Guilt by Association (22 page)

But he only grunted and reached for her again. Robert was insatiable when it came to sex, openly fondling her at a restaurant,
murmuring seductive suggestions in the middle of a concert, whisking her away from a cocktail party given in their honor by some distant relatives. He thought nothing of cutting short any activity in which they were engaged the moment the urge overcame him.

Elizabeth never objected. On the contrary, she found herself as eager as he. But Robert was a big man who could be somewhat rough in the throes of passion and she was unprepared for the intensity of it all. It wasn’t long before she was black and blue on the outside and more than a little tender on the inside.

“Sweetheart, do you think we could maybe not do it for a day or so?” she asked one afternoon when Robert attempted to cut short a shopping expedition to Saint-Tropez.

“What do you mean?” he replied.

“Well, as you have reason to know, I’m not exactly used to all this … activity”—she giggled timidly—”and I guess I must be extra-sensitive inside because, well, it’s really kind of painful now, everytime we … well, you know.”

“Shit,” her husband exploded. “We’re on our honeymoon, for Christ’s sake. And what the fuck is it that people are supposed to do on their honeymoon?”

“I’m sure it’ll be all right again in a day or two,” she protested, wincing at his outburst.

He stamped his foot petulantly. “And to think I got married just so I could have it whenever I wanted it.”

“Well, I certainly hope that wasn’t the only reason,” she replied with a toss of her red hair.

“All those months I waited for you,” he grumbled. “I never had to wait that long for anyone, but I waited for you. Now we’re hardly married a week and already you’re pulling the old headache routine.”

“It’s not a headache and it’s not forever,” she said. “And the sooner we stop, the sooner we can start again.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “In the meantime, maybe there’s something I can do to make up for it.”

Robert looked at her in surprise. “Now you’re talking,” he said, taking her firmly by the arm. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see what you have in mind.”

What she had in mind—dinner on the terrace, a bottle of champagne, a long leisurely bath and a back rub—didn’t turn out to be exactly what he had in mind.

“That sounds awful,” she protested when he described what he wanted to do.

“I don’t see how you can dismiss something until you try it,” he replied, nuzzling her. “Most of the women I know really get off on it.”

Most of the women in Robert’s circle were no doubt chic and sophisticated and older, and despite the fact that he had chosen her over the rest, Elizabeth didn’t particularly care to come out on the wrong side of a comparison.

“All right,” she said with a reluctant sigh. After all, he was her husband now and anything between married people was supposed to be acceptable. Besides, she had promised to obey.

Elizabeth had to admit that what he proceeded to do to her was rather thrilling and she achieved three orgasms in rapid succession and was beginning to think she might agree with all those other women of his when he rolled over onto his back and pulled her down on top of him. The ecstasy quickly turned to revulsion.

“I don’t know how to do it,” she mumbled, hoping he would suggest an alternative.

Instead, he gave her explicit instructions and held her head firmly so she couldn’t pull away.

“I didn’t hear you complaining when I brought you off three times,” he reminded her. “Now let’s see what you can do for me.”

Gagging and sputtering, she managed to make the best of it, but the experience was so distasteful to her that the very next morning she slipped down into town and bought some salve.

“That’s too bad,” he murmured when she grit her teeth and told him she was no longer sore. “I rather like it the other way.”

They came home after a month to the house on Jackson Street where Robert had been born. Amanda Willmont insisted that it was much too big a place for her now that she was alone.

“I rattle around in here and there’s just no point to it,” she said. “I want you and Elizabeth to have the house, and I can take a small apartment nearby.”

But Robert wouldn’t hear of it.

“This house has been your home for more than thirty years,” he insisted, “and no one’s going to put you out of it. I think we should all live here together.”

“Don’t you think you ought to consult with Elizabeth before you make a decision like that?” Amanda asked, trying not to look too pleased.

“Elizabeth will do what I say,” he replied. “Besides, she’s an old-fashioned girl and family means a lot to her. She’ll love the idea.”

Elizabeth hated the idea.

“It’s not that I’m not fond of your mother,” she said. “It’s just that I’d like us to have a place of our own.”

“But it’ll be almost like having that,” he assured her. “She’s an old lady and she rarely comes out of her room. Besides,
it really is a terrific house and I wouldn’t be able to afford to give you anything nearly so grand.”

“I don’t mind starting small,” his new wife replied.

“Well, sure,” he agreed with an irritable sigh. “I wouldn’t either, if we didn’t have a choice. But we do, so why don’t we take advantage of it?”

“I know I’m being foolish,” Elizabeth said stubbornly. “But I think couples should be on their own when they get married.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want this to be part of our decision,” he said, changing tactics, “but the truth is, I’m worried about Mother.
She’s not well and she’s getting weaker all the time. I don’t think she’s going to last much longer and I don’t want her to be alone. I just wouldn’t feel right if we were off having a grand time on our own and something awful happened to her and I wasn’t there. I’m her only child, you know. I’m all she has in the world.”

Elizabeth’s green eyes filled with sympathy and she covered his hand with her own.

“Of course you are,” she cried. “And forgive me for being so selfish. I didn’t realize she was that bad off. You certainly can’t leave her alone, I understand that now, and I love you for being such a devoted son. Of course we’ll move in with her.
The most important thing is to help make her last days happy ones.”

Robert beamed. “You’ll see,” he promised. “Everything is going to work out just fine.”

Within a month of taking up residence at her new home on the crown of Pacific Heights, Elizabeth learned two things. The first was that San Francisco was nothing at all like Denver. The second was that Amanda Drayton Willmont would probably outlive them all.

The city had taken a bit of getting used to. For someone who had grown up with crunchy white winters, rain was a poor substitute.
For someone used to towering mountains, the endless stretch of the Pacific Ocean was disconcerting. For someone raised on the flat Denver plateau, the peaks and valleys of San Francisco’s streets were a shock.

Once she had married a Drayton, her place in the city’s inner social circle was ensured—but not her popularity. That
she had to earn on her own. She was asked to join all the right clubs, serve on all the right committees, and sponsor all the right causes. It was an endless round of luncheons and parties and fund-raisers that left her head spinning and her calendar filled.

She said yes to everything, because she didn’t realize she could have said no. Very soon, the Jackson Street parlor had been transformed into the principal gathering place for the “planners of good deeds,” as Robert jokingly referred to them, and San Francisco’s social matrons bustled in and out from morning to midnight.

Amanda was furious.

“Turning my house into a meeting hall,” she fussed on more than one occasion. “That wasn’t what I had in mind when I invited you to come and stay.”

“I’m very sorry they disturb you,” her daughter-in-law replied, biting her tongue. “But the causes are so worthy.”

Perhaps because she was so young and so eager to please, Elizabeth soon became the darling of the elite crowd and, with her wild hair and classic beauty, the darling of the media, as well. Newspaper photographers fell all over themselves to capture her on film. Television cameras seemed to pick her out of a crowd. Although she rarely had anything earthshak-ing to say,
reporters sought her out for comments on everything from haute couture to Haight-Ashbury.

She had inherited her mother’s elegant Parisian style which, together with her father’s generous allowance and her own boundless energy for shopping, resulted in an exquisite wardrobe that provided her with the perfect outfit for every occasion.

“Does your daddy own the majority stock in Magnin’s?” Robert roared when he saw the bills.

“It’s my money,” she reminded him. “And I should think you would want me to look my best.”

“You’re a Drayton now,” he snapped, “and Draytons do not go around flaunting their wealth.”

Elizabeth smiled at him sweetly. “The only thing I’m trying to flaunt is that I’m the wife of a very successful attorney
who will one day be President of the United States. But if you think that’s the wrong image, I’ll gladly donate all my clothes to the charity of your choice and wear sackcloth to your firm’s Christmas party next week.”

“Isn’t there a compromise here somewhere?” he grumbled.

Always the politician, she thought with amusement. “Sure,” she replied, looking pointedly at his six-hundred-dollar suit.
“
You
can wear the sackcloth.”

Robert never mentioned her wardrobe again and Elizabeth continued to set fashion standards among her peers in the cosmopolitan city by the bay. Matrons of means tried to emulate her, less affluent ladies envied her, bachelors and husbands alike attempted,
without success, to compromise her.

By the end of her first year as Mrs. Robert Drayton Will-mont of Pacific Heights, Elizabeth Avery was a social triumph. She was one of the first to don a miniskirt, one of the last to abandon hats, one of the few to forgo the perils of platform shoes,
and she stopped conversation dead when she wore a black satin pantsuit to the opening of the opera.

Early in their second year of marriage, Elizabeth became pregnant, but lost the child in the tenth week. She was devastated,
even though her doctors assured her that such occurrences were not uncommon and it in no way meant she couldn’t have children in the future.

By the end of the summer, she had conceived for the second time. Fearful of another tragedy, Elizabeth cut her social obligations to a minimum and spent much of her time in bed. Her efforts were in vain. She miscarried again, this time during her fifth month, and along with the fetus she almost lost her life.

The doctors no longer made light of the situation. They suggested that it would be unwise for Elizabeth to risk a third pregnancy for at least a year. They recommended a long rest, perhaps even a change of scene. They advised the young couple to cease all sexual intercourse for at least three months and thereafter to exercise extreme caution.

If she had expected an explosion from her husband, she was surprised. He accepted the warning in stony silence.

“We can do that other thing you like so much,” she offered, because she felt so guilty.

“Sure,” he replied carelessly.

But she noticed that he began to stay up later at night, frequently not coming to bed until she was already asleep. Several times, when she went looking for him, she found him in the library, snoring over a briefcase full of work and a half-empty bottle of Scotch.

A despondent Elizabeth went home to Denver. Her mother and father and three brothers welcomed her back with loving concern and fussed over her as though she were a visiting head of state.

It was marvelous to be back in Denver, but she missed Robert more than she had ever believed possible, and cut her visit short after only three weeks. She returned home to find that he had moved into an adjoining bedroom.

“I just won’t be able to sleep next to you and not want to— well, you know,” he said in explanation.

“I understand,” she said, although she didn’t, not really.

“So I thought, until the doctors say it’s okay again, this would be easier for both of us.”

The weeks slipped into months, the months moved toward a year. Once the doctors gave their permission, the Willmonts began to practice careful sex but Robert continued to sleep in the adjoining room. As time passed, husband and wife settled into a routine. Robert would stay with Elizabeth on Saturday nights, during which they would rekindle some of the hot flames of their honeymoon, and then they would share a long, leisurely breakfast in bed together on Sunday mornings.

But always, in the back of her mind, Elizabeth thought of it as temporary, and she lived for the day when the doctors would tell her it was all right to try again to have a child.

Shortly after Robert had informed Archer Avery of his intention to enter politics, he and Elizabeth had mapped out a strategy.
The key, Robert told her, was to start small and build rapidly. He was sure that he could use his Drayton connections to capture a local election, and once he had proved him
self a winner, he reasoned, the party bosses would fall all over themselves to promote him—all the way to the White House.

But first, Robert had to become a partner at Sutton, Wells, Willmont and Spaulding. This was essential, he explained, in establishing his credibility. Moreover, to maintain his timetable, he had to do it by the time he was thirty-two.

To keep the odds in his favor, he told Elizabeth upon her return from Denver, it would be necessary for him to maintain a higher visibility in the firm.

“For the past few years,” he said, “I’ve been much more interested in my bride than in my business.”

Higher visibility, according to Robert, meant assuming a heavier workload that would involve stretching the limits of his specialization, accepting some of the cases that no one else wanted, and generally calling attention to himself through a clever combination of diligence and excellence.

“And the only way I’m going to be able to do that,” he said, “is to work longer hours.”

“I hope you’re not talking about weekends,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “We can’t possibly renege on any of our social obligations.
Why, the telephone’s been ringing off the hook ever since I got back, and now there’s hardly a weekend right through Labor Day that we’re not already committed.”