Chapter Sixteen

Freezing and buffeted by a bitter wind, Laura called Dante while waiting for the bus in an unprotected spot at the corner. His phone rang and rang and Laura’s heart grew heavy with suspicion and jealousy. She ought to run back to Richard, who would warm her.

On the eighth ring, Dante answered the phone. “Hello.” His voice sounded hollow, nasal.

“Are you catching a cold?” she wanted to know.

“How can I be? I have a new hat.” He sounded pleased to hear her voice.

“Have you forgotten me yet?” She actually wondered.

“No. Are you going to marry what’s his name?” He was either tense or enraged, or both.

“No. I don’t have to, as it turns out.” She felt joyful, released from her obligation to Richard, free to love Dante playfully.

“Oh, that’s lucky, then.” She heard his genuine relief and his relief relieved her too. He still wanted her. He might go on wanting her.

“I’m turning to ice,” she said. “I’m being blown away. Shall I stop by?”

“Yes. Do you have the address?”

“Yes.” She hung up and hailed a cab going in the wrong direction. They went up a few blocks, then headed across the park. Patches of snow sparkled up all over the ground. The City was beautiful—the distant, courageously lit buildings, the quiet winter-dead trees in the park. Laura’s world was suddenly full.

She ran up the narrow stairs in Dante’s building. I’m going to live here, she thought, not entirely believing it. I’m going to live here, with Dante, with him, with that beautiful man who says he loves me. I’m going to share his bed. She was happy and then suddenly she was frightened again. The possibility was too good to be true. Reality would interfere. She would wake up, a sadder but wiser Laura.

Dante took her eagerly into his arms. “Guess what,” he told her. “I still love you. Surprised?”

“A little.” She held onto him. He pushed her back.

“Oh, no, you’re cold.” He escaped her as she reached out for him again. Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her nose. “Even your nose is cold. The heat should be up soon. I’ll turn on the stove though.”

He did turn on the stove and put the chair in front of it for her. She sat obediently in the small kitchen and warmed herself while he stood in the doorway and watched. She watched him watching her. He was either wearing some kind of dance clothes or long thermal underwear.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he protested. “Don’t you like my outfit?”

“I like it. What is it?”

“Never mind.” He was insulted. He pushed his hair back.

“I’m only staying a few minutes,” she said.

“I know.” He was insulted again.

She got up. “I’m happy,” she told him. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”

“No.” He put his hand on her arm. They stood there. “Do I look different?” he asked.

“Yes.” Perhaps he did. Sort of more together. Less glamorous, more solid, although such an impression could be her imagination.

“This is going to be really good for my dancing. Don’t you think? I feel it already.” But he didn’t smile as she expected. Instead, he looked into her eyes, as if trying to see, to feel her. Then he broke the contact in some confusion.

“I’m not always cheerful or fun to be with,” he said abruptly. “I’m also very moody.”

“That’s all right,” she answered quietly.

He turned toward her again. This time he did smile a little until the pain came back into his gaze. “If you can only tolerate me,” he said. Then he held out his arms and she came into them. They stood together in sweet embrace.

He let her go, turned off the stove, and took her hand to lead her away from the small kitchen. He seemed uncertain as to which way to take her. The only place to go appeared to be the bed. “We need some furniture, don’t you think?” He was reluctant to bring her over to sit.

He simply stood there, holding her hand. “You might want some orange juice.” The idea seemed to have suddenly occurred to him.

“No thanks.” She liked being with him, standing in the middle of the room.

“When are you going to move in?” he asked. He saw her hesitation and let go of her hand. “You said you weren’t going to marry him, didn’t you? Or aren’t you certain yet?”

“I’m certain,” she asserted with an air of defensive pride.

His jaw was clenched. “Then does something else prevent you from marrying me?”

She relaxed. “Only you’re asking me.”

He was surprised. “I thought I’d asked.”

“Not in the past few minutes.”

“Well, you ought to have asked me,” he said in a no-nonsense tone.

She beamed and laughed lightly. “Will you marry me, Dante? I can sew and do needlepoint and I even once built a cabinet.”

“Yes, but can you cook?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, I can,” she insisted. “You’ll have to learn to like what I cook, that’s all.”

“I like to eat out a lot,” he told her. “And to be with people. You won’t like that.”

“Will you run off by yourself?” she asked, resentfully.

“If you’ll stay with me, I’ll never leave you, I swear I won’t.” He hugged her tightly. “It won’t be that way. I know it. I’m even happy to fight with you. I was going crazy all afternoon, thinking about you.” He shook her in annoyance. “My dancing was off!” Then he soothed her. “I was thinking about you and Richard. That’s what I was thinking, that you were going to have him, and not me. That he was better for you, and that I was going to lose you.”

He held on to her as if preventing her escape, but she wasn’t trying to leave him. “I kept thinking that you loved him and not me. I can’t tell you. I never suffered before like that. I couldn’t believe it was me feeling that way. I thought maybe it didn’t matter how appealing I am, since what I am is vain, self-centered, and selfish. And if I was going to lose you for that, I’d better not be that way anymore.”

“Oh, you’ve only suffered part of one day.” she said in dismissal.

He let her go. “You’re heartless.”

“No, I’m not.” She took his hand and put it above her breast so that he could feel her beating heart. “I love you. It’s good that you suffered for me. I’m going to make you very happy in order to pay you back for it. And I’m going to let you make me happy to make up for it too.”

“You won’t hurt me?” he asked. “If I’m faithful to you, will you be faithful to me? If you’re the center of my world, will I be that way for you?”

She nodded.

“Can we get married tomorrow?” he demanded.

“I think there’s more to it than that.” She smiled.

“Will you find out?” he requested. “I can’t deal with bureaucracies. And quit your job. Do we have to go on a honeymoon? I think the company’s schedule is very ragged until late spring. I’ll talk to Maxwell. He’ll let you come on the road, if you can do something useful. You said you can sew. If you actually can, you can do wardrobe. It’ll be good for you to be around Maxwell and make a lot of contacts and take class every day with the company.”

Listening to his easy plans excited her. “I’d like that a lot,” she agreed.

He pulled her toward the bed at last and sat down with her on his lap. “And you’ll get to be with me,” he added. “And keep me out of trouble. And whatever other nice things you can think of.” His arms held her in place. He kissed her ear. “When you hand out press releases, always be sure to underline my name. That’ll be your last name too. Unless you don’t believe in that. I’d like to share a last name with you though. We could pick another one entirely. A Mohawk expression for ‘great happiness’ or something.”

“Your last name will do all right.”

“Do you know it?”

“Yes, I do. I saw it on the program when you danced. Mercuri. But I already knew it.”

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, seeming disturbed. “You’ve only seen me dance once. How can you love me when you’ve barely seen me dance.” Then, in serious upset, “You have to meet my family. I’ll apologize right now. Am I going to have to meet yours?”

She thought of Richard’s family, of how much she would always care for them. For the first time since leaving Richard this evening, she felt a pang of guilt, the throbbing of regret. “I think you’ll have to meet my mother and father eventually,” she acknowledged.

“Your parents will hate me,” he gloated. “I always manage to put parents off.” Laura tapped him on the arm with a fist.

“It’s only eleven,” he observed, indicating the clock radio. “Let’s call our parents. Will yours be asleep?”

Laura felt chilled again. “No,” she said slowly. “It’s earlier there. They, my father, won’t react very well.”

“That’s all right,” Dante told her breezily. “Let’s call them. Let’s call everyone we know.”

He picked up his cell phone and dialed his parents. They sounded much nicer than Laura had been led to expect. Dante’s mother was perfectly warm and his father had an easy way of talking and appeared to be utterly sober. They gave Dante and Laura their best wishes and Mrs. Mercuri invited them to dinner on Friday night. Dante grinned, hanging up. “Not so bad,” he decided. Her turn had come. She brought her own phone out of her bag.

She called Michigan and talked to her mother about this and that, with Dante breathing right into her ear. He pulled her hair and poked her, but she was frightened to simply say why she had called. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke up. “Mother, I called to tell you I’m getting married.” She began to shake. Dante was holding her.

“Getting married?” her mother replied uncertainly. “To whom?”

“To someone I love very much. His name is Dante. Do you want to speak to him?” Tears ran down her cheeks. The world turned blurry.

“He’s there right now?” Her mother sounded doubtful.

Laura became angry. “Didn’t you think I would marry again, Mother?”

“I don’t know what your father will say.”

Dante took the phone away from Laura. “Hello, Mrs. Reegan. Your daughter and I love one another and we’re getting married. Laura’s afraid you won’t approve. But I told her that you both love her so much that what you want most is to see her happy.” Laura, settled against his shoulder, was still crying, and he held both her and the telephone.

“Of course we want to see her happy,” Laura could hear her mother say.

“Is Mr. Reegan there? Laura would like to speak to him.” Dante handed Laura back the telephone and warmed her shivering body as she waited to talk to her father.

She heard her father’s voice and it seemed like a long, long time since she had spoken to him, although she’d wished him happy New Year just the day before. “Daddy, did Mother tell you? I’m getting married.”

“Getting married again, Laura? I hope you’re not making the same kind of mistake. Does the boy have any money of his own? Does he have some kind of job at least?” Her father’s voice was as she’d expected it. She heard no happiness in it for her. Laura felt helpless, unable to explain, and all of a sudden she felt that she was making a big mistake. What was she doing? Her decision sounded questionable, even to her ears.

Dante took the telephone again. “Mr. Reegan? My name is Dante Mercuri. That’s right. Mercuri. I’m a blond, blue-eyed Italian, like Christopher Columbus. He was blond too. No, listen, Mr. Reegan. I’m going to marry your daughter. Don’t say that. I’m a dancer. A modern dancer. No, I don’t make a lot of money.”

Dante winked at Laura and caressed her. Her father was wrong, Laura thought. He had been right about Shetley, but now he was wrong. He would have acted the same way if she had introduced Richard—or any man at all. He simply didn’t want her to be happy, just as he had never wanted her and her mother to enjoy themselves.

“I didn’t know you’re rich, Mr. Reegan,” Dante was saying. “If you’re rich, how come your daughter has to work so hard to support herself when what she wants is to be a dancer? I don’t care whether you send us any money or not. Mr. Reegan, we didn’t call to discuss finances with you, we called to tell you that we’re getting married.” Dante snapped the cell phone shut.

Laura almost stopped shaking, she was so shocked. “Did you hang up on him?” she gasped.

“Yup,” acknowledged Dante. “Had to. Are you mad?”

“No,” she said. She felt very, very strange. Very lightheaded.

Dante kissed her eyes, her eyebrows, her cheeks, her chin, her mouth. He kissed her mouth again. “I think we can expect a wedding present from your mother,” he calculated. “But no large checks. I don’t care much about money, you know,” he added. “I like what it buys. Never mind. We’re almost rich. I can feel it already.”

He kissed her again, then stopped. “You have to go,” he told her. “Since we have a proper wedding planned.”

She stood up obediently. “I’m glad you hung up on him.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I only like a one-sided conversation when it’s going my way.”

Laura put on her coat and Dante retrieved his, too. “I’ll get you a cab. This is dancewear by the way,” he informed her in a dignified fashion, as he put his coat on over his strange outfit.

“I like it,” she said. “I love you a lot. I think I’m going to love you more every day that I know you.”

“Love,” he said as if the word was a whole new concept. He beamed. “I’ll have to get used to it.”

In the morning she was frightened. The day was Wednesday; she shouldn’t quit her job until Friday, she thought. Anything could happen before Friday, and if it did… She waited for the phone to ring. Dante didn’t call.

At work, she had the same anxiety. Every time the office phone rang, she wondered if it was for her, but it wasn’t. She felt sure that Dante still loved her, but she began to question their situation, the short time they had known one another, the abrupt way he had “fallen in love” with her and had “reformed.” And the money problem was to be taken seriously as well.

Laura tried not to think that way, but her mind fell into the familiar suspicious pattern, killing joy. She didn’t mistrust Dante’s intentions, only his ability to carry them out. He would love her for a while, then it would fall all to hell. She was better off without him—without him, without Richard.

She felt almost as if she weren’t the one thinking, but her father, in concert with her mother.

She waited for Dante to call, but he didn’t and she began to feel lonely and deserted. She called to find out about a wedding license anyway. One of the numbers she was supposed to call was off the hook and then no one answered. She called the mayor’s office and the woman was very pleasant with her. “You must be happy,” she told Laura.

Laura was miserable. She was scared and uncertain. Her stomach was acting up again. She tried Lillian, but only reach her answering machine. She was too mortified to call Richard. For some reason calling Dante didn’t occur to her.

She went to the Studio even though she wasn’t sure she would feel up to taking a class. She didn’t see Dante and she didn’t see Maxwell. An icy hand gripped her heart. She was more than fairly willing to lie down and die. She couldn’t bear the feeling she was being forced to bear.

She changed and took her regular class anyway. She worked until the sweat poured out, which make her feel quite a bit better.

After class, Paulette stopped her. “Congratulations. I understand you’re marrying Dante. We all enjoy working with him. He’s a nice person. And he keeps us going when we’re down.”

“Yes,” Laura stammered. The fear returned.

She didn’t see him as she went to change. Their love could stop as suddenly as it had come, she felt. Not her love, but his. He would push her away, look at her distantly, and make some vague excuse that he had been regrettably wrong, that he wasn’t suited to having a wife.

Dante was waiting in the hall for her and he wore such an anxious expression that Laura was sure her worst fears were being realized. She came toward him slowly and they regarded one another with mutual suspicion. The muscles on her face quivered. She stood directly in front of him and reached out uncertainly. He reached for her at the same time. They held one another.

“Were you scared?” he asked her, finally.

“I nearly died,” she said, meaning it. “You?”

“Yeah, real bad. Do you think we’ll ever get over this?” He looked pale and exhausted.

“If we stay together,” she said. “Or we could IM one another minute by minute.”

On Thursday, she could almost feel happy during the day. Dante called once and met her for lunch, then she called him. Some of the fear was gone, since he kept being there, and since the fear was real for him too. Their mutual reaction wasn’t normal, she knew, but she was glad she didn’t have to hide her underlying terror—that they could share it with one another.

Thursday night, they held one another and talked about their anxieties. He was glad she was crazy too, he said. They decided then that everyone felt this way inside, but covered it over. This was the reason for marriages breaking up. People didn’t admit to being frightened of losing the other person’s love.

“No, I think we’re especially crazy,” said Laura then. ““ He agreed. She loved him more than ever for that.