obvious way, I admit.” Now she permitted herself a smile.
The next thing he said would show, she thought, that he had made a choice, and she didn’t dare influence that choice in one way or another. She guessed he would say something like “Well, then,” or “Late, for me,” or “Where can I drop you?” Perhaps all of those remarks passed through his mind, unselected. At any rate, he said, “You have beautiful hair.”
She nodded.
“And beautiful eyes.”
She nodded.
“And beautiful lips.”
“All original equipment,” she said, “even the hair. No one in my family goes gray.”
“Yours is …” He shook his head. “I don’t know, sunny. Sandy. Palomino! Ha!” He smiled in a friendly way, but he had let the cry out, no mistake about it. Rosalind took a deep breath, and then Dick said, “Where are you staying?” Eileen began to pant.
“I think Al was at the Meridian. We’ve bought a condo recently, but I haven’t finished furnishing it yet.”
Then he said, “Let’s go there.”
Then she said, “Let’s.”
W HAT SHE COULD TELL when he was taking down her hair, and then unbuttoning her jacket and her blouse, was how many years he had spent with horses. His gestures were smooth and consistent, and once he had his hands on her body, he kept them there. But they weren’t eager and hungry; they were quiet and reassuring, warm, dry, and knowledgeable, as if he could find out things about her by touching her, the way he would have to do with horses, the way, perhaps, he would do with Laurita tomorrow, running his hands down her legs looking for heat. His touch, in fact, belied the look on his face, which was disturbed and eager. His touch was almost idle. When he had his hand on her neck, she felt him probe a little knot there, press it and release it, the way her masseuse did, then move down to her shoulder, and do the same there. It was as if no degree of desire could interfere with his habit of taking care. They had been naked for ten minutes when she spoke for the first time. She said, “Ibet the horses like you.” Eileen, who had been lying curled on the bed, jumped down and went under the bedskirt.
“They seem to, actually.”
“You have a nice touch.”
“I get along well with dogs, too. Though Eileen hasn’t really made up to me.”
“And you don’t get along with …?”
“Owners, maybe.”
“Al likes you.”
He looked her right in the eye. “Oh, they like me all right. I don’t like them.”
Rosalind threw back her head and laughed.
“And I don’t get along with my wife.”
“Is that why you look sad?”
“No doubt. Do I look sad, then?”
“You do to me.”
He sighed. “I’ve been afraid it would get out.”
“You looked happy after the race. Well, not happy, but excited. Almost happy.”
“I was almost happy. Closest I’ve been in a pretty long time. She’s a bomb-shell, that filly.” Here was where Rosalind fell in love, because Dick had a whole different smile for this filly when he thought of her, a whole separate category of secret delight that crossed his face and pierced Rosalind for some reason she didn’t begin to understand. She had been looking for mystery, hadn’t she? Well, here it was.
Even so, they could still stop, get dressed, turn back. Their friendly conversation and her laugh showed that. In the atmosphere of the room, there was some levity, some detachment, some pure friendliness that they could build upon to get out of this. Rosalind knew it. But instead she put her fingertips on his lips and ran them gently around, a multitude of her nerve endings tickling a multitude of his. And then she leaned forward, letting her hair fall on his shoulders, and kissed him.
Maybe he wasn’t getting along with his wife, but it was obvious that he had gotten along with her fine at some point, or with someone else, because his knowledge about what to do with Rosalind was instinctive and expert. First, he took her face between his
The next thing he said would show, she thought, that he had made a choice, and she didn’t dare influence that choice in one way or another. She guessed he would say something like “Well, then,” or “Late, for me,” or “Where can I drop you?” Perhaps all of those remarks passed through his mind, unselected. At any rate, he said, “You have beautiful hair.”
She nodded.
“And beautiful eyes.”
She nodded.
“And beautiful lips.”
“All original equipment,” she said, “even the hair. No one in my family goes gray.”
“Yours is …” He shook his head. “I don’t know, sunny. Sandy. Palomino! Ha!” He smiled in a friendly way, but he had let the cry out, no mistake about it. Rosalind took a deep breath, and then Dick said, “Where are you staying?” Eileen began to pant.
“I think Al was at the Meridian. We’ve bought a condo recently, but I haven’t finished furnishing it yet.”
Then he said, “Let’s go there.”
Then she said, “Let’s.”
W HAT SHE COULD TELL when he was taking down her hair, and then unbuttoning her jacket and her blouse, was how many years he had spent with horses. His gestures were smooth and consistent, and once he had his hands on her body, he kept them there. But they weren’t eager and hungry; they were quiet and reassuring, warm, dry, and knowledgeable, as if he could find out things about her by touching her, the way he would have to do with horses, the way, perhaps, he would do with Laurita tomorrow, running his hands down her legs looking for heat. His touch, in fact, belied the look on his face, which was disturbed and eager. His touch was almost idle. When he had his hand on her neck, she felt him probe a little knot there, press it and release it, the way her masseuse did, then move down to her shoulder, and do the same there. It was as if no degree of desire could interfere with his habit of taking care. They had been naked for ten minutes when she spoke for the first time. She said, “Ibet the horses like you.” Eileen, who had been lying curled on the bed, jumped down and went under the bedskirt.
“They seem to, actually.”
“You have a nice touch.”
“I get along well with dogs, too. Though Eileen hasn’t really made up to me.”
“And you don’t get along with …?”
“Owners, maybe.”
“Al likes you.”
He looked her right in the eye. “Oh, they like me all right. I don’t like them.”
Rosalind threw back her head and laughed.
“And I don’t get along with my wife.”
“Is that why you look sad?”
“No doubt. Do I look sad, then?”
“You do to me.”
He sighed. “I’ve been afraid it would get out.”
“You looked happy after the race. Well, not happy, but excited. Almost happy.”
“I was almost happy. Closest I’ve been in a pretty long time. She’s a bomb-shell, that filly.” Here was where Rosalind fell in love, because Dick had a whole different smile for this filly when he thought of her, a whole separate category of secret delight that crossed his face and pierced Rosalind for some reason she didn’t begin to understand. She had been looking for mystery, hadn’t she? Well, here it was.
Even so, they could still stop, get dressed, turn back. Their friendly conversation and her laugh showed that. In the atmosphere of the room, there was some levity, some detachment, some pure friendliness that they could build upon to get out of this. Rosalind knew it. But instead she put her fingertips on his lips and ran them gently around, a multitude of her nerve endings tickling a multitude of his. And then she leaned forward, letting her hair fall on his shoulders, and kissed him.
Maybe he wasn’t getting along with his wife, but it was obvious that he had gotten along with her fine at some point, or with someone else, because his knowledge about what to do with Rosalind was instinctive and expert. First, he took her face between his
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