Summer Storm

by Joan Wolf

  “You stinker,” she said, but the lines of her mouth were soft.

  He grinned. “It worked.”

  “Why couldn’t you just have come to see me?”

  “Would you have listened to me if I’d arrived at your doorstep, hat in hand?” He looked at her skeptically.

  Her lips curled a little. “No, I suppose not. I was too well armored in all my grudges.”

  “Well, the course I took was crude, I’ll admit that. But it was effective.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “Do you know something?” he asked in a kind of astonishment. “I’m starving.”

  “Of course you are,” she answered sympathetically. “You didn’t eat a bite of your dinner.” She pushed herself off his lap and stood up. “I have some peanut butter and jelly in my fridge. Come on and I’ll make you a sandwich.”

  He stood up and staggered a little. “Ow! I think you cut off all the circulation in my legs.”

  “You’re so romantic,” she murmured. He hobbled around the room for a bit and she watched him, smiling. When he finally came to a halt she said, “Bring your toothbrush and pajamas and a change of clothes.”

  He swung around with no suggestion of stiffness at all. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” she returned serenely. “I won’t even push you out in the morning.”

  He heaved a great dramatic sigh. “Thank God for that. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m really a very domestic type. All this creeping about in the dead of night doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

  It was true, she thought, as she watched him collect his things. He looked like every woman’s dream lover, but he had been happy as a clam refinishing furniture and painting walls in their first apartment. And he had not been indifferent to the thought of fatherhood; quite the contrary. If he had been willing to give up acting for it, he took it very seriously indeed.

  She thought back to that dreadful argument they had had when she first told him she was pregnant. She remembered how angry he had been when she said she would give up her fellowship. It had upset her dreadfully, that anger. She had not realized that it sprang from his great and generous love, from his passionate desire to see her free to fulfill the promise that was in her. He still felt the same way. She remembered how concerned he had been when she had said she would give up teaching.

  They walked together in companionable silence back to her cottage. He sat down and stretched his long legs in front of him while she made the sandwiches and poured two glasses of apple juice. He looked at her in admiration as he bit into the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.

  “You’re wonderful,” he said. “You always have whatever’s needed right on hand.”

  She laughed at him. “Just like the mother in The Swiss Family Robinson.”

  “Well,” he replied dryly, “not quite.”

  He finished his sandwich and yawned. Mary did the same. “I’m dead,” she said. “You use the bathroom first and I’ll clean up these crumbs.” In five minutes they were both in pajamas and in bed. In seven minutes they were asleep.

  * * * *

  Mary woke to find the sun streaming into the bedroom. She had been so tired last night that she hadn’t closed the shade. She hopped out of bed, drew the shade down, and got back in next to Kit. The New Hampshire morning was chilly and she snuggled down comfortably under the covers. He was still asleep and she curled up against his wide, warm back, closed her eyes and dozed.

  Half an hour later he stirred and rolled over. She propped her cheek on her hand and looked down into his face. He gave her a sleepy smile and yawned. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Nine-thirty,” she replied. “I feel very decadent.”

  “You haven’t started to be decadent yet, sweetheart,” he said with slow amusement.

  She tried to look severe. “Everyone will be looking for you.”

  “Let them look,” he murmured. “Kiss me.” His voice was very deep and she seemed to feel it in her bones. She bent her head to him. His mouth was gentle under hers; their kiss was infinitely tender. He made no move to touch her. She raised her head and looked down into dark dark eyes. As she stayed where she was suspended over him, he slowly raised his hand to touch her hair. “It’s like silk,” he murmured. “All of you is like that. Silky and soft . . .” His eyes narrowed and they stared at each other.

  Beyond his fingers tangled in her hair he had not touched her. Her body was crying out for him but she too deliberately held herself back, their denial feeding their desire as effectively as any caress could have done. “Take your pajamas off,” he said and her hands moved, shaking, to obey him. Their eyes never separated as they both slowly divested themselves of their nightwear. “Now lie down next to me,” he directed and she did as he asked, stretching out beside him, her beautiful body positioned for his love.

  His hand slid across her stomach and cupped her breast. “Do you want me to wait?” he whispered.

  “No.” she whispered back, her body on fire for him. “I want you now.” She arched up toward him and he came into her hard, his hands gripping her so strongly that he bruised her skin. But she did not object, clinging to him tightly herself, her mouth crushed under his, her whole body shuddering with the pleasure he was giving to her.

  They finally lay quietly, breathing hard and still linked together. It was a long time before she found the composure to say, “Now that was decadent.”

  “Um,” he answered. “Did you like it?”

  “Wow,” she said simply, and he chuckled.

  “Stick around awhile and we’ll try it again. Maybe we can improve.”

  “I’m always interested in improvement,” she replied and he kissed her throat.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  * * * *

  They stayed in bed until noon, at which time hunger forced them to get up. “I tell you what,” said Kit, yawning and stretching, “I’ll go into town and get coffee and donuts and the papers. We can eat here.”

  “That sounds great.” She was watching in admiration as his muscles bunched when he stretched. “I have to get to Mass yet,” she added, “but they have one at five this afternoon.”

  “Well,” he conceded slowly, “I might be ready to let you leave by then.”

  She laughed, got out of bed and bent to pick up her pajamas. “I’m getting dressed,” she said firmly. “You lecher.”

  He grinned. “I have a lot of time to make up for.” He watched her folding her pajamas to put them in the drawer. “You always did wear the sexiest night-wear,” he murmured. “Flannel pajamas.”

  “When you live in New England you opt for warmth,” she replied serenely, putting them away. “I never could see the point of a sexy nightgown anyway. I bought one for our honeymoon, you remember, and all it did was wind up on the floor.”

  His teeth were very white in his dark face. “True.” He headed for the shower. “I won’t be long.”

  She put on her terry-cloth robe and went out into the living room to finish tidying up. It was a good thing the maids didn’t work on Sunday, she thought as she poured herself a glass of apple juice. They would have gotten a shock if they had opened the bedroom door half an hour ago!

  Kit came out of the bedroom wearing navy cotton pants and a red-striped rugby shirt. “I’ll be back shortly,” he said. “Don’t run away.”

  “I won’t. But neither do I think I’ll accompany you out to the porch.”

  He laughed. “No use borrowing trouble,” he agreed. After he had left, Mary went in to take a shower.

  He was gone for almost an hour and she was on the point of having more peanut butter and jelly for breakfast when she heard his car pull up in front of the cottage. He came in carrying a bag in either hand. “Coffee,” he said, putting one bag down on the table. “Donuts.” He put down the other bag.

  “Thank heavens,” Mary replied, taking out a container of coffee, “I was about to have a caffeine fit.”

  He sat down next to her on
the sofa and picked up his own coffee. “I ran into George as I was driving out, that’s what kept me.”

  “Oh? What did he have to say?” She sipped her coffee with obvious pleasure.

  “He gave me this.” Kit reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “It’s John Calder’s review, the one that will appear in the Times tomorrow morning. He dropped a copy of it off with George before he left this morning.”

  Mary put her coffee down and took the papers from him. There was more than one typed sheet and she spread them out and began to read. The first sentence allayed her anxiety: “A milestone in American theater occurred last night with the Yarborough Festival’s production of Hamlet with (with the single exception of Melvin Shaw’s Polonius) an all-American cast.” She glanced up at Kit quickly but he was calmly munching a donut. She looked down and continued to read. There was praise for George, for his “sensitive and perceptive” handling of the staging and the relationships among the characters. Carolyn was singled out for her “bewildered and delicate Ophelia,” Frank for his “simple, gullible, likeable Laertes,” and Alfred for his “authoritative Claudius.” Calder devoted a whole paragraph to Margot’s “light-minded, light-hearted, light-skirted Gertrude.”

  The second half of the article concentrated on Kit. “If anyone had doubts about the acting ability of Christopher Douglas,” she read, “they were laid to rest last night.” Mary went through the remainder of the article in growing jubilation. When she had finished she looked back to the one sentence that had lodged in her mind and read it out loud: “Quite possibly the finest Shakespearean performance ever delivered by an American actor.” She put the article down and turned to him with glowing eyes. “Oh, Kit!”

  “Nice, huh?” he said nonchalantly.

  “Nice? It’s marvelous. And it’s true. You were—oh, I can’t find the right word. But I cried and you know I don’t often do that.”

  He put down the dregs of his coffee and looked at her with warm, dark eyes. “Did you cry. Princess? That’s the biggest compliment of all.” She smiled at him a little mistily. He smiled back and said, “I’m afraid I’ve eaten all the donuts.”

  “You haven’t!” She leaned forward and grabbed the bag. There was one left and she appropriated it firmly. “I imagine George was thrilled,” she said around a mouthful.

  “He was feeling pretty good. He’s sure we can go to Broadway if I want to.”

  “Do you?”

  “What do you want to do?” he returned. “Would you like living in New York for a few months.”

  “Sure,” she said recklessly. “I could always work at the Columbia library if I wanted to.”

  His brow cleared. “In that case, I’ll do it. It will help enormously, when I try to borrow money to do a picture of my own, if people are reassured that I really can act.”

  “Do you know,” she said thoughtfully, “Daddy might lend us some money. He’s always looking for a good investment.”

  “Yes, well I haven’t worked out the details yet. But I will. I have no intention of overspending my own budget.”

  She smiled a little abstractedly. “Speaking of Daddy, I think I’d better call home and break the news.”

  “Mel flew in this morning,” he said in a seeming non sequitur. “He and George have set up a press conference for this afternoon at three. The TV people will be there. I said I’d come.”

  “Then I most certainly better call home,” she said decisively.

  “You don’t mind if I announce that we’re back together?”

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’ll come with you.” She picked up the phone. “But first...”

  He sat quietly next to her as she dialed the familiar number. Her mother answered on the third ring. “Hi Mother,” she said. , “Mary Kate! Darling, how are you?”

  “Fine. Listen, Mom, sit down. I have some news that may surprise you. Are you sitting?”

  “Yes,” came the faint response.

  “Kit and I are getting back together again.”

  “Oh, Mary Kate, I’m so glad!” was the surprising reply. “I’ve been praying all month that this would happen.”

  Mary stared at the receiver. “You have?”

  “Yes. And your father too. Is Kit there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put him on. I want to talk to him.”

  “Okay.” Mary held out the phone to him. “She wants to talk to you.”

  Kit looked a little warily at the receiver. He took the phone in a distinctly apprehensive manner and she smiled to herself. He had always been a little nervous around her mother. “It isn’t that I don’t like her,” he had once said to Mary. “I do. It’s just that she’s so proper. Every time she looks at me, I’m sure I’m eating with the wrong fork or something.” He said now into the phone, “Hello Julia, how are you?”

  Mary couldn’t hear her mother’s response, but from the expression on Kit’s face she gathered that it was satisfactory. “I wasn’t sure how you would feel about it,” he said. There was silence as he listened to the voice on the other end and then he grinned. “Yes, well I’ve been chasing her mercilessly for three weeks and she’s finally given in.” Silence. “I feel the same way,” he said. “Okay, fine, I’d love to talk to him.” Pause. “Hi Bob. Yes. Well, I’m happy about it too. Oh, the play went well. Looks like we’ll be going to Broadway.” Long long pause. “Thank you very much,” said Kit quietly. Then, “I’ll put your daughter on.”

  She took the receiver. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “I’m so happy for you, Mary Kate.”

  “Me too.” She laughed a little. “I don’t think I realized how unhappy I’ve been all these years.”

  “Well, your mother and I did, honey, and that’s why we’re so pleased you and Kit have decided to try it again. I always thought you had something special.”

  “We did. We do.”

  “Great. When can we expect to see you?”

  “Hold on a minute.” She put her hand over the phone and said to Kit, “Do you want to stop off and see my folks after you’ve finished here?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Daddy? Kit is tied up here until the end of August, but we’ll come for a weekend after that. Yes, the play was terrific. Kit was fantastic. The rave reviews should start on the TV news tonight. Okay. That would be lovely. How about next weekend? Good. We’ll see you then. Bye now.”

  She hung up the phone. “They’re coming up to see the play next weekend.”

  “Great. Better book them into the Stafford Inn.”

  “Yes. What time did you say the press conference started?”

  “Three o’clock.” He looked at his watch. “Half an hour from now. God, where did the day go?”

  “If you can’t remember,” she said dryly, “I’ll be very insulted.”

  “You’ll have to remind me,” he murmured. “Tonight.”

  “You’re insatiable.” She stood up and brushed donut crumbs off her lap. He leered. “And a donut thief,” she added. “What does one wear to a press conference anyway?”

  “I’m wearing exactly what I’ve got on,” he replied equably.

  She looked at him critically. “You might shave.”

  “I might do that,” he conceded.

  She looked down at her jeans and bare feet. “I have to change, that’s for sure.” He didn’t move; “Well, come on,” she urged, “don’t just sit there staring at me! Do you have your razor here?”

  “No.”

  “Well then go and get it. Or better still, shave over there. I could use the bathroom.” And she shoved him out the door.

  * * * *

  The rec room was crowded with people, television cameras, and still-photographers when Mary and Kit walked in together. George was talking with a network television critic when he looked up and saw them. It seemed the whole room made the discovery at the same time, for suddenly cameras began to flash and TV equipment to roll. Mary looked startled and George watched as Kit
put a protective arm around her shoulders. He felt a deep pain around the region of his heart as he looked at the pair in front of the fireplace.

  They made a striking couple, both tall and slim and black-haired. Kit’s bronzed masculinity a foil for the magnolia creaminess of his wife. Mary had regained her poise and was smiling a little. She looked cool and composed, as if she had done this sort of thing every day of her life. Kit had dropped his arm but the impression of unity they gave off was very strong.

  So she had gone back to him, George thought dully. He really wasn’t all that surprised. How could he—or any man—hope to compete with Chris Douglas? The hell of it was, thought George as he moved closer to the fireplace, he liked Chris. He would like him much better, however, if he wasn’t married to Mary.

  “Yes,” he heard Chris saying in response to a question, “I’d accept an offer to go to Broadway. But only if my coworkers—including Mr. Moore and Miss Nash—are invited as well.”

  George looked quickly across the room to where Carolyn and Frank were standing together. The expressions on their faces brought a reluctant grin to his own. Yes, it was very difficult to dislike Chris Douglas.

  Mary was talking now. “I’m not quite sure what my future teaching plans will be,” she answered a woman reporter’s question. “So much depends on my husband’s schedule.” She sounded sweet and demure and George saw Kit give her a quick, amused look.

  There was another question and then Kit was signaling to George to come and join them. As he came slowly forward Mary turned the blue of her eye on his face. He smiled a little crookedly at what he saw there. A reporter asked him a question and he turned to answer it.

  At four-fifteen Kit called a halt. He and Mary made a gracious but determined exit, and as they were walking back up through the pines she heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I know,” he said. “But I do that sort of thing very seldom.”

  “Why did you do it today?” she asked curiously.