Private affairs : a novel (20 page)

Maya's white dress up and over her head. He had never seen such a gloriously beautiful body, smooth, pale bronze, with small pointed breasts and a little triangle of red curly hair—

"Your shirt," Maya said shakily.

"Oh. I forgot. . . "He tore it off, then her arms came up and he held her, their two bodies tight together. Peter's skin burned against hers, and his lips burned when they met hers, but crazily he couldn't feel anything else except his cock between her legs. He didn't seem to have feet or legs or arms; he was all burning skin and feeling that he was going to explode. "Maya," he murmured. 'Please. ..."

Without a word she lay back on the blanket, looking at him with dark, dark eyes. "I love you," she said. "I love you." Peter touched her triangle of red hair with his hand and as his finger moved into her smooth wet darkness, her legs opened. "Now I'll never have to leave," she said. "Now no one can make me leave." Her breathing came in quick little bursts; her hands fluttered at Peter's chest and he wished she'd grab hold of him but he knew she wouldn't; instead, he pulled out his finger and reached for his pants to find the box he'd been carrying for weeks. His fingers shook as he slipped the thin rubber over his cock and then, while Maya watched him, he lay on her. At the feel of her, a piercing kind of pain tore through his body, a wonderful joy, and then he thought, Oh, no, please God, not yet, not yet, not yet . . . and somehow he held himself together while pushing into the tight clinging warmth of this beautiful incredible girl under him, deeper and deeper, until he was all the way in. He felt her flinching, and he wanted to say he was sorry for hurting her, but how could he when he was feeling this wonderful joy? He moved as slowly as he could; he wanted to pound into her but instead he moved his hips in small circles, rubbing against her, wishing she would like it. Then he heard her whisper his name and looking down he saw her eyes tightly closed, her mouth open, her body arching against his. Thank you, he thought; Maya, I love you; thank you ... It was all right; he didn't have to hold himself in any longer. He thrust into her sweet body, in and out in her fantastic slippery 7 tightness and then at last felt the surge and explosive release he'd been holding back. And then Peter Lovell rested beside his love with a sigh of the most amazing happiness anyone in the whole world had ever known.

Two drinks were on the table when they arrived. "A little touch one appreciates," Rourke told Elizabeth as she and Matt sat down. "I always have the same table, with the same waiters; therefore my simple preferences are met without the dreary repetition of ordering Stolichnaya each

time I arrive. A waste of time. Tony's avoids all that, which is why I come here."

"You come here," said Matt, smiling, "because everyone you know comes here, because the food is the best in town, and because you like to feed Wilma tidbits of information."

"Your husband knows all my secrets," Rourke said to Elizabeth. "Wilma has a notable gossip column and she is fond of gathering infor-mation at Tony's. What will you drink?"

"Chardonnay, please." Elizabeth looked at Matt. "They know your simple preferences too? I had no idea vodka was one of them."

"I like it now and then," he said briefly. Between them hung the unspo= ken words— But not in Santa Fe.

"Perhaps I like to be here because of my son," Rourke said after order-ing wine for Elizabeth. "It amuses me that Houston's most famous res-taurant has the same name as my well-known offspring." He paused again to exchange greetings with Tony Vallone, the owner of the restaurant, who stopped at a number of tables, but clearly, Elizabeth saw, not all of them. Vallone moved on, and Rourke asked, "Have you talked to him lately?"

"Tony? Not for a long time," Elizabeth answered. The waiter put a glass of wine in front of her and she held the stem with nervous fingers. She didn't know how Rourke really felt about her being there, since his secretary had announced them on the intercom when they arrived and it was almost ten minutes before they were shown into his office. By then he had hidden whatever annoyance or anger he had felt, and in five hours of meetings that afternoon, he had shown nothing but amiability, explaining reasons behind the budget items she questioned, describing activities of Rourke Enterprises she hadn't known about, asking for her opinion when they were going over editorial policy and news coverage in Albuquerque.

Everything seemed fine; everything should have been fine. Especially now, with business out of the way and nothing to think about but dinner in this lovely restaurant, decorated in soft pastels with modern paintings on burgundy suede walls. It was a spacious room bisected by a long, low planter thick with azaleas. Lavish bouquets were on every table, but they were as low as the planter; nothing was allowed to obstruct the views of the corporate and social elite who came to Tony's specifically to be seen.

"Tony has a new wife," Rourke was saying. Elizabeth turned to him in surprise. "Marion, I think, but perhaps that was his first."

"Ginger," said Elizabeth. "They were at our wedding."

"Ah." He nodded. "I lose track. In any event, they've been married a year, I believe; a record for Tony. He speaks warmly of you. Doesn't miss

one of your columns. Neither do I, by the way. I'm sure Matt told you, but it doesn't hurt to repeat it. Yes, two more," he said to the waiter who stood nearby, and to Elizabeth, "More wine, my dear?"

"Yes, thank you."

Rourke nodded, then went on. "We're very excited about you, Elizabeth. I don't know how you do it: two superb columns a week, and you've made the features section of the Daily News the most lively in Albuquerque." He sat back as the waiter brought another glass of wine for Elizabeth and two more glasses of vodka embedded in silver bowls of crushed ice. "You know, my dear, I've watched you grow up from a baby into a remarkable woman. I can't tell you how impressed I am."

Elizabeth flushed and began to relax. Why should she look for reasons behind Rourke's words? In the brightly-lit room, she saw only sincerity and pleasure in his eyes, and looking at Matt's proud smile, she felt more of her tension slip away.

Matt put his hand on hers. He had been silent, letting Rourke win Elizabeth's confidence. He was tired of having to defend Rourke to her; annoyed even when she evaded discussions of him because he knew she was simply keeping her doubts to herself. Strange that he'd never seen the obvious solution: bring her to Houston and let her see Keegan Rourke on his own ground: a shrewd businessman wealthy enough to look for wider horizons; a sophisticated, charming host; a good friend for them to have. Matt tightened his hand on Elizabeth's. All he wanted was that the two of them would be friends.

"Keegan acts like a proud father," he told Elizabeth. "I'm afraid he takes credit for inventing you."

"No, no." Rourke chuckled. "Elizabeth Lovell is definitely her own person. And as of last week, a famous one! My dear Elizabeth, we haven't toasted your triumph!" He lifted his glass. "To a lovely and talented lady and her 'Private Affairs,' especially the one on 'Joey,' which was reprinted in this month's Good Housekeeping. You're not a local writer anymore, my dear; you've leaped over all of us."

"It was only one column," Elizabeth protested.

"One is all it takes. Remember that, Elizabeth. One triumph changes everything. When a magazine with such an enormous readership reprints your column, you are a national writer and you must think of yourself as one. That's how I talk about you to my friends when I read your columns to them."

"You what?" She could not imagine him doing that.

"I carry them around with me. Not all of them, of course, but"—he held up a small packet of clippings—"enough to give people their flavor.

Not quite as bad as forcing pictures of one's infant on a captive audience, but close." He smiled. "And I agree with Good Housekeeping: 'Joey' is one of the best. It reminds me of Tony when he was young; when we still got along. And when my friends read it, especially the part about Joey's rebellion and how he's never sure if he's gone too far and made his parents stop loving him, they ask me how you know their teenagers. My dear Elizabeth, Joey is every teenager in America! This is a masterpiece!"

Elizabeth regarded her wine glass, wondering how one responded to such overheated praise. She knew the story was good; she also knew it wasn't a masterpiece. "Thank you," she said. "I know readers liked that piece; we got a lot of mail on it—"

"More than any other story at any time," Matt put in.

"—but it could have been better. I don't have as much time as I'd like to work on each piece."

"I understand. That's a real problem. Here you have a talent, a rare talent, and you can't concentrate on it."

Tino Escobedo, the maitre d\ appeared and Rourke said to Matt and Elizabeth, "I'll order for us, if you don't mind; the best dishes aren't on the menu."

The two men plunged into a serious debate and Elizabeth and Matt exchanged a smile. Their hands tightened. "I love you," Elizabeth whispered, her lips close to Matt's ear.

Matt brushed her lips with his. "I'm glad you're here. You were right and I apologize for being a boor and telling you to stay home."

"You were extremely angry," Elizabeth mused. "As if I were horning in on a deal ... or intruding on a love affair. ..."

"Nonsense." He drained his glass. "I thought we were past that kind of talk."

She studied him. "You never used to have two drinks before dinner."

"Now," Rourke said, turning back. "Where were we? Yes, Elizabeth's writing." He turned his glass thoughtfully in his fingers. "Isn't there a way you could concentrate on it? With the attention you've gotten with 'Joey,' you should be appearing three times a week instead of two."

"I can't do it," Elizabeth replied. "I'd love to, but I can't. I barely have time for two as it is."

"Exactly my point! You don't have time for the one talent which will make you famous. And help make our papers famous as well."

Elizabeth frowned. Why did he exaggerate so? Newspapers don't be= come famous because of one columnist, and he had the money to buy any columns he wanted from national syndicators. Did he think she was a fool?

"Elizabeth, you're forgetting what I said. The more you appear, the larger your audience and the more likely that other publications will reprint your pieces. Then you'll be syndicated by one of those companies —NEA, Knight-Ridder, Markham Features, I can't remember them all —and you'll appear in three or four hundred papers. Now you're not going to tell me that doesn't appeal to you!"

"Of course it does," said Matt. "You should have seen her face when the Good Housekeeping editor called to say they wanted 'Joey' for their series on teenagers. She didn't come down to earth all week."

Rourke nodded. "An exciting step. And well-deserved."

"More than exciting," Matt said. "It was the first time Elizabeth was on a level with professionals who publish nationally. It's a little like being born: suddenly you're for real."

Surprised, Elizabeth said, "I never knew you understood that."

"Because you never knew I felt the same way."

"When?" she asked, then quickly said, "Oh. I see." How strange that she had never realized it was Keegan who made Matt feel like a real newspaper publisher. She'd thought the Chieftain and the Sun would do it. But if I needed a national magazine to feel like a real writer, she reflected, why wouldn't Matt need more, too?

"The whole Daily News staff celebrated," Matt told Rourke. "And Holly and Peter made enough copies of the story to flood the southwest. But more important"—letting go of her hand, he put his arm around her —"it made Elizabeth Lovell the center of attention. And about time, too. She was feeling the lack of it."

For the second time, Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "I never told you that."

"And you thought I was too dazzled by my own importance to see it."

She looked away—and met Rourke's amused glance. "Yes," she said. "I thought you were."

Tino arrived with a bottle of wine. Rourke read the label, and nodded, and Tino drew out the cork and handed it to him so he could pass it lightly beneath his nose. He nodded again and Tino poured a small amount into Rourke's glass. He swirled it, sipped it, nodded once more, and Tino filled all three glasses and left.

Elizabeth barely watched the ritual; she was thinking about the past four months. Matt was right: it had bothered her that he was the one who got the attention and the credit for improvements they'd worked out together. He was the one Chet Colfax called to report that Rourke was pleased or needed some information or wanted a particular story written; he was the one whom businessmen praised for the new liveliness and

brightness of the paper; he was the one=because he wrote the editorials —who was asked to give speeches on local issues. "Private Affairs" was admired; it got mail and telephone calls; but only when it appeared nationally did Elizabeth get the kind of star treatment Matt got.

And Rourke wanted to know if that appealed to her!

"I've wanted you to get more credit from the beginning," Matt told Elizabeth when their dinners were before them. "But there's no glamour in being features editor, and no visibility. Keegan is right; you've got to work on 'Private Affairs' full-time. Three columns a week would be wonderful; you could do that, couldn't you?"

"Of course I could." The wine glowed within her, the pastel birds on the blue chintz chair covers seemed to sing. Most important, Matt's pride and understanding of her feelings, when she'd thought he hadn't even been paying attention, made her feel loved. Dreamily, she watched Rourke wind pasta around his fork and bring it to his mouth without a single dangling end. I'll have to tell Peter about that, she thought; he always says it's impossible. "I'd love to write three a week. But I run the features department and that's a full-time job in itself."

"I thought you understood," said Matt. "It's absurd for anyone with your talent to edit features all day. Keegan and I have talked it over and we both feel, now that you've organized the department, you should do something more important."