Experiment In Love

by Clay Estrada, Rita

  She turned slowly. “Hi, Kurt. What are you doing here?” She tried not to devour him with her eyes, but it was impossible, just as it seemed for him.

  Gina’s voice sounded squeaky. “You know Mr. Morgan, Victoria?”

  Confusion ran across Vicky’s face before a heavy, doomed feeling settled deep in the pit of her stomach. “Morgan?” she whispered. “Kurt Morgan of Newstime magazine? As in ‘President’?”

  His dark eyes silently tried to reason with her. “The same.” He glanced at Gina, then Jim. “If you’ll excuse us, I think I have some explaining to do.”

  She ignored the heavy weight in her stomach and looked him straight in the eye as if he were a piece of dirt…or candy…she wasn’t sure which. But her words were icy cold. “Explaining? Now why would you have to do that, Mr. Morgan? You look like an up-front guy to me,” she flashed. “Or are looks as deceiving as I think they are?”

  “There are reasons for everything, Victoria.”

  “And a time and a place for explanations,” she retorted. “But this isn’t it!” If she could have gotten away with it she would have squeezed his crotch until he whispered “Uncle” on the floor!

  “Then we’ll go someplace else. The time is perfect,” he said with a finality that would have made a five-star general quake, and marched her out the front door without looking back to see the astonishment plastered on his employees’ faces.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “I have the moped today,” she snapped between clenched teeth, glancing sideways to take in the cut of his hand-tailored suit He wasn’t just wealthy. He was rich! And rich meant power, and power hurt people. Damn him! Damn him!

  She wrenched her arm away. “Leave me alone, Mr. Morgan. I don’t need your lunch, your help — or your apartment!” she almost shouted as she backed away from him.

  “And my lovemaking, Victoria? Do you need that?” He took a step toward her, making her retreat again.

  “No!” One hand rose to ward him off, but he continued to pursue her.

  “Ah, but I need yours. May we discuss this at your apartment? I’m not inclined to make scenes in front of my own employees,” he said calmly, and for the first time she realized that the employees of the magazine were milling around the hot pavement throwing sidelong glances at the two of them.

  She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Forget it Kurt. I don’t want to see you ever again.” With her head held high she crossed the street to the parking lot and picked up her helmet from the attendant, expecting Kurt’s heavy hand to fall on her shoulder at any minute. As she gunned the small motor she saw him from the comer of her eye, standing on the pavement, watching her pull out of the lot and down the street. He never even bothered to try to stop her.

  By the time she reached her apartment her anger was gone, but not her resolution. She double-locked her bike to the back post and stomped up the stairs to the door, her head down, watching her feet — until she saw another pair of shoes. These were far more expensive than her own and looked to be made of hand-sewn Italian leather.

  “That moped has got to go. Do you realize that someone could miss seeing that piece of tin and run you over before they could even brake? I won’t have you flirting with death that way.” His voice was harsh, cold. When she looked up and realized how furious he was, her own anger returned.

  “What I do is none of your freaking business.” She placed her hands on her hips, her eyes spitting fury. “You may be rich beyond most people’s wildest dreams, you may have all the power in the world, but you have no control over me! Ever!” One slim finger pushed against his massive chest, “I don’t belong to anyone but myself! I live and let live and I expect you and those like you to do the same! Is that understood?” His face darkened, but she wouldn’t heed the warning. “And if I ever decide to belong to someone, it certainly won’t be a rich liar!” she shouted.

  His strong arms snaked out, crushing her to his chest “You’re insane!” he muttered just before his lips clamped down on hers, branding her with his searing possession.

  She wiggled against him as she tried to get loose of his iron hold, but all she accomplished was to make his grip tighten. Finally she sagged against him, her fury gone and the ever-lurking depression replacing it.

  When he finally let her go she stared up at him with tear-glistened eyes.

  “Don’t you see, Kurt? I can’t be hemmed in, all tied up in a pretty package like someone’s Christmas treat. And you,” she almost choked, “you’re like all the rest of your kind. You manipulate, seek power over others, steal secrets…’’ She couldn’t tell him that he had stolen her heart. It would only give him another weapon to use against her already weakened resolution.

  “We can’t talk here. Let’s go inside,” he commanded firmly, cupping her chin in his hand and looking down at her with tenderness. It was as if he hadn’t heard a word she said.

  Her shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing to discuss,” she stated softly, reaching for her keys. “It’s over.”

  But he followed her in anyway, right into the kitchen, where she opened the refrigerator door and poured herself a stiff glass of wine. “Salud, you thief.” she muttered before gulping down a swallow, feeling the chill and then the heat of it.

  “What have you got against being rich, anyway? I know you don’t have much, but money doesn’t do anything more than pay the bills. It certainly doesn’t eliminate problems.”

  “No, it doesn’t but it does make for more powerful bullies,” she answered sourly.

  “Victoria...” He was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms at his sides, looking almost as weary as she was. “Didn’t last night mean anything to you?” His voice sounded pleading and she looked at him carefully, trying to steel herself against her own volcanic emotions.

  “I think you know how much it meant, but it was a gift, Kurt. Not a weapon for you to use against me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “You already did. Those were my friends all together there. Not yours. You were their most supreme BOSS. I was the one embarrassed, not you. Don’t you get it?” she questioned. “And what about all the other women in your life? Don’t they mean anything to you? Or don’t you care you’re cheating on them, also.”

  His expression showed she had caught him off guard. Suddenly she had the answer she wanted, only now she didn’t want it anymore. There already was someone in his life. Victoria, not the other woman, was the extra. Then something else dawned on her.

  Her eyes narrowed in speculation. “And what were you doing answering an ad in a singles newspaper? Why in the world would the president of a corporation such as yours want to have another mistress to clutter his life? Are you insatiable?”

  His hand came out in a pleading gesture. “Victoria...”

  But anger flooded her. All her life she had said she’d never be in her mother or her father’s wife’s position. And she almost was. “Answer me, damn you!” she exclaimed, slapping his hand away and in the process spilling all her wine down his hand-tailored suit.

  Her hand covered her throat. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, grabbing a towel and trying ineffectually to dab at his leg.

  “Victoria, stop it!” he ordered imperiously, all pleading gone, and she slowly straightened and waited for him to bawl her out for whatever reason. She had no sense of balance. He was her date, her lover, her new friend. He was the head of one of the largest magazines in the country. The two didn’t go together. She wasn’t part of that circle and could never fit in. He was never part of her circle but could find a way to push in, if only for a little while – until he was bored and went home to his Penthouse and millions.

  Her thoughts must have shown on her face. His voice lowered, becoming soothing and tender. “The suit is expendable. You’re not. I’ll answer your questions one by one. Then perhaps you’ll see that I’m not the ‘powerful bully’ you think I am.” He gave a small, sad smile. “But first, let me rinse the wine off my pants.”
He turned toward the bedroom door. “Meanwhile, pour me a glass of that California chablis.” His eyes suddenly twinkled, his smile lines deepening. “After all, I love America, too.”

  A chuckle mixed with unshed tears at the memory of their first date. It stayed there as she turned to answer a knock on her door. Her face paled at the sight of the older, distinguished man standing in the doorway.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “My God,” she whispered, backing away. It had been eight years since she had last seen her father. Eight years trying to forget the total heartbreak of ending a relationship that had once been very close to hero worship.

  “Hello, Princess. May I come in?” He sounded weary and she opened the door wider without even thinking. He followed her into the small but cheery living room, his eyes scanning the room quickly before coming back to rest on her.

  “It’s been a long time. How have you been?” He stood in the middle of the room, clumsy in his attempt to make conversation.

  She nodded, her thoughts whirling in different directions like a leaf in the wind. One particular thought held.

  “Is it Mother?” she questioned hoarsely, her nerves taut with strain until he shook his head.

  “No. Your mother’s no better, but she isn’t any worse, either,” he admitted.

  “Then, why?”

  “I came to see you, princess. I thought we might be able to mend a few fences. Eight years is a long time to punish a father. But in your case, you’re punishing a whole family.” He sat down heavily in a small chair by the window, his eyes never leaving her face.

  Her voice was cold. “Not long enough.”

  “I know we hurt you, Victoria. It hurt me too. You’ll never know how much.” He sounded so sad, so tired.

  Victoria straightened her spine, stiffening her already tattered emotions against him as well. “Then you’ll understand if I don’t ask you to stay.”

  He ignored her words, only a flinch showing the power she had to hurt him. “But you knew before that I had another family. You knew it and accepted it.”

  “Yes, I knew. What I didn’t know was how you thought of them compared to how you thought of us. Your ‘real’ daughter had the right to call you Dad. Your ‘real’ daughter didn’t have to suffer through an introduction to her sister, hearing herself identified as someone else’s child. Your “real daughter got to see her father in private and public all the time. I didn’t really know you at all. And my brother knew you even less.”

  She turned her back on him and walked to the window. Visibly shaking, she couldn’t face him, couldn’t let him see the intense pain eight years hadn’t erased. “You chose the path I took that day when you disowned me, and you chose again when I ran away and you wouldn’t take me back publicly because of the harm the publicity would have done to your career.”

  “Oh, Victoria.” His muttered imprecation seemed to come from far away. “You were my princess. The only child who loved me without restraint or reason.”

  “Was is the operative word, Senator. I loved, I was.” She turned to face him, tears valiantly held back. “But it’s gone. It seems that loving without reason is a handicap that has no compensations.”

  “Not even for your mother’s sake?” He grasped at straws.

  Her voice was hardly a whisper. “Heaven help me, not even for her.”

  They were both startled to see Kurt standing in the door, sizing up the situation with sharpened eyes. He nodded slightly. “Senator.”

  “Kurt Morgan,” her father answered, straightening in his chair, his eyes traveling between the other man and his daughter. “What are you doing here?”

  “The real question, Father, is what are you still doing here?” Victoria interjected. “Kurt was invited.”

  Both men said her name at the same time, one sharply and one sadly. But she could not back down now. If she backed down her emotions would overtake her and she couldn’t stand that. There would be too much pain for her to cope with. She didn’t understand what egged her on to speak the next words.

  “I don’t know how you two know each other and I don’t really give a damn, but…” she turned to stare down at her father, her face rigid, “Kurt has asked me to move into his apartment. I’ve just accepted.”

  “Victoria! No!” The pain in her father’s voice washed over her, but it was too late to stop.

  “Yes. I’ll be moving next week. Tell Mother I’ll let her know my new address.”

  His shaking hands reached for her, then dropped to his sides. He stared at the younger man. “Don’t do this thing, Kurt. Don’t.” His voice broke.

  Kurt stepped forward. “Stephen,” he began, only to have Victoria interrupt him.

  “You taught me well, Senator. I’m only following in my mother’s footsteps. What was good enough for her is good enough for me. Isn’t that how every daughter is supposed to feel? Isn’t that the lesson you taught me? It’s okay to be hidden in a closet and never be introduced into the world as long as other’s don’t know.”

  Slowly her father rose from the chair, finally facing her, torment written all over his face. “Well done, Victoria. You’re a regular chip off the old block. I only hope you’ll be able to live with yourself later. Sometimes the years don’t go fast enough to keep pace with a guilty conscience.”

  “Are those words from the wise? If so, I’ll file them away until I’m your age, then I’ll trot them out to display how heavy my conscience is so I can also be forgiven for my sins.”

  She stood, hands clenched at her sides, holding her breath as she watched him walk away and then heard the front door close quietly behind him. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, slightly shuffling, an old man’s steps. Still she held her breath, staring at the wall, willing herself not to think of the scene just past. She blinked her eyes to keep the events from replaying in her mind, pushing away gallons of salty tears that threatened to fall.

  Kurt never moved. His face was a mask, hiding whatever he thought as he studied the frightened young woman in front of him who was so tormented in her own private hell. After overhearing the father and daughter conversation, so many things - her attitudes, her thoughts - were clear to him now. No wonder his offer had upset her. She was already living with tightly leashed emotions, holding them in check as best she could. He watched, afraid of going to her and afraid of staying away. He was afraid for her, period.

  “Victoria?” His voice sounded as if he were talking to a child. Slowly, with measured steps, he came toward her to slowly envelop her in his arms. She was stiff, shivering, her eyes never moving to meet his.

  “Cry, baby.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Rant, rave, scream. Let go. Do something.”

  They were the words she needed to hear. And she did. She cried so hard that she couldn’t breathe. Her shaking hands clasped his shirt as if it were a lifejacket, her head resting on his shoulder as she sobbed away eight years of grief. She cried for thoughts and words unsaid, and conversations and anger unspoken. She cried for the seventeen-year-old who had been hurt and grown up too fast, and the twenty-seven-year-old who couldn’t leave the pain behind She cried as she had never cried before. Kurt held her, crooned to her, rocking her in the strength of his arms, protecting her from the world outside. He asked no questions and gave no answers. He was just there.

  When he carried her to bed she curled up to him like a kitten, never letting go of his shirt. One arm was wrapped around his neck for human warmth, her body still shivering as if with an arctic chill. Her sobs subsided only when she fell into an exhausted sleep, leaving Kurt awake to hold her, smooth her hair and wonder what the full story behind the scene this afternoon was. Later. He’d find out later. He pulled the quilt up from the foot of the bed, tucking it around them both, then studied the handmade pattern. A wedding ring, flowers, and children dancing in bright vivid colors across a landscape of trees and a meadow. Victoria had made it, he knew, playing out her dreams in fabric instead of reality. Finally, he drifted off to sleep, w
ondering how anyone could make it through the hurt they both had suffered to find a fresh day.

  ***

  When Victoria finally woke up it was the next afternoon. She could smell coffee perking. She placed a hand on the pillow where Kurt had rested, her fingers finding the hollow his head had made.

  She stretched. Her body was sore and aching and it didn’t seem to matter that she had slept around the clock. She was still tired. Her brain felt as if it was encased in cotton batting. And she was totally depressed. All night the picture of her father’s face had hung behind her closed lids. The sadness in his eyes hurt far more than anything else. But his pain was something she could not, would not, rectify. He had made his bed of consequences, and now he could sleep in it. She had.

  Kurt’s head popped around the door. “Come on, sleepyhead. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us and need to get a move on.”

  She gave him a myopic stare, fumbling for her glasses. When she didn’t find them in their usual place on the nightstand she gave up, plopping back on the pillow. As she narrowed her eyes to bring him into some kind of focus, Vicky thought she saw him wink, totally at ease. “Coffee’s on.”

  She hadn’t cooked it. That was worth getting up for…

  Over ham, scrambled eggs and English muffins he told her of his plans. “First, you’re packing a bag and spending the next two or three days at my house in Santa Barbara. Two, when we return, we’ll move you into the townhouse. Then we’ll begin discussing plans for your parents and yourself.” His expression sobered. “No one deserves to pay for a mistake made years ago. At least the punishment shouldn’t be for the rest of their lives, Victoria. Not even your father. Especially not for you.”

  Her chin rose defiantly and her gaze turned to stone. “I won’t discuss him with you, Kurt. You’re just like he is. One dignified steamroller sympathizes with another. I don’t need you in my life, Kurt Who-ever–you-are!”