Medicine Man's Affair

by Doreen Owens Malek

  That conjured up mental images Jennifer did not wish to consider. “Of course not. Go ahead.”

  “May I get you anything before I go? A drink? Iced tea?”

  Such exaggerated politeness, coming from him, almost struck her funny. He was going out of his way to be deferential, and she found herself wondering why. Then she dismissed it. There was no reason to be suspicious.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll be back shortly,” he said and vanished up the stairs.

  Jennifer occupied herself in his absence by examining the knickknacks and photos in the room. There were several framed shots of Youngson receiving awards and a group portrait of what was obviously his family. Lee resembled his father, a handsome, middle-aged man who wore the same speculative expression she had often seen on Lee’s face.

  Two studies on the polished oak mantel of the fireplace particularly caught her eye. One was an 8 x 10 glossy of a younger, more innocent Lee, grinning openly into the camera, holding a trophy and standing next to a man in a business suit who was shaking his hand.

  The other was of Lee and a beautiful young girl with long black hair and a proud, unflinching gaze. He had his arm around her possessively. They were both in fancy dress, Lee in a tuxedo, the girl in a gown of a style popular ten or twelve years ago.

  Jennifer was examining the second picture when she heard Lee behind her on the stairs. She moved away guiltily.

  Lee had changed into white duck pants with a narrow belt and a short-sleeved sport shirt of crisp, light cotton. The outfit was oddly 1920s, like something out of The Great Gatsby. His primitive good looks meshed effectively with the WASPish clothes.

  He had hurried to return: his hair was still wet, and damp patches on his skin made the thin material of his shirt cling to his body. There was a faint splotch of white powder on the side of his throat.

  Jennifer looked away.

  Lee came and sat beside her, and the clean scent of soap wafted from him as he did so. She moved back, very slightly. He noticed it and glanced at her. She could not tell what he was thinking.

  Jennifer carefully went over the schedule of events in which he was to participate. He listened attentively, asked pertinent questions, and their business was accomplished in less than an hour.

  Jennifer gathered her notes and rose. He stood, too, seemingly reluctant to end the interview.

  “Thanks for coming out here,” he said. “It was kind of you to let me know the rundown as soon as you got it.”

  Jennifer moved to leave and was startled when he detained her with his hand on her arm.

  She looked up at him. He remained with his fingers clasping her wrist.

  “Will you have dinner with me Saturday night?” he said suddenly.

  Jennifer stared at him, stunned. She had not expected this, after their last encounter.

  He waited, his face impassive.

  Jennifer didn’t know what to say. Did she want to go? Was the sky blue? But this man unsettled her; he was so out of the common way, so new to her experience, that he was at once fascinating and unnerving. She had no idea what to expect from a social evening with him. Except that it wouldn’t be dull.

  “I...I think I’d like that,” she heard herself say. Lee’s expression softened.

  “Great. I’ll call you, then?”

  “Fine,” Jennifer said, escaping.

  She drove back to the office in a daze, unable to believe that she had a date with the National Football League’s Most Valuable Player three years in a row, the Cawassa Comet, the Blackfoot Bullet, Bradley Beaufort Youngson.

  * * * *

  Jennifer changed three times for her dinner with Lee Youngson. He had telephoned on Thursday, asking if Chez Odette would be all right and saying that he would pick her up at eight.

  Chez Odette was a fancy French restaurant on the outskirts of New Hope, very atmospheric, with a picturesque setting on the barge canal of the Delaware River. She didn’t have much that was suitable to wear to such a place, and she tortured herself with various combinations of clothes, jewelry, shoes, and handbags, until in desperation she went back to her first idea and settled on that.

  She waited nervously for him to arrive, dressed in a pale blue linen suit with a sheer blouse designed to reveal a delicate, lacy camisole beneath. Milky pearls gleamed at her ears and in the hollow of her throat. She had teamed high-heeled pumps with a leather clutch bag and sprayed herself with her most expensive perfume. She was ready.

  Jennifer listened for the low hum of Lee’s sports car, checking herself in the mirror again, patting her hair. It hung loose and shining to her shoulders. Her lipstick was fresh and her eye shadow properly muted.

  She looked at her watch. It was 7:45.

  She spent twelve agonizing minutes thinking about everything that could go wrong until the doorbell rang at three minutes to eight. She’d been so absorbed in her contemplation of doom that she hadn’t heard the car after all.

  Jennifer opened the door, and they looked at each other. Lee was wearing a nubbly raw silk jacket, the color of sand, obviously tailor-made, that emphasized his imposing physique. The off-white shirt and figured tie perfectly complemented his coat and the brown, well-cut slacks. She recognized Gucci loafers. No expense spared when escorting Ms. Gardiner.

  His eyes moved from Jennifer’s face, down her body, and then back to her face again. “You look lovely,” he said softly.

  So do you, Jennifer thought, as he guided her down the path to his car and handed her into the passenger seat. She noticed again that fine apparel only seemed to underline his aspect of brooding, primal strength. Just below the surface was the magnificent leashed animal, latent, powerful. The window dressing only served to make him more of what he was. The effect was dynamite.

  I’ll bet he knows it, too, Jennifer mused as she settled back for the ride. I have to keep my cool, she thought again. Whatever had made him ask her out and renew their relationship, she mustn’t read too much into it.

  The drive to the restaurant was wonderful, cool and breezy, laden with the fragrance of late summer flowers. Lee asked her if she wanted him to leave the top down, and she said yes, thinking that she could repair whatever damage occurred when they got to the restaurant. The glorious feel of the wind in her hair was worth it. He offered her the choice of his collection of tapes, and she examined the stack. He had a collection of classical pieces, for which she wasn’t in the mood, and some jazz, which she didn’t like. At the bottom she found several vintage rock ‘n’ roll albums. She selected Buddy Holly, and the familiar sounds of “Peggy Sue” and “Not Fade Away” floated into the evening air.

  They knew Lee Youngson at Chez Odette. Waiters came running from all directions when they entered, and the maitre d’ was obsequious. The main dining room was crowded, but they were shown immediately to the best table, out of the traffic pattern, with a view of the gardens below them. Jennifer wondered who Lee’s companions had been on his previous visits.

  She glanced around her as they were seated. The whole restaurant was furnished in gold and white French provincial, with creamy damask tablecloths and patterned linen napkins at each table. There was a large vase of fresh flowers, roses and carnations, in the center of theirs, which complemented the color of the shell pink, delicate china and the heavy, gleaming silver. Chez Odette was rich in atmosphere. She was sure the patrons paid for it.

  Jennifer excused herself to go to the powder room and tidy her hair. Heads turned as she passed, and she heard the murmur of muted comments. Lee’s date was a source of interest.

  When she returned, she found that Lee had ordered wine, but there was only one glass, at her place. He stood to seat her, and she asked why he wasn’t having any.

  “What’s the matter with you, Jennifer? You know Indians aren’t supposed to drink. Can’t handle demon firewater. Don’t you watch old movies?”

  Her eyes flashed to his face. When he made a remark like this, she still didn’t know whether
he was kidding or not.

  He met her gaze intently for a moment, and then smiled slightly. “Relax, paleface. I’m in training. You go ahead, though.”

  Jennifer sipped sparingly. She had no intention of getting giddy while he sat there observing her soberly. And she wasn’t sure she cared for his calling her “paleface.” There was an edge to his voice when he said it tonight that she didn’t like.

  “You stick to the rules, don’t you?” she said pleasantly. “Daily workouts, no tobacco, no booze, no drugs.” Bob hadn’t had the same reverence for his body. His drunken bouts, and the fines which followed, had given him a reputation as a bad risk.

  “It’s made me what I am today,” Lee said cynically.

  “There’s no need to be snide,” Jennifer responded. “I meant it as a compliment.” She couldn’t understand his behavior. It was almost as if he wanted to punish her for the time of silence following the Heart Fund game. Was that the reason for this dinner invitation?

  “Did you?” he said. “That’s a first.”

  Why was he doing this? “I think your dedication is admirable,” she added, trying to smooth the waters.

  He raised his water glass in a mock toast. “Coming from a paragon of self-discipline like you, that’s high praise indeed.”

  “If you asked me out only because you wanted to needle me, you’re wasting your money. You could have done that on the job, where I would have been more disposed to tolerate it,” Jennifer said quietly. “This is not my idea of a good time.”

  He dropped his eyes, avoiding looking at her for a moment. Then his brown hand covered hers on the immaculate tablecloth.

  “Nor mine either,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, Jennifer.”

  The touch of his slender fingers was electric, the sound of her name on his lips more intoxicating then the wine she was drinking. This one was a shaman like his great-grandfather, weaving spells to break your heart.

  “Harold told me that your ex-husband was an athlete,” he said unexpectedly.

  “Yes.” And here I am with you, Jennifer thought. Still running true to type.

  “Football?” he asked, not letting the subject drop.

  “Baseball. Bob Delaney. He used to play for the Phillies; he’s with the Chicago White Sox now.”

  Lee nodded. “I know him. Very talented, but very wild. If he ever learns to control himself enough to develop, he could be really great.”

  Jennifer smiled sadly. “He never will,” she said. She had to admire Lee’s perception. He had described Bob more accurately than she could have, and she had lived with Bob for years.

  “Well,” Lee said, seeing her reflective expression, “Satchel Paige once said something that could be applied to thoughts about the past. ‘Don’t look back, something may be gaining on you.’” He paused. “In my case it’s usually true,” he added ruefully.

  She knew that he was referring to his performance in football games. Despite the fact that she had been working for the team for a while, she still didn’t know much about the actual sport. From what she’d seen, Lee’s part in it seemed to be limited to dramatic leaps to snatch the ball out of the air, followed by headlong flight down the field, the ball tucked under his arm, with opposing players pummeling after him in mad pursuit, trying to catch him. Few did. He ran, as Coach Rankin said, like a quarterback’s dream, like a gazelle with a tiger on its tail.

  Jennifer looked up from her reverie to see the waiter hovering at Lee’s elbow. “Shall we order?” she said brightly.

  The menu Was in French on one side and in English on the other. Jennifer asked Lee to choose for her. He ordered the same for both: escargots in garlic butter, pate de foie gras, Chateaubriand, and a vinaigrette of vegetables.

  Everything was delicious. The waiters served sherbet and lemon wedges between each course, to “cleanse the palate” and brought hot, moist cloths scented with mint to wash their hands at the end. Musicians strolled about the room, the violinist stopping for a solo at several tables. Jennifer was enchanted.

  Lee suggested a walk outside before coffee and dessert. He said something to the waiter, and they left through the double doors, pausing once for Lee to sign a napkin for a fan who had recognized him.

  “I like this place,” he said to Jennifer as they descended the wide stone steps to the garden below. “They leave me alone here. In some restaurants, I can’t even eat, I’m so mobbed by autograph seekers.”

  “The price of fame,” Jennifer said dryly. “Of course, if they all lost interest in you and stopped buying tickets, you’d be out of a job. But you’d be able to dine anywhere in peace.”

  He stopped short, looking down at her in the dim light from the lanterns on the footpath. “I guess I deserved that. You’re right.” He shook his head. “You certainly speak your mind, don’t you? I’ve tried that line on a few other girls, and they all murmured in deep sympathy.”

  Jennifer smiled. “My father, who loves me, refers to my bluntness as ‘refreshing candor.’ My stepmother, who doesn’t, calls it ‘bad manners.’”

  Lee chuckled. “I prefer ‘refreshing candor,’ myself.” He took her hand and led her to a fountain in the midst of enclosing greenery. There was a wrought-iron bench there, surrounded by masses of brilliant geraniums and zinnias. They sat.

  “This is beautiful,” Jennifer said. She pointed to the lush stand of maples and oaks along the river bank. “How pretty the trees are, so full.”

  “Yeah” Lee sighed, following the direction of her gaze. “It kind of makes you realize what this country must have been like before progress ruined it.” He picked a scarlet blossom from a bush behind them and handed it to her. “You look like a blonde Nakomis. About two generations before Hiawatha arrived.”

  Jennifer burst out laughing, and he grinned, pleased with himself. His teeth shone very white in the semidarkness.

  “Think I’m a funny guy?” he said, teasing.

  “I think you’re a...nice guy,” Jennifer said softly, before she could stop herself. “Even though you try to hide it.”

  He turned to her abruptly and took her in his arms. Her head dropped to his shoulder, and he kissed her.

  His lips were soft, a contrast to his hard, spare frame. The kiss began as a leisurely exploration, but soon escalated until Jennifer was clinging to him, the only stable object in a spinning universe. His hands dug into her shoulders, holding her fast against his body. She heard a noise as another couple passed them, and she broke away, startled and ashamed. She hadn’t necked in public since high school.

  Lee didn’t seem to be bothered by the interruption. “I’ve missed you, Jennifer, these past few weeks,” he whispered, caressing her hair.

  “We’d better go in,” Jennifer said. “They’re holding dessert for us.”

  “Let them wait,” he said urgently, pulling her back against his chest.

  “No,” Jennifer insisted, resisting him, struggling to her feet. She was frightened by the depth of her response to him. Not since Bob...no, she had to be honest with herself. Not even Bob had made her feel like this. It was like the Heart Fund picnic all over again.

  “I want to go back,” she said unsteadily.

  Lee followed her reluctantly, then trotted up the steps to hold the door for her.

  The minute they arrived back at the table a silver pot of coffee appeared, and a busboy brought a dessert cart filled with delicate pastries. Jennifer selected two exquisite petit fours iced with pastel fondant and a miniature éclair. Lee shook his head, and the cart was rolled away.

  The coffee was Indonesian, rich and aromatic. They drank it in silence, the passionate interlude in the garden not forgotten.

  By the time Lee signed the check and called for his car, Jennifer had become tongue-tied again. From the encouragement she’d given him he would probably press his advantage when he brought her home, and she was not sure she could resist him. She had no desire to become another trophy to hang on his wall, but she wanted him. Badly. His very touch se
t her off like a match put to kindling. If he tried, it would not be easy to say no.

  The drive back to her apartment was a quiet one, interrupted only by Lee’s comments on the scenery, and the click of the tape deck as it switched from the Everly Brothers to Jerry Lee Lewis. Lee’s long fingers tapped the steering wheel as he drove. Jennifer glanced across at him, and he caught her eye and smiled. She looked away again, her heart beating faster. He communicated without words, with an almost physical impact She felt kissed, by a smile.

  When they turned onto Main Street and Dr. Mason’s house came into view, every nerve in Jennifer’s body tightened. Lee pulled into the driveway, turned off the motor, and got out to open her door. Jennifer emerged from the passenger side, and he stood in front of her, blocking her path. Her nose came to his collarbone.

  He put one hand on her shoulder and tipped her chin up with the forefinger of the other. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  “I...don’t think that would be a good idea.” She fumbled in her purse for her keys.

  “Please, Jennifer. Just for a minute. Please.”

  She found her keys and he took them from her. She followed him upstairs, telling herself that she had to be firm. When he opened her door and ushered her into her apartment, she decided that she’d just make him coffee and then firmly send him home.

  She went directly to the stove and put water on to boil.

  “Would you like coffee, or would you prefer a drink?” she said, trying to keep her words even.

  He didn’t answer.

  Jennifer pulled cups and saucers out of the cabinet above, and then turned back to the room, directly into Lee’s arms. He held her for a moment, not saying anything, and she inhaled the heady fragrance of him, the starch of his shirt, the flax of his coat, the subtle warmth of his skin. Then his touch on her neck moved her face to his, and his lips found hers again.

  His mouth clung to hers with a fierceness that robbed her of breath. Her breasts were crushed against his chest by the force of one powerful hand splayed in the small of her back. She responded, helpless, and his lips moved to her cheek, her ear, and traveled down her throat. With one impatient gesture he removed her suit jacket.