Read Online Bodies and Souls by Nancy Thayer - Free Book Online Page B

just within the bounds of custom. It was quite a trick, and Judy imagined that the Arangurens gave the energy to this that they would have had to give to raising children. Judy was slightly leery of the couple, and knew it, as if she were a house cat occasionally required to occupy the same territory as a pair of flamingos. Yet Carlos had once said something to her that had touched her deeply.
    It had been almost exactly a year ago, around Halloween, that time of year when night fell early and the woods around Judy’s house were full of rustling and she wished her children were still at home, young enough to dress up in costumes which established the idea of ghosts and witches as childish human fancies. The Sloans had had a dinnerparty, a casual buffet affair, with hot chili and cornbread and green salad and beer. The Sloans’ house was a modern, architect-designed oddity with a family room floored with red tiles and a black metal fireplace in the center encircled by a sort of dry moat. This was called “the conversation pit” and everyone exclaimed in admiration of it, but Judy thought it looked like a setup in a bad restaurant. And in spite of the thick red carpet that covered the steps down into it, she found it terribly uncomfortable to sit there. But Nina Sloan was a good hostess, and she placed fruits and little chocolate cakes and trays with a variety of unusual liqueurs at the four sections of the pit that were left uncarpeted to serve as tables. Her guests arranged themselves around the blazing fire, seeming happy enough. Everyone found themselves, of necessity, divided into intimate groups—it was difficult to hear someone on the other side of the fire, and almost impossible to see anyone without kneeling uncomfortably so as to peer above the flames but below the vast cast-iron hood.
    Judy found herself seated next to Carlos, and his proximity just slightly alarmed her. She wondered what on earth they would find to talk about. She was aware of how she must look to him: the All-American Housewife in her long plaid skirt, Shetland sweater, and gold chains. Few people discomfited her as Carlos did. He was so brazenly masculine—and he was such a flirt! Tonight he was wearing—of all things—a floor-length caftan which a student from South Africa had given him. It was quite beautiful, a silky deep blue with the neck and cuffs and hem embroidered in gold. Most men would have looked like fools in it, but Carlos wore it with ease. In fact, it suited him, and he knew it. He was tall, with a burnished look to his skin, and thick black hair, startling black eyes. He was vain, careful of his appearance, but his masculinity had never been called into question—he was such a womanizer.
    “Oh, my darling,” he would say to whatever woman happened to be near, “I haven’t seen you for so long. Let me hold your hand. How delicious you smell. That scent reminds me of the white flowers that bloomed outside my bedroom when I was a boy in Spain.”
    In spite of all his years in the United States, he still spoke with a Spanish accent, which added the thrill of foreign possibilities to his words. Men were never angered to hear Carlos romancing their wives, for Carlos was so democratic in his compliments, and so obvious. No woman at any party escaped his extravagant Spanish praise, and he did love women so much that he never found one he could not somehow admire. His blondGerman wife went about her own conversations quite naturally, with no more sign of jealousy than if her husband had been playing a game of tennis. She was beautiful and clever and did not need to worry.
    It had been a long time since Judy had seen Carlos, however, and as she attempted to arrange herself on the carpeted steps around the fireplace, she felt that quick flash of fear she always felt when privately encountering Carlos: what if he could not think of anything about her to praise? But Carlos immediately took up her long braid of hair and held it