Her Hungry Heart (23 page)

Before they dressed to leave the boat they bathed together, the three of them, in an overly-large bath filled with hot water scented with oils of sandalwood and jasmine. They washed her, held her in their arms and fondled her breasts. They knew every inch of her body and were generous in their praise of it. She was touched by their words of love and admiration for her as a woman. And then she realized who were the only two people in the world who might understand her lusty sexual relationship with these two men: Brandon and Barbara. Brandon for certain would have appreciated this mini-orgy of theirs, probably would have liked to join them. Barbara would have understood it, and loved Mimi all the more for having taken advantage of it.

They dressed, quite sober now. Allan lit another joint, Mimi and Rick declined it. It was over. There was nothing awkward about that or their being together. Then Rick did a very odd thing. He lined them up together in front of the full-length mirrored wall, arms around each other’s shoulders. They looked so young and handsome … no, more beautiful than handsome. That was how the three of them seemed to Mimi.

They viewed themselves in the mirror. And Mimi could understand what they were all about, what she had missed in her life. Being a child, having carefree child-like qualities, the innocence that eliminates evil, was there in the two young adults and the woman in her early middle age reflected in the mirror. Would that they never had to grow up and face the truth of the ways of the world. They had such hope, such enthusiasm for a better time. She was neither educated nor a forward thinker, nor as intelligent and courageous as the two men standing either side of her. But with them she found for a few moments such things in herself. It was a step forward, this new discovery of Mimi. It showed in her face. She had no need to tell them or even herself what happiness she felt. Their hope for a better world had rubbed off on her.

The fortitude she had exerted as a child had burned her out. Years of security, her father, a family, a husband, and now these two young men, most especially Rick, lit the flame in her again. The world was hers. Time didn’t matter, nor age, she would go out and grab it with a new kind of enthusiasm. She was like the fairy-tale princess awoken by a kiss.

She took stock of Mimi in the mirror. How had she missed it before, not recognized what others had seen in her, what enticed men? The charisma of Karel was in her too. A seductive beauty with blonde curly hair and violet eyes, a body that was sensuous and provocative, announcing her sexuality. Dressed in the classic chic of a seductive shift of black crepe-de-chine, bone-coloured stockings and high-heeled, elegant shoes. The cover-up, hiding a hungry heart. Her glance caught Rick’s and for a few seconds they were locked in something deep and abiding. She knew that what she saw in the gaze that passed between them was to be hers for ever. He had, for a few seconds, a glimpse of eternity in her violet eyes. And then it was gone. When Mimi’s eyes met those of Allan there was something there too, but it was
different. Friendship between those who shared a brief encounter.

Up on deck it was still warm, one of those unusual, overly warm springtimes in New York when the tulips and daffodils are in full bloom though the calendar has declared them premature. Above them the sky was black but bright with stars.

Chapter 20

Even after so many years, there was that sense of delight on seeing Barbara. It never waned, any more than her beauty and elegance had. Beechtrees and Mimi’s first sight of Barbara seemed as vivid to her as if it had all happened yesterday, not more than twenty years ago.

Barbara was stepping from the plum-coloured Rolls. Every head on the street turned her way: she still had sensational looks. A special charisma that women ignored and men adored. As children, Mimi and Max, Juliet and Pierre, had been dazzled by her. Mimi couldn’t help smiling that Barbara could still do that to her. Easy to understand why men made fools of themselves over her. Famous and powerful men were putty in her hands, even now, when she was no longer a young woman. If anything, her success and the tempestuous, at times notorious, private life she led seemed only to add to that charisma.

Barbara had the best of all worlds. With an international reputation as one of the finest painters in the world, she had paintings in every museum in every capital city in Europe and America. She had what most great artists craved: fame in their work and privacy in their life. In intellectual and artistic circles of both continents her private life was the subject of constant speculation. Mimi had watched it at close range. She could honestly say that the occasional scandals arose only because Barbara was true to herself.

Mimi was aware of the air-taxi pilot standing next to her, staring with obvious admiration at Barbara, who was
looking radiant in a pair of baggy Levis, a white cotton shirt with a dropped shoulder and huge balloon-shaped sleeves that fitted tight around her wrists. Reminiscent of an eighteenth-century English gentleman’s shirt, it bloused over a rich, coral-coloured, braided-leather belt with a large buckle of silver and semi-precious stones: garnets and citrines, beryl and topaz. Her hair was tied back with a large soft bow of coral chiffon. She wore no jewellery except a pair of large, square-cut yellow diamond earrings.

Barbara still had looks reminiscent of Rita Hayworth and the glamorous forties. Anyone who knew her could understand why the Greek poet Stratikatou dedicated to her one of the great love-lyrics of the century. In literary and artistic circles, his mad passion for her had been well known and well recorded. Many blamed her when, finally spurned by her, he put a gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Mimi had always taken in her stride rumours about Barbara’s love-life. Her often volatile ten-year marriage to Brandon had not daunted other men. They still pursued her. Mimi had watched her toy with them, never let them go, but never, while married to Brandon, accept them as lovers. There was much to admire in Barbara, not least her creative and independent spirit. For all her fame, success and self-interest, she was still not just able, but only too pleased, to set all that aside to stand behind any man she loved. She had no need to be in the forefront of a relationship. Many times Mimi had seen her in the shadows of a concert-hall stage, applauding with enthusiasm a famous conductor, her lover. Or sitting quietly at a rally for a senator with his eye on the White House. She actually liked being in the shadow of her own fame. In that, Mimi was not unlike her. Maybe she’d even learned it from Barbara.

She watched her friend unloading the Rolls with Ching Lee. Barbara saw Mimi, raised a hand, waved and smiled.
Then Mimi and the air-taxi pilot went to help them carry the luggage to the plane. Barbara was going to open her studio in East Hampton, to stay and work there for a while in seclusion. Ching Lee was accompanying her, as always. Mimi was going for the ride, to return at sunset with the pilot.

It had been two weeks since the party. They had spoken several times since then, and Barbara had mentioned Rick. Several times Mimi had thought to tell Barbara about her relationship with him, but the right opening in their conversations hadn’t occurred.

Rick was gone now. Two days gone. She had seen him off at Kennedy Airport, he and Allan, on this trip in search of the perfect wave. She recalled his last words: ‘If you need me, you’ll find me.’

What kind of cryptic directions were those? she had asked herself as she had walked away from him. Yet she knew exactly what he meant. Driving back from the airport, she kept thinking about the postcards that would come from Katmandu, Delhi, the African coast, the Great Barrier Reef, Fiji, Samoa, God knew where. The search for the perfect wave? A better philosophy to live by? How many head-trips, LSD and EST trips? How long, she wondered, will this self-absorbed journey last? How long will it take to overcome whatever dysfunction handsome, intelligent young men like Allan and Rick suffer in trying to reclaim the inner child in themselves? Only then had she realized that that might be what she was doing in this affair with Rick. It hadn’t been just sex, she had known that all along. But if she was reclaiming the inner child in her own self, a question had to be faced: Why was that need so great? That question opened too many old wounds, so she shelved it. No doubt it would recur some time. Not a happy thought. In the taxi on the way back to the city that day, she saw the skyline of Manhattan on the other side of the East River
and relaxed into thinking to herself, a wave is a wave is a wave. She began to laugh. It had been such fun, and very sexy.

They climbed on board. The motors spluttered to life, and the pilot revved them until the small plane shimmied and shook. Then slowly he taxied away from the dock and on to the river for his choppy take-off. On the river a tug boat, pulling two long barges piled high with rubbish beneath a cloud of fat, squawking seagulls that swooped all over this moveable feast, crossed their path, sounding its horn. The pilot gave a signal-sound of his own. They bumped along against the current until the pilot turned the plane, gave it all the power he could. Mimi braced herself. The plane shot forward at a terrific speed. Spray billowed up from the pontoons and blinkered their view. It was thrilling and scary. In moments they were off the water, airborne at a steep angle and leaving Manhattan behind. Mimi liked the danger and excitement of taking off from the river. She and Jay used it frequently to go to Long Island, Fire Island, or to their weather-worn Cape Cod house on Martha’s Vineyard.

They circled the shoreline of East Hampton several times, and buzzed Barbara’s studio for the caretaker. He waved and hopped into the Mercedes station wagon. He would be there waiting for them by the time they landed. Landing was as thrilling as taking off, but too thrilling if tried on the ocean in front of Barbara’s studio. That might have been thrilling to death.

The two women left it to Ching Lee and the pilot to unload first the plane, then the station wagon, and open the house. The sun was high in the cloudless sky. It felt good, the sun after winter, the smell of the ocean after the aroma of city life. Barbara and Mimi abandoned the house and chores to sit on deck chairs by the water’s edge. Lee would organize lunch. Shoes were discarded and blouses opened, breasts bared to the sun. A private beach shared by Barbara
and neighbours who hadn’t opened their houses yet. For more than an hour the two women dozed silently in the sun. It warmed their skin, they could feel it penetrate their flesh. It made them lazy, speechless. It eased out city-life tensions. The ocean was calm. Small waves broke and glided smoothly onto the shore, creating a mesmerizing symphony. The muffled sound of the pull and push, the roll of the cold Atlantic Ocean, today little more than the steady lapping of waves on the sand.

For nearly an hour they neither moved nor spoke, barely even strung thoughts together.

‘Barbara?’

‘Mmmm.’

‘This is Heaven.’

‘Mmmm.’

The sun was colouring their faces, burning the tender nipples of their breasts, tanning their skin. Barbara stretched, moved her feet and toes. She sighed as if to say, ‘Delicious.’

‘Barbara?’

‘Mmmm.’

‘Have you ever slept with two men at the same time?’

A long pause. Then Barbara said, ‘That’s quite a question, Mimi.’

‘Yes, I guess it is.’

‘Can I think about whether or not I want to answer that?’

‘Does it take thinking about?’

‘Yes. Or care how I answer it.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘Rick?’

‘How did you know, Barbara?’

‘I didn’t know, it was a good guess.’

‘Was I so obvious?’

‘Not at all. But there were little things he said during dinner. Strange because they were not even specific to you. I recognized them as what a man says when infatuated with
a woman. We were, after all, dinner companions at my party. I found him an interesting young man. We talked about Clifford Still and his work and reclusive behaviour, about Rick’s father, his collection. I felt curious about Rick when he worked his magic on Cary.’

‘I’ve never talked to him about his father or his father’s collection.’

‘Well, I dare say not. When he’s with you I doubt that he needs small talk. But at least this young man makes interesting small talk. That was the give-away for me, all that dinner-party chatter and no mention of the hostess. I didn’t realize then that there might be something between you. Yet I felt him actually pull himself up, stiffen even, when someone mentioned your name. But no one else would have guessed there might be something between you.’

‘Had been, had been! I saw him off yesterday at Kennedy Airport. He’s hit the hippie trail or something like that, in search of the endless summer and the perfect wave. Can you believe this, a young man like that?’

‘Do I hear wind hurtling down the generation gap?’

‘I hope not. No, this has to do with young people looking for an endless summer to play in. When I first met him I thought how ridiculous. Now I’m not so sure. The Beat Generation of the fifties was more interesting, but these sixties people are a lot more fun.’

There was a pause. Both women turned their heads to look at each other and began to laugh. They turned their faces back into the sun and remained quiet, listening to the sound of the waves on the shore. Mimi felt the sun deliciously warm on her face. The sun is not nearly as hot as it was on the Greek island of Patmos that last day in August, she thought. She closed her eyes. Mimi could hear her own voice as if disembodied from herself telling Barbara her story. She liked the sound of it.

‘It happened on Patmos last summer, yet it all really
began at Martha’s Vineyard. You know how we always up sticks, Jay and I, and spend July and August in our house in Martha’s Vineyard. How we love that house and the island. Everything was running in its usual pattern last summer. Jay working in July from the Vineyard house. Flying into New York for emergency meetings. His associates flying out to us when necessary. Sailing, swimming, having a great summer. It’s the only time we really have all four of his children together, and they’re great. They were coming and going as usual with a host of friends. The best part of seeing them on the island is that we don’t have any interference from the two distraught ex-wives. It’s my fun-time with them. They are at that age, the youngest is now seventeen, when we can enjoy each other’s company.

‘I should have guessed, there were so many whispers, something was afoot. And then the five of them sprang it on me. Jay had rented a house in Greece for the month of August. For ten years we had spent August in Martha’s Vineyard. Now the children and he decided to take me on a holiday, a reward, they said, for being stalwart for all those summers. It was a surprise, and I did like the idea, and it’s great to travel with Jay. He likes his comforts when he travels, and he’s adventurous and knows everybody everywhere. It was bound to be fun. In fact it was great fun. The house was large and white with lots of levels, rambling along a cove, a barren dry landscape with the sea practically at your door. It was a forty-five-minute walk into the port. It was perfect. Owned by a Greek millionaire, one of those Anglophile Greek families with real taste. It was furnished simply but with great charm. The housekeeper, Greek, was used to entertaining on a lavish scale for an international jet-set. She’d got Greek cooking down to a fine art and, as we all know, that takes some doing.

‘Anyway, Jay and the children gave me a great month. Nothing to do but swim and sail together, take long walks over the island, go into port and up to Hora. It’s a magical
place, the village and monastery high above the port, looking out across the Aegean. I found it full of mystery, and very ethereal. It’s no wonder that St John wrote the Book of the Apocalypse there. That was always hovering in the mind. I found it a power-place, one that played on the emotions, even those buried deep in my subconscious. Several times I felt a deep, deep sadness, without reason, such unhappiness, such utter despair. One night sitting in the port at a table close to the water having dinner with Jay, I suddenly burst into tears, weeping as I have never wept before. Poor Jay. He hardly knew what to do for me. It passed, and I was all right again, but shaken by the experience.

‘But I digress. Our month was up. Although the owners said we could stay on, we decided it was time to leave. We were all packed. We had had the best time as a family any of us had remembered. I love Jay’s boys. I loved them as my own because they belonged to Jay and were terrific kids, but I’d never been as close to them as I was in those weeks at Patmos.

‘I don’t know how or why it happened, but the night before we were all to take the ferry back to Athens, two of the boys and I, with the wholehearted approval of Jay, decided to stay on for another week. Ostensibly to make a couple of excursions to the mainland. The next morning we saw Jay and the other two boys off at the boat returning to Athens.

‘The following day the two boys and I walked into town to have supper. I had seen several times a group of ten people sitting at a long table in the port near the water’s edge. They lived even further out than we did in an island house overlooking the sea. Our boys had been up there and had spent some time with them. Jay and I saw them as too young for us, and so had little to do with them. That night, at the table, I saw Rick for the first time. He stood out among the others. He had a bronze tan and his hair was
bleached almost white from the sun. He looked so young, like a boy of eighteen. He had a French girl with him. I assumed they were in love. All the laughter in the world seemed to be at that table. They were an international set: English, French and Italian, several Greeks, a couple of Americans, Rick being one of them. We were distracted by them, unable to make headway with our own plans. Our ideas, once adventurous and interesting, now seemed dull. They were overshadowed by the laughter and amusing anecdotes that drifted into our hearing.