Impulse (10 page)

Eventually the evening ended, the assorted people separated in the upper hall, and they went to their own rooms and closed doors. Amy was alone. For the first time since Thursday morning, Amy was alone. Alone.

It was bad enough in a group and suffering; it was hell being alone with her anguish. She would never see Chas again.

She was sitting like a lump on her bedside when there was a quiet tap on her door. Miles? Her career was begun. Did Miles know that? Was her look now that of a woman who sneaked around halls in the night and welcomed strange men into her bed? Was she marked with the look of a loose woman for the rest of her life?

The tap came again, softer. She looked at the door. If she had really become a bedhopper, she would go to the door and smile up at him. She might not let him in— this first night— but she wouldn’t discourage him. And if she simply couldn’t, this soon after a man like Chas, she would be kinder in her refusal than she used to be. Much, much kinder.

But she wasn’t a bedhopper. She wasn’t a pseudo man. She was a woman, and she didn’t want to end up like Connie, Sally, Kate or Charlotte. Or, as Sally had told Connie, meet a man whom she didn’t recognize even though she had spent a weekend with him. Amy knew she would never again allow a casual affair. It was too stupid.

Actually, as much as she grieved for Chas, she was fortunate she had had her affair with him. He could have been crude or embarrassing. Chas was none of those things. He was a gentleman. She wished... She wis—

To her astonishment, the knob on her door turned and the door began to open. Miles was shockingly persistent! How could he come into her room the first night in her father’s house?

And her mother came into the room.

“Mother.” Amy was blank.

Cynthia agreed. “Daughter.” And she looked at said daughter quizzically. “Are you all right?”

“As I will ever be.” Amy was mournful.

“I do appreciate you rallying tonight. Hop into bed and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow will be better.”

“Mother,” Amy retorted from a more knowledgeable height. “There are things in this life that a good night’s sleep will not solve.”

“Not too much.”

“You were very fortunate to meet a man who was tolerant of you and allowed you to call the shots.”

“He wasn’t at all tolerant. There were times he was bloody mad.” Cynthia lifted her brows and smiled.

“You lived in another time.”

“For God’s sake, Amy, don’t be so narrow-minded to tell me Times Are Different. That wail is in
every
generation from Adam and Eve. Now
they
could say it! You can’t. Morals and manners are constant. So is the keeping and flaunting of rules.”

“Morals are relaxed now.”

“My mother was too young for World War Two. But at that time it was war that was the Great Excuse. Don’t be so naive as to think anything is ever different.”

“People accept living together.”

“Some do. Even that isn’t unique.”

“Mom, I have a dreadful headache. I really can’t debate this tonight.”

“Ah, my dear. I would never have you sad.”

“My life is over.”

“Surely you’re not so poor spirited that you would turn up your toes and quit?”

“I need time to grieve.”

Cynthia gave her a patient look. “If you must. But it seems to me excessive for a two-day acquaintance?”

“We...made...love.”

“Oh?” Cynthia tilted her head and pushed up her lower lip. “He must have made quite an...impression.”

Amy shot a quick look at her mother, but her face was bland. Amy said, “I’m as good as any man. They have casual affairs.” That sounded...adolescent.

“Not that many do.”

“I can have any kind of life I want.” Amy wasn’t as sure now.

“But why be a man? You are a woman. There are all the marvels of being an orange. Why try to be an apple? Men are marvelous! They are so different from us. They are so unique. Their thinking is amazing. Their interests. Why in the world would you be a cat trying to swim upstream with salmon?”

“How nice you are contented and so glad to be a woman.”

“Not always. The problems facing you are faced by most women somewhere along the way. If you find this...Chas? so remarkable, why don’t you mend your foolishness? Why not go to him and be honest about what you’ve done?”

“You don’t know Chas.” Amy grieved. “He’s such an honest man. He told me— how many times— that he never lies. I lied. I did it on impulse!

“Good Lord, Mother, don’t
ever
tell Daddy I did anything so impulsive and stupid! He thinks I’m levelheaded. It would disillusion him. I would hate to disappoint him that badly.”

“And yourself? Have you disappointed yourself? Is that what’s really bothering you? You’ve broken some very sound rules. But, Amy, they can be glued back together. Rules are for a reason. This is an example.”

“You’re a good woman.”

Her mother replied gently, “So are you.”

Amy was incredulous. “You can say that? After this mad conduct?”

“One slip does not a fallen woman make. The fact that you are suffering is a mark of your character. You don’t justify what you did. You’re ashamed of lying. You’ll come around. You’ll survive this. You’ll be stronger.”

Amy grieved. “I’m not quite ready to accept the fact that you could be right.”

“None of us ever is. When we live, in that space of time, we are the ones who know it all.” Cynthia advised. “Don’t waste time with regrets. Straighten your spine and go on.”

“In a while.”

“Ah, yes. The grieving.” Cynthia moved to walk a pace or two, then turned again to look at Amy. “Must you grieve?”

“He’s worth it.”

“Then go to him and tell him so.”

“He’d slam the door in my face.”

“Maybe not. At least you would have tried. And he might admire guts.”

“Like Daddy, he has a code.”

“If he’s really like your father, his code is hardest on himself, but he understands not everyone can live up to his standards.”

“Chas deserves a woman who can.”

“Wow! You have a full-blown crush on him, haven’t you?”

“Is that it? It couldn’t be love this soon, could it? I could recover from a crush.”

Cynthia mentioned, “Miles is a special man. He might be the Alka-Seltzer that will cure you of Chas.”

“What a romantic parallel.” Amy was still sitting on the side of the bed. “Treat a lost love like an upset stomach?”

Cynthia agreed, “Most of life is Tums.”

“I wouldn’t trade you for any other mother.”

“Then I’ve been much too lenient.”

Amy nodded. “Probably. But I do like you.”

“Oh, Amy.” They looked at each other, both teary-eyed, then Cynthia leaned down and hugged her daughter. “Good night, my love. Sleep.”

“...perchance to dream?” Amy’s tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

“If it helps.”

* * *

Amy was so exhausted that she did sleep. And she did dream. She dreamed Chas was
furious!
He looked like a bear seriously challenging another in that head forward, threatening way that is very intimidating. He snarled, “And just why did you take off that way?”

Amy had learned over the years— what with one thing or another— that when someone asks such a question, in that way, they don’t really want an actual answer. What they want is to vent their spleen and, no matter what the reply, the questioner will be angrier.

That’s exactly why children say, “I don’t know.” It’s short. It is a reply. And the phrase is so maddening that it distracts the questioner from the original problem.

That was the dream. The nightmares were another thing. In those she went up to Chas in a crowded room and touched his arm to get his attention. He turned and grinned down at her. She realized he wasn’t angry, and she raised her mouth for his kiss.

The dream Chas responded magnificently. Her toes curled in the cramped toes of her high-heeled shoes, her knees dissolved and her body hunger concentrated. He lifted his mouth from the kiss and smiled at her. Then he put his arm around her and held her close to his side as people intruded for his attention.

As happens in dreams, Amy couldn’t understand their words, but everyone seemed laughing and friendly. She was the only stranger. They ignored her, talking to Chas, and finally Chas asked low in her ear, “What’s your name?”

In the nightmare, Chas had forgotten her. When every cell in her body knew him, yearned for him, he had forgotten her. Like his cousin, Sally, he’d forgotten a bed partner.

The Cougars must prowl and forget. She hadn’t meant a thing to him. She was just another willing woman. It was devastating.

She wakened to small, weeping gasps, wet cheeks and depression. It was only a dream.

But dreams are sometimes portents. She would remember him all the rest of her life. Would Chas forget her? Or would he only remember that she’d ducked out on him? How sad.

She dragged out of bed the next morning, unrested, gloomy, not giving one hoot if the Peckerels were present or not, or even Miles. She didn’t even care about how awkward it would be for her parents if she languished in her room and didn’t appear.

The only thing that pried her out from her bed was training. She was supposed to do her share, so she got up. In all of history, no Allen had ever let anyone down.

She had. She had deserted Chas and left him alone to make her excuses at the wedding. How embarrassing for him. He could handle it. He was the most capable man she’d ever met. He was the one everyone turned to. Why wasn’t he here to comfort her? She needed him.

It was Sunday. She pulled on neat gray cotton slacks with a red cotton pullover and stared at herself in the mirror. No man could ever be entranced by such a lump. She brushed her limp hair and dragged her feet down to breakfast. She wasn’t hungry.

Their slender, middle-aged cook looked up from the morning paper and said, “Anytime,” in a sour way.

“Hello to you, too,” Amy replied with equal hostility.

“Be careful how you speak to me. If I quit, and your mother starts cooking, Bill will have your hide.”

“I love you, Lucy.” Amy said it as if automated.

“Equally.” Lucy didn’t move but sat studying Amy. “What the hell’s happened to you?”

“Thank God Dad’s not in the diplomatic corps.” Amy got up and put bread in the toaster and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“Only a man could wreak such havoc. Who is he?”

Amy retorted, “None of your damned business.”

“Ah, baby, is it hopeless?”

“Don’t go mushy on me, Lucy, I can’t handle it.”

“So. The rat.” She got up from the chair and opened the refrigerator. “Coddled eggs.”

“I’ll gag.”

“You have to put something under that coffee or you’ll ruin the lining of your stomach.”

“It’s my stomach.”

“Since I’m the cook here, if your stomach is ruined, it reflects on me— therefore you will protect my reputation, or I’ll sue.”

“So sue.”

Lucy turned at the stove to look at Amy again. “That bad, huh?”

Amy gave her a level stare. “Yes. Where are the parents?”

“They took the Peckerels to church, then to brunch. They’ll be gone until two or three o’clock. As soon as I feed you and Tarzan, I’ll be leaving.”

“T-Tarzan?”

“Miles Clifford. He’s in the pool.” Lucy hesitated, then asked softly, “Who did you think?”

Amy shook her head. “No one.” Amy had been peripherally aware of motion in the pool, across the terrace. Now she looked out through the window bank, across the bricked, tree-shaded terrace, to the pool and saw Miles swimming effortlessly in laps. He swam well.

“That’s some man out there.” Lucy’s voice was sexy. “I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Too bad he doesn’t just stand around out there in a little bitty fig leaf.”

“You’re a shocking woman.” Amy had told Lucy that before. It was a rote reply.

But about then Miles reached the end of the pool, braced his hands on the edge and effortlessly lifted himself from the water. He was some man. Beautiful. Like Chas.

“Umm.”

“Lucy! Don’t burn the eggs.”

“I’ll bet he’ll be hungry.” Lucy chuckled softly.

Since her sojourn with Chas, Amy had a wider knowledge of innuendo. She now understood the facets of meanings to ordinary words. She blushed.

Lucy watched her blush with great interest before she said with drawling emphasis, “I was talking about food.”

“The eggs!” Amy’s tone was a little hostile.

Lucy went to the terrace door and called, “Don’t bother to dress. Just put on your robe, breakfast is ready.”

It wasn’t. Lucy obviously wanted to have Miles at the table that way. Mostly naked. He would have to sit there a long time, in that toweling robe, while Lucy fixed his breakfast. She was a lecherous old lady. Or did she think Miles would distract Amy?

A
my watched as, out by the pool, Miles toweled off and vigorously rubbed his hair almost dry. He was magnificent, although not quite the bulk of Chas. Did Miles realize he was gorgeously made? He pulled on the terry robe, and combed his hair with careless fingers. He wasn’t vain.

He came to the kitchen door, and his pupils widened as he saw Amy sitting there at the table. He was attracted to her. He grinned as he walked to the chair across from her, and he said, “Good morning!” as he sat down.

She replied a subdued, “G’morning.” Her thoughts had sunk down to sublevel. Here she was at the breakfast table with the man her mother had found for her, and she couldn’t dredge up a smile or a sparkle or even an interest. All because of that impulse to meet Chas.

If she hadn’t been so rash— and ruined her entire life— she would now be mildly flirting with this superior man. She would be taking up Lucy’s bits of conversation and making Miles laugh.

He’d said something to Amy. Amy asked, “What?”

“The pool is perfect.”

“We all swim.” Amy knew that Miles was ideal. He would fit right in. Bill would be comfortable with him, Cynthia would adore him and Amy would have been contented all the rest of her life.

Miles said, “‘Bye, Lucy.”

Lucy was leaving. Amy’s parents and the Peckerels would be gone for several hours. She and Miles were going to be there, alone, in the house. All that time, just the two of them. If she was the man-izer she’d hoped to be, it would be the opportunity to taste her second superior male. Amy sighed forlornly.

“Who is he?”

Amy lifted her lashes and gave Miles a blank look.

He elaborated, “The man who keeps you from hearing me. Who is he?”

“Yes. Well, you see... It could have been such fun. I just thought— You’re a man. You know how it is. I never dreamed— ”

“So that
is
the problem. There is a man.”

“Well, actually, no. I met... I decided...” Then she blurted, “How did you recover from your first affair?” She waited with all her attention concentrated on him.

“Ah. This is going to take some time. Let’s put the dishes in the sink, and you can come upstairs and watch me pack, while I listen.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I’ve told your parents goodbye. I waited until you surfaced before I left.”

Absentmindedly, Amy helped with the dishes, then trailed along upstairs to his room. She asked, “How old were you?”

“When?” Miles began to pack. He was walking back and forth, carrying things to his suitcases.

“With your first affair.”

He asked, “What makes you think I ever had one?”

“You’re a man,” Amy explained.

“And you believe all men concentrate solely on bedding women?”

“To my knowledge.” She clarified her question.

Miles was sure. “Not all.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He was polite. “You’re a victim of sexism.”

“Then you’ve never had an affair?”

“Why does that have anything to do with your problem?”

“I need to know what to do to recover.”

He was kind. “Take it one day at a time.”

“That’s...all?”

“How does anyone get past anything?” He chose slacks, a shirt and underwear.

Amy grieved. “This seems too devastating for so simple a solution.”

Bluntly, Miles said, “So was Hiroshima.”

“You mock me,” Amy chided. “One love affair can’t compare to Hiroshima.”

“No. But they, too, recovered. So in comparison, you can.”

He went to take a shower then, and she sat in his room and looked, unseeing, out the window. He was probably right. She would manage. Ah, Chas.

Miles came back, dressed, still toweling his hair. “Your eyes are focused on me!”

“You’re a very nice man.”

“Not good enough.” He began to pack.

“I thought you were going to stay the week.”

“I said I’d check things out. I can’t stay, now.” He gave her a weighing look. “But I’d like to come back in a couple of months and see you again.”

Although she said, “Yes,” it wasn’t a strong reply.

“I’ll be back.” He zipped the bags closed and put them by the door. “You’ll be here this summer?”

“It’ll depend. I travel.”

“We might meet. I’ll check your schedule.” He reached into his wallet. “Here’s my number. When...” He looked up as he handed her the card, so he saw her stricken look.

Chas had put all those cards in her suitcase. Did men do that all the time? Amy thought of that as she reached out an automatic hand and took Miles’s card.

“He gave you his card?” He stated what was obvious.

“Yes.”

“Then he must be sure you’ll call him. You might do that.” Miles’s words were reluctant even to his own ears. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to encourage her to get in touch with any other man.

“It isn’t an ordinary circumstance. I...was under false colors. I gave another name.”

“I see.” He smiled. Perhaps she’d boxed herself in quite neatly and whoever the other man was he would be out of the picture. Miles was very tempted to stay, but all she could think of, right then, was that other man. When Miles was with Amy, he wanted her attention on him.

It was smarter for him to leave. When he saw her again, his being coupled in her mind with the other incident wouldn’t be so strong.

If he listened to her now, later she would feel he knew too much about her. Their relationship wouldn’t begin as it should. This way was better. “It was great to meet you, and I’ll...anticipate the next time.” He picked up the cases and waited.

“You’re leaving now.” Amy confirmed the obvious.

“It’s been very nice. Your parents are remarkable.”

“Yes.”

“Walk me to the car?” He might get a kiss on her cheek. Or he might even get a brief one on that soft mouth. He wished he could stay and really comfort her. He might be able to convince her to let him. She was very vulnerable. But that wasn’t what he wanted...to be a comforter. Let her heal first.

They went down the stairs to the entrance hall, she opened the front door and—
there stood Chas!

He was just simply there!

He was dressed in a light suit, with dress shirt and tie. He looked formidable and, just like in the dream, he was
furious!
He ignored her and glared at Miles.

Miles stood there, smiled just a little ruefully and commented, “This is he.”

“Yes.” Both Chas and Amy had replied. She looked at Chas, but he was still looking at Miles. They were almost equal in height and weight, but Chas appeared somewhat larger.

Miles was rather enjoying himself. A little like an antelope sassily following a Cougar whose ears are laid back in temper. She introduced the two men— who did not shake hands.

“Leaving?” Chas encouraged Miles.

“I could always stay.”

“Leave,” Chas advised.

“You’re being rude,” Amy informed Chas.

“You can tell me about rude.” He gave her a rude glance; so he knew, quite well enough, about being that way, all by himself.

Miles turned to Amy and opened his mouth to say goodbye, but Chas reached out and dragged Amy out of reach. Amy tried to pry Chas’s fingers from around her arm. The two men looked at each other in a very electric silence.

Miles asked Amy, “Do you want me to stay?” And he put down his bags.

“No. Thank you, but he really isn’t dangerous.”

Chas overrode her statement. “Yes, I am.”

“Are you trying to start something?” Miles asked Chas softly.

Chas’s head came forward a little in that challenging-bear posture. “Are you the reason she left?”

Amy bristled. “I hadn’t even met him until I came home.”

Ignoring her, Chas advised Miles, “Don’t clutter up the situation.”

But Miles had been challenged. “I believe I’ll stay. I don’t like the way you’re treating her. I’ll stay until I know she’ll be all right.”

Then Chas smiled just a little. He parted his lips to say something, but Amy said, “For Pete’s sake!
Both
of you leave! Out! Both of you!”

And Chas snarled at Miles, “See what you’ve done?”

That surprised Miles. “I’ve done? I was peacefully leaving, and you barge in and start throwing your weight around. You’re the one who’s upsetting Amy.”

“She needs upsetting!” Chas ground through clenched teeth.

“That may well be.” Miles recognized he hadn’t a chance, so he might just as well help Chas. “I don’t know the whole story, but she did say she’d lied to you.”

Amy gasped as Chas asked, “She told you that?”

“Yes. And she said she was devastated, but not as bad as Hiroshima.”

“Good grief!” Amy shrieked. “Out!”

Miles gave Chas his hand as he said, “Luck. Name the first one after me.”

Amy shouted, “What are you doing to me?”

Miles smiled pacifically at her. “I’m helping. You have my card. Let me know how things come out. Understand?” If she didn’t, he would be in touch. This might clear the air. The other guy was hostile and no real competition. She now knew that after Chas left, he was in the wings and waiting.

She glared at him.

With Chas glowering, Miles added recklessly, to Amy, “I believe you’re a treasure.” She would remember he’d said that after this Cougar left.

Chas hurried him along, “Goodbye, Clifford.”

Miles gave Chas a long study, then he asked Amy, “Okay?”

She nodded woodenly.

Miles leaned over and kissed Amy’s surprised cheek. He figured that should give Cougar something to think about. Then he smiled, rather pleased with himself, picked up his cases and left the two antagonists there, together.

Miles was barely out the door when Chas closed it after him with an emphatic thump. Then he glared down at Amy, who wouldn’t look up at him. “All right. Tell me just why you took off that way? I suppose you have a reasonable excuse?”

“How did you find me?” Was that thin little voice really hers? She cleared her throat and straightened her spine, and again she worked at prying his fingers from her arm.

Before he released her, he tightened his fingers in a brief shake to show her it was his choice to let go. “Did you think I couldn’t find you? If this is the beginning of a career as a thief, then you— ”

“I didn’t mean to keep it.” She finally looked up at him with wide, earnest eyes. “I was going to mail it back to you.” She fished the pearl from the front of her shirt. “Do you always carry two hundred business cards?”

His head was still forward in the threatening-bear stance. “I had them printed while I waited for Connie at the doctor’s office.”

“Oh.” She had begun to take the chain off over her head. “I fully intended to leave your pearl with the note.” The chain was tangled in her hair and his restraining hands.

“I was being symbolic in calling you a thief. Using men and discarding them is a kind of thievery. The pearl was a gift. If you’d left it with that stiff little note, I’d have lost hope.”

“I worked very hard over that note.” She defended as she gave up on removing the pearl for then. She finally led him into the living room overlooking the other end of the pool from the kitchen.

“I found the rejected versions in the wastebasket.”

“How rude of you to find them.” She had gone back to avoiding looking at him. There was a silence. “Did you explain to Sally?” She stood there.

“Yes.” He finally sat down on one sofa. “Everybody missed you.”

“I thought about you and wondered how...things went.” Primly she sat on the sofa facing him.

“You could have stayed and found out,” he said nastily.

There was a longer silence. She watched her fingers comfort each other in her lap.

He cleared his throat and asked in such a manner that she knew he wasn’t talking about anything he really wanted to discuss, he was making a conversational bridge. “How, exactly, do political consultants work?”

And Amy, who had never told Chas very much, seized the opportunity to tell about herself. “A candidate pays for our expertise. We’ve done it all before.”

“Is it fair? An expert against amateurs?” Naturally Chas would ask that.

“It’s still up to the voter. You must be aware how few people actually vote? We do try. The registration push is done ahead with volunteers.”

“Then what?”

“We help the candidate target issues, we learn where the local ‘buttons’ are, and which to avoid and which to punch. We become acquainted with the media people. We make up the advertising and schedule those. We supervise the raising of funds— direct mail and/or telephone, boiler-room type with volunteers. Events like breakfasts where the candidate can speak briefly. We sort out requests for speaking engagements, invitations, and arrange appearances.”

He sat watching her for a while, then commented, “We are using a similar approach in localities where we’d like the Cougar products to become stronger. We couldn’t count on volunteers, but there’s that great resource— Cougar offspring.”

“Chas, you aren’t into anything that pollutes or harms, are you? The fact that we now have wastes that are harmful for
two hundred fifty thousand years
simply appalls me.”

“We’ve been around a long time in this land, and we want it to last as long as we do, and on beyond us, I promise.”

She allowed her eyes to rest on him, finally. He watched her back, wondering what she was thinking. How bad was their rift. Could it be healed?

After a time, she inquired, “Do you use your name in your company?”

It wasn’t what he had expected her to say. “No. Billy Cougar called it the Ace Manufacturing Company, and the title’s come down unchanged.”

“The Cougar is such an American symbol. Dreyfus uses the lion, but the cougar is American. Why not consolidate under the cougar symbol? You could use cougar pins among your prize employees.”

“You’re hired.”

She looked off, unseeing, frowning, concentrating. “It would take other kinds of research. Politics is very interesting. I’ve met some wheelers and dealers, and the movers and shapers.”

“That’s how you met Martin Durwood.”

“Yes. Why did you back me so quickly when I told Cousin Kenneth to watch out for him? Do you know him?”