Carla (6 page)

“What happened to her?”

“She left after a while. I learned a few years later that Dad had hired her for that purpose and I hadn't seduced her at all. He paid her a few hundred dollars a week to accommodate me and let her go when he figured I was broken in. Why are you laughing?”

“Because it's funny. He must have been quite a man.”

“He was a fool,” Charles said softly. “But in some respects he was a very wise man.”

He fell silent then and began to kiss her with an increasing intensity, his hands roaming over her body and exciting her. And then he took her a second time, almost violent in his lovemaking, hurting her delightfully and driving her to the very limits of human pleasure.

As the days passed, Carla began to realize that she was falling in love with Charles. The realization came as no surprise. Bit by bit she was depending more and more upon him and responding still more fervently to the artistry of his lovemaking. For the first time in her life she felt that she was genuinely in love. She had given herself to men before and wanted men before, but she had never cared so deeply about an individual as she did about Charles. All of her being was wrapped up in him and all her day was centered around the few hours they were able to spend together each afternoon. She was unable to imagine living without him. The memory of the days without end when she did nothing but stay at home or ride around in the MG was unbearable. She couldn't lose him.

At the same time, for the first three days of her affair with Charles she continued to receive phone calls when she was not at home. Each time it was a man calling, and each time the man refused to leave his name but said that he would call back. Probably some jerk selling something, she decided—but the jerk stood a good chance of getting her in trouble. If he called often enough Lizzie would begin to suspect something, and that would be pretty ironic—since Charles
never
called, and she would be discovered because of the phonecalls of someone else entirely.

She tried to figure out who the mysterious caller could be. Not one of her old friends, certainly, because she was never close enough to anyone back in her old neighborhood. Besides, they didn't know she was now Mrs. Ronald Macon.

Who else? Probably a salesman or someone soliciting for a charity, but could it be anyone else? The only man she had met lately was that grease-monkey at the gas station, and he didn't even know who she was.

No, it couldn't be him.

Each day the calls disturbed her just that much more. Not only was it a nuisance to keep missing a phonecall, but in addition the possibility of discovery became increasingly unattractive. Ronald's case was occupying the bulk of his time and leaving him so tired each evening that he seemed almost at the point of collapse. Carla could see that he was completely wrapped up in it, seeing it as representing not only his fortune but the professional reputation he had established. If he could win the case, his career would be crowned with success. Carla knew how Ronald always drove himself harder than was necessary. He had inherited the bulk of his money, and he found it necessary to continually prove to himself that he could have done all right on his own. He felt guilty over having inherited the greater part of his wealth through no effort on his part, and by excelling in his profession he was able to assuage these guilt feelings.

But, as he said more than once, this case was one which could go either way. He maintained that his client was in the right; proving this, however, was another matter. And one breath of scandal could ruin everything completely.

Carla was constantly alert, trying to detect some sign that her love affair was noticed by somebody else. Try as she might she was unable to detect a clue. Lizzie seemed to be acting a bit differently lately, but this didn't seem in any way connected. Ronald's only change was the attitude of detachment which always went hand in hand with total absorption in his work.

The doorman at the Tiffany glanced knowingly at her each afternoon, but she discounted him quickly enough. She knew that she was by no means the first woman to visit Charles in his apartment, and she guessed that the gray-haired doorman ought to be used to that sort of thing by now. The management of the Tiffany didn't care about the private behaviour of their residents—not as long as the rent was paid and the residents were fairly discreet. Charles had told her that there was a lesbian couple on the fifth floor, and an interior decorator on the fourth floor who continually brought various men to his room for private parties. Considering this, Carla decided it was strange the doorman even gave her a second glance.

The thought of marriage to Charles began to prey on her mind until there were times when she could think of nothing else. It would be so completely different, waking up every morning with her lover beside her, eager to take her into his arms. Then too, there was the fact that she was beginning to fear losing Charles if she didn't have a firm hold on him, the type of firm hold that only marriage could give her. Although he seemed to enjoy their lovemaking just as she did, she thought at times that she detected an inner restlessness in the man, a sign that he would eventually look around for new worlds to conquer. Sometimes she would be talking to him and he would stare off into space, hardly seeming to hear a word she said. Moments like that made her nervous and worried that he might leave her. And that was one thing she felt unable to bear.

Yet she was afraid to broach the subject of marriage directly. She knew that such a step could scare off any man, particularly an accustomed and comfortable bachelor like Charles. At the same time, she couldn't help trying to work the idea into the conversation.

“Charles,” she said on their fourth afternoon together, “how come you've never married?”

He looked up. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wondered.”

“Hmmm. I don't know exactly. I've never wanted to, I guess.”

“It's strange,” she went on.

“How so?”

“Oh, I don't know. I'd think a lot of women would have wanted you to marry them.”

“I suppose a few of them did.”

“And you weren't interested?”

He shook his head. “Never, Carla. I've never thought of a woman in terms of things like marriage and babies. It just hasn't seemed proper to me. I'm happy, you see, and the thought of any curtailment of my freedom or end to my happiness automatically repels me.”

“Does marriage have to end a man's freedom?”

“Maybe not,” he said, smiling, “but it almost invariably does. Look at the average marriage—a ‘trust' based on suspicion and a delicate system of checks and balances rivalling the working of international diplomacy and leaving a man more thoroughly bound than a serf under the feudal system.

“But even that isn't the most important thing. Carla, look at the sort of relationship we have. It's one that endures simply because it's healthy and alive. As soon as one of us tires of the other, the relationship will end with no hard feelings on either side. No strings, no ties that bind—in short, nothing but mutual attraction. A relationship between a man and a woman can be a beautiful thing, but it remains beautiful only so long as it remains free and permissive.”

“I guess I understand.”

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing, darling.”

He lifted her chin in his hand. “Then why so sad? What did I say to make you unhappy, Carla?”

“Nothing.”

“There must have been something,” he said, shaking his head. “Goodness, you're almost in tears! What is it, honey?”

“It's … oh, I just wish you wouldn't talk about anything like us breaking up!” She clenched her hands into little fists to keep from crying.

He smiled. “Poor baby,” he said, stroking her cheek. “Poor little baby. You're so young in some ways and so old in others that sometimes I forget about the young part of you. In time you'll come to realize that everything has to end sometime, but now you love me and I love you and it's no time to think of such things, is it?”

She shook her head, unable to open her mouth without crying.

“I understand,” he said. “It's no time to talk about break-ups or endings or anything of the sort. Come here, Carla. Kiss me.”

She kissed him—gently at first like a child, then fiercely with the hunger and desperation of a woman who suddenly has realized that love can be a transient affair. His arms tightened around her in response to her passion and he forced her back unto the sofa. His hand closed over her breast and held it like a dove.

The world turned into a ball of fire and spun madly before her tightly-lidded eyes. Time and space ceased to matter. Only the moment was important.

She cried out once, sharply.

And then all was still.

Chapter Six

“DARLING?”

Ronald's face across the dinner table seemed troubled, and for a terrible moment she thought he knew the truth. The moment passed, however, and she realized that his trouble came from the case and not from her.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing more than usual. Except that I have to leave town tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? How come?”

He sighed. “The damned case, Carla. There's a man in New York I have to see, and I have to see him as soon as possible. I'm catching a flight down tomorrow morning, and I'm afraid I won't get back until Friday morning or afternoon.”

“I see,” she said. Instantly her heart swelled as she realized what that would mean—a whole day alone with Charles! But she contained herself and asked: “Want to tell me about it?”

“Sure.” He pushed his dessert away half-eaten and produced a cigar from his jacket pocket, puncturing the end and lighting it. “Remember I told you about Hodges?”

“The second assistant?”

“That's him. He's the main opposition witness, and the man is obviously going to lie in his teeth. It will be perjury—clear-cut perjury. But proving it is another matter.”

“I see.”

He drew deeply on the cigar and expelled a huge cloud of thick smoke. “There's a man in New York,” he went on. “A Mr. Lewis Cantrell. He will be able to offer contradictory testimony on one point, and for that reason I want to get to him at once and find out what he'll be able to say.”

“That's wonderful! Then he'll break Hodges in half, won't he?”

Ronald smiled. “Not quite, dear. His testimony is very minor, but the fact that he can refute Hodges at all will take a little of the weight off Hodge's story. I'll have to make the jury reason that, first of all, Cantrell is right and Hodges is wrong. Therefore, if Hodges can lie once he can lie a second time. Do you see what I'm getting at?”

“Of course! But I was right—this Mr. Cantrell could be the turning point in the case.”

“He could,” Ronald agreed. “That's the main reason why I'm taking a plane down tomorrow. I'd want to get to any witness in a hurry, but this is more important than usual.”

They spent the night at home, since Ronald's flight was leaving early the next morning and he wanted to be well-rested for the trip. Carla's mind was disturbed by her own reaction to the news. Despite the fact that she was spending her afternoons with Charles, Ronald was still her husband and her first loyalty should be to him. Yet her chief emotional reaction was one of joy at the prospect of a night with Charles. Instead of being thrilled at the thought of a possible break in Ronald's big case, she was only glad that he would be out-of-town for the day.

What was the matter with her? She reasoned quickly that this was a sign, a sign to show her that she ought to be married to Charles and not to Ronald. And yet she hadn't dared to do more than hint vaguely at the prospect that afternoon, and Charles was about as enthusiastic over the allusion as a small boy over the idea of a bath. She wanted Charles desperately, and she made up her mind that she would get what she wanted. She always had done so, ever since she vowed so long ago that she would never be poor again.

She would make Charles need her. She needed him now, needed him more than anything else, but she knew how much he loved her body and the way it responded to his touch. In time he would come to need her, and then she could come up with the ultimatum: no more lovemaking unless he married her.

That, she decided, ought to do it.

In bed that night, Ronald turned to her and took her in his arms. She wondered if he would try once again to make love to her and hoped that he wouldn't, knowing how disturbed he was by his failure.

“Carla,” he said softly, “I'm going to miss you. It's silly, isn't it? I'll only be gone a day, but I'll miss you.”

She didn't answer, letting her arms encircle his body and hold him against her.

“Let's go to sleep like this,” he said. “Close to each other.” Then, embarrassed, he closed his eyes and lowered his head to her breast.

Carla suddenly felt herself overflowing with compassion and affection for this man who was her husband. He was so good to her and loved her so deeply! A lump began to rise in her throat and she held him gently in her arms until they were both asleep.

Ronald was gone by the time she awoke the next morning. She raced through the ritual of shower and breakfast, impatient to get in touch with Charles. When his phone failed to answer she became mildly furious, angered at the thought of missing up on the chance for an extended period of time together. Just as she was about to hang up in disgust, Charles answered the phone.

“Darling,” she said, the words coming out in a rush, “Ronald's in New York until tomorrow morning. Isn't that wonderful?”

He laughed. “That's a fine way for a devoted wife to talk.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. It's fortunate too, because I'll be busy until later afternoon. Can you meet me around four?”