Authors: Harry Whittington
M
AL
H
OLLISTER STOOD
at the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked bluff, wind-buffeted pines and palms, the dark void of the bay and the storm approaching across the Gulf. After all his elaborate planning only one thing was certain this night: a storm brewed.
Everything had gone wrong.
He heard the music; its stereophonic sounds hammered at him from every direction: a mockery of his own devising and selecting — something by Mantovani. He’d always enjoyed Mantovani. Well, he was wrong about everything. He should have cleared out of this place before he became so deeply involved. For sure, he was closing this whole damned house, he was selling it off as he should have done after Stella divorced him. This place was hers, and had been evil for him from the first.
“Mal.” Dolores’ voice reached out and caressed him like sharp kitten claws from the divan. “Come here, Mal.”
He sighed, and nodded.
“As soon as I close the drapes. This damned lightning snaps off right in my eyeballs.” He tried to smile. “Reminds me of your mother.”
Dolores’ voice remained soft and urgent. “If she knew how much I loved you, she would love you.”
He shook his head. “If she even knew you were here, she’d kill me. With her bare hands.”
He turned, looking at her stretched out on the divan, blonde hair against the pillows, dress high above her golden knees. He felt a sharp twist in his loins and cursed himself.
He pulled his gaze away to the intimate dining table for two and stared at the remains of the supper. True, he hadn’t eaten much but Dolores had devoured almost every edible on the table. How this girl loved black olives. She’d eaten his filet mignon, too: no sense wasting it if he was sure he wasn’t going to eat it. His anxiety had killed his appetite and she ate like a young horse, a young child. A young girl.
His gaze touched the chilled wine bottle he hadn’t opened, the cocktail shaker he’d ignored since the moment he brought Dolores into this room. It was as though Rosa and Juan stood all evening in the shadows, daring him: open it, you evil man, get her to drink, intoxicated, a child and you would do this.
He closed his eyes, still standing beside the windows and the romantic view that was lost in the storm’s unearthly dark. He saw the way he’d planned it, music, wine, the way they’d lie together on the divan, the way he would carry her naked and moaning to his bedroom. This was bad enough but worse was the desire and excitement in her eyes: she wanted all this, even more than he did. He would have to be blind to miss it. He wasn’t blind. Knowing she wanted to give herself to him stopped him cold, showed him clearly he had no right.
He caught the drape cord, glancing once more at the storm-riven night. Well, there was no moon, either. Nothing was as he’d planned. Abrupt lightning clicked at the tip of his nose. When he could see again, he stared into the cosmic darkness and muttered bitterly, “The hell with you, too.”
He yanked the drapes closed.
He stood with his back to the drapes hearing the storm outside the windows and the one raging within him.
He looked at her, saw he could have her, anything he wanted, everything, she was waiting. He must take her or she could not endure the need. Her untouched body had been an obsession with her, Rosa’s most vital teaching from infancy, but she wanted to forget it now because he was more important to her.
She was a devout and innocent girl — innocent in the wonderful way only a Venzino offspring could be innocent — aware of life but innocent of guile and evil. She’d grown up believing her virginity was the greatest gift she could bring the one man she would love; not even chastity was an acceptable substitute. The ecstasy her simple and revered parents shared was what she wanted with the man she married and she’d come here to him tonight, untouched. She was a virgin, for God’s sake, in this age and time when such a condition no longer mattered to the sophisticated, except as a jest. But she wasn’t sophisticated and she believed in the gift of herself to the man God made for her — it must be for her as it had been for Juan and Rosa.
All this he saw — like something haunting him — everytime he looked at her. It was part of her, like the vulnerable softness in her deep dark eyes.
He walked slowly toward her, faintly astonished at how cozy the room had become, breathlessly warmed and charged with something that had nothing to do with the encroaching storm.
Then he saw she’d kicked off her shoes and was wriggling her bare toes in the luxurious pillows like a child in sand. If only her frock were less simple. If only there were the faintest hint of guile about her. If only he hadn’t brought her here in the first place.
One thing sure, the whole place, on the market, the first thing in the morning. He’d sell the place, clear out. He’d leave this child — this virgin — alone. But he was only human, worse, he was human as hell. To leave her alone he’d have to get out of here. All right.
She stretched out her bare arms, extending her moving fingers to reach for him. This was almost as he’d dreamed it, only there’d been no little-girl frock to remind him he was divorced, twice her age.
The music changed now, muted, soft, a love song. He felt an ache at the nape of his neck. He wanted a drink. He wanted a fifth, straight.
He stood in front of her. He felt the pounding of his heart, his terrible need for her. He longed to fall beside her, gather her in his arms, bury his face in her gold hair, greedily, wildly. He did not move.
“Mal?”
“Yes?”
“You sound angry.”
“It isn’t that.”
“You — you’re disappointed.”
“Me? Disappointed about what?”
She sat forward, staring up at him, smooth face troubled. “I don’t know. Perhaps there is something I should know, something I should do. You’re disappointed.”
“God no. I’m glad you’re with me.”
“Yes. But you’re dismayed. Because I’m dumb.”
“Dumb?”
She nodded, contrite. “Yes. I ate like a foolish puppy. I chattered like a little fool. Only because I was so wildly happy. Only because something like this is what you dream — it never really comes true.”
“It was the way I wanted you to feel. I wanted you to be happy, so there would be no memory even of any other happiness. So this would be the finest — ”
“Oh, it is, Mal. That’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want to be stupid and spoil it.”
“You’re not stupid. You’re only young.”
She reached up her arms again. “Help me, Mal. Please. Tell me. I’m not really dumb. Tell me what you want — and I’ll do it, anything.”
“Don’t talk like that, Dolores. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do know,” she cried. “I want to love you. I want to love you with all of me that there is, every way there is. It’s all I want.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
She bit her lip, lay back on the divan. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Is that what’s the matter, Mal?”
“What?”
“Because I’m a virgin, you don’t want me.”
There was no sense trying to stand there, his legs would not support him anyhow. The sounds of the storm were lost to him, there was no music, there was nothing but her body, lush and young and hot and the way he wanted her.
He sank to the divan beside her. She caught his hands, pulled them over her heart, pressed them tightly against her.
“It doesn’t matter, Mal,” she whispered. “I’m a virgin only because I can’t help it. They tried. There were boys who tried. I should have, I guess. Now, I wish I had. I’d be so much smarter for you. But I just couldn’t … because I didn’t want them.”
“It’s all right.” His throat was closing.
“You don’t mind?”
He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes. His vision was impaired. “No. I don’t mind. I’m glad.”
“I tried to, Mal. I thought — I ought to know. But I couldn’t. All my life I knew how wonderful Mama and Papa were together. My mama loved nobody but Papa. He was crazy in love with her. Only the two of them, it was so right — with any one else it would be wrong. Do you see? So I wanted to find the one man I would be so wonderful for — just for him — only I was afraid if I — did it with anyone else. When I used to have a bad dream — that I had done it with the wrong man — I would cry. And I felt I wouldn’t want to live if this happened to me.”
“All right.”
“Why do you say that?
All right.
In such a way? What do you mean?”
“Never mind, Dolores. It’s only that I don’t know how to talk to virgins. I haven’t known very many.”
She stared into his face, intently. “No. Why did you say
all right
— such a final sound?”
“Only that I’ll keep my hands off you. Somehow. I’m damned if I know how. I will.”
“Why? If you don’t love me, then I’m never loved. If you don’t touch me, no one will. I couldn’t stand someone putting his — hands on me — not since I’ve known you. Not since the first time I saw you.”
“Dolores, don’t talk like this.”
“The truth? Why not?” She bit her lip. “You don’t love me? You don’t want me? What a fool I’ve been.”
“No. I want you. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
Her secret smile ripped at him. “I know. But how must I get you to say it?”
His hands closed on her, the firmness, the heat, the trembling sense of excitement. “I want to spend all my life telling you how much I love you.”
She pressed closer under his hands, murmuring. “You have to remember that. Don’t say it and not mean it.”
“I mean it.”
“Yes. But tell me, tell me all the time. I never doubt you, only myself.”
He got up, strode over to the hi-fi, snapped it off.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s going to rain. Got to get you out of here. Come on. I’ll take you home.”
She burst into tears. “You don’t love me.”
He fell beside her on the couch, gathered her so fiercely in his arms that neither of them could breathe.
“Shut up, you hear me?” he whispered, yelling in hoarse whispers. “Don’t ever say that. Nobody ever loved the way I love you. Don’t you forget it. Damn you. Don’t you forget it.”
She laughed through her tears. “Then damn you. Stop talking about taking me home.”
“I’ve got to, Dolores.”
She moved her fevered hands over him. He touched her and found her body was liquid fire, there had never been such white-hot fire. He’d touched her, he could never stop touching her.
“Oh God, Mal.”
“Please listen to me.”
“Don’t stop.”
He hurled himself away from her and she sprawled back, clothing disarrayed, legs awry as if she were a rag doll or didn’t give a damn how she looked. She lay there chewing at her mouth, staring at the ceiling.
“Mal.”
He stood above her, looking at her and she was lovelier than his wildest fantasy ever promised. If it killed him he had something to say, and he realized the fool who talked when he should keep his mouth shut deserved the frustrated memories he would carry with him to hell. “Will you listen to me?”
“Can’t you hold me while you talk? Soothe me if you must talk? Hold me. I don’t care what you say.”
He sank to the couch beside her, gathered her to him, found her more liquid, more fiery than ever. Her legs were hot against his hands.
“You know what I’ll be in nineteen years?”
“You’ll be my love. Always my love.”
“I’ll be fifty-five years old.”
“We’ll have to be so careful with you, my angel.”
“Stop it. You’ll be as old as I am now.”
“Yes. To think, when I’m as old as you are, I’ll have had nineteen years of loving you. Nineteen years … All the years I’ve lived to this moment and they’ll all be filled with the way I love you.”
“All right. There’s this. I didn’t intend to marry you when I brought you here — ”
“Of course not. You had so much on your mind. You didn’t know yet.”
“Well, God help me, I know now. And this I know. Nobody’s going to like the idea. They’re going to hate it.”
“How could they? I love you — and only you.”
“But I’m divorced, twice your age, everything wrong for you.”
“I love only you.”
“God, how I wish it were that simple. But it isn’t. Your family will do everything — ”
She kissed his fingers, moving her lips over them in a hungry, sucking way. “Then we’ll listen to them, and nod. It’s so easy to get along with them — and for such a little while. How long? Until we get a license, until we can get married.”
“I hope you feel this way the rest of your life.”
“I don’t.” She writhed under his hand. “It would kill me.”
“Well, kill you or not, tonight I’m leaving you just as I found you — ”
“You wouldn’t be so cruel.”
“We’ll have trouble enough, without giving them real reason to oppose us. Juan hates me. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Somehow — I’ve got to show him you mean more to me even than you do to him.”
She pressed her mouth hard against his hand.
“I’ll get a license in the morning. We’ll rip out every piece of red tape we can, and as soon as possible, we’ll be married. Until then — if it kills me, or kills you — we’re waiting.”
She clung to him. “All right. If you promise to hurry — I’ll wait.”
“Then come on, we’re getting out of here while we can.”
She clung to him for a long time. He closed his eyes tightly against her, didn’t breathe, clenched his fists. She kissed his face, his eyes, the tip of his nose.
He moved away then and thunder rumbled back into his consciousness. The storm was much nearer.
She pushed her feet into her slippers, found her cardigan, trailed it after her, walking sleepily. Nothing had happened to her but she sure as hell looked as if it had.
If Juan saw her like this, he might not live long enough to buy a marriage license.
He watched her going ahead of him, still unable to believe the magic of her loving him, knowing hell was worth it. Come on you bastards, make your trouble, I’m ready for you. She’s worth the worst you can do.
In his car, she snuggled close against him. Great round drops of rain smashed violently against the windshield. Lightning illumined the world, then plunged it into thundering darkness that shook the car on the road. Palms and pines bent under the force of the gale. He smiled. This storm was nothing compared to the one he’d weathered back there in that patio with Dolores.