Private affairs : a novel (19 page)

"Well, I don't believe that for a minute," Lydia said the next evening when Elizabeth came to pick up Peter and Holly, who had spent Sunday with their grandparents. "Matt wouldn't let your marriage suffer over a few newspapers. Come sit in the courtyard for a few minutes. Have some iced tea and relax; you look exhausted. Have you had dinner?"

"We grabbed a bite," Elizabeth said. "I am tired; a day of rest now and then would be nice." She followed Lydia through the house to the placita, where roses climbed on trellises and chrysanthemums grew against the surrounding adobe walls. "Wherever you live, you make the most beautiful garden I ever saw." She took the cold glass Lydia handed her and sat back with a sigh on a cushioned chaise. The house was in the hills of Tesuque and the air was cooling as the sun set. "Better than Albuquerque; it's so hot there, even at night. Where are Peter and Holly?"

"In the garage with Spencer. He's been cleaning it out for weeks; I have no idea why. Your children are worried about you."

"About me?"

"About their family. They say they haven't much of one."

"I told them we'd have a rough six months and then get back to normal. Do they think I didn't mean it?"

"They think you won't be able to control it."

"Oh. Well, assuming my husband and I stay friends, I can."

"Friends! You'll be lovers and partners and everything else you've been since you bought your paper; that doesn't disappear just because a man has a new job dangled in front of him. Matt's going through a stage; it won't be long before he stops chasing moonbeams and comes back to the Chieftain."

Elizabeth shook her head. "He won't come back to the Chieftain; he wants the moonbeams. And the point is, Mother, I can't tell him not to go after them, because I want some of my own."

"What does that mean?"

Elizabeth finished her iced tea, set the glass on the table beside her, and put back her head, looking at the darkening sky and the first planets blinking above the mountains, as bright as tiny spotlights. "It means Matt isn't the only one who's dazzled. I don't know why Keegan chose us, or what he really wants, but that doesn't mean I'm not excited about the possibility of a newspaper chain that stretches from Los Angeles to Houston. Do you know how many hundreds of thousands of readers I'd have for 'Private Affairs'? And space! I could write twice a week, three times

. . . When I think about it, I'm like Matt, itching to get started and see what I can do; I can almost hear the applause. Can I turn my back on that?"

Lydia's face was blank. "I never knew you were ambitious."

There is nothing wrong with ambition. "It's not a weakness to want applause, Mother."

"But if it hurts your marriage? You were worried about staying friends with Matt."

"I didn't mean that. We're worn out, we have too much to do, and sometimes we snap at each other." Elizabeth stood and slipped her shoulder bag over her arm. "Time to go; Peter and Holly want to come to Albuquerque tomorrow, and Matt and Saul are working on fall plans for the Chieftain and I want to be in on the features part. Saul's so good he really doesn't need us, but we like to keep in touch." She bent and kissed Lydia. "Don't worry about us. I can't be an obstacle in Matt's path; I have to be with him all the way. But the closer I stay, the more we can talk and understand each other and want the same things."

They walked together into the house. "Are you sure you know what you want?" Lydia asked.

Elizabeth gave a small laugh. "I want all of it. My husband, my children, our partnership, and applause just for me. Maybe it's too much, but why shouldn't I try? I'm almost forty-two and I've never felt younger or more full of energy. When would I try, if not now?" She kissed Lydia good-bye, called Peter and Holly, and met them at the car. And it was as she was driving home, listening to them tell her about their day, that she thought over what she had said to her mother and realized how many times she had said "I."

For all my brave talk, how much do I still believe in "We"?

"We're looking for an assistant editor at the paper," said Saul casually as he started the car.

"Which department?" Heather asked, settling beside him.

"Those special sections Elizabeth started."

She nodded, keeping her face calm. She and Saul had talked dozens of times about the possibility of her working at the paper when the budget allowed it, but now she refused to ask for it.

Saul knew that stubborn silence, and knew she would not risk being accused of taking advantage of their affair. "You could handle it," he said.

She nodded again. "Probably."

"You've helped us plan them; you used to help Elizabeth when she needed it. ..."

"I know."

"You wanted to be an assistant so you could learn the newspaper business. And you learn faster than anyone I know."

"But you've told me I'm foolish for turning down your generous offer of marriage. If I am so foolish, how can I handle the job of assistant editor at the Chieftain?"

"You're being childish."

She sighed. "That is one of your favorite lines."

"The two have nothing to do with each other. You'd make a superb assistant editor. But if the idea is painful, don't take the job."

"I don't know if it would be painful. How much would we be working together?"

"Some days intimately; others not at all."

She nodded. "I might enjoy that."

Which? Saul wondered, his face longer and more melancholy than usual. Remember, he told himself, you were thirteen when this young woman was born; you're supposed to be a wise and mature man of the world. Act like it. He turned onto Camino Rancheros, slowing to avoid sending up clouds of dust from the road. "I don't think of you as a child," he said. "If I did, I wouldn't want to marry you."

"Yes, so you've said before."

"I've said that before?"

"Something like it." She looked at him. "I do not want to marry you. I do not want to marry anyone. I like being in bed with you and you like it, too; I like going places with you and you like it, too; that should satisfy you."

"It doesn't satisfy me."

"It satisfied you with other women for thirty-eight years—"

"Thirty-seven, God damn it! I'm only thirty-seven!"

A smile curved the corners of her full mouth and her green eyes danced. "I'm sorry; I forget."

"You do not forget. You remember everything."

She nodded, suddenly somber. "Yes. I do."

Saul put his hand on hers. "Heather. Darling Heather. All men are not like that son of a bitch you followed to Santa Fe. I don't resemble him in the slightest. You can't live your entire life in fear of being hurt because you trusted someone."

"But I can go slowly. I'm only twenty-four."

"Yes, so you've told me before."

"We're repeating ourselves," she said. "Like an old married couple. What time will Holly and Peter be ready?"

Saul gave a resigned shrug. "At three. Or have I said that before?"

"You're behaving like a child."

He burst out laughing. "You win," he said, and as he pulled to a stop at the Lovells' house he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss.

"Nice," Peter said, getting into the back seat. "Nice to see you two getting along for a change."

"Peter," Heather said mildly, "that is very personal."

"Just a comment. I'm interested in people who get along with each other."

"Why?" Saul asked.

"Because my parents don't seem to these days."

Holly appeared and got in the car next to Peter. "Don't seem to what?"

"Get along," answered Peter.

"You don't know anything about it," Holly protested. "We don't see enough of them to know whether they do or not."

"Now that is a true statement," Peter said moodily.

"We are sitting in a car on a lovely Saturday afternoon," Saul pointed out. "Your parents enjoy knowing the four of us are together. I'd like to enjoy it, too. Does anyone have a suggestion on how to do that?"

"We go to Nuevo," Peter said.

Saul turned in his seat. "Peter, you may have a standing invitation but we don't, and I'm not about to make that trip twice in one day to take you and bring you back."

"We're invited," Holly said. "Isabel made dinner because she was expecting Mother and when I called she said we should come."

"She was expecting Mother because Mother promised to come," Peter added. "Another one of Mother's promises."

"That's not fair!" Holly said angrily. "Why are you so down on her? She keeps as many as she can. And she really meant to see Isabel today; she just decided at the last minute she ought to go to Houston with Daddy instead."

"Right." Peter slumped in his seat. "The big man always comes first, and after him the goddam newspaper, and somewhere along the line the rest of us. Are we going to Nuevo or not?" he asked Saul.

Saul looked at Heather. "What would you like?"

"Let's take Peter to Nuevo. Holly, what about you?"

"I want to go there, too. Luz is expecting me."

"Well, then, we'll go. And we'll eat with Isabel so her dinner won't be unappreciated."

Saul started the car and the conversation divided, Saul and Heather talking in low voices in the front seat, Peter and Holly in the back, their

murmurs unintelligible beneath the rush of cooled air that kept the dusty August heat from the car. But as Saul made the turn into Nuevo, Peter leaned forward, looking out the window, then suddenly commanded, "Stop here!"

Saul jammed on the brakes. "Well, really," Heather said, rubbing her neck where the shoulder belt bit into it when she jerked forward. But then she followed Peter's gaze and saw Maya, sitting on a bench in front of the general store. "Oh, well," she said mildly.

"Thanks," Peter said, and was out of the car in an instant.

"Nine o'clock!" Saul called after him. "We're leaving at nine!"

Peter waved over his shoulder, but he was looking at Maya. "Hi," he said.

She stood up. "I thought you weren't coming." She was small and dark, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. Her black hair, cut in straight bangs above solemn black eyes, was held behind her ears by a band of hammered sterling silver, and her long white dress was belted with silver loops. The gauzy fabric made Peter think of a nightgown, especially when she moved. The sun was behind her and her long slim legs were outlined against her dress, and he was struggling to deal with the ideas of nightgown and bare legs and the swelling tightness in his crotch when she came close to him and put both hands on his chest. "I was thinking, if you didn't come, I'd go to your house."

"You'd what?" He was having trouble breathing. She smelled like roses and sage and his arms came up and folded themselves around her. "Why? I mean, how would you get there?"

"Who cares? Hitch-hike. Mama says she wants me to be more Spanish; she wants me to live in Argentina—"

"Argentina! Jesus Christ, that's another continent!"

"—with her cousin in Buenos Aires. Peter what am I going to do? If I go away you'll forget me. That was why I wanted to go to your house—to tell you this."

Maya's arms were around Peter's neck; her face was turned up to his and Peter, with a long sigh that was more nearly a groan, lifted her in his arms and kissed her. They had kissed and hugged and his hands had wandered about the delicate lines of her body before, but this was different: Maya opened her mouth beneath his, her little tongue danced and licked and curled about his, and then, as he held her against him, she wrapped her legs about his hips, clinging to him as if she were a drowning swimmer.

Peter thought he was going to burst. He was so swollen he hurt, and when Maya tightened her legs to keep from slipping and pressed more

firmly against him, he got even harder and he had to do something: get away from her so he could open his pants and relieve the pressure or take her somewhere and get inside her where he'd wanted to be for weeks, lying in bed every night going crazy imagining Maya under him, on top of him, touching him, kissing him, , . .

He pulled his mouth from hers. "Listen," he said, but only a strangled sound came out. He set her down on the dusty path and tried to take a breath. "Can we? Go? Somewhere?"

Maya took his hand and they walked across the town to the river on the other side, and a road that followed it up the valley. They walked in silence, hand in hand, Peter taking long ragged breaths, trying to walk steadily and purposefully instead of lurching beside Maya, who seemed so calm he felt like an oaf. They came to a barn—"My father's," Maya said. "He stores grain here in the winter"—and, pushing open the door, they went into its musty coolness. A thin line of sunlight lay across the floor, pointing to a pile of hay in the corner. "No one ever comes here," she said. "It's my special private place."

"I love you," Peter said.

She looked at him solemnly. "You don't have to say that. I already want you to make love to me. I don't need to be—"

"Damn it, I love you! Don't tell me what I can't do!" He stopped. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to yell."

She smiled. "Do you think we could sit down?"

"God, yes."

A folded plaid blanket lay nearby and they spread it on the hay. "I use it when I come here to read," Maya said. "And think."

"About what?"

"You." She lay her head against his chest, curling her legs under her. "I love you, too. I won't go to Argentina. I'll run away and get a job and when I have enough money I'll go to college wherever you are and get lots of learning so you won't be ashamed—"

Peter kissed her. He unhooked the clasp on her silver belt and then his hand found her leg beneath her skirt and slid up its smooth curve. He wished he were casual and experienced, he wished he weren't so afraid of hurting her, he wished she would help him. But Maya kept her arms around his neck, her head back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and he suddenly realized he couldn't tell whether she was in ecstasy or scared to death.

But he couldn't wait to find out. He yanked open his jeans and slid them off, taking his underpants with them, feeling euphoric as the pres-sure eased. Confidence surged through him; with one motion he pulled