Tempted

  “I'll be surprised if they're not. Is nine o'clock too early? I have some things to do in the afternoon.”

  “If you're sure.” She shrugged. What is this? Is he trying to get to me through the kids? Bev stiffened. It wouldn't be healthy to enjoy this too much. It wouldn't be safe to start to really like him, trust him. Remember, Bev. Remember Guy.

  Guy had been the worst. Beverly had started to love Guy in a fashion. Or at least she wanted to love him. He was handsome and kind and financially secure. He took her to fancy places and seemed genuinely proud to have her as his date. He played with the children. He gave her plenty of time to adjust to the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands. After a long time and many oaths of love she invited him to her bed. Zero. Well, she was nervous, like a new bride, not knowing what he would expect and how he would react. She invited him back. Ditto.

  Then he obviously felt he was home free. No more nice evenings out. Steak on the grill and Beverly's booze. Get the kids to bed early. Pick me up when my plane arrives. What's for breakfast? Cut the grass? You can afford lawn service, can't you? Marriage? We have everything we need right now.

  Bev tried to discourage him, but Guy was so comfortable in her home that he didn't notice her displeasure. He was very much at ease in Bob's place. Whatever problem she had with getting her satisfaction, well, that was her department. She had to get her head straightened out. You know, the widow thing. Not really ready for another man or something. Bunk.

  “I'll come by for them at about nine o'clock and we'll just shoot some baskets and horse around. They'll be home by one.”

  “Thanks, Joe,” she said with an unexpected attack of politeness. “They need someone to horse around with. Since Bob died there hasn't been anyone to play with them that way.”

  “How did Bob die?”

  “Mother didn't tell you?”

  “I didn't ask. Would you rather not talk about it?”

  “I don't mind. He was in an accident. Car-truck. He was just starting back from Kansas City. He had been there on business.”

  “Very sudden?”

  “No, unfortunately. He lived for three weeks. Three very painful weeks. Mom had to fly to Dallas and take care of the boys and I had to go to Kansas City and stay with Bob. It was very slow. He had seven operations and died during the last one.”

  “Was he conscious?”

  “Only a couple of times. One of those times when he realized I was there and tried to talk...” Her voice caught. She would never forget that. “He was hurt everywhere. I don't think one part of his body was uninjured. Brain damage, internal injuries, kidney damage, spinal damage, broken bones I couldn't count. He was in constant pain. It was cruel that he lived that long. Had he lived any longer...” She shook her head. She had prayed for his death. Now she prayed for his return.

  “Jeez, that's awful. You must have had to be very strong through that. A lot of people would have folded their hands.”

  “What makes you think I didn't?”

  “Did you?” He turned and looked at her across the front seat with one eyebrow raised as if he knew the answer.

  “No.” Beverly the strong. “You get through it if you have to.” She didn't look at him. Strength was no gift. Hundreds of times she wanted to be able to lay her head down and die. Thousands of times she screamed silently at fate for taking Bob and leaving her to carry on alone. A million times she thought about getting drunk and taking a handful of pills and before the ice would hit the glass a little voice would say, “What'sa matter, Mommy?”

  “You didn't buy your supplies for the Christmas program yet, did you?” Joe asked.

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “If you want me to go with you and help you cart the stuff over to the church, I'll be glad to do it. Just give me some notice.”

  “I might have to find a truck. I'll let you know.”

  “I have a truck.”

  Naturally. He had everything and knew everything and was nice besides. Sometimes Beverly was just plain unlucky. It wouldn't be hard to give a bastard a toss, but a nice guy? Dammit.

  “Okay, Joe. I'll give you a call next week after I have a look at my schedule. I don't think I'll be working much.”

  “You're working?”

  “Well, not exactly. I'm sort of... a volunteer.”

  “Oh, about tomorrow night, how would you like to go with me to a dinner party? The hostess said I can bring a guest and I have to put in an appearance at least. I believe you know the—”

  “Now, look, Joe. I don't know where you got the idea that I want to go out with you every night, but I don't. I don't want to spend every free minute with you. I have other dates too. Okay?”

  “Okay. So about tomorrow night, I'm going to the Panstiels, and as far as I know—”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then how about putting on some coffee and I'll come over after?”

  “Don't you have any friends?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Coffee. And don't press your luck.”

  It wasn't far to the restaurant. Joe helped her out of the car and held the door open to the Marquis Lounge. He had a table reserved away from the blasting music in the lounge. Bev was relieved because the noise from the rock band interfered with her digestive tract, but she was not encouraged by the idea that he might hope they would talk.

  They were greeted first by a cocktail waitress and Joe asked Bev if she would like another drink. Actually, he did not emphasize another, but she got that strange gleam in her eye that said if he was counting, she was drinking. She ordered a scotch. He ordered a cup of coffee.

  Beverly hated self-righteous people. She hated puritans. She had had it with ministers that were about thirty years old and—thirty years old?

  “How old are you?” she asked him.

  “Thirty.”

  “God.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I'm older than you.”

  He wasn't old enough to look at her as if he could see into her soul and couldn't wait to get in there to straighten it out.

  “Why aren't you married?”

  “Why aren't you?” he countered.

  “I was,” she cried defensively.

  “I wasn't. Haven't met the right woman, I guess.”

  “Too many years at the seminary, probably.”

  “I don't think that's it. It's not considered bad form to fall in love.”

  They ordered dinner and Beverly ordered another drink. Her head was beginning to spin and Joe had his coffee refilled.

  “You don't want another drink?” Nuts. Her words were already starting to run together. It wouldn't be very long before the preacher across the table was only a blur. That was one way to make him go away.

  “No, go ahead. I'll see that you get home.”

  The nerve. As if she couldn't hold her liquor. She would show him. She ordered another drink to go with her dinner. Damn preachers.

  Of course they didn't talk much. He was getting more coffee and she was getting more scotch. He was looking into her soul and she was getting drunk. He was laughing in his fist and she was trying to sit up straight. He was beginning to hope she wouldn't mess up the car and she was hoping for the same.

  Beverly didn't eat much dinner. It wasn't even ten o'clock before they took the last of it away.

  “Dessert?” the waitress asked.

  Unthinkable. “No, thank you,” said Beverly.

  Joe looked her over. “None for me either,” he said considerately. “How about a cup of coffee, Bev?”

  Over my dead body, preacher boy. “I believe I'll have another sotch... um, scotch. If you don't mind?”

  He looked straight at her. “Go for it.” And to the waitress, “Bring me a brandy and the check, please.”

  “Will we be leaving right away?” she mumbled after he had signed the credit card slip for the dinner.

  “I think so, Bev. I don't think you can take much more.”

  “Why, whatever do you
mean, Rev-rend? I'm having a wonderful time.”

  “Yes.” He laughed. “I can see that. Do you want the rest of that drink?”

  She held her lips in a tight line and nodded. He wasn't going to rush her. She finished her drink leisurely. He watched. She didn't talk. She was drunk as a skunk and wasn't about to open her mouth and prove it. She had had very little to eat all day and the booze was taking its toll. He was probably counting scotches. He probably thought he would have to help her walk out.

  He did. The minute she stood up she sat down again and once she got into the cold night air her head went wild. She could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Beverly yielded the game. She lost. She wouldn't be a sore loser on five scotches. She was a rather fun loser.

  “Okay, you win. I'm in the bag. Just get me home before I pass out.”

  “I'm glad I picked a close restaurant. Did you have to get drunk to go out with me?”

  “Didn't have to, Rev. I like to now and then. See, I'm not your type. You need a sweet little girl you can take to the church socials.”

  “Church socials?” He hooted. “They still having church socials around here?”

  “Well, sure. I'm not the church social type. I'm more the convention type. I used to go to conventions with Bob. You ought to go south, you know? Get a nice little southern belle to take to the socials. Leave the convention dollies alone.”

  Joe laughed harder. “Come on, Bev.”

  “Ever seen someone good and drunk, Preach?”

  “It's been a while.”

  “A southern belle wouldn't drink. Well... an occasional mint julep ... or a little cooking sherry. But she'd be straight for the social; you could count on that. Good little preacher's wife.”

  “I don't recall asking you to marry me, Beverly. Have you already refused?”

  “Yesh, I decline, thank you very much. And I decline to go to bed with you too. You see, even though I am the 'merry widow,' I do not have to go to bed with anyone. I can if it pleases me, but I will say no. Do you understand? The answer is no.”

  “I understand.”

  “Well, good. Have you ever kissed a woman, Reverend?”

  “Yes, Beverly.”

  “No, I mean really. Really kissed a real woman?”

  “Yes, Beverly.”

  “Bull.”

  Joe pulled the car off to the side of the road. Poor Terry. He hated to take Beverly home in this condition. Terry wouldn't be used to this. This was just a game Bev was playing. Running. Hiding.

  “Why are you stopping?”

  He pulled her to him and kissed her in the most passionate and feverish way he could under the circumstances. So, a man of the church wasn't supposed to feel. Well, Beverly, feel this. He moved on her lips and pressed her body close. He massaged, rotated on her mouth. Perfect fit. Amazingly, the perfect mouth for his. Uncanny. Her lips parted and he couldn't resist the urge. Scotch. He'd have to get her off the scotch before next time. He clung and she whimpered. He caressed her back and she moaned softly in his arms.

  Dirty trick, Bev. Drunk or not, she was tempting. A little too tempting. Joe felt his desire spiral. Live with it, Joe baby. She was too drunk to notice. She would probably forget all this anyway. She curved a little bit more with desire, definitely asking for more. His hands moved under her coat. She hadn't even buttoned her coat. He had to let his lips rest to see if he could think any more clearly when he wasn't tasting her mouth. He couldn't. He went back. He found a tempting breast, he found the buttons, and he found his good sense. He broke away.

  “Okay, Bev, let's get you home.”

  “Home?”

  “Home.”

  “But—”

  “The answer is no, remember?”

  “What's the matter, Reverend? Conscience getting to you?”

  “Yep.”

  Beverly began to cry. Drunk tears. She made a fool of herself. A complete ass. If he had thought anything of her in the beginning, he sure didn't now. Now she had spoiled it and that was that. Now he wouldn't be hanging around the “merry widow's” door, playing with her kids, saving her soul, and delivering her home after a good drunk. Well, fine. Now she could just go it alone.

  “Come on, Bev. We're home.”

  Sniff. Sniff. “I don't want Terry to see me like this.”

  “Well, you should have thought of that on your third or fourth scotch. It's too late now.”

  He had counted. “I can't.”

  “Come on!”

  “I can't.”

  “Dammit, Beverly, come on!”

  “Okay, okay. Help me a little here.”

  It took more than a little help. It took a lot of help and the sidewalk was slippery besides. Joe had to ring the bell because Beverly couldn't find her key. She wasn't even sure she had her hand in her purse.

  “Beverly,” Terry began, confused. “What's the matter?”

  “Make some coffee, Terry. Beverly's drunk.”

  “Drunk? Oh, Beverly, how could you?”

  “Scotch,” she whined.

  “Okay, Bev, I want you to go take a shower and then have some coffee.”

  “All alone? Aren't you going to help me, Joe?”

  “Maybe some other time. Go on now.”

  “Bye-bye, Joe. Thanks... for everything.”

  Beverly hummed on the way to her room. She might not know it now, but the minute she started pulling off her clothes she was going to be sick. Joe knew it.

  Joe found a seat in the living room. Comfortable little place she had. Domestic. Nice kids, nice sister. Joe had a sweet little sister once. Terry made him miss that sister even more.

  So, this was the house of Beverly. She would have painted the pictures on the walls. She liked rust and gold and orange. A little green. Basically warm and open colors; fall colors. People who liked the fall liked the bright crispness outside and the warmth inside. The brightness of hillsides intensified with the fire in the hearth. That was Beverly. Crisp and sassy on the outside, warm and friendly on the inside. When she wasn't so scared.

  Beverly was still humming in the bedroom. Joe wouldn't put it past her to stroll naked into the living room. He hoped to take in such a sight any other time. Right now he was feeling a little too sensitive.

  The shower was running when Terry came out of the kitchen nervously wringing her hands on a dishtowel. “I'm really sorry, Reverend Clark. I don't know what got into her. She's never done anything like this before... that I know of.”

  “I know, Terry. It's all right.”

  There he goes with that smile again, Terry thought. No wonder Bev got drunk. It was that gorgeous, suggestive smile that drove her to it. “You're taking this pretty well.”

  “No big deal. It happens to the best of us.”

  “You?”

  “Well, not since the army.”

  “Why didn't you cut her off?”

  “Because she wanted to get drunk, Terry.”

  Oh, brother. So we just let her do whatever she wants to do now, whether we like it or not. Holy tolerance.

  “Were you planning on staying over?” Joe asked.

  “Yeah, I always do.”

  “Good. Check on her, will you? After she's out of the shower, see if you can get her to drink some coffee. It might make the morning easier.”

  “You think she'll be hung over?”

  Joe laughed. “Bad,” he said simply. He stood, took a last look around the pleasant living room, and then headed for the door. “Why don't you get the boys up in the morning and let Bev sleep in. I'm coming to pick them up at nine o'clock for a trip to the gym with me. Bev said it was okay.”

  “You're going home now?”

  “Sure. She's not going to want to see me when she starts her hangover. See you in the morning.”

  “Okay, bye, Joe.”

  Joe stepped out into the cold night. Okay, Beverly. I think I know what you're up to. You're so afraid you'll feel something like love again, you can't even think straight. Well, take it eas
y, baby. I'm not going to rush you.

  Take a deep breath, Joe old boy. There, you're doing fine. Hold on to your hat, you're going for a real ride. Charge up God's chariot. How long has it been? A year? Two? Father, I need a lesson, I need a loan. I need some restraint. Patience, common sense. I need a woman like Beverly. I need a drink. Amen.

  Chapter Four

  Terry's alarm could have awakened the dead, she thought as she dressed, yet there wasn't a sound from Beverly's room. She roused the boys and asked them if they wanted to go to the gym with Reverend Clark.

  “That Joe guy?” Mark asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What for?”

  “I forgot to ask him. Just get dressed and we'll ask him when he gets here. He said nine o'clock and it's already eight-thirty, so hurry.”

  “I hate going with these weird guys,” Mark said, pouting.

  “What weird guys?”

  “Whenever some guy likes Mom we have to go play with him until she starts to like him back and then we can stay home and watch cartoons.”

  Nothing got past kids, Terry realized with dismay. Poor Bev. Terry hadn't really thought about how awful it must be at times. Doling out her children like favors to the men who wanted her attention. And when did she know genuine interest from a big play? And what was she supposed to do? Deny the boys the opportunity to have the companionship of a man?

  Terry decided that she would have to call John. This was his responsibility, no matter how busy he was. He would have to see about his nephews a little, start hanging around to be their man. They needed someone who wouldn't abandon them. And an uncle was better than a would-be suitor of their mother's. Bev must be too proud to ask.

  Joe was at the door about ten minutes early, sweat pants and tennis shoes on the bottom half and a heavy ski jacket on the top half. He was smiling that smile again. It made Terry a little uncomfortable. He was too sexy to be holy. He should be out sowing his wild oats with other men his age.

  Joe accepted a bowl of Wheaties to eat with the boys. Didn't have time for breakfast, thanks, was his reply. “Is there any of that coffee left, Terry?”

  “Some. The dregs, I think. It's going to be a little stiff.”