She realized with some surprise that she knew less about him, knew him less thoroughly, than she had known several other men in her lifetime. She and Mark had never spent more than a couple of hours at a time in lovemaking. They had never spent a night together or been in a real bed together. There were men she had slept with, men she had spent weekends with.
He knew, certainly, that there had been men before him. But he did not know — and would not know — the number of men who had been to bed with her, or the depth of certain relationships she had experienced. Indeed, there was at least as much about her that he did not know, and she suspected that his ignorance of her was somewhat greater than her ignorance of him. He was, unless she was greatly mistaken, a much simpler person than she was. No, simple was a bad word, it had negative connotations which she did not mean at all. He was a less complicated person than she, he had led a less complicated life, and she recognized this without feeling in any way superior to him for the recognition. The relative simplicity of his life was unquestionably one of the things about him that had attracted her.
One had to simplify, to draw back, to be careful.
She picked up her magazine again and tried to get interested in an article about Jackie Kennedy’s redecoration of the White House. She looked at the pictures but couldn’t keep her mind on the text. She could not make up her mind about Jackie Kennedy, now respecting the woman, now finding in her aspects of several girls at Bryn Mawr whom she had found intolerable.
But we’ve got something in common now, she told Jackie’s photograph. We’re both a couple of housewives with places to furnish. Of course yours is a little more elaborate, and you’ll probably be doing more entertaining...
Well, Mark Benstock would never be President, and thank God for that. And they would not live in a white mausoleum on Pennsylvania Avenue but in a two-bedroom apartment on Kenmore Avenue, with leaded glass windows and a woodburning fireplace. The smaller bedroom would be Mark’s den. They would eat their breakfasts at a table in the kitchen. (Her prior experience with apartments was limited to New York, and the idea of having an apartment kitchen large enough to eat in delighted her.) And when Mark came home from the office she would meet him at the door with a cocktail, and they would dine in the dining area of the L-shaped living room. On winter nights she would have a fire laid in the fireplace, and after he had his cocktail he would fight it.
She closed the magazine and went on imagining their life together. They would spend a great deal of time alone together, certainly, but it would also be important for them to have friends. During their courtship they had kept pretty much to themselves. Now they were married, and before long people would be inviting them over and they would invite people to their apartment in return.
It was not hard to guess who their friends would be. Many of the couples they would see socially had been at the reception earlier. There would be old friends of his and old friends of hers. Pal boys and their wives, Phi Ep girls and their husbands.
She thought suddenly of that New Year’s party. But it would not be like that. She and Mark would have as friends people very much like themselves, and the women would not talk of toilet training while the men talked of cars and football. It would not be like that.
The landing at San Juan Airport was smooth, and it was not until the plane had taxied the length of the runway and come to a complete stop that she realized she had been afraid of this flight. She had never been conscious of fear, but now she felt as if she had been relieved of a burden, and she figured out what it had consisted of. She was too happy, too safe and secure, and evidently she had read too many sad stories and seen too many bad movies not to expect tragedy.
The air was warm and heavy, with an almost musky scent on it. She experienced an odd sense of deja vu as they walked from the plane, and it was a moment before she knew what it was. The air had had just this quality in Florida. She had been there twice, once during high school when her parents took her to Miami Beach during Christmas vacation, and once when she and several college classmates took a reluctant part in the Easter pilgrimage to Fort Lauderdale.
She went with Mark as he collected their bags. On the way to the hotel’s courtesy car he said, “I think you’ll like the Flamboyan. It was brand new when I stayed there and the staff was a little rusty, but even so it was a pretty decent place to stay. I figured I’d play it safe and pick a place I knew was all right.”
“That was two years ago?”
“Well, a year and a half. The week before Christmas.”
“I hope they don’t give us your old room.”
“That’s not too likely, since I booked a suite. But why did you say that?”
“Because I’m jealous enough of the girl you took along as it stands.”
“I went all by myself and you know it.”
“Poor baby. All alone in romantic Puerto Rico.”
“It was about as romantic as old tennis shoes.”
“Oh, come on. You must have picked up a senorita or two.”
“All I picked up was a very light case of sun poisoning. Oh, I bought a couple of drinks for a girl. A secretary from Brooklyn who’d been saving all year for a glamorous week in the sun.”
“I hope you made her dreams come true.”
“Not unless she had very masochistic dreams. I bought her two Apricot Brandy Sours, and don’t ask me how I remember what she drank. I bought her two Apricot Brandy Sours and excused myself to go to the men’s room, but instead I went to my own room and read the newspaper and went to bed. I can’t believe that was the end she had in mind for the evening. It wasn’t what I had in mind, either, but it turned out to be what I wanted.”
“She must have been flat chested.”
“How well you know my fetishes. No, as a matter of fact she was built like the proverbial brick outhouse, or otherwise—”
“You would never have bought her a drink in the first place.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. Actually she was good-looking enough. But her voice was like chalk on a blackboard. I can stand some Brooklyn accents, but on top of that her voice was shrill and nasal at the same time, and—”
“I know the voice.”
At the hotel desk she looked over his shoulder as he signed them in. Mr. and Mrs. Mark Benstock, 803 Kenmore Avenue, Buffalo, New York. A bellhop took their bags and led them to the elevator and then to their suite. He started to check the bathroom but Mark told him everything was fine and gave him a dollar. When the door closed he took her in his arms and kissed her. She clung tightly to him and the kiss lasted a long time.
“Mrs. Benstock,” he said.
“You know, I don’t think it’s going to be hard to get used to the name. I think I’m used to it already.”
“Just don’t get tired of hearing it.”
“Not for a minimum of a hundred years. Oh, isn’t that nice, there’s a bowl of fruit.I hope it’s not wax. No, it’s real fruit, and there’s a card. ‘Congratulations and best wishes from the staff and management of Hotel Flamboyan.’ Congratulations and best wishes, so they know this is a honeymoon.”
“Unless they congratulate people who are having affairs. Somehow I doubt it.”
“Somehow so do I.”
“Does it bother you? That they know?”
“Should it? I’m in love and I’m happy and I’m married and I don’t care who knows it. My God, the bedroom’s even bigger than the living room. And what a big bed. Did I tell you my mother said we should get twin beds? ‘You’ll get a better night’s sleep, dear, and that’s important even if it’s not so romantic.’ Fat chance, mother dear. Do you suppose we’ll ever want twin beds?”