exciting evening she'd ever known, and it showed her exactly what had been missing in her plans for the future. Now she expected not only to become wealthy and powerftil in television, but also to be part of the life of powerftil people.
"Thank you," she said to Valerie at eleven o'clock when the limousine stopped in exactly the same spot it had picked her up only a few hours before.
"I'm glad you could come," Valerie replied. "I hope you had some ftm; you were awfully quiet."
"I was watching, and learning a lot. You don't have to worry about me, Valerie. I had the most fun I've ever had in my Ufe."
Nick pulled ahead of Valerie, his horse flying as they reached the crest of a rise and began the downward run. He hadn't ridden in years and was rediscovering the exhilaration of it, the unbridled energy and sense of freedom that swept over him with the wind. He bent low over the horse's sleek neck, and so it was the flying hoofs of Valerie's horse he saw first as she caught and passed him, shouting something he could not hear. She looked back at him, laughing as she turned her horse toward the hills, increasing the distance between them. But Nick, urging his horse on, caught her and then they rode side by side. The matched energy of their horses and the thrill of their speed flowed between them like an embrace, and when at last they stopped, Valerie
moved her horse close to his. "It's like making love, don't you think? Like we were inside each other."
"Not quite." He grinned at her. "As I recall, there's a distinct difference."
"Well, but not in essence. We were riding each other just now, weren't we? In a mystical sense, anyway: I felt so much a part of you."
She could always surprise him. As far as Nick could tell, she took nothing as seriously as he took almost everything, but then she would come up with quirky, interesting ideas that showed she'd thought about things in an almost analytical way. But Valerie wasn't analytical; everybody knew that. She was spoiled and willful and resdess. She was also absolutely captivating, which had nothing to do with how serious she was, but had everything to do with why he spent so much of his time thinking about her. This morning he had missed a class to ride with her—she had missed one, too, but she brushed it aside—and he had two papers to finish, and a project at work that would keep him up most of the night. But he barely thought about any of that; he was completely absorbed by the warm, hazy day, the excitement of riding, the fascination of Valerie.
"No mystical sense?" she said mockingly, when his silence stretched out. "I should have known; it must be as forbidden as magic in your book of rules."
"I'm open to it," he said. "A scientist is always willing to listen."
"Oh, you want proof How dreary. Do you know what I love best about riding? Cutting loose from everything. The whole world goes by in a blur, all pale and misty, and the only thing that's real is me, but I'm totally different. I'm my own universe: pure space, pure movement. As if time disappears and there's only speed and eternity. Now, how does a scientist feel about that?"
"He feels he should have been a poet," Nick said quiedy. "I may have felt something like that when we were riding, but those weren't the ideas that came to me."
"Well, they're yours now," Valerie said carelessly. "You can do what you want with them. We'd better start back; I have a paper due tomorrow and we're rehearsing the first act of Misalliance tonight."
"Before or after dinner?"
"During, I guess; it's called for six-thirty. It's going to be a contest between Shaw's dialogue and our corned-beef sandwiches. Do you want to watch?"
"They don't want an audience, do they?"
"The star gets to bend the rules. If you want to watch, you can watch."
"Another night, then; I'd like to. I'll be working most of tonight."
She sighed. "Nose to the grindstone," she murmured, and rode off, leaving him behind.
But she rode at an easy pace and
"Thank you," she said to Valerie at eleven o'clock when the limousine stopped in exactly the same spot it had picked her up only a few hours before.
"I'm glad you could come," Valerie replied. "I hope you had some ftm; you were awfully quiet."
"I was watching, and learning a lot. You don't have to worry about me, Valerie. I had the most fun I've ever had in my Ufe."
Nick pulled ahead of Valerie, his horse flying as they reached the crest of a rise and began the downward run. He hadn't ridden in years and was rediscovering the exhilaration of it, the unbridled energy and sense of freedom that swept over him with the wind. He bent low over the horse's sleek neck, and so it was the flying hoofs of Valerie's horse he saw first as she caught and passed him, shouting something he could not hear. She looked back at him, laughing as she turned her horse toward the hills, increasing the distance between them. But Nick, urging his horse on, caught her and then they rode side by side. The matched energy of their horses and the thrill of their speed flowed between them like an embrace, and when at last they stopped, Valerie
moved her horse close to his. "It's like making love, don't you think? Like we were inside each other."
"Not quite." He grinned at her. "As I recall, there's a distinct difference."
"Well, but not in essence. We were riding each other just now, weren't we? In a mystical sense, anyway: I felt so much a part of you."
She could always surprise him. As far as Nick could tell, she took nothing as seriously as he took almost everything, but then she would come up with quirky, interesting ideas that showed she'd thought about things in an almost analytical way. But Valerie wasn't analytical; everybody knew that. She was spoiled and willful and resdess. She was also absolutely captivating, which had nothing to do with how serious she was, but had everything to do with why he spent so much of his time thinking about her. This morning he had missed a class to ride with her—she had missed one, too, but she brushed it aside—and he had two papers to finish, and a project at work that would keep him up most of the night. But he barely thought about any of that; he was completely absorbed by the warm, hazy day, the excitement of riding, the fascination of Valerie.
"No mystical sense?" she said mockingly, when his silence stretched out. "I should have known; it must be as forbidden as magic in your book of rules."
"I'm open to it," he said. "A scientist is always willing to listen."
"Oh, you want proof How dreary. Do you know what I love best about riding? Cutting loose from everything. The whole world goes by in a blur, all pale and misty, and the only thing that's real is me, but I'm totally different. I'm my own universe: pure space, pure movement. As if time disappears and there's only speed and eternity. Now, how does a scientist feel about that?"
"He feels he should have been a poet," Nick said quiedy. "I may have felt something like that when we were riding, but those weren't the ideas that came to me."
"Well, they're yours now," Valerie said carelessly. "You can do what you want with them. We'd better start back; I have a paper due tomorrow and we're rehearsing the first act of Misalliance tonight."
"Before or after dinner?"
"During, I guess; it's called for six-thirty. It's going to be a contest between Shaw's dialogue and our corned-beef sandwiches. Do you want to watch?"
"They don't want an audience, do they?"
"The star gets to bend the rules. If you want to watch, you can watch."
"Another night, then; I'd like to. I'll be working most of tonight."
She sighed. "Nose to the grindstone," she murmured, and rode off, leaving him behind.
But she rode at an easy pace and
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