She shook her head. "No, I don't care. Wherever you want to go."
"Good," Ross said.
He paid the check, got their coats and walked past the dining rooms and down the hallway that was lined on both sides with original paintings for sale, to the lobby of the hotel-motel that was called an inn, the in Inn. Barbara hesitated.
"Ross-"
He took her arm. "Don't say anything yet. All right?" And guided her through the lobby around the planters and down another hallway to suite number 112, his hand in his coat pocket holding the key.
In the sitting room, on the coffee table-the first thing Barbara saw as she went in-was a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket, a bottle of good cognac and glasses. Closing the door behind them, Ross said, "I had this for a customer who was here a few days. He left this afternoon, it's paid for, I thought why not use it?-nice quiet spot."
Barbara said, "And the champagne. Is that left over?"
Ross laughed. "No, that's for us. Seriously though, folks-" Ross paused. "Barb, really, I thought this would be more comfortable. But if you feel… funny about it, we can always leave."
"It's fine," Barbara said.
"I promise you, I don't have any sneaky motives. Say the word, we'll turn around and walk out."
"Don't overdo it," Barbara said. "Right now I believe you." She sat down on the couch by the coffee table.
"I'll admit I've always been attracted to you," Ross said, opening the champagne. "I will even admit to having entertained fantasies about you."
"Sexual fantasies?"
"What other kind is there? But you know I didn't bring you here to get you in bed."
"Without my consent."
Ross grinned. "Well, maybe the possibility flashed through my mind. Any way I can give comfort, I'd be pleased to oblige. No, really." Serious again. "There's nothing better in a situation like this than to talk it out with someone, see what you think and how you honestly feel."
She watched him pour champagne, then open the cognac bottle.
"Touch of this? Make us a couple of French seventy-fives."
Barbara shook her head. "No thanks."
Ross poured about an ounce of cognac into his champagne and sat down on the couch, leaving a little space between them.
"Now then-have you told Sally and Mike?"
"No, I haven't really even talked to Mitch yet. I have no idea what his plans are."
"Does it matter?"
"Does it matter? Of course it matters."
"I mean, what if he wants a divorce?"
"Then we'll get a divorce," Barbara said. "Do you think I'd hold him against his will?"
"You wouldn't try to talk him out of it?"
"I'm not going to chase him," Barbara said. "He knows how I feel and what we've had for a long time. God, he's more sentimental than I am. The bottom drawer of his dresser, it's full of pictures of the kids when they were little. Birthdays, Christmas, a lot of them taken in Florida. We still have some of the old furniture, in the basement, my folks gave us to start out with when we got married. It's falling apart. He won't get rid of it; he won't even give it to the Goodwill."
"Sort of a bleeding heart," Ross said.
"Don't make him sound dumb," Barbara said. "He's not dumb. I'm saying if he wants to throw away twenty-two years to play house with some young broad, he's doing it with his eyes wide open."
Ross raised his arm to lay it on the backrest of the couch. The tip of his fingers touched Barbara's shoulders.
"I'm not saying he's dumb. But I do think he's out of his mind."
"Why, because he told me?"
"No, to get involved with somebody else. Do you know if he ever fooled around before?"
"I don't know when he would've had time. Now I think all of a sudden it's his age. Wanting to be twenty-five again."
"The trouble is, once they start…"
Barbara turned her head to look at him. "Is that the way it happened with you?"
"No," Ross said, "I always fooled around. Looking, I guess." His fingers moved idly on her shoulder. "What I'm saying-why I think he's out of his mind-I don't think I would've ever fooled around if I'd been married to you."
"You weren't happy? Either time?"
"Not really. I always had the feeling something was missing. I guess because I thought I loved my wives at the time, but never particularly liked them." He watched her sip the champagne. "How is it?"
"Very nice. Good and cold."
"Taste this."
She took a sip of his champagne-cognac because she knew he would insist.
"I like it, but it's a little heavy." She realized he was closer now as he took the glass from her hand.
"I'm not too concerned with Mitch," Ross said, "or how he got involved. I'm thinking more about you. I look at you, I think, what a waste."
"I haven't exactly been scrapped."
"No, what I'm saying, I think you're better-looking now, more attractive, than at any time since we've known each other."
"Trying to grow old gracefully. Like everyone else."
"You're not old." His fingers touched her cheek. "Not a line. Smooth, clear skin… a great figure. God," Ross's eyes raised to her face. "How long has it been since you've made love?"
"Do you want to know the exact day, and hour?"
"Barb, if we can relax and enjoy each other, what's wrong with that? Does it hurt anyone?"
"Maybe some other time, Ross. All right?"
"Barb, I'm not trying to rush you. I'm terribly attracted to you, I want to go to bed with you, and I'm not afraid to admit it." He paused and said, even more quietly, "Barb, I'll make love to you like you've never had it before."
Barbara studied him for a moment before she said, "How do you know?"
"I promise."
"Really, why do you think you'd be better than Mitch?"
"After twenty-two years, Barb, I promise you, a little change, just the fact that it's new and different, can't help but be better."
"What do you have in mind?"
"Come on, don't be clinical. Relax and let it happen."
"I could, couldn't I? No one would know the difference."
"I certainly won't tell," Ross said. He placed his glass on the table. He brought Barbara to him gently, his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her, using a little restraint at first, then showing her how fervent and serious he was as he tried to get his tongue in there.
Barbara turned her head to slide her mouth away from his and Ross moved his hands around to her back, keeping her, holding her tightly to him.
Close to his ear she said, "Ross-"
"Barb, don't say anything. Let it happen."
The strange thing was that she could, easily, close her eyes and let it happen. She felt warm and comfortable; slightly tight. She was in a hotel room with a man. Ross smelled good. He was fairly attractive. If he would keep quiet and not say anything, she could rationalize being here and go to bed with him and maybe, as he said, it would be better than she had ever had it before.
But Ross said, "God, you turn me on," and breathed through his nose and it was like a movie. A not very good movie. She realized she was not part of what was going on. She was an observer, perched up somewhere watching the two of them on the couch.
As Ross's left hand came around to close on her breast, she said, "I was just thinking."
"What?" Ross breathed.
"What Mitch would do if he saw us like this."
Ross pulled away to look at her, his expression grimly serious. "That doesn't do a lot for the mood."
"What do you think he'd do, though?" Barbara asked.
"I don't think he's in a position to do anything. You mean something physical?"
"Whatever," Barbara said. "The thing is, he's unpredictable. You wouldn't think that, would you?"
"I would say he's fairly steady," Ross said. "If he tells you he's going to deliver, he delivers."
Barbara leaned back against the cushion. "He can also be-I was going to say cold-blooded and I can't think of any other word for it. Not vicious or mean, but-"
"Barb, why don't we talk about Mitch later on. Here, have some more." Ross reached for the champagne, filled her glass and raised it to her mouth, helping her with the first sip. "Let's not ruin a nice glow," Ross said.