Once Is Not Enough (13 page)

“In November. But I’ll play it loose with houseguests. They’ll have to understand that we’re going to pop off for all the backgammon tournaments. Of course, we’ll always be in residence for the holidays. January will probably come down for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but I imagine she’ll spend most of her time in New York on a fun job.”

Fun job? Before January could speak, the large man said, “Now Dee, don’t tell me this gorgeous creature is going to work.”

Dee smiled. “Stanford, you don’t realize. Today the young people want to do things—”

“Oh, no,” Stanford groaned. “Don’t tell me she’s one of those types who wants to change the world. Give the land back to the Indians, or march demanding equality for females and blacks.”

“What about those religious nuts who paint their faces and shave their heads?” the large woman added. “I saw a group of them beating tom-toms and chanting. Right on Fifth Avenue in front of Doubleday’s.”

“They’re no worse than the weird types we see on newsreels on the college campus,” Rosa cut in. “And they march, too. Arms around each other . . . boys and girls . . . boys and boys . . . you can’t tell the difference unless one of them has a beard.”

“Oh, that reminds me”—the stout woman leaned into the table and everyone knew a choice bit of gossip was coming. “Pressy Mathews is
not
really at a spa at all. She’s having a complete nervous breakdown at some sanitarium in Connecticut. It seems that this summer her daughter ran off with a Jewish boy. They bought a secondhand truck and loaded it with supplies and a big mongrel dog and traveled across the country, staying at communes. Pressy’s psychiatrist told her to be permissive about it, that little Pressy would get the rebellion out of her system. But this fall little Pressy will not return to Finch. She’s having a baby with this Jewish boy and they’re not going to get married until
after
the baby is born because little Pressy wants the baby at the wedding. Well, you can imagine! Big Pressy just collapsed . . . they’re trying to keep it a secret . . . including the sanitarium thing . . . so let’s keep this among ourselves.”

Then the stout man said, “Well, at least, it’s not all guitars and hard rock. Look at January.”

Everyone murmured that January was indeed a beauty, but then as Dee pointed out, January had studied abroad. Rosa asked her what she had majored in, and Dee quickly said, “Languages. January speaks French fluently.” Then Dee launched into a story about some darling little nursery school where the wee ones were taught languages immediately. January watched her father snap to attention with his gold Dunhill lighter every time one of the women on either side of him picked up a cigarette. He was even nodding and smiling at a
story the Yugoslav artist was telling. He sure was paying his dues. She watched the way he leaned his handsome head in a listening pose as the large woman rambled on and on. Once he caught her staring and their eyes met. He winked and she managed a smile. Then he went back to his work. Suddenly she heard Dee saying, “And January will love it.”

January will love what? (You couldn’t leave this conversation for a second.)

Dee was smiling and explaining in detail about the nursery school. “The idea is—teach the tots early. Make them bilingual. That’s why Mary Ann Stokes had made such a hit out of La Petite École. Mary Ann and I went to Smith together. The poor girl got polio in her junior year. Then her family lost everything . . . and with no money and a shriveled arm . . . Well, naturally poor Mary Ann’s chances of a decent marriage were nil. So when she wanted to start this school some years ago, I agreed to back her. It’s practically self-supporting now.”

“Oh, Dee, darling,” the stout woman boomed, “you are so modest. All these years . . . I never knew you started Mary Ann. It’s a divine school. My grandniece goes there.”

Dee nodded. “And of course the minute I told her that French was January’s second language, she leaped. After all, that’s part of the premise—beautiful socialites teaching the tots. They’ll adore January.”

“Me teach?” January knew her voice had actually cracked.

David was watching her carefully. “When does she start?” he asked.

Dee smiled. “Well, as I told Mary Ann, it will take at least two weeks to get January’s wardrobe in shape. I’d say we’ll shoot for the beginning of October. Mary Ann is coming by for tea tomorrow. We’ll settle it then.”

The music switched from rock into standards. January looked toward Mike. Their eyes met. He gave her a slight nod and stood up. But Dee rose at the same moment. “Oh, Mike . . . and I was afraid you wouldn’t remember. They’re playing our song.”

Mike looked slightly startled, but he managed a smile. Dee turned to the table as she led him toward the floor. “‘Three Coins in a Fountain.’ They were playing it in a little restaurant in Marbella when we first met.”

Everyone watched them leave. Suddenly David stood up. He tapped January on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m your date.” He led her out to the floor. The crowded floor made actual dancing impossible. They moved among the other couples. David held her close and whispered, “This will be over soon, and then we’ll cut out.”

“I don’t think I can.” She glanced toward her father who was whispering into Dee’s ear.

“I think you’d better,” he said evenly.

He led her back to the table when the set was over. There was espresso, after-dinner drinks, more talk and somehow the evening finally ground to an end and everyone was standing up telling Dee how marvelous it had all been.

“I’m taking January for a nightcap,” David said. Then he quickly thanked Dee and Mike for the evening, and before January could voice any objections, they were in a cab, heading for Le Club.

The place was jammed, the music was loud. David knew almost everyone in the room. There were several couples who were friends of his, standing at the bar. David suggested they join them. “We’re not staying long, so we really don’t need a table.”

She accepted introductions, danced with some of his friends. Dee’s chains felt like an anchor, but it seemed every girl on the dance floor wore them. Some wore twice the amount of chains, but they didn’t appear cumbersome. The girls’ long hair swished as they moved, and the necklaces clinked in rhythm. She was in the midst of being shoved around the floor by an effeminate-looking boy who held her too close and insisted on making a date for the following night. She was trying to be politely evasive when David cut in. “I had to save you from Ned,” he said. “He’s a real closet queen but feels he has to score with all the beautiful girls to prove otherwise.”

Miraculously the music changed and some Bacharach-David songs came on. They moved closer. He obviously felt her relax, because he whispered, “I like this kind of music too. I have most of these records at home.”

She nodded and felt his hand stroke the back of her neck. “I’d like to sleep with you,” he said.

They continued to dance. She couldn’t believe the matter
of-fact tone he had used. No ardent pleading like Franco. No promises. Just a statement. Weren’t you supposed to be insulted if a man said this on a first date? At Miss Haddon’s, you were. But this wasn’t Miss Haddon’s. This was Le Club, and David was a sought-after, sophisticated man. Besides, the way he had said it—not like a question, but almost like a compliment. She decided that no answer was the best course.

When he led her back to the bar he joined in the conversation, and everything seemed casual and impersonal. They talked about the upcoming World Series. The girls discussed their summer vacations, how the “season” was really on, the cost of lengthening a sable coat—
Women’s Wear
said the mini definitely was
not
coming back . . .

January smiled and tried to appear interested, but she was suddenly very tired. She was relieved when David finished his drink and suggested they leave. Once they were in the cab she kept up a steady barrage of conversation—How interesting Le Club was . . . How nice his friends seemed to be . . . Why did they play the music so loud? . . . She never stopped until she saw the canopy of the Pierre. David told the driver to hold the clock. And he walked her to the door.

“I had a wonderful time,” she said.

“We’ll have a lot of them,” he said. Then, without any warning, he pulled her to him and gave her a long kiss. She felt his tongue prying her lips apart. She knew the doorman was tactfully looking the other way. And she was dismayed that she felt the same revulsion she had always felt when a man tried to kiss her.

When he broke the embrace, he smiled. “It’s going to be great between us. I can feel it.” Then he turned and walked back to the cab.

Mike and Dee were huddled over the backgammon board when she came in. “I beat her,” he called out. “For the first time, I beat her!”

“He broke every rule,” Dee drawled. “He just had incredible luck with the dice.”

“I always break rules.” Mike grinned.

Dee turned her full attention toward January. “Isn’t David divine?”

Mike stood up. “While you two broads rehash the evening, I’m going to get a beer. Anyone want anything. A Coke, January?”

“No thanks.” She began taking off Dee’s jewelry.

The moment Mike left the room Dee said, “Wasn’t I right about David? He is beautiful, isn’t he? When are you seeing him again?”

January suddenly realized he hadn’t actually made a date. She handed Dee the earrings and began taking off the chains. “I want to thank you for the jewelry . . .”

“Anytime. Now tell me about David. Where did you go?”

“To Le Club.”

“Oh, that’s a fun place. What did you two young things talk about?”

January laughed. “Dee, no one talks at Le Club. Unless you use sign language. We danced, and I met a lot of his friends.”

“I’m so glad. David knows all the right young people and . . .”

“Dee, I’ve got to talk to you about the tots.”

Mike walked into the room. “What tots?”

Dee wandered back to the backgammon board. “Oh, January and I have a project in mind. Now set up the board, Mike. I’ve got to beat you before we go to bed to prove you don’t really know the game at all. Run off to sleep, January. We’ve got a lot of chitchatting to do tomorrow.”

She blew a kiss at her father and slipped into the bedroom. For a moment she stared at the closed door. Mike Wayne . . . sitting up playing backgammon. She thought of David . . . Maybe he had just meant the “I want to sleep with you” as a compliment. And she had gotten all uptight over it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had tried to grope her, or said it in a slimy way.

But it still wasn’t right!

Or was it?

Things had changed since Miss Haddon’s. Mike had changed, the whole world had changed. Maybe it was time for her to change.

And David was so nice. He was so good-looking. Maybe she had turned him off. Maybe he had felt her stiffen when he said that. But then, he
had
kissed her goodnight. Only she
hadn’t been exactly wildly responsive. But maybe he hadn’t noticed that.

Or had he?

He hadn’t asked her for another date. But then maybe he had just forgotten. After all, she hadn’t realized it either until Dee brought it up.

The phone rang. She reached for it so eagerly she almost knocked down the lamp.

“Hi, babe.” It was Mike’s muffled voice.

“Oh, hi, Daddy.”

“Dee’s in the bathroom. I figured we’ve got a few things to talk over. How about meeting in the living room for coffee tomorrow morning at nine?”

“Okay.”

“And don’t sound so blue. I promise you—you’re not gonna teach any tots.”

“Oh.” She managed a slight laugh.

“See. I’m always there to fix things. Right?”

“Right.”

“Goodnight, babe.”

“Goodnight, Daddy.”

Mike was sitting on the sofa drinking coffee and reading the
Times
when she came into the living room the next morning. Without saying a word, he poured a cup and held it out to her. “Sadie sets this up before she goes to bed,” he said. “Dee usually sleeps until noon, so there’s not too much action for breakfast around here.”

“Do you always get up this early?” she asked.

“Only since you came to town.”

She sat down and sipped her coffee. “Mike, we have to talk.”

He smiled. “What the hell do you think I’m doing here?”

She fastened her eyes on the coffee cup. “Mike . . . I—”

“You don’t want to teach at La Petite École.”

She looked at him. “You knew about that?”

“Not until you did. And I settled it with Dee last night. No Petite École. Next?”

“I can’t live here.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

She got up and walked to the window. “Oh, look, I can see my hill from here. There’s a large French poodle on it and . . .”

He came to her side. “Why can’t you live here?”

She tried to smile. “Maybe it’s because I can’t stand sharing you.”

“Come on. You know damn well you’re not sharing me. What we have together belongs to us.”

“No.” She shook her head. “It won’t work. I can’t stand to see—” She stopped. “Forget it.”

“What can’t you stand to see?” he asked quietly.

“I . . . I can’t stand to see you play backgammon!”

For a moment neither of them spoke. He looked at her and forced a smile. “It’s not a bad game . . . really.” He took her hands. “Look, she redid that bedroom for you—new wallpaper, special hangers in the closets, all that jazz. I think she’d be hurt if you didn’t at least give it a try. Besides, we’re going to Palm Beach the beginning of November. In six weeks you’ll have the whole place to yourself. Try it for a while anyway. Then, if you want to move—okay. But at least give it a shot. Please?”

She managed a smile. “Okay, Mike.”

He walked over and poured himself another cup of coffee. “What did you think of David?”

“I thought he was . . . well . . . very groovy-looking.” She caught his look of surprise. “You wanted me to like him, didn’t you?”

“Sure. But I guess I’m like all fathers. I know one day you’ll fall in love—I want you to fall in love—yet when I hear about it, I’ll probably hate the whole idea.” He laughed. “Don’t pay any attention to me. I never was any good in the morning. Now, what’s on your schedule? Want to meet me for lunch?”