From Here to There (4 page)

 Phillip's gaze went blank. "Possibly," he said and walked past them back into the reception hall.

 "There is something wrong, honey. What is it?" Amos asked again as he caught Helene's stricken expression.

 "No, I... I'll try to explain later," Helene said, following after Phillip. The set of Phillip's broad shoulders and pain in his eyes filled her heart with an ache she couldn't explain away, even to herself.

 When she reached him, she was almost prepared for the bleakness she saw on his face. "We have to get out of here," he said tonelessly, not looking at her but beyond to the groups of people, half of whom were looking toward them. "I've had all I can take."

 "I... I have to change."

 "All right, but do it fast." He stalked off to find his own change of clothing.

 Helene located her mother who was instructing one of the servers that the drinks on the patio needed refreshing.

 "I need to change out of my wedding gown," Helene said, not waiting for her mother's response.

 "The reception's barely begun," her mother complained, catching up with her at the steps. "You shouldn't leave yet. It's unseemly. I can't imagine what people will think."

 Helene gritted her teeth and continued to walk. "Phillip and I both want to leave."

 Her mother stopped, then quickened her pace to slide into the room the club had set aside for changing before Helene closed the door. Wordlessly, she helped Helene out of the wedding gown and put it onto a hanger as Helene took the plastic sleeve off her suit. She'd chosen the off-white, linen suit because she'd felt she could use it for future occasions. She wondered as she slid the skirt down over her hips if she would ever be able to stand seeing it again.

 Dressed in the suit with a bright designer print silk blouse, Helene studied her reflection in the mirror. "I'm going to take down my hair," she said finally, reaching up to remove pins.

 "But it looks so beautiful up," her mother protested as the elaborate concoction began to fall onto Helene's shoulders. "How will Francois feel when he sees you've destroyed his creation."

 "This hair isn't me," Helene said simply as the last pin was removed. She found her purse and brushed out the long auburn hair, allowing it to wave around her shoulders.

 Her mother studied her for a moment and then said, "Actually, perhaps you were right. Your hair looks very nice like that, very virginal." She grimaced a little. "You will enjoy your honeymoon. I wouldn't think it necessary to tell you anything at this late date about sex or what to expect in bed with Phillip. Probably you know more than I do." She pinched her lips together and reached out to smooth Helene's hair.

 "I'm sure everything will be fine," Helene said, ignoring her mother's innuendo or perhaps probe for information.

 "I love you, my dear," her mother said, patting Helene's shoulder.

 Tears again, Helene thought with frustration, wondering if she'd make it through this day without breaking down completely. She reached out and hugged her mother, something she'd done only rarely. For a moment her mother stiffened, then threw her arms around her.

 "My baby," her mother murmured, tears running down her cheeks when they broke apart. "Only you aren't my baby anymore. You're all grown up, aren't you?"

 "I don't know," Helene admitted honestly, "but if I'm not, I'm going to be."

 "That was a strange thing to say." Her mother glanced into the mirror at her own reflection. She dabbed at her eyes, then picked up a small purse from the dresser to refresh her coral lipstick, patting her bleached blond hair with a nervous hand.

 "Everything has been strange today," Helene said, watching her mother, wishing she had the words to explain what she was feeling, but even if she had, this wasn't the time.

 "It's because it's your wedding day. It always seems a little odd. I remember how it was with your father and me." She stopped, then added in a fierce tone. "But it will work for you and Phillip. I know it will."

 Helene smiled tremulously, again on the verge of tears. "It can't always work out, mother," she said finally. "I mean, look at all the divorces."

 Her mother's chin trembled. "Don't talk about divorces on the day you're married. It might bring you bad luck," she warned, then smiled tremulously.

 "Oh, I doubt that," Helene said, her smile a little bitter. "I don't think anything could do that today."

 Safely in the limousine, the ordeal of congratulations and pretense finally behind him, Phillip leaned forward to direct the chauffeur to take Helene and him to his penthouse. Swallowing his anger, he sat back in the seat, prepared to listen to her angry objections. Surprisingly, she said nothing, staring out the window, her beautiful face, not surprisingly, a mystery to him. He stared out his own window, trying to understand, as he always did when he faced failure, where he'd made his mistake.

How could he have been so wrong about this? She had seemed to offer everything he needed in a wife--beauty, style, ambition and a grace that had been sadly missing from his own life. Helene was all of that. What he hadn't counted on was adding in rejection, disgrace and humiliation which was what her leaving him immediately after the wedding ceremony was bound to bring.

 He ruminated on what lay ahead--embarrassing questions about why his wife had left so quickly, perhaps a probe into his personal background, a probe he could ill afford.  For the first time he wondered if that background was why Helene had decided she couldn't stand the thought of being his wife. Had she found out things he'd thought buried so well no one could uncover them?

 Only by asking could he know, and in case that wasn't the reason, he couldn't bring himself to take the risk. Instead he said, "I thought my apartment would be most private."

 She nodded. "I'm sure you're right. With my place sublet, I can't imagine discussing this in front of my parents."

Phillip frowned, staring again out the window. "I don't understand," he said quietly, his voice resigned, "what happened?"

 He watched her seem to struggle for words but if she had an answer, it didn’t come as the limousine pulled to the front of the building and stopped.

“We’re here,” the driver said leaning back to look at them, amusement in his voice.

 "Yeah," Phillip said, pulling several large bills from his pocket. "Wait here for the lady." He didn't bother looking for the smirk he knew would be on the driver's face. Stepping from the limousine without allowing the man enough time to get out and open the door, Phillip reached back his hand, almost by rote, to assist Helene.

 They walked into the building, smiling faintly at the doorman, then remaining silent as they rode the elevator to the top floor.

 Helene had only rarely visited Phillip's penthouse apartment. He had planned for them to live in the new home he'd purchased and had redecorated in Harvard Square, convenient to both their offices. He had no intention of facing that home this evening, maybe never now.

 When he opened the door, he stepped back to usher her inside. Since he'd given his cook and maid two weeks off, supposedly the length of their European honeymoon, the apartment would be deserted. A good thing under the circumstances.

  Phillip took off his jacket and threw it over a chair. "Want a drink?" he asked as he headed for the liquor cabinet.

 "I need a clear head," she demurred then watched silently as he poured himself a double shot of Jack Daniels whiskey.

 He turned back, taking off his tie and unfastening the top studs on his shirt. "All right," he said, his voice rough with suppressed anger and frustration, "what's the real reason you want out?"

 The moment of truth. The look on her face though told him she wasn’t ready for that. She looked defensive. Well she should. Was that fear on her face? Surely she didn’t think he would hurt her no matter what she had done. As he moved toward her, she stepped back, her leg coming into contact with a large white chair which she sank into and looked back at him, her eyes wide.

"You're not afraid of me, are you Helene?" he asked, more certain than ever that she'd guessed his secret. It would explain everything.

 "No, not really. Maybe a little, I don't blame you for being angry."

 "I'm angry all right, but confused too. If you'll recall, just last night we went through a rehearsal and a dinner. You said nothing, seemed to smile and... Well, I didn't have a clue this was coming."

 She sighed, pressing her lips tightly together. "I'm very good at hiding my feelings. One gets that way with the world in which we move."

 "One does, does one?" he asked mockingly. "What world is that, Helene?"

 "You know... our world. People put on masks, pretend they like things they don't. Pretend they're friends when they're not. Do things they don't want to do. I just got so accustomed to doing it, I forgot there were feelings beneath the mask."

 "Hell!" He shook his head, walking to the huge plate glass window with a snort of derision. "Why did you ever say you'd marry me in the first place?"

 "I thought it would be all right. Everyone else said... and I thought... Oh, what's the use of arguing about all this? I thought I could go through with it, but I was wrong."

 "You're not making much sense," Phillip grunted, letting out an exasperated sigh of disgust.

 "I'm trying to explain," she retorted testily. "This isn't easy for me either. I should have said no. I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t say something sooner. Nor even more why I didn’t know what I was feeling. Just when I saw Uncle Amos, I knew this was all wrong. I wanted what he had with Aunt Rochelle. We were never going to have that. We’d end up with a marriage like my parents. By then, it was too late to back out of the wedding. So I thought it would be less embarrassing if I went through with the ceremony and then got a quiet annulment."

 He snorted derisively. "There's no such thing as a quiet annulment." Turning to face her, his handsome face taut, his blue eyes narrowed into angry slits. “You know what people will think?”

“What?”

“That I am a failure in bed.”

“Well they might assume it was me. Do we really care? The thing is we don’t have a choice.”

“We?”

“All right, me. You aren’t the right man for me and I'm not what you want in a wife."

 "You're in love with someone else?"

 "No, not at all... or maybe I am, but it isn't a person."

 He shook his head with complete frustration, chugged his whiskey, and refilled the glass. "You are confusing the hell out of me, Helene."

 "Just..." She changed the subject. “I never saw you drink before, not hard liquor.”

“That’s an issue?”

“Of course not. “I... well.” She grasped the arms of the chair for support. "I always had this dream, the kind of man I knew I'd someday want to marry."

 "And you've only now discovering I don't fit that dream?"

“You aren’t making this easy.”

“And I should?”

She went back to his question. "You're a very handsome man, Phillip. You're successful and dynamic and... but no, you don't fit my dream."

 "Just for the sake of curiosity, what is this dream man like."

 "He is uh competent. He can ride a horse all day, come in to the house, kiss me, go back out and repair a broken water faucet or chop wood or rope a steer or..."

 "Wait a minute," he interrupted her with a short laugh. "Are you saying you want the Marlboro man, and I don't fit the advertisement?"