“Doesn’t matter. It’s you, that’s all.”
How did he do that? It’s you, that’s all. It’s you, Vivian, and whatever is inside you, whatever beauty or corruption, whatever virtue or vice, I must love.
What could I say to that? There was no answer in the world.
“Let me make you happy, Vivian.”
“I am happy.”
“Happier, then.” He plucked at the buttons on my blouse. “Tell me. What do you do at that magazine of yours?”
“I check facts. When I grow up, I want to write articles, features, the ones right there on the front cover, with my byline underneath in thick letters.”
“Sounds very Vivian-like. I can’t wait to read them. In the meantime, here’s a fact you can check.” He kissed the hollow where my neck and shoulder met. My skin shook at the familiarity of his lips. I loved the mintiness of his shampoo, the scrubbed warmth of him. I closed my eyes.
Fine, then. I was no saint. Why nail myself to the cross when Doctor Paul was right here, my Doctor Paul, ready to love me, taking nothing away from Gogo that had never really been hers to begin with?
I took Doctor Paul’s willing hand and moved it to my willing breast.
At which point, as if God himself were delivering me a thunderbolt upside the head to adjust my moral philosophy, a knock shook the hollow panel of my bedroom door.
“Shh.” Doctor Paul moved the suitcase to the floor and laid me back on the bed. The startled mattress groaned out beneath us.
“What is it?” I gasped.
Sally’s voice. “Telephone for you!”
Doctor Paul, growling in my ear: “Tell her you’ll call back.”
“I’ll call back!”
Lips on my breast. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!”
Footsteps. Silence. I put my hands to Doctor Paul’s lapels and struggled him out of his unnecessary jacket. He was smiling, light with relief. He threw the jacket on the floor and cradled my face and kissed me.
Sally again. Bored and urgent. “Vivian! It’s your friend Gogo. She says it’s important.”
Gogo.
My hands froze in Doctor Paul’s hair.
“Vivian, no. Call her back. She’ll be fine. She’s stronger than you think.”
Just like that, in a blink of the eternal eye, Doctor Paul’s weight atop me was intolerable. I scrabbled at his chest and pushed him up.
“Vivian—”
But I was already buttoning up my guilty blouse, already straightening my telltale hair. I threw open the door and ran to the telephone.
“Gogo.”
“Oh, Vivs.” Her tears were flooding so fast, they nearly ran down the telephone line to wet my hand.
“Gogo, what happened?”
“He said . . .” Hiccup. “He said . . .” Hiccup.
“He didn’t propose?”
“No! He said . . .” Hiccup.
I lowered myself into the chair and rested my cheek against my arm. My skin still returned the imprint of Paul’s lips; the tips of my breasts still tingled without remorse. Nerves, hormones: they had no conscience. I looked out the window and wanted to throw myself into the courtyard. “Oh, Gogo. Oh, sweetie pie.”
“What’s wrong with me, Vivs? Why doesn’t anyone want to marry me?”
I heard Doctor Paul’s words in my head. “Oh, honey, because they’re idiots. They think they want something else, but they’re wrong. They want something exciting, and they don’t understand that—”
“I’m not exciting?”
“You are exciting. To the right man. The right man will come along, Gogo. A smart, wonderful man who—”
“Are you crying, too, Vivs?”
“Yes, Gogo. I’m crying, too. I’m so sorry. So . . . God, so sorry.” I looked up, and there was Doctor Paul, leaning against the door frame, arms folded, shirt untucked. His face had gone all heavy and confounded. My bed hovered in the tiny Manhattan space behind him.
“The worst—” Hiccup. “The worst of it was that he was so nice.”
“Nice.”
“He was so k—” Hiccup. “Kind. He kept telling me how much he cared for me, how much he wanted me to be happy. I thought . . . I thought he’d pull out the ring any minute. And then lunch was over, and we got up, and . . . He kissed my cheek, Vivs. My cheek!” Flooding anew. “And then I realized what he meant. Happy! How could I ever be happy without him?”
My eyes shot a stream of gamma rays straight through the frontal bone of Doctor Paul’s skull. “Gogo, let me come to you. You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Rufus.”
“Jesus, Gogo. Your teddy bear is not enough. You need a martini. You need five martinis. You need—”
“Vivs, stop.”
“You need to be taken out and gotten thoroughly drunk, and then we’ll—”
“Vivs, stop. I’m not like you. I just need—” Sniff. “I just need a good cry, that’s all. I’ll be fine. I really will.”
“Forgive me, but your strategy doesn’t seem to be working. You should try mine.”