Patricia in his arms.

  She didn’t sleep, even as later she heard his breathing grow deep and still. His arms felt heavy around her, but she didn’t budge. She had never shared a bed with a man, but she didn’t get out to find a more comfortable place to sleep. Instead, she watched the glow-in-the-dark clock on the dresser. Three o‘clock, four o’clock, five. And she
waited until it was a decent hour to call Mildred to explain that she had to leave Barrington.

  “Morning, Sam. Here’s your mail,” Mike said, pushing his cart into Sam’s office. “That Parisian company sent you a jumbo-size sample box of their perfumed soaps they hope you’ll use in the Antigua and Bahamas resorts. I’ll bring it up later. I’ll also let you in on a secret. The soaps start off with a fine, subtle scent, but then they leave an ‘aftersmell’ like day-old eggs.”

  Sam looked up from his paperwork. How would Mike the mailman know how the most expensive soaps made in Europe would smell?

  “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be on a honeymoon?” Mike asked. “And what should a groom be doing the morning after his wedding?”

  “Catching up on paperwork,” Sam guessed.

  “Staying in bed. Besides, it’s so early!”

  Real early. But not so early that Patricia wasn’t already gone. He called her apartment and got no answer. He’d get these few last matters wrapped up, have a talk with Rex that he didn’t look forward to and go back home and find her. Somehow he’d have to find her and make her realize that he had done wrong. Very wrong.

  “You know, Mike, you’ve made a good choice working in the mail room,” Sam said.

  Mike looked up from his sorting of Sam’s interoffice deliveries.

  “I have?”

  “If you put your career ahead of everything else, it’s so easy to think that getting ahead is important enough to lose friends, to lose a good woman over.”

  “Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself. As a mail room employee, I can tell you women don’t give you a chance.”

  “You’re thinking of Sophia? I’ve noticed your. interest in her hasn’t diminished.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She wants a man with a corner office, a secretary and a stock option plan. She wouldn’t want a man without those essential qualities.”

  Mike rolled his cart out of the office.

  Sam signed a few letters, returned a couple of phone calls and then adjusted his tie and put on his suit jacket Then he walked down the empty halls of the Barrington Corporation.

  He didn’t need to call ahead—Rex would be in his office. After all, Sam had come down the hall many early mornings, before the rest of the company got to work. Sometimes to talk about issues related to business, sometimes just to analyze the previous evening’s pro basketball game and sometimes just to share a cup of coffee.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be on a honeymoon?” Mildred asked, looking up from her filing as Sam entered Rex’s spacious office.

  “Where can I find Rex?”

  “He’ll be in later,” Mildred said, shoving her face back into her work. “Have a seat.”

  Sam sat on the leather tufted couch by the window. Mildred whistled an excruciatingly happy tune while scrutinizing some blueprints.

  “It was a wonderful wedding.” Mildred said, shoving the blueprints into the back of the file cabinet. “Even if I did plan it myself. The butterflies were just spectacular. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “You did a great job.” Sam said soberly. “The butterflies were great. And they all lived.”

  “And that cake!” Mildred exclaimed, oblivious to his discomfort. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m going to have to spend extra hours on the Stair-Master to make up for that indulgence. That champagne was marvelous—oooh! My head hurts just a little this morning. You don’t look so good yourself.”

  He reluctantly met her gaze.

  “It’s nothing I can’t recover from.”

  “Still, wonderful wedding. And after such a long courtship. Rex was talking about how pleased he was that you got engaged months ago. But he could never remember the name of your intended. Never even suspected it was you and Patricia. You two. were so discreet. Yes, a wedding after a long courtship is very satisfying.”

  Sam nodded, wondering when he could cut into her chatter to ask when she thought Rex was coming in.

  Mildred pulled off her glasses.

  “Or was it a short courtship?”

  Sam swallowed. Hard.

  “I overheard some of the girls from the lunchroom talking about how it was just last week that Patricia was bemoaning the fact that you’d never noticed her,” Mildred said, staring at him over her reading glasses. “That she was going to pull together her courage and tell you her feelings. And this was just before Rex invited your fiancée to his retirement party. Which is it, Sam? Long or short? Whirlwind courtship or slowly developing relationship?”

  Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How long have you known the truth?”

  “From the very beginning.”

  “How?”

  “Patricia was wearing the same ring that Melissa Stanhope was photographed displaying in last month’s issue of Phoenix Life. You forget I like gossip. Even if I do know when to keep a secret.”

  “Speaking of secrets—Rex?”

  She smiled smugly.

  “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  “I have to tell him.”

  “I wouldn’t advise it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not sure that until you know what the truth is you should try to explain it to Rex.”

  “The truth is I married Patricia because I didn’t want to disappoint Rex or make him think I wasn’t stable enough to keep my job.”

  “I guess that’s at least part of it.”

  “And the truth is that she married me because she loves me and she wanted the best for me—while at the same time she hoped I would fall in love with her.”

  Mildred nodded smugly.

  “Sounds about right.”

  “So what am I missing?”

  “You’re missing the part about how you love Patricia.”

  “No, Mildred, you’re a nice woman. Very sweet. But you’ve got this wrong. Patricia loves me. It was never the other way around.”

  Mildred stared heavenward.

  “Puh-leeeeze! I might be old but I’m still playing with all my marbles. Sam, give this some thought. Some real, soul-searching thought. And do it quick. Give yourself two or three minutes. Max.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “Patricia called me at home this morning and told me she’s resigning. Didn’t tell me why, but I made some good guesses. I’m filing her resignation here, under ‘things not to be shown to Rex unless absolutely necessary.’”

  “Where is she now?” Sam demanded, already halfway down the hall.

  “She and her mother are catching the next flight out of here,” Mildred called out. “She’s leaving. For good.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sitting on his porch at sunset. Fishing on the Red River. Basketball at the Scottsdale YMCA. Climbing the face of the canyon. His job, from which he took so much of his identity, and the certain respect of Rex II.

  The things he was going to miss about Phoenix because he’d have to leave. Let it be her town. It was the only right thing to do.

  He added fifteen to the speed limit, adding another five when traffic was looser. He was banking on Patricia packing everything she had at her apartment, the apartment filled with years of memories and treasures.

  It would take a long time.

  He didn’t know what he would do if she was already gone.

  He’d miss Patricia when he left Phoenix. He’d miss her impossibly proper gray suits. He’d miss the way, even when she was in the middle of a serious discussion, her fingers unconsciously tried to get her hair to stay behind her ears. He’d miss the way she laughed at his jokes, even the bad ones—maybe especially the bad ones—because she knew that he knew just how bad they were. He’d miss the way she played basketball with the guys, giving it her all, knowing that she wasn’t the best but never flagging in her enthusiasm. And he’d miss the long talks about absolutely nothing and absolutely everything—sweaty and tired, sprawled on the empty court, not wanting to take a shower beca
use it would mean having to call an end to an evening.

  “Mildred’s right,” he said aloud, swerving to avoid a teenaged driver who was in even more of a hurry than he was. “I’m in love.”

  Sam Wainwright in love. It was frightening, and he wasn’t a man who spooked easy. There as a moment of terror as sure and as certain as when he was a child at the mercy of his dead mother’s relatives who saw him as simply another mouth to feed, another burden to be endured.

  And then after the moment of fear came a calm.

  All that he would do, from this moment forward, would be for the love he felt for Patricia. He had found his purpose. And it wasn’t to increase the profitability of Barrington Corporation or to hire the best people for the company. It wasn’t to make Rex think he was good enough to have taken a chance on and it wasn’t to prove to the mother he’d loved that he was a better man than his father had been.

  Oh, no, his purpose was to love Patricia Peel. To be her man and to move her gray suits into his closet and tuck her hair behind her ears when it broke free. It was to make love to her and show her the tenderness and sweetness true loving could be. The thought of any other man having these liberties with his wife—his wife!—drove him to put his right foot on the floor and his car at an extra ten miles an hour.

  As he spun around the corner at her street, he saw the taxi. Patricia’s mom, balancing a large vase and a suitcase, stood on the curb. The driver, chewing a toothpick, walked down from the apartment building carrying a large copper temple bell.

  Sam parked his car directly in front of the taxi.

  “Hey!” the driver said in a bruising accent, roused to sufficient anger to take the toothpick out of his mouth. “I’m pullin’ out soon as the little lady upstairs comes down.”

  Sam looked at Mrs. Peel.

  “She’s already got a sublet and an interview lined up with the Ritz-Carlton in Paris,” she said matter-of-factly. “She is quite organized.”

  “She always is.”

  “But if you want to talk to her, I suppose I don’t object. Our plane leaves in two hours, and even though I get waved through because I’m a diplomat, we still need... Hey! Let go of that!”

  Sam snatched the suitcase from her hand and was already halfway up the steps, and the Mexican-style gate slammed shut behind him.