And they flowed together, blended together, and the sweatiness of the past disappeared, and he understood now why he had lost interest in all those others. It was because he had needed this completion, this unhurried blending, this oneness.
“You were a virgin!”
“Yes,” she said.
The sound of the door opening spun him around on the bed. A woman, fiftyish, tall and prim, obviously Anita’s mother, stood wide-eyed on the threshold. Her eyebrows lifted and she looked at Vince. “I don’t believe I know you,” she said.
TEN
“All I have to say,” Anita was saying, “is that Baltimore is an unusual place for a honeymoon.”
“What’s wrong with Baltimore?”
“Nothing,” Anita said, “is wrong with Baltimore. Nothing could possibly be wrong with Baltimore. Don’t misunderstand me. I like Baltimore. I love Baltimore. I—”
“How about the Lord Baltimore Hotel?”
“A wonderful hotel,” Anita said. “A magnificent hotel. The food in the Oak Room is delicious. The decor in the lobby is exquisite. The service is impeccable. The furniture is posh and the rugs are thick. The view breathtaking. The—”
“How about the room?’
“The room,” said Anita, “is sumptuous. It has a television set with a thirty-inch screen. You don’t even have to drop in a quarter to make it operate. And—”
“How about the bed?”
“Mmmmmmmmm,” said Anita.
“You like the bed?”
“I love the bed.”
“Well,” said Vince, “we’re on it.”
“True.”
“And, after all, it’s our honeymoon.”
“True.”
“Sooooo—”
“A good idea,” said Anita. “An excellent idea. A commendable idea. But do you think we ought to again?”
“It’s our wedding night,” Vince reminded her. “Wedding nights only come once a marriage.”
“Well,” said Anita, running her hands over him, “I wouldn’t want to put up a fight. But you have to be gentle. After all, I used to be a virgin. You have to bear that in mind.”
“Yes, Santa Claus,” Vince murmured. “There was a virgin.”
The chain of circumstances that got Vince and Anita from a bed in Boston to a bed in Baltimore is a curious chain of circumstances indeed. When we last saw Vince, as you may recall, he was under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Merriweather, who happened to be Anita’s mother. Anita’s mother, strange to say, was not too pleased with the spectacle of Vince and her daughter lying belly-to-belly. She was, as a matter of fact, somewhat livid with rage.
“I’ll have you thrown in jail,” she ranted. “I carry a lot of weight in this country, young man. I’ll have your father thrown off the stock exchange. I’ll ruin your entire family. I’ll—”
“Mother,” said Anita gently, “shut up.”
Mrs. Merriweather shut up.
“In the first place,” Anita said, “we haven’t all been properly introduced. Vince, this is Helen Merriweather, my mother. Mother, this is Vince. Uh…I don’t know your last name—”
Vince supplied his last name.
“That,” said Anita, “is the first place. In the second place, you are not going to have anybody thrown into jail. Vince has done nothing wrong. If anybody is going to land in jail, it will be me.”
“You?” said Vince and Mrs. Merriweather in one voice.
“Me. I am twenty years old and Vince is only seventeen. This makes me guilty of statutory rape, mother. You wouldn’t want to see your daughter in jail, would you?”
Mrs. Merriweather shuddered.
“That,” said Anita, “takes care of two places. In the third and final place, Vince and I are going to be married.
“Married?” said Mrs. Merriweather.
“Married,” said Vince and Anita in one voice.
“What you just had the unmitigated gall to intrude upon the aftermath of,” said Anita, “is what is technically referred to as premarital intercourse. While you and Beacon Hill may feel that it is not proper form, it has happened. Once. Tonight. Tomorrow we will be married, and tonight’s escapade will be justified ex post facto. I feel certain you can see the value of that.”
“Anita,” Mrs. Merriweather said, “you must remember that you are not old enough to marry without my consent. I have some voice in this matter.”
“True,” said Anita. “But you will give your consent.”
“I will?”
“Of course,” said Anita. “Otherwise Vince and I will live in sin on the front lawn. Just think how the neighbors would react to that.”
Mrs. Merriweather thought how the neighbors would react to that. “You wouldn’t do it,” she said levelly. “You wouldn’t.”
Anita said nothing.
“You wouldn’t,” Mrs. Merriweather repeated weakly. “Would you?”
“Yes,” said Anita. “I would.”
“You probably would,” Mrs. Merriweather agreed. “Knowing you, you probably would. I wouldn’t put it past you.”
Mrs. Merriweather smiled. It was, Vince thought, a strange smile. Any smile under such circumstances had to be a strange smile. Perhaps, Vince guessed, the hallmark of the wealthy was their ability to smile when there was nothing to smile about. At any rate, Mrs. Merriweather seemed determined to make the best of a bad thing. Vince was the bad thing.
“Well,” said Mrs. Merriweather, “I shall give my consent. Not gleefully, I admit. But stoically. However, I don’t see how you can arrange to be married tomorrow. There’s a waiting period, you know. Two or three days.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Anita said.
And Vince, who had felt for a few minutes as though they were going to have the wedding without him because he was so thoroughly excluded from the conversation, chimed in with a valuable thought. “There’s no waiting period in Maryland,” he said. “We can fly down to Baltimore and be married immediately.”
“Baltimore,” said Anita thoughtfully.
“Baltimore,” said Mrs. Merriweather, heavily.
“Baltimore,” said Vince, happily.
“Baltimore,” said Anita, decisively. “Now, mother, if you’ll leave us alone, Vince and I would like to get some sleep.”
“Together?”
“Together,” Vince and Anita said, together.
“But—”
“Of course,” said Anita, “there’s always the front lawn—”
Mrs. Merriweather sighed. Then, with the air of some-one making the best of a bad thing, she suggested: “Vince, Anita, before you go to sleep again, there’s one thing I’d like to do for you.”
“What is it?”
“You may object,” Mrs. Merriweather said. “Old practical people sometimes have old practical ideas which conflict with the notions of romantic youth. But still—”
“Get to the point, Mother.”
“If you don’t mind,” Mrs. Merriweather said timorously, “I’d rather like to change that sheet.”
There was, inevitably, a two-day waiting period in Baltimore. There had to be a two-day waiting period in Baltimore, of course. The wedding would not have been complete without it. The two of them, Anita and Vince, taxied at breathtaking speed from the Baltimore airport to City Hall, raced hysterically down the corridor to the License Bureau, and were informed that there was a two-day waiting period in the state of Maryland. Anita threw a fit, and then they laughed, and then they prepared to spend two days in Baltimore waiting for it to be time to get married.
Which is to say that they had their honeymoon before the wedding.
“It’s not really that bad,” Vince explained. “After all, we don’t really know each other. This way we have a chance to know each other. By the time the two days are up, we will be prepared for marriage. It’s a lucky break, this waiting period.”
“Sure,” Anita said. “Except I’m in a rush to be married. I hate this waiting.”
“You hate this
?”
“Not that.”
“And this?”
“Well, not that.”
“How about…this?”
“Vince—”
“Well, do you?”
“Vince,” she whispered throatily. “Vince, you shouldn’t do that. It gets me all excited. It gets me so excited I can’t stand it. It makes me want you to make love to me.”
“Good,” Vince said. “I was beginning to think along those lines myself.”
They were married, finally, after two heavenly but interminable days had come and gone. They were married in a minister’s study, with Vince wearing a once-pressed suit and with Anita wearing a black dress. It was, all things considered, a somewhat bizarre ceremony. Vince was shaking throughout it, wondering what, in addition to Anita, he was getting into. But it went more or less according to plan, and then they were married, and away they went, back to the hotel and to bed.
And to bed. And to bed. And to bed. And to bed.
The night lasted a long time. So, for that matter, did the morning. Then, suddenly, it was noon, and time to leave the hotel, and face the world. They showered, dressed, packed, and left.
“We have to see my parents,” Vince said, remembering that he had some and that they had something of a right to know of his new station in life. “They live in Modnoc. I think I told you about them.”
“You did.”
“We have to see them,” Vince repeated. “Tell them we’re married. Get their blessing. That sort of thing.”
“They won’t like me,” Anita said.
“Of course they will. They’ll love you. You’re young and sweet and beautiful.”
“I’m older than you.”
“So what?”
“They’ll think I’m an old lady corrupting an innocent youth. Actually, of course, it’s the other way around. You corrupted me. Nobody on earth could corrupt you. You’re as corrupt as can be.”
“And,” Vince reminded her, “you like it that way.”
“Love it,” said Anita. “But your parents will hate me.”
They didn’t. Vince cleverly managed to see his father first. He and Anita walked into the office while his father was working. And his father was his usual self.
“Vince,” he said. “Vince. My boy. You’re back already. Good to see you, Vince. Did you take the world by storm? Carve your name on the face of the nation? Eh, boy? What stories of success have you brought back to your old Dad?”
“Dad,” Vince said, “this is Anita.”
Eyes glanced briefly at Anita, took her in. Teeth flashed briefly in a smile. Then the eyes flashed back to Vince. “That’s nice,” he said. “Nice girl. Always glad to meet one of your girlfriends, Vince. But let’s get back to you. How have you been doing, my boy? Making your way in the world? Getting ahead by bounds and leaps? Setting the world on fire?”
“Well,” said Vince.
“If it’s money,” Vince’s father said, “I understand. I’ll be glad to help out. World’s a tough place. How much do you need?”
“Dad,” Vince said, “Anita isn’t a girlfriend.”
Vince’s father looked a little stunned. He had more or less forgotten Anita, and now the conversation was back to her for some incomprehensible reason, and his son was telling him that she wasn’t a girlfriend. “Then what is she?”
“My wife,” Vince said.
“Your what?”
“My wife,” Vince said firmly.
“Your WHAT?”
Anita put a small tentative hand on the shaking shoulder of Vince’s father. “Steady,” she said. “You mustn’t let yourself get upset. Bad for the heart.”
Vince’s father relaxed. Somewhat.
“Vince and I were married,” Anita was saying now. “Two days ago in Baltimore. We fell in love and decided to get married. Now we are man and wife. For better or for worse. That sort of thing.”
“For worse,” Vince’s father said. “Obviously, for worse. Vince is only seventeen. You can’t get married at seventeen. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“We’re in love,” Vince said.
“Then sleep together,” his father suggested, taking a totally opposite stand from that of Anita’s mother. “Sleep together. On the front lawn, if you want. But don’t get married. For God’s sake, don’t get married.”
“We already did,” Anita said.
“In Baltimore,” Vince added.
“WHY?”
“Because we’re in love,” Anita said.
“Deeply in love,” Vince added.
“Oh,” said Vince’s father. Then: “But how in the name of heaven do you expect to keep body and soul together? You don’t know what it costs to support a wife, Vince. Takes a lot of money. And you were going to be a success, remember? Horatio Alger? That sort of thing? There’s an old saying, my boy. He who takes on wife and children gives hostages to fame and fortune.”
“Children?” Anita said. “Not for a while, I hope.”
“You never know,” Vince’s father said darkly. “They have a way of coming up when you least expect them.” And he looked at Vince with a reminiscent gleam in his eye.
“But,” he said suddenly, “let’s get back to money. Maybe it’ll work if you’re planning on having Anita get a job. Maybe the two of you can get to work together. Can you type, Anita? Take shorthand? Keep books?”
“I can’t do anything,” Anita said.
“Oh,” Vince’s father said. “Well, where there’s a will, there’s a way. Old saying. You can learn. You’re young. You—”
Vince felt called upon to explain. His father didn’t understand the basic nature of the situation. He had to fill his old man in. He meant well, his father did, but he was missing a few salient points.
“Dad,” he said slowly, “money is no problem.”
“Ah,” his father said, “it never is when you’re seventeen. But it becomes more of a problem as you grow older. You probably think you can live on love. All the old myths. Two can live as cheaply as one. Not true, young lovers. Two can live as cheaply as one if only one eats. Otherwise it doesn’t work out that way. Has a way of surprising you. Oh, I know I sound like a materialistic old fool. But money matters, Vince. Money makes a big difference. Why, I remember when your mother and I got married. Didn’t have a pot to cook in, as the old expression goes. We thought it would be easy. But—”
“Dad,” Vince broke in desperately, “Anita’s father has better than five million dollars.”
For perhaps the first time in his life, Vince’s father was at a loss for words. He stood there with his mouth hanging open. He looked as though someone had hit him over the head with a bankbook.
“Five million dollars,” Vince repeated reverently. “So money is no problem. Not for us. I mean—”
“Excuse me,” Vince’s father said, recovering slightly. He looked at Anita. “What did you say your name was?”
“It was Anita Merriweather. Now it’s—”
“I know what it is now,” Vince’s father said. “Merriweather. Not the iron-and-steel Merriweathers?”
“That’s my uncle,” Anita said. “Dad is the brokerage Merriweathers.”
Vince’s father sat down. Heavily. “Five million dollars,” he said softly. “Five million dollars. Vince, my boy, I don’t know how you do it. You know, I had my doubts when you set out to conquer the world. Didn’t want to voice them, but I’ll admit now that I had my doubts. Couldn’t figure out how you’d make a lot of money. Oh, I know you’ve got the brains for it. No question about that. But the way the tax set-up goes these days, I didn’t think you could come out ahead of the game. Hell, a man can’t get rich by earning money these days. But you found the answer, you genius. You did it, you hero. There’s only one way to get money, and that’s to marry it, and that’s just what you did.”
“Not for money,” Vince said.
“For love,” Anita explained.
“We’re in love,” Vince said.
“D
eeply in love,” Anita said.
“Forever and ever,” Vince said.
“Amen,” Vince’s father said. “Amen and amen. Well, I guess money’s no problem, after all. How about that?” Vince and Anita smiled.
“Vince,” his father said, “you’re mother doesn’t know yet, does she? I mean, you haven’t told her about the wedding, have you?”
“Not yet. We wanted to tell you first.”
“Good idea. Fine idea. Well, I think you ought to let me break it to her. Sort of let her in on it a little at a time. You know how mothers are. But I’m sure she’ll like Anita. Of course she will. Wonderful girl, Anita.”
Vince and Anita beamed.
“She’ll probably cry,” Vince’s father said thoughtfully.
She did.
But tears have a way of stopping. Vince’s mother, being a woman all the way, was considerably less impressed by five million dollars than was Vince’s father. She thought the money was nice, of course, and of course she wasn’t going to hold it against Anita, but that wasn’t the turning point. Neither, as it happened, was Vince’s father’s firm assurance that they had not lost a son but had gained a daughter. This turned out to be about as reassuring as it was original. The big thing was not what was said but Anita herself.
Vince’s mother talked to Anita, and Vince’s mother looked at Anita, and before long Vince’s mother decided that Anita happened to be just what Vince needed. Since Vince and Anita had already agreed on this point, there was no conflict there. Before long Vince’s mother was writing out little file cards with Vince’s favorite recipes on them, and otherwise preparing Anita for what was obviously the most important role in life, that of Vince’s wife. Anita cared about as much for cooking as she cared for crocheting lace doilies, but she wisely kept quiet. Everybody approved of everybody. The parents thought Anita was a darling girl, and Anita thought the parents were darling parents, and life was suddenly very much worth living.
They stayed in Modnoc for two weeks. They stayed in Vince’s room, and that made Vince understand that they were very definitely married and that it was very definitely right for them to be married. He had slept with many women in his young life, but this was the first time he had ever slept with a woman in his own room in his own house. He thought it would feel wrong, but it didn’t, and when things really got going he barely knew where he was, so everything was all right.
So Willing Page 13