The Ice Cream Game
"It was a lovely concert, Georg, thank you so much for surprising me with the tickets. "
He took her arm and steered her through the crowded theatre lobby. Once they were outside, he paused to regard her quizzically. "If you were enjoying it so much, Maria darling, then how do you explain the grimace you wore throughout the entire performance? You looked like you were in pain."
"Oh, that," she acknowledged. "Well, that soprano was a quarter-tone flat most of the time. But other than that, well, it was splendid."
He rolled his eyes. "Must you always find the silver lining in every cloud?"
"M-hm," she sparkled. "The truth is, that with all of the wedding preparations, and being constantly surrounded by seven children and a few supervising adults, it's a treat just to be out for the evening like this. Just the two of us. And all arranged at the last minute!" she added. "What inspired you to surprise me like this?"
"Oh, nothing in particular. I was just in the mood to make a romantic gesture," he said, in that innocent tone he used when he was keeping something from her. She couldn't imagine what mischief he could make out of two tickets to a mediocre concert, but she knew he would reveal nothing until he was good and ready.
They stood at the bottom of the theatre steps, at one end of Salzburg's widest, most elegant boulevard. Although it was evening, the shops were brightly lit and bustling, as were the sidewalk cafes sprawling in every direction.
"I'm sorry about the soprano. Let's find some refreshment, shall, we, and try to redeem the evening?" He tucked her arm in his and they walked in companionable silence.
"That's what I want, Georg," she announced, pointing to a small shop awash in silvery light. "Ice cream."
"Ice cream? I was thinking something stronger, but – well, all right, darling, whatever you like."
Although a few customers sat at tables, there was no one waiting at the counter. Maria had barely begun to read the placard with the day's flavors when he interrupted.
"What are you waiting for, Maria? Go ahead and order!" .
"No, you go ahead, Georg." she said. "I'm not quite ready yet."
"What is there to decide?" he asked. "It's just ice cream."
She sighed. Having grown up surrounded by abundant luxury, he could not imagine a childhood where a year might go by without ice cream. And needless to say, ice cream had not been on the menu at Nonnberg Abbey. "It's not that easy for me to decide," she explained. "It's torture, in fact. I was deprived for so long, I can't get over that feeling that I might not have another chance like this for months! Should I have strawberry? It's my favorite. I've always wanted to try mocha. And the chocolate looks so good..."
"I don't really understand the problem, Maria. You could come back here every day of the week and try a different flavor if you liked. If you ask me nicely, I'll buy you the entire shop! It's just ice cream, and I'm having pistachio," he declared.
"Oh, that sounds interesting! What is it?"
"A nut that grows in the Middle East. Come along now, make a decision, Maria."
"All right," she hesitated. "I'll have the strawberry. Although that pistachio does look tempting. Perhaps you'll share a taste with me?"
He turned to her and, much to her surprise, drew himself up to his full height and announced, "I don't share my desserts."
"I beg your pardon?"
"I said, I don't share my desserts. Do we share desserts at home? No. Why would I do it here?"
"Are you joking?" she asked, incredulous. "You ask me to spend the rest of my life with you, to be the mother of your children. You take every opportunity to remind me that what's yours is mine – the villa. The apartment in London. The boat-"
"Yacht," he corrected her, reaching into his pocket to pay the clerk.
"And a vault full of jewels I don't want. You offer to buy me the ice cream shop. But you won't give me one taste of your ice cream?"
Laughing, he held the door open for her as they left the shop. The sidewalk was crowded with Salzburg's finest citizens, all enjoying an uncommonly beautiful summer evening. The two of them walked along slowly, eating their ice cream. She could hear Georg respond to an occasional greeting, but she was still wary of the unkind remarks or even just curious looks that were sometimes sent her way, so she kept her eyes on her ice cream, savoring each mouthful. When she looked up, he was methodically working his way through his own ice cream; it was a garish green color and he was close enough to her that she picked up its perfumey scent.
"You won't give me even a taste?" she wheedled, looking up at him through her lashes. In the last month, she'd learned a thing or two about getting her way with him.
"Well," he pondered. "Perhaps…we could make it a business transaction. A trade of sorts."
"A taste of mine for a taste of yours, you mean?"
"No." He stopped short, just alongside a sidewalk café, and turned toward her, breaking into a grin. "I'll give you a taste of my ice cream if you give me a kiss."
"What?" Maria was shocked. Not at the idea of kissing him – she'd become quite fond of kissing, actually, in the month since they'd become engaged. Indeed, she'd happily have spent most of her time kissing him, and being kissed in return, but he had gently made it clear to her that kissing in public just was not done. Any public display of affection, it seemed, was abhorred by polite society. He managed to convey this to her without hurting her feelings, and he was enthusiastic and lavish with his affections during their rare private moments together, so she'd made her peace with it .
"You – you mean we'll trade when we get home?"
"No. The ice cream will have melted by then, Maria. Surely you don't want to wait that long."
"Well," she said sensibly, "then why don't you let me taste your ice cream now and I promise that when we get home, I'll-"
"I don't give IOUs either. The kiss first, and then the ice cream," he insisted.
She wasn't sure what had gotten into him, but she wasn't going to let that interfere with a chance to kiss him. "All right then," she shrugged, bemused. Quickly, before he could change his mind, she rose on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his cheek. "Now. About my ice cream."
"O-ho," he shook his head. "What kind of kiss was that?"
"W-why? What did you have in mind?" she asked warily.
"Like this." He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth for a long moment or two. His mouth was warm and firm on hers, though it wasn't what she'd call a passionate kiss. Behind her, she thought she heard a passing stranger cough discreetly.
Blushing now , she demanded, "All right. Now can I have my pistachio-"
But he interrupted. "Wait. That's strawberry you have there?" He nodded at her cup, but her eyes were on her mouth.
"Yes, why?"
"You know, I don't think I'd ever tasted strawberry before. It's quite … delicious." He licked his lips for just a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to turn her cheeks fiery red. "I suppose there is something to be said for sharing," he went on, smiling wickedly. "Perhaps you will give me a taste of your – er – strawberries after all?"
A-ha. Two can play that came, Captain, Maria thought. But then she noticed that an entire tableful of elderly women had been staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, at the spectacle of a man and woman kissing in public. She beckoned Georg to follow her, and together they strolled down the street.
"I'd be happy to share with you, Georg," she continued after a minute. " But you know how prices are these days. I'm afraid one kiss is just not enough in exchange for a taste of my ice cream. And, well, I always follow your lead on business matters, and if you think it's better to collect in advance, I'd best heed your advice, don't you think?"
He paused as though carefully weighing his options. "Well," he confessed, "While I'm usually a tough negotiator, somehow I'm in the mood to be generous tonight. Two kisses for one taste of ice cream? Perhaps. I'll have to think about it. And while I'm considering your offer…"
Without warning, he swooped down on her again and stole a kiss, gently nibbling on her lower lip before pulling away.
"Georg!' she gasped. "What ever has gotten into you?" She noticed, uneasily, that people were stepping off the sidewalk, detouring so as not to disturb the two of them. Georg seemed not to notice. By now, Maria was not only baffled by Georg's behavior, but she also was worriedly eyeing his rapidly dwindling cup of ice cream. All this kissing wasn't getting her anywhere!
"How do you think I got all those medals? I'm a master strategist." he boasted. "It's the oldest trick in the book. Distract the enemy with meaningless negotiations and then strike."
As Georg continued to sing his own praises, she saw her opening: in a flash, she reached over and stole a spoonful of his ice cream. It was delicious – the pistachio flavor was sweet and spicy all at once.
"Maria! How dare you!"
"All I wanted was a taste of your ice cream, Georg. And now I've got it. I win."
"It's not over yet," he growled. "By my account you owe me three kisses."
Without another word, he used his free hand to pull her toward him. This kiss was by far the most interesting one yet. Her mouth parted under his; he tasted cold and sweet and she could have kissed him forever had her knees not begun to buckle. Chuckling, he caught her around the waist with his free hand and steadied her. "How many does that leave, Fraulein?"
"I-I lost count," she said giddily.
To her mortification, Maria heard a shrill voice behind her, "Isn't that Captain von Trapp and his gov-" but then Georg hastily led her away before she could hear any more.
"Never mind that witch! Come this way," he urged her, and together, they turned into a dark, narrow side street. In the second block, through the gloom, she could make out the shape of a small church. Georg had obviously been there before, because without hesitation, pushed aside the ivy growing on a high iron fence and easily unlocked a gate. "In here," he directed, and in the next moment, they were in a tiny cemetery with a stone bench and a bubbling fountain.
"You've brought me to a cemetery, Captain? How utterly romantic!" she teased him, but he only shrugged.
"There's not much privacy anywhere in Salzburg. I've got a distant cousin buried here. It's so exclusive, I'm not sure they'll take me after I'm dead, but alive is a different matter entirely. Now, where were we?" and he led her to the bench.
She nodded toward his almost-empty cup. "More?" Smiling, he fed her the last bit from his cup, and she returned the favor.
With a deep sigh of contentment, he stretched his arms out along the back of the bench and extended his long legs out in front of them. "Do you know what I did today?" he asked.
"I can't imagine what put you in such a mood, no, but whatever it is, I think I like it," she laughed.
"Well, Fraulein, I made all the arrangements for our honeymoon."
"Are you still set on keeping it all a secret from me?"
"It's too good to keep a secret," he grinned. "So here's a hint. Repeat after me. 'J'aime la glace.'"
"La glace?" she repeated. "J- We're going to France?"
"M-hm," he said smugly. "Paris. I bought the train tickets, booked a suite for my bride, arranged a car and driver. All done. The only thing left to do is the infernal waiting."
She clasped her hands together. "Paris! How absolutely thrilling! The week will go by so fast, but I'm sure I'll enjoy every minute, and…"
"A week?" he interrupted. "We're going for six weeks."
After a moment's stunned silence, she bleated, "Six weeks?"
"Six weeks," he said firmly. "It's a honeymoon, Maria."
"But I thought that – I mean, what about the children?"
"They'll be fine. My sister's agreed to stay with them, and there's Frau Schmidt, and even Max has agreed to look in on them. Where did you get the idea that we would only go away for a week?"
"I-I don't know," she said, her mind reeling. "I had no idea that people – that is, I just thought…well, anyway, what are we going to do with ourselves for six weeks?"
His dark blue eyes gleamed dangerously, but he said nothing, only bit back a smile.
"What is it?" she demanded. "You've got that look on your face that says that I've done something hilarious, but you're trying not to embarrass me."
"Do you really want me to tell you how a newlywed couple might entertain themselves on their honeymoon?" he smirked. "Because I spent the better part of the afternoon pondering that very question, and it put me in quite a mood, as you see. I can easily go into a fair amount of detail. I could even demonstrate a thing or two-"
"Ehrm-no, no, that's fine, let's leave it up the imagination for now," she said hastily. "I think I've got the general idea."
"We really ought to take a year, you know, to do it properly, but I think six weeks will do," he commented.
"A year?" she said weakly.
"Yes. Well, of course, it all started right there in Paris, you know."
"It- it did?" She stared at him, confused.
"Yes. I mean, the ancient Persians and Chinese really invented ice cream, but its first appearance in Europe was in Paris. And I figure if you eat ice cream once or twice a day for six weeks, you'll never have that desperate, deprived feeling again. You'll be, uh, sated, as it were. " He turned his innocent gaze on her. "Why, what did you think I meant?"
"Georg von Trapp. You…rascal. You scoundrel."
Laughing, he drew her into his arms, but then his eyes darkened and he whispered, "It's driving me mad, the waiting." She melted into his arms as he kissed her, and she kissed him back until she couldn't tell up from down.
Maria could happily have gone on that way all night, but presently, they were startled by the clangor of bells from the adjacent church tower. "I've got to get you back," he grumbled. They held each other close for another silent minute or two, and then, sighing, he stood, drew her arm back through his, and led her out of the cemetery and back down the narrow lane to the boulevard.
Maria's eyes had still not adjusted to the bright lights when she heard a vaguely familiar shrill voice nearby. It was the woman who had driven them away from the crowds. "There they are! I thought that was her, and that is definitely Captain von Trapp," the voice screeched.
To her surprise, Georg headed directly toward the source of that appalling voice. Dreading a confrontation, Maria tried to drag her feet, but he kept her arm firmly tucked in his, so she was forced to trot just to keep up with him until he stopped before a table where a middle aged couple sat. The woman was thin and angular, with an unpleasant sneer twisting her face, while the man, who was much more comfortably upholstered, merely looked bored.
"Good evening," Georg greeted them. Even Maria was taken aback by the way he invested two simple words with a tone that perfectly mixed aristocratic hauteur and military authority. She'd been on the wrong end of that tone at the beginning of the summer and it wasn't a pleasant experience at all.
He went on. "As it happens, I am Captain von Trapp, yes. And this young woman is about to become my Baroness. I couldn't help hearing my name mentioned. Is there something you wanted to ask me?"
"Well, I never!" the woman huffed.
"In that case," Georg replied. "perhaps you ought to. It might improve your mood."
Maria bit back a giggle as the woman gasped. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said," Georg repeated, with more than a touch of arrogance, "if you did, it might put a smile on your face. You might enjoy it quite a bit, in fact."
"I say there!" The man roused himself to speak. "You can't talk to my wife like that!"
Georg raised his eyebrows sky-high. "I'm sorry, sir. I was merely recommending some ice cream. It's delicious, and I find that it works wonders for the disposition. Good evening."
And with a polite nod, he led Maria back up the street. This time, she held her head high. "Didn't you know? I am about to become a Baroness," she informed him, and then she let him escort her back to the villa, the place they called home.
OOOOOOOOOO
A/N: This story, seeing how it's about kissing, is dedicated to the memory of James Garner, Julie Andrews' co-star in three films and her favorite kisser among her leading men, who died this week. I wrote it at the request of friends who wanted to know more about the game in my story about the pastry shop. I did enough research into the history of ice cream that I can tell you I have totally misstated the facts and indulged in an anachronism or three. No matter. Don't own TSOM, not mine, all for love, etc. Props to lemacd for the dialogue at the end. If you haven't already, check out the author named hatoff!