Chapter Twenty Four

Despite what she’d said, and a lingering ache in her shoulders, the afterglow of Ever’s experience with Stroud and Brooke lasted for several days. The memory of it drenched her in frequent waves of delight and amazement.

She was thinking about this and about how much her life had changed as she stood at the sink in Stroud’s kitchen, scrubbing leftover creamed egg from the bottom of a stainless steel saucepan. She worked at the task with concentration, thoroughness and serene patience.

The mundane chores of daily living that had become so difficult during those last days at her apartment were no longer the exhausting burden they had been. Now they were just part of the delicate network of details that made up the ongoing pleasure of her current life. She knew her happiness had never been so complete.

She was glad to have seen Brooke again. Gladder than she would have guessed. Brooke, such an enigma. She was suddenly reminded of their conversation two days ago when Stroud was out on business. He’d arrived in the afternoon to find Ever alone on the patio, reading.

He seemed oddly nonplused by Stroud’s absence. Such a rarity, Brooke caught for words, but the intent of his visit apparently changed in view of this unexpected opportunity to interview Ever privately. His inhibition vanished and his first question could hardly have surprised her more.

“Are you in love with Stroud?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You come from different worlds. How did you meet?”

“Hasn’t Stroud told you?”

“No.”

“You should ask him about it.”

“I’m asking you,” Brooke said, perhaps to test her.

“Ask Stroud,” Ever said.

Brooke smiled. “What brings a woman into such a lifestyle?”

“What brings a man?” Ever countered.

“It’s very natural for a man to want to dominate,” he said.

“Perhaps it’s natural for a woman to want to submit.”

Brooke laughed. “Not the women I’ve known!”

“Not all women are conscious of the condition,” Ever said, so softly that Brooke had to quiet down to hear her. “Even beyond consciousness there must be acknowledgement. Beyond acknowledgement, ultimately, decision.”

Their eyes locked.

“It’s difficult to just fall into it,” she said with the same quiet intensity. “Men like Stroud don’t come along every day.”

“Or men like me.”

“Or men like you,” and here her eyes dropped away again.

“Has Stroud asked you to marry him?”

“No.”

“Do you expect he will?”

“It’s not my part to expect things from Stroud,” she said evenly.

“Do you want him to?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I would have thought you’d want that. Don’t all women?”

“Not necessarily.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Your view of women is limited,” Ever said in such a way that he could not take offense without looking the fool.

He leaned his chin in his hand. “So, tell me, Mistress Ever. What should my view of women be?”

“Realistic,” Ever said simply. “Neither idealize nor dehumanize them. And don’t lump them all together. The woman of our times is extremely diverse. Men must adapt accordingly.

“That isn’t to say that certain traits you see in women will ever seem to you anything other than entirely female. Women are not men. We are your natural counterpart. Human, basically the same biologically and even physically. The differences between men and women are very simple and straightforward but the similarities far outweigh them.

“Women are strong, men are weak. Men are fastidious, women are slobs. Men raise children while women bring home the bacon. These may sound like reversals but each is a rule unto itself, just as the more common variations of these comparisons. It’s not male or female, it’s essentially human. A combination of the two. Don’t make rules. Accept what’s given when it comes.”

“Where do you and Stroud fit into all of this?”

“Human need,” Ever said. “Interchange.”

“And me?” he asked, almost sadly, Ever thought.

“You come into it for Stroud’s reasons, which become your reasons, which become my reasons.”

“Your reasons?”

“Of course. I’ve got to deal with your games. What reasons could I have?”

It was a shocking thing to say but Brooke just said, “What are your reasons?”

“I don’t know, exactly.”

“How do you feel about me?”

“I love you,” she said simply.

“But not ‘in love’?” he teased, to cover his shock.

“Maybe that,” Ever said with the same simplicity.

“What have I done to make you love me?” Brooke asked, now almost sarcastic.

“You’ve been present,” Ever said.

“Is that all?”

“You’ve given me pleasure.”

“Have I?”

“You didn’t know that?” and now her eyes touched him.

“I’ve never been sure,” Brooke said. “I’m never sure.”

Ever looked away. “I think you know by now you will not always get from me what you expect. I don’t fake for anyone. There’s beauty in every encounter.”

Brooke was studying her, smiling softly. “You’re a remarkable woman.”

“Thank you. It’s very nice to hear that.”

“Doesn’t Stroud tell you?”

“Of course, in a million ways. A man’s attention makes a woman beautiful.”

“And the whipping?”

“A man’s attention, like I said. Besides, whipping is very therapeutic, if done properly.”

“And Stroud does?”

“Stroud knows how to be master. Knows what he wants.”

“And what he wants, you want.”

“Seems to be.”

“You’re very frank,” Brooke remarked after a pause.

“I try to be.”

“When you’re with Stroud you’re...”

“Different? You said so before.”

“Why?”

“The nature of our relationship, I suppose.”

“Have you and Stroud talked about me?”

Ever faltered. “I suppose we have...”

“What was said?”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“That sounds like an excuse.”

“Perhaps it is.”

“Will you tell him about this conversation?”

“Probably not. What about you? Will you tell him?”

Brooke shrugged. “Probably not.”

“How did you meet Stroud?”

“My aunt has an art gallery down on the shore. He arranged a showing there.”

“When was that?”

“About two years ago. He’s been sort of ‘cultivating’ me,” he said with a captivating smile.

“In what ways?” Ever asked, straight faced.

“Oh,” Brooke said, his smile quieting. “In all ways.”

Cultivating. If ever such a thing could be possible with a wild card like Brooke.

Ever smiled now, just thinking about the prospect. The saucepan sparkled as she set it in the drainer, a luster that compared to the shine that had been put on her whole outlook.

Then, oddly, the smile froze on her face and she chilled with a sudden premonition as she turned slowly from the sink. Stroud stood in the doorway, his features drawn, his normally impeccable posture slumped.

“Something horrible has happened.”

***

Two and a half hours later he was gone. Ever stood over the tepid dishwater she’d neglected to drain when the news broke. Who would have thought so much could happen so quickly? A succession of phone calls; the rooting out of luggage and passport; bags packed, one suitcase, one carry on; passage booked – a single one way ticket to – Paris.

Ever could get taxis to work and Caroline would certainly help out... Yes, she knew where the keys to everything were... No, she should not try to accompany him to the airport; he’d get a cab... He’d call as soon as he could... Yes, she’d be alright, oh so adult about it all... A quick kiss goodbye…

Ever reached a hand into the greasy water and twisted the stopper to drain the sink. She turned and braced herself against the sideboard, trying to comprehend the vast emptiness of the house without Stroud and get her head around the circumstances that had snatched him away from her.

There had been a fire. A gallery Stroud opened under the protective umbrella of The Foundation. The gallery director had been hospitalized. Someone close to Stroud. The situation was very serious.

He had to go. Of course, he did. Ever could manage things here and in a few hours he’d be... in Paris.

In a sort of trance, Ever crossed to the refrigerator. She took out the carafe, a crystal, stemmed glass from the cupboard, and carried a full glass of wine to a chair at the kitchen table. Her cigarettes there. A clean ashtray.

She’d be alright. He’d be alright. He’d be met at the airport – by someone named Nicole.

***

At three a.m. Ever answered the phone at Stroud’s bedside. He was at the airport in Paris, calling to let her know he arrived safely. Things were uncertain. He’d call when he had a number to forward his messages.

After he hung up Ever lay in the stillest part of the night, hugging his pillow against her.