Blind Man's Buff

by Victoria Gordon

  Only there were none. After a moment of shifting around, arranging himself so that he could gain as much of her body warmth as possible, Ran whispered, ‘Yes, that’s better,’ and as his shivering gradually slowed, his breathing did likewise. Within three minutes, he was asleep.

  Rena, too, drifted into an uneasy slumber not long afterwards. Only her sleep was punctuated by vivid dreams that kept kicking her towards wakefulness.

  The final one was the worst, because it was so vivid, so tangibly real. And because it was the one that merged into reality with a clarity that was frightening.

  Rena dreamed of her final night with Ran, the night he had not only slept with her, but had taken from her the most cherished gift she could provide. There had been two other occasions during their whirlwind courtship on which they had slept together, at least after a fashion, but on both those occasions he had insisted on observing convention. He had kissed her, of course, even touched her, but he had used his magnetic, dominant personality to hold them back from that final commitment.

  On the last night it had been different. Ran had known he would be going off to New Zealand to check out the ugly ramifications of the Springbok Rugby Union Tour. Only for two days, but they would be the first days he and Rena had been parted since their romance began.

  He had taken her to dinner, choosing the intimacy of La Potiniere, on the North Shore, and then they had walked and talked into the small hours of the morning, ending up at Rena’s fiat about two o’clock.

  She had given him his medallion during dinner, choosing the more public choice of circumstances because it was the first time she had ever bought such an intimate present for a man, and she had felt vaguely self conscious about it. Ran, at the time, had seemed to suffer no such problem.

  ‘I shall wear it always,’ he had promised in his low, vibrant voice. It wasn’t until later, back in her flat, that he had added the final touch of perfection, promising to think of the medallion as an engagement ring, promising to hurry up the jeweller who was already making Rena’s engagement ring.

  ‘Diamonds and sapphires,’ he had whispered into her naive, willing ear. ‘The diamonds for tradition, because I love you and you make me feel traditional, and the sapphires because they’re your birthstone.’

  It was enough, for Rena. When he kissed her, gathering her into his arms as they sat together on the lounge suite, she threw aside all her inhibitions, all her fears. All that mattered was being in his arms, being with him, being part of him.

  It had been she who had shifted to ease the path of his light, probing fingers down her throat, into the hollows of her bare shoulder, and gradually lower until his palm cupped her breast, the nipple firm and erect against his love-line.

  ‘God, but you’re beautiful,’ he’d whispered, then returned his lips to hers before she could answer, drinking in the taste of them, sharing it.

  The dress she was wearing was nothing special, except in the loose, off-the-shoulder design and the pale cream colour that so well suited her tan. Nothing special until Ran’s skilled fingers shifted it lower, baring her breasts to his fingers, to his lips.

  He had kissed each of them in turn, then returned to claim her lips with increased desire. His fingers were like live things as they stroked her body, bringing up each nerve, each flame of desire with an expert touch.

  ‘I love you, Catherine,’ he had said. For the first time, the most important time. Her heart had threatened to burst, to simply swell up and overflow with the love and the need inside her.

  Her fingers had slid from behind his neck to begin an exploration of their own, down along the chain of the medallion, down through the crisp curls to where the silver wafer nestled over the thudding rhythm of his heart. And then lower, unbuttoning his shirt as she went, until her fingers had reached his belt, feeling the muscles of his chest and stomach, the vibrant masculinity of his body.

  When he had lifted her, easing the dress from her in a single, practiced motion, she had merely wrapped her arms around his neck and fastened her lips to his while he carried her the short distance to the bedroom and the broad softness of her bed.

  ‘You’re sure?’ His voice had been a whisper, not really cautioning, but not pleading, either. Merely checking, ensuring that he wasn’t pushing her beyond the limits of her own conscience, her own innocence.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she had whispered back. ‘I love you too.’ And she had been sure, as sure as life itself, as sure as her own first poignant love, her raging need for him.

  Somehow in the next few moments they both discarded the rest of their clothing, giving each of them the freedom of true exploration. Ran’s fingers and lips flowed across her body so gently, so exquisitely. It was like lying beneath a warm shower, being touched everywhere by light caresses.

  So experienced, yet so gentle. He fitted them together, let her set the pace without giving her time to think consciously about doing so, letting her body take control, her sensations and her own personal rhythm create the melody of them together.

  She had kissed him, her lips moving slowly across his mouth, down to his throat, again following the chain of the medallion. Her fingers had moved even lower, seeking the essence of him, trembling with anticipation and need, but not fear. She had nothing to fear from Ran, who loved her ...

  And then Rena was bolt upright, her eyes widening as she looked first at her still-trembling fingers and then at the dark-haired figure beside her. She could feel the imprint of his hands on her, the touch of his lips, the smooth, pliant touch of his skin against hers.

  ‘My God!’ she cried, struggling against his grasp, yet unable to deny the willing compliance of her body.

  His fingers closed on her wrist, pulling her down against him so that her bared breasts were firm against the muscled fur of his chest. His lips searched for her, oblivious to her weak struggles.

  ‘Stop, oh please, stop,’ she murmured, then suddenly realised from his touch that not only were her breasts bared, but that her shorts also were no longer a protection against his physical presence.

  ‘Stop! Oh, damn you, you bastard. Stop this!’

  He stopped, puzzlement evident on his face. But he didn’t let her go. His eyes, those copper eyes that had once drunk in her beauty, looked at her, through her, past her. Seeing nothing.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ he demanded, his voice ragged with a passion she could understand only too well. ‘Another little game of tease the blind beggar? Well, sorry, Rena, but you started this game, and by God you’ll finish it.’

  And she was against him again, his strong arms making her protests useless as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was both harsh and gentle, provocative, expert. Her lips were parted, her mouth moulded to his with the same perfection as in her dream.

  He didn’t need to be able to see to trap her wildly waving arms, in a single motion he folded his own arms around her and shifted so that his weight helped hold her down, one of his legs firm over her own, like an anchor.

  His mouth was alive, searching for her reactions, plundering her needs, firing the furnace of desire that flared at his every kiss, his very touch. And in a moment her struggles ceased with the betrayal of her body as it felt his warmth.

  ‘My God, but I want you ... need you,’ his voice whispered, a siren song of pure delight in her ear. His lips fled across her cheek, down the long column of her throat, rousing her breasts to new awareness with their touch.

  ‘Oh, Ran...’ She could say nothing more, dared not, lest her mouth also betray her. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his neck, tangled in the chain of the medallion.

  She wanted him, at least as much as he wanted her. More, she thought, because she knew exactly what her wanting might lead to. Physical gratification, a renewal of the hunger he had created in her that first time, so very, very long ago. And then? And then only sorrow, only the slow starvation of her heart, because she couldn’t keep him; he belonged to someone else and he’d even admitted it to
her.

  No, it simply couldn’t be. And his fingers were playing along the dimples of her spine, expertly creating a tune of such promise that Rena shuddered beneath his touch.

  It would be masochism. And his hands moved lower, drawing her close against him, pressing her softness against the rigidity of his masculinity.

  It must not be! And she shrugged violently, shoving against his chest, kicking her long legs as she fought against the pressure of his arms, against the stronger pressure of her own desire.

  ‘No! No, Ran ... we can’t. Please! No ... no ... no ... no ...!’ She screamed it, over and over and over as she fought him.

  ‘Yes ... yes ... yes ..His voice mimicked her panic, but he wasn’t panicked. He was simply using his superior strength, his vast experience, to shift her again to his side.

  Rena got both hands against his chest, pushed with all her strength. Ran laughed, holding her easily. Damn him! If he could see, if he could know it was her ... She shrieked, anger now rising to conquer lust inside her.

  ‘No!’ And her fingers reached back to claw at him, only to be restrained by their tangle within the chain of the silver medallion.

  Rena yanked, and the chain snapped, flying towards her like a streak of lightning. Damned, hateful, reminder of her own gullibility ... of Ran’s deceit!

  She flung it at him, crying a bitter oath as it struck him in the face, cried another as she began to flail about with her fists, now striking his shoulder, his chest, and then his face, his head.

  It was working; Ran showed confusion now, uncertainty. She kicked out, scrambling with every muscle in her body until finally she rolled free of the bed, landing hard on the bedside rug with her half-discarded shorts threatening to trip her as she tried to stand ... to run.

  ‘Damn you!’ His voice was a growl of sheer torture, of a beast tormented, tortured beyond control. He reached out blindly, fingers clamping like a vice on her wrist.

  ‘Damn you!’ She screamed in return, kicking out at him, pulling to free herself and almost falling when Ran, too, tumbled from the bed.

  She saw the impact, heard the impact as he fell blindly, head-first, landing in a crumpled heap of naked limbs and tangled bed linen, but hitting the floor so hard she felt the impact through its vibrations.

  But she was free! She scrambled to her feet, tugging at her clothing and scrabbling like a crab to reach the doorway. Behind her, Ran’s muffled oaths testified to the fact that he couldn’t be badly hurt.

  Rena fled. Driven by panic and sheer self-preservation, she ran for the front door of the flat, her ears like those of a hunted doe, picking up the sound as he struggled to follow.

  Outside, across the veranda, then up the stairs to her own flat with only a fleeting wonder that it was already falling dark. Inside, she slammed the door and locked it, wishing out loud for an old-fashioned draw- bolt. Then she ran quickly to slam the sliding glass doors and lock them as well, feeling horribly vulnerable even then because of all the window space.

  And finally she fled to the questionable sanctuary of her own bedroom, where at last tears came to wash down her terror, dilute it, make sense of it.

  ‘My God!’ she whimpered into her pillow. Of all the things she could possibly have done ... surely to torment a blind man — to torment Ran in such a way must be the worst.

  Revenge. Deep within her, the voice seemed to cry like a doom-seeker. Yes, she thought. Revenge! Indeed, she had gained her revenge, leading Ran Logan to a personal, emotional crisis and then dumping him ... as he had abandoned her. It was even perhaps fitting that she had done it in bed — his bed.

  But then why did she feel so horribly wrong about it all? She knew, had known all along, that it was her dream that began today’s affair. Not his broken promise, but her dream, her retrogression into a past best forgotten.

  How much better to have simply told him the truth? Even if she had done it that first night, when they were alone together at the college. She had had the chance, could have made the opportunity. But to tell him now? No ... it would be too cruel, and she had been cruel enough already.

  ‘Rena?’ The voice was followed by a thunderous knock on her door, a knock that sounded as if he was trying to kick the very walls down.

  ‘Go away!’ she shouted from the bedroom door, already on her feet and rushing to ... to what? To barricade herself in even more? Likely, she thought, though she hadn’t the vaguest idea how she would accomplish such a thing.

  ‘I want to talk to you.’ His voice was lower now; as if he sensed she was there, separated from him only by a few inches of masonry and a suddenly-flimsy piece of plywood.

  ‘There’s nothing to be said. Go away. Please...’ And of it all, she meant the please the most. She just couldn’t face him again tonight, if ever.

  ‘It’s important.’

  She could have screamed. Then she did scream, as the hysteria she probably should have felt earlier crawled up from within her shattered emotions.

  ‘No. Go away! Go away ... go away ... go away ... go away ...!’ Over and over, like a broken, scratched, shrieking record. And she, now, was thumping on the locked door between them, her fists beating on it in time to her litany of sobbing, shrieking demands.

  ‘All right ... all right." She only barely hard the words over her own cries, didn’t believe them at first anyway. But when she paused, he spoke again. ‘I’m going. Goodnight.’ Hard words, bitterly spoken.

  Rena ran to the curtain and peeped out. Yes, he was going, descending the stairs with careful, slow steps. Thank heaven!

  She retreated to the interior of her own flat, ears tuned to the curious sound of Ran moving around below her. Not quietly, but slamming himself around; she heard a chair go over, could almost visualise him demolishing the flat in his anger.

  And then silence. Silence that lasted for almost half an hour, until a taxi pulled up outside and its driver stepped out to walk to Ran’s flat and emerge a moment later, guiding his passenger to the cab and depositing him in the appropriate seat. And a moment later the taxi was gone, leaving Rena finally assured that she was alone, that Ran wouldn’t be thundering on her door again that night, anyway.

  Or would he? Not five minutes had passed since his departure, but Rena felt as if it had been hours. Worse, she suddenly felt ... knew ... that he would be back, and that when he came back he would insist on talking to her. No matter if it were midnight, he would!

  ‘And I,’ she said to herself, ‘can’t handle that. Can’t ... and won’t.’

  That decision made, the next one was easier yet. Within ten minutes she had packed an overnight bag with her working gear for the next day, her performing gear for Monday night’s gig at the pub. And her guitar.

  Within fifteen minutes she was in her car and headed for town.

  ‘And that for you. Ran Logan!’ she had cried upon leaving the driveway and giving an insolent salute to Ran’s non-existent presence. He was more than capable of looking after himself, Rena thought. If anything, too capable. He could certainly cope without her until late Monday night.

  He’d have to; she had no intention of returning to the flat before then. In fact there was a serious question if she would ever return at all, but she knew herself well enough to know that those feelings would gradually fade away.

  Rena felt less certain about her feelings for Ran. Those, she knew now, would never fade away. Even if … when … he left her again to return to Sydney, she would love him as deeply as ever. But he must never know.

  And it was all her own fault. If only, she thought, she had revealed her true identity that first night, had not let them embark on this voyage of deceit...

  ‘But I did,’ she muttered to herself. ‘And there’s no going back. To tell Ran the truth now would be worse than useless. He wouldn’t believe a word I said — and I don’t blame him a bit.’

  Rena conveniently ignored the fact that she, too, had been betrayed. It simply didn’t matter any more. She loved Ran no matter what ... lo
ved him so much she was forced to protect him, now, from the truth.

  Her publican employer showed mild surprise at Rena arriving twenty-four hours early for her singing engagement, but neither he nor his friendly wife questioned her request for a room. Even her rather feeble explanation that her flat had just been sprayed for insect pests was kindly accepted, and it wasn’t until she was alone in the hotel room that the stupidity of the excuse struck Rena herself.

  ‘On a Sunday?’ she asked the wan figure in the mirror. ‘They must think I’m daft ... right round the twist!’ And she was thankful they were nowhere in evidence when she slipped out later to get some tea.

  By morning, her embarrassment had faded sufficiently for her to bid them a good morning on her way out to work, and she got through the day with surprisingly few hassles. She’d still have to face Ran Logan ... probably late that night ... but it no longer held the terrors of the night before.

  Her day at work had made the difference, or at least one incident during the day. It was little more than a chance comment by one of the solicitors speaking to a colleague in Rena’s hearing.

  He had been talking about one aspect of a family law case, and although Rena didn’t know the intimate details, his comment so totally fitted her own dilemma that she almost cried out on hearing it.

  ‘I don’t know why people bother to lie,’ he had said. ‘One lie invariably leads to another . .. and another,’ until eventually the whole thing collapses like a house of cards. But the truth, just the simple, plain, unvarnished truth — no matter how bad — seems to last for ever.’

  The truth. Rena thought about it most of the afternoon, mulling over every aspect of her situation. And by the time she sat down to a lonely counter tea that evening before going on stage, she had decided.

  She would tell Ran the truth. Truth! It would hurt him, though not as much as the telling would hurt her. But at least they would part with a clear conscience on Rena’s own part. And maybe ... just maybe ... she would even find out the real reason for his walking out on her in the first place. Better she should know, than to always wonder if it were another woman, sheer boredom, or simply the fact that Ran had got what he was angling for and had immediately lost interest.