Fancy Pants (32 page)
Holly Grace was beginning to get the drift. Despite Teddy's penchant
for war games and filling every sheet of drawing paper he put his hands
on with pictures of guns and knives, most of them dripping blood, the
child was a pacifist at heart. She had once seen him carry a spider
down seventeen floors in
the elevator so he could release it on the
street. "Did you talk to your mother about this?"
"Yeah. She called my gifted teacher to ask if I could draw the bugs
instead of killing them, but when
Miss Pearson said no, they ended up
getting in an argument and Miss Pearson hung up. Mom doesn't
like Miss
Pearson. She thinks she puts too much pressure on us kids. Finally Mom
said she'd kill the
bugs for me."
Holly Grace rolled her eyes at the idea of Francesca killing anything.
If any bugs had to be killed, she
had a pretty strong notion who would
end up doing the job. "That seems to solve your problem, then, doesn't
it?"
Teddy looked over at her, a picture of offended dignity. "What kind of
jerk do you think I am? What difference would it make to the bugs
whether I killed them or she did? They'd still be dead because of me."
Holly Grace looked over at him and smiled. She loved this kid—she
really did.
small cobbled Greenwich Village street that held one of New York's few
surviving bishop's-crook lampposts. A tangle of winter-bare wisteria
vines clung to the green shutters and white-painted brick of the house,
which Naomi had purchased with some of the profits from the ad agency
she'd started four years ago. She lived there with her second husband,
Benjamin R. Perlman, a professor of political science at Columbia. As
far as Holly Grace could see, the two of them had a marital match made
in left-wing heaven. They gave money to every goosey cause that came
their way, held cocktail parties for people who wanted to bust up the
CIA, and worked in a soup kitchen once a week for relaxation. Still,
Holly Grace had to admit that Naomi had never seemed more content.
Naomi had told her that, for the first time in her life, she felt as if
all the parts of herself had come together.
Naomi led them into her cozy living room, waddling more than Holly
Grace thought necessary, since she was only five months pregnant. Holly
Grace hated the gnawing envy that ate away at her every time she looked
at Naomi's waddle, but she couldn't seem to help it, even though Naomi
had been her good friend ever since their Sassy days. But every time
she looked at Naomi, she couldn't help thinking that if she didn't have
a baby soon, she would lose her chance forever.
". . . so she's going to fail me in science," Teddy concluded from the
kitchen, where he and Naomi had gone for refreshments.
"But that's barbaric," Naomi replied. The blender whirred for a few
moments and then shut off. ". . . think you should petition. This has
to be a violation of your civil rights. I'm going to talk to Ben."
"That's all right," Teddy said. "I think Mom got me into enough trouble
with my teacher as it is."
Moments later, they emerged from the kitchen, Teddy with a bottle of
natural fruit soda in his hand and Naomi holding out a strawberry
daiquiri to Holly Grace. "Did you hear about that bizarre insect
assassination project at Teddy's school?" she asked. "If I were
Francesca, I'd sue. I really would."
Holly Grace took a sip of her daiquiri. "I think Francesca might have a
few more important things on
her mind right now."
Naomi smiled, then glanced toward Teddy, who was disappearing into the
bedroom to get Ben's chess set. "Do you think she'll do it?" she
whispered.
"It's hard to say. When you see Francesca rolling around the floor in
her jeans and giggling with Teddy like a fool, it seems pretty
impossible. But when somebody upsets her, and she gets that snooty look
on her face, you just know a few of her ancestors had to have had blue
blood, and then you've got to think that it's a real possibility."
Naomi eased down in front of the coffee table, folding her legs so she
looked like a pregnant Buddha. "I'm opposed to monarchy on principle,
but I have to admit that Princess Francesca Serritella Day Brancuzi has
a terrific ring."
Teddy returned with the chess set and began setting it up on the coffee
table. "Concentrate this time, Naomi. You're almost as easy to beat as
Mom."
Suddenly they all jumped as three sharp bangs sounded at the front
door. "Oh, dear," Naomi said, glancing apprehensively toward Holly
Grace. "I only know one person who knocks like that."
"Don't you dare let him in while I'm here!" Holly Grace jerked forward,
splashing strawberry daiquiri down the front of her white sweat suit.
"Gerry!" Teddy shrieked, racing for the door.
"Don't open it," Holly Grace called out, jumping up. "No, Teddy!"
But it was too late. Not enough men passed through Teddy Day's life for
him to give up a chance to be with any one of them. Before Holly Grace
could stop him, he had flung open the door.
"Hey, Teddy!" Gerry Jaffe called out, offering the palms of his hands.
"What's happenin', my man?"
Teddy slapped him ten. "Hey, Gerry! I haven't seen you in a couple of
weeks. Where have you been?"
"In court, kiddo, defending some people who did a little damage to the
Shoreham nuclear power plant."
"Did you win?"
"You might say that it was a draw."
Gerry never regretted the decision he'd reached in Mexico ten years
before to come back to the United States, face the New York City cops
and their trumped-up drug charge, and then, after his name was cleared,
go on to law school. One by one, he had watched the leaders of the
Movement change direction—Eldridge Cleaver's soul no longer on ice but
dedicated to Jesus, Jerry Rubin sucking up to capitalism, Bobby Seale
peddling barbecue sauce. Abbie Hoffman was still around, but he was
caught up in environmental causes, which left it up to Gerry Jaffe, the
last of the sixties radicals, to draw the attention of the world away
from stainless-steel pasta machines and designer pizzas and back to the
possibility of nuclear winter. With all his heart, Gerry believed that
the future rested on his shoulders,
and the heavier the weight of
responsibility, the more he played the clown.
After giving Naomi a smack on the lips, he leaned down to speak
directly to her belly. "Listen up, kid,
this is Uncle Gerry talking.
The world sucks. Stay in there as long as you can."
Teddy thought this was hysterically funny and began to roll on the
floor, shrieking with laughter. This action brought him the attention
of all the adults, so he laughed louder, until he ceased being cute and
became merely annoying. Naomi
believed in letting children express themselves, so she didn't
reprimand him, and Holly Grace, who didn't believe any such thing, was
too distracted by the sight of Gerry's impressive shoulders straining
the seams of his worn leather bomber jacket to call Teddy to task.
In 1980, not long after Gerry had passed the New York Bar exam, he had
given up his Afro, but he still wore his hair long in the back so that
the dark curls, now lightly threaded with gray, fell over his collar.
Beneath his leather jacket, he was wearing his normal work attire—baggy
khaki trousers and a cotton fatigue sweater. A No Nukes button graced
the jacket collar. His mouth was as full and sensuous as ever, his nose
as bold, and his zealot's eyes still black and burning. That exact pair
of eyes had done in Holly Grace Beaudine a year ago when she and Gerry
had found themselves shoved into a corner together at one of Naomi's
parties.
Holly Grace still had a hard time explaining to herself what it was
about Gerry Jaffe that had made her fall in love with him. It certainly
hadn't been his politics. She honestly believed in the importance of a
strong military defense for the United States, a position that drove
him wild. They had raging political arguments, which generally ended in
some of the most incredible lovemaking she had experienced in years.
Gerry, who had few inhibitions in public, had even fewer in the bedroom.
But her attraction to him was more than sexual. For one thing, he was
as physically active as she. During the three months of their affair
they had taken skydiving lessons together, gone mountain climbing, and
even tried hang gliding. Being with him was like living in a
never-ending adventure. She loved the excitement he engendered around
him. She loved his passion and his zeal, the zest with which he ate his
food, his uninhibited laughter, his unabashed sentimentality. She had
once walked into the room and found him crying at a Kodak television
commercial, and when she had teased him about it, he hadn't made a
single excuse. She had even grown to love his male chauvinism. Unlike
Dallie who, despite his good ol' boy demeanor, had always been the most
liberated man she'd ever known, Gerry clung to ideas about male-female
relationships that were firmly entrenched in the fifties. And Gerry
always looked so
befuddled when she confronted him with it, so crestfallen that he—the
darling of the radicals—couldn't seem to comprehend one of the most
basic principles of an entire social revolution.
"Hello, Holly Grace," he said, walking toward her.
She leaned over to put her sticky strawberry daiquiri on the coffee
table and tried to look at him as if she couldn't quite remember his
name. "Oh, hi, Gerry."
Her ploy didn't work. He came closer, his compact body advancing with a
determination that sent a shiver of apprehension through her. "Don't
you dare touch me, you commie terrorist," she warned, thrusting out her
hand as if it held a crucifix that could ward him off.
He stepped past the coffee table.
"I mean it, Gerry."
"What are you afraid of, babe?"
"Afraid!" she scoffed, taking three steps back. "Me? Afraid of you? In
your dreams, you left-wing pinko."
"God, Holly Grace, you've got a mouth on you." He stopped in front of
her and without turning addressed his sister. "Naomi, could you and
Teddy find something to do in the kitchen for a few minutes?"
"Don't even think about leaving, Naomi," Holly Grace ordered.
"Sorry, Holly Grace, but tension isn't good for a pregnant woman. Come
on, Teddy. Let's go make some popcorn."
Holly Grace took a deep breath. This time she wouldn't allow Gerry to
get the best of her, no matter what he did. Their affair had lasted for
three months, and he'd taken advantage of her the entire time. While
she had been falling in love, he had been merely using her celebrity as
a way of getting his name in the newspapers so he could publicize his
anti-nuclear activities. Holly Grace couldn't believe what a sucker
she'd been. Old radicals never changed. They just got law degrees and
updated their bag of tricks.
Gerry reached out to touch her, but physical contact with him tended to
cloud her thinking, so she jerked her arm away before he could make
contact. "Keep your hands to yourself, buster." She had survived these
last few months without him very nicely, and she wasn't going to have a
relapse now.
She was too old to die twice in one year from a broken heart.
"Don't you think this separation has gone on long enough?" he said. "I
miss you."
She gave him her coolest stare. "What's wrong? Can't you get your face
on television, now that we're not an item anymore?" She used to love
the way those dark curls brushed along the back of his neck. She
remembered the texture of those curls—soft and silky. She would wrap
them around her finger, touch them with her lips.
"Don't start on this, Holly Grace."
"Won't anybody let you make speeches on the nightly news, now that
we've broken up?" she said nastily. "You really played our affair for
all it was worth, didn't you? While I was mooning over you like a
stupid fool, you were sending out press releases."
"You're really starting to piss me off. I love you, Holly Grace. I love
you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. We had something good
going."
He was doing it. He was breaking her heart again. "The only good thing
we had going was sex," she said fiercely.
"We had a hell of a lot more than sex!"
"Such as what? I don't like your friends, and I sure as hell don't like
your politics. Besides, you know I hate Jews."
Gerry groaned and slumped down on the couch. "Oh, God, here we go
again."
"I'm a dedicated anti-Semite. I really am, Gerry. I'm from Texas. I
hate Jews, I hate blacks, and I think all gay men should be put in
prison. Now what kind of future would I have with a left-wing pinko
like you?"
"You don't hate Jews," Gerry said reasonably, as if he were speaking to
a child. "And three years ago you signed a gay rights petition that was
published in every newspaper in New York, and the year after that you
had a highly publicized affair with a certain wide receiver for the
Pittsburgh Steelers."
"He was very light-skinned," Holly Grace countered. "And he always
voted Republican."
Slowly he got up from the couch, his expression both troubled and
tender. "Look, babe, I can't give up my politics, not even
for you. I know you don't approve of our approach—"
"All of you people are so goddamn sanctimonious," she hissed. "You
treat anyone who doesn't agree with your methods like a warmonger.
Well, I've got news for you, buddy boy. No sane person likes living
with nuclear weapons, but not everybody thinks it's a terrific idea for
us to throw all our missiles away while the Soviets are still sitting
on top of a whole toy box full of their own."
"Don't you think the Soviets—"
"I'm not listening to you." She grabbed her purse and called out for
Teddy. Dallie had been right every one of those times he'd told her
money couldn't buy happiness. She was thirty-seven years old and she
wanted to nest. She wanted a baby while she could still have one, and
she wanted a husband who loved her for herself, not just for the
publicity she brought him.
"Holly Grace, please—"
"You go fuck yourself."
"Goddammit!" He grabbed her then, pulled her into his arms, and pressed
his mouth to hers in a gesture that wasn't so much a kiss as a way of
distracting himself from his desire to shake her until her teeth
rattled. They were the same height, and Holly Grace worked out with
weights, so Gerry had to use considerable strength to pin her arms to
her sides. She finally stopped struggling so that he could work her
over with his mouth the way he wanted to—the way she liked. Finally her
lips parted enough so that he could slip his tongue inside.
"Come on, babe," he whispered. "Love me back."
She did, just for a moment, until she realized what she was doing. When
Gerry felt her stiffen, he immediately slid his mouth to her neck where
he took a long, sucking bite.
"You did it to me again," she yelped, squirming away from him and
clasping her neck.
He had put his mark on her deliberately and he didn't apologize. "Every
time you look at that mark, I want you to remember that you're throwing
away the best thing that's ever happened to either one of us."
Holly Grace gave him a furious glare and then spun around toward Teddy,
who had just come into the room with Naomi. "Get
your coat and tell Naomi good-bye."
"But Holly Grace—" Teddy protested.
"Now!" She bundled Teddy into his coat, grabbed her own, and propelled
the two of them out the door without looking back.
As they disappeared, Gerry avoided the displeasure in his sister's eyes
by pretending to study a metal sculpture on the mantel. Even though he
was forty-two, he wasn't used to being the mature one in a
relationship. He was used to women who mothered him, who agreed with
his opinions, who cleaned his apartment. He wasn't used to a prickly
Texas beauty who could outdrink him any day of the week and who would
laugh in his face if he asked her to run a small load of wash. He loved
her so much he felt as if a part of him had walked out of the house
with her. What was he going to do? He couldn't deny that he'd taken
advantage of the publicity from their affair. It was instinctive—the
way he did things. For the past few years, the media had ignored his
best efforts to draw attention to the cause, and it wasn't in his
nature to turn his back on free publicity. Why couldn't she understand
that it didn't have a damned thing to do with loving her—he was just
seizing his opportunities as he'd always done.
for war games and filling every sheet of drawing paper he put his hands
on with pictures of guns and knives, most of them dripping blood, the
child was a pacifist at heart. She had once seen him carry a spider
down seventeen floors in
the elevator so he could release it on the
street. "Did you talk to your mother about this?"
"Yeah. She called my gifted teacher to ask if I could draw the bugs
instead of killing them, but when
Miss Pearson said no, they ended up
getting in an argument and Miss Pearson hung up. Mom doesn't
like Miss
Pearson. She thinks she puts too much pressure on us kids. Finally Mom
said she'd kill the
bugs for me."
Holly Grace rolled her eyes at the idea of Francesca killing anything.
If any bugs had to be killed, she
had a pretty strong notion who would
end up doing the job. "That seems to solve your problem, then, doesn't
it?"
Teddy looked over at her, a picture of offended dignity. "What kind of
jerk do you think I am? What difference would it make to the bugs
whether I killed them or she did? They'd still be dead because of me."
Holly Grace looked over at him and smiled. She loved this kid—she
really did.
* * *
Naomi Jaffe Tanaka Perlman's quaint little mews house was set on asmall cobbled Greenwich Village street that held one of New York's few
surviving bishop's-crook lampposts. A tangle of winter-bare wisteria
vines clung to the green shutters and white-painted brick of the house,
which Naomi had purchased with some of the profits from the ad agency
she'd started four years ago. She lived there with her second husband,
Benjamin R. Perlman, a professor of political science at Columbia. As
far as Holly Grace could see, the two of them had a marital match made
in left-wing heaven. They gave money to every goosey cause that came
their way, held cocktail parties for people who wanted to bust up the
CIA, and worked in a soup kitchen once a week for relaxation. Still,
Holly Grace had to admit that Naomi had never seemed more content.
Naomi had told her that, for the first time in her life, she felt as if
all the parts of herself had come together.
Naomi led them into her cozy living room, waddling more than Holly
Grace thought necessary, since she was only five months pregnant. Holly
Grace hated the gnawing envy that ate away at her every time she looked
at Naomi's waddle, but she couldn't seem to help it, even though Naomi
had been her good friend ever since their Sassy days. But every time
she looked at Naomi, she couldn't help thinking that if she didn't have
a baby soon, she would lose her chance forever.
". . . so she's going to fail me in science," Teddy concluded from the
kitchen, where he and Naomi had gone for refreshments.
"But that's barbaric," Naomi replied. The blender whirred for a few
moments and then shut off. ". . . think you should petition. This has
to be a violation of your civil rights. I'm going to talk to Ben."
"That's all right," Teddy said. "I think Mom got me into enough trouble
with my teacher as it is."
Moments later, they emerged from the kitchen, Teddy with a bottle of
natural fruit soda in his hand and Naomi holding out a strawberry
daiquiri to Holly Grace. "Did you hear about that bizarre insect
assassination project at Teddy's school?" she asked. "If I were
Francesca, I'd sue. I really would."
Holly Grace took a sip of her daiquiri. "I think Francesca might have a
few more important things on
her mind right now."
Naomi smiled, then glanced toward Teddy, who was disappearing into the
bedroom to get Ben's chess set. "Do you think she'll do it?" she
whispered.
"It's hard to say. When you see Francesca rolling around the floor in
her jeans and giggling with Teddy like a fool, it seems pretty
impossible. But when somebody upsets her, and she gets that snooty look
on her face, you just know a few of her ancestors had to have had blue
blood, and then you've got to think that it's a real possibility."
Naomi eased down in front of the coffee table, folding her legs so she
looked like a pregnant Buddha. "I'm opposed to monarchy on principle,
but I have to admit that Princess Francesca Serritella Day Brancuzi has
a terrific ring."
Teddy returned with the chess set and began setting it up on the coffee
table. "Concentrate this time, Naomi. You're almost as easy to beat as
Mom."
Suddenly they all jumped as three sharp bangs sounded at the front
door. "Oh, dear," Naomi said, glancing apprehensively toward Holly
Grace. "I only know one person who knocks like that."
"Don't you dare let him in while I'm here!" Holly Grace jerked forward,
splashing strawberry daiquiri down the front of her white sweat suit.
"Gerry!" Teddy shrieked, racing for the door.
"Don't open it," Holly Grace called out, jumping up. "No, Teddy!"
But it was too late. Not enough men passed through Teddy Day's life for
him to give up a chance to be with any one of them. Before Holly Grace
could stop him, he had flung open the door.
"Hey, Teddy!" Gerry Jaffe called out, offering the palms of his hands.
"What's happenin', my man?"
Teddy slapped him ten. "Hey, Gerry! I haven't seen you in a couple of
weeks. Where have you been?"
"In court, kiddo, defending some people who did a little damage to the
Shoreham nuclear power plant."
"Did you win?"
"You might say that it was a draw."
Gerry never regretted the decision he'd reached in Mexico ten years
before to come back to the United States, face the New York City cops
and their trumped-up drug charge, and then, after his name was cleared,
go on to law school. One by one, he had watched the leaders of the
Movement change direction—Eldridge Cleaver's soul no longer on ice but
dedicated to Jesus, Jerry Rubin sucking up to capitalism, Bobby Seale
peddling barbecue sauce. Abbie Hoffman was still around, but he was
caught up in environmental causes, which left it up to Gerry Jaffe, the
last of the sixties radicals, to draw the attention of the world away
from stainless-steel pasta machines and designer pizzas and back to the
possibility of nuclear winter. With all his heart, Gerry believed that
the future rested on his shoulders,
and the heavier the weight of
responsibility, the more he played the clown.
After giving Naomi a smack on the lips, he leaned down to speak
directly to her belly. "Listen up, kid,
this is Uncle Gerry talking.
The world sucks. Stay in there as long as you can."
Teddy thought this was hysterically funny and began to roll on the
floor, shrieking with laughter. This action brought him the attention
of all the adults, so he laughed louder, until he ceased being cute and
became merely annoying. Naomi
believed in letting children express themselves, so she didn't
reprimand him, and Holly Grace, who didn't believe any such thing, was
too distracted by the sight of Gerry's impressive shoulders straining
the seams of his worn leather bomber jacket to call Teddy to task.
In 1980, not long after Gerry had passed the New York Bar exam, he had
given up his Afro, but he still wore his hair long in the back so that
the dark curls, now lightly threaded with gray, fell over his collar.
Beneath his leather jacket, he was wearing his normal work attire—baggy
khaki trousers and a cotton fatigue sweater. A No Nukes button graced
the jacket collar. His mouth was as full and sensuous as ever, his nose
as bold, and his zealot's eyes still black and burning. That exact pair
of eyes had done in Holly Grace Beaudine a year ago when she and Gerry
had found themselves shoved into a corner together at one of Naomi's
parties.
Holly Grace still had a hard time explaining to herself what it was
about Gerry Jaffe that had made her fall in love with him. It certainly
hadn't been his politics. She honestly believed in the importance of a
strong military defense for the United States, a position that drove
him wild. They had raging political arguments, which generally ended in
some of the most incredible lovemaking she had experienced in years.
Gerry, who had few inhibitions in public, had even fewer in the bedroom.
But her attraction to him was more than sexual. For one thing, he was
as physically active as she. During the three months of their affair
they had taken skydiving lessons together, gone mountain climbing, and
even tried hang gliding. Being with him was like living in a
never-ending adventure. She loved the excitement he engendered around
him. She loved his passion and his zeal, the zest with which he ate his
food, his uninhibited laughter, his unabashed sentimentality. She had
once walked into the room and found him crying at a Kodak television
commercial, and when she had teased him about it, he hadn't made a
single excuse. She had even grown to love his male chauvinism. Unlike
Dallie who, despite his good ol' boy demeanor, had always been the most
liberated man she'd ever known, Gerry clung to ideas about male-female
relationships that were firmly entrenched in the fifties. And Gerry
always looked so
befuddled when she confronted him with it, so crestfallen that he—the
darling of the radicals—couldn't seem to comprehend one of the most
basic principles of an entire social revolution.
"Hello, Holly Grace," he said, walking toward her.
She leaned over to put her sticky strawberry daiquiri on the coffee
table and tried to look at him as if she couldn't quite remember his
name. "Oh, hi, Gerry."
Her ploy didn't work. He came closer, his compact body advancing with a
determination that sent a shiver of apprehension through her. "Don't
you dare touch me, you commie terrorist," she warned, thrusting out her
hand as if it held a crucifix that could ward him off.
He stepped past the coffee table.
"I mean it, Gerry."
"What are you afraid of, babe?"
"Afraid!" she scoffed, taking three steps back. "Me? Afraid of you? In
your dreams, you left-wing pinko."
"God, Holly Grace, you've got a mouth on you." He stopped in front of
her and without turning addressed his sister. "Naomi, could you and
Teddy find something to do in the kitchen for a few minutes?"
"Don't even think about leaving, Naomi," Holly Grace ordered.
"Sorry, Holly Grace, but tension isn't good for a pregnant woman. Come
on, Teddy. Let's go make some popcorn."
Holly Grace took a deep breath. This time she wouldn't allow Gerry to
get the best of her, no matter what he did. Their affair had lasted for
three months, and he'd taken advantage of her the entire time. While
she had been falling in love, he had been merely using her celebrity as
a way of getting his name in the newspapers so he could publicize his
anti-nuclear activities. Holly Grace couldn't believe what a sucker
she'd been. Old radicals never changed. They just got law degrees and
updated their bag of tricks.
Gerry reached out to touch her, but physical contact with him tended to
cloud her thinking, so she jerked her arm away before he could make
contact. "Keep your hands to yourself, buster." She had survived these
last few months without him very nicely, and she wasn't going to have a
relapse now.
She was too old to die twice in one year from a broken heart.
"Don't you think this separation has gone on long enough?" he said. "I
miss you."
She gave him her coolest stare. "What's wrong? Can't you get your face
on television, now that we're not an item anymore?" She used to love
the way those dark curls brushed along the back of his neck. She
remembered the texture of those curls—soft and silky. She would wrap
them around her finger, touch them with her lips.
"Don't start on this, Holly Grace."
"Won't anybody let you make speeches on the nightly news, now that
we've broken up?" she said nastily. "You really played our affair for
all it was worth, didn't you? While I was mooning over you like a
stupid fool, you were sending out press releases."
"You're really starting to piss me off. I love you, Holly Grace. I love
you more than I've ever loved anyone in my life. We had something good
going."
He was doing it. He was breaking her heart again. "The only good thing
we had going was sex," she said fiercely.
"We had a hell of a lot more than sex!"
"Such as what? I don't like your friends, and I sure as hell don't like
your politics. Besides, you know I hate Jews."
Gerry groaned and slumped down on the couch. "Oh, God, here we go
again."
"I'm a dedicated anti-Semite. I really am, Gerry. I'm from Texas. I
hate Jews, I hate blacks, and I think all gay men should be put in
prison. Now what kind of future would I have with a left-wing pinko
like you?"
"You don't hate Jews," Gerry said reasonably, as if he were speaking to
a child. "And three years ago you signed a gay rights petition that was
published in every newspaper in New York, and the year after that you
had a highly publicized affair with a certain wide receiver for the
Pittsburgh Steelers."
"He was very light-skinned," Holly Grace countered. "And he always
voted Republican."
Slowly he got up from the couch, his expression both troubled and
tender. "Look, babe, I can't give up my politics, not even
for you. I know you don't approve of our approach—"
"All of you people are so goddamn sanctimonious," she hissed. "You
treat anyone who doesn't agree with your methods like a warmonger.
Well, I've got news for you, buddy boy. No sane person likes living
with nuclear weapons, but not everybody thinks it's a terrific idea for
us to throw all our missiles away while the Soviets are still sitting
on top of a whole toy box full of their own."
"Don't you think the Soviets—"
"I'm not listening to you." She grabbed her purse and called out for
Teddy. Dallie had been right every one of those times he'd told her
money couldn't buy happiness. She was thirty-seven years old and she
wanted to nest. She wanted a baby while she could still have one, and
she wanted a husband who loved her for herself, not just for the
publicity she brought him.
"Holly Grace, please—"
"You go fuck yourself."
"Goddammit!" He grabbed her then, pulled her into his arms, and pressed
his mouth to hers in a gesture that wasn't so much a kiss as a way of
distracting himself from his desire to shake her until her teeth
rattled. They were the same height, and Holly Grace worked out with
weights, so Gerry had to use considerable strength to pin her arms to
her sides. She finally stopped struggling so that he could work her
over with his mouth the way he wanted to—the way she liked. Finally her
lips parted enough so that he could slip his tongue inside.
"Come on, babe," he whispered. "Love me back."
She did, just for a moment, until she realized what she was doing. When
Gerry felt her stiffen, he immediately slid his mouth to her neck where
he took a long, sucking bite.
"You did it to me again," she yelped, squirming away from him and
clasping her neck.
He had put his mark on her deliberately and he didn't apologize. "Every
time you look at that mark, I want you to remember that you're throwing
away the best thing that's ever happened to either one of us."
Holly Grace gave him a furious glare and then spun around toward Teddy,
who had just come into the room with Naomi. "Get
your coat and tell Naomi good-bye."
"But Holly Grace—" Teddy protested.
"Now!" She bundled Teddy into his coat, grabbed her own, and propelled
the two of them out the door without looking back.
As they disappeared, Gerry avoided the displeasure in his sister's eyes
by pretending to study a metal sculpture on the mantel. Even though he
was forty-two, he wasn't used to being the mature one in a
relationship. He was used to women who mothered him, who agreed with
his opinions, who cleaned his apartment. He wasn't used to a prickly
Texas beauty who could outdrink him any day of the week and who would
laugh in his face if he asked her to run a small load of wash. He loved
her so much he felt as if a part of him had walked out of the house
with her. What was he going to do? He couldn't deny that he'd taken
advantage of the publicity from their affair. It was instinctive—the
way he did things. For the past few years, the media had ignored his
best efforts to draw attention to the cause, and it wasn't in his
nature to turn his back on free publicity. Why couldn't she understand
that it didn't have a damned thing to do with loving her—he was just
seizing his opportunities as he'd always done.
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