The Other Side of Midnight (19 page)

“I know what you meant,” Larry said. And she hated him. He turned to Bill. “Where did you find her?”

“I got lucky,” Fraser said warmly. “Very lucky. You’re still not married?”

Larry shrugged. “Who’d have me?”

You bastard,
Catherine thought. She looked around the room. Half a dozen women were staring at Larry, some covertly, some openly. He was like a sexual magnet. “How were the English girls?” Catherine said recklessly.

“They were fine,” he said, politely. “Of course, I didn’t have much time for that sort of thing. I was busy flying.”

Like hell you didn’t,
Catherine thought.
I’ll bet there wasn’t a virgin left standing within a hundred miles of you.
Aloud, she said, “I feel sorry for those poor girls. Look at all they missed.” Her tone was more biting than she had intended.

Fraser was looking at her, puzzled by her rudeness. “Cathy,” he said.

“Let’s have another drink,” Larry cut in quickly.

“I think perhaps Catherine’s had enough,” Fraser replied.

“Thash not so,” Catherine began, and to her horror she realized she was slurring her words. “I think I want to go home,” she said.

“All right”—Fraser turned to Larry—“Catherine
doesn’t drink as a rule,” he said apologetically.

“I imagine she’s excited about seeing you again,” Larry said.

Catherine wanted to pick up a glass of water and throw it at him. She had hated him less when he was a bum. Now she hated him more. And she did not know why.

The next morning Catherine woke up with a hangover that she was convinced would make medical history. She had at least three heads on her shoulders, all of them pounding to the beat of different drummers. Lying still in bed was agony but trying to move was worse. As she lay there fighting nausea, the whole evening flooded back in her memory, and the pain increased. Unreasonably she blamed Larry Douglas for her hangover, for if it had not been for him, she would not have had anything to drink. Painfully Catherine turned her head and looked at the clock beside her bed. She had overslept. She debated whether to stay in bed or call a pulmotor squad. Carefully she pulled herself out of her deathbed and dragged herself into the bathroom. She stumbled into the shower, turned the water on cold and let the icy jets stream against her body. She screamed out loud as the water hit her, but when she came out of the shower, she was feeling better.
Not good,
she thought carefully.
Just better.

Forty-five minutes later she was at her desk. Her secretary, Annie, came in full of excitement. “Guess what,” she said.

“Not this morning,” Catherine whispered. “Just be a good girl and speak softly.”

“Look!” Annie thrust the morning paper at her. “It’s
him
.”

On the front page was a picture of Larry Douglas in uniform, grinning at her insolently. The caption read: “AMERICAN RAF HERO RETURNS TO WASHINGTON TO HEAD UP NEW FIGHTER UNIT.” A two-column story followed.

“Isn’t that exciting?” Annie cried.

“Terribly,” Catherine said. She slammed the paper into the wastebasket. “Can we get on with our work?”

Annie looked at her, surprised. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I—I thought since he was a friend of yours, you’d be interested.”

“He’s not a friend,” Catherine corrected her. “He’s more of an enemy.” She saw the look on Annie’s face. “Could we just forget about Mr. Douglas?”

“Certainly,” Annie said in a puzzled voice. “I told him I thought you’d be pleased.”

Catherine stared at her. “When?”

“When he called this morning. He’s called three times.”

Catherine steeled herself to make her voice casual. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You asked me not to tell you when he called.” She was watching Catherine, her face filled with confusion.

“Did he leave a number?”

“No.”

“Good.” Catherine thought of his face, of those large, dark teasing eyes. “Good,” she said again, more firmly. She finished dictating some letters and when Annie had left the room, Catherine went over to the wastebasket and retrieved the newspaper. She read the story about Larry word for word. He was an ace with eight German planes to his credit. He had been shot down twice over the Channel. She buzzed Annie. “If Mr. Douglas calls again, I’ll talk to him.”

There was only a fractional pause. “Yes, Miss Alexander.”

After all, there was no point in being rude to the man. Catherine would simply apologize for her behavior at the studio and ask him to stop calling her. She was going to marry William Fraser.

She waited for another call from him all afternoon. He had not called by six o’clock.
Why should he?
Catherine asked herself.
He’s out laying six other girls.
You’re lucky. Being involved with him would be like going to a butcher shop. You take your number and wait your turn.

On the way out she said to Annie, “If Mr. Douglas calls tomorrow, tell him I’m not in.”

Annie did not even blink. “Yes, Miss Alexander. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Catherine rode down in the elevator, lost in thought. She was sure that Bill Fraser wanted to marry her. The best thing to do would be to tell him that she wanted to get married right away. She would tell him tonight. They would go away for a honeymoon. By the time they got back, Larry Douglas would have left town. Or something.

The elevator door opened at the lobby, and Larry Douglas was standing there, leaning against the wall. He had taken off his medals and ribbons and was wearing the bars of a second lieutenant. He smiled and walked up to her.

“Is this better?” he asked brightly.

Catherine stared at him, her heart pounding. “Isn’t—isn’t wearing the wrong insignia against regulations?”

“I don’t know,” he said earnestly. “I thought you were in charge of all that.”

He stood there looking down at her, and she said in a small voice, “Don’t do this to me. I want you to leave me alone. I belong to Bill.”

“Where’s your wedding ring?”

Catherine brushed past him and started toward the street door. When she reached it, he was there ahead of her, holding it open for her.

Outside he took her arm. She felt a shock go through her whole body. There was an electricity that came from him that burned her. “Cathy—” he began.

“For God’s sake,” she said desperately. “What do you want from me?”

“Everything,” he said quietly. “I want you.”

“Well, you can’t have me,” she wailed. “Go torture somebody else.” She turned to walk away, and he pulled her back.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Catherine said, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I—I have a hangover. I want to die.”

He grinned sympathetically. “I have a marvelous cure for hangovers.” He guided her into the garage of the building.

“Where are we going?” she asked in a panic.

“We’re getting my car.”

Catherine looked up at him, searching his face for a sign of triumph, but all she saw was his strong, incredibly handsome face filled with warmth and compassion.

The attendant brought up a tan sports convertible with the top down. Larry helped Catherine into the car and slid in behind the wheel. She sat there looking straight ahead, knowing that she was throwing her whole life away and totally unable to stop herself. It was as though all this were happening to someone else. She wanted to tell the silly, lost girl in the car to flee.

“Your place or mine?” Larry asked gently.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she said hopelessly.

“We’ll go to my place.”

So he was not totally insensitive. Or else he was afraid to compete with the shadow of William Fraser.

She watched him as he deftly tooled the car through the early evening traffic. No, he was not afraid of anything. That was part of his goddamn attraction.

She tried to tell herself that she was free to say no to him, free to walk away. How could she love William Fraser and feel this way about Larry?

“If it helps any,” Larry said quietly, “I’m as nervous as you are.”

Catherine looked over at him. “Thanks,” she said. He was lying, of course. He probably said that to all his victims as he took them up to his bed to seduce
them. But at least he wasn’t gloating about it. What bothered her most was that she was betraying Bill Fraser. He was too dear a man to hurt, and this was going to hurt him very much. Catherine knew that and knew that what she was doing was wrong and senseless, but it was as though she had no will of her own anymore.

They had reached a pleasant residential area with large, shady trees lining the street. Larry pulled the car up in front of an apartment building. “We’re home,” he said quietly.

Catherine knew that this was her final chance to say no, to tell him to keep away from her. She watched silently as Larry came around and opened the door. She got out of the car and walked into his apartment building.

Larry’s apartment had been decorated for a man. It had strong solid colors, and masculine-looking furniture.

As they walked in, Larry took off Catherine’s coat and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No.”

“Would you like a drink?”

“No.”

Gently he took her in his arms, and they kissed. It was as though her body were being set aflame. Without a word Larry led her into the bedroom. There was a growing urgency as they both silently undressed. She lay on the bed naked, and he moved beside her.

“Larry—” but his lips were on hers, and his hands began to move down her body, gently exploring, and she forgot everything except the pleasure that was happening to her, and her hands began to grope for him. And she felt him hot and hard and pulsating and his fingers were inside her, opening her up gently and lovingly and he was on top of her and in her, and there was an exquisite joy that she had never dreamed possible
and then they were together, moving faster and faster in a fantastic rhythm that rocked the room and the world and the universe until there was an explosion that became a delirious ecstasy an unbelievable shattering journey an arriving and departure an ending and a beginning and Catherine lay there spent and numb holding him tightly never wanting to let him go never wanting this feeling to stop. Nothing she had ever read or heard could have prepared her for this. It was unbelievable that another person’s body could bring such joy. She lay there at peace: a woman. And she knew that if she never saw him again, she would be grateful to him for the rest of her life.

“Cathy?”

She turned to look at him, slowly and lazily. “Yes?” Even her voice seemed deeper to her, more mature.

“Could you get your nails out of my back?”

She suddenly realized that she had been digging into his flesh. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed. She started to examine his back, but he caught her hands and pulled her close to him.

“It doesn’t matter. Are you happy?”

“Happy?” Her lip trembled and to her horror she began to cry. Great sobs that wrenched her body. He held her in his arms, stroking her soothingly, letting the storm spend itself.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what made me do that.”

“Disappointment?”

Catherine looked at him quickly to protest, then saw that he was teasing her. He took her into his arms and made love to her again. It was even more incredible than before. Afterward they lay in bed and he talked, but she didn’t listen. All she wanted to hear was the sound of his voice, and it didn’t matter to her what he said. She knew there would never be anyone for her but this man. And she knew that this man could never belong to any one woman and that she would probably
never see him again, that she was just another conquest to him. She was aware that his voice had stopped and that he was watching her.

“You haven’t heard a word I said.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I was daydreaming.”

“I should be hurt,” he said reproachfully. “You’re only interested in me for my body.”

She ran her hands over his lean tanned chest and stomach. “I’m no expert,” she said, “but I think this one will do nicely.” She smiled. “It
did
nicely.” She wanted to ask him whether he had enjoyed her, but she was afraid to.

“You’re beautiful, Cathy.”

She thrilled to his saying it and at the same time resented it. Anything he said to her he had said a thousand times to other women. She wondered how he was going to say good-bye.
Call me sometime?
Or,
I’ll call you sometime?
Perhaps he would even want to see her again once or twice before he went on to someone else. Well, she had no one to blame but herself. She had known what she was getting into.
I walked into this with my eyes and my legs wide open. No matter what happens, I must never blame him.

He slid his arms around her and held her close.

“Do you know you’re a very special girl, Cathy?”

Do you know you’re a very special girl
—
Alice, Susan, Margaret, Peggy, Lana.

“I felt it from the first time I saw you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

—
Janet, Evelyn, Ruth, Georgia, ad infinitum.
She buried her head in his chest, not trusting herself to speak, and held him tightly, silently saying good-bye.

“I’m hungry,” Larry said. “Do you know what I feel like?”

Catherine smiled. “Yes, I certainly do.”

Larry grinned down at her. “You know something?” he asked. “You’re a sex maniac.”

She looked up. “Thank you.”

He led her into the shower and turned it on. He took
a shower cap from a hook on the wall and put it on Catherine’s head, tucking in her hair. “Come on,” he said, and pulled her into the piercing jet water. He took a bar of soap and began to wash her body, starting with her neck and working down to her arms and slowly circling her breasts and moving down to her stomach and her thighs. She began to feel an excitement in her groin and she took the soap from him and began to wash him, lathering his chest and stomach and moving down between his legs. His organ began to grow hard in her hand.

He spread her legs and put his male hardness inside her and Catherine was transported again, drowning in a torrent of water that beat against her body, while inside she was filled with the same unbearable joy, until she screamed aloud in sheer happiness.