“Will you think about it at least? We couldn’t try it again until early next week anyway. Maybe by then you’ll be feeling more comfortable.”
She dipped her head lower. “I don’t know.”
“Marni?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing she should slip through her door and lock it tight, but was unable to move. When he curved one long forefinger under her chin and tipped it up, she resisted. He simply applied more pressure until at last she met his gaze.
“It’s still there,” he whispered. “You know that, don’t you?”
Eyes large and frightened, she nodded.
“Do we have to fight it?”
“I’m not ready.” She was whispering, too, not out of choice, but because she couldn’t seem to produce anything louder. Her heart was pounding, its beat reverberating through her limbs. “I don’t know if I’m … ready for this. I suffered so … last time …”
He was stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, a hand that had once known every inch of her in the most intimate detail. His blue eyes were clouded. “I suffered, too. You don’t know. I suffered, too, Marni. Do you think I want to go through that again?”
She swallowed hard, then shook her head.
“I wouldn’t suggest something I felt would hurt either of us.”
“Whatareyou suggesting?”
“Friday night. See me Friday night. There’s a party I have to go to, make a quick appearance at. I’d like you to come with me, then we can take off and do something—dinner, a movie, a ride through the park, I don’t care what, but I have to see you again.”
“Something’s screwed up here. I was always the one to do the chasing.”
“Because I was arrogant and cocksure, and so caught up in playing the role of the carefree bachelor that I didn’t know any better.” His thumb skated lightly over her lips. “I’m tired of playing, Marni. I’m too old for that now. I want to see you again. Ihaveto see you again…. How about it? Friday night?”
“I can’t promise you anything about the picture.”
“Friday night. No business, just fun. Please?”
If fourteen years ago anyone had told Marni that Web would be pleading with her to see him, she would never have believed it. If thirteen years ago, ten years ago, five or even one year ago anyone had told Marni that she’dbeseeing him again, she would never have believed it.
“Yes,” she said softly, knowing that there was no other choice she could possibly make. Web did something to her. He’dalwaysdone something to her. He made her feel things she’d never felt with another man. Shock, pain, shimmering physical awareness … she was alive. That, in itself, was a precious gift.
Chapter 4
The party was unbelievably raucous. Pop music throbbed through the air at ear-splitting decibels, aided and abetted by the glare of brightly colored floodlights and the sea of bodies contorting every which way in a tempest of unleashed energy.
The host was a rock video producer whom Web had met several months before through a mutual subject of their respective lenses. The guest list ran the gamut from actors to singers to musicians to technicians.
Marni could barely distinguish one garishly lit face, one outrageously garbed body from another, and she would have felt lost had it not been for the umbilical cord of Web’s arm. He introduced her to those he knew and joined her in greeting others he was meeting for the first time. Marni couldn’t say that it was the most intellectually stimulating group she’d ever encountered, but then her own mind could barely function amid the pulsating hubbub of activity.
In hindsight, though, it was an educational hour that she spent with Web at the party. She learned that he was well-known, well-liked and held slightly in awe. She learned that he didn’t play kissy-and-huggy-and-isn’t-this-a-super-party, but maintained his dignity while appearing fully congenial and at ease. She learned that he disliked indiscriminate drinking and avoided the coke corner like the plague, that he hated Twisted Sister, abided Prince, admired Springsteen, and that he was not much more of a dancer than she was.
“I think I’m getting a migraine,” he finally yelled at her over the din. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He tugged her by the hand, leading her first for their-coats, then out the door. Once in the lobby, where the music was little more than a dull vibration, he leaned back against the wall. Their coats were slung over his shoulder. He hadn’t released her hand once. “Sorry about that,” he said, tipping his head sideways against the stucco wall to look at her. “I hadn’t realized it’d be so wild. Well, maybe I had, but I promised Malcolm I’d come. Are you still with me?”
She, too, was braced against the wall, savoring their escape. She gave his hand a squeeze and smiled. “A little wilted, but I’m still here.”
“I want you to know that these aren’t really my friends. I mean, Malcolm is, and I know enough of the others, but I don’t usually hang around with them in my free time. Even if I did it’d be one at a time and in a quieter setting, but I really do have other, more reputable friends…. What are you laughing at?”
“You. You were so confident back there, but all of a sudden you’re like a little boy, all nervous and apologetic.” She punctuated her words with a chiding headshake, but she was grinning. “I’m not your mother, Web. And I’m not here to stand in judgment on your friends and acquaintances.”
“I know, but … why is it I suspect that your friends are a little more … dignified?”
She grimaced. “Maybe because I’m the staid president of a staid corporation.”
