An Emergence of Green Read Free Page A

shorts. With only sporadic exercise—a little tennis, golf two or three times a month with a customer, an occasional swim—his body was well proportioned and trim, only a suggestion of softness in the belly. His one physical problem, a nonthreatening congenital heart murmur, had been sufficient to keep him out of Vietnam. In the natural light of evening his pubic hair was much darker than the hair on his head, which was full and thick but salted with gray, lighter gray at the temples. “A young Cary Grant,” one of the wives had sighed to her at a company picnic. She was proud of his looks.
    “Like what you see?” He leered at her playfully. “Woman, take the steaks off the fire for a while.”
    With an involuntary glance at the fence she laughed and waved at him. “Oh, go swim.” As she adjusted the steaks over the charcoal she watched him, his aggressive path through the water, his choppy strokes less efficient than the smooth power of Val Hunter.
    His nakedness brought memories of buying the house and her enchantment with the privacy of this fenced-in, shrubbery-enshrouded yard. The first evening in the house Paul had coaxed her into the pool and untied her bikini. The warm water against her nakedness had filled her with unbearable sensuality—a sensuality almost spiritual. In a corner of the pool he had lifted her willing legs around him. But as her hips beat against the cool hard tiles, the water churning in turbulent eddies around her, water had been pumped painfully into her, the pressure on her tissues agonizing. She gasped for him to stop, but he would not or could not. Smothering screams—how could she scream out here for everyone to hear?—she pounded on his chest and shoulders, and when he did stop she wrenched herself from him and stumbled into the house, crying, and again pounded on his chest when he followed. “Why didn’t you stop! Why didn’t you!”
    He caught her wrists, held them away from him, his eyes brimming with tears, his face distorted into gray agony. “I thought…you liked it at first, then I thought…you’d start to like it…”He broke away and left the house, returning after several hours incoherently drunk. That week flowers were delivered every day to her office, and a pearl necklace had appeared among her jewelry on their dresser. The steaks were almost done. “Paul!” she called.
    With an odd feeling of detachment she watched him again as he sawed the towel roughly back and forth over his back, muscles working in the lightly tanned arms. As he turned away to towel his hair she studied the flat curve of his spine, the molded buttocks symbolic to her of the simple efficient beauty of the male body. He pulled on a short terry cloth robe, tying the belt into a neat square knot as he came over to her, smiling, his pale blue eyes calm even after the vigor of his swim.
    He kissed her forehead. “The steaks look perfect, Princess.”
    Again she looked at him as she took the steaks off the fire. After eight years, she concluded dismally, the difference in their ages was more, not less, apparent. She had not grown as he had—this confident, handsomely graying man who seemed more attractive now than ever. At twenty-six she was by comparison still a child.

    ***

    Freshly showered and shaved, he lay propped on pillows. Carolyn sat at the mirrored table in the dressing area brushing her hair, wearing the peach gown he loved, her body backlighted, the slight swell of her breasts accentuated by the silken cling of the gown. If only her breasts were larger—like Rita’s. Rita’s had been lovely to pillow his head on, especially after lovemaking. But in all honesty they had been otherwise too pendulous. And Carolyn’s legs were lovely—not the long slim fashion model legs, but far superior to Rita’s short plump ones.
    His gaze strayed over the rich colors of the bedroom; expensive cherry woods and plush gold carpet, bright clown prints on either side of heavy gold drapes. He