The Carlton Club (45 page)

Or was Charlie trying to impress Eric? Or Robert? Leslie wondered, remembering the flicker of disappointment in Charlie’s eyes at the news that Robert hadn’t come.

Charlie offered no explanation or apology for the clutter. But, while they waited for James, Charlie wordlessly picked up the dresses and shoes and returned them neatly to the spacious closet in the bedroom.

“A business matter?” James asked with a laugh as Charlie opened the door.

“No, James,” Charlie said, standing aside so that he could see Leslie. “Something much more important.”

“
Leslie.
”

“Hello, James.”

“She’s here with Eric,” Charlie said.

“Oh,” James said softly, smiling at her, trying to erase the worry from her troubled face. Good for you, he thought. Good for you and Eric. “That’s very nice, for both of you.”

“Thank you,” Leslie said gratefully.

“I think the three of us think it’s wonderful,” Charlie said impatiently, “but—”

“Lynne doesn’t know your name, or that you’re a doctor. She only knows that we knew each other in high school.”

“Eric doesn’t know that you even existed,” she said, quickly explaining. “We haven’t talked to each other about who we were involved with before we met.”

James resisted looking at Charlie. This must be difficult for her, he thought. Difficult for everyone.

“Then they don’t need to know, right?” Charlie asked. “Lynne doesn’t need to know, and Eric doesn’t need to know. You can just pretend that you’re meeting for the first time this evening.”

Charlie only cares about protecting Eric, James thought. As difficult as this is for her, she doesn’t want him to be hurt.

Leslie nodded slowly. She didn’t want Lynne to know. There was no point, but she wasn’t certain that she should hide it from Eric. She would have to think about it. It was her decision. Hers alone.

Three hours later Leslie heard herself being introduced to James. It was as if she were watching someone else.

“Nice to meet you, James,” she heard a voice, her voice, say.

“Hello, Lynne.”

Lynne. Leslie watched her with interest. She was softer, prettier than Leslie had expected. The hardness of Lynne’s life—her troubled childhood, the toughness she was forced to develop in self-defense, the ravages of her years as a flower child, her husband’s affair—was concealed deeply behind her soft brown eyes and easy smile. Lynne was happy. Just as James was happy.

Lynne raved about the resort, about Maui, about the tropical climate that, magically, made Michael sleep all night in the spite of his afternoon nap.

“I love it here. I’m coming back,” Lynne said, smiling at James.

“She’s already plotting an adventure for Monica in Maui,” James added proudly. “And insisting on on-location writing.”

“Lynne writes children’s books,” Charlie explained quickly to Leslie, remembering that Leslie shouldn’t know about the Monica books. “And James illustrates them.”

“How wonderful,” Leslie said, looking at Lynne, wondering how deep beneath the surface the toughness lay. How would Lynne behave if she knew who Leslie really was?

During dinner Leslie sat very close to Eric. They touched only occasionally and then only briefly: a gentle squeeze of hands, a finger on a cheek. But they looked at each other often, loving, intimate glances, and smiled.

The topics of dinner conversation were neutral, orchestrated by Charlie. They talked about the resort, the wonderful gourmet food they were eating, books, movies and theater. They talked about Union Square Theater’s production of
Peter
Pan
. They had all seen it, which meant that James had seen it twice. Once, on opening night, with Leslie. And once again with his pregnant wife.

They talked about everything but Leslie for almost the entire meal, but just as dessert was being served, Lynne eyed Leslie for a long moment and said, “There is something so familiar about you, Leslie. Your name and what you look like. I know I’ve seen you before.”

Leslie shook her head slowly.
No Lynne, you don’t know me. You just know about me. I’m the one who almost ruined your marriage
.

“You were on television once, weren’t you, Leslie?” Charlie asked, as if she had just realized it herself. “You saved another doctor’s life.”

Leslie smiled gratefully at Charlie.

“That’s right,” Lynne said, nodding. “When was that?”

Charlie cast a meaningful glance at Leslie.
You have to answer that, Leslie. Before James does
.

“A year ago August,” Leslie said quietly.

“I think I saw it after that,” Lynne said. “As part of a documentary on photojournalism. It was dramatic. Did you see it, James?”

“Yes,” James said, looking at Leslie. “I guess I did. Did you, Eric?”

“No,” Eric said with finality. He gently touched Leslie’s hand—the hand with the ugly puckered scar—sensing that the discussion made her uncomfortable. He asked lightly, rescuing her, “So, how is the caramel custard?”

Their words forced Leslie to remember that horrible night in August sixteen months before. How those few moments of terror and its aftermath had changed her life!

That night she had reached into the bleeding, dying chest of the man she believed she loved.
Dear
Mark.

Then the vivid photographs of her bloodstained face had reunited her with a boy she had loved, and he became the man that she loved as much, more, than the boy.
Dearer
James.

Now Leslie wished that none of it had happened. Now she was—because she hadn’t yet had time to think about it—concealing the significance of that night from the man who mattered the very most.
Dearest
Eric.

She hadn’t had time to think about it.

But it didn’t feel right.

Later that night, Lynne said to James, “Eric and Leslie seem very much in love, don’t they?”

“We’re very much in love.”

“I know. And so are they. But,” Lynne said, narrowing her eyes, “something was wrong. Everyone seemed a little tense. When I’m the most vivacious person at a dinner party, something’s wrong.”

“You were great.”

“I really dredged up my best coffee-tea-or-milk flight attendant manners, didn’t I? I felt foolish, but I kept thinking there might be awkward silences. I wonder why.”

“I told you about Eric and Charlie,” James offered quickly.

“Maybe that’s it . Maybe Leslie knows about Eric and Charlie. It was Leslie who seemed the most tense. Like she was hiding something.”

You don’t miss a trick, James thought. Please don’t figure this out.

“I’d better set the alarm,” James said.

“You three are unbelievable. Is it really necessary to look at the property at seven in the morning?”

“Eric promised no business this trip,” James said mildly, thinking about his friend. “Which means, business early in the morning only, so the rest of the day is free.”

Eric kissed her as soon as they returned to their suite.

“That’s too many hours to go without kissing you,” he said.

“The price of socializing,” Leslie said, kissing him eagerly, grateful to have his arms around her. “I guess we’re not the public display of affection types.”

“I never have been.”

“No,” Leslie said thoughtfully. Or was it because of James? Because he was sitting beside her, too? No, she decided. Then she added, truthfully, “Neither have I.”

“Are you all right? You were awfully quiet,” Eric said, frowning slightly, remembering the evening, troubled by it.

“I’m fine. Overwhelmed. Tired,” she said. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “I like your friends.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. Very much.”
One of them I have liked too much
.

Leslie lay awake long after Eric fell asleep, thinking, agonizing, weighing the impact of the truth against the discomfort she felt at the subterfuge and Eric’s eventual reaction when, if, he ever found out.

I have to tell him, Leslie decided finally. I cannot hide this from Eric. Our relationship—our trust—is too important. I will tell him in the morning. As soon as he returns.

“Happy Birthday,” Leslie whispered to Eric’s back. He was dressing quietly, trying not to wake her. It was six-thirty.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting on the bed beside her, kissing her.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this.”

“That comment brought to me by the lady who is on call as often as every other night?”

“You’re right. It’s your job,” she said smiling sleepily. “I guess. But you are the boss.”

“Tomorrow we sleep until noon.”

“I may do that today. Or, at least, until you get back.”

“It shouldn’t be too long. We just need to decide if we want to purchase more land down the road for additional condos.”

“Maybe you’ll come back to bed?”

“Count on it.”

“So what the hell is going on?” Eric demanded as soon as Charlie and James were in the car.

“What do you mean?”

“For months you’ve been teasing me for information about Leslie, counting the days until the unveiling, and now, nothing. Even if you didn’t like her, you would have pretended to. You would have told me how much you like her. But neither of you has said a word about her.”

“We like her very much, Eric. She’s beautiful and smart. She’s wonderful,” Charlie said unconvincingly, looking anxiously at James. Don’t tell him.

“At dinner last night,” Eric continued, his anger beginning to surface, “no one asked her any of the usual questions. Where are you from, Leslie? How do you like being a doctor, Leslie? How did you meet Eric, Leslie?”

“I have to tell him, Charlie,” James said with a sigh.

“Tell me what?”

James took a deep breath. “Leslie and I have known each other for a long time. Since high school.”

“
James
1971
,”
Eric said with sudden comprehension. “So you were lovers in high school?”

“No. More recently than that,” James said, then stopped.

Eric frowned, then said slowly, “It was her number you gave me a year ago, wasn’t it?” That’s why the prefix seemed vaguely familiar.

James nodded.

“When did it end?” Eric asked.

“Last December.”

“Because Lynne was pregnant,” Eric said flatly.

“I didn’t know Lynne was pregnant. It ended because it had to end.”

James waited. Charlie waited.

“Hell,” Eric whispered finally.

They drove in silence for fifteen minutes, finally reaching the land that Eric was considering purchasing. Eric parked the car.

“OK, if we buy this, we can put the resort condo design in this area. But, James, what can you come up with to put over there?” Eric asked as he pointed to the green sloping hillside in the distance.

Eric’s voice was unstrained, natural, as if he had never learned that the woman he loved had had an affair with his close, trusted friend.

Eric returned to the suite at ten. Leslie held her arms out to him, inviting him to join her in bed. Eric stood across the bedroom. He didn’t move toward her. Leslie let her arms fall to her sides and sat upright in bed. “Eric?”

“I know about you and James.”

“It was over long before we met.”

“I know. It still—” Still what? he wondered. He needed time to think about it.

He needed to understand why it bothered him so much. “I’m going to go for a swim.”

Leslie watched silently, helplessly, as he changed into his swim suit and left the suite.

She watched him from the balcony. She had no idea he was such a strong swimmer. Eric swam out into the ocean, against the waves, against the current. He swam as fast as he could, as hard as he could.

Leslie had done that once, years before, the day she had been accepted to Radcliffe. She had swum as hard and as fast as she could, hoping to clear her mind as she forced her way through the cold waters of Sparrow Lake. And that day, when she returned to the shore, exhausted, he was waiting for her with a bemused look in his green cougar eyes.

James.

Eric. Come back to me, Eric. Don’t let this hurt us. It isn’t about us.

Leslie watched him swim for a while, as he tried to purge himself of the secret—her secret—that troubled him so much. Finally it was too painful to watch.

Leslie decided to shower and dress. She would wear the sundress she had bought especially because she knew how much Eric would like it. The dress was blue and white and feminine. The blue matched her eyes.

Maybe she would be on the beach, waiting for him, when he returned to shore. Like James had been waiting on the beach for her once.

Eric swam with his eyes open, even though the salt water burned. When he closed his eyes, he saw images: Leslie laughing with James, Leslie kissing James, Leslie in bed with James, Leslie loving James, Leslie wanting James.

With his eyes open, he could force himself to think.

You have been with many women, Eric, he told himself. You have laughed with them, kissed them, made love to them and wanted them. They all came before you knew Leslie, before you knew there would, could, be a Leslie for you in your life.

How would Leslie feel if she met any one of them?

How would Leslie feel if she knew about the one that mattered most? How would she feel if she knew about Charlie?

She would feel awful, he decided. Just as he felt awful knowing about James. Even though James was his friend. Especially because James was his friend. Because he could imagine Leslie and James together, knowing each other, caring about each other, loving each other.

I will never tell her about Charlie, he resolved. I won’t do this to her. Somehow I will tell her what she needs to know—about Bobby—without telling her about Charlie.

Eric swam until he was exhausted, too tired to think anymore. Then he just wanted to be with Leslie. He wanted to make the images of Leslie with James go away.

Eric looked toward the shore, amazed and worried by the distance. He had swum straight out to sea, hard and fast. He was already exhausted. Already chilled. The tropical waters lost their warmth as they deepened, as the turquoise blue water that caressed the white sand beach became blue black. Deep. Ominous. Cold. All he wanted was to be with Leslie.

James closed the heavy bedroom curtains. Lynne looked at him with surprise.

“I thought we could take a nap while Michael is napping,” he said.

“A nap?”

“No,” he said, sliding his hand under the halter top that she wore, pulling her against him.

“No,” she repeated, reaching for the button of his shorts, finding his lips with hers.

“Tell me about the fantasies of a new mother,” he whispered as he kissed her. He removed her top, revealing her breasts, still large from her recent pregnancy and full because she was nursing Michael. James began to kiss her breasts, slowly circling her nipples with his tongue before ever so gently and ever so carefully caressing them, tugging slightly, with his teeth.

“James,” she whispered breathlessly.
I don’t need to tell you my fantasies. You already know them
.

“Leslie?”

“Hi” she breathed, startled, her heart pounding. She was still in the shower. She waited.

“May I join you? I’m cold and salty,” he said.

“Yes. I’m warm and clean.”

Leslie opened the shower door and extended her arms to him. They held each other tight for a long moment, immersed in the warmth and steam of the shower. Then they kissed, a deep, tender, needful kiss.

“You are salty,” Leslie whispered softly, her lips touching his.

“And you are squeaky clean.”

“Not really,” she said. She could always defend, at least to herself, a relationship with a man she cared about. It was harder to defend an affair with a married man, even to herself, even with James. She had wondered, as she waited for Eric to return, how much that bothered him. What if it made him think less of her?

“Oh, Leslie,” he said, holding her close. “I thought I was a rational man. I was until I met you.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with us.”

“I know that, rationally.”

“But?”

“When I think of the two of you, together, I don’t feel rational. I just feel.”

“I’ve never been with anyone the way I’ve been with you. I’ve never felt the way I feel with you. I torment myself with images, too.”

“Of?”

“Of you and all the unknown women. I wouldn’t want to know any of them.”

You won’t, Eric thought. Not if I can help it.

“You know what I want to do today?” he asked.

“What?” she asked. Go back to San Francisco? Maybe they could go to Janet and Ross’s wedding after all.

“Pull the curtains, get room service to bring us some supplies, and hide out in our room?”

“Preferably under the covers?”

“That would be my preference.”

“Mine too,” Leslie whispered. “All day and all night?”

“Well, no. We are committed for cocktails and dinner at, uh, James’s and Lynne’s at six.”

“That’s right, I’d forgotten. Your birthday dinner,” Leslie said slowly. Happy Birthday, Eric. She added brightly, trying to cheer them both, “And to see Michael.”

As she spoke Leslie watched Eric’s eyes. At the mention of Michael’s name, they clouded for a moment. Why? she wondered. It was on the list of whys that she had planned to talk to him about during their five carefree days in Hawaii. But not now. Not this trip.

“So we spend from now until then making memories that will erase all other images once and for all?” she asked, kissing his lips hungrily.

“That’s exactly what we do,” Eric said as he returned her kiss, deeply, passionately.

Charlie pulled the curtains in the bedroom of her suite, darkening the room against the midday Maui sun. It would be easier to talk to him in the dark. Besides, it was already evening where he was, in Philadelphia.

Why am I calling him? she wondered as she dialed the number that was written in her address book, his home phone number, a number she had never used. I just am, she decided. For no reason.

“Robert? It’s Charlie.”

“Charlie! Is everything all right?”

“Every
one
is all right. But every
thing
is a mess.”

“It is hard for you seeing them together?”

“Why didn’t you come?” she asked, not answering his question.

Because I don’t want to be your father, or your guardian, anymore. You have to get over my son on your own
.
Then . . .

“Did you want me to come?”

“Of course, Robert,” Charlie said. “I thought you wanted to meet her.”

“Meet Leslie?”

“Oh!
Have
you met her?”

“No. But I’m joining Eric and Leslie in Seattle, where her parents live, for Christmas.”

“Oh,” Charlie said. Christmas. Without Eric or Robert. For the past ten years she had spent every Christmas with Eric. Sometimes she spent it with both of them. Time to grow up, Charlotte D. Winter. “Did you know she’s a doctor? Eric met her when he cut his hand last June.”

“I didn’t know that,” he said, the concern in his voice obvious despite the six thousand miles that separated them. “Has he told her?”

“About Bobby? I don’t think so. He hasn’t told her about me. And I don’t think he will.”

Charlie told Robert about James and Leslie, and how Eric’s reaction—a reaction she sensed despite his outward control—made her wonder if Eric would tell Leslie about her. Or Victoria. Or Bobby.

“He has to tell her about Bobby,” Robert said. Then he added softly, “And he should tell her about you.”

“I don’t think he will ever tell her about either of us.”

“He
has
to tell her about Bobby,” Robert repeated.

Robert and Charlie talked for three hours. After a few initial moments of awkwardness, their conversation assumed the easy, free-form style of their ten days in the Orient.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” Robert asked, just before he hung up.

“I haven’t made any plans yet,” she said.

“We’ll only be in Seattle for a few days. Leslie has to get back to work. I thought about going home by way of San Francisco.”

“Oh,” Charlie said. She waited, her stomach fluttering.

“Actually, I thought about spending the week between Christmas and New Year’s at the Pebble Beach Lodge in Carmel. Going for brisk blustery walks on the beach, warming up with cappuccino in front of the fire, reading a few good books.”

“Sounds wonderful,” she said carefully.

“So, will you join me? I’ve reserved a two bedroom suite. I thought Eric and Leslie might be coming down, but they won’t be. I can probably get the management to find a room for you.”

“The suite is fine.”

They walked at sunset from the hotel to James’s condominium. The white rock path that ran beside the ocean was lined on one side with fragrant colorful hedges of plumeria, hibiscus and bougainvillea and on the other by white sand and azure sea. The sky glowed pink and gold. The huge, white fleecy clouds turned pink then red then black as the tropical sun fell below the horizon. A warm breeze caressed them gently as they strolled, hands together, fingers entwined.

They were whole again, one again. They had spent the afternoon cloistered, talking, understanding, loving. Nothing, no one could separate them. Nothing could threaten the security and confidence of their love.

Still, as they approached James’s condominium, Leslie’s heart began to pound, a restless, anxious, uneasy presence in her chest. Don’t let this evening upset Eric, she thought. It would be so senseless. I love him with all my heart. Him alone. More than anyone. Ever.

“If we could just hold hands like this all evening,” she said. “Is that too much of a public display?”

“I don’t think so, do you?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t let go of you for anything.”
Ever
.

But Eric did let go, once, early in the evening.

“Let’s go see Michael. He’s in the kitchen with Lynne,” Leslie said, pulling his hand gently, meeting unexpected resistance, then release.

“You go. I want to talk to,” Eric began lamely.

Talk to who, Eric? Leslie wondered.
James?
No, of course not. He just didn’t want to see Michael. Or was it Lynne?

Michael was a beautiful, smiling, happy baby with rosy cheeks and white blond hair and clear green eyes.

“He has James’s eyes,” Leslie said softly.

Lynne looked at her with surprise.

“Doesn’t he? Doesn’t James have green eyes?” Leslie added quickly, innocently, her heart racing, uncomfortable with the deception.

But this deception with Lynne is necessary, she told herself firmly. If we are all going to be friends for the rest of our lives.

“Would you mind taking him to his daddy, Leslie?” Lynne asked, smiling lovingly at her lively, animated son. “He’s not a big help in the kitchen.”

“I’d love to. Then I’ll be back to help you.”

“Oh. Thanks, but don’t bother. Without the distraction of Michael I’ll be through here in no time.”

Leslie carried Michael into the living room, his velvety smooth, white dimpled arms clinging to her chest, his eyes sparkling, curious.

“Look who I have,” Leslie said as she joined Eric with James. They were discussing the condominium and the changes that James wanted to make in the new ones.

Michael began to wriggle with delight when he saw James. Leslie started to hand Michael to Eric to give him the wonderful pleasure of holding the happy, lovely child, but then she saw Eric’s eyes. The blue had become dark, opaque and troubled.

He doesn’t want to hold Michael, she realized.
Why?

As Leslie handed Michael to his daddy, she saw the limitless joy and pride in James’s eyes. And the inexplicable pain in Eric’s.