To be sure, he treated her like a woman. But each day she sensed something beneath his outward display of affection — a deep reserve that would keep her from ever possessing him fully.
Carla, however, was falling more and more deeply in love. Not love, exactly; she was ceasing to believe in love as such. Rather, the hold she was trying to gain over Charles was one which he was gaining over her. And she didn’t like this at all.
She felt as though she was becoming a slave, and that wasn’t the role she wanted to play. Oh, she didn’t mind being a slave, dependent upon her man — but she wanted a relationship in which her master would be equally dependent upon her. She wanted to possess while she was possessed; she wanted to be needed as well as to need.
As she parked the MG in front of her house, she noticed a car across the street. Somehow it didn’t look as though it belonged on Nottingham Terrace. It wasn’t a rich man’s car. Then, paying no more attention to it, she walked to the door and entered the house.
“Mrs. Macon?”
The sound made her jump. She turned, startled, and walked into the living-room. There was a man seated there, looking directly at her with a strange expression in his eyes. She noticed the plaid shirt and dark gabardine pants almost without seeing them. The strong face with its prominent features seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she hadn’t the slightest idea where she had seen the man before. For several seconds he regarded her silently and she was unable to speak.
“What do you want?” she stammered finally. “Who are you?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“No,” she said. “No, I don’t. But I’d like to know what you think you’re doing in my living-room. What do you want?”
“Wait a minute. You remember me, don’t you?”
“I may have met you but I’m sure I don’t remember when. And I don’t have any time to play guessing games. Now who are you?” She could feel her temper rising at the way he sat in the chair watching her, his face almost empty of expression.
“Try again,” he said. “You should remember me.”
“I don’t.”
“You should. Or do you let everybody keep the change from a twenty-dollar bill?”
Her mouth fell open. At first she couldn’t believe it; then, studying the face and eyes she remembered him all at once, remembered his arms around her and the smell of grease and the pavement under her bare skin. At first her pulse raced at the animalism of the memory. Then she realized fully just who he was.
“You—”
“Remember? I thought you would. But we never got to the introduction stage before, did we? My name’s Danny Rand, and I guess you’re Carla Macon.”
“Danny Rand,” she repeated half to herself. “I— How did you find me?”
He shrugged. “I just ran around ringing doorbells. How else would I do it?”
“How?” She felt her knees going weak and fought to control herself. This couldn’t be happening, she told herself. She was dreaming, and any moment she would wake up and Charles would run his hands over her body and then she would—
“It was easy,” he said. “I got your license number, honey. You never even thought of that. My brother-in-law’s a cop, and when I gave him your number he ran it through the license bureau and got me your name and address.”
Suddenly she was too weak to stand. She groped her way to a chair and fell into it, powerless to remove her eyes from his piercing gaze. He was talking, saying more about how he had found out who she was, but she half-heard him as if he was talking through a wall.
“What... What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?”
She breathed deeply. “How much?” she asked.
“What?”
“How much money do you want?” Her voice rose and she fought to control it, hoping that Lizzie couldn’t overhear the conversation. Why had the girl let him in, she wondered. Why had he noticed the license number, and why was he here now, and what did he want from her.
“Money?”
“Money,” she repeated. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? You want to blackmail me. Well? How much do I have to pay?”
He looked at her in amazement, and for a moment neither of them spoke. She saw the muscles in his jaw go tight, then relax slightly. When he spoke the words came out clearly and distinctly.
“I don’t want money.”
At first she felt an irrational swell of relief. Then, “What do you want?”
“You.”
“What!!”
“You,” he repeated levelly. “Carla, you’re like no woman I’ve ever had. You’re fire and ice and everything, and no matter how much I try to forget you I can’t get you out of my mind. I think if I go without you much longer I’ll go crazy. I want you and I’m going to have you.”
“Go crazy? You’re crazy already.”
“Carla—”
“You must be crazy,” she went on, the words flowing freely from her lips. “You must be out of your damned mind. I don’t love you and I don’t want you and I couldn’t care less if you dropped dead tomorrow. I don’t want to see you or look at you or have you anywhere near me. Why can’t you get out and leave me alone?”
“Because I love you,” The words were almost savage.
“You are crazy. Well, I don’t love you.”
“You did.”
She sighed. “You fool. I wanted a man and you were there so I let you have me. That’s all. Period. If you think—”
His jaw was stubborn. “Not the way it happened. There was more than just wanting a man. It was us, Carla. Us. I’ve been around, baby. You’re not the first woman I’ve had. And you wanted more than a man. You wanted me.”
“Oh, Christ!” She shook her head fiercely and drew a cigarette from the pack in her purse, lighting it and drawing deeply on it.
“Do you really think it was you that I wanted?” she demanded. “Is that what you think?”
“That’s exactly what I think.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
She nodded. “You’re completely wrong. Take a look around you, you blockhead. You think I want to give this place up for a stinking gas-pump jockey? You think I want to trade this place for a stinking flat and a houseful of brats? You think I want a man who comes home reeking of grease and gasoline?”
“I—”
She drew again on the cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. “You fool,” she said again. “Just what do you think you want? You want me, do you? What do you mean? You want me to roll around on the floor with you? You want to take me on the floor whenever I get a tankful of gas?”
“No.”
“Well?”
“I want to marry you.”
Carla felt numb all over. What did this idiot think he was saying? She couldn’t even begin to think what it would mean to be married to a man like Danny Rand, to trade Nottingham Terrace for a cold-water flat. The idea of going back to the same kind of slum she worked so desperately to escape made her sick to her stomach. She wanted to scream for help, to shout for somebody, anybody, to come and get him away from her. She couldn’t even answer him, could not even start to tell him how insane he was and how much she loathed him. Her mouth opened and shut involuntarily as she watched him stand up from his chair and take a step toward her. A muscular hand reached out for her and she shrank back against her chair to escape his touch.
“Get away,” she said, her voice taut.