A Fine Imitation

by Amber Brock

  When they departed Abide Away early the next morning, Vera was grateful once more that Hallan was traveling in Poppy’s car. He left with only a quick glance in Vera’s direction. His expression was stormy, and she could only imagine how dinner had gone the night before without her there. She hoped he had the good sense to take his meal in his room. Though surely at least part of the cause of his expression was her disappearing act after their kiss.

  She could not even think about that moment of carelessness without sinking into misery. The kiss played out in her mind, over and over again. She tried to will it away, but the memory only grew stronger. How could she make such a mistake? To Hallan she was a plaything, something to be won. He could not possibly care for her, not really.

  Arthur asked how she was feeling, but his show of interest in her absence from dinner the night before was easily deflected, and then he read the paper the whole ride back. Vera was left to stare out the window, watching the city quietly rise in the distance. She was surprised Arthur had stayed the whole weekend, rather than going back on Sunday afternoon. Then again, he always seemed to enjoy spending time at Abide Away. She suspected he enjoyed the prospect of Vera inheriting it one day more than anything, as he often mentioned owning a house at the shore but never seemed keen to look into buying one. Another thing for him to be master of, another possession that would secure his position. As they neared the Angelus, the buildings towered over them once more, and she had the unsettling feeling that, instead of standing tall, they were curving above her, threatening collapse.

  They arrived at the apartment, and Arthur promptly changed out of his traveling clothes and dressed for work. Vera sat on the bed, half watching, wondering if he would even care what she had done. If she told him, right then, would he even listen? He did not want her; why should he worry that anyone else might? Her husband had never expressed any interest in how she occupied herself during those nights alone. He only ever seemed to care that she looked the part of the society wife in public, not whether she acted it in private.

  Vera went downstairs after Arthur left. She was not really concerned that Arthur might find out. What weighed on her now was the need to be sure that Hallan did not count his conquest of her as a victory. She had to make clear to Hallan as soon as possible that he should maintain a respectful distance for the rest of his time at the Angelus. She paced in the library, choosing her words, but she knew she ought not delay too long.

  On the elevator down to 2A, her stomach roiled. Not even her best, most practiced cool demeanor would stay in place. When he opened the door, she thought she might have to lean against the wall for support.

  His whole body tensed when he saw her. “Vera. Come in, please.”

  She followed him into the drawing room, where he sat beside her on the couch.

  “Mr. Hallan—”

  “You’re still calling me that? You can call me Emil,” he said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that would be appropriate, given the circumstances.”

  “Given the circumstances? You all really are a strange lot, you know that? You can kiss me, but you can’t call me by my first name?”

  She glanced around, half by instinct. Still, she would not want his servants hearing and spreading it to any others in the building. “Please. Don’t talk about that.”

  He dropped his eyes. “I understand. In fact, I’m glad you came. I was going to call on you if you hadn’t come down.”

  “I really don’t mean to lead you on. I shouldn’t have done that. And it can never happen again.”

  “I know.”

  Vera had not expected that. “You know what?”

  Hallan stood, running a hand through his hair, then began again. “I know,” he said. “I was wrong to pursue you the way I did, and I offer my apologies.”

  Her heart twitched. “Is this about Poppy?”

  He laughed dryly. “No, this is certainly not about Poppy. After what happened…” He rubbed his forehead. “It was what I wanted. But I understand, you are a married woman, there are certain expectations. This society you’re part of. You can’t just dally with any poor old sap who falls for you. You told me I was inappropriate, many times. I couldn’t make myself listen. I couldn’t bear the thought of not being near you, not having a chance. But I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  She stared at him. Why was he being so serious, not teasing her? He was not proud of some victory. This was nothing like the man who asked her to dance or flirted at parties. This was the man she met in the art museum. The one who gave her a book of poetry. She did not know how to respond. Fortunately, he continued in the silence.

  “So, there it is. I’ll leave you alone, I promise. No more silliness.” He breathed deeply. “I could see it in your eyes, the torment. I don’t want to put you through that.”

  Vera stood and took a few slow steps toward him. “You would do that? You’ll leave me be, you won’t pursue me anymore?”

  “I will. I know that’s what you want, what you need, so I will.”

  She covered her mouth, closing her eyes briefly. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Is something else wrong?” he asked.

  She opened her eyes. “This isn’t just a game to you. I thought—I thought you were only…only playing.”

  He grazed her cheek with his fingertips. “No.”

  “You truly care. You care what I want, what I need.”

  “I do.”

  The dam burst inside her, all of the loneliness and hunger spilling out and flooding her chest. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him, loosing the fire running through her veins. He slid his arms around her waist, but leaned back.

  “But I thought you couldn’t,” he said. “I thought you would want—”

  “I want you,” she said.

  His eyes lit up. “Then you have me.”

  He kissed her neck, then her collarbone, as she closed her eyes once more. A long, shaky sigh escaped her at the feel of his mouth on her skin. She slid her hands under his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders.

  “Is anyone home?” she asked.

  “Anna doesn’t come back until this afternoon. Michael is out,” Hallan said. He looked over his shoulder to the hall, then back to her. She nodded. He led her to the bedroom, and shut the door behind them.

  She fumbled to undo the buttons on his shirt, but he pulled it off over his head. A sudden nervousness came over her as he stepped around behind her and started unbuttoning her dress. It had been a long while, too long, since a man had seen her undressed. What if he decided when he saw her that he did not want her?

  He kissed the back of her neck, and her shoulders relaxed. She let the dress fall to the floor, and stood in her slip and stockings. Thin as she was naturally, she had no need of the binding undergarments other women used to achieve a boyish slenderness.

  He touched the loops and curls of her pinned hair. “You always wear it up,” he said softly. “Is it very long?”

  “Yes. Not terribly fashionable.”

  He sat on the bed, and she sat beside him. He turned her so he could examine her hair once more.

  “How many pins does it take to keep it like that?” he asked.

  She laughed softly. “Quite a few.”

  He leaned in. “Ah. There’s one.” He gently worked the pin out of her hair, and a curl dropped to her shoulder.

  “Don’t take it all down.” She tried to turn to look at him, but he moved her back into place.

  “I want to see how it looks. I imagine it’s beautiful. Why do you always wear it up?”

  “Only little girls wear their hair down,” she said.

  “We’ll have to keep this between us, then.”

  He found another pin, and another. She smiled as lock after lock fell across her shoulder and back. Finally, it was all loose, in a thick curtain that hung to her waist. He combed through it with his fingers.

  “It’s glorious.” He pushed the hair aside and kissed her n
eck. “You’re so beautiful, Vera.”

  She turned to him. “It’s been a long time since anyone but you said that to me.”

  “Then I’ll say it every hour, every minute to make up for their mistakes.” His lips met hers again, and he pushed the slip’s strap from her shoulder. He grazed her now-bare breast with his palm, and a shiver ran up her back.

  Her need for him took over, and she took off the slip. He undressed, and they lay down. She reached to cover herself with the blanket, but he pushed it away, and admired her pale, slender form, running his hand over her breast, her stomach, and to the inside of her thigh.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” he breathed.

  “More than anything,” she said.

  He shifted so that he was between her legs, and entered her. The sensation was nearly foreign, and she let out a gasp that turned into a moan. His hair grazed her cheek as they rocked together. The delight of him inside her swelled, expanded, and grew until she could not contain it. Her excitement escaped her as she cried out, louder and louder, and he answered her with astounded groans of his own.

  This is right, she thought, this is right and can never be wrong.

  He whispered in her ear, shapeless words without meaning. They slowed, then stopped, and he rested his head on her shoulder. At last, he moved back over to lie beside her, his hand still idly stroking her cheek.

  She laughed, that same sound she had made on the rooftop, from so deep within her she had not known it was still there. He sat up on one elbow.

  “I hope nothing is funny,” he said, still a bit out of breath.

  “Oh, no, no. I’m happy, that’s all.”

  “I’m happy, too.”

  “Are you?”

  His face grew serious. “All I’ve wanted since the moment I first saw you is this. You, with me. However you wanted me. For you to want me at all.”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m glad I make such a good first impression.”

  “But I don’t want you thinking it’s only because you’re beautiful. Though you are.” He grinned. “Yes, I thought you were lovely when I first saw you. But it was after we talked in the museum that I knew I was going to fall in love with you.”

  The shock of the words surprised her, and she wondered why they should feel so powerful. She had been told she was loved. But when? Had Arthur ever once said he loved her? She struggled through the memory of their courtship, wedding, and honeymoon. The first years of their marriage, when he had still seen fit to touch her. She could not recall, though she recalled the time her mother had asserted that “all mothers love their children” in a fit of Christmas cheer one year. Or her father, who told her he loved her in a whisper as he led her down the aisle. But not Arthur. No memory at all of him saying anything of the kind. The closest she had come to love from someone outside her family had to be Bea. There had been more real love in her friendship with Bea than even in Cliff’s boyish infatuation. But that bond had been destroyed so quickly, for such foolish reasons. Maybe Arthur had never said he loved her because he could sense, somewhere deep down, that she was not worthy of being loved.

  Vera noticed the hint of confusion on Hallan’s face at her long silence and stroked his cheek as the fog of memory lifted away. “That’s a very romantic thing to say, but you’re not in love with me. You’ve only known me a few weeks. You don’t know who I really am.”

  “I only needed a few moments. The light in your eyes when you look at a painting, or a sculpture…I thought, ‘Ah, this is a woman I understand. This is a woman who will understand me.’ ”

  A little worry tickled her mind. “But I don’t know anything about you. You ought to tell me more—”

  “ ‘Given the circumstances’?”

  “You love to turn my words back to me, don’t you?”

  He traced her breastbone. “All right, I will tell you one thing about me every day. And that way you’ll keep coming to visit me. I know even if you don’t care for me, your curiosity won’t let you stay away.”

  She knew she ought to ask him directly who he really was. Playing some game with him would be childish and foolish. She ought to demand that he tell her everything. But at that moment, she did not want to know the answer. She wanted to enjoy the taste of happiness she had found, if only for the day.

  “So, what’s my bit of information for today?” she asked.

  He leaned over her and kissed her deeply, holding her tight in one arm. Then he whispered in her ear.

  “I had never been in the ocean until I went in with you.”

  Harry drove Bea and Vera back to school on Sunday alone. Vera was disappointed not to see Cliff again, but they couldn’t very well have said a proper good-bye in front of their friends. There would be plenty of time for them to talk in the future. She even began composing her next letter to him in her head as they rode back to campus.

  The girls carried their suitcases across the quad, kicking up brittle brown leaves as they made their way to their dorm buildings. Vera’s mind was still racing from excitement and lack of sleep, and Bea kept up a frenzied recap of the previous day’s excursion.

  “New Haven was more posh than I thought it’d be, didn’t you think? That dance hall was smashing. And the game…I think I like football. We’ll have to go to another game sometime.” Bea sucked in a deep breath of cold air and turned to Vera with a smirk. “And you naughty girl, you kissed Cliff.”

  “Nearly kissed,” Vera corrected her, but could not tame her own smile.

  Bea slowed her step. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you’d ever go.”

  “You sure seemed to think so when you were planning it all. Why else go through all the trouble with the letters?”

  “But you’re so…good. I thought you’d end up being too afraid. Ditch me at the last minute, something like that.”

  Vera elbowed her. “And now you know better. I can be as fearless as you.”

  “Now I know better.” Bea laughed. “But wasn’t it everything I said it would be? Aren’t you glad you went?”

  “I am. But now I need sleep. I’ve still got an essay to finish.” Vera stopped at the front door of her dorm building. “Meet me for supper, all right?”

  “Sure. See you then.” Bea kissed Vera’s cheek, then paused. “You know…you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I know it hasn’t been long, but—”

  “I feel the same way.” Vera pulled Bea into a hug. “Go on, get some sleep.”

  Vera lugged her suitcase up the stairs to her room. She opened her suitcase but found she didn’t have the energy to put anything else away at the moment, so she set it in the corner to deal with later. As she pulled off her coat, she felt something stiff through the lining. She pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket. A note. She opened the paper to find blocky male handwriting.

  Dear Vera,

  You’re the most incredible gal I’ve ever met, beau or no beau. Thanks for the best night of my life. Well, so far. If you choose me, there are even better nights ahead. Promise.

  Cliff

  She smiled and tucked the letter into a book on her desk. Still dressed, she stretched on her bed. The weak winter sunlight peeked in through the curtains, tracing the edges of the decorations on her wall with a faint glow. She blinked in and out of sleep as vivid images from the night before played against her eyelids.

  The sound of a drum made her sit up straight. No, not a drum, a knock at her door. She reached for her watch. Bea couldn’t be here to get her for dinner; it was only two o’clock in the afternoon. Voices rang in the quad. Had she slept through the night? Was it Monday?

  She brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt and went to the door. Hazel Weston, a second-year student who sometimes worked at the reception desk, stood on the other side, her hand poised to knock again. Hazel’s mouth, a tight line of concern, sent lightning up Vera’s spine.

  “Is something wrong?” Vera asked, her voice husky and dim.

  “Someone is downstairs to see
you,” Hazel said.

  “Who is it?”

  “You’d better just come down.” Hazel turned back for the stairs.

  Vera stepped over to the mirror, and her eyes landed on the folded note poking out of the book. Had Cliff come to Vassar to see her for some mad reason? She couldn’t think of any visitor that would worry the girl on desk duty as much as a boy.

  Her hair in place, she raced down the stairs. The last person Vera expected to see sat in a chair in the foyer.

  “Vera. Hello.” Her mother stood, a tightly controlled tower of rage. “Would you like to tell me what you’ve been up to this weekend?”

  Vera did not even mind attending tea that afternoon at Ida Bloomer’s, as she allowed her mind to drift back to her stolen morning with Hallan. Her thoughts overwhelmed her, and she wondered if the other women could see her need for him, crawling like an itch under her skin. But they chatted blithely around her, and since Vera never really contributed much, they did not question her silence. But at last, Ida asked the question she had certainly invited everyone to tea to ask.

  “So, how was the trip to Montauk? I was heartbroken not to come, just beside myself,” she said, fluttering her lids in a display of her distress.

  “I thought it was very hot, even in the evenings, didn’t you, Vera?” Caroline said.

  Vera snapped her head in Caroline’s direction. “Hot. Yes, a bit hot. But the water was cold.”

  “And how did Mr. Hallan like it?” Ida asked.

  “He seemed to enjoy the house,” Vera said.

  “Oh, Vera. You’re so discreet.” Poppy looked at Vera over the lip of her teacup.

  Vera’s mouth went dry. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

  Poppy turned to the others. “There was a very interesting discussion at dinner the first night.”

  “No one needs to hear about my mother’s rudeness,” Vera said, each word razor sharp but laced with false friendliness.

  “I don’t think she was rude at all. She simply wanted to know more about Mr. Hallan.” Poppy cast her gaze around the circle once more. “And he wouldn’t tell her a thing.”