What is Love? (22 page)

“That means we
better get busy,” Rory said, placing a kiss on her neck.

“No!” Ellen said,
pushing him back. “No messing around.”

“Hah, hah,” Rory
laughed, shaking his head. “That’s funny.” Rory stood up and pulled her to her
feet. He put his arms around her. “When have you ever not wanted this?”

Ellen tried to
squirm out of his grip.

He held her tighter.
“You love to play games, don’t you?” he asked as he kissed her gently. “I can
play games too.” He kissed her again, only deeper. She softened beneath his
grip as her body stopped struggling. He kissed her neck, multiple kisses
sending a shiver through her body. She tried to stop, but it was only her mind
that wanted to stop; her body begged for more.

Ellen, who hadn’t
felt a man’s embrace—for how many long years—was in no condition to resist. She
touched his face, the smooth skin of his cheek united with rough stubble. His
neck, the firm skin and thick muscles. Her fingers slid down his chest,
experiencing the power in his muscles, the force behind his skin. He opened her
buttons, one at a time, with methodical suspension, kissing her breasts as they
were slowly revealed. Chills ripped through her, expanding into hunger, a long-forgotten
appetite. He kissed her lips again; slow, passionate kisses. Kisses demanding
response, wet and greedy with desire.

Pleasure rippled
through every cell in her body, making her ravenous and impatient for more. As
she was unbuttoning his shirt, the front door burst open.

“Hey kids, don’t let
me stop you,” Sienna said with a laugh.

Ellen released
herself from his grip. “We were just
 …”
she began, as a quick, scarlet heat flushed across her face and down her neck
as she closed her blouse.

“Yeah right,” Sienna
mocked and went into her room.

Rory grabbed Ellen’s
hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

“I shouldn’t,” she
said quietly, struggling to resist.

“Why?” he asked,
placing kisses on her neck. Rory kissed her lips.

“Jonathan, he
 …
I’m
 …
we’re
 …”
She tried to explain through kisses.

“Forget him,” he
said as he kissed her cheeks.

Ellen stopped and
pulled back. “But I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Rory
replied, still kissing her neck. “Just for tonight.”

“No. That’s what he
would do. I’m not like that.”

Rory stopped kissing
and let go of her. “Since when?”

“Since now. I want
this to work.”

“This
 …
with Jonathan.” Rory held her back
at arm’s length. “But we always do this—until you’re married, you said. And I
agreed.” Rory let go of her wrists. He put his arms around her waist, pulling
her closer. “I thought you liked this.” She stiffened and his arms dropped as
his voice faded, “What gives? Don’t you want this anymore?”

“Yes. I do. But—”
Ellen turned away. She couldn’t say what she was feeling, what she was
thinking. She struggled to make sense. “I feel guilty—bad. It isn’t right.”

“Oh, is that all?”
Rory threw her on the bed and straddled himself on top of her thighs. “Guilt, schmilt.
Don’t feel guilty. Feel bad because you’re such a bad girl.” He took his shirt
off.

Ellen looked at his
chest and his arms, fighting her desire to touch them. She felt a need so
primal, so raw—a need to have him hold her, to blend her body into his. She
closed her eyes to stop it, while her hands traced his skin.
This is what
Jonathan experienced when he was with Sam.
She struggled to resist the
desires building deep within her. She was better than this.

“Rory,” she
whispered. “I don’t think we should.”

“We should—you want
it.” He opened her shirt. “For old time’s sake. He won’t care.”

“He would if he
knew,” she replied.

“Don’t tell him
then,” he said with a Hollywood grin.

She pushed him off.
“No. I want an honest relationship. No lies. No deception.”

“Then you picked the
wrong man. He’s lying and he’s deceiving.”

“That’s different,
he’s
 …”
Ellen pulled her blouse
closed, unable to finish her sentence.

“Really?” Rory asked
and sat up, resting on his arms, causing his biceps to bulge in an erotic way.
“How is it different?”

“I want him. I want
him completely. I enjoy this—I do, but
 …”
Ellen turned and faced him. “I don’t love you.” Rory’s face dropped to a frown,
as if wounded. Ellen continued as her heart raced. Why did she find herself so
attracted to his body? Ellen turned away from temptation. “Not like that. I’m
sorry. I have to be honest. I can’t have sex when I’m not in love.”

“You could have
fooled me,” Rory snapped, reaching for his shirt. He studied her. “This isn’t
going anywhere, is it?” Rory pulled his shirt on. “Okay brat, call me if you
need me. If you feel horny and Mr. Flabby can’t satisfy you. I’m still your
plaything.”

“Rory, we shouldn’t
see each other anymore.”

“What’s gotten into
you? You’ve been acting like an uptight little snob lately.”

“I don’t want to see
you.” Ellen’s voice was firm and a bit too harsh. “You shouldn’t come by,” she
said, unable to look into his eyes.

He stared at her and
was about to speak, but stood silent, then turned toward the door.

Without a word, he
opened the door and walked out of the bedroom. She heard the front door slam.
Ellen buttoned up her shirt and stopped. For reasons she didn’t understand, it
felt bad rejecting him. It felt bad knowing she wouldn’t see him anymore.

Sam awoke to the
sound of the curtain around her bed being drawn open.

“Good morning, Mrs.
Horvath,” the male doctor said, looking at his chart and then at her.

Sam turned away.
“And how are you feeling?” the doctor asked, as he pulled the curtain closed.
He had the annoying enthusiasm of a car salesman.

“Perfect. Except for
one small thing,” Sam said, crossing her arms.

“What’s that?’

“That I’m not Mrs.
fucking Horvath!” she yelled. “And I’m sure as hell not this—”

“Not what?” the
doctor asked.

Sam pointed to her
body. “This
 …
this pathetic
body, this horrible skin
 …
these
bones.” She pinched the wrinkled flesh. “This
 …
is not my body!” Sam slammed her fist on the hospital tray over her bed,
knocking the glass of juice over. “I am not Ellen Horvath. And I don’t care who
believes me.”

“I’m sorry. Who are
you?” The doctor grabbed her bracelet and checked his chart. “Have the nurses
at the front desk been informed of this?”

“Yes,” a nurse
called out from behind the curtain. “Yes, Dr. Robinson. Her wrist and file are
correct. Her husband confirmed everything. You can check her ID if you like.”

“No, that won’t be
necessary.” He turned toward Sam. “So you aren’t feeling yourself. Well, you
have been through quite a lot these past four weeks. We can never actually know
how
you
feel
 …
I’m sure
you will begin to feel more yourself in time. I see we have an assessment next
week.”

His reassurances
were pathetic. “You are missing the point, damn it.”

“My apologies,” he
said, looking at his chart. “I need to check your brain
 …
functioning. I will be sending you down for an MRI to
determine if your brain has sustained any
 …
damage.”

“You think I’m
crazy? I’m not,” Sam pleaded. “I am not crazy.”

“No. No. This is
just standard procedure following a deep coma.” The doctor patted her arm like
a good puppy. “We need to determine what regions are active, fully engaged and
which respond, well, slower. There can be swelling or hematomas, causing many
different—”

“Oh, I’m different
all right.” Sam nodded. He wasn’t bad looking, a bit nerdy, but then, he was a
brain doctor.

“Right. Okay, Mrs. …
.
er
 …”
He smiled. “Could you please take a deep breath?” Dr. Robinson placed his cold stethoscope
on Sam’s back. “A few more deep breaths
 …
yes
 …
and now the chest
 …”
The doctor undid the ties and
dropped her gown in the front. Sam knew she didn’t have a bra on and she smiled
at him. He didn’t smile back, as most men would have under the circumstances.
He kept his head down, looking away from her, with a solemn doctor look across
his face.
Men love seeing my breasts,
Sam thought. Disappointed when he
didn’t at least try to peek, Sam looked down at her chest.

“Oh my God! What the
fuck are those! Holy shit!” She touched one of the deflated breasts and
screamed, covering herself with her hands. “This can’t be. Those aren’t mine.”
She grabbed her gown to cover her humiliation. Tears stung her eyes as she held
the gown tight against her chest, fighting the mixture of shame and disgust.

The nurse opened the
curtain, her face frozen with alarm. The doctor stood straight, confusion and
sorrow etched across his face. “My apologies,” he said quietly. “I will see you
down in the MRI room.”

“Dr. Robinson,” Sam
whispered as she wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “This isn’t me
 …
this isn’t
 …
this just isn’t me. I have beautiful breasts
 …
these aren’t mine
 …”
The curtain slowly closed around
her. She was left holding the gown against herself, and alone.

***

Hours later, Sam was
sitting back, studying her reflection in a mirror when Patty entered her room.
“Hi gorgeous,” Patty squealed and put her arms around Sam.

“Hey,” Sam mumbled,
pulling back the papery skin around her eyes.

“Come on, cheer up.
I brought you something.” Patty set a big red Saks bag on the bed.

Sam pulled out the
tissue. Inside was a pale yellow, beaded sweater set. “It’s beautiful,” Sam
said. She turned it over and held it up to herself.

“Yes, it’s your
color,
absolutely
.”

“Old lady yellow,
just perfect.”

“I prefer to call it
middle-age meadow.” Patty laughed. “You, my dear, need an emergency shopping
spree.” Patty leaned in close. “How is Jonathan?”

Sam shrugged. “He
seems concerned, but I hardly get to talk to him.”

“Take advantage of
your situation,” Patty said with a sly nod, gently touching Sam’s arm. “I mean
it. There is never a better time to get sympathy than now. Play it up and get
as much as you can—and
 …”
She
leaned in for greater emphasis and squeezed Sam’s arm gently. “Make him squirm.
Make him feel bad. The kids too.”

Sam wasn’t sure if
Patty believed she was Sam or Ellen—at this point, did it even matter? Did any
of it really matter? She picked up the sweater again, touching the soft texture
with her fingertips and smiled. “I’ve never had a cashmere sweater before.
Thank you.” At least Patty wanted to help, which was more than everyone else.

“Anything to get you
to smile. I know you’re in a real state and I can’t imagine
 …
but I hope you’re optimistic about
the future and you will start working it.” Patty put her hands on her hips and
gyrated in her chair. “Work it girl. Come on!”

Sam laughed. “I’ll
try.”

“You better. The
door is open and so is the wallet; use it to your advantage. If ever there was
a time to profit by being sick—this, my dear, is it.” She patted Sam’s arm.
“Get busy.”

“But I feel so lost,
so helpless.”

“I’m sure you do.
But he doesn’t know that. Play him! Think about what you want and ask for it,
demand it.” Patty picked up the mirror from Sam’s lap and gazed at her own
reflection.

“But he doesn’t
believe me,” Sam said, hoping Patty would look away from the mirror.

“He doesn’t want
to.” Patty played with her bangs for a few moments, then smoothed her finger
under her eyes and patted her cheeks for color. She set the mirror down and
crossed her legs. “Do you blame him? He wants to ignore everything and act like
this never happened.”

“I miss everything,”
Sam said, unable to hide her sadness. “I mean, I had so much
 …”

“And that’s why you
need to get it back.” Patty leaned in close and placed the mirror on the bed.
“Have you thought about any cosmetic surgery? It’s the perfect time.” Patty
clapped her hands together. “Trust me. It won’t matter what you do now, as long
as he thinks you are doing it to get better—he’ll go along. So go crazy. Spend.
Spend. Spend. That’s my remedy.”

Sam smiled. “There
is
so much I’ve always wanted.”

“So buy it.” Patty
put her hands together.

Sam flopped back on
the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I could try and make this work
 …”
She looked at Patty. “I should at
least try, huh?”

“That’s the spirit.”
Patty grabbed Sam’s wrist and held it. “Now remember, when you see the shrinks,
make sure they go along with your strategy.”

“My strategy?”

“Yes. They can be
your best ally. Play sick, play sad
 …
then
play the ‘I need to do things to be happy’ card. ‘I need to go places with you
to be happy. I need to spend to be happy’—and make sure you buy some things,
just for you—you know—” Patty winked. “Insurance.”

“You’ve thought of everything.”
Sam gave her an appreciative smile.

“I have. You’re in
the driver’s seat now, Mrs. Jonathan Horvath II. You’re married to a powerful
man who is now, finally, in a very vulnerable position. So enjoy it.”

“What about the
children. How do I? What can—?”

“Listen, they love
you. They want you better. If they see improvement—that you’re getting happier,
even if it’s happening slowly, but that you’re better, that’s all they care
about.”

“Won’t they notice
 …
that I’m—?”

“Are you kidding?
Your kids are too busy ignoring any responsibility to be concerned with your
life. Do you honestly think they will change and pay attention to anything you
do?”

“I guess not.” Sam
wondered how much they loved their mom, how much they would notice any changes.
Truth was, she didn’t care about them anyway, so what did she have to lose?

“Get your age-reversal
surgery, a little collagen. They’ll still love you. After a suicide attempt and
a coma
 …”
Patty leaned forward.
“Trust me, no one will care what you do. No one.”

Sam brightened.
“Yes, and suck some of this fat out. Do you think they could do something with
these?” She put her hands on her floppy breasts.

“Honey, if they can
make an old diva like Megan Crawford sexy, they can do anything.”

Sam held the mirror
up to her face and pulled the skin back. “Yes, a little nip and tuck and some
smoothing. God, I need it. How could anyone let themselves go so badly?”

“I’m glad you’ve
finally joined the rest of us in our fight against gravity, you never—”

“When I get out of
here, can I call you sometime?”

“Any time, my
friend.” Patty stood and rubbed Sam’s shoulder, her gold bracelets clanking
together. “Darling, I’m glad this worked out after all. I couldn’t sleep when
you were out—in the coma, I mean. If you hadn’t made it, my God, the guilt
might have finished me, too.”

Sam was about to
speak, then stopped. She stared at her, unsure what she meant.

“The stuff
 …”
Patty nodded, as if Sam should
understand. “You know—remember?”

Sam nodded in reply,
but had no idea what she was referring to, what the heck all this
stuff
was. Patty put her hand to her lips and motioned holding a key and turning it
in a lock. Sam obliged by nodding again. Then Patty said goodbye and left.

Sam sat and wondered
whether Patty actually believed her. Her head ached and as she rubbed her
temples. Whatever Patty was saying, one thing was for sure; spending lots of
money was a good idea. In fact, considering the outrageous circumstance she now
found herself in, it was the only optimistic outcome she could think of.

***

“Hi love. I’m back
and I’m missing you. Come see me in my office tomorrow at noon.”

Ellen replayed the
message again, savoring the tenderness in his voice. How much longer would it
take before she would become used to his loving words? She walked to the
stairwell that led to his office, located two floors above hers—the private
executive wing. As his wife, she had the luxury of entering anytime. As his
employee, she had to wait for an invitation, and after three weeks of waiting
to see him, it seemed strange to race to see your own husband, to sneak into
work on a Saturday, like a mistress. Well, she was one now, wasn’t she?

She entered the
walnut-paneled reception area. His new secretary, very pretty and perhaps
forty, smiled at her. “Hello Sam, he’s on the phone, but you may go in and
wait.”

Ellen stood in front
of his office door. She was as nervous as a teenager. “Hi, it’s
 …
uh, Samantha,” she said, opening
the door.

“Sam!” He swung
around in his leather chair, replacing the receiver on the hook. “This is a
nice surprise.” He stood and walked over to her, brushing against her as he
closed the door. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“You have? How
much?”

“More than you could
imagine.” He reached over and put his arm around her, pulling her close and kissing
her neck. Her heart beat strong as his kisses caressed her skin. She wanted to
melt into him, to let all the years of hurt dissolve as he tightened his grip
around her. He smelled of woods, deep, dark and mysterious with a hint of
amber—his French cologne. “I wish all this business with Ellen could be over
 …”

Her hand touched his
thigh and a charge surged within her as he touched her face. He stroked her
cheek, staring into her eyes with a genuine longing, a love long forgotten.
Ellen felt that love
 …
love like
she hadn’t felt in years. He kissed her on the lips. A deep, sensuous kiss. He
held her in his arms, pressing her tight, for several moments, his hand rubbing
her back in a way that made her quiver with pleasure, and then he let go,
shaking his head. “I’m sorry, love. I feel bad, I feel so much guilt
 …
I feel like she and everyone else
still blame me, like I caused all of this.”

Ah, but you
actually did,
Ellen thought. “And me, do they blame me?”

“Yes, and you,
unfortunately.”

“The kids, still?”
Ellen thought of how hard it must be for her children.

“Yes. This craziness
doesn’t help. The psychologist will do an assessment on Friday.”

“What will that
mean?” Ellen asked, unsure what answer she hoped for.

“Hell if I know.” He
sat in the chair beside her, pulling her onto his lap. “I can’t do anything
that could set her off, yet it seems everything sets her off. She’s so
unbalanced. The fear is that she shouldn’t be left alone, in case
 …
well, if she tries that again.”

Ellen put her arms
around his shoulders. “She wouldn’t—would she?”

“Who the hell
knows?” he barked. “I’m sorry.” His voice softened and he rubbed her thigh, a
reassuring, gentle stroke. “You shouldn’t be a part of this.”

“She called me,”
Ellen said, enjoying another inhale of his familiar scent.