Carla (16 page)

She waited, hoping he would accept her explanation without question.

“Sure,” he said after a minute. “Sure, I get it, honey. I guess I've been pressing you too hard, huh? I'm so anxious to marry you that I can't get it off my mind. But I'll try not to bother you too much.”

She let out a breath, realizing that she had been holding it for a long time. “Okay,” she said, grinning. “Now why don't you show me how much you love me.

“Show you?”

She nodded.

“Hell, I just finished showing you.”

“Show me again.”

“You sure want a lot of showing, honey.”

She giggled.

“We-ell,” he drawled, “I guess I can force myself.”

He kicked off his shoes without bothering to untie them and removed the rest of his clothing. He turned to her and took her in his arms, and she emptied her mind of all thoughts and concentrated solely on him, on his touch and his kisses and the small private things he whispered in her ear.

Afterward, the thoughts all came back. The trial would end, of course, and then she would have to tell him. Everything was set for now, but her words had only made more difficult the job of telling him later. It would be hard, very hard.

But there was no way out. She would wait until the time came

The time came.

The trial was over suddenly, over too soon it seemed to her. Ronald had won, finishing up with a closing speech that was the finest act of his career. The jury was out less than an hour before they decided in his favor. It was the triumph of his career.

She should have been elated, and in fact she did share a good deal of his triumph. She stayed home with him that night and they cracked a bottle of premium champagne, and when she got to bed she felt a little bit high from the champagne. Maybe, she thought crazily, Danny wouldn't find out. Maybe she could tell him for years that the trial was still in progress.

The trial made the front page the next morning.

Her heart fell as she read the item. She hurled the newspaper across the room and rushed upstairs, dressing hastily. She had to find Danny at once. She had to see him, and somehow she had to make him understand that they were not going to be married. She didn't stop to figure out just how this would be accomplished, but hopped into the car and drove at once to the gas station. Her mind was turning around in circles. How could she tell him? What could she do?

She stopped for a traffic light and waited impatiently, her hands clenched tightly around the steering-wheel. When the light turned her foot pressed down on the accelerator and the car shot forward, responding at once to the pressure of her foot on the pedal. The mid-morning traffic was fairly heavy, but the little foreign car easily dodged in and out and swerved from lane to lane.

When she reached the gas station, she made a quick left turn narrowly missing another car and pulled over to the side near Danny's office. He was busy with another car at first and didn't see her. Then, when the other driver had paid him and driven from the lot, Danny turned and saw her. He raced over at once, a huge smile on his face and his arms swinging at his sides. He shoved his face through the open window and she leaned forward to meet his kiss. The kiss was long and warm; under more pleasant circumstances Carla would have enjoyed it immensely, but now her mind was too confused and tormented by the situation at hand. A customer had driven into the lot and pulled up near one of the pumps, but Danny didn't let the presence of a customer interrupt the kiss. Finally he broke off and grinned.

“I saw the news,” he said. “Christ, what a welcome headline! I've been looking for that little item every time I pick up a paper, and this morning it was there. I called you but you didn't answer. I guess you were on your way here already.”

She nodded. “I got here as fast as I could.”

The customer honked impatiently. Danny started to stand up and attend to the man, then changed his mind and put his face to the window again.

“Now we can get married,” he said.

She nodded soundlessly.

“It'll take a while,” he said. “Divorce proceedings and all—I guess they can eat up plenty of time. But we're on our way now, Carla. There's nothing standing between us and we don't have to worry about anyone finding out. Isn't it great?”

“It certainly is.” She tried to match his enthusiasm but he noticed that something was wrong and regarded her quizzically.

“What's the matter, Carla?”

“Nothing's the matter.”

His eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch. “You don't seem excited. Isn't this as exciting to you as it is to me?”

“Of course it is.” When he didn't say anything more she said, “I knew about it last night, honey. That's why I couldn't come to see you. Ronald wanted me to stay home with him for a celebration. Since I've known for over twelve hours, the excitement has worn off a little bit.”

His features relaxed into a smile. “That explains it, honey. I should have known you'd be as keyed up as I am otherwise. But why didn't you call me?”

“I did,” she said, hunting for another lie to reinforce the one she had just told. “Some woman answered and said you weren't home.”

“But I was home all night.”

Carla shrugged. “That's what she told me.”

“That's funny.” He thought for a moment. “Oh,” he said suddenly, “I know what must have happened. That old bitch Smithers pulled that once before. When she gets good and tanked up she wouldn't move an inch to call somebody to the phone and she just gives whoever calls the “He's not home” line and that's all.”

She nodded gratefully. “That's what must have happened.”

There was a squeal of rubber on pavement and Danny turned to see the car pull out of the station in a rush. “Looks like you just cost me a customer,” he said. “I better get back to work. Look, tonight we got to celebrate. You and your husband had last night together, and now it'll be our turn. Okay?”

“Okay.” She swallowed.

“Our celebration might be a lot livelier, too. I'll pick you up in front of your house around six and we'll go out for dinner. There's one place that's been a favorite of mine and I've been saving it for something special. I think you'll like it.”

“Okay,” she said lamely. “I'll be ready.” Then, driving back to her house, she felt more confused and frightened than ever.

Most of the time when she sat alone the minutes seemed to crawl. But today was different. Today she didn't want the time to pass, and the morning and afternoon flew by far too quickly. Indeed, Carla had the feeling that everything was happening too fast for her to keep up with it. In each conversation with Danny she felt lost and inadequate. She didn't want to lie to him but there never was a chance to tell him the truth. He was so caught up in his own train of thought that she couldn't possibly interrupt him, especially with something as jarring as her news would be.

She was ready at six. She said good-night to Ronald and Lizzie, telling them that she was having supper with a girl-friend. She knew that Ronald knew what she meant but it didn't matter, and she couldn't care less what Lizzie thought. She certainly had enough other things to worry about for the time being.

She felt strange riding beside Danny in the old Ford. It was not the first time she had driven in his car, but it was the first time she saw so thoroughly the contrast between it and her MG. It reinforced her conviction that she could never marry Danny Rand.

Never.

The place was as perfect as Danny had said it would be. It was a steak house in the Old English fashion, with clay pipes on the walls and suits of armor standing in the corners for decoration. They sat in a corner booth secluded from the rest of the diners, and the intimacy of the booth combined with the atmosphere of the restaurant to make it an ideal setting. And the food was delicious—as good a steak as she had ever eaten.

The dinner-table was no place for the words she had to say. Despite the food and the surroundings, Carla found it impossible to enjoy her dinner. Every minute was filled with apprehension at the thought of the impending scene between them. Every minute she wanted to blurt out the horrible but necessary words, and every minute they stuck in her throat, almost choking her emotionally.

Dinner, in its own quiet way, was hell.

The ride back was no picnic either. She rode with her head nestled comfortably on Danny's shoulder, but she was by no means comfortable. Her nerves were strung tight and her muscles were rigid—all the more rigid in view of the appearance of relaxation she struggled to maintain.

While the ride and the dinner preceding it were not comfortable, she wanted them to go on forever, so that she could prolong the terrible moment of truth. But things followed the pattern of the day and went on happening too quickly for her, and almost before she knew it the car was parked on Sagerties Avenue and Danny was holding the door open for her.

He opened the door of the house as well and followed her up the stairs. The stairs were unusually steep that evening—at least they seemed that way to her. As usual he had left his door unlocked, and when she stepped into the room he walked in after her and reached to take her in his arms.

She drew back involuntarily.

“Hey!” He grinned and reached out for her again, and once again she stepped back and avoided his embrace. His features contorted into a puzzled expression.

“Danny,” she said thinly, “sit down. These's something I have to tell you.”

He started to protest, then shrugged and sat down on the edge of the cot. Carla remained standing. She pulled a cigarette from her purse and lit it herself, extinguishing the match with a nervous flick of her wrist and letting it fall to the floor. Then she walked back and forth in the little room while he waited patiently. Finally she couldn't prolong the moment any further. She turned to him, trying to avoid his eyes, and spoke softly and quickly.

“Danny,” she said, “I am not going to marry you.”

She darted a glance at his face and then looked away, unable to gaze at the expression she saw there. It was composed of equal parts of disbelief and horror.

“If … if this is your idea of a joke—”

“It's not a joke.”

He stood up and took a hesitant step in her direction. “I think you'd better explain,” he said. “I think you better let me know just what in hell you're trying to pull.”

“Then sit down.”

“The hell I'll sit down!”

“Well, I can't talk with you breathing in my face, damn it.” He sat down, and she closed her eyes for a long moment. She wished that she could die, that she could just keep her eyes shut tight and quietly cease to exist.

She opened her eyes.

He was still sitting on the bed, waiting for her to speak. The vein in his left temple stood out in bold relief. His breath came very slowly.

For a second she wished that she hated him. If he were someone she hated, it would be pleasant to torture him, pleasant to twist the knife in between his ribs and watch him writhe in agony. But he was a man she loved,
the
man she loved, and she shared his agony.

Then, slowly and laboriously, she told him. She let him have both barrels from beginning to end and he heard her without interruption. She told him that that the expensive house
did
matter and the MG mattered and the clothes in her closet mattered. She told him that everything was fine as it was, that Ronald was agreeable and nobody would ever bother them, that she loved him but couldn't he
see
that marriage didn't make any sense?

She told him everything, but as she spoke she heard her words from his point of view and realized how hollow and ugly they must have been sounding to him. After she finished neither of them said a word for several minutes and the silence of the room was unbearable. At last he raised his eyes to hers and she saw that they were dead and dull, empty and vacuous.

“Get out,” he said.

“Danny—”

“Get out.”

Her temper flared. “Damn you, can't you understand anything? Do you think I want a passel of brats in my hair all day long? Do you think all I want to do is switch one filthy slum for another?”

“Get out,' he said when she had finished. “I made a big mistake, Carla. I fell in love with the most complete bitch that ever walked the earth.

“Get out before I throw you out.”

Chapter Sixteen

IT WAS TEN O'CLOCK
and the night was black as ink. Neither moon nor stars shone in the sky. A taxi-cab hurried along a quiet street, and the only sounds were the gentle rattling of the cab and the insistent tick of the meter as the miles rolled by.

The woman in the back seat of the taxi was huddled against the door as if she feared someone would strike her. Her brow was feverish and her hands were shaking. Her stomach felt ready to turn over any minute.

“Lady, you said I should take you to the Tiffany?”

“Yes,” the woman said. The cabby nodded shortly and revoted his attention to his driving.

The woman was Carla Macon. She was all tied up in knots—wanting to talk but having no one to talk with, wanting to cry but unable to do even that, wanting to have her cake and eat it too and discovering that such a course of action was utterly impossible.

After she had staggered blindly out of Danny's room and down the staircase and onto the street, she walked around for several minutes looking for her car. It took her a while to remember that her MG was back on Nottingham. Then a cruising cab passed, timing its entrance perfectly, and she hailed the cab and huddled into the back seat.

For a moment she hadn't known what address to give the driver. The thought of returning home didn't appeal in the least. She needed someone to talk to, and no matter how understanding Ronald was this was nothing to discuss with him. And then she thought of Charles, and realized that he was the only one she could turn to.