And Yesterday Is Gone (26 page)

“Well, I've been known to break in a few beginners myself,” responded Janella quickly. Her cards bounced as she threw them down and chose two others.

I looked helplessly at mine, my Monopoly experience useless. This hand couldn't even buy a hotel.

Amy laughed and threw down the winning hand, looked at me and purred, “Take it off, Sugar.”

Reluctantly, my undershirt came off.

“Now for the pants and shorts,” Janella said.

“Won't be long now,” Amy added.

Both women laughed hilariously.

As Amy refilled my glass, her breasts managed to brush against my face. A moment later, Janella's hand was admiring my biceps.

It was obvious that this was a game between two women and I was up for grabs. The future looked grim. Grandpa was right—this was a wicked game. I could feel the devil's hot breath—or was it Amy's? I was confused.

Again and again the cards slapped the carpet. The insults and laughter comingled. I was miserable, feeling like a fool.

I thought if they got drunk enough, Janella might fall asleep. I'd grab that purse and make a run for it. Amy wouldn't care. But then my conscience rose up. Steve, have you sunk to that? It's the devil tempting me, Grandpa, you were right. Lord help me.

Amy gave an ear-splitting rebel yell and I knew I'd lost my pants.

A furious knocking on the wall quieted them momentarily.

“Steve, if you could play poker like you can put away drinks, you'd be a millionaire.”

I was thankful they couldn't see the wet stain under the bed where I'd been spilling out the liquor.

“You must have some hidden talents,” Janella slurred.

“I'm sure he has, and I intend to find out right after this next hand. Janella, you look tired—I'm sure you'll want to go home.”

“Wait a minute, don't count your chickens. The game's not over…”

Lord help me. I thought I heard the devil chuckle.

I sat there and shivered in my paisley shorts. Ma had given me three pairs at Christmas.

Janella dealt with a sure hand. Amy picked up her cards. I just pushed mine around. All hope fled as I sent a last despairing plea speeding through space.

He didn't hear me. I lost.

“Take 'em off, Sugar,” Amy purred as soft as velvet, then, “Good night, Janella. See you later.”

“Wait, wait,” I begged. She just can't leave with that film, my mind screamed.

“Amy, let's have a nightcap. Fix a good stiff drink and I'll take 'em off.”

“Great idea,” Janella said. “I think it's only fair that I see the great unveiling. Do you really think it's great?”

“Must be—he can't be totally without some assets.”

“Well, speaking of asses, his was pretty neat.”

So the ribald comments bantered back and forth at my expense. But Amy hung tough. “We're playing by Texas rules—take 'em off or we will.”

Janella added, “And we won't be careful.”

I begged to play another hand, but there was no mercy.

Finally, I slid them to my knees, and with one powerful yank, Amy sent my shorts sailing across the room. Now naked as a newborn babe, I quickly covered myself with my hands.

“Ladies,” I said desperately, “let's be civilized and have a drink to celebrate this, um, great unveiling.”

“Okay.” Amy giggled. “Just one, though.”

Then the rattle of glasses sounded and I knew she was looking for the ice. Janella leaned her head against the wall and closed her bleary eyes.

On my knees, I inclined myself along the bed to reach a pillow. In an instant I was safely covered.

Amy returned with the drinks. Her eyes widened with shock as she furiously poured the drinks over my head and screamed, “You can't do that—it's against the rules.”

Janella's eyes opened. “What the hell is going on here?”

Again came the indignant pounding from the other side of the wall.

Janella stumbled to her feet. “Gimme that pillow, you conniving bastard,” she yelled, but my hands held the pillow so tightly a gorilla couldn't have moved it.

Amy ranted. “That's cheating. In Texas we hang horse thieves and card cheaters.”

My mind was frantic.
Lord, Lord, this is my last chance. I'm begging You.

Stalling for time, I managed a weak, “Now, now, girls—let's talk about this. Tell you what, Janella, I'll play one more hand. I'll bet this pillow against that roll of film. Is that fair?”

She didn't hesitate. “It's a deal—hell, yes.”

“Honest? No reneging,” I pressed.

“Believe it.”

She spat on her hand. I spat on mine and, holding the pillow firmly with one hand, I shook with the other.

“With his luck, my ass will sit on that pillow and what he's got under it is mine, too.”

“Over my dead body.” Amy gritted through clenched teeth.

“Why don't we draw for it—save time,” Janella suggested with a diabolical grin.

“Why not,” I said, with all hope gone, wondering almost hysterically when the cops would be called to catch a naked man racing down the street with two women in hot pursuit, and if the headlines would get back to J.W. before I did.

“I'll hold the cards,” Amy said as she shuffled, then extended the deck to Janella, who pulled a card.

“The winner,” she gloated and laid it face-down on the carpet.

“Your turn, Sugar,” Amy said as she turned to me.

I saw the card peek out of the deck as if beckoning. As it attached itself to my finger, I mumbled a prayer.

Tenderly, I laid it down.

Janella's hand shot out and turned her card.

Laughing triumphantly, she held it up. “Queen of hearts—I win.” She reached for the pillow.

“Not so fast, you bitch. Turn it over, Sugar.”

Trembling, I reached and turned the card.

It was the ace of spades.

“You cheated—I know you cheated,” Janella shrieked, stamping her feet.

Amy stood between us. “How in hell could he cheat? Where would he hide it? Besides, he's too dumb to cheat and I held the cards. Pay up.”

In a fury, Janella dug in the bag and flung the roll so hard it could have fractured my skull. It flew straight as a homing pigeon to my waiting hand.

Cursing, using words even I hadn't heard before, she grabbed her belongings and slammed out so hard the picture on the wall rattled.

“Give me my pillow,” Amy demanded as she plucked it from my unresisting hand and pulled the bedclothes back. The springs groaned as our bodies made a perfect landing.

With the priceless film clutched in my fist, my other hand removed a strip of satin that slid away quite easily. Opening one eye, I saw it fly through the air like a bird.

Our over-eager bodies intertwined feverishly. This time, there was no banging at the door to interrupt our increasingly passionate moment.

But to my horror, I suddenly realized that there was an interruption far worse. I was growing limp.

My frantic mind implored, Lord, please—not payback time now, not now. To no avail.

Even as she moved against me, I knew it was a disaster. Her seeking mouth and coaxing hands embarrassed me.

She giggled, peeking under the covers. “Where did it go?”

“I guess I must be too drunk,” came my feeble excuse.

But in my heart I knew that witch in San Francisco had put the hex on me and she was laughing, too.

Rolling out of bed, I pulled on my pants, carried the rest, and made for the door.

“In Texas, we'd call that an assault with a dead weapon.” Amy's laughter followed me out and chased me down the hall.

I
t took me only a moment to throw my things together for the drive home.

Stepping off the elevator with my uncombed hair and bloodshot eyes, the typewriter bag bouncing off my hip, brought a delighted grin to the face of the night clerk. His hopeful “Checking out?” confirmed I'd worn out my welcome.

On the fast-moving Interstate 5, even stopping briefly for gas and a burger, it was still an eight-hour drive. I had plenty of time to think.

As comforted as I was by the thought that Ma probably would be over her anger at me by now, the look in Juan's eyes wouldn't leave my mind, even as I rationalized that his unspoken, heart-filled dreams had to die. But in my cowardly heart, I didn't want to be the one to draw blood.

And then there was Rica. There could be no more gray. It had to be either black or white, and I would live with her decision.

At last the misty outline of the city came into view. Rushing into J.W.'s office without even a knock, I threw the film on his desk. His gruff “What the hell” turned to “Bless you, my son” as his mind registered what he held.

The pictures were everything Janella had said they were. I told J.W. that I had sacrificed my virginity for these and he returned my lie with “I told you you'd get lucky, didn't I.”

Then I came clean.

“I won that film from the
Los Angeles Times'
best photographer with an ace of spades and a lot of help from the Man upstairs.”

“The hell you did.” He pounded his desk, elated to know that his rival newspaper had picked up the tab.

“You musta thrown in a good word for me, too.” He grinned. “We both got lucky.”

He crowned me on the spot: I was now a national correspondent high on the ladder of my dreams—and still reaching, which came with a substantial increase in salary.

•  •  •

Dr. Teddy was in her downstairs study and waved to me as she saw the pickup winding up the driveway. The grand old house seemed almost like a second home to me.

She opened the door as I raised my hand to knock. With her arm around my shoulder, she brought me in.

“What adventures have you been on lately? We haven't seen you in weeks and we've missed you.”

Briefly telling her of my time in Los Angeles, I asked the question on my mind.

“Where is Juan? I thought I'd find him in his studio.”

“Oh, he's with Rica helping her hang pictures and arrange furniture. She's moved and hasn't been feeling well. Don't suppose you knew?”

“No, I didn't know. I haven't seen Juan for a couple of weeks. I miss him—and we need to talk.”

“That's a good idea. He hasn't been painting for a while and that isn't like him.”

Caught in a web not of their making,
Dr. Teddy thought despairingly.
Steve will find his happiness, but Juan will never surrender his love for Steve. It lays buried, but will never die. Steve is a decent man. I know he loves Juan, but he cannot give what he doesn't have. God alone knows the answer to this. Breaks my heart as it will break Sara's,
Teddy's soliloquy concluded.

Dr. Teddy seemed uncommonly quiet, but now she answered my unasked question.

“She's at the Ocean View Apartments over on Forty-Seventh Avenue. Apartment eight, I believe. Bring them back with you. I'll see what Mrs. Mackey is planning for dinner.”

She hugged me good-bye.

The apartment was in an area of old converted homes and stood on a gentle slope that almost overlooked the ocean. I could smell the salt air and hear the swooping, noisy seagulls.

The little orange Beetle shone in the sunlight, its tires turned against the curb, but there was no sign of Juan's car.

I knocked on the door while mentally rehearsing what had been churning in my mind those many hours on the road. I would, of course, apologize; would not for any reason lose my composure. No country boy here, I reassured myself. I am a gentleman, but the answers had to be straight. No more gray.

The tension built even as I knocked—a little harder than intended.

The door opened. Rica's eyes widened in surprise and one hand flew to push back her hair. My eyes followed it. If there was a ring on that finger, I'd bite it off.

Suddenly my good intentions were shot to hell and all reason fled.

“Am I holding down the bench or am I in the game?” the words ground out.

“You are the game,” Rica almost whispered.

With those four simple words, she had disarmed me. I felt the anger slip out of me like air from a pricked balloon.

“I tried to tell you, but you were so angry. And nasty, too, I might add.”

Speechless, I felt my eyes fill with tears. My body ached with an incredible feeling of love that flooded my every nerve as I heard her say the words I had waited to hear for too long.

Standing transfixed in the doorway, suddenly afraid I had misunderstood—until she found her way into my arms. I didn't know a woman could be the origin of such profound ecstasy. Without leaving my embrace, she closed the door.

The moment seemed too intense for words but finally, between kisses, the words stumbled out almost incoherently. “Rica, Rica, you know I want to marry you.”

Gently pressing her fingers on my lips, she said, “Wait, wait…”

She stepped away and pulled her dress tight across her body.

I stared, not understanding.

She tugged the dress higher and tighter.

Finally, shocked and disbelieving, I saw the thickening waistline and swell of her belly. Counting back, and for a split-second considering another possibility, I hesitated. Then her tremulous voice whispered, “Aren't you going to say something?”

“I already have—weren't you listening?”

“Does that question still stand even when you don't know who the father of this baby is?”

“It's part of you and your love makes you mine. So it's our baby.”

“You would marry me thinking the baby was not yours? I love you more than you can ever know for that. It is your baby, Steve.”

She sobbed against my chest, the hair falling into her face. I kissed the back of her neck and led her to the only chair big enough to hold both of us.

“Is that what you came to the farm to tell me?”