MARTIN SOON SETTLED INTO his life in New York. He found a small apartment and was fast absorbed in the hectic pace at the agency. He forgot much of the guilt he felt leaving his parents. He called them every week, but his thoughts and energy were caught up in the challenges of his new position.
Dominic had given Martin a free rein, and within a month he had secured the Aqua Baby Soap account, a subsidiary of Acme Chemical Company. It was a bonanza for a small agency and the coup gave Martin far more satisfaction than when he had brought McMillian Steel Company into the brokerage.
That evening Dominic and Martin celebrated. After popping a bottle of champagne, Dominic said, “Cheers to you, old buddy. With my creativity and your business ability, we’ll give the big boys on Madison Avenue a run for their money.”
Within six months, Martin’s contributions were more than gratifying. He felt he was at last carrying his own weight and better yet, he was beginning to like himself again. By the end of each day he found he was too tired to dwell upon the fact that his parents considered him a prodigal son.
In the evenings, when he returned to his apartment, he could relax in peace. There were no questions and no friends or relations on weekends; no one to make demands. He was his own man, independent to come and go as he pleased.
As his eyes wandered about the shabby little place, he thought of his mother. If she had disapproved of the apartment in San Francisco, she would have been horrified by this. But he didn’t have to explain his choice of residence to anybody. Actually that wasn’t quite true. Lately Dominic had begun to organize Martin’s life outside office hours.
Dominic loved to have a good time. There wasn’t an invitation he didn’t accept. He had a bevy of girlfriends, but Martin’s desire for women was much the same as when he returned from the war. A quick night out from time to time was all he wanted.
From Dominic’s point of view, that wasn’t enough for his friend. He believed Martin’s spartan life was unhealthy. “I’m going to a party Saturday night,” he said to Martin one Friday. “You’re invited, too, and this time your answer’s going to be yes.”
“I really don’t feel like it, Dom.”
“Did you ever think of going into a monastery?” Dominic laughed.
“What kind of a crack is that?”
“No booze. No broads. It’s not normal.”
“Look, back off, Dominic. I have my share of broads.”
“When?”
“We don’t live together. I don’t tell you everything. I got out of my playpen when I left home.”
Dominic laughed and continued badgering. “Listen, this is me you’re talking to, old buddy. Remember when we used to go on the town in New Haven? Well, I haven’t seen that glint in your eye for a long time.”
“Lay off, will you? I don’t feel like lusting anymore. I also got rid of my acne.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I haven’t met anybody I want to have an affair with.”
“Who’s talking about an affair? Now, about Saturday night?”
“Okay, in self-defense, I’ll go.”
“Great. You’ve got a date, Marty, old boy.”
Dominic knew from the smile on Martin’s face that he had shaken him up. Well, a little baiting goes a long way.
When Martin walked into the party, it seemed as if half of Manhattan was gathered in the apartment. He looked around for Dominic, but there was no sign of him. People stood in small groups talking. He wandered through the rooms with a glass of champagne, hearing bits of conversation.
“… The best buy on the market is American … Did you hear the one about … And Becky said to Abie, besides, every time I do it, I get a headache.” Martin was bored. Who cared whether Becky had a headache before, during or after?
If Martin had found Dom he would have given him a piece of his mind. Here he was standing alone, not knowing a soul. He was ready to leave when Dominic finally made his way over to him. He was about to say, Next time, don’t do me any favors, butt out of my social life, when he got a good look at the girl Dom had in tow. She was a knockout. Damned if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Dom had good taste, Martin grudgingly conceded, as Dominic said, “Martin, I want you to meet Jennifer McCoy. Jenny, this is Martin Roth. Now may you live happily ever after.”
Martin knew Dom had set him up. Jennifer McCoy was supposed to rescue Martin from a life of celibacy. How dare his old buddy think he couldn’t get someone on his own? But with a girl who looked like Jenny, who would object? He was struck with an overwhelming desire. His sudden physical reaction to her was shocking, and a little frightening. His feelings intensified as he observed her more closely. Her hair was a rich, deep brown with golden glints, like sun on autumn leaves. She wore it brushed back like a lion’s wild mane, unlike the sleek pageboys. Her wide-set eyes were amber with green flecks that sparkled like the facets of a gem. The delicate peach tones of her skin gave her face a subtle glow. She was dressed in a creamy beige two-piece silk dress, with a small turquoise-and-diamond brooch pinned near her shoulder. Her perfume was so discreet he could not identify it, but it conjured up delicious images. Her rouged lips parted as she smiled and said, “Dominic likes to own his friends’ lives.”
Martin smiled back. “Yes, but that’s part of his charm.”
Jenny’s laugh was low and sensuous. “I hope you won’t think I’m too bold,” he found himself saying, “but if you’re free for the rest of the evening, how would you like to go someplace a little quieter?”
“I will think you’re bold, but I am free.”
Any resentment he might have felt toward Dominic was overcome by fascination for Jenny. “I’d love to be able to have a conversation with you without having to shout.”
“What?” she laughed. “I can’t hear you.”
“I said … how would you like to leave?”
“You don’t waste any time, do you, Mr. Roth?”
She wove through the crowd to retrieve her coat. Martin looked around, but couldn’t find Dominic. Giving up the idea of saying goodnight, he led Jenny downstairs to the street.
“Why do people give parties like that?” Martin said as they stood on the curb waiting for a taxi.
“Loneliness, I suppose.”
Martin looked at her from the corners of his eyes. He knew Jenny McCoy was bright, but the depth of that simple statement impressed him.
“Now, where would you like to go?”
“If you’re concerned about loss of hearing, there’s a place on Fifty-sixth off Third that has candlelight, wine, and soft music.”
Martin smiled. “You’re on.”
Sophie’s Place was exactly what Jenny had promised. She looked enchanting in the candlelight as he observed her from across the table. The wine was mellow and the music soft.
As they danced to the sounds of “Tenderly,” he remembered when he had asked Sylvia, “Does love really happen that quickly?” He knew he wasn’t in love with Jenny yet, but the way he felt for her, so strangely and suddenly, was something he never felt for any other woman.
When the music stopped, he led her back to the table, wondering why Dominic had been so generous, “How long have you known Dom?”
“Well …” she began. Jenny had graduated from Hunter College during the war. She had submitted her résumé to most of the advertising firms on Madison Avenue. What impressed her about the Dominic Gatti Agency was its energy and swift growth. It seemed a woman might actually make a career there. She had done very well and was happy, but when the Elmo Cosmetic Company offered her a top p.r. post, she couldn’t resist the opportunity or the money. Dominic had been sorry to lose her but had not tried to stand in her way. The cosmetics industry was a place women could flourish. She hadn’t heard from Dom, she told Martin, until last week. “I don’t know whether to tell you this or not,” she said.
“You can tell me anything.”
“I almost didn’t go to the party tonight.”
“That’s funny, neither did I.”
“Really, how did Dom coerce you?”
“He thought I was leading a monastic life.”
“Were you?”
“Well, according to Dom’s standards if you don’t go to four parties a night, you’re not having any fun.”
“That’s our friend. He just told me I had to meet you. Need I say more?”
“No, but I’m certainly grateful for his concern.”
“Maybe you won’t be so grateful after you get to know me.”
“I’ll take that chance. How about tomorrow night?”
“I’m sorry, but I have to be in Chicago on business.”
He was disappointed. “When will you be back?”
“Not till next Friday.”
“Does your firm send you away often?”
“When they’re promoting a new line, yes.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to settle for that. Do you feel like dancing?”
Once again he was holding her in his arms, and they danced until the piano player went home.
When he brought her to the door of her apartment, they looked at each other for a long moment. He wondered if he should kiss her. She handed him the key and he opened the door. “It’s been a lovely evening, Martin,” she said.
“For me, too.”
As he started to walk toward the elevator she called out, “Martin, I believe you have my key.”
He looked down at his palm, then burst out laughing as he handed it back to her. “I don’t know if this is according to Hoyle, but would it be rushing things, Miss McCoy, if I kissed you goodnight?”
“Yes, yes, it would be. Why not give it a whirl anyway.”
He took her in his arms and kissed her gently. “Jenny,” he said, “don’t go to Chicago tomorrow.”
“You’re not only rushing things, you’re interfering with my livelihood. I have to be at Marshall Field’s at eight o’clock Monday morning, but I’ll be back Friday.”
He looked at her, then brushed her curls back off her face. “Call me, will you?”
“I can’t promise … If I have time, I will.”
“Make time. In fact, I’ll pick you up at LaGuardia.”
“Well, that’s a deal. I’ll call.”
After he had gone, she shut the door and leaned against it. I think I like you a whole lot, Martin Roth. And I’d like to know more about what goes on inside your head. The fascination for Jenny was not only that she’d found Martin very attractive, but that he was a Jew. He represented something forbidden. Growing up in Biloxi, Louisiana, she hadn’t seen a Jew until she went to Hunter. Then she found them exotic and exciting. Until now she hadn’t dated one, but Martin Roth heightened her senses. She went to bed wondering what it would be like to make love to him.
Monday morning Dominic stopped by Martin’s office. “Well, how did it go, old buddy?” Dominic said.
“What go?”
“Your date with the Queen of Sheba—with Jenny, of course.”
“Just as you planned. You’re always on target, Dominic.”
“I take it you like her.”
Martin nodded. “She’s a very nice girl.”
“That’s the best you can say? She’s fabulous and you know it.”
“If you think she’s that great, how come you were so generous?”
“Well, truth to tell, old buddy, I tried. But I couldn’t score with that lady. How’d you make out?”
“Let me tell you something, Dom—you’re beginning to sound like a yenta.”
“Sticks and stones … what did you think of her?”
“I’ll let you know if I see her again.”
“I’m really shocked. I thought by now I would have heard the sound of the mating call. Okay, old buddy, you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. Just tell me one thing. Did she turn you on?”
Martin stood for a long moment looking at Dominic and then smiled. “Jenny McCoy would turn on the Sphinx.”
“Well, thank God. There’s still hope for you, Martin, boy. I was beginning to worry.”
In the week to come, Martin found his thoughts kept turning to Jenny. Like a schoolboy with his first crush, he lay in bed at night fantasizing what she would feel like. The days dragged interminably and it was sheer agony when Friday came and she hadn’t called. Every time the phone rang he lunged for it. By four o’clock he’d almost given up hope. Then, finally, the phone rang. It was Jenny. Controlling a sudden inclination to stammer, he said, “How did your promotion go?”
“Wonderful.”
“That’s good. What time does your plane arrive?”
“Well, my flight’s been grounded. I should be in, give or take a few minutes, around seven-thirty.”
“I’ll be there.”
Envisioning those long legs and the perfect body, he felt a stirring in his groin and realized it would be a while before he could get up. That hadn’t happened to him since high school, but damn it was a great feeling.
He arrived at the airport half an hour early and was frantic with expectation when he saw her coming down the ramp with her long elegant stride. His eyes took in the tawny mane of hair, the deep amber eyes. Composing himself as best he could, he said casually, “Welcome home. Where would you like to go to dinner?”
“Surprise me.”
But she wasn’t at all surprised when they went back to the same little restaurant they’d gone to the night of the party.
As she sat across the table looking at Martin over the rim of her wineglass, she admitted to herself how much she had missed him. Martin had not been the only one plagued by fantasies. Jenny had fallen asleep and woken up each day she was in Chicago thinking about him. She knew she was going to have an affair with him. Had he pressed, she’d have let him carry her off to her bedroom that first night; nothing would have prevented her from losing her virginity. Yet, till now, her discipline had less to do with her strict Catholic upbringing than the fact that she hadn’t met anybody who had aroused her to the point where she felt it was worth risking purgatory. Now, dammit, the one man she wanted to give herself to had to be a Jew. Mother Superior obviously would have instructed Jenny McCoy to exorcise Martin Roth from her thoughts. And even Jenny was afraid Martin was wrong for her, but looking at him, she suddenly didn’t care.
Jenny felt a sense of unreality. His nearness, the sound of his husky voice, sent soft flutters through her.
“What would you like to eat?” Martin asked, bringing her back down to earth.
“What? Oh … I … why don’t you order for both of us.”
He gave the order to the Italian waiter in what was apparently flawless Italian,
She was impressed. “I didn’t understand a word, but I know your Italian must be impeccable. How did you learn that?”
“A little something I picked up when I was touring the war zones of Palermo.” Martin laughed. “The army paid for that vacation as well as the lessons in Italian.”
There was something sobering in his voice that made Jenny uncomfortable.
Then he smiled and they both began talking at once. Jenny knew she was acting like a sixteen-year-old on her first date. She kept picturing him in her arms, in her bed. His Italian had impressed her. It had taken four years after leaving Biloxi for her to learn to speak English correctly. Now she felt intimidated by his sophistication. She sat with a fixed smile, answering his questions about Chicago with one-word answers. What a departure from the self-assured Jenny of a week ago. Tonight she was subdued, and just seeing Martin made her feel unsure. She was going to try like hell not to let him know it, but she knew she wasn’t in his league. He had class written all over him and she still thought of herself as poor white trash. But she’d made a life, she reminded herself. Working since she was twelve at the local soda fountain, ushering at the Bijou Theater, and at fourteen moving into Cora Belle Collingsworth’s anteroom so she could be at her beck and call and wash her fanny during all those years of her supposed illness. Illness—she was a drunk, that’s all, and Jenny thought back to the times Cora Belle had the screaming meemees and slapped her around until she was black and blue. She’d come a long way since then, but that’s what she’d had to go through to earn the money that got her through Hunter College. Well, Jenny said to herself, she might not have been so classy then, but no one would know it now.
Remembering her long struggle restored her self-esteem, and by the time the waiter brought dinner, she had recovered her spirits and her voice.
“Has New York always been home for you?” she asked.
“No. San Francisco. And you?”
That was always a delicate question for Jenny, “Biloxi—Louisiana as opposed to Mississippi.”
“Oh? For some reason you don’t seem like someone from the South. You have no accent for one thing. But even aside from that, I don’t see you as a Southern belle.”
“Really? And what is a Southern belle supposed to be like?”
“I don’t know. Pampered, spoiled?”
“You think that’s only a Southern trait? Truth is, Mr. Roth, there’s a little Scarlett in every lady.” Jenny laughed, but Martin realized that there was a great deal more to Jenny than appeared on the surface.
To break the mood he asked her to dance. After they sat down again, Martin kept staring at her. In spite of her sophisticated manner, there was an air of vulnerability about Jenny. And although nothing about her seemed contrived, Martin sensed something studied about her poise. “Jenny, tell me about yourself,” he asked.
“What would you like to hear?” she said, looking totally enchanting in the candlelight.
“I’d like to know about your childhood.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Well,” Jenny said, starting slowly, “it’s not a very original or very pretty story.”
“I’d still like to know, that is if you want—”
“To tell? I suppose I don’t mind. Well, talk about living on the other side of the tracks, the McCoys certainly did. When I was a little girl, I used to sit on the park bench in the town square and watch the elegant ladies coming out of the Bonton Department Store. Well, I thought they were elegant at the time. Anyway, they used to carry all kinds of packages out to the black chauffeurs, and at Christmas, I used to dream about all the things I wanted. I’m sure it was then that I made up my mind that I was going to be rich and I was going to be a lady. You sure you want to hear all this, Martin?”
“Please, I want to know more.”
“All right. Maybe my ambition was greater than that of most kids my age. Even then I knew that life was what you made of it. No matter what the cost, you had to salvage yourself. I suppose that’s what I did.” Suddenly she stopped. “Why am I telling you all this?”
“Because you know I’m interested in you. Please go on.”
“Okay. Well, my mother drank too much because she couldn’t accept herself or life. She died five years ago, not from cirrhosis of the liver as the death certificate stated, but by committing suicide day by day until she finally drowned herself in the bottle.” Jenny hesitated. “Do you have a cigarette?”
He lit one for her.
“My father ran away from my mother when I was five. Strange thing is, I never really hated him. Don’t ask me why. I just felt that he was going to come back. I dreamed about it, really. Well, anyway, I saved money from the time I was able to earn. I’d always known that I was going to New York, and I had a teacher in the eighth grade who became my mentor. She told me I could do anything I wanted with an education. She was the one who really inspired me. Well, when my mother died, the bank sold the small house we lived in and put the money in trust. Then I took it out and went to college in New York. So now you know the happy saga of Jenny McCoy.” She looked at Martin as though studying him.
It was the honesty in her eyes that impressed him most. It took real courage to talk about her past, and what he felt now for Jenny was more than just physical attraction. He wanted to protect her, to make up for her past.
“Well, you know about Jenny McCoy. What about Martin Roth?” she said.
Since he didn’t want to discuss the war, his relationship with Sylvia, the areas of disagreement with his mother and father, it left him with little to talk about except his happy days at Yale with Dominic.
When he’d finished, Jenny suspected there was much he was leaving out. “So why did you leave your father’s firm?” she said.
“I wanted to make it on my own. Find out who I was.”
“And what have you found so far?”
“That I’m happy to be here at this moment with you … Now how would you like to take a walk?”
“I’d like that.”
The night was clear and cool and they walked without speaking. It seemed to Jenny that more words would be superfluous after all they’d said tonight. It wasn’t until they reached 73rd and Lexington that Martin broke the silence. “I live in that building,” he said.
She made no comment and they kept walking. From time to time they stopped to look at the displays in store windows, but much too soon she found herself in front of her own building.
For an awkward moment she stood silently looking at him. She wanted Martin and knew she was going to have an affair with him, but she wasn’t ready quite yet. She was saved from finding an excuse not to invite him up when he asked, “Are you busy tomorrow night?”
Knowing that magic moment was yet to come, she answered with a strange sense of relief, “No, I’m not busy.” Then she found herself being drawn into his arms and gently kissed.
“This has been the best evening I’ve had in a long time.”
“Thank you, Martin, it was for me too.”
“Sleep tight,” he said. Then he kissed her again and walked off.
Upstairs, she closed the door to her apartment and without turning on the lights, walked into her bedroom and inexplicably began to cry. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, but the thought of the confessional on Sunday terrified her.
After an almost sleepless night, Jenny was awakened from a light doze by the phone. As soon as she heard Martin’s voice, her fears fled.
“I just wanted to say hello,” he said.
“Hello.”
“What would you like to do tonight?”
Go to the moon with you, she thought, but said only, “Whatever you feel like.”
I’d like to take you to bed. “Do you like Mamma Leone’s?”
I could skip dinner. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
By eight o’clock, Jenny was a nervous wreck. In the last hour she had changed five times and was still not sure she was wearing the right thing, because she wasn’t entirely sure what Martin liked, what kind of woman pleased him. For some reason she could not fathom, she settled for a demure lilac chiffon that enhanced the delicate coloring of her skin and made the amber eyes glow. She was studying herself in the mirror when the bell rang.
Afraid to ask him in, she grabbed the purse and wrap, opened the door, stepped into the hall. He kissed her without restraint.
“You look enchanting,” Martin said.
Jenny smiled. “You certainly know the right thing to say to a lady.”
He took her by the arm and before she knew it they were sitting side by side in the taxi.
At Mamma Leone’s the maître d’ showed them to a quiet table. Their enormous meal went almost untouched. Course after course went back after just a few bites. Jenny knew Martin was as impatient as she was for them to be alone. Neither of them ordered dessert. Jenny felt as if she were poised at the top of a roller coaster.
Outside in the cab Martin said, “There’s a place on Ninety-fourth that plays marvelous music. Would you like to go?”
“If you like,” Jenny said, looking down.
Martin hesitated. “Well, actually I’d prefer my place.”
“So would I,” Jenny said honestly. She was happy that Martin hadn’t suggested her apartment, since her landlady acted like a warden: no men, no booze, no loud noises, no animals, no fun.
As they entered Martin’s building, Jenny was conscious only of the pressure of his warm hand on hers. She didn’t notice the doorman or the click of their footsteps across the marble hall. She moved as if in a dream.
When they got upstairs she snapped back to reality and looked around her. Martin’s apartment surprised her. The room was in total disarray. There were newspapers strewn around the floor, a stale cup of coffee and a bagel sitting on the coffee table, ashtrays full of butts. Living with a drunken mother who had no sense of order, Jenny had grown up with an abhorrence of clutter. For a swift moment she was annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to tidy up, knowing he was going to bring her home, but then she decided he was just hopelessly messy.
Martin went to the refrigerator, took out a bottle of champagne, and brought it back with two glasses. He pried the cork off gently, but the fluid still spurted up like a geyser. Quickly he filled her glass. She watched as the bubbles danced, then looked up at him. Taking the glass from her, he placed it on the table and took her in his arms. He kissed her gently, then with more urgency. She thought that if this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. When he sensed her response, he leaned over and turned off the lamp and in the darkened room he stood for a moment with his hands cupping her face. Then he took her into his arms and kissed her passionately.
Without speaking he unbuttoned the back of her dress and slowly removed her clothing. Jenny heard herself gasp as he picked her up and laid her on the couch. Soon he was beside her holding her, caressing her, exploring her body as gently as possible. Lying beneath him, feeling him inside her, the pain soon became a joy. And for him, it was a moment of surprising sweetness, different from any other he’d known …
For a long time afterwards he continued to hold her. No one had ever evoked the passion and the fire that Jenny ignited. For the first time since the war he felt whole again.
“Oh, Jenny,” he whispered, “you’re simply wonderful.”
And she felt wonderful. But she knew the next day was Sunday and she would have to face her priest. Without a word she slipped out of bed and started to dress.
Martin was totally taken off balance. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
Without looking at him she answered, “My landlady will notice if I don’t go home.”
“Please don’t go.” Even as he spoke, he was surprised by his words. He’d never asked a girl to stay. But then he’d never met anyone who affected him like Jenny McCoy. He only knew that he wanted her to be with him in a way he had never wanted another human being. “Please stay, Jenny.”
She picked up her satin slip and put it on. Martin watched her in the light from the table lamp. She seemed so small and fragile. “I can’t stay, Martin.”
Martin got out of bed, walked over to her, and tried to take her in his arms, but Jenny backed away. “What’s wrong, Jenny?”
“I feel terrible. I guess I’m ashamed. I must have made a fool out of myself.”
He took her gently by the arms. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Yes, I do. A lady doesn’t act the way I have tonight. Where I come from, they’d call me a bitch in heat.”
“For God’s sake, don’t say that, Jenny! Don’t do this to yourself. Wanting to share with someone isn’t wrong. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Don’t cheapen what happened between us.”
Jenny’s problem was that she didn’t see the act of love as a beautiful and wonderful thing. She had been conditioned to think that any woman who gave herself to a man outside of marriage was a slut. For the moment she couldn’t face her sense of guilt, and Martin’s very presence deepened her remorse. With no further explanation, she finished dressing.
“I wish you wouldn’t feel this way. I wish there was something I could say that would tell you how wonderful I think you are.”
Jenny scarcely heard as she watched Martin dress.
It was three in the morning when Martin told the cab to pull up in front of the brownstone where she lived. When she saw that Martin was about to get out with her she said, “Thank you, Martin, but I prefer to go in alone.”
“Of course. I understand,” he said, kissing her. “I’ll call tomorrow.”
She merely nodded and ran inside. She felt a wave of loneliness sweep over her as she started up the stairs. To her horror she met her neighbor, who was taking his dog out for a walk. He looked at her as though he could see the color of her underwear. Her face turned crimson when he said, “Hello there. How did Cinderella make out at the ball tonight?”
She mumbled something under her breath and fumbled for her keys in her purse. Once inside she leaned against the door and angrily wiped away her tears. She ripped off her dress and sat on the edge of the bed, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes. Oh God, how can I go to mass this morning?
She went to the bathroom and let the water run in the tub. She lathered herself with a lavender-scented soap, then lay back and thought back over the evening. A million contradicting emotions cluttered her mind. In spite of herself, she was suddenly frightened Martin wouldn’t call her again, especially after the way she’d acted.
Jenny got out of the tub and dried herself with a towel. Then she put on her nightgown and got into bed. Soon her eyes closed and she fell asleep. Two hours later she woke with a start, terrified she might have slept through early mass.
Quickly, she jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, slipped into a sweater and a wool skirt, and hurried down the hall.
She was breathless by the time she ran up the steps of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. She went through agony realizing she couldn’t stand in the line waiting for communion. Even if she had gone to confession, she wouldn’t have been able to participate; her sin had occurred after twelve that night. Kneeling, she watched the priest as he took the wafer and placed it on the tongue of the first parishioner. She was filled with her own need for redemption.
Stealthily she walked down the aisle and out of the cathedral. Sighing, she walked along the street until she found a coffee shop a few blocks away where she ordered tea and toast. She tried reading the Sunday paper but found that she could not concentrate. Martin Roth filled her thoughts. Purgatory and salvation seemed to weigh in the balance as she visualized him lying in his bed, his thick black hair in disarray, his blue eyes shut in sleep. In her fantasy she saw him getting out of bed, showering, having coffee. She pictured him deciding to go out, leaving the apartment. Leaving the bed unmade, coffee cup unwashed.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? There would be another penance to pay at confession when she would have to admit that she was still filled with lust and passion.
She got up, leaving much of the toast and tea untouched, paid the check, and walked for hours before returning to her apartment.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she stared out the window. God, how lonely Sundays were, particularly this Sunday. Martin had aroused feelings that she had never known. If this wasn’t love, she wondered what the pain of the real thing would be like. How could anyone stand it? Damn him. He had penetrated all the protective walls she’d erected since coming to New York.
Desperate to speak to someone, she tried several of her girlfriends, but they were out. She even called Dominic but again there was no answer. Close to tears, she realized that Martin hadn’t even tried to call. Except for the morning she had been home all day. Jenny felt abandoned, used. How was she going to face the rest of this evening alone? She sighed deeply and decided that even sitting in a darkened movie theater would be better. Slowly she got up, took her purse, and locked the door behind her.
The moment Martin got to his apartment he put down his golf clubs and phoned Jenny. The line was busy. He kept trying every few minutes, but whoever she was talking to was certainly long-winded. When he finally rang through, Jenny was only a few feet down the hall, but by the time she reached her apartment and grabbed up the receiver, the caller had hung up. It had to be Martin, it simply had to be. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she debated whether or not to call him. At the very same moment, Martin was thinking: Damn, first it’s busy, then no answer. She must have gone out for the evening. Well, he was going to do the same thing.
By the time Jenny summoned the courage to call his number, he was in the elevator. It must not have been him after all, she decided.
Monday night Martin worked in his office until eleven o’clock, sending out for sandwiches and coffee. By the time he came up for air, he realized it was too late to call Jenny.
On Tuesday he called Elmo Cosmetics only to be told that she had gone to upstate New York and that they didn’t think she’d be back until late. Martin called her every half hour from six to nine-thirty, but got no answer. Dammit, she must have gone out on the town again, he thought sullenly. She seems to live a very social life.
Jenny arrived home at nine-forty—just ten minutes after Martin had hung up for the last time.
That night she slept badly. Why hadn’t he called? Face it, Jenny, you were only a one-night stand. She was hurt, but she vowed not to call him under any circumstances. She’d made a fool of herself once, that was enough. More than enough. Oh, if only she had clung to the teachings of the Church, she would still have her virginity and her pride. Well, if she ever went beyond a casual date with another man, she would make him suffer as she was doing now.
On Wednesday Martin was out of town negotiating a new account, and he became so involved with the client, he didn’t get home till midnight. Dammit, too late. He set his alarm for six. He was going to reach Jenny if it killed him. At six-fifteen, Jenny picked up the ringing phone. “Hello?”
Trying to keep his voice even, he said, “Hello is right … do you know I’ve been trying to get you since Sunday night?”
Jenny’s hand began to shake. All those dreadful things she had thought. “I’m so sorry—but did you call my office?”
“Yes, I did.”
“I didn’t get any messages.”
“I didn’t leave any since every time I called you at home you never answered. I just thought maybe you’d be too busy to return my calls.”
“Oh, Martin, I wasn’t all that busy. In fact, I wasn’t busy at all. If only you had left a message.”
Martin was about to tell her how jealous he’d been. “I guess it was pretty foolish not to leave a message,” he said. “Are we still friends?”
She laughed nervously. “Still friends.”
“In that case, I’d like to take you to dinner tonight.”
“I’d love that, too, but it will have to be a short evening.”
“Why?”
“I have to go to Albany to work with a department store buyer.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
“Can we make it six?”
“Sure.”
Jenny smiled as she hung up the phone.
At dinner they talked about the office, the weather, the food. It was as if they each felt too vulnerable to explore their real feelings. When they finished coffee Jenny looked at her watch and said apologetically, “I hate to end the evening, but it’s almost nine.”
“Can’t we even go for a walk?” he said, annoyed.
“Well, I did say it was going to be an early evening. I really have to work on my presentation.”
“Oh, sure. Well, what are you doing Saturday night?”
She hesitated. “I’ll be in Bar Harbor this weekend.”
“Bar Harbor! That’s a summer resort. What would they do with makeup there?”
She smiled. “Buy it. That’s just the market we want to go after.”
He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Maybe God was punishing him for having lied to his mother when she asked if he was involved with anyone. Or maybe he was taking too much for granted, expecting her to be at his beck and call. “Do you really have to go? I mean, this weekend?” he asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.
“Of course I do, Martin. It’s my job. And my career is as important to me as yours is to you.”
“So when did you say you were leaving?”
“I’m taking the six-thirty flight tomorrow.”
He sighed. “Oh … well, I’ll drive you to the airport.”
“You’re very sweet.”
“That’s me. Used to be an Eagle Scout, youngest in the troop, and if you ever stay around long enough I’ll show you my good-conduct medals.”
Jenny heard the pique in his voice, but she didn’t know what to do. The next day she worked longer than expected with a cosmetics buyer from Macy’s, and by the time the session was over she was a complete wreck. When she looked at her watch she was terrified that Martin would have gotten impatient and given up waiting for her.
She got to the street just in time to see Martin driving off. He must have been around the block a dozen times, since it was the height of the rush hour and no parking was permitted. Anxiously glancing at her watch, she prayed that he hadn’t given up and gone home. After what seemed an eternity she recognized his car inching back down the block. When he reached the curb in front of her she hastily opened the door and slid in.
“Now you know why I take taxis instead of my car,” he said, impatiently grabbing the suitcase and throwing it in the back seat.
“I’m awfully sorry, Martin, but I couldn’t get away from the buyer. And I couldn’t get a message to you.”
“It’s okay,” he said, but his tone implied it was not and they fell into an uncomfortable silence.
The traffic going out of Manhattan moved at a crawl and as Jenny looked at the clock on the dashboard she asked, “Do you think we’ll make it?”
“Who knows?” he said tightly. “It probably takes less time to fly to Bar Harbor than to get to the airport this time of day.”
Jenny was getting more nervous in silent frustration at the slow-moving cars and trucks. When at last they arrived at LaGuardia they drove around and around the parking lots until they finally found a spot. Carrying Jenny’s suitcase, Martin took her by the arm and the two ran through the crowded terminal, arriving at United’s waiting area just in time to watch Jenny’s plane taking off.
She looked at Martin on the verge of tears. Martin had never been able to stand seeing a woman cry. He felt so sorry for her. She seemed incapable of using tears as a ploy; she was exactly what she appeared to be: a lovely young woman whose tough childhood had tended to harden her. “Let’s see if we can get a later flight,” he said.
“It’s the last one.”
“We’ll try another airline.”
“Same thing. Bar Harbor, Maine, isn’t the crossroads of the world. I don’t know what to do,” she said, almost beside herself. “My job is so important to me, Martin.”
“Look, you can make a phone call tomorrow morning and explain. This is an act of God, Jenny.” He spoke with quiet concern, but in truth he was not disappointed by the turn of events.
“Well, Martin, maybe I can get a flight for tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, Jenny. Let’s try.” But once again his spirits were lifted. He knew the gods were on his side when the airline clerk said, “There are no flights to Bar Harbor till Monday.”
On the way back to Manhattan, Martin had one hand on the steering wheel and the other on Jenny’s knee. He drove into his garage and asked, “Do you feel hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Well, what do you feel like?”
Confused, she said to herself. As if events were conspiring to send me back into Martin’s bed.
“What do you feel like doing?” Martin asked again.
“Well, I think I’d like to go back to my place, get rid of my suitcase, and freshen up a bit.”
“Why bother? My apartment is across the street. You can wash up there and then we can decide.”
He took her hand and guided her across the street and up to his apartment. She sat on the couch exhausted, and let her eyes wander around the room. She looked at the pictures of Martin’s mother and father in their large silver frames. Jenny wondered what it must have been like to be born into a family like that—to have lived in the apparent style that they did. She glanced at the picture of Martin as a little boy standing with his parents in the gardens of a luxurious Riviera hotel. Then she took in the disordered apartment. Well, it was understandable. He must have been used to maids picking up after him.
“What would you like?” Martin asked, interrupting her thoughts. “I have champagne on ice.”
To get me high enough to go to bed with you, she thought cynically. “I think I’d like sherry if you have it.”
He poured a sherry for her and a scotch and soda for himself.
As she sat listening to the soft music on his phonograph she began to relax. Martin handed her the sherry, then sat down next to her and raised his drink in a silent toast. She sipped slowly and sighed. “You know, the nicest thing about this place is your view.”
“I know. I love it this time of day,” he said looking out at the fading sunset.
As though speaking to herself, she said, “When I lived at home I never ever noticed a sunset …” She took a sip of sherry. “But this really is beautiful.”
“So are you.”
“Am I really?”
“Why, do you have any doubts?”
Jenny reddened and turned away. “I don’t think of myself that way. I don’t think I’m pretty at all, despite what people tell me. It’s all very confusing.”
“In what way?”
“Well, sometimes I feel like a store mannequin, not a person.”
He never would have guessed the insecurity that lay behind Jenny’s charm and beauty. Under her sophisticated façade lay the Jenny who had arrived in New York from a broken home in Biloxi. Poor Jenny. He hoped he would always be able to protect her. Then he caught himself. He could never have a permanent relationship. She was Catholic. She came from a different world and anyway, he had just met her.
He got up abruptly and switched the soft music to something more discordant. As he sat down again he said, “You must be starving.”
“I’m not, but I’m sure you are.”
“A little. Where would you like to go?”
“You decide. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to wash up first.”
“Sure.” Martin sat in the living room. The light was fading and Martin watched, tired of the view. He felt comfortable here. In fact, Jenny was shaking up his very orderly life. He shrugged off an uneasy premonition and reached in the closet for a clean shirt, tossed it on the chair, and stripped off the old one. The door to the bathroom was open and he could see Jenny combing her magnificent head of hair.
Overwhelmed with desire, he took her in his arms. They emerged from the bathroom and he kissed her without restraint. Their lips and tongues met in breathless longing. He undressed her quickly with an impatient eagerness. Then they were lying together, their bodies clinging, and suddenly everything was forgotten except for the building hunger of their lovemaking. The climax left them mutually breathless. Martin had never been caught up so completely in the act of love. And the difference was Jenny. Reluctantly he rolled onto his back, then drew her to him and put his arms around her.
“I know it’s selfish of me,” he said, “but I’m happy, damned happy, that you missed the plane.”
“I’m not—not about that. I’ll die if they don’t put in that line.”
They lay in silence. Martin trailed his hand along the curves of her body. “How would you like Chinese food?”
She smiled. “That would be marvelous.”
“There’s a terrific Chinese restaurant that delivers.” He reached over, took the phone book. “Here is it,” he said. “Do you like almond duck?”
“Yes, sure, but order what you like. I’m no expert.”
“You trust me?” he asked. They both knew he was speaking about more than Chinese food.
“Well, I trust you, Martin, but I’m not sure I trust myself. You know what I’m doing is terribly wrong, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t know anything of the kind, Jenny.” He hadn’t spent four years with Dominic not to understand Catholic guilt. “Would you feel quite this wicked and guilty if I weren’t a Jew?”
“Yes, yes, of course I would.” But Jenny knew she wasn’t telling the whole truth. If Martin had been Catholic they could at least be planning marriage. As it was, she would probably never be able to expiate her sin.
She turned to Martin, whose words seemed to confirm her fears. “I don’t want to feel guilty.”
“Look, Jenny, we’re just two human beings who love each other. But we’ve both been through a lot and we’ve each just begun to find ourselves. I don’t know what the future will bring. I can’t make promises, but if every time you see me I make you feel as if you’re headed straight for hell, maybe we should break this off now.” Martin walked stiffly to the window and stood with his back to Jenny, who was overcome with tears.
Suddenly her love for him became so all-encompassing that she didn’t care about anything else. Not the priests, not her mother’s warnings, not even the Church itself.
“Martin, would you like me to stay?” she asked.
He thought for a long moment, then turned and looked at her. Of course he wanted her to stay. He didn’t quite know what he felt for her, but he wanted her to stay. “Only if you want to, Jenny,” he said.
“Yes, I want to.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. But may I ask you one question, Martin? How do you feel about my being a Catholic?”
“I feel that you’re a desirable woman,” he said. He had told her she could walk away, but he hadn’t told her that if she stayed he would marry her. “If you feel, in all honesty, that we can be friends as well as lovers, and just try to take what the other has to give, I think we could make it, Jenny. Is that possible for you?”
The more she thought about it the more she believed that Martin’s feelings were deeper for her than he realized. It wasn’t the things he’d said, but the things he had left unsaid. If he had wanted to, he could have sent her away. Maybe if she stayed he would accept her beliefs. Certainly he seemed less of a Jew than she was a Catholic. She was the one who felt the conflict. Like most women Jenny was convinced love could conquer all.
She looked across the room at Martin and said, “Do you think you could get my suitcase?”
He hesitated only for a moment. “Sure. I’ll have one of the doormen come up and get the car keys.”
While they waited, Martin put on his robe. When he heard the doorbell ring, he opened and handed the doorman his keys with the instructions. Then he went into the kitchen for the champagne. “What shall we drink to, beautiful Jenny?”
“To friends?”
“Yes, and lovers, too.”
The next two days were filled with small pleasures. Jenny and Martin did all the ordinary things people do on weekends in the city, but just being together made everything exciting. They bicycled through Central Park, stopping for hot dogs and ice cream cones. They rolled on the grass like two silly children. They strolled through the Museum of Modern Art, wandered down Fifth Avenue to the Public Library, and raced each other up the steps, collapsing at the top, arms around each other, laughing and kissing at the same time. They walked down the crooked streets of Greenwich Village. The whole city seemed to take on a new dimension.
On Saturday evening they shopped at an Italian grocery and Jenny cooked. Then they went to bed and Jenny shut out all thoughts of confession and sin. On Sunday she fixed breakfast while Martin showered. Setting the breakfast tray on the coffee table, she called to him, “Come and get it while it’s hot.”
He poked his head out of the bathroom and grinned through the lather on his face. “It will always be hot,” he assured her.
She laughed. “The scrambled eggs, you idiot.”
When he returned from the bathroom, he slid into the bed, pulling the sheet up to his naked waist, and Jenny placed the tray over his knees. Patting her side of the bed, he said, “Boy, to look at you one wouldn’t believe you could boil water.”
“It just goes to show you can never judge a cook by its cover.”
“Well, you’re a genius. That pasta last night was fantastic. No kidding, a work of art.”
“I have many hidden talents.”
“It’s okay to keep them hidden, but not from me.” He reached over to draw off her robe and she settled next to him, knowing that when it was over it would be too late for her to go to mass. Afterwards he put the tray on the floor and they read the Sunday Times. It seems so natural, as if we were married, Jenny thought, and suddenly she wanted to marry Martin more than anything in the world. She knew the relationship was getting stronger, and she knew instinctively that he was more involved than he had planned. The physical part was fantastic—feeling his lean, taut body next to hers was ecstasy, but there was so much more to the relationship than that.
Even now, as they lay in each other’s arms with the Times strewn on the floor and the sheets rumpled at the bottom of the bed, she wanted to know more about his childhood. She listened as he told her about growing up with a wonderful but overly protective mother. She thought about the irony of it all. Martin’s mother being overly protective and hers not giving a damn.
“Martin,” she said, “remember the first night we met? I would never have thought then that I would have fallen in love with you. But I have.”
She waited for his answer. As he looked at her and brushed her hair back against the pillow, fanning it about her head, he smiled with pleasure at the sight of her. That was his answer, and right now it was enough for her.
After Martin drove her back to her apartment that evening, she stood in the center of her room, feeling suddenly sad and alone. Lovers, she reminded herself, didn’t live together like married people. But, dammit, it wasn’t going to be this way forever. Martin was going to marry her. She knew it. He simply had to. She took her mauve silk robe out of her suitcase and hung it in the closet. She wondered what Martin was doing at that moment. It was only nine-thirty. Impulsively she picked up the phone but immediately put it down again. Instead, she got into the shower and washed her hair, scrubbing her scalp until it hurt.