Unlucky in Love
Chapter 3He'd promised to call her every evening; she rushed home from work and waited for that call. When the phone didn't ring all evening she tried to think up every reason he might have for missing the call – he was on a case, after all. She didn't know what the case was about or what he was doing . . . maybe he was too busy to call her. She tried busying herself around the apartment, waiting, hoping for the phone to ring, but the later it got the more she worried. Had something happened to him? Was he injured and couldn't get to a phone? Had he simply forgotten? Forgotten her already? Had he found someone new? Someone more exciting than she was? Didn't he care about her anymore? She'd waited and hoped that he would say he loved her, but she hadn't heard those words yet.
When the phone rang the next morning she was somewhere between frantic and grief. And then he was there, talking to her, explaining that he'd been worn out from the job and had laid down to take a nap, only the nap never ended and he slept all night. He sounded so miserable, so sorry that he'd missed their call, that she believed him, and thought herself silly for doubting him.
"When are you coming home?" she asked, hoping that it was soon. She didn't want another night of going crazy with worry and suspicion.
"I'm taking the early train tomorrow. It arrives at the station at 12:15. Do you get off at six o'clock?"
"Yes," she lied to him. "I'll see you after work." She didn't tell him she was taking the day off; she fully intended to surprise him when he exited the train. She did it as much for herself as she did for him; she needed to see him as soon as possible and couldn't stand behind the perfume counter all day, patiently waiting for six o'clock.
He was tired; he'd had to get up at five in the morning to catch the 6:30 train and he hadn't slept well that night; he was too excited to get home to his woman. When the locomotive pulled into Grand Central Station all he could think about was going home to his small apartment and resting before he went to pick up Connie. His attention was elsewhere and he didn't see her, almost walking past her with his head down. Then the breeze caught her perfume and blew the scent right to him. He stopped, startled . . . That's Connie's perfume, he thought. But she can't be here. She said she worked until six. That's when he looked up and into those startling blue eyes . . .
"You're here!"
She threw her arms around him and kissed him, in front of God and everyone getting off the train at Grand Central. It was the first time they'd kissed in public, and for just the briefest of moments he was embarrassed by it. Then the joy and excitement of having her here with him now, of not having to wait all day to see her, took over, and he dropped his suitcase and put his arms around her. There was no more embarrassment.
"I took the day off as a surprise. I couldn't wait until tonight to see you. Tell me you're glad I'm here."
"I am so glad you're here. We have a whole afternoon together. Is there anything you want to do? Did you plan anything special?"
"No, darling. I just wanted to be with you." That was the truth; now that she was back in his arms she didn't care where they went or what they did.
He'd skipped dinner the night before and had no time for breakfast this morning in order to catch the train. "Have you eaten lunch? I'm starving."
She shook her head. "No, I waited for you."
He picked up his suitcase with one hand and grabbed her by the hand with the other. "Come on, I know just the place."
They got to the street and he hailed a taxi. He felt like being extravagant; he wanted to buy her the world. Lunch would have to do for now. "Take us to The Four Seasons," Stuart told the taxi driver, and Connie gasped.
"The Four Seasons? We can't go there, Stuart, it's too expensive. Besides, I'm not dressed for it. Please, please, I'd rather go to the diner on 40th Street, or Chow Ling's. Please."
"You would? Really?"
"Yes, yes, please."
"Chow Ling's, driver."
When they arrived at Chow Ling's and Stuart had paid for the taxi, he set his suitcase on the sidewalk. "I wanted to take you someplace as elegant as you," he whispered into her hair as they stood with their arms around each other.
"But I love this place," she replied, "and I love being with you. We don't have to go somewhere expensive. As long as we're together it doesn't matter where we are."
How could he explain it to her? He was just getting started in the private investigation business, and money was scarce. Still, he'd spend every cent he had on her just to see her smile. Every time she smiled at him he felt something he'd never felt before. Something deep inside, something warm and tender. He wanted to hold her, and protect her, and . . . love her. There it was, at last, that word. The one word he'd never felt; never thought of, never said. He loved her. At last there was no doubt, no hesitation in acknowledging the feeling. He was sure that what he felt for Connie was indeed love.
And yet . . . and yet to say it out loud. Something in him stopped his voice from expressing to her exactly how he felt. To say it was so final. It was a commitment, a lifetime promise that what he felt now he would feel forever. And right now he couldn't be sure of that.
He suffered guilt and shame for not being able to put voice to his feelings. And, when it came right down to it, fear. He was afraid to make the commitment, to say the words that would bind him to her forever. What if she didn't feel the same about him? What if he loved her to no avail? Yet here she was, warm and tender, a real flesh and blood person, the only one he wanted to be with. He sought to lie in her arms, to tell her all the emotions he was feeling, to say the forbidden words. Instead, he settled for, "You're right. It doesn't matter where we are. I'm happy just to be with you."
XXXXXXXX
An hour later they left Chow Ling's arm in arm, their hunger for food sated but their desire for each other raging within both of them. He wanted her so badly, to touch her and kiss her and make passionate love to her, and he knew that couldn't happen. She was a respectable, decent young woman, and respectable, decent young women did not sleep with men until they were married, no matter how much they loved each other.
Hmm . . . marriage. Could he expect the girl to marry him when he couldn't even tell her he loved her? But he did love her, and he would just have to find a way to say it. As for marriage . . . he wasn't ready for that quite yet, and he knew it. He needed to build his business, to make something of himself. He wanted to be Stuart Bailey, Private Investigator. He wanted to be known and respected throughout New York, he wanted to be the man that people who needed his services flocked to. He wanted to be . . .
He wanted to be lying in bed with the woman he loved, with his arms wrapped around her and her head resting on his chest. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that his whole body ached, that thoughts of her drove all other thoughts from his mind, that his feelings went to places they'd never gone before, and instead he had to settle for walking arm and arm down 42nd Street.