Tempted

  “Come on, Bev. You want this as much as I do. Come on.”

  “Bob, if you don't stop at once, I'm going to have to get ugly. Now, stop that.”

  “Bev, baby, let's just finish it here. Come on, Bev, you're a big girl. If you won't go with me, then let's just finish it here. Anyway you say.”

  “Nooooooo!” She shoved him against the door and slid farther toward her own side. She took a deep breath. “I don't want to battle this out. The answer is no. No, no, no! I don't want to!”

  “Well, that's just fine. Why the hell did you let me go as far as I did? You ought to know better than that. What kind of frigid bitch are you?”

  “I'm not frigid. And I'm not a whore either. And I don't just jump in the sack with every guy I meet and hardly know and certainly don't love.”

  “What's love got to do with anything? We're two adults and we could both use some relief. Grow up, Bev!”

  “Oh, I'm grown-up and I can see an excuse a mile away. You can go get your relief someplace else, big boy. It's not going to do you any good to call me names and shame me into finishing you off.”

  “Somebody oughta teach you a lesson, lady. You're ice.”

  “Get out of my car.”

  “What does it take, Bev? You can't make me believe you wouldn't do it. What's your price? Do I have to say 'I love you'? Offer you money, marriage—”

  “You bastard! Get out of my car!”

  “Come on, beautiful. Let's see what it takes to thaw that ice.”

  He grabbed her by the arms and jerked her so that her mouth hit his hard. The gentle and courteous kissing was gone, replaced by vulgar slobbering and rapidly moving hands. He pressed her down and she squirmed under him helplessly. His aggression revolted her. He was more than ready and it didn't take an expert to figure that out. She doubted that he would actually rape her and was a little tempted to see what his next move would be.

  But she was repulsed beyond that point. She fought.

  She fought him wildly and he couldn't be bothered with that much resistance.

  “Okay, baby, you win. You win.”

  It was at this point, and she had been at this point before, that she was always tempted to apologize! She held her lips in a tight line and sat still as stone while he pole-vaulted out of the car. She locked the door. She cried.

  Actually, Beverly cried a lot. She just never wanted anyone to know she cried, except those select few who were allowed to know she was not made of cast iron. She had a good imagination too. Well, maybe not good, but certainly developed. She envisioned this salesman from Richmond as an ax murderer who would be sore over her reluctance and follow her home and chop her up. When she finally did drive off, she watched the rearview mirror and relaxed to see empty streets behind her. He was merely a jackass, not an ax murderer.

  So this was what life had to offer widows. Loneliness, friendly homosexuals, married and unmarried sex maniacs who needed a woman and would give her a break by diving into bed with her. The dating game was definitely over. There was no such thing as a stable single man who wanted to be with her, enjoy her company. Everyone wanted her to put out... something.

  Chet wanted a friend, though Beverly wasn't sure why. Guy wanted a home away from home, a woman who would make him look good and feel good. The handsome, big-time airline pilot on the make. A married or divorced woman was usually better in bed and safer than a young girl. And what did Bob Stanly want? Relief. Well, sorry, chum.

  So nobody wanted Bev. Sensible, lonely, strong Bev.

  How many times had she faced this? Plenty, that's how many. A lot of evenings had ended badly. A few had culminated with near rape, degradation when she wouldn't, or disappointment if she had. Well, then Bev was through. Through with matchmaking parties, most of all. Through with it all. Bev would go it alone, thank you. Alone.

  Her eyes were only a little red when she got home. Terry was watching the late movie and Steve was asleep on the couch.

  “Exciting evening, hon?” she asked Terry.

  “Wild. Yours?”

  “Wild!”

  Terry made a move to wake up Steve and send him home. His apartment was near the campus, a long drive. It was nearly one a.m. “Let him sleep, Terry. I'll give you a blanket for him.”

  “Here?”

  “Who would be waiting up for him?”

  “Well, no one, but...”

  “So let him sleep. I'm not worried about you. Why should I be?”

  “What's the matter, Bev?”

  “Nothing. Nothing, baby.” She brushed the hair from her younger sister's pretty brow. She looked at the sleeping stud. Yes, he was terrific-looking. A nice, strong, lean body, plenty of coarse black hair, clean-shaven and dark-skinned. Terry had good taste. Not only that, but he was a nice guy. He was much as she remembered Bob at that age. So what happened to all the nice guys when they hit thirty-five? Were they all either happily married or sex maniacs?

  “You don't look very good, Bev. Are you sure you're all right?”

  “Just tired. I'm going to bed. Will Steve take you to church in the morning or do I have to get you there?”

  “We usually go together. We can leave from here. Want to tag along?”

  “I think I'll just send the boys to Sunday school and stay here and rest for an hour. I don't think I can handle any lessons in moral fortitude. I'm not in the mood for righteousness.”

  “Sure. Good night, Bev. Sleep tight.”

  I already am tight, she thought wryly. “Good night, sweetie. Stay in your own bed.”

  Bev checked Chuck and Mark, and then retreated into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She usually left it open to listen for the boys, but with the sleeping prince on the couch she didn't want to risk the lack of privacy. She removed her pantsuit, the latest Davana design. It was good-looking. She was good-looking. She removed the very necessary bra. So what if they sagged a little? They weren't all that small. And what if she did have stretch marks? There were worse things. She had a pretty good body for someone “almost thirty-five.”

  She pulled on her nightgown. She hadn't worn one when Bob was alive. He liked to reach for her, touch her sometimes in the night and feel her natural cover. So why, if a guy was going to die, why did he have to give you so many lovely things to remember first? Why did he have to give you not one, but two little boys who looked just like him? So why did he have to die anyway? Why couldn't he have just stayed around a little bit longer, loved you just a little bit more?

  Bob, can you see this? Can you see what's happening down here? Do you know that I still miss you, still love you? Please, I can't make it alone. Please... please come back. I can't do it, Bob. I thought I could but I can't. I can't make the hurt go away... can't make it stop... oh, please... tell God. I can't even talk to Him anymore. If He wants to make up with me, He's going to have to do something about this pain. It's getting worse. I hurt all over. Oh, Bob, I still love you, baby. I want you back... please... help me... oh, please.

  Chapter Two

  Bev woke up on Thursday morning feeling like a bug run over by a roller skate. She reeled from the bed to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and discovered she looked even worse. Another miserable period.

  She was bent double with cramps, her legs were trembling, her head felt like a cracked melon, she was bleeding so heavily that she was sure she was close to hemorrhaging, and she had had enough. She called her gynecologist's office and talked the receptionist into an appointment for that very afternoon to have her IUD removed.

  Carl Panstiel was no stranger. She had known him for years. He went to her mother's church, had given her her premarital exam and birth control pills, checked her every time she came home to visit her parents and had cried real tears at Bob's memorial service.

  She didn't see him just because he was the only ob-gyn in the area she knew, but because she liked him. Not romantic like, or even best-friend like—because he had a wife and children whom she also liked—but because he was modern and
liberal in his views, clever and friendly and warm in his attitude, and because he had a real thing for her. One could almost say they had a relationship, but one had to be very careful about saying things like that.

  He had a way of getting her to open up—and just now she really needed to talk. He could make her laugh. He would be sympathetic and understanding and let her pretend that that was the last thing she needed. Beverly, the strong.

  When her name was called she was led into the doctor's office instead of the examining room, which was what she expected. Carl walked into the room with his head down and nose in the records that had been sent by her physician in Dallas, which was also what she expected. Her file was fairly good reading. Then he looked up, smiled and said hello, and she felt like a regular psychic.

  “You want it out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It's been giving me a lot of trouble. Heavy periods. It's uncomfortable.”

  “How long have you been wearing this model?” He obviously couldn't read. Real dumb for a doctor.

  “Since Chuck was born. Five years plus.”

  “Heavy periods are common to the IUD. It doesn't necessarily mean anything is wrong. I can check it and make sure there's no problem or I can take it out and put in another type. There's a fairly new one I've been using that's more comfortable to wear.”

  “Yank it. I don't need it.”

  “You want to take pills instead?”

  “They don't agree with me.”

  “The diaphragm isn't nearly as safe, even when used carefully. There's always the chance of pregnancy... a chance you wouldn't want to take.”

  “I don't want that either. I'm safe with nothing.”

  “When was the last time you had intercourse?”

  So he was going to make her say it. Well, okay, Carl, you asked for it. “Six months ago or so.”

  “I believe you would be much safer with the IUD or pills.”

  Carl Panstiel, the poor deaf doctor, she thought, but she said, “I'm safe with nothing.”

  “You've always been a good planner, Bev. Don't mess up this time.”

  “I messed up once, Carl. Remember Chuck?”

  He laughed, more at the sound of her finally using his first name than the thought of the accidental baby. “Are you sure, Bev? Want to tell me about why you're really here?”

  “What's to tell? It's on the chart.”

  “Yes, it's here. 'No physiological reason for orgasmic impairment.' Is that what this visit is about, Bev?”

  “No.” Guy had tactfully never mentioned the stretch marks, though she was sure he had noticed. He had rather crudely mentioned the other thing that was also slightly stretched and suggested that might be the problem. She had begun to think he was right. He looked like he should be a champ, he thought he was a champ. He was a dud. “It's just this IUD. I don't need any more headaches.”

  “And the 'impairment'?”

  “Wrong time, wrong place.” She shrugged. Wrong Guy.

  “Bev, are you doing okay?”

  “Hell, no, I'm not doing okay. But I'm living, even if I'm not living it up. Unless you have a pill to kill that old desire, there's nothing I can do, nothing. I'm either going to have to turn into a whore, or do without.”

  “Are you trying to shock me?”

  “Here?” Tears. Damn the tears. “I know better than that, Carl. You probably see more smut in this nice little office than I could ever dream up. I'm still not sleeping very well. Maybe a tranquilizer or something?”

  He frowned. Bev knew from way back he wasn't in favor of a pill for every problem. He pushed only one kind of pill.

  “Okay, Bev, let's do this. I'll give you two prescriptions: one for foam and one for pills. You know how to take them. If you use the foam once, start the pills. How do they affect you?”

  “I get crabby,” she said with a sniff.

  He laughed. “Do you get crabby when you're pregnant?”

  “I get suicidal.”

  Carl laughed again. He was crazy about Beverly. He always had been. She was pretty and bright. She had girl-next-door looks that contrasted delightfully with an honest personality and a wise-cracking mouth. There had been an obvious sparkle and verve about her since the first day he met her, the kind of effervescence that made those around her feel happy. She bubbled a little less now, but still there was that wit, that light and sensitive mood about her that made him chuckle. It pained him to think she was struggling to keep her chin up. She was entitled to more.

  “Okay, Bev, just fill the prescriptions and have the pills on hand. If you want something else, just give me a call. Go get ready and I'll call a nurse.”

  “Wanna get right to the good stuff, huh, Carl?”

  “I knew you hadn't changed. Nothing can change you.”

  “Well, go ahead, admit it, Carl. You love looking at women's bottoms.”

  “I admit it already. I love it.”

  “Yeah, but you really love it. Really.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and smiled.

  Beverly went into the adjoining examination room to strip. This was a familiar setting. She remembered all the examinations Carl had given her through the years. She smiled wistfully, recalling that first exam she'd had after she'd lost her virginity. She'd been so afraid he would tell her mother. How young she'd been. Carl didn't act like a wise guy back then. He was gentle and kind and shy with her, easing her through the procedure so she wouldn't be embarrassed.

  So how could you go to a good friend, a man you liked so much, to have an IUD out when you were gushing? Because Carl might just as well be looking at her nose. He was in the bottom business. What a life. And he was a good ob-gyn, one of the best.

  She checked the mirror to see if her eyes were all red from that little bit of crying. She liked her new haircut. Guy had said, “I love your hair. I love long hair on a woman. It's sexy.” That's why she arranged to have it cut in one of those too-short-to-even-blow-dry styles as soon as she was back in Ohio. Because it would have made Guy mad and she didn't want to have sexy hair.

  “This is going to cause some cramps,” Carl was saying. “It's a little more difficult coming out than going in right after a baby.”

  “Is it... well, having the boys so close together and all... it's a little... large, isn't it?”

  “Tighten your vagina around my fingers. More. Seems perfectly functional. Exercise will improve muscle control. Are you working, Bev?”

  “Just part-time modeling.”

  “Modeling?”

  “Don't even ask, Carl. It was an accident.”

  “Modeling.”

  “I am not a model; I'm doing some modeling. Middle-aged modeling,” she muttered. “They get fourteen-year-olds to model for the twenty-five-year-olds, and thirty-five-year-olds to model for the fifty-year-olds.”

  “You're not thirty-five.”

  “Almost,” she said wearily.

  “You are having some heavy bleeding. Nothing serious, but if you have a problem with this later, give me a call. Don't overdo today, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “You have some time on your hands?”

  “Afternoons. Both the boys are in school now.”

  “I could use a favor—”

  “Carl, are you going to try to fill up my empty days?”

  “Beverly...”

  “Need a volunteer in your office?”

  “It's the Christmas pageant at the church in Maple Hills. We do it every year. I have the five-year-olds and Sharon has the six-year-olds. She wants me to get an assistant so she doesn't get stuck with both classes. If I have a baby, you know? Want to help?”

  Oh, Carl, the church won't help. I've tried that. “I'm kind of busy. There must be someone over there—”

  “Now, Beverly...”

  “How much time would it take?”

  “Just a couple of meetings and going with your kids to Sunday school for four weeks. They'll rehearse in Sunday school, h
ave one dress rehearsal, and then do the pageant.”

  “I guess I could handle that.”

  “If you're too busy—”

  “Better take it while I'm offering, Carl. I'm not going to beg you to let me help.”

  “The first meeting is the Thursday after Thanksgiving in the rec room at seven-thirty p.m. Don't get up, Bev. Just lie there and let the bleeding slow down.”

  “Okay.”

  “See you in a couple of weeks?”

  “Sure.” But I don't have to like it.

  This was so like Carl. He was probably in this with her mother. Drag her to church, let the church pull her through. Beverly had had it with church. It was not the answer. Not for her. For the boys maybe, but certainly not for her.

  Beverly had to be thankful for one thing: Holidays were easier when there was family around. Thanksgiving was so hectic that she hardly thought about quiet holidays in the past with Bob and the kids. Terry, with her shadow, Steve, Barbara and her husband and baby, Stephanie and Mike and their kids, and John all gathered at their parents' house.

  Just a few years separated Bev and John, and they had been close since childhood, even skating through the teen years as good friends. And they would be close still if John weren't so busy interning at County General Hospital. He had almost no free time for Bev... or for anyone else.

  It was after the enormous meal that Bev's stubbornness had borne her straight into a commitment that she and the boys would certainly regret. Her mother was discussing plans for Christmas and Bev settled back in her chair and lit a cigarette. As if it were a cue, her mother launched into an antismoking lecture. And, even though Bev couldn't enjoy her cigarette then, she wouldn't put it out. She had learned how to pretend to tune her mother out, hadn't she?

  So, entrenching herself in stubbornness, she'd told her family that she and the boys would celebrate on Christmas Eve with them, but stay home on Christmas Day. Sorry, but that's the way it was going to be. Yes, she knew it was a family day. But remember, however small, she and her sons were a family. They would learn to get along without their man; they would open presents on Christmas morning without Daddy. They would be strong.