Now and Forever Page 10
“It must have looked great on her. Did she try it with the cream satin shirt?”
“Yup. Bought them both, and the new green velvet pantsuit. That lady must have money burning holes in her pockets.” Yeah. And loneliness burning holes in her heart. Jessie had had a taste of it now. She knew.
“She’ll be back,” Katsuko added.
“I hope so. Even if she doesn’t buy. I like her. Anything taking shape for the fashion show?”
“I had a few ideas yesterday, Jessie. I made some notes and left them on your desk.”
“I’ll go take a look.” She stretched lazily and wandered toward her office, carrying her coffee. It was a slow morning, and she felt as if she had come back after a very long absence, a long illness maybe. She felt slow and careful and frail. And everything looked suddenly different. The shop looked so sweet, the two girls so pretty … Ian so beautiful … the sky so blue … everything seemed better and more.
She read her mail, paid some bills, changed the window, and discussed the fashion show with Katsuko while Zina waited on customers. The morning sped by, and Ian was there five minutes before noon. With an armload of roses. The delicate salmon ones Jessie loved best.
“Ian! They’re fabulous!” There were about three dozen, and she could see an awkward square lump in his jacket pocket. He was spoiling her and she loved it. He smiled at her and headed toward her office.
“Can I see you for a minute, Mrs. Clarke?”
“Yes, sir. For three dozen roses you can see me for several weeks!” The two girls laughed and Jessie followed Ian into her office. He closed the door gently and grinned at her.
“Have a nice morning?”
“You brought me back to this secluded spot to ask me if I had a nice morning?” He was grinning and she was starting to giggle. “Come on, tell the truth. Is it bigger than a breadbox?”
“What?”
“The surprise you bought me, of course.”
“What surprise? I buy you roses and you want more! You greedy spoiled miserable …” But he was looking too pleased with himself to convince even Jessie. “Oh … here.” He pulled the box out of his pocket and grinned from ear to ear. It was a solid chunk of gold bracelet; inside it was engraved ALL MY LOVE, IAN. He had literally stood over the jewelers all morning while they did the engraving. It was no time to spend money, but he’d known that she needed something like that, and it had suddenly come to him as he’d sat down to work. It was a beautiful bracelet, and the proportions were just right for her hand. It had cost him the last of his private savings.
“Oh, darling … it’s beautiful.” She slipped it onto her wrist and it held there. “Wow. It’s just perfect! Oh Ian … you’re crazy!”
“I happen to be madly in love with you.”
“I’m beginning to think you struck oil, too. You spent a fortune this morning.” But there was no edge to her voice, only pleasure, and Ian shrugged. “Wait till I show the girls!” She planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth, opened the door, and bumped into Zina, who was walking past to the stockroom. “Look at my bracelet!”
“My, my! Does that mean you’re engaged to the handsome man with the roses?” She giggled and winked at Ian.
“Oh, shut up. Isn’t it super?”
“It’s gorgeous. And all I want to know is where you find another one like him.”
“Try Central Casting.” Ian looked over Jessie’s shoulder with a grin.
“I might just do that.” Zina disappeared into the stockroom, and, with a look of victory, Jessie showed her new bracelet to Katsuko. A few minutes later, she and Ian were on their way out the door to lunch.
“Boy, I love my bracelet!” She was like a child with a new toy, and held up her arm to look at it in the sunlight. “Darling, it’s just gorgeous! And how did you get them to engrave it so fast?”
“At gunpoint, of course. How else?”
“Oh, for Chrissake … you know, you really have a lot of class.”
“For a rapist.” But he was smiling when he said it.
“Ian!”
“Yes, my love?” He kissed her and she laughed as she got into the car. He had more style than any man she knew.
They went to the movies that night, and slept late on Sunday morning. It was another warm blue day, with puffy, pasted-on-looking clouds that rolled along high in the sky, looking like painted scenery.
“Want to go to the beach, Mrs. Clarke?” He stretched lazily on his side of the bed and then reached over and kissed her. She liked the feel of his beard stubble against her cheek. It was rough but it didn’t quite hurt.
“I’d love to. What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
“You’re lying. It must be nine.”
“I am not. Open your eyes and take a look.”
“I can’t. I’m still asleep.”
But he nibbled her neck and made her laugh and her eyes flew open.
“Stop that!”
“I will not. Get up and make me breakfast.”
“Slave driver. Haven’t you ever heard of women’s lib?” She lay on her back sleepily and yawned.
“What’s that?”
“Women’s lib. It says husbands have to cook breakfast on Sunday … but … on the other hand.” She looked at her bracelet again with a broad smile. “It doesn’t say you have to give your wife such gorgeous jewelry. So maybe I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Beulah Big Heart, don’t knock yourself out.”
“I won’t. Fried eggs okay?” She lit a cigarette and sat up.
“I have a better idea.”
“The Fairmont for brunch?” She grinned at him and flashed the bracelet again.
“No. I’ll help. You’re too busy waving your bracelet at me to make us a decent breakfast anyway. How about a smoked-oyster-and-cheese omelette?” He looked enchanted with the combination and Jessie made a terrible face.
“Yerchk! Can we skip the smoked oysters?”
“Why not skip the cheese?”
“How about skipping the omelette?”
“The Fairmont for breakfast, then?”
“Ian, you’re crazy … but I love you.” She nibbled at his thigh and he ran a hand down the smoothness of her spine.
It was another hour before they got out of bed. Even their lovemaking was different now. There was an odd combination of desperation and gratitude, of “Oh God, I love you” mixed with “Let’s pretend everything’s better than normal.” It wasn’t, but the pretense helped. A little. Their motors were still racing a little too fast.
“Are we or are we not going to the beach today?” He sat up in bed, his blond hair tousled like a boy’s.
“Sounds fine to me, but I still haven’t been fed yet.”
“Aww … poor baby. You didn’t want my smoked-oyster omelette.”
She tugged at a lock of his hair. “I prefer what I got instead.”
“Shame on you.”
She stuck out her tongue at him, got out of bed, and headed for the kitchen.
“Where are you going bare-assed like that?”
“To the kitchen, to make breakfast. Any objection?”
“Nope. Need a voyeur on hand?”
A minute later she heard the garden door slam and then saw him reappear in the kitchen, wearing a blanket around his waist and carrying a mixed bouquet of her petunias.
“For the lady of the house.”
“Sorry, she’s out. Can I have them instead?” She kissed him gently and took the flowers from his hand and set them down on the drainboard as he took her into his arms and let the blanket fall to the floor.
“Darling, I happen to love you madly, but if you don’t stop, the bacon will burn and we’ll never get to the beach.”
“Do you care?” They were both smiling and the bacon was splattering furiously while the eggs began to bubble.
“No. But we might as well eat while it’s ready. Damn.” He patted her behind and she turned off the flame and served scrambled eggs, bacon, to
ast, orange juice, and coffee. Still naked, they sat down to breakfast.
They didn’t get to the beach until almost three, but it was still a beautiful day and the sun stayed warm until six. They had a fish dinner in Sausalito on the way home, and he bought her a silly little dog made out of seashells.
“I love it. Now I feel like a tourist.”
“I thought you should have something really expensive to remember this evening with.” They were in high spirits as they crossed the bridge going home, but his words struck her oddly. Suddenly they were buying souvenirs and clutching at memories.
“Hey, sweetheart, how’s the book coming?”
“Better than I want to admit. Don’t ask me yet.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
She looked at him, pleased. He looked almost proud of himself and a little bit afraid to be.
“Have you sent any of it to your agent yet?”
“No, I want to wait till I finish a few more chapters before I do that. But I think this one is good. Maybe even very good.” He said it with a solemnity that touched her. He hadn’t sounded like that about his work in years. Not since the fables, and they had been very good. Not very profitable, but definitely good. The critics had certainly agreed, even if the public hadn’t.
On the way home, they stopped outside the yacht club near the bridge and turned off the lights and the motor. It was nice to sit and watch the water lap at a small lip of beach while the foghorns bleated softly in the distance. They were both oddly tired, as though each day were an endless journey. Their few days of trauma had taken a heavy toll. She noticed it in the heavy way he slept now, and she herself felt tired all the time, no matter how happy she was again. There was a new passion, too. A new need, a new hunger for each other, as though they must stock up for a long empty winter. They had rough times ahead. This was just the beginning.
“Want to go out for an ice cream cone?” There was a restless look around his eyes.
“Honestly? No. I’m bushed.”
“Yeah. Me too. And I want to do some reading tonight. The chapter I just finished.”
“Can I read some too?”
“Sure.” He looked pleased as he started the car and headed for home. It was funny how neither of them wanted to go home. The stop near the yacht club, the offer of an ice cream cone—what was the lurking demon they feared at home? Jessica wondered; but she knew who her private demon was. Inspector Houghton. She constantly expected him to jump out at her and take Ian back into custody. She had thought about it all day at the beach, wondering if he would spring from behind a dune and try to spirit Ian away. She hadn’t said anything to Ian. Neither of them ever spoke of his arrest now. It was all either of them could think of, and the only thing they wouldn’t talk about.
He was stretched out in front of the fire reading his manuscript when she decided that she had to remind him. She hated to bring it up, but somebody had to.
“Don’t forget about tomorrow, love.” She said it softly, regretfully.
“Huh?” He had been deep into his work.
“I said don’t forget about tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?” He looked blank.
“We have a ten o’clock appointment with Martin Schwartz.” She tried to make it sound like a double appointment with the hairdresser, but it didn’t come off like that. Ian looked up at her and didn’t say a word. His eyes said it all.
Chapter 10
The meeting with Martin Schwartz was sobering. Sitting there with him, having to discuss the charges, they couldn’t hide from it anymore. Jessica felt sick as she sat and listened. It was real now. She even felt sick thinking of the security she had put up. It came home to her now. She had put everything on the line. The house. The shop’s profits. Even the emerald ring. Everything … Jesus … and what if Ian panicked and ran? What if … my God … she’d lose it all. She looked at him, feeling a lump rise in her throat, and tried to concentrate on what was being said. She almost couldn’t hear. She just kept thinking of the fact that she needed one man so desperately that she had given all for him. And now what would happen?
Martin explained the preliminary hearing to them, and they agreed to hire an investigator to see what could be learned of the “victim.” Plenty, they hoped, and all of it unsavory. They were not going to be kind to Miss Margaret Burton. Destroying her was Ian’s only way out.
“There’s got to be a reason for it though, Ian. Think about it Carefully. Did you rough her up in some way? Sexually? Verbally? Humiliate her? Hurt her?” Martin looked at Ian pointedly, and Jessie looked away. She hated the uncomfortable look on Ian’s face. “Ian?” And then Martin looked at her. “Jessie, maybe you ought to let us have this out alone for a few moments.”
“Sure.” It was a relief to leave the room. Ian didn’t look up as she left. They were down to the nitty-gritty now. Of who had done what to whom, where, how, for how long, and how often. He died thinking of what Jessie would hear in court at the trial.
She wandered the carpeted halls, looking at prints on the wall, smoking, alone with her own thoughts, until she found a small love seat placed near a window with the same splendid view as the one from Martin’s office. She had a lot to think about.
A secretary came to get her half an hour later and escorted her back to Martin’s office. Ian looked harassed and Martin was scowling. Jessie tried to make light of it.
“Did I miss all the good parts?” But her smile was forced and they didn’t try to return it.
“According to Ian, there were no ‘good’ parts. It must have something to do with a personal grudge.”
“Against Ian? Why? Did you know her?” She turned to her husband with a look of surprise. She had understood that the woman was a stranger to him.
“No. I didn’t know her. But Martin means that she was out to hurt someone, anyone, maybe just a man, and I came along at the wrong time.”
“You can say that again.”
“I just hope we can prove it, Ian. Green ought to come up with something on her.”
“He’d better, at twenty bucks an hour.” Ian frowned again and looked at Jessie, as she nodded almost imperceptibly. This was no time to get tight with money. They’d find it wherever they had to, but they couldn’t skimp on this.
Martin explained the preliminary to them once more to make sure it was clear. It was a sort of mini-trial at which the plaintiff/victim and the defendant would state their sides of the story, and the judge would decide if the matter should be dropped, or go on to a higher court for an ultimate decision—in this case, to trial. Martin held out no hope that the matter would be dropped. The opposing stories were equally vehement, the circumstances cloudy. No judge would take it upon himself to decide a case like that at the preliminary stage. It didn’t help that the woman had maintained the same job for years and was respected where she worked. And there were certain psychological aspects of the case that made Martin Schwartz exceedingly uncomfortable: the fact that Ian was being virtually supported by his wife and hadn’t had a successful book in a number of years, though he’d been writing for almost six, could have produced a certain resentment against women; at least, a good prosecutor could make it look that way. The investigator would be out to talk to Ian that afternoon or the following morning.
Jessie and Ian rode down in the elevator in silence, and Jessie finally spoke as they reached the street.
“Well, babe, what do you think?”
“Nothing good. Sounds like if we don’t dig up some dirt on her, she’s got me by the balls. And according to Schwartz, the courts frown on that kind of character assassination these days. But in this case, it’s our only hope. It’s her version against mine, and of course the medical testimony too, but that sounds pretty weak. They can tell that there was intercourse, but no one can tell if it was rape. The assault charge has already been dropped. Now we’re just down to the nitty-gritty and my ‘sexual aberrations.’ ” Jessica nodded and said nothing.
“Want me to leave you the car, love? I can walk home.” Ian prepared to get out after he drove her to the shop.
“No, darling, I … actually, come to think of it, I’m going to need it today. Does that louse you up?” She was trying to sound pleasant, but she had just had a thought. She needed the car today, and there were no maybe’s about it, whether it loused him up or not.
“No sweat. I’ve got the Swedish sex bomb if I need it.” He was referring to his Volvo, and she grinned.
“Want to come in for a cup of coffee?” But neither of them felt talkative. The morning’s interview had left them feeling pensive and distant from each other.
“No, I’ll let you get to work. I want to spend a little time by myself.” It was pointless to ask him if he was upset. They both were.
“Okay, love. I’ll see you later.” At the door to the boutique they parted with a quick kiss.
She rapidly took refuge in her office and made an appointment for one-thirty. It was the only thing she could think of. Ian would be crushed, but what choice did she have? And he was in no position to object.
“Well, what do you think?”
She hated the man’s looks and resented him already. He was fat and oily and sly.
“Not bad. Pretty slinky little number. How’s it look under the hood?”
“Impeccable.” He was examining the little red Morgan as if it were a piece of meat in a supermarket or a hooker in a bordello. Jessie’s skin crawled; this felt like selling their child into white slavery. To this fat nauseating man.
“You in a hurry to sell her?”
“No. Just curious about the price I might get for it.”
“Why do you want to sell her? Need the bread?” He looked Jessie over carefully.
“No. I need a larger car.” But it was all very painful. She still remembered her astonishment and delight the day Ian had driven up in the Morgan and handed her the keys, with a broad grin on his face. Victory. And now it would be like selling her heart. Or his.