CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Payne sounded different when he called Cathy the next morning to talk about dinner that night. His voice was strained and hoarse, as if he had yelled too long and too loud at a home-club championship basketball game that had gone into overtime. Their conversation had been short, almost curt at times, but she was relieved to hear him.

“Seven okay?” he asked.

“Great, can I bring anything?”

“Nope. This one’s on me.”

“Shall I dress...formally?”

That melted his stiffness a bit. Payne made a small sound that might have been a stifled laugh or a chuckle.

“No, nothing like that. Just don’t put on too many layers. We might end up...playing chess or something.”

She wanted to respond, and was wondering how much overt sexiness she could get away with talking to him over the telephone without offending him or coming on too strong, when he made the issue moot by hurrying on. The stiffness was in his voice again.

“Gotta go. Lots of things to do today. See you tonight.” And then he was gone.

Cathy stood listening to the distant buzz of the lines and wondering.

By evening, she felt better about the situation. Payne was a little odd at times, but who wasn’t. And most of the time he was a gentleman, the stablest, most considerate man she had known in...in a long time, she started to think, then amended it to ever. He was the most considerate man she had ever known. She suspected more than a little that she was falling in love with him. Tonight could be more important than just a dinner among friends, no matter how good the friendship was. It could be the start of something deep and wonderful.

So watch it. Don’t come on too strong. Let him take the lead.

It wasn’t that Cathy was particularly manipulative; it was merely that she felt strongly about Payne.

The feeling intensified as soon as she saw him that night. He didn’t come out to the car this time. In fact, she had her finger stretched out to push the bell before the door opened and Payne stood before her. In the shadows, he seemed paler than usual, worried, thinner almost, except that not enough time had passed since they were together for him to have changed that much physically. It was just a trick of the light.

“Hi,” she said, her voice rich with as much sensuality as she dared project.

Even in the dim light, she could see him flushing. Her smile broadened. That was one of the things she liked so much about him. He was boyish, innocent, naively modest about so many things. A refreshing change from most of the men she had dated, who probably never blushed in their entire lives and would probably have been willing to strip naked in front of a capacity crowd at the Rose Bowl if it would ensure their getting laid after dinner.

Not Payne. Of course, that didn’t preclude the possibility of his getting…no, she refused to use the phrase and instead substituted of their making love after this dinner.

“Come on in,” he said at last, starting as if he were coming out of a mild trance. “Come in,” and he reached out and took her hand, and his was warm and felt strong and masculine. Cathy wondered again at the levels of the man, sensitivity and strength, masculinity and innocence.

She smiled and let him lead her into the living room. For a second she stood there, not quite a foot from Payne, looking over his shoulder into the room. The drapes were closed and the inside lights were on, so there was an odd texture to the lighting that she found mildly unappealing. And more. Something was wrong in the room itself.

Instinctively, she glanced around. It took several seconds before she noticed it: a thin crack in the television monitor. If the light hadn’t struck the screen just so, highlighting the smooth line of the fracture, she probably would not have seen it at all.

And there was something more.

One of the chess pieces was missing. It seemed a minute thing, one piece after all. But in a room as sparse as this one, any change, no matter how small, affected the sense of balance.

“Payne,” she said, “what happened?”

He glanced at the monitor. The movement seemed studied, as if he were waiting for her to ask, as if he had rehearsed his reaction to her question. She felt a tingling along her spine.

“Oh, that,” he said, suddenly off-hand and casual. “Damnedest thing. I had this weird dream last night. Really off-beat. I don’t remember any of it now—you know how it is, especially with the strange ones. Anyway, all I remember is that I dreamed I was standing in the middle of the room, still dressed in my pajamas, and I had apparently just chucked one of the chess pieces at the monitor. Must’ve thought it was a monster from outer space or something, the Crawling Eye coming to get me out of the depths of Dreamland.” He laughed. “Anyway, when I got up this morning and came out, there it was, a crack down the face of the set. And the chess piece is missing. It must have rolled under the couch or something.”

He turned to face her and shrugged, a little-boy shrug that warmed her and drew her closer to him.

“You okay now?” she asked.

“Sure.” This time there was a shrug in the voice as well. “What’s a dream, anyway. Yeah, everything’s great.”

And for a while, she believed it.

Dinner was not as complicated as the first time she had come to his house. The food was good but simpler—steak and salad and ice cream for dessert. This time, there was no argument about her helping to clean up, and afterward they found their way easily into his bedroom and from there onto the bed, and they discovered that the bed might be narrow but it was not too narrow for two people to make love on. It was lingering and gentle and wonderfully fulfilling for her, and when she fell asleep with Payne’s head resting on her shoulder and his arm around her waist she could not imagine ever feeling as complete or as happy.