Inheritance (27 page)

His favorite car, just ahead of a 1920 LaSalle and a 1925 Packard, was a 1927 Silver Shadow Rolls-Royce that he polished and cosseted more than any woman he'd ever known. He knew absolutely—and was reminded each time he ran sensuous palms over its gold and mahogany fittings, leather-bound steering wheel, and soft upholstered seats—that he was definitely made for the finest things in life.

The trouble was, most of the finest things had eluded him lately. He no longer even had his own apartment, as he had in Philadelphia. "It would be okay for somebody who didn't know any better," he grumbled, pacing around the small sitting room that linked his bedroom and Laura's, and eyeing the sturdy furniture and cotton throw rugs. "But, shit, if it wasn't for that bastard, we'd be on Beacon Hill with everything we have coming to us. You know what we're doing? We're going backward, for Christ's sake! Living in a little place, the two of us, just like five years ago, above that garage in Centerville. We were doing better, and now all we have is this fucking little—"

"It's home and we're lucky to have it," Laura snapped. Then she put her arm around him. "I know you're dis^ pointed. Clay, but I wish you'd just learn as much as you can while we're here and let me take care of the future. I'm thinking about it; I intend to take care of Felix one way or another. And you could help; a little cheerfulness would go a long way around here."

He dropped into a chair and stretched out his legs. He hated criticism.

Laura looked at the room. "Do you suppose the fireplace works?"

"I don't know; the housekeeper always took care of them at Owen's. How can you tell?"

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"Make a fire."

"The place might fill up with smoke/*

*Then we*ll know it doesn't work."

Clay laughed and jumped to kiss her. "You're okay, you know? I reaUy like being with you. I don't want you to think I don't appreciate what you do—making a home and—well, what the hell, you know what I mean. I'll get some firewood, okay? Be right back." He went outside, wishing he could tell Laura how great he thought she was without getting embarrassed. She really was clever, and nice, and she really cared about him. She'd been miserable the whole time they were in Philadelphia, after that fucking will reading, and he'd been so furious at the family he hadn't done much to help her. He didn't even have a job; he quit the hotel before Felix could fire him. So there they'd been, the two of them, with their own problems, and he'd kept sounding off but Laura hadn't said much. She hadn't cried, either; her face had been like stone, and she'd spent a lot of time alone, just walking around the city.

She was miserable, and Clay knew it. But he didn't know what would be the right thing to say, so he left her alone. He knew she'd work everything out; she always did. She didn't seem to need other people very much.

She said she needed him, though, which was why he was here. He'd followed her from the Cape to Boston and from Boston to this goddanmed island—an island in the middle of some mountains when what he craved was New York!—because she said she needed him; he was her family. Well, what the hell. He'd stick around for now. There was Myma, and the spectacular cars, and John Damton, who liked him and said he'd give him a raise if they had a good season. And besides, they weren't all that far from New York; he might be able to get there for a weekend now and then.

Anyway, where else would he be but here? He wouldn't go to Ben; he didn't trust him. Of course he could go anywhere —he was twenty-one, strong, healthy and free, with the whole world to choose from—but he'd decided to hang in there with Laura for a while more. It wasn't so bad, having a family of your own.

Judith Michael

"You want to tell me about those trips to Boston?** Kelly asked Laura one fragrant morning in March as they sat on the front porch. "And why you jump every time the phone rings in your office, like you're expecting something?"

"I'd like to, Kelly. And I will. But not yet."

"Quite a shell you've built around you," Kelly observed casually. "I'm here, you know, willing and able to Usten."

"I know it. Thank you."

Kelly poured coffee from the thermos jug they had brought firom the kitchen. "One thing, you do look a lot less peaked than when you got here. I hope we have something to do with that."

"You do," said Laura with a smile. "More than anyone or anything." She turned to a clean page on the clipboard in her lap. "We haven't gone over the wine list yet."

"Don't you ever quit? We could take a break; the management allows it."

"No, I'm fine; there's still so much to do."

"All work and no play," Kelly sighed, but she, too, picked up her clipboard. "Oh, what about linens? Did we finish with them yesterday? We did bed linens and restaurant stuff, but how about the health club?"

"It's on my list: fourteen towels and two dozen sheets for the massage rooms that should be replaced. I'm going into town this afternoon; I thought I'd stop at the laundry and tell them they have to be more careful."

"Good. I hate doing those things; I end up listening to their family problems and telling them not to worry about a few torn sheets. You're tougher than I am, my friend."

Laura thought of her sleepless nights. Not as tough as I'd like to be. '*They tell me their problems, too," she replied. "But I know people can live with their problems and still do a good job."

Kelly made the small humming sound that meant she was thinking and didn't want her thoughts interrupted by someone changing the subject.

"Kelly's humming," John Damton said, coming onto the porch from the great hall of the lodge. "What did I miss?"

"A fascinating discussion of the laundry," Laura said.

He chuckled and kissed the top of Kelly's head. "Girl talk."

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He leaned over his wife's shoulder and read the top page in her lap. "Wine. I forgot to tell you, I found a new supplier yesterday. He specializes in boutique American wines instead of French and Italian. Til bring you his price Ust and then we'll decide." He took the clipboard from her hand and riffled through the papers. "Better add some new bar glasses; breakage was up last season. Season. Lousy word, isn't it? We thought this place would be year-round."

"It will be," Kelly said. "It takes a while."

"*A while' seems to be going on longer than I expected." He was trying to sound playful, and as if the effort was too much, he returned the clipboard to her and straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'd call four years a meaning^ amount of time.'*

"You've said that before," Kelly noted flatly.

"About three thousand times, probably. And it's still dead around here from December to May, except for Christmas week—thank God for Christmas week—and what have we done about it?"

"We're working on it."

"How are we working on it?"

"What is this, a quiz?" Kelly demanded. "You know per-fecdy well what we're doing, we woiic together. Or did you again forget that?"

"Hoo-ee, the lady is on her crusade again." He clasped his hands behind his head and looked down at Kelly. "One time. One fucking time I play around with somebody and you absolutely will not let go of—^"

"Who'd believe that? If there was once there was twice or a hundred. Young chicks come here to work and you follow them to the mainland like a dog with his tongue hanging— **

"Did I ever expect my loving wife to call me a dogT John asked the cloudless sky. "Was I warned?"

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here."

"I'll talk about you any way I goddam please."

Laura walked deliberately to the front door of die lodge. "I'll be in the kitchen," she said.

"Shit!" John exploded. He dropped his arms, his pahns slapping loudly against his thighs. "I'm going; I interrupted a conference. Sony we put you through this, Lauia; can you forgive us?"

Judith Michael

Without waiting for an answer, he turned to leave. As he passed Kelly's chair, he reached out to touch her shoulder, then jerked his hand back and kept going, down the steps and across the lawn.

"Damn, damn, damn." Kelly's fist pounded the arm of her chair. "Why can't I be cooler about things, like you? Because I can't; I start boiling when I think of him tangled in the sheets with some cute unattached chick who hasn't been married to him for ten years and doesn't have to worry about a resort sucking up an inheritance and every penny of savings like a vacuum cleaner and still needing more." She took a long breath. "Sorry, Laura, you've heard this before. First John apologizes, then I do; we keep making you our audience. It's just that there isn't anybody else around here who listens and doesn't gossip, and sometimes things pile up and . . ."

"You've got too much to worry about," Laura said. "It makes you feel smothered. You have to lock some things up and only worry about one at a time."

Kelly looked at her and nodded slowly. "You really do that, don't you? Is that how you stay so cool? God, Laura, I love you and I love having you here, but you make me feel so sloppy, all my emotions hanging out while you're so smooth and together, like one of those fortune-teller's globes that doesn't have any seams. Don't you ever let loose and scream or cry?"

Laura clasped her hands. "No."

"Everybody cries."

"Maybe if you concentrated on the resort and let things settle down between you and John—^"

"Okay, you don't want to talk about crying. Concentrate on the resort? John gets jealous—can you believe it?—if I pay more attention to it than to him. And if I concentrate on him" —she spread out her hands—^'*he's loaded for bear, that man. You saw it just now; talking along nice and easy and—pow! —we're fighting. Even in bed, one of us says a simple word —well, maybe not always so simple—and that's it, no lovemaldng that night, just another argument. And I tell you, that is not much fiin."

"I know." But I don't think about that. I don't miss making love; I don't want it; I don't even remember what it was like to

Inheritance

want it. I know I used to think it was lovely but I'm not interested anymore. "Maybe if you went somewhere, just the two of you . . . this is only the middle of March—we have two months until we get busy—isn't this a good time for you to get away?"

Kelly tilted her head. "You trying to get rid of us, my friend? Itching to take over and run the place yourself?**

Laura lau^ied and shook her head. "I wouldn't even try. I was thinking of you, not me.**

"But you must want to run your own place,** Kelly said probingly.

"Someday. We all have dreams we tuck away for the future.**

"It*s one big headache, you know. You're better off staying with us. Lifetime security.'*

They laughed, but inwardly Laura said no. The only real security was earning her way in a place of her own. Then no one could ever kick her out again.

*Think about it,** Kelly urged. "Fm serious. We'd make you a partner.'*

"1*11 think about it,** Laura said, "if you think about a vacation. I still say this is a good time for you to get away."

"It would be if we could, but we can*t. Cutting expenses, you cut yoiu- own pleasures first. You know about that; you've cut down a lot.** She gazed at Laura. 'That's one of the jackets you brought with you—and it's a Ralph Lauren or I'll eat my non-Ralph Lauren hat—and you haven't bought anything since. And there's that closet^l of clothes, and those old leather-bound books I was looking at the other day. . . . Not that I'm prying**—she saw the involuntary smile that curved Laura*s lips—^'*well, I am, but only a little bit. Mainly I'm interested in size, not cost, and I'm envious: every time I look at you I dream of being size eight instead of fourteen.'*

Laura smiled again, liking Kelly's openness and affection, thinking what a good place this was, and how lucky she was to be here, for however long she stayed. And then the telephone rang, and it was Ansel Rollins. The trial was set for July.

Chapter 12

LENI Salinger sat on the edge of the wide, satin-hung bed, leaning back, gazing beneath heavy eyelids at the bright red hair of the young man kneeling before her, his head between her thighs. She let herself float on slow waves of pleasure as he played his tongue on her sensitive flesh and thrust deep inside her wet darkness, and small shocks of sensation swept through her like iced vodka and warm honey, transforming her lean white body to a fluid line of feeling. She sensed rafier than saw the brocade and velvet room, and the hypnotizing glow of a single lamp, and then her eyes closed as the young man suddenly lay on her, forcing her back on the satin spread, and thrust inside her, hard and d^p. He moved within her, then raised himself so the tip of lus penis caressed her small, hardened flesh, and then he plunged into her again so their bodies locked, and he pulled out and thrust again and again until the threads of Leni's body gathered together in a knot and then flew apart, giving her a few seconds of the ecstasy she kept locked inside her, waiting until she could find the secrecy and safety to release it.

The young man's breathing was as rapid as hers, and she put her arms around his muscular shoulders, pleased that he had found pleasure, too. But then she turned her wrist to see her watch. "I have to go," she murmured, and immediately he moved away so she could sit up. In the beginning, months ago, he had tried to keep her with him, but no longer he knew if he wanted to see her again, he had to follow her lead.

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"Let me help,'* he said; it was one of the games they played. He pulled on her hose and half-slip, fastened her brassiere, buttoned her sheer blouse, and tied the bow at her throat. Her body cooling, Leni drew her skirt over her hips, fastened a red snakeskin belt around her waist, stepped into gray snakeskin pumps, and picked up her jacket.

The young man was buckling his own belt. "Will you be here next week?"

"I don't know.** She picked up the red Hermes Constance handbag she always used when she came to New York, and slung it over her shoulder. "I'll try, but I have four board meetings and that doesn't leave much time. Besides," she added lightly, "if I don't give you some free afternoons, when will you get your homework done?"