My Sweet Audrina (Audrina 1)

and came in to sit on the edge of my bed. To my utter amazement, he began to tug off his shoes, then his socks. I started to say something sarcastic about Vera, who’d been bitchy all day, but I said nothing.

“In case you’re interested,” he said in a stiff way, “I’m not going to touch you. I’d just like to sleep in this room again and feel you near me before I make up my mind what to do with my life. I’m not happy, Audrina. I don’t think you’re happy, either. I want you to know I’ve talked to Damian, and your father no longer embezzles money from his dormant accounts. He’s honest now about old stock certificates that have great value. He was surprised I’d caught on and didn’t deny anything. All he said was, ‘I did it for a good cause.’”

He gave his information in an indifferent way, as if the words were spoken only to bridge the gap between us. Now that Arden was assistant vice president of my father’s firm, he’d stopped talking of someday returning to his first love, architecture. He put away his draftsman’s tools, the drawing table Billie had bought for him when he was sixteen, just as he put away the other dreams of his youth. I guess we all did the same thing. Fate dictated the paths we trod. Yet it hurt to see those things carried up into the attic, for so seldom did anything come back down.

I watched him put his creative ability away like something useless, and I felt disappointed to see he’d developed Papa’s craving for money, for power and then more money.

Though I tried time and time again to find concrete evidence that he was Vera’s lover, I guess I didn’t really want to know, or easily enough I could have caught them.

And time, once so fast, then so slow, speeded up again from the very monotony of everydayness, and I was twenty-two. Another spring and summer would soon disappear into the void I’d created for myself.

Just for something to occupy myself with, I seriously began cultivating the rose garden Momma had started long ago. I bought books on how to grow roses, and attended garden club meetings, taking Sylvia with me and introducing her for the first time to outsiders. Though she said little, no one thought her anything but shy. (Or at least they pretended to think that.) I dressed Sylvia in pretty clothes and styled her hair becomingly. She was always frightened and seemed relieved to come home again and put on her old garments.

One hot Saturday in late May, I was down on my knees in Momma’s rose garden, lightly scratching the ground with a hand rake before I added fertilizer. Tuberose bulbs were nearby, and soon I’d have them in the ground. Sylvia was inside the house taking a nap, and Vera had driven with Papa into town to shop for new clothes.

Suddenly a long shadow threw cool shade above me. I tipped back the brim of my straw hat and stared up at Arden, whom I’d believed was off playing golf with his buddies. A small part of me thought he and Vera could very well have arranged to meet in town.

“Why are you wasting your time out here and forgetting your music?” he asked harshly, kicking at the bag of fertilizer by my garden tools. “Anybody can grow flowers, Audrina. Not everybody has the potential to be a great musician.”

“What happened to your dream of making all American cities beautiful?” I asked sarcastically, thinking that as soon as I won prizes with my new breeds of roses and tulips, I’d go on to cultivate orchids in a greenhouse I’d ordered. And once I was bored with orchids, I’d find another hobby to keep me going, until one day I, too, ended up in the Whitefern cemetery.

“You sound bitter, like your aunt,” said Arden as he settled down beside me on the grass. “Don’t we all have dreams when we’re very young?” His voice and face took on a certain wistfulness. “I used to believe that you would never find anything as fascinating or absorbing as me. How wrong I was. No sooner did we marry than you were locking doors to keep me out. You don’t need me like I thought you would. There you are on your knees with canvas gloves on your hands, and you keep that damned hat on your head to shade your face so I can’t even see you. You don’t lift your eyes to meet mine and you’ve stopped smiling when I come home. You treat me as if I’ve become a stuffy piece of furniture to clutter up the neatness of your days without me. Don’t you love me anymore, Audrina?”

I went on feeding the roses, plotting the tulip beds, thinking about the orchids, wondering how soon Sylvia would wake up. Arden reached to put his arms about me. “I love you,” he said in such a solemn way I was alerted enough to stop what I was doing. His arms about me knocked off my wide-brimmed hat. “If you can’t love me, Audrina, then let me go. Set me free to find someone who will love me as I want and need to be loved.”

I forced myself to say indifferently, “Vera …?”

“Yes,” he bit out, “Vera. At least she isn’t cold and unresponsive. She treats me like a man. I’m not a saint or a devil, Audrina, just a man who has desires you won’t satisfy. I’ve tried for almost three years—oh, how I’ve tried. But you won’t yield and now I’m tired of trying. I want out. I’m going to divorce you and marry Vera … unless you can love me physically as much as you love me in other ways.”

I swiveled around on my knees to stare into his face. He really did love me, it was in his eyes. I saw love for me shining in his eyes, and a terrible sadness was there. Divorcing me and marrying Vera wouldn’t make him truly happy … not nearly as happy as my physical response would.

Confused thoughts raced through my mind. Puppy love, my aunt and father had called what I felt for Arden … and they’d been right. Adolescent love that wanted nothing more than hugs, small kisses and hand-holding.

Now he was leaving me for Vera… and in the end he’d be just another Lamar Rensdale. Vera didn’t love him. She’d never love any man more than she loved herself, or maybe because she couldn’t love herself, she couldn’t love anyone.

I shook my head, wondering if at last I was finally growing up. Was the mature side of me going to burgeon forth at this very moment? I felt a rising excitement and none of the fear I’d experienced on our wedding night. He could have gone and never said a word to warn me. He could have taken Vera and I wouldn’t have contested our divorce, and he knew that. Still … he was giving me another chance … he did love me … it wasn’t pity … he did love me.

His eyes delved into mine as his hands gripped my shoulders and his voice filled with urgency, as if he sensed what was going on within me. “We can start all over,” he said in an excited way. “This time we can start off right. Just you and me, without Sylvia in the next room for you to fret about. I have physical feelings for Vera, but I love you in all the sweet, romantic ways that seem silly with someone as unromantic as Vera. You touch my heart when I come home and I see you sitting near a window, staring out. I stand and I see the way the light falls through your hair and makes it a halo and your skin seems translucent, and I’m filled with wonder that you are my wife. Vera never makes me feel I have anyone special, only someone any man could have. I used to think when I was younger that when I won you, I won a princess who would love me forever, and happily we’d grow old together, and hand in hand we’d face old age without fear. But it hasn’t worked out that way. I can’t go on this way, loving you but taking Vera in your place. You drain me dry, Audrina. You take my heart and wring it, forcing me to run to Vera for solace. When it’s over, I find only physical satisfaction but no spiritual sustenance. Only you can give me that. How can you expect me to go on wanting you when you don’t want me in the same way? Love is like a fire that needs replenishing often, not just with tender smiles and light touches but with passion, too. Let’s do it again, our honeymoon night, without doors between us to hide behind. Without shame, make love to me now. Right now. Out of doors, here where we are. Damian is in town. Vera is gone. Sylvia was in that damned rocking chair singing to herself before I came out here, and she’s likely to stay there until she falls asleep …”

He was touching my heart, caressing me with his eyes and stirring my blood as he’d never done before. His amber eyes burned, even his hand seemed hot when he touched my face lightly. Quickly he withdrew his hand as if my flesh felt as hot as his.

“Darling, marriage needs to grow, become adventuresome … do something that you’ve never done before. I don’t care what. Make love to me this time. Don’t wait for me to start.”

No, I thought, I couldn’t do that. It was a man’s duty to make the first overture. It would be cheap and unladylike to touch him first. But his eyes were imploring, lit up with desire. I didn’t deserve him—he should leave me alone, for in the end I’d fail him. Still, I wanted him. Something was telling me to do as he said, regardless of what Papa had said about men and their evil desires that shamed the women who did as they wanted. Papa had brainwashed me long ago, I told myself… and this time I was going to override all the signals that flashed evil, dirty, nasty…

It wasn’t easy to drown out all that shouted shame. I didn’t even think I could initiate anything unless he kept on looking at me as he was now. He made himself vulnerable, put his hands behind his back and resisted his urges to touch me first. I fought the small voices instilled by Papa and his teachings … no, he was my husband, and I did love him, and he really did love me.

“I’m scared, Arden … so scared of losing you to Vera.”

His eyes were warm, soft, encouraging me. Deep and passionate eyes that kept urging me to go ahead and it wouldn’t be his lust, only my own desire, and for some reason that seemed to make a great difference. What I did would be what I wanted to do—and if it was evil, then let it be evil.

Arden needed me. He loved me and not Vera. Tentatively I cupped his face between my palms. He didn’t move. His hands stayed behind his back. I kissed him lightly on his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, and, finally his lips. They stayed soft, but not too soft, and parted only a little. Again I kissed him, with more passion, and still he didn’t respond. He was like someone I could do anything with and he’d never harm me. I dared another kiss that was deep and long, even as my hands curved around him and began to stroke his back right down to his buttocks. Something was coming alive in me as he allowed me to do what I wanted, without his doing anything to me or requesting or hinting.

Passion such as I’d never felt before began to swell deep and hot and demanding in me. My breasts grew larger and peaked with demand as I ached to have his hands on

my flesh, needing his body, wanting him inside me. My breath began to come faster, his, too, but still he didn’t reach to drag me down or pull off my clothes. I was the one who tore at his shirt. Off with his belt, too, then I unzipped his trousers and threw them aside. Shamelessly I pulled down his briefs—and even then he didn’t touch me, though he rose up on his knees to allow me to rid him of all that he wore and fell on his back so I could pull off his shoes and socks. He seemed so eager he was impatient, but it seemed ridiculous to me to keep on shoes and socks.

Not a word did he say as I fell upon him to kiss him everywhere and fondle everywhere, until at last I could wait no longer.