Eye of Flame by Pamela Sargent Page A

you—can’t you understand?”
    “Let me in.” His voice had risen. The knob twisted in her hand; the door swung open. She let go of the knob and stepped back as he entered.
    “Jackie.” He was wearing a casual suit tonight, with an open-collared blue shirt; perhaps he had been in a bar trying to pick someone up. As she looked up at his face, her anger began to dissipate. He gazed at her intently, almost apologetically; before she could speak, he took her hands in his.
    “I want you to know this,” he said. “Maybe you think this is just a momentary thing, a few nights and no more. It isn’t. I’m serious, Jackie. I have to be with you.”
    She pulled her hands away. “You’re quite an operator, aren’t you? I talked to Patti before, and she told me about you two. You can’t fool me anymore.”
    “I won’t deny it. I have some feeling for her, but I think part of that’s because she’s your cousin. She can’t be what you are to me—no one else can be.”
    She clenched her fists. “Then leave her alone, for God’s sake. Don’t break up her marriage and ruin her life. She thinks you’re in love with her. She doesn’t know about me; I couldn’t tell her.”
    “How do you know I won’t improve her marriage? It happens sometimes. I’m attracted to her, and she seems to need me now, but she’ll tire of me. Later on she’ll be grateful for the memories and the bit of romance.”
    “So you’re a psychologist now,” Jacqueline said acidly. “You’re just trying to help her out.”
    “I’m attracted to her. Look, just staying with one woman—it’s something I’ve never been able to do. But I could do it with you; you can be that one woman for me. I’ve been waiting for you all my life. I can’t change overnight, but I will if you let me have the chance.”
    His words seemed so plausible, his expression so sincere. Already she was weakening; she wanted to believe him. He reached for her, loosening her robe. “I love you,” he said. “You brought me here; you’ll understand. I won’t let you leave me.” She sagged against him as he drew her down to the carpet.
     
    Jacqueline shivered. Her body ached; the bedroom seemed colder. The pillow next to her still bore the scent of Tad’s cologne. She listened to the silence before realizing he was gone.
    How long had they been together this time? She couldn’t recall leaving the condominium. They had made love, she had slept, and then he had reappeared at the door with groceries and wine. He had assured her of his love, but had not spoken of any plans they might make. She did not even know if he expected her to live out here or was willing to follow her east.
    She stretched, then felt a sharp pain in her shoulders. Her hands were stiff, she flexed her fingers. Her shoulder pains stabbed at her again as she reached over the edge of the bed for the telephone. She set it on the mattress, lifted the receiver, and dialed.
    “May I help you?” a voice chirped.
    “What day of the week is this?”
    “Why, it’s Thursday, February—”
    She hung up. She had been with Tad for nearly five days, besotting herself with him. Her hand still lay on the telephone; she gazed at it in surprise. The joints of her fingers had swelled a little; a few tiny brown spots marked the back of her hand.
    She threw off the covers, ignoring her pain, and made her way to the bathroom. The sight of her face in the mirror nearly made her cry out. The lines around her eyes were deeper now, the skin of her cheeks looser. Her neck was crepy and lined, while her hair was streaked with gray. She gripped the sink, closed her eyes, then opened them again; the middle-aged face was still staring out at her. It isn’t possible, she thought; no one could age so much in five days.
    She stumbled out of the bathroom and reached for her watch. It was nearly five o’clock; Jerome would be home. She sat down on the bed and dialed the number. The telephone rang twenty times before she