The Company You Keep (20 page)

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “What do you think? I mean, even if they existed at one time, after two wars for independence this particular village had become synonymous with bloodshed. But
I
had to see for myself. Make this connection, find something that helped explain my mother.”

“So what did you find?”

She nervously drew a line with her finger on the blanket. Back and forth, back and forth. “I never got there. I was in Grozny, the capital, on my way to set up the meeting when I was kidnapped in broad daylight, hundreds of people looking on as they were rushing to work. After that, I was moved from one remote location to another, blindfolded the whole time and then kept in windowless rooms. I could have been in my mother’s village at one time, but I’ll never know. And as far as getting any insights into her psyche from a ruthless bunch of thugs? That would have been a stretch—not that I didn’t have lots of time to think about it.” She laughed bitterly.

“At least you had the courage to face your demons. How many people can say that? Most people run away or go into denial, compromise their lifestyle so as to keep those nagging, painful memories at bay.”

Vic should know. He was a master of compartmentalizing, of keeping his life so orderly, so busy, that it was devoid of any emotional extreme. It left no window to deal with things beyond day-to-day issues. That was why pro football—with all its physical and emotional highs—would never have been a healthy long-term option.

The way he’d fashioned his structured, focused life kept the sadness in check, the guilt tucked away and the anger under control—all remnants from the events of his childhood that he kept buried, hidden from mind. Besides, it wasn’t as if he lacked for simple pleasures. He read, he worked, he played with his dog. His emotional capital was tied up with keeping the whole Golinski boat afloat financially.

But this wasn’t about him. It was good that Mimi had opened up, but her vulnerability was obvious. He had always pictured Mimi Lodge—and, believe you me, on more than one occasion during and after college—he had pictured her in various states of clothing and lack thereof. Anyway, he’d always envisioned her as one of the eternally lucky ones, a person whom the world blessed with a confident glow, someone who came from privilege and felt entitled to nothing less. To find out she was more—much more complex—shook his carefully ordered world, unmoored him from the steadiness of her internal North Star.

But he had no intention of giving her up. Not when he was just beginning to scratch the surface. True, he might have gone into this whole Reunions deal with her father as a rational business decision, but Vic knew there was nothing rational about his dealings with Mimi and his yearning to see more of her. What this involvement would do to the even-keeled world he had created for himself was yet to be seen. Somehow, some way, it felt right.

“You know, this might seem trivial and all after what you’ve just been through—” He started slow.

She gave a sputtering laugh. “Please, I could use some triviality right now. I sound more morose than a Russian novel.”

“In that case, a propos of nothing, I was just thinking how I really resented you after the whole panel water-dumping fiasco.”

“As opposed to thinking what a nut I’ve become now?”

He waved his hand back and forth to deny her comment. “No, now you sound perfectly sane to me, a lot better than I’d be if I’d gone through what you’d experienced. No, back then—in college—it was your whole attitude. The whole certainty that you were right and that anyone who didn’t agree with you was a dope of the first order. The fountain episode was just the icing on the cake.” He was being truthful.

“I suppose that’s true. Back then, I lacked, shall we say—”

“Tolerance?” he suggested.

“Okay, for lack of a better word—tolerance.” She didn’t seem offended. “But as to the fountain thing, I’ve got to confess—I don’t know what came over me back then. I mean, I remember having this overwhelming urge to rankle you. It was so easy, and I couldn’t resist. And when I saw the fountain, I had this vision of
La Dolce Vita.
You know, the Fellini film? Anita Eckberg splashing away in the Trevi Fountain? I realize I’m no Anita Eckberg—even back then.” She looked down at her boyish figure.

He stared off into space. “Actually, you really turned me on,” he confessed. “Jumping in the fountain. Daring me to follow you.”

“And you did, didn’t you?” Mimi smiled.

“You bet. I was so mad and so horny all at the same time. And, boy, did I pay for it.” He chuckled.

The Grantham cops had arrived and arrested him for criminal mischief and disorderly conduct. Yet somehow in the course of getting his particulars, they had merely handed Mimi a towel and clucked on about how they didn’t want her to get a cold. Clearly, they’d recognized a member of the storied Lodge family, and were giving her special treatment.

“C’mon. You were only locked up for an hour or so, and all the charges were dropped,” she protested.

“Please tell me I don’t have your father to thank for that favor.” Actually, with the mention of her father, he realized he was going to have to come clean about his business bargain. But not now, not when he had this feeling…this really good feeling.

After all, he was the king of denial.

Vic picked up Mimi’s hand and entwined his fingers between hers. “You’ve got big hands,” he observed. “Capable hands. No nail polish. I like that.”

“How can you even tell when there’s hardly any light left? But you’re right. No polish, no fuss. Nothing to get in the way of a quick in-and-out assignment.”

“But you’re not on assignment.” He turned their clasped hands upside down and kissed her palm.

“Ooh.” She reacted like she’d been pinched. “And I’m quite happy about that right now.”

He looked up. In the last remnants of candlelight he was sure he could see her pupils dilate, though perhaps that was his male ego making him imagine it.

Mimi tilted her head. “So, tell me. Now that we’ve bared our souls, I’m still not sure why I’m so attracted to you. We don’t seem to have anything in common, except an unfortunate run-in in our past. You appear to live in starched shirts, whereas I don’t even own an iron. I remember you arguing against equal opportunity for women athletes if it jeopardized men’s programs. And while you may have changed your attitude, I somehow doubt it. And I hate to think what your political views are. And yet…” She eyed him.

“Maybe it’s because I’m simply the most attractive man you’ve ever gone on a picnic with?” His voice was playful.

“That’s true. But I haven’t been on many picnics, period.” She studied him some more. “I think it’s because you have a dog with one big ear and one little ear.”

Roxie snored contentedly from her spot on the end of the blanket.

“I think it’s also because you care about your family even though they drive you crazy,” Mimi went on. “And I think it’s because you like to swing your nephew higher than is strictly necessary.” She paused. “And quite possibly because you’re the best-looking man I’ve ever been on a picnic with.”

He reached up and cradled her cheek in one hand. “I like that.”

“But by the same token, why are you attracted to me?”

He smiled, noting her insecurity. “Let’s see. I’m attracted to you because my dog likes you, and she doesn’t normally feel comfortable around just about anyone. I like that you make me forget I was ever a Boy Scout.”

“Eagle Scout,” she corrected.

“See? I’d already forgotten.” He rubbed the tips of his fingers against her soft skin. “And then there’s the matter of your meatballs. Don’t tell my mother, but they’re better than hers.”

She leaned her chin into the heel of his palm. “Please, I don’t want to get between you and your mother.”

“No problem. But let’s leave my mother out of the discussion.”

“And we’re agreed we’re not going anywhere near politics, religion or the Equal Rights Amendment.”

“Agreed,” he affirmed.

She breathed in deeply. “So, you think something’s going to happen between us?”

“Oh, yeah.” He tilted his head and brought his lips close to hers.

“Me, too,” she conceded. She arched her neck so that the distance between them was even smaller. “Tonight?”

“Quite possibly.” Without warning, he grabbed her and rolled over onto his back, taking Mimi with him. For a tall woman, she was surprisingly light as she lay atop him. Her long, lanky body molded perfectly into his. She wiggled her hips. More than his interest sparked.

He looked up at the stars and inhaled the freshly mown grass, a sure sign of promise. Cars drove by on the two-lane road a couple hundred feet away. But somehow the engine noise seemed farther, the vestiges of modern time and a hectic world beyond reach. A split-rail fence surrounded an oak sapling—nurtured from an acorn from the original Grantham Battlefield oak that had witnessed Washington and his ragtag bunch of troops defeat the better-equipped British army. Here, in this historic place, time was expressed in the form of nature reviving and growing from old memories.

He reached up and cupped the delicate curve of Mimi’s ear, then let his index finger trail down the line of her jaw, the rounded point of her chin. “You know, I’m glad you chose this place. It’s magical.”

She shivered when he slipped two fingers inside the turtleneck of her thin sweater and stopped on the center juncture of her collarbone. “Plus it’s within walking distance from the family house. An added bonus.”

“You got in my car once and survived.” He splayed his hand on her breast. She pressed into it.

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to risk being more nervous than I am already.”

“You’re nervous?” He moved closer to her as if to kiss her.

She readily responded, lowering her head to his. “You’re not?” Her lips almost touched his.

“Well, it doesn’t stop me from being a man of action.” He closed the gap between them with a gentle kiss that immediately deepened into a slow exploration of taste and desire. They let their tongues dance, their lips search, their teeth nipping to taste here and then there.

When they finally broke apart, Mimi gulped for breath. “We won’t disturb Roxie, will we?”

Vic glanced in the direction of the dog, sprawled out next to the picnic basket—no fool she. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the dog has been asleep for quite a while.”

Mimi turned her head and peered in Roxie’s direction. A loud snore arose and mingled with the chirping of cicadas. “You’re right. She’s down for the count.”

And Vic took full advantage of it, applying the full force of his concentration to something sensual instead of practical for a change. With his mouth and his hands he explored Mimi’s face. He spanned his hands around her slim waist and through the fine wool of her sweater rubbed his thumbs along the undersides of her small breasts, gradually moving upward to tease the taut peaks of her nipples.

Mimi groaned and buried her head in the side of his neck. Her fingers frantically worked the buttons of his dress shirt, fumbling in the dark. “You’ve got too many tiny buttons,” she complained, panting.

“I know exactly what you mean.” He held her and hoisted them up together. She sat up on his lap, watching while he yanked the shirttails out of his trousers and worked to undo his shirt. Then she took her turn and yanked her sweater over her head, leaving only the wisp of a camisole covering her pale skin.

Vic moved like a man possessed, stripping his shirt off his chest and down his arms. His unbuttoned cuffs caught on his wrists. “Oh, the hell with it!” he exclaimed and forced them over his hands, the buttons popping off from the force.

Then he reached for Mimi and they went tumbling down on the blanket again. This time Vic was on top, his bare chest against her torso, with only the small bits of lace separating his skin from hers. He ran his hands up and down her sides. “You feel incredible. Amazing.”

He felt her shiver. “You’re not getting cold, are you?” He’d noticed the way she seemed to bundle herself up in sweaters and turtlenecks on otherwise mild days.

Mimi shook her head. “Not if you keep rubbing me that way. And, please, don’t stop.” She grabbed the back of his head and without any grace whatsoever—but with a clear message—brought his lips down to hers. This time she was the aggressor, nipping and teasing his lower lip, darting her tongue in and out to mimic lovemaking.

Without breaking their kiss—and thanking the heavens above that his knees and back were cooperating—Vic reached down for his belt buckle and, one-handed, undid it. She was doing something with her tongue along the ridge of his top teeth that almost had him floating, but luckily he kept control of his coordination, not to mention his dignity. He closed his eyes, rocked slightly and concentrated on moving the zipper down one agonizing notch at a…

Which is when car lights—high beams, there was no mistaking the intensity—shined directly on them. A car door slammed.

Vic stilled his hand. Lifted his head.