Guilt by Association (3 page)

The crush of guests who filled the apartment were split pretty evenly between the bar and the buffet. Karen wasn’t much of a drinker, so she turned toward the dining room. She was in the process of filling a plate with creamed chicken, shrimp curry,
and a variety of salads that must have taken Jill a month to prepare, when someone brushed up against her, jostling her elbow,
and she felt warm breath tickle her ear.

“You must’ve just arrived,” a husky voice whispered, “or I would certainly have noticed you were missing.”

It was so unexpected that Karen promptly spilled macaroni and mayonnaise down the front of her favorite black party dress.

“You’re right, I did just get here,” she managed to say, although at the moment she felt more like grinding her high heel into the stranger’s foot. “But now you’ll have to excuse me.”

She set her plate back on the table, and, without so much as
a glance in his direction, fled down the hall to the bathroom where she stood in front of the mirror and stared in dismay at the oily stain that had quickly spread across the expensive satin.

“Damn,” she muttered, snatching a towel off the bar and beginning to dab at the mess.

“What’s the matter?” Jill asked from the doorway.

With a sigh, Karen turned around.

“Good heavens,” her friend cried. “What happened?”

“Some would-be Don Juan tried to whisper a sweet nothing in my ear as I was helping myself to the macaroni salad.”

“Cornstarch,” Jill said, vanishing and returning faster than Karen would have believed possible, given her friend’s present condition, with a box of powdery white stuff, which she proceeded to sprinkle liberally over the black satin. “Who whispered in your ear?” she asked as the two of them waited for the cornstarch to soak up the oil.

“I don’t know,” Karen replied. “I didn’t stop for the formalities.”

“Well, go find out,” Jill suggested when the home remedy had worked its miracle. “And spill some cocktail sauce down his shirt.”

“Now that’s an idea,” Karen chuckled. But she skipped the buffet this time and went to the bar instead, busying herself with a bottle of root beer.

“I’m sorry about your dress,” the voice said from behind her. “I’d be happy to buy you a new one.”

“That’s all right,” Karen told him, wondering whether root beer would do as much damage as cocktail sauce. “Most of the stain actually came right out, and I think a good cleaning will take care of the rest. But I appreciate the offer.”

She turned around then and looked up into a pair of aquamarine eyes so arresting that she was left with only a fleeting impression of what the rest of him was like.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” he said, and Karen actually felt his blue-green glance travel from the rise of her bosom to the turn of her ankle.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she responded lightly. In fact, it
was
a beautiful dress, a graceful, scoop-necked concoction with a tight bodice and a flattering tulip skirt.

“I’m Bob,” he said with a seductive smile that lit up his face, a very handsome face she now saw, with straight brows, a thick fringe of eyelashes, a thin nose, sculpted mouth, and a small black mole on his right cheek that may have marred perfection but suited him absolutely. The whole was set off by a lot of dark hair that apparently curled too much for his liking, judging by the amount of Brylcreem he had used.

“I’m Karen,” she replied.

“Well, Karen,” he said as though he were actually caressing the name, “there’s no doubt that you’re the most attractive woman here tonight.”

She knew it was a line, but he delivered it so well that she couldn’t stop a little shiver from skidding down her spine. Bob was taller than Peter, who was far from short, and, where Peter was lean and trim from hours on the tennis courts, Bob was broad and muscular like a football player. She noted that his slacks were sharply creased, his cuffs, peeking from beneath a navy blazer, were fastened with expensive gold links, his tie was modestly striped, and his loafers were polished to a high gloss.

He was obviously quite stuck on himself, but Karen had handled this type before, and she didn’t feel she would be betraying Peter any if she let a handsome stranger pay her a compliment or two.

“I think you have exceptionally good taste,” she said, smiling back.

He touched his Scotch highball to her bottle of root beer. “Well then, here’s to getting to know you better,” he said softly.

The party circled around them. Karen was at her best in crowds, moving in and out of various groups with such grace and ease that a professor once observed that she would be a real asset to an ambitious politician. She was included in a conversation about the truth behind the Cuban missile crisis, took part in a discussion of James Meredith and the future of integration,
and joined a circle speculating about the future of
a shaggy-haired quartet from Liverpool who went by the name of some insect.

The comfortable cloak of Camelot—that invisible sense of security and innocence and well-being—rested gently over everyone.

Karen would have enjoyed spending more time with several of the people she met, but Bob seemed always at her elbow, distracting her. At some point, he took charge of the drinks, pouring her root beer into a tall glass and adding a little something extra when he thought she wasn’t looking. Karen grimaced a bit at the unpleasant combination of Hire’s and Scotch, but didn’t object.
Bob was so attractive and he was being so considerate and, although she knew it was all just harmless flirtation, it made her feel terrific when, several times, she caught the envious glances of some of the other young women.

It’s only for tonight, girls, she thought with a self-satisfied smile. Tomorrow, he’s all yours.

Bob, as it turned out, was a friend of a friend of one of Andy’s former roommates from Northwestern. He told her he was a born-and-bred California boy and had graduated from Stanford.

“Palm trees, sunshine and tequila,” he summed up for her with a nostalgic sigh. “It was a glorious four-year-long party.”

“Oh, I’m sure of that,” Karen said, laughing.

“But now that I’m at Harvard Law,” he added with a grimace, “all I get to do is study, study and study. Have to keep the old nose to the grindstone, you know, fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. Would you believe that this is the first real party I’ve been to in almost a year and a half?”

“Poor baby,” Karen consoled. Another lawyer, she thought with an inner chuckle. He was going to make some girl’s parents very happy one day.

“No joke,” he assured her. “I came down from Cambridge the day before yesterday and I have no intention of going back until I’m partied out.”

“Good luck,” Karen told him.

“You know, Cornell’s not all that far from Harvard,” he
commented at one point during the evening, although Ithaca was in fact hundreds of miles from Cambridge. “Maybe I’ll look you up sometime.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about Peter, but she reasoned his remark was merely party talk and not to be taken seriously, and anyway, she was enjoying the attention too much to relinquish it so soon.

“Let’s see, that should be in another year and a half, right?” she quipped.

“Oh, I just might make an exception in your case,” he countered, flashing a dazzling smile.

It was two o’clock before she realized it, and the party was winding down. About a dozen guests remained, wandering around,
looking as though they couldn’t remember where they were supposed to go. Andy had gotten drunk and passed out on one of the spindly brown tweed sofas. Jill was clearing away the debris.

“Let me help,” Karen offered.

“I’m not doing any heavy cleaning up now,” her friend replied. “I’m just stashing the leftovers in the fridge. Everything else can wait until tomorrow. Look, it’s really late. Do you want to stay over? I’m sure we can find an extra sofa.”

“Thanks, but I’m all set up with my aunt and uncle.”

Edna and Harry Kern lived on East Seventy-sixth Street, across Central Park. Over the years, Karen had occupied their flowery guest room whenever she stayed late in the city. The arrangement was quite convenient. She kept a change of clothes, a pair of pajamas, and a toothbrush in a dresser drawer, and Uncle Harry would leave an extra key with the night doorman so that Karen could let herself in without disturbing them.

“Then you’d better get going or you won’t be able to find a cab,” Jill told her.

“It was very nice meeting you,” Karen said to Bob as he helped her on with her coat. “I had fun.”

“The evening doesn’t have to end, does it?” he asked. “It’s still early. There’s bound to be a club or two that’s open.”
Thank you very much,” she replied, “but it’s pretty late by my clock and I have to get crosstown.”

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m staying with relatives. They’re kind of old-fashioned and if I don’t show up pretty soon they’re apt to send the police out looking for me.”

She knew that Aunt Edna and Uncle Harry had been sound asleep for hours by now, but he didn’t. Had circumstances been different,
she might have said yes to his invitation. But the party was over and Peter would be coming down in a few days, and that was the way it was.

“Then let me help you find a cab,” he offered. “I don’t like the idea of you wandering the streets alone at this hour.”

She smiled because he really was very nice. “Thanks,” she said, “but the doorman will take care of that.”

“Well then, the least you can do is let me accompany you down in the elevator,” he persisted.

“Why not?” she agreed carelessly.

They said their good-byes and departed. When they reached the lobby, however, the doorman was nowhere in sight.

“Maybe he had to go to the john,” Bob suggested.

“Perhaps he’s on a coffee break.”

They stood around for ten minutes or so, but the doorman did not reappear.

“Look, let me get you a cab,” Bob said. “I have to find one for myself, anyway.”

Karen shrugged. “Okay.”

The temperature had dipped down into the teens by the time they emerged from the apartment building and began their hunt for a taxi, walking east, past the Museum of Natural History complex, on their way to Central Park West. The streets were almost deserted at this hour and the sound of their shoes on the pavement echoed off the rows of dark, frowning buildings.

When they reached the edge of the park, they stood on the sidewalk, Karen stamping her feet and rubbing her hands to-
gether to ward off the cold, while Bob searched up and down the street for a cab.

“One’s bound to come along sooner or later,” he said reasonably.

Karen chuckled. “With a little luck, before we die of frostbite.” She was glad now for the warmth of the alcohol he had added to her root beer.

They waited fifteen minutes.

“Maybe we should walk down to Columbus Circle,” Karen suggested. “We might have a better chance there.”

“I have a better idea,” Bob said. “Why don’t we just walk across the park?”

It was an option she would never have considered, going into the park at night. There were a number of stories about how dangerous it had become.

“Look,” she said, “you’ve really been very nice, but I can’t ask you to go out of your way like that.”

“Sure you can. Where do your relatives live?”

“On East Seventy-sixth Street,” she told him. “Between Park and Lexington.”

“It happens that I’m staying with friends on Seventy-fourth and Third,” Bob said. “So you see, it’s hardly out of my way at all.”

“Well, in that case …” She was still a bit hesitant but then not all that anxious to have him walk off and leave her alone.
Besides, she supposed this nice broad-shouldered man could protect her from just about any kind of hobgoblin they might encounter.
“I guess it would be all right.”

They crossed into Central Park, following the pedestrian paths, Bob’s hand firmly on her elbow, steering her this way and that—to the right, to the left, over a little bridge, then to the right again, until the sights and sounds of the city were far behind them. It was dark and eerie here, and ominously quiet. No voices broke the silence, no moon shone down through the thick clouds to light their way. Spidery branches reached out for them like gnarled black fingers against the grim gray sky.

“I haven’t the faintest idea where we are,” Karen admitted
after they had been twisting and turning from one path to another for some time.

“That’s okay,” he said. “I know the way.”

He directed her along as though he really did know where he was going and, because she didn’t exactly have much of a choice,
Karen followed. She remembered him saying that he was from the West Coast and had been locked up at Harvard for the past year and a half.

“How do you know which way to go?” she asked.

“I came this way earlier,” he replied smoothly. “The people I’m staying with gave me directions.”

“Oh,” she murmured.

“Trust me,” he said with a smile in his voice.

They walked on, even as the path got narrower and the underbrush thicker.

“It’s so dark,” Karen observed, “I can’t even tell what direction we’re going in.”

“It’s easy,” he said. “Hear the water? That’s the lake. As long as that sound is to our right, we’re heading east.”

Karen listened intently but she couldn’t figure out from which side the faint slap-slap was coming, and she had a sudden wish that she had dropped bread crumbs in their wake.

“Are we heading for the Seventy-ninth Street Transverse?”

“No,” he told her. “I don’t know that way. But this way comes out right at Seventy-sixth Street.”

“I hope so,” Karen said. “My teeth are beginning to chatter.”

“Are you cold?” he asked. “Well, I can certainly take care of that.” He opened his heavy overcoat and pulled her inside, wrapping it around them both. “There, is this better?”

His unexpected body warmth did help, but he was holding her too close and too tight and it made her uncomfortable.

“That’s all right,” Karen told him. “We can’t have that much farther to go. I can make it.” She tried to move a step away from him but he wouldn’t release her. “I’m okay,” she assured him. “Honestly.”