Three Women (19 page)

"Never. It's too magnificent." And she wondered if Byrne were tired of it already.

They pulled up to a breathtaking motel such as Paula thought existed only in the movies. She held herself very straight and followed Byrne into the lobby. Quite luckily, a family had just vacated a suite of three rooms and the manager was glad to show it to them. As if they wouldn't like it!

The bedroom overlooked the ocean. Paula stood at the wall-length window gazing speechless at the turquoise water banded far out by a ribbon of violet. Small crests of white rolled in toward the sandy shore. The beach stretched on either side, practically bare of people. Who could ever leave this for the mobs of Coney Island?

"This will be fine," Byrne said and went with the manager to sign in.

Alone in the apartment alone with the gorgeous view, the warmth and relaxation spilling against her strained nerves, Paula felt the tears rising in her eyes. She had no reason to cry. She felt so wildly happy, the mere idea of tears was ridiculous. Yet they streamed down her cheeks. Unable to bear the beauty of what she saw, she turned her back to the window. Her mind flitted without sense from object to object as her eyes wandered around the room.

Byrne came back, a bellhop behind her carrying the valises. Paula went into the kitchen until Byrne had tipped him and shut the door.

Then she ran out and flung her arms around Byrne, pressing her head hard against her breast.

"Why, what's the matter?" Byrne said, holding her away and frowning at the tears streaming down her face.

"Nothing," Paula choked. "I just can't bear all this happiness."

"Well, let’s not make it a funeral," Byrne chided. "Stretch out for a while and take a nap. Remember, we have to get you a bathing suit and things."

"Will you lie down with me?"

"I can't sleep during the day. Especially not with that television going."

Paula laughed through the tears and turned the set off. "Now come lie down, too."

"No, really. It’ll only make me restless. I’ll stay here in this chair right beside you. Or better still, I’ll bring us back a few snacks."

The idea of Byrne going out without her made Paula uneasy. She recalled the telephone and how easy it would be for Byrne to place a long distance call. "I'm all right," Paula insisted. "Just wait a minute until I freshen up and well go out together." She felt like a jail keeper, but it had to be done.

They strolled a few blocks and found rows of stores displaying shorts and beach attire. She only wanted a few things, but Byrne bought her a trunkful. Paula didn't protest realizing that Byrne was trying to make up for the unhappiness of the past few days,

She pumped up her reserves of energy and let Byrne take her sightseeing. The way Byrne was cramming so much activity into the one day made her uneasy. They had almost an indefinite length of time in which to do all these things, but Paula stopped herself from saying it aloud.

By eight o'clock, she was tired to death. They were strolling along Collins Avenue surrounded by the flash of sun-tanned women all in blond hair and loud jewelry, attracting the attention of men, casually but just as flashily dressed.

Paula took Byrne's arm and stopped her in the middle of the street "Take me home and put me to bed," she pleaded.

"Oh baby, I'm sorry," Byrne said. "I thought you were enjoying this."

"I am. But it's enough for one day."

"All right. Let's find the car."

Byrne maneuvered through the traffic and they sped back toward the motel. The evening wind came in the car window blowing from the ocean and laid its brisk salt odor on Paula, lulling her closer and closer to sleep.

When they got to their rooms, she unbuttoned her things and left them on the floor where they dropped. She crawled beneath the cool sheets and waited for Byrne while she took a shower.

Paula tried to stay awake. Away from Greta, alone with the woman she loved, she ached with want and joy to hold her beloved and run her lips and hands over every inch of her body, to make love to her again with the freedom and joy that this one day seemed to have returned to her.

Paula lay on her back, spread out on the wide bed, feeling the night air roll over her body with its almost human caress. She listened to the shower splash on the tile and imagined Byrne standing, glistening with wet, droplets of water sliding down her breasts. Glancing out the window, she saw palm trees silhouetted in the moonlight, and the waves of the ocean seemed painted with silver. She tasted salt on her lips and it was good. In contentment and fatigue, she sighed and closed her eyes.

Byrne, refreshed and sweet-smelling, crawled in beside Paula, who lay in heavy, relaxed and peaceful sleep.

* * *

The night slid by dreamlessly for Paula. She awoke next morning transfused with new life, her body elastic with new energy. She leaped out of bed and-ran to the window, a beaming smile on her face to greet the gorgeous expanse of sea and sky.

"I can't believe it," she trilled, standing nude at the window and stretching her arms wide, wanting to take the world into her embrace. "We're really here. It’s not a dream after all."

Byrne, who had been up for awhile and was folding their things into drawers, said, "Hey, get away from there. Want to be arrested as an exhibitionist?"

Paula ducked quickly to the wall, flushing. “I can't help it," she exclaimed. "Everything is so—spectacular."

“Well, put this on and well go for a dip before breakfast." She tossed Paula the new bathing suit of black and white striped knit.

She wriggled into it and turned her back for Byrne to zip it up.

"You're marvelous in this thing," Byrne murmured. "I'm going to have to fight for you on the beach."

Paula swung around and examined Byrne, starkly magnificent in her own black suit. Her firm, rounded breasts and long waistline blending into the lean hips made a breathtaking picture such as Paula had seen only in magazines. That a live person could be carved so perfectly seemed incredible. "We’ll have to fight for each other," Paula trembled.

Byrne patted her behind and affectionately pushed her out the door.

They flung themselves into the ocean and dived beneath the tepid waves. The crystal pure water and sparkling sunshine brought surging vitality to them both. Then they rubbed themselves briskly dry and went for breakfast.

Later that afternoon, Byrne took Paula water skiing. They both fell in together, and surfaced spluttering and laughing. At night they took a midnight ride in the moonlight. Their silent glances met again and again in mute caress, filling them both with total love and growing desire. Alone in their rooms at last the rising passion of romantic love blended with the glowing headiness of a tropical night. Their love-making was long and languorous, gentle and tender, and finally an all-encompassing ecstatic storm.

“I love you," Byrne said later. And Paula knew that it was so.

The days grew into a pattern of bliss which seemed to be awakening some new youth in Byrne. Paula seldom caught her brooding now. Her skin became an Indian bronze and the many little freckles spraying across her nose made her face at times look like a little boy's.

And in the darkness, when Paula held Byrne, listening to the rhythmic peaceful breathing, she thanked heaven for being so kind to her at last.

And then, as Paula was putting on a new lipstick one day, smiling appreciatively at her own reflection, Byrne said the words she had almost forgotten existed.

Byrne took off her sun glasses and laid them on the dresser. "It's time,'' she said simply.

Paula halted with lipstick poised in mid-air. She waited without answering for Byrne to continue, like a rabbit fascinated by the gleaming eyes of the oncoming snake.

"We can't go on like this forever."

Paula bit her lip as she lay down the lipstick, bolstering herself inwardly. "But it can go on," she said with desperate conviction. "You said we could afford a little place. Why don't we get a small house or maybe an apartment if you'd rather? We can buy drawing equipment and work just as hard down here as anyplace."

Byrne came to her and took her hands. Her hair, bleached redder by the sun, curled lightly with the salt water of swimming. "My darling, don't be afraid. Please trust me and know that what I'm doing is right. Living here is only a way of avoiding the issue. We can't remain forever with something hanging over our heads. Do you want us to be like escaped convicts for the rest of our lives? We must go back. Surely, you must feel that I love you completely. Believe me, nothing threatens that love. Nothing."

"If that's really true," Paula groped around for some argument, "then we can stay. We don't have to look for trouble deliberately." She pleaded silently for Byrne to agree.

But the woman's eyes were steady and bright with smiling. "I don't blame you for fighting after all that has happened. But I wish that you could have faith in me, this once."

Paula didn't answer. With heavy heart, she pulled the valises down from the closet shelf and started packing.

Their flight home felt to Paula like a cold, inevitable, almost ominous thing. The motors droned gloomily in her ears and she hid herself from Byrne behind the pages of a novel.

A taxi brought them to the familiar brownstone house. Paula stood in the musty apartment and stared out at the leafless trees now bent by a howling March wind.

Byrne tried to make conversation, tried to joke and chatter with Paula as they had in the Florida sun. Yet Paula held herself aloof, answering in monosyllables, if at all.

They went to sleep that night with the suitcases still untouched. Paula felt that the joy of Miami had been locked away from them forever. It was just a matter of time before Greta would come once more to spin her evil web, to confuse and clutter, perhaps demolish their happiness. She lay stiffly under the blankets, wanting to smash this place out of existence.

When Monday came, Paula was not at all surprised to see Byrne dress and put on her coat. She didn't even ask where Byrne was going.

"Not even a little smile for me?" Byrne said, pulling on her gloves and mimicking Paula's pouting mouth. "Just a teensy-weensy smile for your adoring slave?"

"When I know where you're going, how can I smile?" she said bitterly.

"Ah, well," Byrne replied with undefeatable good nature. "Maybe when I come back, you’ll change your mind." Her high spirits seemed to be holding a secret difficult to keep to herself.

But Paula ignored everything. She folded her arms across her chest and half turned away from Byrne and did not even answer the "I'll be home soon" that Byrne tossed gaily into the room as she shut the door behind her.

For minutes Paula sulked that way, staring into space and cursing herself as a fool. How long was she going to put up with this? If her love meant anything to Byrne, they would never have come back. She would always be second fiddle to a freak!

The hours went by, but in her anger Paula didn't notice them pass. Eventually Byrne would come back. She would come in and make love to Paula as if nothing had happened while she was gone, as if they were both completely free. And Paula burned with resentment.

Lunch time came and went. The hunger pains in Paula's stomach went unheeded as she recalled the lovely dinners they had shared in the violet dusk. She paced around the room, opened a book, flung it down. Shadows of evening grew longer across the room The street lamps came on but she stayed in the darkness, rebelling against time, Greta, the world. When nine o'clock passed, a slight tremor of fear tapped at her heart. Refusing to surrender, she flung herself on the couch and shouted angry words into the empty silence. By ten o'clock, she was peering out the window.

When the phone rang, Paula jumped.

Then she restrained herself and let it ring a few times.

Worry, she whispered to an imaginary Byrne. Worry a little about me for a change.

She picked up the phone and said hello with forced casualness.

The shock of Phil's voice brought her to full attention. He didn't seem to be surprised that Paula had answered. In fact, he sounded as though he had expected it.

"I'm coming over," he said. She wanted to tell him no, but his tone brooked no argument. "And please don't leave before I get there. It's about Byrne." She noted a strain of sadness in his voice, how the words fell leadenly from his lips. Instinctively, Paula knew she should not pretend innocence or play coy.

When she hung up, her palms were wet with sweat. The darkness seeped in filling her with unnamed fear. She snapped on the lights. Sickly premonition made her body feel clammy all over. Phil suddenly in the midst of her life. Phil, authoritative, the bearer of tidings that she could not imagine.

Tense with questions and dread, she answered his knock. Her face, pale beneath its tan, searched his eyes wordlessly.

He came into the room. She had forgotten the massiveness of him, the blunt male personality that could be so gentle for all its strength.

Without being asked, he took off his coat and folded it over the arm of a chair. The flannel shirt beneath the sport jacket smelled vaguely from turpentine.

Silently, he went to put up coffee. Paula watched his every move, afraid to speak, afraid to question. She knew he was working to find words to tell her something.

After he set out two cups, he sat her securely in the alcove chair. His manner held nothing of the romantic suitor. Wearily but with infinite care, he sat down beside her and covered her trembling hand with his own warm one.

"I don't know how to make this easy for you," he began in a slow voice that searched for guidance. "Let me start by saying that I've know for a long time about you and Byrne." His tone did not accuse her.

Paula wanted to scream: Where is she? Why are you here?

"Byrne told me everything after-that night I came here. When you were hiding in the bedroom." A smile of gentle reproval flicked across his lips. "She squared with me. That's one thing I'll always thank her for. Byrne was a regular guy."

Paula went icy. She tried to fight a cigarette but could not make the match connect with the end of the cigarette.