“What’s he like? All I know is he’s away a lot. He likes classical music, and oh, yeah, he’s immaculate,” he said, laughing. “I’m just teasing,” he said when I didn’t laugh. “If you don’t want to talk about him, that’s fine.”
“Of course I don’t mind talking about him. I love talking about him. If anyone is sophisticated, it’s Daddy,” I began. “He’s always aware of the newest fashions. He speaks four languages, plays the piano, goes to concerts and the theater in London, New York, and Paris. He knows the richest, most successful people, here or in Greece or Rome. And he’s handsome, devastatingly handsome. People who first meet him think he’s a member of some royal family. No one is more elegant than Daddy.”
Buddy sat with his mouth open.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you always call him Daddy?”
“What else should I call him?”
“Holy smokes. It sounds like I’m going to meet a Greek god or something. Now you do have me nervous.”
“Sorry. I guess I do go a bit overboard when I talk about him.”
“That’s okay. It’s wonderful to think so highly of your parents, I guess. I mean, I look up to my father and my mother. My father’s a pretty bright guy, and he keeps himself fit.”
“Oh, Daddy looks years younger than he is.”
Buddy nodded. Then he paused, tilted his head, and gave me a coy smile. “He doesn’t walk on water, does he?”
“No, but I think he could,” I said, and he laughed.
“I do love you, Lorelei. I’ve never seen or heard a girl talk like you. You’re special.”
“That’s what Daddy says.”
“He’s right. I guess he is a genius, and if he’s so intelligent, he’ll immediately see how deeply and sincerely I care for you and approve of me. Hey,” he said after a moment. “You don’t look happy about that.”
I brushed his hair off his forehead. “No matter what, Buddy, I’m very happy I met you, got
to know you.”
“Great, only don’t make it sound like the last scene in Casablanca or something. There’s always tomorrow when it comes to us, Lorelei. Tomorrow forever.”
“Tomorrow forever,” I repeated.
He shook his head. “Looks like I have to do more convincing.” He sat up to kiss me.
This time, I tried to control my passion so he could take the lead in our lovemaking. I wanted it to be softer and gentler and take longer, too. I tried to tell myself that this was the way Ava wanted it to be, but I felt it was more. With each caress, each kiss, we seemed to tighten and solidify the connection between us. This was the reason making love was the most intimate thing you could do with someone else, I thought, but only if you did it like this, with concern and care and not selfishness. In those precious minutes, you visited each other’s very soul, and if it was real and meant to be, you were like one person ready to share every joy and every sadness.
When we were finished, I was crying softly.
He smiled at my tears and kissed them away. “I hope those are tears of happiness,” he said.
“They are, but they are tears of sadness, too.”
“What? Why?”
I didn’t answer. I rose and reached for my clothing instead.
“What are you doing? It’s only a little past eight. We’re only twenty minutes away, and you told me we had to be there no earlier than ten.”
“I want to go home now,” I said. “Just get dressed.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Get dressed,” I repeated.