A Dream to Cling To

by Sally Goldenbaum

  “Sam? What’s wrong?” Brittany saw the shadows darken his face. He suddenly looked so sad that she wanted to cradle him in her arms and assure him it would be all right, that they could vanquish whatever it was that was pulling him away from her into a private pain.

  “Nothing, my love. Come here.” He slid his hands beneath her head and lifted her up. The hot press of her lips made his worry slip away. “Ahh, that’s better.”

  She nipped lightly at his bottom lip. “Better than what?”

  “Mmm …” He brushed her moist, parted lips. “Better than just about anything.”

  She dug her hands into his hair, clinging to him, knowing exactly what he meant.

  Ten

  “I’d say you’re looser these days, Brittany, and that pleases me immensely.” Frances Sullivan patted away a wrinkle from her handsome wool dress. “It’s good for you, you know.”

  Brittany pushed the rabbit cage over to the side of the lounge and straightened. “Loose?” she wondered. Brittany Winters, a loose woman? Hmmmm, well, she could live with that. She swallowed a smile and looked back at the stately woman. “So ‘being loose’ is good for me, Miss Sullivan? Last week it was laughing.”

  “Yes, certainly, and it’s true you know. Does wonderful things for the chemical balance in your body. Norman Cousins helped cure an illness by laughing. And you are laughing more, yes.”

  “Will it cure my illness?” Brittany mused, half aloud.

  “It will help considerably, dear. And your illness happens to be one we should all suffer from.” With the gentle care she afforded her Lalique sculptures, she picked up the rabbit named Delilah and glided grandly across the room.

  Brittany watched her leave with a bemused smile.

  “She’s right for once.”

  Brittany spun around. It was Eustelle Cleaver, leaning on her cane and waiting for Piggy to bring back the ball she’d rolled across the floor. “Mrs. Cleaver, good morning! I see you have a new cane.”

  “No, I don’t think it will rain. But even if it did, your nice smile, Brittany, would be all the sunshine we’d need around here. It’s good for you, you know.”

  Brittany lifted one eyebrow, and said loudly, “So I hear. Why do I get the feeling, Mrs. Cleaver, that there’s a conspiracy regarding my health around here?”

  The remark tickled Mrs. Cleaver, and her laughter tinkled like wind chimes. “Oh, you. It’s your mental health, we care about. You know”—she thumped one hand against her breast—“affairs of the …”

  Brittany shook her head and laughed lightly. “Well, it’s nice to know there’s all this concern about me.”

  “What’s the matter with your knee?” Mrs. Cleaver’s thin brows lifted in concern.

  Brittany smiled gently and slipped her a dog biscuit to give to Piggy. “My knee’s just fine, thanks, Mrs. Cle—”

  “And where is he, anyway?” cut in Mr. Aldrich. who, ever since the dance, seemed to be trailing close behind Eustelle.

  “Piggy?” Brittany asked.

  “No. Sam, Sam. You know.”

  “Oh, him.” She smiled. “Do you need him for something?”

  “I need some books he promised me, and we need some more scripts for the playreading group. And he owes me a checker game.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I’ll tell him. He’s been working hard on finishing a game, but I’m sure he’ll drop those by if he said he would.”

  “Yep, Sam’s a man of his word. Do y’suppose he’ll keep on coming by here, though, when the game’s finished?” He laughed and Brittany noticed his hand creep up and rest on Mrs. Cleaver’s shoulder. “That was his excuse, y’know—to get information from you.”

  Brittany nibbled on her lower lip as she fished through her mind for an answer. It was the kind of question she’d been avoiding zealously. What did happen when the game was finished next week? In the two weeks since the weekend at the cabin, she and Sam had both avoided the topic like the plague. She couldn’t face it. not yet. Shaking her head, she smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be back, Mr. Aldrich. If only to play that checker game.” Quickly she made her exit, slipping out into the hall to find the program director and force herself to deal with things she could control.

  She spotted the tall, friendly redhead standing behind the reception desk and quickly walked over to her.

  “How does this look to you, Sheila?” she asked, handing her the clipboard with the coming week’s schedule attached.

  Sheila read through it quickly. “Looks great, Brittany. I’ve one favor, though …”

  “Oh?”

  “You know that playreading group Sam organized?”

  Brittany nodded, smiling. “The one that likes to meet on a dance floor?”

  Sheila nodded, and she and Brittany both glanced down the hall as loud hammering from the social hall broke into their conversation.

  “Whatever they’re working on now certainly is noisy!” Brittany said.

  Sheila only smiled mysteriously. “Right. Well, turns out they’re reading everything they can get their hands on, not just plays, and they’ve scheduled a ‘public’ performance. Any chance you and Sam could make an extra trip out here for it? Sam knows about it, but we hadn’t set the date when he was here last week.”

  Before Brittany could answer, Sheila went on, intent on getting all her reasons in. “Now, I know Sam’s busy putting the finishing touches on your father’s game, but I also know he wants to be here for it. And it’d mean so much to the folks if you both could come.”

  “Of course I can come, Sheila. I’d love to! I can’t speak for Sam, but …” Her voice trailed off. No, that wasn’t entirely true. She could speak for Sam, easily. Since the weekend up in the woods they’d been together every spare minute, and when they couldn’t be together, they were wishing they were. And when they weren’t wishing, Sam was calling her on the phone and whispering things to her that turned her bones to mush and ignited forest fires deep in her belly.

  “Actually, I guess I could speak for Sam,” she said slowly. “After all, he is the founding father of this. He should be here.”

  “Yes, he needs to be here.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure he is. Don’t worry, Sheila. I’ll have him here in the front row.”

  “Sirius is winking at you,” Sam said, pointing at the wintry sky as he and Brittany walked up the winding drive to the Elms Home a few days later. “Fitting.”

  “We understand each other, Sirius and me.” She linked her arm through Sam’s and pressed closely to his side, her head tilted back to the starry sky. “I almost named Dunkin Sirius, you know.”

  “But?” Sam looked down into her eyes and could see the flickering lights of the stars in them.

  “Well, Dunkin was orphaned, you see. And we found him—”

  “Let me guess. He was found on the steps of a doughnut store.”

  Brittany beamed. “Exactly. Sam, we understand each other.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  “Well, since we’re talking serious …”

  She groaned and burrowed her head into his shoulder.

  “And since we understand each other so well, there’s a serious problem I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Her smile faded until she looked up and saw the teasing laughter in his eyes. “I see.… Well, yes, sir, Mr. Lawrence. What can I do to help?”

  “Everything! You see, there’s this woman I’m crazy about, and for the past few days I’ve been working like a madman to finish a game job—for her father, in fact.”

  She scratched her chin and deepened her voice in mock seriousness. “Yes, yes, go on.”

  “And well, you see, we haven’t seen each other much for these few days, a phone call here and there, maybe—”

  “Maybe?” Her brows shot up. “Here and there?”

  “Well, actually there were a number of phone calls made, at odd hours occasionally. But they were necessary, you see …”

  “Of course.”

  “But phone call
s don’t quite do the trick.”

  “Trick?” She gasped. His hand had slipped beneath the opening in her coat and moved slowly to capture one full breast that was covered tantalizingly by a soft cashmere sweater.

  “Yeah.” His voice deepened with the circling pressure he applied to her breast. “The problem won’t go away. I need help.” He pulled her into the shadow of a huge maple tree.

  “Help …” Her breath was coming in short, tiny gasps now as she wound her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. Any strength she had ever had in her legs was gone, turned to putty as his mouth covered hers in hot, hungry kisses.

  “Uh-huh.” He finally allowed a minute slice of space between them. “Seems this woman has cast a spell on me.”

  “And?” She breathed the single word with difficulty.

  “And I’m horny as hell!”

  His outburst snapped the spell between them and she threw back her head and laughed into the cold wintry air. “Oh, Sam. You do have a way with words.”

  He slapped his head and groaned. “I’m in terrible, body-racking pain, and the lady laughs!”

  She wound one arm around his waist and hugged him tightly. “Sam, Sam—”

  “The lecherous man,” he finished, breathing heavily into her hair.

  “Not ever.” She looked up, her love for him shining in her eyes. “Now, come on, lover boy, calm yourself down. The curtain goes up in ten minutes and I promised to have you there.”

  “Well, I hope the lights stay out,” he mumbled as he followed her up the stairs and through the wide front door. “My body can’t stand too much scrutiny tonight.”

  She just shook her head and grinned, trying to calm her own fires that licked teasingly within her.

  The halls were empty and they hurried around the corner to the social hall, where they were greeted warmly by Sheila.

  “I think the show is about to begin,” Sheila said. “There are two seats right there on the aisle.” She pointed over several rows of heads.

  Sam and Brittany nodded and made their way down the makeshift aisle, waving at the people who smiled up at them.

  “Look, Sam, there’s Billy.” Brittany pointed down toward the front, where Bertha Hussey sat proudly between her grandson and his new girlfriend.

  Two weeks ago Bertha had mentioned to Sam that she was worried about Billy, who had been having problems finding a job. A few days later Sam had hired him to take care of the plants in his office.

  “He’s done great things with my plants,” Sam whispered proudly to Brittany. “I’d swear they’re multiplying daily! The gang has promised me they’ll keep him on permanently.”

  Brittany’s head jerked up. “What—what do you mean?” Her voice was so soft Sam didn’t seem to hear her, and instead of answering he ushered her toward the empty seats.

  “Lights are blinking, Brittany. We’d better sit down.”

  Her heart was pounding in her ears. What did he mean they would keep Billy on? Why not him? Where would he be? His talk of moving on had become something she purposely paid little attention to. After all, he never elaborated, and had always made it sound so indefinite. Besides, in her world people settled down at Sam’s age, didn’t “move on” to other ventures, other cities, other countries, for Lord’s sake! The thoughts were jumbled in her head and she breathed deeply, willing them away. She’d probably heard him wrong anyway. She pushed a smile back into place and looked up toward the front of the room.

  A half-dozen sheets had been carefully sewn together and threaded on a wire so that they fell in soft folds, separating the audience from the forward part of the social hall. In front of the sheet was a podium and a microphone. “Do you know anything about this?” she whispered to Sam.

  He gave her a secret smile and squeezed her leg playfully, then let his fingers rest lightly on her thigh.

  “Is that a yes or a no?” She played fire with fire and returned the caress until she saw Sam’s jaw quiver.

  “Brittany Ellsbeth, I’m not going to be responsible for my actions if you continue to molest me in this manner,” he muttered between his teeth.

  “I’ll take full responsibility, Mr. Lawrence. Now, confess to me, what’s going on here tonight?”

  “You brought me, remember?” He slid his hand beneath hers and separated her fingers, twining his own between them until their palms were flat together. “I did help dig up some skits for them and threw out a few ideas here and there, but I haven’t seen it all together. Satisfied?” He bent over and kissed the end of her nose.

  She nodded, wanting to kiss him back in a manner totally unbefitting the opening act of a senior citizens’ variety show, but was saved from temptation by the resonant sounds of rolling drums coming from behind the curtain.

  The crowd noises dimmed to a soft hush as a slim, elegant figure swept toward the podium from a hidden spot in the shadows. It was Frances Sullivan at her regal best. A long shimmering gown covered her graceful frame and it sparkled in the lone spotlight that lit her face. She reached for the microphone and greeted the eager audience.

  “Good evening, friends and relatives,” she began, her eyes and smile rippling over the rows of people.

  She paused when she came to Sam, or so it seemed to Brittany and her poised smile broadened just a tiny bit before she went on.

  “I think Frances likes you,” she whispered to Sam.

  He held her hand tightly in his and moved it slowly back and forth across his thigh. “I think Frances knows you’re doing crazy things to me back here.”

  “Sam!”

  “Shh.” He gestured to Frances. “You’ll miss something.”

  Frances’s golden voice continued from the far end of the room. “We have a wonderful surprise for you all tonight. Why, some of our own residents don’t even know about this yet.

  “Due to the kind generosity of a dear friend, and the unstinting efforts and wonderful talents of some of our residents, we are unveiling tonight an addition to our Elms Home that will bring hours of joy into all our lives.”

  “That’s what you do for me, you know,” Sam whispered into her hair. “Hours and hours of joy.”

  Her eyes were glassy but stayed glued to Frances.

  “If Mr. Fitzgerald will please come out and help me with the cords, the unveiling shall take place.”

  Dressed in his sedate wedding and funeral suit, and looking as handsome as an Irish rogue, Jerry Fitzgerald gripped the rope that had been tied to the top of one of the center sheets. Frances did the same to the other, then paused just long enough to excite interest in every last soul in her audience. Then she nodded her head slightly, and she and Jerry walked in opposite directions, slowly pulling open the curtain of sheets.

  “Oh, my,” Brittany whispered, as first a hush, and then a chorus of excited ohs and ahs filled the room.

  Beyond the sheets a permanent theater stage filled the entire end of the room, complete with a cranberry velvet curtain that fell in soft rippling folds to the stripped hardwood floor, and rows of lights positioned high on the new stage ceiling. There was a small orchestra pit, an apron on either side of the stage with steps on one and a short ramp on the other that led down into the “theater,” and built-in microphones in strategic locations.

  “Sam, isn’t it wonderful?” She looked over at him, but even before their eyes met, a rush of understanding flooded over her. “Oh, Sam … you …”

  “Nice, isn’t it?”

  She laid her hand against his cheek. “Not nearly as nice as the ‘dear friend’ who made it possible.”

  “What do you know about anything?” He leaned close and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Now, let’s keep our fingers crossed that it all works.”

  To the sound of another drum roll, The Elms Home First Annual Variety Show began in earnest. The curtain swept back and Joseph Aldrich shuffled out onto center stage in an oversized white coat and regaled the audience with a rendition of the doctor scene from The Sunshine Boys. A lovely youn
g blond volunteer filled in as the voluptuous, buxom nurse and Mr. Aldrich played the scene to the hilt, bulging his eyes at the sight of her straining bosom, and pushing his audience to the edge of their seats with laughter when he stumbled and his large nose wedged directly into her deep shadowy cleavage.

  Sam laughed uproariously and beside him Brittany wiped tears of delight from her eyes. Everyone in the room was laughing, and as she looked around her, she saw so many old faces lit with new life.

  The mood switched quickly to a more controlled enjoyment as Frances Sullivan introduced the next act, a brief excerpt from Our Town. “Why, that’s Bertha Hussey,” Brittany whispered in amazement. The shy, quiet lady was perched on a tall stool, her hair brushed to a glossy sheen, and her voice resonant with near-Shakespearean thunder as she read through her lines.

  “Look at Billy,” Sam said.

  Billy was sitting on the edge of his seat, his hand holding his girlfriend’s, and fat tears were rolling down his face as he watched his grandmother’s moment of glory.

  “Oh, Sam.” Brittany blinked back a tear.

  Sam’s arm slipped over the back of her chair and held her close.

  Our Town was followed by several short but loud numbers from the Bronze Boys Brass Band, followed by a barber shop quartet, and then the finale.

  The lights dimmed, then rose again, this time painting the stage in all the brilliant colors of an English garden and spotlighting a grouping of white wicker furniture and three elegant Elms Home women. They sat with their parasols in place, and their voices were full of a lifetime of loving as they thoughtfully, dramatically, recited a litany of poems that celebrated life.

  The room was so still that the slightest rustle of the women’s graceful gowns were heard, as were the tiny breaks in their old voices that spoke with unbearable honesty of living and loving and dying.

  Frail Betta Hopper’s voice quivered like a bird’s as she recited the words of Rupert Brooke. And Frances Sullivan’s melodious voice spoke of strawberries on summer afternoons in the Kilpatrick hills with a loved one as they laughed with life and love.