Romantic Trapezoid. Victor L. Cahn

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      Melissa moved silently next to him, still sipping. When at last she spoke, her voice wavered. “Does this mean we’re splitting up?”

      “In one sense. But as I said, we’ll still see each other.”

      At that moment, Dave felt in command, even when Melissa leaned against the table, sipped, and licked her lips. “Hmmm!”

      Dave had anticipated a more emotional response. Nonetheless, he sought to retain his leverage. “There’s no need to make a scene.”

      “I know.” With those words, her voice steadied. She walked to the kitchen, refilled her glass, and padded back next to him. “Any idea where you’re going?”

      Her combination of perfume and perspiration was nearly overpowering. “My house,” he said.

      “Of course.” She sipped. “Although I hate to see you lose your place in the city.”

      “Don’t worry about it.”

      “Anywhere else you can stay?”

      “No. But you know me. I’m a homebody at heart.” He reasoned that a hint about settling down couldn’t hurt.

      In response, however, she merely mused.

      What was she thinking, Dave wondered. How much did she care? Was she unnerved? Frustrated? Relieved? He couldn’t read her.

      Even more confounding, how did he expect Melissa to respond to his packing? For that matter, how did he want her to respond? Agree to abandon her career? Relinquish all other friendships? Swear fidelity? Propose marriage?

      Finally she spoke. “Can I say just one thing?”

      “Of course.”

      “Whatever happens, I want you to know that you’re always welcome here.”

      What did she mean?

      “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

      “I understand, but I want you to know that—”

      “I’ll be fine.”

      She meandered next to him. “The door is always open—”

      “I said I’ll be—”

      “But just in case—”

      “Please! Don’t worry about me.”

      He patted her hand and held it. Melissa kissed his index finger, then walked dejectedly to the sofa and sat. She moved some of her packages to create a space for her legs, which she stretched across the table.

      Dave could not help staring at those impossibly long limbs that extended from under that impossibly short skirt. She touched her forehead with the cold glass, leaned back, and sighed.

      “Are you as hot as I am?”

      Under normal circumstances, Dave would have interpreted this line as an irresistible invitation. Today, though, he responded blandly. “It is a bit humid.”

      “A bit? My God, I’d give anything for a swim.”

      Dave removed some shirts from the closet.

      “Are you really leaving in this heat?” she said.

      “That’s the plan.” He folded the sleeves of one turtleneck, and placed it meticulously in the suitcase.

      “Well . . . as long as you’ve thought everything out.”

      “I have.”

      No, he hadn’t.

      She sipped again. How could she make a single glass last so long? “You know what I was thinking on the way home?”

      “No.”

      “Remember two weeks ago when it was hot like this?”

      Dave said nothing.

      “Remember?”

      “Hm-mm.”

      “And I lay down on the bed naked. Remember?”

      “Yes.”

      Against his will, the image blazed across his mind. He envisioned the glorious arch of her back and the slope of that perfect bottom . . .

      “Then you massaged me with an ice cube. One little cube. You covered every inch of me. At least that’s what it felt like.” She let the thought pervade his consciousness. “I’ll never forget it. Will you?”

      Dave swallowed. “No.”

      Melissa flexed her legs and toes. “I’m glad. I’m also glad that we’ll always have our memories. Like that week in Mexico, exploring ancient ruins. Performing primitive mating rituals.”

      Dave refused to look at her.

      “Remember how happy we were when your book came out? I even memorized that line from the Quarterly review: ‘An incisive, graceful critique of a filmmaker too often neglected.’”

      “You forgot ‘pellucid,’” said Dave. “‘Incisive, pellucid, and graceful.’”

      He frowned at his own susceptibility and resumed packing.

      “And how can I forget last March?” she continued. “When we headed out to UCLA for that symposium. You took on three of those pygmies nipping at your heels and swatted them away like flies.”

      “Your metaphors are tangled.”

      “Let’s just say that I felt shivers all over.” She paused. “And that night in the hotel . . . I felt shivers again.”

      Dave stopped packing and looked at her.

      She opened her eyes wide. “I don’t think there’s anything as arousing as a first-rate mind in action.”

      This statement demanded response, so he moved behind her and spoke firmly. “I think you find plenty that’s arousing. Which is why I am leaving in a few minutes.”

      As soon as he uttered those words, he recognized that he didn’t want to leave. But what choice did he have? At least if he had the gumption to carry out this threat, and if she missed him as he hoped she would, she’d have no choice but to ask him back.

      Maybe.

      On the other hand, if she didn’t miss him, or didn’t miss him enough, then she wouldn’t ask him.

      On the third hand, if she didn’t miss him, then she would never marry him anyway, unless she was overcome by an urge that she had never manifested.

      On yet another hand, if she did miss him, but didn’t feel obliged to СКАЧАТЬ