The Slipper (25 page)

“You'll make the right choice,” Julie told her.

“That's what scares me. What about you and Doug? He'll be getting his degree the same time I get my diploma. You two made any plans yet?”

“We—we haven't discussed it,” Julie replied. “Doug's the top man in his class, and—and I know he's received offers from various law firms, but he hasn't—he hasn't decided yet just exactly what he's going to do. He doesn't want to rush into anything.”

“That's perfectly understandable. It's a big step.”

“I—whatever happens, I'm going to miss you,” Julie said as they left the restaurant a few minutes later.

“Oh, we're gonna keep in close touch,” Nora informed her. “We're sisters, remember? An exclusive sorority of three. I'll walk you to the library, sweetie, and then I've got to hit the books. Three finals next week.”

Sunday morning at ten Brian picked her up in his battered blue convertible, a picnic hamper in the backseat. They drove thirty-five miles out of town to a small state park with trees and a lake. It was a glorious day, the sky a towering canopy of pale, pale blue, brilliant sunshine bathing grassy green lawns and making shimmery silver reflections on the water. Brian followed a twisting road through the trees until they finally came to a remote, secluded spot far removed from the area where families gathered and students swam. He spread two blankets on the grass near the water's edge while Nora looked around her with a skeptical eye. They were on a small crescent of land, completely surrounded by trees. It was as private as private could be and she suspected that Brian had something in mind besides just a picnic. He took the hamper out of the car. He wore scuffed loafers without socks, black Bermuda shorts and a light-blue nylon pullover.

“I'm not so sure about this,” she said doubtfully. “Sure there aren't any bears in those woods?”

“Quite sure,” he said.

“Snakes?”

“Only a few.”

“I've never
been
on a picnic. I'm not so sure I'm gonna like it.”

“You're gonna love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“I'm not really the outdoorsy type, you know.”

“I'll break you in gently.”

“Jesus, you're not one of those rugged males always trooping off on camping trips, are you? Hunting, fishing, crap like that?”

“Just an occasional picnic,” he assured her.

She watched with some fascination as he kicked off his loafers, whipped off his pullover and unzipped the Bermuda shorts. He was wearing a dark-blue swimming suit beneath them. He looked at Nora in her white sandals and flowered sundress and grinned.

“Come on, let's go swimming.”

“I don't swim, and I don't have a suit.”

“I'll teach you to swim, and you don't need a suit.”

“No?”

“No. The one you were born with will do.”

“Smart-ass.”

“Come on. I'll teach you a few strokes.”

“Sounds tempting. But it isn't fair.
You
have a suit, and—”

“That's remedied easily enough.”

He pulled off his swimming suit and grabbed Nora's wrist and pulled her toward the water and she shrieked and he laughed and she finally took off sandals, sundress and undies and they went into the water and Nora shrieked again because it was so cold. They frolicked for over an hour, splashing, ducking each other, carrying on like two carefree children. Brian attempted to give her lessons but she was hopeless, totally inept, always sinking the moment he let go of her. He finally gave up and gave her a big kiss. Exhausted, elated, Nora got out of the water and dried herself off with one of the towels he'd brought and Brian didn't bother with a towel. He stretched out in the sun and let its bright rays do the job for him. He fell asleep and after a while she tickled his nose with a blade of grass and he groaned and opened his eyes and grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his arms and they made love for quite some time there on the grass as birds called and leaves rustled lightly in the breeze.

They went back into the water afterwards and then dried off and dressed and sat down on the blankets to enjoy the repast he'd provided, and what a repast it was. There were pastrami sandwiches on rye and turkey sandwiches on whole wheat and potato salad and deviled eggs and olives and delicious chocolate fudge cake and a thermos of milk and a thermos of cold lemonade. Nora asked Brian where on earth he'd gotten the food, surely he hadn't prepared it himself, and he grinned sheepishly and confessed that Mrs. Giliberto from the mom-and-pop store near his apartment had fixed everything up for him for an exorbitant fee and let him borrow the hamper as well. He
could
cook though, he confessed, and she said it was just as well as she couldn't open a can of beans without performing a sudden appendectomy. Brian chuckled.

“You think I'm kidding? When I was twelve years old I went into the kitchen and started to open a can and the opener slipped and Irving had to rush me to the emergency ward. They took fourteen stitches. To this day Sadie throws herself in front of the door if I even
look
like I'm going into the kitchen.”

“Poor baby,” he murmured.

“I can't cook, I can't sew, I can't iron, I'm a lousy housekeeper and can't balance a checkbook or do any of the things a good little wife is supposed to be able to do with ease. Let's face it, I'm a fantastic lay, but I'd make a rotten helpmate.”

“That's a matter of opinion.”

“You want a wife who'd scorch your shirts, give you indigestion and let all your socks get full of holes?”

“I want you,” he said simply.

Nora folded her napkin and looked at him. He had finished eating, too, and was placing things neatly back into the hamper. Sunlight burnished his hair and a heavy wave tilted across his brow. You're a bloody fool, Nora Levin, she told herself. Grab him. Grab him while you've got the chance. If you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your life.

“Why, Brian?” she asked, and her voice was serious. “Why me?”

“Because I love you,” he said.

“Why? I'm not beautiful. I'm not well bred. I'm foul-mouthed and flashy, pushy, neurotic, consumed with ambition, and God knows I'm not pure. There were a lot of boys before you. A lot. It's not something I'm particularly proud of, but it happens to be a fact.”

“I know about the other boys, Nora. I understand. You were insecure. You were trying to find yourself.”

“That's one way of putting it. You could have any girl you wanted, someone fabulous.”

“I want you, and I happen to think you're fabulous as hell.”

“Yeah?”

“You talk tough, but you've got the kindest heart of anyone I know. You're not a raving beauty, no, but you're real and you make all the beauties look like so much plastic. You're warm and funny and vulnerable and I'd like to spend the rest of my life taking care of you.”

“I don't want someone to take care of me, Brian. I want to write.”

“You can still write.”

“When? After the laundry is done? After the kids are old enough to attend school?”

“Lots of wives do things like that in their spare time—write, paint, make pottery. I
want
you to be creative.”

“Sure you do. In my spare time.”

“I want you to have outside interests.”

But you'll never understand that writing is as important to me as engineering is to you. Maybe even more so. It's a consuming need, something I've got to do, as necessary as breathing. It could never be an “outside interest.” Jesus, how easy it would be if I were conventional and only had to make the conventional choices. Big church wedding or small affair. This china pattern or another one. Why do I have to be so goddamned driven? Why can't I revel in the miracle of this man and forget those crazy dreams? Who the hell needs the slipper when you've got Prince Charming in the palm of your hand?

“I love you,” he said.

“I know.”

“You love me, too.”

“I suppose I do.”

“Then—”

“We're from two different worlds, Brian. I know that sounds trite as hell, but it happens to be true. I'm not New Rochelle, I never could be. I'll always be Brooklyn.”

“That doesn't matter to me.”

“It matters to your parents.”

“They don't know you. When they do, they'll love you just as I do.”

“Sure,” she said.

“I want to make you happy, Nora. I think I can.”

“Maybe you could, but—I'm not what you need, Brian. I'm not sure
I
could make
you
happy.”

“It's a risk I'm willing to take.”

“That's mighty big of you, pal.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do.”

“I want to marry you.”

“So you've implied.”

“I won't press. I promised I'd wait till graduation for your answer, and I will, but I'm getting itchy.”

“Are you?”

Brian nodded and smiled and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her for a long, long time, and she ran her palms up his back and over his shoulders, feeling smooth musculature beneath the nylon. His kiss was tender and firm and loving, yes, loving. She knew now the true meaning of that euphemism “make love,” for Brian made love to her, masterful yet tender, hungry yet caring. She loved his taste, his smell, his strength, his warmth, and a wonderful abandon possessed her as his arms crushed her close, as his lips continued to press and probe. How glorious to contemplate having him every day and every night, to wake up in his arms every morning.

Brian lifted his lips, his eyes full of mischief.

“I'm also getting horny again,” he said.

“I noticed that.”

“You look so fetching in that sundress.”

“So fetching you want to rip it off me, right?”

“Something like that.”

“It's what—three o'clock? We've got plenty of time. Rip away, big fellow.”

Nora felt gloriously replete as they drove back to Claymore. She sat very close to him, his right arm curled around her shoulders as he cruised leisurely down the highway. The sun went down and the darkening gray sky was blurry with fading pink-and-amethyst banners. It had been a wonderful day, and she doubted if she would ever in her life be happier than she was at this moment. One day, she knew, she would look back on this moment—the two of them side by side and silent, content, the motor purring, the wind ruffling her hair, colors blurring against the gray—and it would be as beautiful in memory as it was in reality. Yet she was still no closer to her decision. She was still torn, uncertain and uneasy. She would think about it later. Now she was content to savor the ashes of aftermath and the beauty still glowing inside.

Night had fallen when they reached Claymore. He took her directly back to the dorm. Both of them had exams the next day, and both needed to study. Nora found it extremely difficult to concentrate on the books, but she passed the exam with flying colors and was feeling quite chipper as she returned to the dorm at two o'clock in the afternoon. The mail had arrived. She carried hers up to her room.

Another
letter from Sadie. More guilt. Four more bills. Thank God she'd sold the story to
True Confessions
. A copy of
The Atlantic Monthly
. A flyer from the Sandra Dee Shoppe. Terrific sale on summer duds, come see us soon. A letter from New York City. From New York City! At last! She stared at the return address, dazed. He had written at last! Nora sat down on the edge of her bed to catch her breath, nervous as hell now. What if he didn't like the book? Her hands trembled as she ripped open the envelope.

ROSS SHERIDAN LITERARY AGENCY

44 East 41st Street

New York, New York

May 19, 1958

Miss Nora Levin

Thurston Hall

Claymore University

Claymore, Indiana

Dear Miss Levin:

It is with a great deal of interest that we have read your manuscript,
This Heaven, This Hell
. It reveals an astute understanding of human nature and has a compelling narrative flow. Although it needs revision and is perhaps a bit too sexually graphic for today's market, it nevertheless shows a fresh and exciting new talent.

In your cover letter, you mentioned you would be in New York early next month. If it is convenient, I would very much like to talk with you about your writing and your future with the Ross Sheridan agency. I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Sincerely,

Ross Sheridan

rs/mb

Nora read the letter several more times before finally folding it and putting it back into the mangled envelope. Excitement swept over her and she wanted to shout, she wanted to sing, she wanted to break into a dance. The excitement soon waned, eclipsed by sorrow and a sense of loss, dread, too. It wasn't going to be easy to break the news to Brian.