Can't Stop Loving You (16 page)

She leaned back in his arms, her old
sassiness almost restored.

“You can do the taming onstage,” she said.
“I’ll do it offstage.”

“Do you promise to use those scarlet
ribbons?”

“I promise.”

“It’s a deal, darling.”

“Good.” Her smile was real this time.

“Let’s seal it.”

“Anything in mind?”

“I was thinking about a game... of gin
rummy.”

“I was thinking about another game... with
orange slices and grapes.”

“What? No strawberries?”

“You want it all, don’t you, Brick
Sullivan?”

“Indeed I do, Helen Sullivan.”

“Why don’t you get comfortable while I go
down to the kitchen and get the fruit?”

“I like the way you think, darling.”

He stood and watched until she was out of the
room and down the stairs; then he hurried to the desk and picked up
the calendar. Thirty-three days. Helen was late.

Jubilation filled him, then terror. His hands
shook as he unbuttoned his shirt. He tossed it toward the armchair
and missed. He kicked off his shoes and stripped off his socks any
old way, then left his pants where they fell.

A trail of clothes led to the bed. Stretched
out, he tried to relax.

But relaxation was impossible. Disgusted, he
left the bed and paced the floor. His mind was a jumble of things
he should have said, things he should have done before the wedding.
Before they’d left New Hampshire. Before they’d settled into the
house in Georgia.

He balled one hand into a fist and smashed it
into his palm. He was caught again in a web of his own making, a
pretense. Brick and Helen Sullivan. The perfect couple. The perfect
marriage. The perfect partners, onstage and off. It was true.
Almost.

Brick was disgusted with himself. He paced to
the window, then back to the bed.

The bed. He wouldn’t think of anything right
now except his wife in the kitchen, slicing fresh fruit.

Already he could smell the oranges, taste the
juice as it trickled slowly over her body, taste the sweet nectar
of Helen’s skin.

“Hurry, my darling,” he whispered. He needed
to drown his fears in her.

o0o

Helen pressed against the kitchen counter and
leaned her head against the cabinet. What in the world would she do
if she was pregnant?

She pressed her hands flat across her womb as
if it already contained her child, as if she were protecting it
from all harm.

Scenes from their stay in New Hampshire
played through her mind. Onstage during rehearsals she’d told Brick
that more than anything she’d wanted his child. What had his
response been?

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to
remember his exact words. There were none to remember. They’d
gotten into a silly argument about little girls wearing frilly
dresses to the park.

But he had never said, “I want children.”

What if he didn’t? He’d said he wouldn’t
leave her if she had a child, but had he really meant it?

Heavy with uncertainty, Helen got the sliced
oranges, then arranged them on a tray with grapes and strawberries.
She couldn’t bear to discuss the subject of children with Brick,
couldn’t bear to bring up a subject that might mar and even destroy
their happiness.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then wiped away
the tear that trickled onto her cheek. Leaning over, she looked at
her reflection in the shiny tray. She didn’t want any sign of
crying to show. She could see none, but just to be certain she
rubbed her cheeks until they were pink.

Then she went upstairs with the tray.
Smiling. Always smiling.

o0o

Brick heard her coming up the stairs. He
hurried to the bed, then sprawled out with his hands above his
head.

No. That looked too posed
.

He stretched out his arms as if he were
lounging in a deck chair beside the pool, soaking up the sun.
Much better. More relaxed looking
.

“Sweetheart?”

She stood in the doorway with her tray full
of fresh fruit. Smiling.

He propped on one elbow and grinned at
her.

“Mrs. Sullivan, I’d say you have on too many
clothes.”

“What do you plan to do about it, Mr.
Sullivan?”

He arranged his face into ferocious lines,
then got up and stalked her.

“The beast plans to devour the lady.”

He lunged at her, but she sidestepped.

“No.” Laughing, she began to stalk him. “The
lady is going to devour the beast, bit by bit, saving the best
parts till last.”

“What are the best parts?”

She nibbled his ears, his neck, his lips.

“Hmmm. I don’t know. I haven’t tasted them
all. But the ones I’ve tasted so far have been delicious.”

She focused her attention on his mouth once
more. He reached for her zipper with one hand and a slice of orange
with the other.

o0o

He heard her leave the bed before dawn. She
was moving cautiously, as if she didn’t want to wake him.

Brick lay perfectly still, letting her carry
on her charade. The bathroom door opened, and she slipped inside.
He listened to the sounds, cabinet door opening, water running,
toilet flushing, crying.

Crying
?

He started to bolt from the bed, and then he
settled back against the pillow, tense. She’d been so careful not
to wake him. That meant she wanted to be alone.

It was a clear spring night. The pale light
of predawn poured through the French doors. As his eyes adjusted,
Brick saw Helen’s silk robe hanging on the end of the bed. She was
usually so elegant, so organized that even when she went to the
bathroom in the middle of the night she slipped into her robe.

Her sobs were soft, indistinct, as if she
were trying to muffle them. Helen never cried.

What could be the problem? He’d allow her a
few more minutes of privacy, and if she didn’t come out, he’d go in
to see about her.

Helen’s robe took on a rosy glow as the light
changed from gray to pink. The fragrance of tea roses drifted up
from her pillow.

Brick rolled to her side of the bed, and
that’s when he saw it... a pale stain on the sheets, a sign that
his wife was not pregnant.

Helen was crying with relief because she
wasn’t carrying his baby. For a moment, his heart hurt so much that
he thought he would cry. Then he rolled back to his side of the bed
and pretended to be asleep.

o0o

Reporters from all over the nation had
gathered in Philadelphia to watch the Sullivans reprise their roles
of Petruchio and Kate in
The Taming of the Shrew.
Brick
and Helen faced a battery of lights and cameras, their faces
arranged in their famous stage smiles.

The questions came at them hot and heavy.

“Will you do the play as Shakespeare wrote it
or as you rewrote it in New Hampshire?”

Helen deferred to Brick, smiling.

“Straight Shakespeare this time. Helen and I
adlibbed the play in New Hampshire to fit the occasion.” He reached
for his wife’s hand. “Since the
occasion
took this time,
we see no need to repeat that performance. Ever.”

There was general laughter from the
reporters.

“Do you plan to do all your plays
together?”

Helen laughed. “Brick is not only the
greatest Shakespearean actor of our time but is also my favorite
leading man. We’ll do as many plays as we can together, but no, we
won’t do everything as a team. Both of us will accept solo
engagements.”

“What’s next after
The Taming of the
Shrew
?”

“Much Ado About Nothing
in Dallas,”
Brick said.

“Together?”

“Yes...” he added. “Together.”

“Do you plan to have children to carry on the
acting tradition of the Sullivans?”

Helen’s hand trembled in his, but her smile
held. He kept his too.

“No comment,” he said.

The reporters, sensing a real story, wouldn’t
let it alone.

“Helen, if you do have children, will you
retire from the theater?”

“No comment.” She kept her voice even, her
smile intact.

“Brick, if you have children, will
you
retire?” This from a female reporter.

“No comment.”

He and Helen stood up, signaling an end to
the interview.

“Just one more question...”

“Sorry. Helen and I have to get ready for the
matinee performance.”

He studied his wife as they ducked out. She
was as tightly wound as a revival preacher who had faced down a
church full of sinners.

Now that the subject had been broached, it
would be a good time for the two of them to discuss children.
Are you afraid to have my baby, Helen? Afraid I’ll
run?

As they hurried toward their dressing rooms,
the stage manager called out, “Thirty minutes to curtain,
Brick.”

Thirty minutes was barely time to get into
makeup and costume.

The subject of children would have to
wait.

The thunder of applause roared around them.
Helen and Brick took their vows hand in hand as they always did.
Before the curtain rang down for the last time, Brick kissed Helen
in full view of the delighted audience as he always did.

Philadelphia. Dallas. Chicago. San Francisco.
Washington, D.C.

It was always the same. Rehearse. Perform.
Take a whirlwind break, filling whatever little time they allowed
themselves with a marathon of loving.

No late night conversations, no soul baring
discussions. There was never any time for that.

It was almost as if they were both sailors
drowning at sea, and the only lifeboat available to them was the
solid, unsinkable one formed when their bodies joined and their
hearts and souls and minds merged.

Helen lost track of the time, lost track of
the cities.

Where were they now?
D.C
. She
remembered because they could see the Washington Monument outside
their hotel window.

The audience applauded in wild appreciation
as Brick kissed her. Still holding her tightly, he whispered in her
ear.

“What do you say we blow this joint, baby,
and go where we can really let our hair down?”

“How about the zoo?”

The curtain rang down, and the actors milled
around them, calling congratulations to one another, making plans
to meet next day for lunch or next week to discuss doing a project
together, or next month in New York—plans they would never carry
out.

“The zoo?” Brick arched one eyebrow at her,
grinning wickedly. “You’re talking my kind of language. Kinky sex
among the wild beasts. It’s closed, but maybe we can scale the
fence.”

“I want to see the pandas.”

He cupped her face and held it very still for
his inspection.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

They stood that way for a long time, Brick
searching her face and Helen searching his.

Tell him
, she thought.
Tell him
you want children
.

He was a wonderful man, intelligent, kind,
affectionate, passionate, trustworthy, witty, fun loving. Why
couldn’t she bring herself to broach the subject closest to her
heart?

Because she wasn’t sure where it would lead
them. Because she couldn’t even talk about it with her Forever
Friends. That was why.

She was scared.

Putting on a bright smile that she hoped he
wouldn’t see was forced, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

“Hmmm. I like that,” he said.

“The pandas can wait.”

Holding his hand, she raced with him toward
their dressing room. They left a trail of clothes across the stage,
in the wings, up the short flight of stairs, and down the narrow
hallway.

By the time they got to their dressing room,
they barely had on enough to be considered decent.

“Good thing nobody was around to see us,” she
whispered, already in his arms.

“Would it have made any difference to us?” He
lifted her hips, wrapped her legs around him, and braced her
against the wall.

His heat already invaded her, just as his
body soon would. Limp with desire, she leaned her head against the
wall.

“You’re protected?” he whispered.

Helen bit down on her lip. Even in their most
passionate moments, even when she was close to screaming with need,
even with his hard heat already pushing against her cleft, he never
forgot to ask.

There would be no unwanted children for Brick
Sullivan. “Yes,” she said.

His thrust was so deep, she arched like a
fish. Impaled. Hooked. Reeled with expert finesse through the dark,
stormy seas till she was brought at last to the surface,
gasping.

Limp, she wrapped her arms around him, and he
carried her to the daybed. They lay tangled together in sweet
abandon, napping, occasionally waking to whisper love words, then
drifting to sleep until passion overtook them once more.

They made slow, dreamy love in the cramped
dressing room of the deserted theater, not caring that a perfectly
good bed had gone to waste back at their hotel room.

They had each other, and nothing else
mattered.

Brick kissed her cheek and tenderly smoothed
her hair back from her face. “Tears, Helen?”

“It’s nothing. Just exhaustion.” He kissed
the dampness away, then held her close with his head resting in her
hair.

“Tomorrow we’ll take the day off and go see
the bears,” he said.

“Pandas.”

He laughed. “We’ll see the whole damned
zoo.

o0o

“I see one.” Helen grabbed Brick’s arm,
pointing. “Look. Do you see him?”

“Where?”

“Over there. That little patch of black.”

“That’s the tree trunk, Helen.”

“Oh.”

She sounded as disappointed as a little girl.
Looked it too. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, the end
sticking through a baseball cap, and she wore no makeup. She wore
denim shorts and a T-shirt that said,
Everybody has to kiss a
few frogs before they find a prince
.