Pamela Morsi (25 page)

“It feels so wonderful to be here with you like this,” she told him with unguarded honesty. “It is heaven, just like heaven.”

“Mmmm, heaven,” he agreed. “I’d forgotten it was like this.” He pulled her more closely against his chest.

“Or maybe it was never like this.”

“It was never like this,” she said. “With different people it is always different. Our pleasure today is something unique. It is you and me and can never be the same with anyone else.”

As Pansy voiced the words, she realized how very true they were. She also realized how intensely special the past hours had been. She felt more alive, more intensely happy, than she could recall in recent years. Certainly not since Grover’s death. She wanted to jump to her feet, dance around the room, laugh until her belly ached. But she was not sure what Amos might be feeling. She’d understood the tears in his eyes earlier. She’d known that feeling of being saddened by the pleasure because it contrasted so sharply with the pain. But he was smiling at her now, smiling
as she was smiling. Could he too appreciate the miracle that had just occurred between them? Pansy thought that it must be so.

“I am so … happy,” she said, almost loath to use a word so inadequate for what she was feeling. “Are you happy?”

His laughter was deep and throaty and full of emotion.

“I am very happy,” he said.

“I never expected it would be this way,” she admitted. “I came here to seduce you, but I never expected I would be seduced in turn.”

Amos gripped her more tightly in his arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He did not move away but stayed there, breathing in the scent of her hair as if it were a life-giving restorative.

“I can’t imagine why you seduced me,” he told her, his deep, resonant voice so close. “But I am so very glad that you wanted to.”

Pansy laughed again, lightly. She felt so happy, so satisfied, so perfectly content with this man. It was as if all the hurts and heartache and humiliation of the past had been swept away in one sweet, brief moment of unity and pleasure.

“Oh, I didn’t
want
to seduce you,” she told him, teasing. “I did it for a friend.”

“You did it for a friend?” he repeated, his tone incredulous.

“Yes,” she said. “I did it for Rome Akers. It was clear to me that he and Gussie Mudd are perfect for each other. The only thing that stood between them was her infatuation for you. I knew that you didn’t love her or want her. Allowing me to turn your head would convince you of that fact. It would nail the coffin lid on that romance for good.”

Pansy continued to snuggle up against him, giddy with her good fortune.

“I came in here to seduce you for completely altruistic reasons,” she said. “People have always believed the worst of me. I decided that for such a worthy cause I would prove them right after all. But I was the one who was fooled.”

She breathed in deeply. The warm, clean, masculine smell of bay rum mixed with the musky odor of sex was a fragrance so heady that she was drunk with it.

“I came here to perform for you, to conquer you, to take you as my lover,” she admitted. “I had no inkling that you would show me such love and passion that I would be as starry-eyed and dreamy as a virgin bride.”

She was laughing again, but realized, rather suddenly, that he was not. He was, in fact, holding himself inordinately still. Cold and distant and still. Perhaps it was a reaction to the power of what they had found together. Or maybe it was residual sadness from the life, the love, that had gone on before.

“Of course, what we shared here could never diminish what you had with your wife,” she said, more tentatively now.

“No, no, naturally not,” he replied. “The duties of the marriage bed should never be compared with purely carnal pleasures.”

His words sent a chill through her, causing her shoulders to tremble. She felt the need to cover her bare breasts with her arm.

“There was more than
pure carnal pleasure
here,” she told him. “There was trust and tenderness. There was healing.”

He sat up then, his relaxed composure disappearing. “More likely it was ordinary immorality couched as such,” he said.

Pansy felt a sudden, extreme discomfort at his nearness and her nakedness. She awkwardly rose from his lap and began searching for her clothing. Deliberately she tried to keep her mind blank. After what they had shared, the sexual intimacy, the emotional closeness, the friendly laughter, she could not truly believe that he was purposely insulting her, making ugliness out of the beauty they had just shared.

She found her red silk drawers and hurriedly stepped into them. Her corset was hanging from the edge of the chair’s footrest. Pansy grabbed it and pulled it around her.

Amos had risen to his feet and was readjusting his clothes and buttoning his trousers.

Pansy couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t meet his eyes. In all these years while she had lived upon the edge of the community, these years when so many thought the worst and rumors followed her every move—through all of that she had never felt embarrassed. She had flaunted herself in front of all their lies and speculation, she had lived as she had chosen to do so and she had never felt embarrassed or ashamed. Now she felt shame. Now, after opening her heart to him so easily, so fully, now when all she offered was pure and true, now she was made to feel tainted, unworthy, unclean.

“I’ve decided to remarry,” he said.

The words jolted her. She had managed to get her skirts on and was tucking her shirtwaist into them.

“What?”

“I’ve decided to remarry,” he repeated. “This unholy tryst has at least brought some good. I see now that I have been too long a widower and that it’s time to put aside my mourning and fulfill my province as a husband and perhaps one day as a father.”

Pansy’s brain felt fogged.

“Is this some sort of ill-framed proposal, sir?” she asked him.

He looked straight at her then, his eyes once again guarded by round, wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Certainly not,” he answered. “I may be inexperienced and easily led, ma’am. But I am not so ignorant as to imagine that I would owe marriage to a female who offers her charms so indiscriminately and with such largesse.”

Pansy flinched as if she’d been slapped.

“I had thought that only a pure and true love, such as I had with my Bess, would suit me,” he continued. “But I see that I am capable of performing sufficiently, even with a woman I do not admire in the least. Therefore, I will choose a wife suited to me in temperament and moral fiber. And at the very least, I will be able to stop your lover from deceiving and despoiling a fine woman like Gussie Mudd.”

G
USSIE WAS A LITTLE BIT NERVOUS
. I
T WAS DIFFICULT
not to be. All around her there was laughter and good humor and kissing, lots and lots of kissing. It was sweet, but still it was men and women with mouths together in such an intimate way it made her feel all melting inside.

And there were some interesting and unanticipated developments. Huntley Boston lined up with the young lads in front of Miss Betty Ditham. When his turn came, he not only paid his two bits, he continued to buy, discouraging the fellows waiting behind him. Viceroy, Betty’s father and Huntley’s boss at the bank, was not in the least pleased with these developments and pleaded to Rome to set limits on how many kisses a man could purchase from a woman other than his wife.

Gussie could tell that Rome sympathized with the man’s impotent outrage, but to give in to him would have ruined their own plans for later. Rome shook his head and said that as long as the banker had quarters, he could continue.

For her part, Betty, always confident and self-
possessed, seemed content to allow the men to make a fuss. She complained about neither Huntley’s attentions nor her father’s disapproval of them. Her serene and enigmatic smile would have done credit to the “Mona Lisa.”

Gussie wished she could conjure up a similar composure. She was jumpy as a cat in cockleburs. Her eyes returned time and time again to Rome, seeking the reassurance of his glance or just the comfort of his presence. Occasionally she thought to peruse the crowd for sight of Amos Dewey. He was, after all, the object of this scheme. And no market manipulation could ever be achieved if the competition remained completely ignorant of the moves made. Only if she were attempting to corner some commodity would stealth be an asset. As it was, forcing Dewey to action was essential and Gussie was having trouble keeping that part of the plan in mind.

All around her, teasing laughter began to swell as Perry Wilhelm got down to his last quarter and was trying to make the final kiss last long enough to end Constance’s shift.

Gussie giggled along with everyone else as Perry continued to lengthen the kiss and Rome very obviously counted down the time with his pocket watch. When he gave the cease notice, there was applause all around. Perry actually took a bow as Constance, blushing, gladly gave up her place in the booth.

Gussie was as charmed as everyone else, but also extremely mindful of what came next: her own public spectacle and private exposure. The second group of ladies was taking its place. Becky Timmons took young Miss Ditham’s place, clearly attempting to emulate the latter. If the lanky-legged, pimply-faced fellows who’d waited in vain behind the banker were
disappointed, they, at least, had the good manners not to show it.

The mayor’s daughter showed a bit less confidence and when no young bucks lined up in front of her, her father stepped forward himself. That action disconcerted the young lady even further.

“Daddy! No!” she whispered to him frantically.

The mayor was too thickheaded to correctly interpret her plea.

“Don’t worry, little princess,” he said. “I’ve still got a few quarters I haven’t spent on your mother.”

The girl’s humiliation was short-lived, however, as one of the older Pearsall boys moved from Becky’s line to her own.

Kate Holiday was practically giddy as she stepped up to the narrow counter. The reverend had made an impromptu trip home to raid the sugar bowl. The preacher’s natural exuberance was significantly toned down by what was obviously an unfamiliar public duty, kissing his wife. Gussie was pretty sure that he was uncertain as to a pastor’s participation in such an activity. But for all his boisterous behavior, he clearly loved his Kate and wanted to go along with any scheme she came up with.

Madge Simpson was a good deal more matter-of-fact about the matter. She and Joe had had a whole hour to celebrate the joke and were now primed for a dual performance that was both cute and comedic. Joe was painstakingly counting out his coins as if he were loath to part with any of them. Madge pretended disinterest, as if kissing her husband for an hour from a booth in the park were no more fascinating than any other wifely task.

The clink of her husband’s quarter in the glass jar was like a starting gun. The two pressed their lips
together in a noisy, hurried fashion that was hilarious. The crowd around them applauded, appreciating the joke.

Gussie swallowed her nervousness and stepped up to her position. She was very aware of the awkwardness of her choice. She was not young and sought-after like the unmarrieds, nor was she a matron like her friends. She was Gussie Mudd, the town spinster. And she was about to turn the local gossips upon their ears.

Rome immediately came to stand in front of her, his eyes telegraphing a message of reassurance. This was all part of the plan, she reminded herself. This was going to get her married to Amos Dewey. And that consequence would be worth whatever momentary risk and discomfiture were required.

A little flutter of gossip swept through the crowd as people began to realize what was happening.

Rome loudly jingled the money in his pocket. He brought out a quarter and laid it upon the counter in front of her.

“Unlike the other fellows, Miss Gussie,” he said, loudly enough that the words were clearly not meant to be private, “I knew who was going to be selling kisses today and was able to secure sufficient financing for the occasion.”

“I’d call that cheating!” Joe Simpson declared with feigned fury.

“Mind your own business,” Rome told him. “And kiss your wife before somebody else does.”

Simpson laughed, but took his advice.

Rome turned to look at Gussie once again. He was pretending humor for the crowd, but she saw in his eyes the seriousness and nervous intent that she felt herself.

She grinned at him, hoping to appear reassuring.

He returned the look with equal confidence. They would do this just as they had planned, and it would bring Amos Dewey to his knees at last.

“I’d like to buy a kiss, Miss Gussie,” he said.

She felt every eye upon her. And her name swept through those assembled like a whisper in the wind. She looked down at the shiny, gleaming quarter sitting in front of her. Two bits a kiss. That was all that was required. Two bits was not a lot to invest for a lifetime of happiness. And that was what it was, she reminded herself. That was exactly what it was.

With a grand gesture, everyone watching, she picked up the money and dropped it into the big glass jar.

“Thank you for your donation, sir,” she said and then leaned forward toward him. She pursed her lips before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to. As his mouth came closer, she relaxed as he had taught her and opened for him. Rome was there. So very close. The scent of him so familiar, so masculine.

He turned his head slightly and Gussie closed her eyes as his mouth opened over hers. It was a sweet and tender kiss, a self-conscious kiss. Both parties were fully aware of the numerous pairs of eyes upon them. Gussie felt the warmth of his shirtfront so near to her bosom. She trembled slightly as he pulled his lips away.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely.

“You’re welcome,” she answered.

She saw him swallow nervously.

“We’re going to have to do better than that to drive a certain someone to jealous rage,” he whispered.

“I know,” she said. “I’m ready. Do your worst.”