Beloved Stranger (12 page)

They talked for the remainder of the practice session and never once mentioned baseball. In Martin Harrison Susan felt she had met someone from her own world, the world of books and ideas and feelings. When he said, with a rueful laugh, “May I see you again tomorrow? I’m afraid I never got to the point of my interview,” she had assented gladly. As she pushed Ricky’s stroller across the grass to meet Ricardo she reflected that she had not realized how much she missed the company of people like Martin Harrison. She had let most of her friendships slide this last year—for obvious reasons, she thought wryly. Tonight she would begin to write some long-overdue letters.

* * * *

She saw Martin Harrison the following day and this time they did talk baseball. They talked about Ricardo as well. “He’s amazing, really,” Martin Harrison said seriously. “Very few people realize how tough it is to stay at the top of a professional sport. It’s got to get to you, that constant pressure to do it again and again. After a while something’s got to break—your performance or, in some cases, your willpower. Look at Borg—he just got sick of it all. And who can blame him?”

“Ricardo likes to play baseball,” Susan said quietly. “He doesn’t seem to feel a great deal of pressure.”

“But that’s why he’s so remarkable, don’t you see? He’s a professional’s professional in most ways. He does everything a ballplayer is supposed to do and he does it brilliantly: fielding, throwing, running, bunting. And hitting, of course. But he has the spirit of a kid who plays in the schoolyard for fun. That’s why he’s so enjoyable to watch, and why he’s such a good model for kids. He’s so clearly enjoying himself.”

Susan looked thoughtfully at the thin, intelligent face of Martin Harrison. “Yes, that’s true.”

“And he’s so—unruffled. No prima donna outbreaks. No temper tantrums. I’ve never heard him say a mean word about anyone. Since he’s been captain, the Yankee clubhouse is a far more pleasant place.”

Listening to Martin, Susan felt deeply gratified. It meant something, that a man of this caliber should appreciate Ricardo. When the writer joined her on the beach two days later, she was unfeignedly glad to see him. She was sitting talking to him animatedly when Ricardo arrived from practice. Susan looked up as his shadow fell across her and her small face lit with welcome. “Ricardo!” she said. “Are you out early?”

“No,” he said. His dark eyes moved to Martin Harrison and then back to his wife. Susan was wearing an aquamarine maillot suit that showed off her slender figure and pale golden tan. Her loose hair was hooked behind her ears and she wore large dark sunglasses perched on her small, straight nose.

She smiled up at her husband from her sand chair. “We’ve been talking so much, I lost track of the time.”

“Did you,
querida
?” He looked at Martin Harrison, who was sitting cross-legged on the blanket next to a sleeping Ricky. “Have you been discussing baseball?” he asked politely.

Martin laughed and stood up. “No, we’ve been talking books. Children’s books, as a matter of fact. Your wife and I have discovered we shared a common childhood library.”

“Oh?” Ricardo looked at Susan. “I’m going to take a swim.”

“I’ll come with you,” Martin said. “It’s hot just sitting here.” The two men walked side by side down to the water’s edge and Susan watched them. Next to Ricardo, she thought, Martin seemed a mere boy, even though he was certainly a few years older. Ricardo dove into the waves and after a brief minute Martin joined him. They swam for quite some time, and when they returned to her they seemed to be in perfect amity. Ricky had woken up and Susan was holding him on her lap when they got back to the blanket. As Ricardo dried his face and hair her eyes briefly scanned him, going over the wide shoulders, flat stomach and narrow hips. He was deeply tanned, his skin dark and coppery, showing, as he once said humorously, his Indian blood. He draped the towel around his neck and she dragged her eyes from his bare torso and looked at Martin Harrison. Next to Ricardo’s splendid height and strength he looked pale and insignificant. Ricky began to fuss and Susan rose.

“The prince is hungry,” she announced. “I’ll go feed him and be back later.”

“Why don’t you just bring a bottle down to the beach?” Martin asked innocently.

Ricardo’s eyes glinted. “Ricky doesn’t like bottles,” he said. “He likes his mother.” The glint became more pronounced, “In that way he resembles his father,” he added wickedly.

Susan could feel herself flushing, “Behave yourself,” she said primly. “Martin has been telling me what a model of rectitude you are. You don’t want him to find out the truth about your character, do you?” And shifting the burden of her son to her other shoulder, she walked toward the hotel as sedately as she could manage in a bathing suit and bare feet. Behind her she could hear Ricardo chuckle.

* * * *

Martin stayed in Fort Lauderdale for the duration of spring training and Susan found herself seeing quite a lot of him. She didn’t think it odd that he should seek out her company. She assumed he felt the way she did—pleased and delighted to have discovered a person who shared so many of the same interests, the same thoughts—and he said nothing to make her think differently. He talked about his writing, and encouraged her to talk about her own.

“You must write if that’s how you feel,” he told her firmly.

“Yes, I know.” She smiled a little ruefully. “But it’s so hard. Just living seems to take up so much time. And effort. I know now why there were so few women writers in the past. It’s very difficult to be married and to write. I’ve been remembering quite frequently that Jane Austen was single.”

“I’m sure Rick doesn’t mind your writing,” he said carefully.

“Of course he doesn’t,” she answered quickly. Too quickly. “It’s just that ordinary things seem to take so much out of me. But that’s my fault, not his. Why, when I look at my mother, I realize what a mountain I make out of nothing at all. She had two children and managed to find the time to be a working anthropologist, a college teacher who has published a number of articles in her field, a wife and an energetic clubwoman. I often just sit back and look at her in amazement.”

“You feel things more,” Martin said slowly, his eyes on her delicate, wistful face. He resisted, with difficulty, the desire to reach out and touch her. “You give one hundred percent of yourself to everything you do. With you, nothing is part-time. You may not do as much as your mother, but I’ll wager you get a lot more out of what you do do.”

“Well,” said Susan with an obvious attempt at lightness, “that’s a comforting thought. I’ll try to hold on to it.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to be boring you with my complaints, Martin. It’s ridiculous. I have all the modern conveniences, all the help I want to ask for. I’m just making excuses.”

They were together on the beach again and Martin’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to the slenderness of her throat, the high fullness of her breasts. He lay back on the blanket and shaded his eyes from the sun. “You don’t have the two things every writer needs,” he said quietly from behind his shielding hand. “Uninterrupted time and a place to work.”

Susan gave a heartfelt sigh. “I’ll have it when we get home,” she said. She too moved from a sitting position to lie on her stomach and prop her chin on her hands.

“It’s all this moving around these last few months that’s thrown me so. I’m a dreadful creature of habit.”

“Rick is a bird on the wing, isn’t he?” Martin asked in an expressionless voice.

“He has to be, I’m afraid.” She turned her head and he uncovered his eyes to look at her. “I’m enough of a writer to resent sometimes the upheaval of husbands and babies, but not enough of a writer to do without them.” She smiled a little wryly. “It’s the classic feminist dilemma, I fear.”

Martin’s hazel eyes looked gravely back into hers. Their faces were very close together. Then he glanced up. “Rick!” he said. “I didn’t see you coming.”

Ricardo didn’t answer but stood next to the sand chair looking down at them. Susan smiled at her husband. “Did you win?” she asked. There had been a preseason game that afternoon.

“No, we lost.” He did not smile back but looked down at her out of half-shut eyes. She sat up and pushed the hair off of her face.

“What was the score?” asked Martin with an attempt at casualness. Ricardo’s eyes moved, consideringly, to his face.

“Seven—four,” he said.

Susan picked up her sunglasses and put them on. She sensed the tension, Martin thought. “Ricky didn’t wake up in time for me to come by,” she said. “Did anything special happen?”

“No.” Ricardo’s eyes were very dark and there was a decidedly grim look at his mouth. Then his gaze shifted to Martin and the message in that dark stare was unmistakable.

Martin rose to his feet. “Well, I’ll be pushing off. Good to see you, Rick.” He looked at Susan. She was so very sweet, he thought. So very vulnerable. “Remember what I said,” he told her.

She gave him a fleeting smile and then looked again, nervously, at her husband. Martin felt his stomach muscles clench. There was nothing he could do. He managed to return her smile and give a casual wave to Ricardo before he walked away, on rigid legs, down the beach toward the parking lot.

There was silence between Ricardo and Susan after he had left and then Susan started to lie down again. “What did Harrison mean, to remember what he said?” Ricardo asked, and she rose up again and looked at him.

“Oh,” she answered uncomfortably, “he just told me to keep on writing. He was trying to be encouraging.”

“And I am not encouraging,” he said flatly.

“I didn’t say that,” she protested.

“I see. I’m glad to hear that.” He looked at her, measuringly, and then said, “I’m going to swim and then we’ll go back to the hotel. It’s getting late.” He looked at Ricky, who was lying in his basket under the umbrella waving his fists. “Unless you would like to swim first? You must be hot from lying here in the sun.”

His courteous offer set her teeth on edge. He was out of temper, and she didn’t know why. “No,” she replied quietly, “I’m fine. Martin watched him for me before. You go ahead.” She watched as he went down to the water’s edge and dived in. What could have happened today to put him in such a rotten mood, she wondered. He was making her nervous. She hated it when he was annoyed with her. But she hadn’t done anything, she thought in bewilderment. It must have been something that happened during the game. Oh well, she thought with determined optimism, he was hot and he had lost. A swim and dinner should cheer him up.

Chapter Ten

They went back to the hotel and Ricardo watched the news while she bathed and fed Ricky. He was still sitting in front of the TV when she came out of the bathroom from her shower and said, with determined cheerfulness, “The bathroom’s free if you want a shower.” He got up without a word and went inside.

Susan took special pains with her appearance, putting on mascara, which she rarely used, and choosing a hot-pink dress with spaghetti straps and a full skirt. It was a good foil for her tan and her pale hair and, Ricardo had said he liked it when she bought it. She clasped a thin gold chain around her throat and was putting on earrings when Ricardo came out of the bathroom. He had a white towel wrapped around his waist and he was scowling.

“I cut myself shaving,” he said with great annoyance, and Susan jumped up.

“Oh dear. Let me see it.”

“It’s all right. But I can’t find the alcohol.”

“It’s in the closet,” she said immediately, and went to fetch it for him. He took it from her and went back into the bathroom. He left the door open, and as he raised his hand to apply the cotton swab to his chin Susan saw the muscles in his back ripple. Then there was a knock on the door and she went to let in the girl who baby-sat for Ricky every evening.

They had dinner in the hotel dining room and were joined by Joe Hutchinson and his wife. The extra people relieved the tension between Ricardo and Susan a little and Susan found herself chattering away in a manner quite foreign to her usual quiet self. Ricardo was pleasant although he seemed a little abstracted. They said good night to the Hutchinsons in the lobby and Ricardo said, “Let’s go for a walk along the beach. I don’t want to go in yet.”

“All right,” she agreed instantly. “I’m sure Barbara won’t mind being out a little late.”

It was a beautiful night. The moon hung over the water, huge and silvery, trailing a wake of shimmering light in the dark ocean. Susan took off her high-heeled sandals and Ricardo took off his jacket and loosened his tie. They walked in silence for some time, Susan conscious with every nerve in her body of the man beside her. At first they saw a few other couples but then they came to a stretch of beach that was deserted. Ricardo stopped. Susan halted as well and turned to look at him. Barefoot in the sand, she had to look a very long way up. “Do you want to go back?” she asked.

“Not yet.” He spread out his jacket. “Let’s sit down.”

Without a word she dropped gracefully to the sand. She clasped her arms around her knees and gazed at the moon. “It’s so lovely,” she said dreamily.

Then he moved, and the sky was blotted out. “So are you,
querida
,” he said, and started to kiss her. She slipped her arms around his neck and when he laid her back onto his jacket, she went willingly, kissing him back, caressing the back of his neck with loving fingers. His lips moved from her mouth to her throat and she looked up at the moon as she felt the warmth of his mouth against her bare skin. The huge silver globe shone serenely down on them and Susan smiled a little. “Diana, the moon goddess, is watching us,” she whispered softly. His mouth moved to her breast, and through the thin cotton of her dress her nipple stood up hard. She closed her eyes and slid her fingers into his hair, holding him against her. “Ricardo,” she breathed.

“Mmm,” he answered, his voice muffled by her body. He slipped a hand under her skirt and began to caress her bare leg. For the first time Susan realized what he intended.

“Ricardo!” she said in a very different tone, and tried to sit up. He moved easily so his body was across hers and, locking his mouth on hers, he stifled her protests. But Susan was horrified. They were lying right out in the open. Anyone could come along. “Ricardo,” she hissed when he finally took his mouth away, “stop this. Now. This instant.”