Pamela Morsi (22 page)

“I am sorry, Miss Gussie,” he told her. “No, we should not do that tomorrow. I … I lost control. I did take advantage. I cannot apologize enough. I …”

“Oh, that wasn’t what you intended,” she said.

“No, ma’am, I assure you it was not. Tomorrow I promise I will be a good deal more circumspect and my kisses won’t—they won’t be anything like that.”

“Oh, that’s good, then,” she answered.

“I am sorry I was so offensive,” he said.

Her eyes were bright with excitement, passion.

“I wasn’t offended, Mr. Akers,” she assured him. “I was … well, I was simply so … so pleasured that I thought perhaps we had it all wrong. It should be the ladies paying the money.”

Rome’s jaw dropped open. He was speechless.

“What are you two doing up there so long?” Joe Simpson called out to them from the picnic spot.

They both turned guiltily and waved to him.

“Rome, you aren’t trying to get a free sample, are you?”

Simpson laughed uproariously and most of the rest of the group found his remark quite humorous as well. Rome and Gussie smiled at each other, but neither thought it was nearly as funny as it should have been.

S
UNDAY DAWNED BRIGHT AND EXPECTANT
. I
T WAS
barely three weeks until the Fourth of July, three weeks until Gussie Mudd planned to be a married woman. But her focus as she sat in church listening intently to Reverend Holiday was on the city park and the kissing booth.

Every time her thoughts drifted to the day before and Rome’s lips on her own, little thrilling shivers traveled up and down her spine. Deliberately she tried not to think about it while seated in church, but the more diligently she tried to avoid the memory, the more often her ruminations went off in that direction.

She had been meeting Rome Akers almost daily since her father’s death. But she was meeting him this afternoon and somehow everything about it had changed. Gussie found herself looking forward to his arrival. Their scheming had brought them closer together. They had become more friends than employee and employer. Gussie had always admired Rome’s hard work and his honesty and thoroughness. Now she discovered that she enjoyed Rome’s company.
She liked the sound of his laugh, the twinkle that sparkled in those clear blue eyes and the way he said
Miss Gussie
as if it were just one long word.

She had chosen to wear the dress Miss Ima made for her. She’d been up half the night, with a good deal less skill than that of the seamstress, loosening the waist so she could wear it without such drastic lacing. It fit her now, and though certainly not as stunning as it had been, it did look very nice on her.

She hoped that Rome agreed. If Rome thought she looked nice, then, of course, Amos would think the same. She’d worn the dress for Amos. Because she knew Rome liked it.

The whole town seemed to be buzzing with excitement and anticipation. All the women seemed to be in on the wonderful joke. Though not a word was spoken carelessly. With children all around, it was understood by mothers that a secret kept was one never mentioned. The husbands remained blissfully in the dark about the vaguely mentioned
surprises
in store.

She had hoped that Rome would have come to escort her to church this morning, but he had not mentioned it and she had not asked him. He had seemed strangely thoughtful and subdued yesterday after their visit to the kissing booth.

He’d said that he had “lost control.” Gussie was not entirely sure what he meant by that. He had certainly seemed very much in control to her. He had been demonstrative and masterful, as if in complete command of his faculties, as well as of her own.

With her thoughts heading in that direction once more, Gussie resolutely forced them on to a more Sunday-morning plane.

The pastor’s message was an important one on the duties of marriage. She admonished herself to pay
close attention. It was still her plan to shortly join the ranks of wedded wives. She should be very interested in what that job entailed. But it was not the
duties
of marriage that occupied her mind, it was the potential delights of it.

She sighed aloud and then covered her mouth, horrified that perhaps someone had heard her and knew that she carried her heart in her hand.

Surreptitiously she glanced around; no one seemed to be looking at her. That was good. It was good for now. But this afternoon she wanted everyone looking at her. Especially Amos Dewey. She wanted that particular pair of dark brown eyes peering out from round-rimmed spectacles to be focused directly upon her.

She allowed her imagination to wander. In her mind’s eye she saw herself leaning over the narrow counter, her lips dangerously close to those of Rome Akers. Suddenly, Amos Dewey comes pushing through the crowd. He grabs Rome by the shoulder and jerks him away from her. Then he pulls Gussie into his arms and kisses her, he kisses her exactly the same way that Rome had kissed her.

An excited little shiver ran through her again. She was grateful to stand for the benedictory prayer.

As the congregation bustled out the front door, Gussie received several conspiratorial winks from her friends. It was as if everyone simply wanted to get the midday meal over with and rush to the park. Gussie felt exactly the same way.

Her stroll home was more of a jaunt and her hastily put together meal was hardly tasted, she was so anxious to get on with the day. She forced herself to take tiny bites from her plate and chew eat one slowly and thoroughly. But when she finished, it was still nearly a half hour before Rome was to arrive.

When she heard the creak of the front gate a full fifteen minutes early, it was all she could do not to go running out the door and down to the gate to meet him.

He looked surprisingly sporty and fashionable in his blue-striped seersucker coat, dark blue trousers and polka-dot vest. His collar and cuffs were celluloid, but they had the look of linen. And he’d left his driver’s cap at home, replaced by a straw
Mustang
sombrero with a four-inch brim and braided ribbon band.

“You look very nice.”

He grinned, removing his hat.

“I think that is what I am supposed to say, Miss Gussie,” he told her. “You look very pretty. I do like that dress. But I hope you’re not feeling faint today.”

She blushed a little, but actually enjoyed his teasing.

“I don’t think I’m likely to faint today,” she said. “But I suppose I could carry smelling salts in my pocketbook.”

“Maybe you should,” he suggested. “Just thinking about spending the afternoon kissing you makes me feel a little faint myself.”

It was a joke. A further attempt to tease her. And they both did laugh, but there was more underlying it Gussie heart was pounding like a hammer. Rome couldn’t quite meet her gaze and both of them were slightly awkward.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

It was actually very early. They could most likely be the first people in the park, but Gussie simply could not wait another moment.

“Yes, let’s go,” she said.

He led her down the steps and through the front gate.

“I like the way that you hold my arm,” she told him.
“It’s different somehow from the usual grasp of an escort.”

“I’m sorry,” he said hastily and quickly changed to the way that was so much more familiar.

“No, don’t change it,” she said. “I do really like the other way. It just seems so … so much more friendly.”

There was something strange about Rome’s expression. Something she couldn’t quite interpret. But he smiled at her and offered his arm again in the unconventional manner.

They walked together side by side in silence. For the first time in a very long time, they didn’t seem to have anything to say. The little shivers of nervousness that she’d been fending off all morning now seemed to be coming in waves of giddy trembling.

Gussie suddenly couldn’t bear the silence another minute. They talked all the time. What on earth did they talk about? At that moment she couldn’t think of a single thing. But there had to be something they could talk about right now.

“How is the pressure valve on the distiller?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, uh … well, it’s not any better,” he said. “It’s not going to get any better. These things don’t get better, they just get worse. But it’s not any worse. It’s not any worse yet. But it won’t get better. It will have to be replaced. Uh … that’s how it is.”

“Oh, well, that’s good,” she said and then wasn’t sure if it was.

The conversation dragged once more. He seemed to be scrounging his brain for a subject as frantically as she was herself.

“How was church?” he asked.

“Very good,” she told him. “Very good. Everyone looked their best. Loralene had a new hat.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” he said.

Gussie was astounded at herself. He’d asked her about church. A subject that could be expounded upon for hours, and she’d spoken only of clothes and hats.

“Reverend Holiday preached a very good sermon,” she said.

“Oh, good,” he said.

“Yes, very good.”

“What … what did he preach about?” Rome asked.

“The sermon was on marital duties,” she said.

Rome nearly tripped on something that wasn’t there and his voice came out in an almost squeak.

“What?”

“Marital duties,” she repeated.

“The preacher talked about that in church!”

Gussie looked at him curiously.

“Of course he did,” she answered. “It’s in Ephesians. You know, wives and husbands submitting to one another. A wife is to her husband as to the Lord and the husband is to love his wife as he loves his own flesh. That one.”

“Oh, that one,” Rome said. “I guess I don’t know that one.”

The silence returned.

“I wonder what Reverend Holiday will think about all that after Mrs. Holiday puts him through this afternoon.”

The two exchanged glances and both burst into laughter.

“It’s going to be a great joke,” she said.

“What an afternoon,” he agreed.

They both nodded.

“Maybe our last afternoon together,” he said.

That thought brought them pause.

She didn’t knock. She simply opened the door to the barbershop and walked in. He had been waiting for her, expecting her. Still, her arrival was a surprise. Somehow every time he looked at her he was surprised.

“Mrs. Richardson,” he said, nodding.

“Good afternoon, Amos,” she answered.

She closed the door behind her. The key was in the lock. She turned it and then pulled the shade down over the door, sealing off the rest of the world outside.

When she was in the room, it was as if she took up all the space and all the air. Amos had noticed that about her the other times she had come here, but today it was even worse. He felt as if she were all around him and he could scarcely draw breath.

Her clothing was mannish in style, dark blue with a short puffed-sleeved jacket. The white, pleated shirtwaist displayed narrow, crisply pressed pleats. At her collar was a little bow tie. Somehow, together it served to make her look more womanly, more desirable. Amos pushed that thought away. He did not desire her, he reminded himself. He no longer felt those things.

“I have everything ready,” he told her. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

He hadn’t told a soul about his plans to examine Pansy Richardson in order to protect her privacy. He would be late for the kissing booth in the park, but with all the uproar that was surely to result from Rome’s wild idea, he doubted that anyone would even notice his absence.

He sincerely hoped Mrs. Richardson was not afflicted with a venereal disease, but if she were, Rome was sure to be infected. He could never marry. It was unfair to get Gussie’s hopes up if the man was unfit for marriage. Amos had already disappointed the woman
once. It would be too cruel a fate for her to set her affections again, only to have them dashed once more.

“Should I go ahead and remove my things?”

Her words startled him, caught him unaware. He glanced quickly at the front windows. He had covered them in a week’s worth of newsprint and then he’d drawn the drapes anyway.

“Should I remove my things?” she repeated.

“Leave your things on,” he said.

She put her hands on her hips and eyed him critically.

“You want me to sit in that chair with this hat on?” she asked.

Her hat. Her silly, undoubtedly expensive little hat. It couldn’t keep the sun out of her eyes, or, for that matter, even out of her hair. But it did stick up on the top of her head with an expanse of ribbon and a great long feather.

“Remove your things and get in the chair,” he said. “I want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

She gave a little laugh.

“A good many gentlemen think just that way,” she said, her voice sultry and teasing.

Amos didn’t like the sound of it.

She reached for the long jet pin that held her hat in place. The movement seemed to emphasize the long, sleek curves of her body. Everything about her was feminine and alluring. Amos turned his back on her, untempted, he told himself. He would keep his mind clear. He would keep his mind empty. He was determined to do that. But his eyes drifted up to her reflection in the mirror and he watched her. He couldn’t help but watch her.

She removed her hat, setting it carefully upon an empty chair. Slowly, very slowly, she began peeling down her gloves. Revealing inch after inch of the pale
flesh of her forearms, then the heel of her hand, her palm and finally five delicate feminine fingers. Then the baring of her other hand.

Amos swallowed hard and forced himself to look away. His hands trembled as he gathered his tools. The probe and scalpel were clean and had been sterilized in boracic acid and boiling water. The skin was supposedly full of germs, but he was not going to be guilty of adding any.

He glanced into the mirror. She was standing right behind him. She was just standing there looking at him. She’d removed her jacket and her silly little bow tie. In shirtsleeves, the top button undone, she seemed strangely small and vulnerable. There was no particular expression upon her face, but he found her somehow threatening.