Loving (14 page)

"Do we get a day off?"

"Not that I know of, but who knows? Come on, get yourself ready. I'll keep you company while you pack." She smiled at him as she climbed off the bed in her nightgown. By now it was almost like being married, and she had to remind herself to put on a robe.

"Did you get through to your agent today?" She called out to him from the shower and he shouted back.

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing good. I've had my last bloody extension from immigration, and as soon as I leave the show, I have to get out."

"Of the country?"

"Obviously."

"Oh, shit."

"Precisely. That was more or less what I said, give or take a few pungent expressions." He smiled at the half-open door, and a few minutes later she turned off the shower and returned, wrapped in a towel, with another around her auburn hair.

"What are you going to do about that?" She looked concerned for him. She knew how much he wanted to stay.

"There's nothing I can do, love. I'll go." He shrugged and looked into his coffee with a wistful look in his eyes.

"I wish there were something I could do for you, Anthony."

But this time he only grinned lopsidedly. "Fraid not, love, you're already married."

"Would that do it?" She looked surprised.

"Sure. If I marry an American, I'm home free."

"So marry someone just for the hell of it. You can always get a quickie Dominican divorce right afterward. Hell, that's a terrific idea."

"Not really. I'd have to live with her for six months."

"So? There must be someone."

But he shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

"Then we'll have to drum up someone for you." But this time they both laughed, and she disappeared into the bathroom again. When she emerged, she was wearing a turquoise silk blouse and a white linen skirt. There was a matching jacket over her arm, and she was wearing high-heeled black patent leather sandals. She looked wonderfully crisp and summery, and Anthony smiled as he looked at her.

"You look lovely, Bettina." He said it gently, with a mixture of affection, awe, and respect. And then later, as they were riding to the airport, "How's your husband, by the way? Isn't he ever coming out?"

But Bettina shook her head slowly. "He says there's not much point if we don't get a day off. I guess he's right." She didn't seem anxious to pursue the subject, and after that there was chaos getting them all onto the plane. At last they were seated side by side on the aircraft. He read a magazine, and she read a book. From time to time he said something to her sotto voce, and she laughed, and then she shared something amusing with him from the book. To anyone who didn't know them, they looked as though they had been married for years.

The San Francisco airport looked like all the others, large, spread out, crowded, and chaotic. And at last they got everyone into the appropriate bus to the city, and then finally into cabs to the hotel. Bettina gritted her teeth to see one more ugly hotel room, and when the taxi stopped, she looked up in surprise. It wasn't the usual plastic commercial hotel she had expected, Instead it looked small and French, and it was perched on a hill with a breathtaking view of the bay. It looked in fact more like someone's home than a hotel where the road show would stay.

"Anthony?" She looked at him in astonishment. "Do you suppose they made a mistake?" She got out slowly and looked around with a mixture of pleasure and dismay. "Wait till the others see this." And then she grinned at him as he paid the driver. She was suddenly very amused. But there was something in Anthony's eyes that she did not quite understand.

"The others aren't staying here, Bettina." He said it to her very softly as they stood on the street.

"What do you mean?" She looked at him in confusion, not able or willing to understand. "Where are they?"

"At the usual fleabag hotel downtown." And then with a gentle look in his eyes, "I thought you'd like it better here."

"But why?" She looked suddenly frightened. "Why should we stay here?"

"Because you're used to this land of thing, and it's beautiful. You'll love it, and we're both sick to death of lousy hotels." It was true. But why here? And why did he always talk about what she was used to? Why should they stay in a separate hotel, just the two of them? "Will you trust me?" And then he turned to her with a look of challenge. "Or do you want to go?" She hesitated for a long moment, sighed, and then shook her head.

"No, I'll stay. But I don't know why you did it. Why didn't you say something to me first?" She was tired and suspicious and she was suddenly unsure of what she saw in his eyes.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"But what will the others say?"

"Who cares?" But she was hanging back again and he dropped the bags and reached for her hands. "Bettina, are we friends or not?"

She nodded slowly. "We are."

"Then trust me. Just this once. It's all I ask." And she did. He had already asked for adjoining rooms, and when she saw them, she had to admit that they were so pretty that suddenly she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and laugh.

"Oh, screw it, Anthony, you're right. God, it's lovely!"

"Isn't it?" He looked victorious as they stood on her terrace and enjoyed the view.

And then she looked at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry I made such a fuss. I'm just so damn tired, and I ... oh, I don't know ... it's been so long since I've seen Ivo, and I worry about things, and...."

But he spoke softly with an arm around her shoulders, "Never mind, love. Never mind."

She smiled at him and walked slowly back inside to relax luxuriously on a pale-blue-velvet chaise longue. There was fabric on the walls, and lovely French furniture, a little marble fireplace, and a four-poster bed. When he walked back into the room, she smiled at him again. "How did you ever find this place?"

"Luck, I guess. The first time I came to the States. And I always promised myself"--he looked down at his hands as he spoke--"that I'd come back here with someone I care about a great deal." And then his eyes rose to hers again. "And I care very much about you." He was barely able to say the words, and as he did Bettina felt her whole body grow warm. She didn't know what to answer, but she knew that she cared about him too.

"Anthony, I--I shouldn't...." She stood up, feeling awkward, and turned her back to him as she stood in the middle of the room. And then she heard him, next to her, and she felt him touching her shoulders gently until he had turned her to face him, and without saying anything more, he kissed her, with body and soul and fire and ecstasy, full on the lips.

At first Bettina didn't understand how it happened, or even what led her to do a thing like that, except that it had been five weeks since she had seen Ivo, and being on the road with the show, she felt as though she were existing in a whole other world. And now she realized for how long she had been attracted to Anthony, and much as she hated to admit it, how exquisite it was to be joined with a youthful body and young flesh. They drank of each other endlessly, until it was almost time to go to the theater. And Bettina left her bed almost in a daze, not knowing what to say to him, or what to think of herself. But Anthony was quick to see her expression and he sat her back down on the bed.

"Bettina, look at me...." But she wouldn't. "Darling, please."

"I don't know what to think. I don't understand...." And then she looked at him, agonized. "Why did we--"

"Because we wanted to. Because we need each other and we understand each other." And then he looked at her very hard. "I love you, Bettina. That was part of it too. Don't overlook that. Don't tell yourself it was just bodies here in this bed. It wasn't. It was much, much more than that. And if you deny that, then you're lying to yourself." And then, firmly, he brought her face up to his. "Look at me, Bettina." And slowly, agonizingly, she did. "Do you love me? Answer me honestly. Because I know I love you. Do you love me?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't know."

"Yes, you do. You'd never have made love to me if you didn't love me. You're not that kind of woman. Are you, Bett?" And then more softly, "Are you?" And this time she nodded, and then quickly shook her head. "Do you love me? Answer me ... say it ... say it please...." She could feel his words begin to caress her body again and as she looked at him she heard herself speaking.

"I love you." And then he put his arms around her and held her.

"I know that you do." He looked down at her tenderly. "Now we'll go to the theater, and afterward we'll come back here." But just to remind her of what would happen, he made love to her again quickly, there on the bed. She was breathless and panting when he left her, and astonished at her own passion, her hunger. She was like an alcoholic guzzling wine. She couldn't get enough of him, of his body, so satiny smooth beneath her hand. But on the way to the theater thoughts of Ivo began to press into her head. What if he called her? If he knew? What if he asked where they were staying? What if he came out to California as a surprise? What in hell was she doing? But each time she tried to tell herself it was madness, she thought of their lovemaking and knew she didn't want it to end. She could barely get through her work at the theater that evening, and when they got back to the hotel, they made love all night. It made her wonder how long they had kept the friendship so platonic, and for so long.

"Happy?" He smiled down at her, in the crook of his arm.

"I don't know." She looked up at him honestly, and then smiled. "Yes, of course." But in her heart was a terrible aching for Ivo. She felt pierced by a knife edge of guilt.

But Anthony knew. "I understand, Bettina. It's all right."

But she wondered if he did. She wondered if he had Ivo's genius for loving. He didn't have Ivo's experience or his years. There were benefits in loving a man that much older. He had used up his unkindness, learned his lessons long before. All he had left for her now was kindness and gentleness and loving. She grew very pensive as she thought of that. And then Anthony seemed to know what she was thinking. "What are you going to tell him?"

"Nothing." And then she turned to look at Anthony. He looked suddenly hurt. "I couldn't, Anthony. It's not the same. If he were younger, it would be different This way it just becomes an issue of his age."

"But isn't that the issue? Partly?" Jesus, she was tough to convince. He suddenly realized what kind of fight he had in store.

"I don't know." He didn't press the point that night. They had better things to do. But again and again Bettina found herself thinking first of Anthony, then of Ivo, then of Anthony again. It was a maddening circle, and her only escape from it was in Anthony's arms. In the course of the week she found herself not calling Ivo. Her guilt would have weighed on her too much. She couldn't pretend to him. She didn't want to lie. And she didn't want to tell him. So she simply fled. He called often, he left messages, and at last he reached her, in Los Angeles late one night. They hadn't spoken in nine days. And now there was no longer any pretense. She and Anthony were sharing a room.

"Darling? Are you all right?" There was a faint hint of desperation in his voice, and as Bettina heard him her eyes filled with tears.

"Ivo ... I'm fine ... oh, darling--" And then suddenly she couldn't speak. But she had to ... had to ... or he would know. She was suddenly grateful that Anthony was already asleep. "It's been so crazy, so much work ... I haven't stopped. And I didn't want to call until I could tell you when to come out."

"Is it still just as crazy?" His voice sounded oddly tense, and next to her in the bed Anthony stirred. She hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, squeezing the tears from her eyes.

"Yes, it is." It was barely a whisper, but at his end Ivo understood.

"Then we'll wait, darling. I'll see you when you get home. You don't need to feel pressed. We have the rest of our lives." But did they? He was no longer sure. Bettina felt as though she were being torn from him by hands stronger than hers.

"Oh, Ivo, I miss you so much...." She sounded like a desperately unhappy child, and at his end Ivo closed his eyes. But he had to tell her. Had to. It was only fair.

"Bettina ... little one...." He took a deep breath. "This is all part of your growing up, little one. You have to do it. No matter what."

"What do you mean 'no matter what'?" She sat up in bed, straining to hear. Did he know? Had he guessed then? What was he saying or was he talking about the show?

"I mean that no matter what it costs you, if it's what you want, Bettina, it's right. Don't ever be afraid to pay the price. Sometimes we have to pay some pretty high prices ... even if that means our not seeing each other for you to be with this play, even if that means--" He couldn't go on. But he didn't have to "Just be a big girl, Bettina. You have to, darling. It's time." But she didn't want to be a big girl. Suddenly all she wanted to be was a very little girl with him. "Go to sleep now, Bettina, it's late."

And then she realized. "It's even later for you." Back East it was three hours later, and it was two thirty in the morning in L.A. "Good Lord, what are you even doing up at this hour?"

"I wanted to be sure I got hold of you."

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry." Once again she was overcome with remorse.

"Don't be. Now be young, and have fun, and--" He had been about to say And remember that you're mine, but he didn't want to say that. He wanted to let her fly free if that was what she wanted. Whatever it cost him. "I love you, little one."

"I love you, Ivo."

"Good night."

When she hung up, there were tears streaming down her face and Anthony was snoring softly. For a brief moment she hated him.

But three days later she wasn't sure if she didn't hate Ivo more. There was an article in an L.A. paper about the well-known star of the Hollywood screen, Margot Banks, spending the weekend in New York, visiting a very dear old friend, whose name she had refused to disclose to the press. The piece went on to mention however that she had been seen dining at 21 with the retired publisher of the New York Mail, Ivo Stewart. Bettina knew full well that Margot had been one of her father's paramours, and later one of Ivo's, while Bettina was still growing up. Was that why he was being so understanding? Was that why he hadn't come out? Jesus, here she was crucifying herself every night for making love with Anthony when he had revived his old affair with Margot Banks. Was that what was happening? Was it he who felt like roving after their seven years? As she thought of it Bettina felt a wave of white-hot fury rise in her. The next time Ivo called her, she had one of the gophers tell him that she was out. And from where he sat, drinking coffee in his chair, Mr. Anthony Pearce looked enormously pleased.