A pizza, a large, double cheese, fried eggplant and onion pizza," sighed Kenzie ecstatically as she dropped two nylon carry-ons and three shopping bags to the floor while Charley struggled her suitcase into her bedroom.
Kenzie felt both electrified and exhausted—a pardonable condition, considering she had just returned from a two-month European sojourn, in which every waking hour had been devoted to cataloging the paintings in Becky V's various palazzi, palacios, villas, elegant apartments, and town- houses. She had, in fact, studied so many masterpieces that they still tumbled, helter-skelter, around in her sassy little head like clothes in some cosmic dryer.
"But please, Charley, please tell them to hold the olives," she called out beseechingly. "Between Madrid, Seville, and Athens, I swear I was ol- ived to death."
"And Monte Carlo?" asked Charley, coming back out into the living room.
"A sunny place for shady people. Why, it made me feel positively pre- pubescent! Really, Charley, I've never in my life seen so many pickled old farts. Wall-to-wall elephant skin—no amount of diamonds could help those pachyderms! I vowed never to lie out in the sun again. Oh," she exclaimed happily, flopping down on her cut-velvet, Napoleon III sofa, "but it does these bones good to be home! Even if this place seems to have shrunk in my absence."
"A result, no doubt, of all those palaces you stayed in."
"You can crack all the jokes you want. But between you and me, I've never seen anything like it. I mean, every one of those places was a museum. A girl could get used to living that way, Charley," she said, stretching luxuriantly. "Uh-huh, she easily could."
"Earth to Turner, Earth to Turner. Come in, Turner—"
Kenzie tossed a cushion at him, which he easily deflected.
"Well?" she asked. "Gonna order that pizza? Or you'd rather I starve?"
"What's the matter? Airlines suddenly stopped serving food?"
"Food?" Her amber eyes slid him a pitying glance. "Since when," she demanded, "have inflight meals been considered edibles? Food indeed! I fasted in anticipation of my eggplant pizza, thank you very much!"
He approached her in a bowlegged, Howdy ma'am, cowpoke kind of walk.
"This mean," he drawled, hooking a thumb in his belt, "you're really hungry?"
Kenzie squinted narrowly up at him. "Didn't I say I was?"
"Yeah, but I just wanted to get things straight. You know. Make sure it's pizza you're really after."
"Why? Would you rather I be hungering for something else?"
He thrust out his pelvis and grinned. "Thought you might like to take a bite out of life."
"Same old Charley," she sighed, feigning boredom. "Same juvenile, one-track mind." She pretended a mighty yawn and tapped her mouth with her hand. "Which are you today? Beavis? or Butt-head?"
He assumed a hurt expression. "You rather I didn't miss your bod?"
The corners of her mouth twitched with a tiny smile. "Why? Did you? Miss it?"
"Do bears—"
"Puh-leeze!"
"Well, seeing as how I'm a man of few words, I'll have to let my deeds speak for themselves."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah," he said.
And three fly buttons later, he did.
Ah, would wonders never cease? And how could she have so completely forgotten the velvety softness of his mouth, the strength behind the muscle-corded arms which tightened around her, the good, fresh masculine fragrance of his skin?
At his entry, she gasped and felt as though she was floating sumptuously. Wondrous, this melting desire, the delicious weight of him as their two bodies fused into one!
"Oh, Charley," she moaned, "Charley ..."
Then he began to thrust, and she loosened his belt, pulled his trousers farther down, gripped his small firm buttocks in order to press him closer.
"It's been so long!" she gasped. "Oh, God! It's so good! So damned good—"
And in her mounting passion, she kissed him deliriously: lips, cheeks, chin, neck, shoulders, chest.
"All the way, Charley!" she pleaded. "All the fuckin' way!"
Harder and harder he drove into her, faster and faster, and she squirmed and arched beneath him, tightening herself around him, matching his rhythm, thrust by thrust.
Then the first wave crashed over her, caught her in its vortex, and swooped her down into its trough before lifting her higher and higher. Great spasms of ecstasy bucked uncontrollably through her body. She cried out, and a fierce growl rose from Charley's throat as he could no longer hold back, and together they let themselves be lashed by the orgasmic storms.
Slowly, the raging fires and tempests abated. He was atop her, his weight heavy but not crushing, and they were both gasping for breath.
"Welcome home, babe," Charley said, after their shudders subsided and they lay there panting, face-to-face and eye-to-eye.
"Did you?" asked Kenzie. Her pupils were dilated, and she was still clutching his moist, perspiration-sheened buttocks. "Did you really?"
"Did I really what?"
"Miss me that much?"
He kissed the tip of her nose. "That much, babe," he said, "and a whole lot more."
Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Then I take it there's second helpings where that came from?"
"Seconds," he assured her, with a lopsided grin. "Thirds."
"Wow!"
"But the pizza—"
"Charley?"
"Huh?"
Her voice was husky. "Fuck the pizza."
It was the following day. A glorious, snappy October afternoon. Kenzie and Zandra were in a rowboat in the Central Park lake.
"The seventh month?" Kenzie was exclaiming in astonishment. "You're going into the seventh month! It can't be! It's just not possible!"
The sky overhead was silvery blue, the leaves on the trees just beginning to turn, and everyone was out taking advantage of the weather. Tourists in horse-drawn carriages, children with Mylar balloons bouncing happily in the aii; marathon hopefuls doing some serious jogging, dogs catching Frisbees. Like superior beings, the exclusive apartment buildings lining Fifth Avenue showed their dignified facades from above the tree line.
Zandra swallowed the last of her giant pretzel and washed it down with a mouthful of chocolate milkshake from a giant paper cup.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Kenzie," she said. " 'Course it's possible. Do arithmetic, darling. You'll see. I was married last March. Right?"
"Right," Kenzie said, dipping the oars slowly.
"And, this is the beginning of October. Right, darling?"
"I know it's October. I just want to know where all the time has gone!"
"Darling, you tell me. I was already pregnant in April. And, poor lovely sweetie, unfortunate dear Becky. She died in May. That's only five months ago. Is it any wonder that Lord Rosenkrantz is still inconsolable? Thank God for Dina. He'd be lost without her."
"Is it true she's adopted him?"
"Not adopted, darling. He's her walker." Zandra eyed the remainders of Kenzie's deli lunch on the seat. "Are you going to eat your pickle, by any chance?"
"No. Be my guest."
"Oh, good." Zandra sat forward, swooped it up, and bit off a crunchy end. She chewed with ecstatic enjoyment. "Lovely." Leaning back in the transom, she let her other hand trail lazily in the water.
Kenzie made a face and shuddered. "Chili, pretzel, milkshake, and pickles? Oy vey. And that doesn't include the lox and bagel you ate on the way here, or that cheese Danish."
"Well, I am eating for two."
Kenzie locked the oars and took another bite of her own lunch. A BLT—actually, a triple-decker BLT without the B, but with sliced hard- boiled eggs and dressing.
"Yum, yum," she said, talking with her mouth full. "Oh, but isn't this splendid? Do you realize, after all the years I've spent living in New York, this is the very first time I ever did this?"
"Rowing, you mean?" Zandra looked appalled. "Darling, you can't be serious! Whatever else are parks for?"
"Your common urban ills?" Kenzie suggested. "Muggers? Rapists? Robbers? Addicts?"
"Goodness, you are jaded. I mean, look how marvelous this is!"
"Yes, but that's only because you're here." Kenzie unlocked the oars and resumed rowing.
"Still, with two boyfriends, surely you could get one of them to take you rowing?" Zandra withdrew her hand from the lake, flicked water from her fingertips. "You still have the both, don't you? Charley and Hannes?"
Kenzie sighed. "I've given myself until after the auction." She dipped the oars, pulled, lifted, and dipped. "Then I'll have to decide upon one or the other."
"Do either of them know that?"
"I told Charley last night."
"Oh?" Zandra popped the last of the pickle into her mouth. "And how did he take it?"
"Remarkably well, all things considered."
"And Hannes?"
"I'm telling him tonight."
Zandra shook her head in disbelief. "You really are Kurt Weill's Jenny. You know—poor Jenny? The one who couldn't make up her mind?"
"Oh, let's change the subject," Kenzie pleaded, "please?"
"If you like. Anyway, I was wanting to ask you something. Now, honestly. What would you say to being a godmother?"
Kenzie stared, her jaw dropping. "Can you fly that by me again?"
"I'm asking you to be godmother to my very own little serene bundle of joy."
"Why, I ... I'd be delighted! And honored!"
"Oh, I'm so glad. That's taken care of, then. Now, about the rest of your sandwich ...?"
"Have it."
"You're sure?"
" 'Course I'm sure." Kenzie laughed. "After all, I have a vested interest. Got to make certain my godchild grows up strong and healthy!"
"You're a darling! Really, I'll love you for absolutely ever and ever." Zandra attacked the remains of the sandwich. "As will little Ernst-Albrecht," she added.
"Ernst ... Albrecht?"
"Mmm ... hmm." Zandra patted her belly. "Ernst-Albrecht Rudger Gregorious Baldur Engelbert Burchard Georg Lorenzo Rainer-Maria von und zu Engelwiesen. That is," she added, "if he's a boy."
"And a godmother has to remember all that? And in order?"
"I should hope so!"
"Holy shit! You'd better write it down so I can start memorizing it. But I don't have to call him that tongue-twisting mouthful all the time, do I? I mean, a simple Ernie or Al will do? Won't it?"
"Not All." Zandra shook a finger back and forth. "Never All. But Albie ... perhaps."
"After the auction? Of course that's fine with me," Hannes said. "But why specifically then, Kenzie?"
They were taking time out to savor the lulling, satiated feeling of postcoital bliss.
"Oh, I don't know."
Kenzie freed herself of the tangle of rumpled bed linens, took a sip of Veuve Clicquot, set the glass on the nightstand, and cuddled against him, the back of her head resting on his chest.
"I suppose," she said thoughtfully, gazing up at the dim ceiling, "it's a time point. You know. A landmark of sorts? Like New Year's or something? The end of one juncture, the beginning of another? Don't ask me why, but in some strange sort of way, it just seems to make sense."
He kissed the top of her head and wrapped his warm arms around her.
"Hannes ..."
"Yes, Kenzie?"
"If I should decide upon Charley, you ... you wouldn't hurt him, would you?"
"Really, Kenzie," he chuckled. "What makes you think I would do something like that?"
"Nothing. I'm being silly, that's all. Forget it."
She twisted around and changed position, lying on her side so she could see his profile.
"I mean, I'm hardly the femme-fatale type." She laughed softly at the notion.
He rolled his head sideways on the pillow to look at her. "Then what type are you, my love?"
She shrugged. "I've never really thought about it." Her eyes seemed fastened to his. "Just your garden variety, ail-American girl next door, I suppose."
"No, Kenzie." He shook his head and smiled. "I don't think you are that ordinary at all."
"Then what do you think I am?"
"The right woman for me," Hannes said softly.