Summer's End (18 page)

“No, you don’t. You can’t keep your hands off me, and you want to drag me away with you so you can attack me. Right?”

“Actually, now that you mention it….” She grinned and took a sip of her wine, and they teased throughout lunch. He had taken the afternoon off. The paintings were all hung to perfection for Deanna’s show. Sally was in control at the gallery, and he thought it a good idea to stay with Deanna, before she changed her mind or came apart at the seams. And he had a surprise for her that afternoon. He looked at his watch as they walked back to the car after lunch.

“Deanna, do you mind if I stop at Saks?”

“Now?” She looked surprised. “No, that’s all right.”

“It won’t take me long.” He parked in front of the store with an abstracted smile. “Want to come in?”

“No, I’ll wait.”

“Sure?” He didn’t push; he knew she didn’t want to be alone today, not even for a short time.

“All right. I’ll come.” It had been an easy sale, and he walked happily beside her into the store. “What do you have to do?”

“Pick up a dress.” He said it with absolute self-confidence and complete nonchalance.

“A dress?”

“For Sally. She said she wouldn’t have time. So I told her I’d get it and bring it to the gallery tonight in time for her to change. By the way, what are you wearing?” She had been so busy with her signatures and her frames that he wasn’t even sure she’d given it any thought.

“I don’t know. I thought I’d wear my black dress.” She had brought two or three dinner dresses from the house. They were hanging in his closet, along with her jeans, her paint-splattered shirts, several pairs of gabardine slacks, and half a dozen turtleneck cashmere sweaters. He liked the way her clothes looked next to his.

“Why don’t you wear the green dress?”

“Too dressy.” She was ten thousand miles away when she spoke. “Listen, do you know which critics are coming?” Her eyes rushed into his.

“I don’t think it’s too dressy.” He looked amused.

“Did you hear what I asked you?” Distress was creeping into her voice.

“No. Now, what about the green dress?”

“Screw the green dress, I wanted to ask you—”

He kissed her hard on the mouth and left her breathless as they got off the elevator on the second floor. “Ben!” But there had been no one around to see what he’d done. “Will you listen to me?”

“No.” He was already greeting the saleswoman. She brought the dress out. “Perfect.” He smiled at her again and looked at Deanna. “What do you think?”

“Hm?” She was hopelessly vague, but her attention was suddenly arrested by the dress. It was an almost mauve, heather-blue wool with a high neck, long sleeves, and no back. And it had a beautifully cut matching coat. “That is pretty, isn’t it? Is that Sally’s dress?” She took a step forward to touch the thin wool. It was a French fabric and French design and must have cost her a fortune. “That’s a beauty.” The saleswoman and Ben exchanged a smile of the eyes. “Maybe I should wear the green after all.”

“I don’t think so. Why don’t you just wear that?” He had a look of innocence which totally confused Deanna.

“Wear Sally’s dress? Don’t be silly.”

“You could lend her your green.”

“Darling, I love you, but I think you’re quite mad.” She smiled at the saleswoman and started to walk away, but Ben gently took her arm and whispered in her ear.

“I think you’re crazy too, now go try on your new dress.”

She looked at him in astonishment. “Are you kidding?” He shook his head. “It’s for me?”

He nodded with a satisfied smile. “Do you like it?”

“I … oh, Ben, I can’t. It’s gorgeous!” She turned to look at it again, and her eyes grew wide. It was exquisite, but probably also monstrously expensive. And Ben had done that for her? The man who drove an anonymous German car, and would rather eat spaghetti than caviar? The man who took pride in not having a maid but only a cleaning lady once or twice a week, when his grandfather had lived surrounded by an army of servants, and his father had retired to a palazzo near Rome? This man had bought her that dress? It was the sort of thing she would have hesitated even to charge to Marc. “Good Lord!”

“Shut up and go try it. I want to see!”

She did, and he saw. It was perfect. The cut, the style, the color. She looked regal, coming toward him, the coat draped over her arm. Her tan set off the rich heather-blue, and her bare back and shoulders were perfectly sculpted into the dress. “What’ll you wear with it?”

“Diamond earrings and black silk sandals. And my hair up.”

“Oh, God, I can’t stand it.” He grinned with such pleasure that even the saleswoman laughed.

When she put it on that night, he was sitting on the bed. They smiled at each other, and he zipped up what there was to zip in the back. She clipped the diamond earrings on her ears and smoothed her hair up high on her head. She looked perfect, and for a moment it took his breath away. Then, with a smile, he gently took off the diamond earrings.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking these off.”

She looked puzzled. “Why? Don’t you like them?” Maybe it was because they had been a present from Marc. “I don’t have any others here that would do.”

“Never mind.” He reached into his pocket and took out a little blue silk bag. He opened it and took out two large and very beautiful pearls. There was a tiny diamond beneath each pearl, and the earrings looked very old and fine. “I want you to wear these.”

“Oh, Ben.” Deanna looked at them with astonishment, then raised her eyes to his. “What have you done?” The dress, the earrings, the show. He was giving her so much. Everything….

“The earrings were my grandmother’s. I want you to have them, Deanna. This is a very special night.” There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at him again. Tenderly, he took her face in his. “I want this to be the most beautiful night of your life. This is the beginning of your life in the art world, Deanna. And I want everyone to know just how good you are.” There was more love welling up in his eyes than she had ever seen, and her heart trembled as she put her arms around him.

“You are so good to me.”

“We’re good to each other, and that’s a very special gift.”

“I can’t keep the earrings.” She couldn’t. Not unless she stayed with Ben. But in another month she would have to go back to Marc.

“Yes, you can keep the earrings. I want you to have them. No matter what.”

He understood. He always understood. And somehow it made things worse. The tears spilled over and ran sadly down her face. Sobs began to shake her shoulders.

“Darling, don’t.”

“Oh, Ben … I can’t leave you.”

“You don’t have to. Not yet. Let’s just enjoy what we have.”

He hadn’t sounded that philosophical since the beginning, and she wondered if finally he had accepted what would have to be. “I love you.” Her voice was strained. She clung to him, and he closed his eyes.

“I love you too. Now, how about going to this opening of yours?”

He pulled away to look at her, and she nodded. Gently, he took one of the earrings and clipped it to her ear. And then, stopping at her mouth for a kiss, he clipped on the other. “You look exquisite. And I’m so proud that this opening is yours.”

“I keep thinking I’m going to wake up, and it all will have been a dream. I’ll wake up on the beach in Carmel, feeling like Rip Van Winkle, and Kim will still be waiting for me at the hotel. But every time I feel that way, I look around, and you’re real.” She looked at him in astonished delight, and he laughed.

“Very much so.” He laughed again as he slipped a hand into her dress. “And I would very much like to prove it to you, my darling. But I’m afraid we don’t have time.” He held out an arm to her with a small bow. “Shall we?”

She took his arm. “But of course.”

*   *   *

“Are you ready?” They had just pulled up in front of the gallery.

“Oh, God, no!” Her arms went out to him, and her eyes were wide, but he held her close for only a moment, then swept her inside. There was a photographer waiting, and there were already a considerable number of guests. The art critics were there in force, and she even saw Kim, developing a cozy relationship with one of the gentlemen of the press. Sally hovered near, agog at the beautiful heather-blue dress.

All in all the evening was a smash. The gallery sold seven of her paintings. For a moment she felt as though she were parting with old friends. She didn’t want to give up her paintings, but Ben teased her about it as he introduced her to the admirers of her work. Ben was wonderful with her: he was always nearby, yet never too close, supportive but not obvious. He was Benjamin Thompson III, gallery owner extraordinaire. No one would have known about their affair. He was as discreet as he had been that first morning with Kim, and Deanna knew she had nothing to fear. For a moment that day she had been afraid of what Marc might hear. One never knew who came to these shows, who would see, or what they would guess. But no one guessed anything that night, not even Kim, who had sent a huge bouquet of flowers to the house. She felt personally responsible for the match between Deanna and Ben—from a professional standpoint, of course, as she was not aware of any other. She had wondered, though, if Deanna had told Marc of the opening. But later in the evening Deanna told Kim that she had.

“What did he say?”

“Not very much. But he wasn’t pleased.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“I suppose he will.” But Deanna had not said more on the subject. She didn’t tell Kim that Marc had forbidden her to have the show and hung up on her in the end. He had told her it was vulgar and pushy, but for the first time in their marriage she had stood her ground. It was too important to her for her to give in this time.
He
hadn’t given in to her wishes about Pilar and the motorcycle. Why should she give in about her art?

“My heavens, what are you frowning about, darling?” Ben spoke softly, so no one else would hear, and Deanna drifted back from her own thoughts.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I … it’s just … so much has happened.”

“You can say that again. Sally just sold two more of your paintings.” He looked as happy as a boy, and Deanna wanted to throw her arms around him in a hug. Instead, she just caressed him with her eyes. “Can I interest you in a celebration dinner?”

“Only if it’s pizza.” She grinned at him, knowing his preferences.

“Not this time, madam. The real thing.”

“Hamburgers?”

“Go to hell.” Without further ceremony, he put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

It was not an inappropriate thing for a gallery owner to do on the night of an artist’s first success, but as Kim watched them she suddenly found herself wondering if there was something more. Deanna had just whispered something in Ben’s ear, in answer to which, Kim had heard him say with a gentle smile, “I’m glad you liked them.” Deanna had touched the pearls at her ears and happily walked away. As Kim watched, an idea came to her for the very first time.

13

“O.K. I’m ready. Tell me the truth.” Deanna sat in the bed in the yellow bedroom with her eyes closed, her hands clenched, a pillow held over her head.

“You look like you’re waiting for the earthquake.” Ben looked at her and laughed. He was perched on the bed, next to her, the paper in his hand. “What would you like me to read to you, darling? The stock market? The comics? Oh, I know!”

“Will you read it to me, dammit. I can’t stand it another minute more.” She gritted her teeth, and he laughed again, turning to the reviews of her show. But he already knew what he would read. He had been in the business for too long to be very surprised. He generally knew what was in store. And as he glanced over the article, he knew he had been right again.

“O.K., now? Are you ready?”

“Benjamin! Read it dammit!” She said it through tensely clenched teeth and looked terrified as he started to read.

“… a luminous, delicate style that shows not only years of study and devotion to her work, but the kind of talent we too seldom see….” His voice droned on as her eyes flew wide and she pulled the pillow away from her head.

“You made that up!” She grabbed for the paper. He held it out of her reach and went on reading, until he had come to the end of the piece.

“I don’t believe it.” She looked as though she were in shock. “It can’t be.”

“Why not? You’re good. I told you that. I know it, they know it, the people who bought your paintings know it. Everyone knows it except you, you big, silly, dopey, humble. …” He had reached out for her and was tickling her.

“Stop it! I’m famous! You can’t tickle me now!” But she was giggling too hard to stop him. “Stop it! I’m a star!”

“Yeah? And who made you a star? Who told you that you had to have a show? Who begged you? Who wanted to show your work the first time he saw it? Huh? Tell me, tell me.” They were both laughing now, and she was tangled into his arms, her pale-pink silk nightgown creeping up toward her waist. He stopped for a moment, and looked at her, lying in his arms. She had never looked as beautiful, as delicate, and he wanted to hold her that way forever. He wanted to stop time.