Color of Love (12 page)

But Allen only shook his head and continued to kiss her.

“Don’t say anything,” he mumbled, his mouth making its way along her jaw to her neck and throat.

Leah put the basket and pitcher down awkwardly, nearly spilling the contents of both. Allen started coaxing her backward toward the stairs. She resisted.

“Allen. …”

He stopped. “What’s the problem? What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked, rubbing her arms.

The caress only made Leah feel chilled. And she didn’t have a more concrete answer than: it didn’t feel right. She shrugged. “Can’t you just slow down? Can’t we sit for a while and talk?”

“We’ve been talking all evening.”

“Not to me. You had almost nothing to say to me all during dinner.”

“Your sister and that fool talked enough for all of us.”

Leah frowned. “Why do you call Steven a fool?”

“Because he’s a joke.”

“Then why are you letting him get to you?”

Allen sighed and didn’t answer. Instead he silently took her hand and led the way up the stairs to her room. Leah followed, but her trepidation was building. In her room Allen again took her into his arms, and his kisses became intense and demanding, not allowing her a moment to think.

Leah might have softened enough to get into the mood, but Allen began to pull impatiently at her clothing.

“I’ll do it,” she murmured, resigned.

Leah tried to slow him down. She helped to unbutton the dress and removed her underwear while Allen rumbled out of his own clothing and swiftly brought her down onto the bed. Leah thought that now Allen would proceed as he always did—building up his passion, trying to bring her along. She hoped that he would now pay attention to her. But he didn’t.

With no preliminaries, no soft touches, Allen brought them together before her body was ready. Leah held onto his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh, bracing herself against his sudden hardness and the dry friction with each thrust of his hips. Leah began twisting her body, arching it to pull away.

“Oh, my God. …” she moaned. She was uncomfortable. And scared.

She said Allen’s name twice. He didn’t seem to hear.

Allen buried his face in her neck, grunting and hissing. Leah didn’t understand what demon was driving him. She didn’t want to do this, and certainly not this way. Allen was not forcing her, but he was insistent. Leah couldn’t stop him. She lay there beneath him totally left out and uninvolved, feeling the inside of her vagina burn and pull roughly against the agitation of his penis.

His mouth searched for hers, but Leah kept her lips pressed tightly closed, protecting the least vulnerable spot of her body. He was mumbling incoherently. Angry words, blurred and unintelligible as his mouth pressed to hers. He pushed into her one last time, and Leah gritted her teeth against the pressure.

“It … hurts. You’re hurting me …” she whispered.

But it was all over. Allen collapsed on top of her and breathed heavily. After several minutes he rolled away, and Leah suddenly felt ice cold as the air in the room hit her skin. She lay stunned for a moment and then quickly struggled off the bed. She hurried into the bathroom in the hall and locked herself in.

There she washed herself over and over with hot water. She splashed her face with cold water until goose-flesh raised on her arms and legs, and she shivered uncontrollably. Rage churned in her stomach. She fought against being sick. Leah wrapped a robe around herself and slowly returned to the bedroom.

She found Allen seated on the side of the bed, holding his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. Leah stared coldly at him.

“I want you to get dressed and leave,” she said in a low voice shaky with emotion. “I don’t want you to talk, I don’t want you to say anything. Just get out.”

Allen looked up. “Leah …”

Leah turned her back and squeezed her eyes closed. “Get out!” she said, covering her ears.

She waited in the hallway until she heard Allen finish dressing. He left her room and she followed as he descended to the first floor. Allen didn’t try to say anything more as he got his overcoat.

He hesitated only a moment at the door that Leah held open for him. She hoped that he could see by her erectly held body, the closed expression, that to ask for forgiveness was pointless. He left quietly.

Something else had hurt Leah far more than Allen’s indifferent use of her body, his total lack of gentleness. In his single-mindedness she felt she had become invisible again. Just like that time with the stranger who’d accosted her in a stairwell, who’d made her a victim. Allen was not a malicious person, or one given to violence, but Leah realized that she could have been anyone in that bed with him tonight. She had been the unwilling recipient of his frustration and of a desire that had nothing to do with her.

For that she could never forgive him.

Leah had nothing to say to Gail when her sister returned home the next morning. She had too many feelings of her own to work out to consider anyone else’s. If Gail thought Leah’s behavior odd, she did not mention it.

Leah spent two days working on the knots of anxiety in her stomach. She tried to understand what she’d done to provoke Allen’s aggression and finally convinced herself that she’d done nothing at all. But the weekend after Thanksgiving was a nightmare of recriminations, and it wasn’t until late Sunday night that she began to relax.

The phone rang at nine-thirty, just as the thought of soaking in a scented bath seemed appealing. Leah had managed to find her balance again, but when she answered the phone and heard Allen rush into an apology on the other end, she quickly hung up without saying a word.

Gail, with an arm full of freshly folded linens, stuck her head in her sister’s doorway. “That was a quick call. Who was it?”

Leah wondered if Gail could detect her rapid heartbeat or her anger. “Wrong number,” she murmured.

Allen called again on Wednesday at her office. Leah had just finished a production meeting with Jill, Mike, and several others. They were all pleased with the way the spring line of books was shaping up. The department was a month ahead of schedule, and bonuses for Christmas were promised to everyone. Leah had personally been complimented by a senior editor for an innovative jacket idea. So she was feeling much more charitable when Allen’s call came in just before lunch. But that quickly changed.

“Leah? This is Allen. Please don’t hang up,” he pleaded.

Leah had been about to do just that but paused. She was curious about what Allen could say that would make things better.

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry about last week. It was a shitty thing to do and. … I feel like a bastard.”

Leah took a deep breath. “Good. You were a bastard,” she said tightly. “I don’t know if I want to talk to you yet, Allen.”

“Did I … hurt you?” he asked.

Leah turned her back to the studio, not wanting anyone to hear. “Yes,” she hissed. How could he not know that he had?

“Look, I’ll make it up to you. I really will, Leah. I owe you more than an apology. I know—”

“Allen, don’t—”

“The evening was ruined and it was all my fault—”

“Stop …” Leah moaned.

He did. For a long moment there was silence on both ends of the line. Leah rubbed her temple. She wished he hadn’t called. She wished she knew how to handle this. She wished there was someone to talk to about this. No, not Gail.

“Can I take you to dinner?” Allen asked quietly.

Leah wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Dinner? He must be kidding. “No, Allen. I don’t think so. Dinner is not going to make me feel better.”

“Please, Leah. I know you’re upset, but give me a chance to make it up.
Please
…”

Leah slowly raised her head. There was real anxiety in his voice. Maybe he really was sorry. Maybe now he’d realize just how much he’d come to take her for granted.

“How about Friday?” he asked when the pause continued.

“All right,” she whispered, giving in.

“Good. That’s good. How about I pick you up from work? How’s six?”

“Six is fine,” she mumbled, and slowly hung up the phone.

She felt strange, as though all her feelings had left her body and she was nothing more than an empty shell. She would move and function and get things done. But it wasn’t really all of her, present and accounted for.

Leah stared out the studio window at the river. The call from Allen had not helped at all. Perhaps her anger wasn’t real. Perhaps all through the two-year relationship with Allen she’d kept it reined in. It didn’t really seem that he was taking this seriously. Or her. Shouldn’t he be more repentant? Shouldn’t she be feeling more vindicated?

Leah wanted to run, to escape. She wasn’t sure she and Allen could bridge her confusion and doubt. They’d have dinner to soothe his guilt. Leah would forgive him.

And then what?

“I’m going out with Allen Friday night,” Leah informed her sister that evening as they stood in the kitchen trying to decide what to have for dinner.

“Oh? What brought that on? I can’t remember the last time Allen took you anywhere,” Gail said sarcastically.

Leah shrugged. She felt listless. “Then it’s a nice change.”

“Isn’t he happy with your cooking anymore?”

“My cooking has nothing to do with it!” Leah snapped. She looked quickly at Gail, stunned at her own outburst. But although Gail did seem surprised, Leah gave her no opportunity to question her. “Why don’t we order in for dinner?” she suggested, reaching for one of many takeout menus attached to the refrigerator door. Leah examined one menu’s choices, aware that her sister stood behind her. “Do you have a preference?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter. Pick what you want.” Gail poured herself a glass of water from the tap, took only a sip, and poured the rest down the sink. “Are you two celebrating something? Where is Allen taking you to dinner?” she asked.

Leah put the menu aside and looked at Gail with exasperation. “I don’t know,” she answered impatiently. “And you know what? It’s not all that important to me.
Not,
apparently, as much as it is to you. Tell you what, as soon as I find out I’ll make sure you know, okay?”

Gail shrugged. “You don’t have to get uppity. I was just curious.”

“Then I guess I just don’t understand all this curiosity in where I might be having dinner with my … with Allen. I’m ordering lasagna and garlic knots. What do you want?”

“Shrimp with tofu in oyster sauce,” Gail said.

Her exasperation growing, Leah turned on her sister. She was about to ask what was the problem when she saw the bright expression on Gail’s face. It was playful and teasing. It had been a very long time since they’d both been contrary just for the sake of getting a rise out of each other.

“Girl, you drive me crazy,” Leah said easily, tossing the paper menu at her sister. “I thought we were ordering dinner?”

“Pizza,” Gail said with a sudden cheeriness that wasn’t used often.

Leah laughed and nodded. “With everything.”

Leah looked at the clock on the opposite wall from her worktable. It was almost five-thirty, and Allen would be there soon. She bent over her sketch pad again, finishing the caricature she’d started. It was based on a portrait of her father, and was one of a series she’d been working on for some time. It had started just for fun, but when word got out that she was good at it, she had found herself giving some of the sketches away as gifts. She’d been working for a while on a series of faces. Some were almost caricatures, like the one of Mike Berger with his worst physical qualities exaggerated. The over-styled hair, the pouch, the overbite. But at the moment Leah couldn’t enjoy the humor or satisfaction of her work. She was too busy trying not to be nervous about seeing Allen.

When she heard the voices outside the studio door, Allen’s and Jill’s, Leah put the sketch away with the others she’d completed and cleared away her materials. It wasn’t until Leah actually saw Allen that she realized that agreeing to dinner so soon had not been a good idea. He was impeccably dressed as always. He appeared sophisticated and urbane, personable and intelligent. He was the picture of desirable black manhood—and she didn’t really want to see him. She was no longer angry with Allen, but she was wary of him.

Allen and Jill were talking amiably about a movie they’d both seen. Jill laughed at some comment and then called out to Leah, “Your prince is here.”

Allen’s expression was closed and he stood waiting. Leah knew she had to make the first move. Allen had apologized to her, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to repeat himself.

“Ready?” was all she asked. Her smile was tight and her insides were in turmoil.

Allen did take her to a very nice restaurant, and it was obvious that, at least tonight, money was no object. He was very careful and solicitous of her needs. He played with her slender fingers and leaned close to her across the table. It was like when they’d first started dating and he’d made her feel so special. They lingered over dinner, and although the fiasco of Thanksgiving was carefully avoided in conversation, it was clear by the general strain of the evening that it was not forgotten.

Leah answered all of his questions automatically, or smiled at the appropriate moment to some remark he’d made. But while she commented on this and that, she took time to study him dispassionately.

She tried to see in him what it was she liked and didn’t like. She was trying to figure out if there was any point in even continuing to see him beyond the evening. Leah used to have a halfhearted fantasy about Allen when they’d first met. She thought that he’d turn out to be just the person she wanted and needed in her life. Not necessarily marriage—Leah had never been sure that marriage was what she wanted—but at least that he’d occupy some emotional corner of her life. She thought Allen would be a companion, a good friend and lover. But Thanksgiving night had proven that companionship and friendship had never been established between them.

Dinner was almost over before Leah allowed herself to really feel comfortable with Allen, because it took her that long to remember that at the end of the night she could go home alone if she wanted.