He followed the sound of her voice, moving carefully now in total darkness, hands ready in front of him. His shin hit the coffee table and he heard the ice bucket rattle against glass.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in the bedroom,” Mary said. “I think.”
He moved in that direction, around the coffee table, and came to a doorway that seemed darker than the dark sitting room. Entering cautiously, a room he’d never seen, with nothing to picture from memory, Moran extended his arms like a man sleepwalking. He caught the scent of her perfume, moved a cautious step and felt her hair brush his face. She was between his arms and he closed them around her now, feeling her hands slide up over his ribs.
He said in almost a whisper, “You find the candle?”
“No. It must be in the bathroom.”
He said, “Do we need it?”
He felt her hands, her breath-this slim girl, not as tall as he’d remembered her, the image of her across a room. He felt the silky material covering her bare skin, the skin smoothly taut, her body delicate but firm pressing into him, their mouths brushing, finding the right place again, and this time drifting into a dreamlike kind of consciousness, Moran aware but not seeing himself, Mary moving against him, moving him, guiding gently, and Moran knew where they were going, feeling the foot of the bed against his leg and it was all the bearings he needed. They bailed out in the dark and fell into the double bed in the excitement of each other. She said, “You don’t know how long…” He said, “I know.” Barely moving their mouths apart to speak. She said, “God, I want you.” He said, “How do you get this off?” He said, “Shit, I tore it.” She said, “I don’t care, tear it,” pulling his belt apart. He said, “Can you wait, just a second?” She said, “No.” He said, “I can’t either. Jesus.” She said, “Don’t talk.” He said, “One second…” and got on his knees and pulled off her sandals and slacks and somehow got out of his pants, pausing then, catching his breath to pull his shirt over his head and when he sank down again into the bed they were naked, with nothing to make them hold back all that longing they could now release. The lights came on as they were making love, a soft bedroom glow that was just enough and could have been cued as Moran said, “Oh, man,” and had to smile as he saw Mary smiling. Now they could see each other and it wasn’t simply an act of their bodies, they were identified to each other, finally where they wanted to be more than anywhere. Moran’s urge raised him stiff-armed, raised his face to the headboard, to the wall above them and he groaned, letting go that was like, “Gaiii-yaaa!” and brought Mary’s eyes open, but she closed them again, murmuring, moving, and remained in iridescent sparkling dark as he came back to her again, winding down, settling.
She felt moisture on his back, his shoulders. She said, “Oh, God,” as though it might be her last breath. Then opened her eyes to study his face in repose, his eyelashes, his eyelids lightly closed.
She said quietly, “Well… how have you been?”
“Not too bad.”
“Do you always do that?” Her words a soft murmur.
“What?”
“I thought you were in pain.”
“I was, sort of.”
“You really throw yourself into it.”
“That was the first time I ever heard myself do that. It just came, so to speak.” He opened his eyes. “You do an analysis after?”
“No, but I’ve always wondered about you,” Mary said. “Do you know how many words we’ve spoken to each other, counting today?”
“We didn’t have to use words. That was the spooky part about it. I always had the feeling we knew each other when we were little. Little kids who played together, then didn’t see each other for about thirty years.”
“I’m not that old.”
“You’re old enough. You know what I mean,” Moran said. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
“No.”
“Boy, you are really something.”
She said, “There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“There’s way more,” Moran said. “I don’t mean just in bed. Will you tell me what you’re doing here?”
“I came down with some girls from the club. Polo buffs. Or that’s their excuse to get away and party, maybe play a little tennis. Actually they came down yesterday, but I couldn’t make it till today.”
Moran said, “Yeah, I ran into them at the airport. They looked sort of familiar-one of ’em’s name is Philly?”
“Right, Philly, Marilyn and Liz, my old tennis court buddies.”
Moran said, “You’re staying here, this place? I don’t think it’s very in.”
“No, what happened,” Mary said, “my friends drove in from Casa de Campo to meet me and go to a cocktail party at the Santo Domingo Country Club. Mostly embassy people.”
“Yeah?…”
“Then I was supposed to drive back to Casa de Campo with them later. The polo matches start tomorrow.” Mary paused. “But I left the party.”
“Why’d you come here?”
“Well, you told Philly you were staying here…”
“Yeah?…”
“I thought I’d stop by and say hi.”
Moran said, “Really?” And began to smile. “You came to the hotel just to see me?”
“You want the truth?” Mary said. “I came to Santo Domingo just to see you.”
“But you said-”
“I lied,” Mary said. “I didn’t plan to make the trip. But then Philly called last night to coax me, tell me about the embassy party and happened to mention she saw you at the airport.” She said, “There, I’ve bared my soul to you, Moran.”
“It’s a nice one,” Moran said. “I’m getting excited all over again. But what about the polo matches?”
“I think polo’s boring,” Mary said. She smiled and he smiled. “I sent for my bags. For the time being I don’t have any clothes.”
Moran said, “You don’t, huh?” Still smiling.
SHE SAID, “You’re getting tired of me already.”
“What, because I said we ought to go out? Room service is okay, but it’s still room service.”
“I have to admit, George, you’re a lot more romantic than I thought you’d be.”
“I hear myself sometimes,” Moran said, “I sound like I’m about seventeen.”
She said, “You don’t look much older, except for the beard. I love your beard. I love your body.”
Even after he had told her why he was here and she was fascinated and wanted to walk the streets of his war with him, they remained in the hotel for the next two days. They needed the intimacy of being alone together, to look at each other with no one watching now and realize, no question about it, they were right. Boy, were they right. Meant for each other. They could say it and it sounded fine. They could say, I love you, earnestly, though so far only in the midst of love, perspiration glistening on their bodies, and I love you sounded pretty good, too. They lay in the sun at the hotel pool, a breeze coming off the Caribbean. She touched him and told him he could be one of the winter ballplayers. He told her she was way better looking than any of the young baseball wives, looked around, realized it wasn’t even a contest and widened the scope to include all the girl movie stars he could think of. He believed it. They talked, never having to think of things to say, and were at ease with each other in silence.
“I remember times at the club I’d see you staring off in space,” Mary said, “like you were planning to go over the wall.”
They lay side by side at the deep end of the pool, facing the afternoon sun, their lounge chairs touching.
“I got pardoned,” Moran said. “If I hadn’t, yeah, I would’ve done it. I could feel it coming.”
She said, “Can we get a few things out in the open?”
“It’s all right with me.”
“Okay. Why’d you marry Noel?”
“I think it was her heinie,” Moran said. “That high, insolent ass, like it’s got a personality all its own.”