"You underestimate me, Cathy. You treat me like a little boy one minute, and the next like some hungry wolf who will eat you up. Let me make love to you, then you'll know no man has ever touched you before."
I laughed. "All right--but one night only."
"If you have me for one night, you will never, never want me to go," he warned, and his eyes glowed and sparkled, black as coal.
"Julian . . . I don't love you."
"But you will--after tonight."
"Oh, Julian," I said with a long yawn, "I'm tired, and partially drunk--go away, leave me alone."
"Not on your life, kiddo. You said yes, and I'm holding you to it. It's me tonight . . . and every night for the rest of your life--or mine."
On a rainy Saturday morning, with all our luggage already piled into the taxies that would take our company to the airport, Julian and I stood in the city hall with our best friends to support us, and a judge said the words that would bind us together until "death you do part." When it came my turn to speak my vows, I hesitated, wanting to run away and fly to Paul. He would be crushed when he found out. Then there was Chris. But Chris would rather see me marry Julian than Paul; that's what he'd told me.
Julian held tight to me, his dark eyes soft and shining with love and pride. I couldn't run. I could only say what I was supposed to, and then I was married to the one man I'd sworn I would never allow to touch me intimately. Not only Julian was happy and proud, but also Madame Zolta who beamed at us and gave us her blessings, kissed our cheeks and shed motherly tears. "You've done the right thing, Catherine. You will be so happy together, such a beautiful couple . . . but remember not to make any babies!"
"Darling, sweetheart, love," Julian whispered when we were on the plane flying over the Atlantic, "don't look so sad. This is our day for rejoicing! I swear you will never be sorry. I'll make you a fantastic husband. I'll never love anyone but you."
My head bowed down on his shoulder, then I bawled! Crying for everything that should have been mine on my wedding day. Where were my birdsongs, the bells that should chime? Where was the green grass, and the love that was mine? And where was my mother who was the cause of everything gone wrong? Where? Did she cry when she thought of us? Or did she, more likely, just take my notes with the newsclippings and tear them up? Yes, that would be like her, never to face up to what she'd done. How easily she tripped away on her second honeymoon and left us in the care of a merciless grandmother, and back she came, all smiling and happy, telling us of what a wonderful time she had. While we, locked up, had been brutalized and starved, and she'd never even looked at Cory and Came who didn't grow. Never noticed how shadowed their hollow eyes, how thin their weak legs and arms. Never noticed anything she didn't want to see.
The rain kept coming down, down, forecasting what was ahead. That cold blasting torrent of freezing water put ice on the wings of the plane that was carrying me farther and farther from all those I loved. That ice was in my heart too. And tonight I had to sleep with a man I didn't even like when he wasn't on stage, and dressed in costume, and playing the role of a prince.
But to give Julian his due, he was all he boasted of being in bed. I forgot who he was, and pretended he was someone else as his kisses played over my body, and not one inch went unexplored, unkissed or uncaressed. Before he finished, I wanted him I was more than willing to have him take me . . . and try to erase the persistent thought that I had just made the worst mistake of my life.
And I had made many mistakes.
Labyrinth of Lies
. Before our bodies had adjusted to jet lag, we went into rehearsals with The Royal Ballet looking on, comparing our style to theirs. Already Madame Z. had told us their way was strictly classical, but we were to do everything in our own way, and were not to be intimidated. "Stick to your guns, keep it pure, but make each dance your very own. Julian, Catherine, as newlyweds, all eyes will be upon you two--so make every scene as romantic as you can. The two of you together touch my heart and make it cry . . . and if you keep it up, what you're doing, you may make ballet history."
She smiled, and tears filled the deep furrows about her tiny eyes. "Let us all prove that America too can produce the very best!" She broke then and turned her back, so we couldn't see her face crumple. "I luv all of you so much," she sobbed. "Now go away. . . leave me be . . . and make me proud of you."
We were determined to do our very damndest to make Madame Zolta's name famous once more, not as a dancer, but as a teacher. We practiced until we fell exhausted into our beds.
The Royal Opera House, Covent Gardens shared its space with the ballet company, and when I first saw it I sucked in my breath and held fast to Julian's hand. The red and gold auditorium seated more than two thousand people. Its sparkling swirl of balconies that rose up to a high dome with a sunburst design in the middle stunned me with its old-fashioned splendor. Soon we were to find out that backstage was far less opulent, with no charm in its crowded dressing rooms and a rabbit warren of tiny offices and workrooms; worst of all, no rehearsal studios at all! Try as I would to find something admirable about British plumbing and heating facilities, I failed utterly. I was forever cold, except under the duress of dancing. I hated the stingy supply of hot water in the
bathrooms, forcing me to take the quickest bath possible before I froze to death.
And all the time Julian stayed glued to my side. Privacy was something he'd never heard of and had no respect for. Even when I was in the bathroom he had to be there, so I'd race to lock the door and leave him pounding. "Let me in! I know what you're doing, why all the secrecy?"
Not only that, he wanted to crawl into my mind and know all my past, all my thoughts, everything I'd done. "And so your mother and father were killed in an auto crash, what happened next?" he asked, holding me in an iron embrace. Why did he have to hear it again? I swallowed. By now I had concocted a believable story about the law wanting to put us in an orphanage, so Chris, Carrie and I had to run away. "We had a little money saved up, you know, from birthdays, Christmas, and such. We caught a bus that would take us to Florida, but Carrie was sick and threw up, and this huge fat black lady came and took us to her 'doctor son.' I guess he felt sorry for us; he took us in . . . and that's all there is to it."
"All there is to it," he repeated slowly. "There's a hell of a lot you're not telling me! Though I can guess the rest. He saw a rich plum in a young beautiful girl, and that's why he was so damned generous. Cathy-- just how intimate were you with him?"
"I loved him, and I planned to marry him." "Then why didn't you?" he shot out. "Why did you finally say yes to me?"
Tact and subtlety were never among my virtues. I grew angry because he was making me explain, when I didn't want to explain. "You were at me all the time!" I stormed. "You made me believe I could learn to love you--but I don't think I can! We've made a mistake, Julian! A horrible mistake!"
"Don't you say anything like that again, you hear!" Julian sobbed as if I'd wounded him terribly, and I was reminded of Chris. I couldn't go through my life damaging everyone I met, so my rage vanished as I allowed him to take me in his arms. His dark head lowered so he could kiss my neck. "Cathy, I love you so much. More than I ever wanted to love any woman. I've never had anyone love me for myself. Thank you for trying to love me, even though you say you don't."
It hurt to hear the quiver in his voice. He seemed a small boy who was pleading for the impossible to happen, and perhaps I was doing him an injustice. I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck. "I do want to love you, Jule. I did marry you, and I am committed, so I'll try and make you the best wife I can. But don't push at me! Don't make demands--just let love come as I learn more about you. You're almost a stranger to me, even though we've known each other for three years."
He winced, as if I ever really knew him, then love would be, indeed, impossible. He doubted himself so much. Oh, God, what had I done? What kind of person was I, that I could turn from an honest, sincere, honorable man and rush headlong into the arms of someone I suspected was a brute?
Momma had a way of acting impulsively, and being sorry when it was too late. I wasn't like her underneath; I couldn't be! I had too many talents to be like someone who had none . . . none but for making every man fall in love with her, and that wasn't intelligence. No, I wanted to be like Chris . . . and then I floundered again, caught, as always, in the quicksand of her making. All of it was her fault, even my marriage to Julian!
"Cathy, you're going to have to learn to overlook a lot of flaws," said Julian. "Don't put me up on a pedestal, don't expect perfection. I have feet of clay, as you already know, and if you try to make me into the Prince Charming I think you want . . . you are going to fail. You have that doctor of yours on a pedestal too; I think you might be the kind to put all the men you love up so high they are bound to come tumbling down. Just love me and try not to see what doesn't please you."