Once Is Not Enough (4 page)

He took her hands and shoved them under his shorts. “Feel how much I want you. Can’t you see it has to be?”

“No . . .” It was a plea mixed with a moan. “Oh, God, no. Not like this . . .”

He looked bewildered. Then he looked toward the bedroom. “You mean because of bed? Look. I never made love on those sheets. I just slept on them.”

“Please! Please let me go!” Tears were blurring her vision. She hugged herself protectively and tried not to look at him. Suddenly he stared at her closely and reached out and touched her cheek as if he could not believe her tears. A curious expression came on his face. “January . . . you have made love before?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head.

For a moment he was silent. Then he came to her, smoothed her dress, and brushed the tears off her face. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I had no idea. You are what . . . twenty-one . . . twenty-two?”

“Seventeen and a half.”

“Mama mial”
He slapped his forehead. “You look so . . . so filled with knowing . . . so . . . like the Americans say . . . so cool. Mike Wayne’s daughter a virgin.” Again he slapped his forehead.

“Please take me home.”

“Right away.” He got into his pants, grabbed his shirt and jacket, and opened the door. He took her arm and led her through the garden to his car. They drove in silence through the deserted streets. He didn’t speak until they reached the Via Veneto. Then he said, “There is someone you care about in the States.”

“No.”

He turned to her. “Then let me . . . oh, not tonight . . . not tomorrow . . . not until you want me. I won’t touch you until you ask me. I promise.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “You do not trust me?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Listen, little beautiful American virgin. In Roma there are much beautiful Italian girls. Actresses, models, married women. All want Franco. They even make my bed, cook for me, bring me wine. Know why? Because Franco is good lover. So when Franco asks to see you and says nothing will happen, you must believe. Hah! I do not have to fight to have love. It is all around. But I want to apologize. We start fresh. Like this never happened.”

She was silent. She didn’t want to say anything to make him angry; they were close to the hotel. She just wanted to get out of that car and get away from him.

“It is very sad that you do not want me,” he said quietly. “Especially because you are a virgin. You see, my little January, the first time a girl gives herself to a man it is not always enjoyable . . . to her or to the man. Unless the man is expert and gentle. I would be very tender. I would take you so carefully. Make you very happy. I will even get you the pills.”

He was so serious that her fear began to dissolve. And the wild part was he actually felt he had done nothing wrong.

“I upset things tonight,” he went on. “I fight you because I think maybe it is part of your game. One American lady I met—she made me chase her around her suite at the Hassler and then she lock bedroom door. I start to leave and she holler, ‘No, Franco, you must break down door and tear off my clothes.’” Again he slapped his forehead, but he was grinning. “Ever try breaking down door in Italian hotel? Like iron. She finally
open it and I chase her again and then I tear off her clothes. Whooey . . . buttons . . . lace . . . stocking pants ripped . . . everything torn . . . and it was crazy . . . we make love all night. She married to very big American star so I don’t tell you her name. But he like to do it that way too. But see . . . I am gentleman . . . I never tell who I sleep with. Not right. Yes?”

She found herself smiling. Then she caught herself and stared ahead. It was insane. This man had just torn at her clothes, tried to rape her, and now he was asking for approval of his past exploits. Obviously he sensed her mood, because he smiled and patted her hand almost condescendingly. “You will ask me to make love to you. I know. Even now I can see your nipples harden through your dress. You have much sexual desire.”

She folded her arms across her chest. She should have worn a bra. She hadn’t realized the dress was so thin.

“You’re not too big on top,” he said pleasantly. “I like that.”

“Franco . . . Stop it!”

Once again the familiar slap against his brow. “Whooey . . . how can Mike Wayne’s daughter be so . . . such prude?”

“I’m not a prude.” She felt safe at last. He was pulling into the driveway of the Excelsior.

“I have no call tomorrow,” he said as he sprang out of the car and opened the door. He helped her out. “We see each other . . . no?”

“No.”

“Why? You are not angry?”

“Not angry? Franco, you treated me like . . . like . . .”

“Like a beautiful woman,” he said with a smile. “Please. Tell you what . . . You have good night’s sleep. I call tomorrow and we spend day together.” He held his arms open. “No touch, I swear. We take ride on my motorcycle. I show you Roma.”

“No.”

“I call tomorrow.
Ciao.”

She turned and walked into the deserted lobby. It was almost three o’clock. Mike would be frantic . . . probably waiting and tapping his foot. Well, she wouldn’t tell him the truth.
She’d just say she didn’t want to be stuck with Franco again. She’d tell him he made a slight pass. She thought about it as she rode up the creaky elevator with the sleepy attendant.

She put the oversized key into the door. He was up. She could see the streak of light under the door. She walked in. “Mike . . .” Then she looked around. The door to his bedroom was shut. There was a pile of paper money and a note propped up against the lamp on her desk.

“Waited until two, Princess. Hope you had fun. Sleep late. Remember the shops all close between one and four. So just see some sights in the early part of the afternoon. Visit the Spanish Steps. A guy named Axel Munthe once used the little house down there to take in stray animals. Also a guy named Keats lived there too. You can visit his apartment. After four go to the Via Sistina. Melba says there are some great shops there. If you run out of money you can always send things to the hotel C.O.D. Sleep well, Angel. Love, Daddy.”

She stared at the note . . . then at his closed door. He was asleep! He wasn’t even concerned about her! But then, he probably never dreamed Franco would dare to come on so strong.

She went to her bedroom. Some of her anger evaporated. If he had waited up until two . . . that meant he had gotten home around one . . . maybe earlier. So he probably really just had a nightcap with Melba. Nothing more. The big love affair was all in Franco’s mind. Melba was old . . . well, old for a movie star . . . in her thirties . . . she needed sleep. She couldn’t take a chance of staying up late with Mike. She was too career-minded. She walked into the bathroom and ran the bath. But what about the diamond pin? Well, what about it? Mike always gave the stars of his productions lavish gifts. Of course . . . It was all in Franco’s mind. The entire evening was like a dream. She took off her clothes and stared at her breasts. But the evening
had
happened. Franco had touched her breasts . . . sucked at them. His fingers had been between her legs. She got into the tub and scrubbed herself violently.

Later as she lay in bed in the strange room, she felt wide awake. She stared at the dim outline of her bedroom door. Outside was the living room . . . and then there was his door.
He was sleeping in there. Oh God, if she could only slip in there and climb into his arms the way she used to do when she was little and had a bad dream. Why couldn’t she slip into his arms and tell him all the terrible things that had happened tonight? Let him hold her close and tell her it would be all right. He was still her father. Why was it wrong now? And yet . . . she felt she couldn’t do it. Was it because she
wanted
to feel Mike’s body against her own? Yes. But in the nicest of ways. She wanted the soothing strength of his arms. She wanted to kiss his cheek, especially the side where the dimple almost formed. She wanted to hear him say, “It’s all right, baby.”

There was nothing wrong in it. She got out of bed quietly and opened the door. She crossed the large living room and turned the handle of his door gently. It opened easily. At first, she saw only the darkness. But gradually she saw the dim outline of the bed across the room. She tiptoed over, feeling her away along the wall. She reached the bed and pulled aside the sheet and slid in. Her side of the bed was cool and crisp with clean sheets. She inched over and reached for him. But her hand touched another cool crisp pillow. The bed was empty!

She sat up and switched on the lamp on the night table. The bed was turned down . . . the linens were clean. He wasn’t there! She got out of bed and walked back into the living room. She stared at the note and the money.

Everything Franco said was true . . . he was with Melba. But why didn’t he tell her . . . why did he have to lie to her . . . leave the note about waiting up for her. She went back to the desk and reread the note. But he hadn’t said he had waited
up
for her. He had said, “Waited until two.” Sure . . . he and Melba had waited until two . . . and then gone off together. Right now they were probably making love.

She went back to her bedroom. He had every right to be with Melba. Why was she so upset? He always had girls. But she was the only one he really loved. Their love was beyond sex . . . people had sex without love. Animals had sex . . . and they weren’t in love. They mated, that was all. Like the time when she was five and she had a poodle. It had been mated and it wouldn’t even look at the male after it was over. And then when it had puppies . . . it had loved them . . .
until
they
were three months olds. She had been so amazed when her mother told her they had to give away the male because to the girl poodle he was no longer a son . . . just another male. And that was all Melba was to her father . . . just someone to have sex with.

She got into bed and tried to sleep. She held the pillow in her arms as she often had at school when she was lonely. But suddenly she pushed it away. The pillow had always been a symbol of Mike, of comfort. But now Mike had Melba in his arms. . . . She had to stop thinking this way! After all, what did she think he had been doing all these years since her mother died? But she had never been
there
. Okay, now she was
there
. And she must get him used to the idea that she was an adult, that she could be a great companion, a help to him. He had been alone so much. He was used to latching on to anyone.

When she did fall asleep her dreams were strange and disjointed. She dreamed she was at the funhouse in Coney Island where her father had taken her when she was small. Only there was jarring blasting discotheque music now. She looked at herself in the mirror and laughed . . . first she was long and skinny . . . then short and squat . . . over her shoulder she saw Melba . . . only Melba’s face wasn’t distorted . . . it was beautiful . . . and she was laughing . . . her face grew larger and larger until it covered the mirror. Melba kept laughing . . . then she heard Franco laughing . . . his face was on the mirror with Melba’s and they were both pointing at her grotesque foreshortened image and laughing. Why was the funhouse mirror making her look so funny when it let Melba and Franco look beautiful? She looked around for Mike. He was at the shooting gallery. Melba walked over and stood close to him, her hand on his leg. “Daddy—” January cried out. “Come and take me away from the mirror.” But he laughed and said, “Let Franco help you. Besides, I’m shooting all the clay ducks and pipes. I’m doing it all for you, baby. I’m winning all the prizes to lay at your feet.” And he kept shooting and each time he shot he hit the bull’s-eye and the bell rang and rang.

She opened her eyes. Coney Island and the funhouse were gone. A blotch of sunlight had found its way onto the rug through the drapes. As she came fully awake she was aware
of the shrill cacophony of Rome’s famed traffic. Horns of all ranges screamed their demands. Soprano horns . . . tinny horns . . . bass horns . . . And through it all there was still the sound of a bell ringing. It was coming from the phone in the living room. She stumbled in. The marble clock on the mantel chimed softly—eleven o’clock. She picked up the phone.

“Franco here,” the cheerful voice called out.

She hung up.

Then she called room service and ordered coffee. The door to her father’s bedroom was ajar. The light on the night table was still on, just the way she had left it. She turned it off, and on sudden impulse ruffled up the bed. She didn’t want the hotel maid to know he hadn’t come home. But that was ridiculous. Probably there were a lot of nights when his bed was unused. Or maybe it had been used . . . by Melba.

The phone rang again. She hoped it was Mike. She must sound as if nothing had happened. Cheerful. Or sleepy. Yes, sleepy, as if she had really had a marvelous evening. She picked up the phone.

“Franco here. We were snipped off.”

“Oh . . .” She didn’t even try to hide her disappointment.

“Dumb operator. She snip us off.”

“No, I hung up.”

“Why you do that?”

“Because I haven’t even had my coffee yet and—” She paused. “Well, golly . . . why shouldn’t I hang up on you?”

“Because it is a beautiful day. I pick you up. We go to lunch in a cozy little place—”

“Listen, Franco . . .” She began to sputter. “What you did last night was . . . well, it was terrible, and I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“But last night I didn’t know you were a child. Today I treat you like a child. Okay?”

“No.”

“But you get mad if I treat you like a beautiful woman. Look, I have been shining up my Honda for two hours. It is so beautiful . . . Tell you what. No cozy little place for lunch. We go to Doney’s. Like tourist. We sit right out in the open.
I buy you your coffee, then we take ride.
Ciao.”
He hung up before she could answer.

Her coffee from room service never arrived, and when Franco called from the lobby she decided she might as well go with him to Doney’s. After all, she had to have coffee. She scooped up the money Mike had left. Then on an impulse she put it back . . . along with the note. She called the hotel maid and told her to make up her room immediately. Let him come back and wonder whether
she
had slept home last night!