to.”
“I agree with you—about art belonging in museums, I mean.”
Richard responded quickly, “Do you? I’m glad. Most people around here use paintings for status. The higher the price you paid, the higher your status. And some of the stuff they buy is nothing but fad stuff. Why, I was ata house last week when the funniest thing—oh, I shouldn’t bore you.”
“Please. I want to hear it.”
“But you don’t know the people I’m talking about. You don’t know the way they think, and if you don’t, my story loses its point.”
“No names, but just tell me. Do they belong to the club?”
“Yes. Most of the people I know belong to it.”
“Then I have a pretty good idea how they think.”
She met his glance, and in the same instant they both laughed. Oh, I. like him, I like him, she thought. He’s smart and funny, and honest, and I like him.
The afternoon went fast. “I’ve had a great day,” he said when they arrived at her door. “I hope you did too.”
“It was wonderful,” she answered. His good-bye kiss was gentle, a chaste kiss.
They saw each other every day that remained in his vacation. When she had to go to work early, he called for her and returned to bring her home. On late nights he waited for her. It was remarkable how easily one could fall into dependence on such attentions, could assume that the face with the good smile would be there on the other side of the door.
He took her to the exhibit of Western art, to some concerts, and a ballet. All of these were enchantments for Connie. Certainly she had known they existed, and yet she was astonished when they materialized before her eyes and ears, as if they were a kind of lovely magic.
She thought about Richard almost all the time, while she was working or falling asleep or after restless sleep,waking too early in the morning. Who could tell whether anything more was to follow these few bright days? Nothing was sure, she told herself, with the remembrance of her mother’s misguided optimism to warn her.
He hadn’t taken her to bed. He hadn’t brought her to his house since that first day, which meant quite obviously that his parents had already disapproved, or that he knew they would disapprove if they were told. Subtleties, things spoken and unspoken, were making clear to her acute mind that Richard feared their disapproval.
This insight by no means lessened her respect for him. Was she falling in love with him? There flashed before her a picture of Lara at her wedding, of her face turned toward Davey, of the trust, the adoration, and the joy in that face. And Davey had had nothing to give Lara except himself.
However, I am not like Lara … for a moment she felt guilty. Suppose that Richard worked in a gas station and lived in a two-room flat, would he be just as desirable? No, of course he wouldn’t. Yet that wasn’t a fair supposition either. One might just as easily ask whether, if she herself had bad skin and were fifty pounds overweight, Richard would want her! Of course he wouldn’t, even though she’d be the same person inside. The facts were simple: You can’t separate a person from externals. They’re all part of the person.
Days passed. They went on picnics. They spent a day in San Antonio. They danced at country barbecues and dined at sumptuous French restaurants in town. By thethird week they were still what they had been in the first week, a congenial couple having a wonderful time, who ended their pleasant hours with a rather tender kiss. When, sometimes, Richard stroked her breasts, Connie felt intense excitement and anticipation, but he never sought more.
On this night, however, there came a difference. Suddenly over the
coquilles Saint-Jacques
and the wine, he fell into silence. Over the candle tips and the
bavaroise au chocolat
, his eyes, empty of their customary humor, fixed themselves on Connie with an almost stricken gaze. Then she, too, not knowing what to say, fell silent.
“You’re the
“I agree with you—about art belonging in museums, I mean.”
Richard responded quickly, “Do you? I’m glad. Most people around here use paintings for status. The higher the price you paid, the higher your status. And some of the stuff they buy is nothing but fad stuff. Why, I was ata house last week when the funniest thing—oh, I shouldn’t bore you.”
“Please. I want to hear it.”
“But you don’t know the people I’m talking about. You don’t know the way they think, and if you don’t, my story loses its point.”
“No names, but just tell me. Do they belong to the club?”
“Yes. Most of the people I know belong to it.”
“Then I have a pretty good idea how they think.”
She met his glance, and in the same instant they both laughed. Oh, I. like him, I like him, she thought. He’s smart and funny, and honest, and I like him.
The afternoon went fast. “I’ve had a great day,” he said when they arrived at her door. “I hope you did too.”
“It was wonderful,” she answered. His good-bye kiss was gentle, a chaste kiss.
They saw each other every day that remained in his vacation. When she had to go to work early, he called for her and returned to bring her home. On late nights he waited for her. It was remarkable how easily one could fall into dependence on such attentions, could assume that the face with the good smile would be there on the other side of the door.
He took her to the exhibit of Western art, to some concerts, and a ballet. All of these were enchantments for Connie. Certainly she had known they existed, and yet she was astonished when they materialized before her eyes and ears, as if they were a kind of lovely magic.
She thought about Richard almost all the time, while she was working or falling asleep or after restless sleep,waking too early in the morning. Who could tell whether anything more was to follow these few bright days? Nothing was sure, she told herself, with the remembrance of her mother’s misguided optimism to warn her.
He hadn’t taken her to bed. He hadn’t brought her to his house since that first day, which meant quite obviously that his parents had already disapproved, or that he knew they would disapprove if they were told. Subtleties, things spoken and unspoken, were making clear to her acute mind that Richard feared their disapproval.
This insight by no means lessened her respect for him. Was she falling in love with him? There flashed before her a picture of Lara at her wedding, of her face turned toward Davey, of the trust, the adoration, and the joy in that face. And Davey had had nothing to give Lara except himself.
However, I am not like Lara … for a moment she felt guilty. Suppose that Richard worked in a gas station and lived in a two-room flat, would he be just as desirable? No, of course he wouldn’t. Yet that wasn’t a fair supposition either. One might just as easily ask whether, if she herself had bad skin and were fifty pounds overweight, Richard would want her! Of course he wouldn’t, even though she’d be the same person inside. The facts were simple: You can’t separate a person from externals. They’re all part of the person.
Days passed. They went on picnics. They spent a day in San Antonio. They danced at country barbecues and dined at sumptuous French restaurants in town. By thethird week they were still what they had been in the first week, a congenial couple having a wonderful time, who ended their pleasant hours with a rather tender kiss. When, sometimes, Richard stroked her breasts, Connie felt intense excitement and anticipation, but he never sought more.
On this night, however, there came a difference. Suddenly over the
coquilles Saint-Jacques
and the wine, he fell into silence. Over the candle tips and the
bavaroise au chocolat
, his eyes, empty of their customary humor, fixed themselves on Connie with an almost stricken gaze. Then she, too, not knowing what to say, fell silent.
“You’re the
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