Beyond Eden

14

Taylor / Eden

She was asleep when Taylor came back into the bedroom. He quietly undressed, taking off his shirt, shoes, and socks and laying them neatly over the back of one of her rattan chairs, next to a pair of panty hose and a bra. He usually slept nude; but not here, not with Eden. He wasn’t about to strip down to his skin and scare the daylights out of her.

He made sure there were crackers within reach, as well as nonaspirin, and Nugarin, a drug to help stop her vomiting.

He eased into bed beside her and pulled another blanket over her. He settled himself with a sheet. The apartment was quiet and warm. Her breathing was even and deep. He gently took her hand in his and lay there on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear the soft ticking of her bedside clock and muted traffic from the window.

He awoke with a start at three o’clock. She wasn’t there. He lurched up in bed; then he heard her. She was vomiting in the bathroom.

Jesus, he hadn’t heard a thing. He discounted the fact he hadn’t slept well in Chicago as he ran into the bathroom. He helped her stand up, gain her balance, then wiped her face with a warm damp cloth. “You want to rinse out your mouth?”

She did but it made her stomach cramp. She dropped to her knees again by the toilet and the cramp stopped suddenly. “Oh, Lord,” she said, and let him help her back to bed. She rolled onto her side, her knees drawn up with another cramp.

The cramp eased and she lay panting, looking up at him. Surprisingly, she smiled. Not much of a smile, but a good effort. “This is awful. You shouldn’t see anyone like this. It’s enough to put you off people forever.”

“You’d have to be an ax murderer to put me off. No more cramping?”

“No. Not yet anyway.”

He fed her another cracker, took her temperature, and was reassured at the low 101 degrees.

“A sip of tea? No, well, I don’t blame you. You want to try to sleep some more?”

“Could we just talk?”

“Sure.”

They lay side by side in the dark, holding hands.

“You start,” she said, and Taylor obliged, hearing the weakness in her voice.

“Did I ever tell you that I’m a Francophile?”

“A what?”

“I love France, always have. I think I must have lived a past life there, maybe as a worker in a vineyard or something. Anyway, I rent a Harley and cruise around wherever the spirit takes me. I was there for two weeks in September, covering every square foot of Brittany, after most of the tourists had gone home. It was beautiful and warm and…”

He realized that something had changed. She was quiet, no problem there, but her hand felt stiff and cold. She’d withdrawn from him.

“Eden? What’s wrong? Your stomach cramping again? You need to throw up?”

“No. Oh, God, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I hate France.”

“Good Lord, why?”

“I was there once, a long time ago, and it was horrible.” It was easier than she thought, to say the words aloud. It was dark, she realized, she was protected in that darkness, she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see his reaction to the words that had just spilled out of her mouth.

“What happened?”

Silence. Painful silence. Complete withdrawal.

He said after a while, easily, mildly, “When were you there?”

“Nine years ago.”

“Not really all a coincidence, since I’m there every year. I was there nine years ago as well. When during the year?”

“In the spring. In April.”

“I remember it was beautiful, glorious then. But I mainly remember that trip because I was in Paris at the end of it and got myself banged up in an accident. Didn’t do me or my Harley any good. Hospital, broken arm, concussion, the whole bit. Were you in some sort of accident?”

He was aware that this was dangerous territory, even prohibited territory, but he kept on. He’d spoken quietly, soothingly, and now he waited, hoping she would answer him, hoping she’d give him more information, hoping for anything.

“Yes, sort of. I’m tired now. Good night.”

“Good night, sweetheart.”

Her hand relaxed in his again, her flesh becoming warm and soft. A start was a start even though he had no idea if the start would lead anywhere.

The next morning he awoke before she did. He didn’t move, just lay there thinking that she was here beside him, that he still held her hand, that he wanted her here beside him forever. Slowly, very slowly, he turned on his side to face her. Gently he eased his hand beneath her back and turned her to face him. She muttered something but didn’t awaken. He pulled her into his arms, then turned again to lie on his back, Eden pressed against his chest.

He smiled. This was more like it. He wished they didn’t have any clothes on. He would like to feel her naked against him. Instead, her cheek was against his undershirt.

Another start.

He fell back to sleep.

Lindsay awoke slowly. She didn’t move because she was focused inward, on her body and what its mood was. No cramping, no nausea, no headache. Then she realized she was nearly lying on top of Taylor, her head pressed against his shoulder, one thigh sprawled over his.

His head was turned toward her, his chin resting against her hair. She felt his warm breath. She felt too the warmth of his body. She knew instant and overwhelming terror.

She slid away from him, running clumsily toward the bathroom. Let him think she was sick. Yes, that was it. Let him think she was sick rather than crazy. She shut and locked the bathroom door.

She heard him in her bedroom, stumbling over a chair. He knocked on the door, calling her name. No, not her name, that made-up name that she was beginning to hate because Dr. Gruska had been right. It was a shield, a barrier; it was a lie.

She forced herself to calm. “I’m all right, Taylor. I’m going to take a shower and clean up. I’ll be out in ten minutes. Don’t worry about me.”

He retreated and she breathed a sigh of relief and disappointment. As she showered and washed her hair, she thought of the intimacy again. Looking at them, a stranger would have believed them intimate, would have believed them lovers or even husband and wife. But they weren’t any of those things. She was a sham.

She felt so weak she could barely stand when she came out of the bathroom wearing her terry-cloth robe. She went to the dresser and pulled out a clean flannel nightgown, one she had bought the previous winter that covered every centimeter of her, and returned to the bathroom. She heard Taylor moving around in the kitchen.

She made her way slowly to the kitchen, her hair thick and wet around her face, her skin white and pasty, and she tried for a smile.

He was completely dressed, thank God. He was whistling and looked right at home.

“Good morning,” he said, looking up from the coffeepot. He studied her, then motioned to the chair. “Sit down before you collapse. I don’t know if I could pick you up. I’m pretty weak before I’ve had my morning injection of caffeine.”

She sat down and almost immediately listed to the left.

Taylor said, very slowly, very calmly, “You wore yourself out in the shower. I’m going to help you back to bed, all right?”

“The bed’s a mess and—”

“No, I changed the sheets while you were in the bathroom. I hope you don’t mind me poking around, but I had to find your linen closet. Everything’s pristine again.”

She looked up at him, the weakness, the fear, the pain of what she was all on her face. Oh, Jesus, he couldn’t bear it. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms and hold her. But she’d probably freak. Not yet, not yet.

Once in bed, he said, “I don’t like you having wet hair. Where’s your blow drier?”

She fell deeply asleep with the warmth of the hot air in her ear.

When the phone rang ten minutes later, she didn’t stir. Taylor caught it on the second ring.

It was Demos, demanding to know where the hell Eden was and who the hell this was.

“This is Taylor and she’s in bed, sick with a stomach flu. Cancel whatever it is she’s supposed to do, and call back tomorrow for a progress check.”

There was silence. “Taylor? You’re really there with her? She let you stay? In her apartment?”

How truthful should he be? Demos evidently knew something. Hell, he had to know what her real name was. Maybe that was all he knew.

“Yeah, I’m really here. I’ll be here until she can take care of herself.”

“That’s a surprise,” Demos said, and Taylor could picture the incredulity on the man’s face. “It really is. So you and Eden got along, huh? I’ll tell Glen, he’ll be furious with her. He fancies you himself.”

“Give Glen my apologies.”

Demos rang off after a few more comments about how light her schedule was, so no problem.

“She told me it was because models were people too and there was simply too much tempting food around during the holidays.”

“True. Well, good luck, Taylor. Ah, listen. You take good care of her, all right? No moves on her, you got that? I’ll call tomorrow.”

“No moves, Demos.”

He looked over at her as he lowered the phone. Who are you? he wondered silently.

On Sunday she still tired easily, but felt pretty much back to normal. He’d spent both Friday and Saturday nights with her. When she awoke Sunday morning lying against him, she didn’t leap away. She stayed where she was, warm and content, because she knew he wouldn’t hurt her.

They were on the point of going out because the Sunday afternoon was bright and clear and not too cold when the phone rang. Taylor motioned for her to sit down and answered it.

“Who is this?”

“My name is Taylor and I’m a friend of Eden’s.”

“Er, Eden. Oh, I see. This is her grandmother. May I speak with her?”

He handed over the phone. Eden said nothing of consequence and he knew she didn’t because he was there and she didn’t want him to know anything about her grandmother. It angered him.

When she hung up, he said, “She sounds very nice.”

“She is.”

“Where does she live?”

She hesitated; then, “In San Francisco.”

“Is she old?”

“Very.”

“Let’s go Christmas shopping.” They went to FAO Schwarz on Fifth Avenue because Eden said she had a niece.

“What’s her name?”

“Melissa. She’s three. She lives in Italy.”

“Your sister or your brother?”

“Half-sister.”

He accepted the withdrawal. They remained in the astonishing toy store to purchase presents for his two nephews and niece in Phoenix. When he picked up a kite with a dragon tail, she laughed. “It’s wonderful. I had one just like it when I was about six years old.”

“Oh,” he said. “I thought I’d get it for myself.”

She laughed some more and he grinned like a besotted fool. They were examining teddy bears when Taylor said, “Do you want to have children?”

“Oh, yes.” Then she jerked back, striking a display. At least twenty teddy bears went flying. FAO Schwarz salespeople were known for being unflappable; this accident was nothing to them. The bears were quickly rearranged. Lindsay felt like an idiot. She saw Taylor looking at her, a clear question in his eyes, and heard herself say, “Children are wonderful, really, but all of us can’t, that is, it’s impossible, and I almost accept it, but sometimes, just sometimes it makes me sad and—”

Taylor said easily, as he carefully checked over a set of outdoor darts, “I want kids too. I didn’t realize it until recently. Men must have a biological clock as well as women, because all of a sudden I could see myself washing a station wagon, a flea-bitten dog rushing around shaking off dirty water, and three kids all hollering and climbing over me.”

“It sounds nice.”

“I guess a wife would have to be lurking about in that picture somewhere.”

“Unless you’re a biological wonder. Maybe she’s the one hosing you down.”

He set the dart set back onto the shelf and moved to the toy army tanks. “You’re still a young woman, Eden. What are you, twenty-five?”

“Twenty-six.” She thought he knew that and frowned at him, wondering what he was thinking about now. He was fast and slippery as a snake, getting things out of her so effortlessly that it was terrifying.

“You’ve got lots of time. Come to think of it, I’m a young sprout myself, a mere thirty-two. Why don’t we both wait two or three more years?”

And she said, staring at the 1885 A. E. Mecklin antique train set just to her right, “All right.”

He lightly touched his fingers to her cheek. He leaned over and kissed her lightly, in the middle of FAO Schwarz. “Good,” he said.

She was exhausted. He was content. Together they’d spent two hundred dollars on the children’s toys, and both were delighted. On their way back to her apartment, Lindsay nearly in a stupor, Taylor, without too much difficulty got her to volunteer that she also had parents who lived in San Francisco. Progress, he thought, pleased, feeling not a bit guilty at taking advantage of her while she was still down.

She fell asleep during the Redskins–San Francisco 49ers game, once it was obvious that the Redskins would smash the 49ers. She slept, cuddled against his chest, his arms around her.

He left that night, not wanting to push her in any way. To his delight, she kissed him at the door. Not a passionate, soul-deep kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re very kind.” He walked home whistling. Kindness was just fine for a while.

They became a couple after her bout with stomach flu. It scared Lindsay when she thought about it, but she was so happy she refused to heed any inner warnings that he was still a man and he would want her and he was strong enough to do whatever he wanted to with her. They spent time with Enoch and Sheila. They even spent some evenings out with Demos and Glen and Demos and other women, all gorgeous, all beside him so that his reputation for being a ruthless playboy would be continued. Demos loved the “ruthless” part. A columnist had dubbed him that and he kept the clipping, now yellowing, on his desk, under glass.

Lindsay mailed Melissa’s Christmas present on December 4. Not ten minutes after she got back to her apartment, Dr. Gruska called. She had no idea how he had found out her unlisted number. She was sweating and clammy after she’d hung up on him. She called the phone company immediately and secured another unlisted number.

She said nothing to Taylor about the call, but she discovered she was watchful and felt low-grade fear whenever she came out of her apartment building. Evidently Dr. Gruska hadn’t discovered her address, thank God. She could handle him if he did come, she was certain she could, but she simply didn’t want to. She didn’t want to have to run again.

Christmas approached in a snowstorm that turned quickly into a blizzard and grounded Lindsay’s plane to San Francisco. She wasn’t going anywhere and she was delighted. She called up and gave her apologies. For the first time in her adult life she spent a quiet Christmas with a man. It was incredible, the feelings that poured through her. She gave him the newest smallest cell phone. It fit neatly into his shirt pocket. He programmed in her number the first thing. He gave her an Epilady razor, telling her that her razors were now his alone.

When Taylor handed her a box that announced Tiffany’s, Lindsay hesitated. Her hands began to tremble.

“Open it.”

She did, careful not to shred the paper, so careful, so exacting. So frightened. She slowly pulled back the lid to discover another, smaller box nestled inside. It was a ring box. Inside, settled firmly in lush black velvet, was a marquise diamond ring. She gasped aloud, she couldn’t help it. It was the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen in her life. And it was more than a ring. Much more. Oh, God. She looked over at him, frozen, scared, excited.

“Marry me, Eden. Marry me.”

She stared at him. She wanted to yell that she wasn’t Eden. He’d asked a woman who wasn’t real to marry him, a woman who was a lie, a fraud, a sham. She was afraid to touch the ring, afraid of what she’d say, afraid she’d fall apart and weep all over herself, all over him. She drew deep upon herself and said slowly, “I can’t marry you, Taylor, because I’m not what you think I am, or who you think I am.”

He smiled at that, and said, “It doesn’t matter that your name isn’t Eden and that it’s Lynn. Lynn is a nice name, a solid name, a name with substance. I can tolerate Lynn.”

“What?”

“When you were sick last month, Gayle slipped and called you Lynn, then broke it off and switched real fast to Eden. If you prefer Eden, I don’t care. Don’t you understand, I don’t give a damn.”

“I hate Eden. As for Lynn—”

“Well, then—”

“It’s more, much more, and I don’t know how to—You’re the one who doesn’t understand.”

He said nothing, forcing himself to wait, forcing himself to patience, endless patience. She remained silent, staring down at the ring. He rose to stir the burning logs in the fireplace. The room was warm and smelled of holly and pine tree and hot chocolate. He looked over at the small Christmas tree, sparkling with multicolor lights. Together they’d threaded strings of popcorn and argued how best to place the bulbs. He insisted that half the decorations be his—a motley assortment of bulbs his sister had given him a good ten years before, and ancient tinsel, tangled and faded, looking as if a cat had mangled it. A Santa Claus bulb without a beard hung next to a very expensive antique Victorian Santa. He grinned every time he looked at the two of them side by side. It was the most beautiful tree he’d ever seen. He remained silent. The firelight made her candlelit living room glow and shimmer. He’d never been more scared in his life. Or more certain. He slipped the poker back in its rack, pulled the mesh back across the fireplace opening, then returned to join her on the floor. He sat opposite her, not next to her. He had all evening to get what he wanted.

“The ring is beautiful, Taylor.”

“Yes. I wanted the ring to be beautiful since I want it on your finger for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m very surprised. I wasn’t expecting—”

“A man to propose to you? A man who hasn’t yet even told you he loves you? You’re right. I didn’t do it right. I love you Lynn/Eden. Marry me.”

She was silent, not looking at him now.

“I could get on my knees and ask you again, but you’re already sitting on the floor so I don’t think it would have much romantic impact.”

“Oh, no, no.”

“Also, I didn’t have to sell my car to pay for the ring. I do have sufficient funds to keep us both very comfortably. My job is steady and the hours aren’t bad, except from time to time, as you already know.”

She was still silent, seemingly studying the nap of the carpet.

“If you want to keep modeling, that’s fine with me. If you want to sit on your rear end and eat chocolates all day, why, I’ll bring you a box of Fanny Farmer pecan turtles every night. If you want to start a family right away, that’s also fine. I’m easy, sweetheart. Whatever you want. I just want you to be happy. With me.”

His heart pounded. His mouth felt dry as dust. He wondered about the nap on the carpet. It must be fascinating, because now she was running her fingers against the grain. Why didn’t she say something, dammit? But she didn’t. He forged ahead. “If you want to stay here, I’ll move in with you. Or if you prefer my apartment, we can live there. However, I think the two of us together need more room. I think we should find a new apartment. I like the East Side, but the West Side is fine with me. I know a number of great hangouts over there. As I said, I’m easy. Whatever you want.”

Still she looked shell-shocked. She looked incapable of speech.

“Do you love me, Eden?”

She looked up at him then, so still she could have been a statue. She drew a deep breath and said, “I don’t know about love. I do know, though, that you’re miraculous, Taylor.”

He blinked at her. “You’re always surprising me,” he said, and that was true.

“I mean it. I never realized before that a man like you could even exist.”

“Why not?”

Too much too fast, he realized, and wanted to kick himself. Too straightforward, punching too quickly.

She merely shrugged. She still held the ring box. She hadn’t touched the ring inside.

“I guess you could say I haven’t had many good experiences with men.”

“They’re not me, these other men.”

“No,” she said. “They’re not. They weren’t.”

“Because I’m miraculous and I don’t ever want you to forget it. I also love you.”

He saw the fear in her and wished he could have the man or men who’d done this to her. And what had this man or these men done? His hands clenched into fists.

Tears were in her eyes. “I can’t. Not yet. I’m sorry, Taylor—”

He raised his hand and said easily, “I’ve got an idea. Tell me true now. Have you enjoyed having me around for the past month and a half?”

“Yes.”

“Have I ever frightened you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me rephrase that. Do you trust me now more than you did two weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me not to hold you down and rape you?”

Hesitation; then, “Yes.”

Okay, he thought, she’d probably been raped. And she’d been in Paris in April nine years ago. He could check that out—French newspapers, magazines—to see if what had happened to her had happened there. He had a war to win and he couldn’t afford to have niggling scruples, not anymore. “Are you remembering how I slept with you for two nights? Are you remembering how you woke up in my arms?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t try anything, did I?”

“Maybe you were afraid I’d vomit on you.”

He grinned at that. “Could be, but I don’t think so. I was hard as a rock all night. I’m talking about my penis, in case you don’t know. But, Eden, it didn’t matter and it won’t matter. I would never do anything to hurt you, and that includes forcing any kind of sex on you that you don’t want.”

“Stop, Taylor, just stop! It’s not that. It’s just that I can’t—I know what you—that all men want sex and they want it often, but I can’t, I just can’t—”

“Not now,” he said easily. “No problem. I’m not blind or stupid, Eden. I have known for a good while that you don’t want to have anything to do with me, woman to man. No, don’t look so surprised. I won’t lie to you. In fact, it would be stupid for me to try to lie to you because when I kiss you, I know you can feel how hard I am, especially when you’re wearing your high heels. And we’re not just nose to nose. We’re everything to everything. It drives me crazy. I want you so bad I hurt with it. But I’m not a raving hormonal teenage boy, nor am I a macho fool. I want you the woman, not just your body. Can you possibly understand that?”

No, he saw, quickly enough, she didn’t understand that.

“No matter. We’ll work on it.”

She made a move to thrust the ring box toward him; then, just as quickly, she drew it back again. He was greatly pleased with the show of indecision.

“The ring is yours, Eden, just as I am also yours. You toss the ring away and I’m tossed away with it. You keep it, you also keep me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Listen to me, I’ve got an offer.” He sat back against the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked very big, very strong, very much a man, and she found herself, having focused on that, pulling back.

“You can go in the other room if it makes you feel any safer,” Taylor said mildly. “Is this position frightening you? No, okay, then. Ah, you’re looking surprised again. I know you, at least I’m coming to know you more every day. I have to walk on egg shells around you. Well, it’s tough and I’m getting tired of it, so I propose that we come to grips with things.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re still here? You’ve decided to show some courage? You’re sure I won’t jump on you?”

“Stop it, damn you!” She picked up the box that had held his portable phone and threw it at him. It hit him square on the chin.

“Good shot. Thank God you didn’t break it. Here’s my offer: I want to move in with you tomorrow. We’ll be roommates, not lovers. We’ll be as close as any two people can be without having sex. No sex, Eden, no sex until you’re ready. That’s a promise.”

“Where will you sleep?”

“With you. Just like we did those two nights.”

Her brow furrowed and she was chewing on her lower lip. Good, he thought, just maybe I’ve got her.

“That would mean you’d discover all my bad habits,” she said.

“I’ve got bunches myself. We’d be in this together. Do you floss every morning or every night?”

“Night.”

“I’m morning. Do you snore like a pig?”

“I don’t know,” she said with perfect seriousness. “I’ve never heard myself. Do you?”

“Only when I’m stressed out or dog-tired. I run three mornings a week and work out at Mueller’s Gym up on Sixty-sixth another two days. I won’t get fat on you. I’m also a pretty good cook.”

“I won’t get fat either,” she said.

“Yeah, but is that through personal commitment or because you have to starve yourself to make a living? Will you get fat when you stop modeling?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never had a problem before.”

He smiled at her. “Good. I think we’ve got all the bases covered.”

“I don’t cook very well.”

“No problem. Since you don’t eat, why bother learning? I do great things with lettuce and tofu and pork chops.”

“All right.”

“Give me the ring.” He held out his hand.

She handed him the box.

He pulled the exquisite ring from its bed. “Give me your left hand.”

She hesitated, and he just waited, his hand still out, palm up.

She thrust her left hand at him. He held the beautiful ring out, staring down at it as he slid it on her finger. It was a tight fit, a very tight fit, and she had to help him, wincing as she forced it over her knuckle. He’d rather thought a size five would do the trick.

“Good, it’ll be a real pain to get the thing off. If you’re ever really pissed at me and want to throw it in my face, you’ll have trouble doing it immediately, in the heat of passion, so to speak. That, sweetheart, will give you time to cool down and me to talk you out of your snit.”

“You’re miraculous, Taylor. You’re also a devious smart-ass.”

“Tell me more. Come here now, I want to hug you.”

She came between his legs, stretched out, and leaned back against his chest, and his arms came around her waist. He kissed the top of her head. “You are now my fiancée. It’s official. How does that sound?”

“Miraculous.”

He laughed, pulled her hair back, and bit her earlobe.

“Taylor? Why don’t you stay tonight?”

He wondered if she was pressed close to him to feel how hard he was. “All right,” he said. “We’ve got our Christmas stocking for tomorrow morning. It’ll be nice not to have to come trudging over here in the cold and snow at seven o’clock in the morning. This way, we can sit in bed, drink cocoa, and attack the stockings whenever we feel like it.”

“I can’t imagine it,” she said, her voice low and just slightly bewildered and disbelieving.

“I can,” he said, and kissed her earlobe. “Now I can imagine it very easily.”

“The last time I had a Christmas stocking, I was eleven years old.”

“Oh, yeah? You want a real sob story? The last time anyone gave me a Christmas stocking, I was in the police academy and it was my instructor. Mean bugger, my instructor. Lots of wrapped goodies—things like hand grenades, tear-gas canisters, a toy gun, bullets, handcuffs, you wouldn’t believe those handcuffs, all fur-lined—Lord, she was something else, my instructor, especially with those handcuffs. Her name was Marlene ‘Ball Buster’ Jakoby and she was—”

Lindsay turned and hit him as hard as she could in the stomach. “Handcuffs!”

“Yes, ma’am, I was a slave for a day. It wasn’t bad though—the handcuffs were lined with this really soft material.”

She looked thoughtful and Taylor groaned.