"Four o'clock. Right here. Great."
Bonnie stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. Then she hurried into the department store while he set off in search of a quiet bar. Over two icy bottles of Stella Artois, Jeff wondered what Georgianne would think if she knew he had just given Bonnie two hundred dollars to spend on clothes. She'd be outraged. She'd think he was treating the girl like a whore. Was he? It bothered him, now that he thought about it. A mistress, maybe, but then, what was a mistress but a glorified whore. One way or another, he was paying for Bonnie's favors-with food, drinks, a visit to a jazz club, and additions to her wardrobe. It was a hell of a situation, but he wondered if it would really be that different if they spent the entire weekend in the hotel room. The money didn't matter, ultimately, he told himself. The first time he'd fucked Bonnie he was ruined in Georgianne's eyes-if she ever heard about it. That was the main fact, and everything that had happened since was essentially irrelevant. It still came down to this: everything depended on Bonnie's discretion. Georgianne must never know about this weekend, or even that Jeff had been in touch with Bonnie at all.
The plan still held, roughly. Tonight he would take her out to dinner again. He would begin to speak frankly to her about Georgianne. Not too much, just enough to get her mind working on it. Then they'd go to a night club, drink, maybe dance some, have a good time. He'd keep her distracted and happy while her mind adjusted to the idea he'd planted. And tomorrow they'd take the discussion the rest of the way, as far as it would go.
That was about all Jeff could think to do, and it seemed reasonable enough. But he didn't look forward to it at all. He would be at Bonnie's mercy, and that prospect filled him with dread. It would be worse than falling on his knees before Georgianne herself. How on earth do you spend a dirty weekend with a teenager and at the same time tell her you really love her mother? He had no idea what kids were like today. Even after spending one night with Bonnie, he couldn't begin to guess how she would react. She might surprise him and take it in stride. Or she might not ... In the wake of his intimacy with her, Bonnie might decide he was a pretty poor candidate for Georgianne, that his professed feelings for her mother couldn't possibly be true. If he'd go to bed with me, Bonnie might think, how reliable and faithful would he be as a husband?
Bonnie had said she thought Jeff "had a thing" for Georgianne, but that didn't necessarily count for much. She might still be surprised or even shocked to hear him admit it was true. Perhaps he should have admitted it then, when Bonnie had made that remark. If he had, she might not have taken her shirt off and jumped him, and the whole situation would be much more in his favor now. But this was tricky ground to explore, because he was far from sure that he hadn't hoped all along to get Bonnie into bed at some point. In any case, it's.all futile speculation, he decided as he left the bar. He had no real choice but to carry on, take his chances with Bonnie, and hope for the best.
If Jeff was subdued when he met her outside Fi- lene's, Bonnie didn't appear to notice. She was carrying a large shopping bag containing two or three parcels and she looked very happy. She grabbed Jeffs arm and gave him a half-hug.
"Do you know how much money you put in my hand?" she asked in a conspiratorial whisper.
"Sure."
"And did you mean I could spend it all?'
"Sure."
Bonnie shook her head as if she found it hard to believe. "Well, I didn't," she said. "Not quite. But I did get a couple of nice things."
'Good."
Back in the hotel lobby, Bonnie asked Jeff for the room key and told him to wait downstairs for about twenty minutes-she had bought something special to wear just for him. Jeff got a newspaper and sipped a Scotch-and-water in the cocktail lounge. He gave her half an hour and then went up to the room.
Bonnie had drawn the drapes. The place was only dimly illuminated by the little bit of late-afternoon light that filtered in around the edges. She sat on the. bed waiting for him, one leg dangling toward the floor, the other curled under her. She wore some kind of corset affair and thigh-high stockings. She had a ribbon tied around her throat. There was something about the way she held herself there, the way her hair was brushed or the way she looked up at him, like a child hoping for approval, that reminded him of a picture pose in a Combat Zone window display or ... something about Diane. It was how Bonnie thought she should look to appear sexy and sinful. The effect wasn't as natural or as exciting as the day before, when she'd simply peeled off her T-shirt, but he liked it, and he appreciated the effort. He started to say something, but the words wouldn't come, and he had to clear his throat, which pleased Bonnie, who thought she'd knocked him speechless.
"It's called crystal gray," she said softly, running a hand across her outfit. "Do you like it?"
"You're beautiful, very beautiful," he told her as he went and stood beside the bed. "Undress me ..."
They were in the middle of coitus when Jeff opened his eyes and saw Bonnie watching him. She was smiling sweetly, but beyond that was a look of curious, almost detached interest. It confused him momentarily, and he slowed the rhythm of his movements.
"Are you thinking of my mother?"
Her voice was a ghost of a whisper. He couldn't answer, nor could he control the emotions that transformed his face and froze his body.
"It's all right," she murmured gently. "It's all right."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The sea was crusted with whitecaps, the sand was still hard-packed from winter, and the sky was uniformly gray. A sharp breeze licked in off the water, swept along the shore, and then died, only to reappear a few minutes later. It was Sunday afternoon, and the weather had turned. It wasn't really cold, but brisk and invigorating or chilly and raw, according to taste.
"When I was back in Connecticut just about a year ago," Jeff said, "there was a tremendous heat wave the whole time."
"That was the exception," Bonnie told him. "This is normal for the beginning of May."
"I guess."
He took a slug of malt Scotch. There was about a third of the bottle left, and he passed it to Bonnie. She hoisted it like a veteran drinker, but pursed her lips tightly and took only a small amount of the whiskey.
"This stuff numbs my lips," she said. "You know that?"
He smiled. "It's actually very smooth."
"But it does give you a nice warm feeling inside," she added, completing her thought.
There wasn't a boat to be seen on Cape Cod Bay, weather threats apparently having prevailed. The shore was equally deserted in both directions. Jeff and Bonnie had come to this place more or less by accident. Boston had looked dreary and uninviting from the ninth floor of the Hyatt that morning, but neither of them had wanted to hang around the hotel room all day.
"We could do this every year," Bonnie said.
"What?"
"What we've been doing. Three days and nights of sinful sex and fun. We could get together once a year, every May, just for a long delicious weekend, and then not see or talk to each other at all until the next year."
" ?" VVFhy
"I don't know. Wouldn't it be kind of adventurous and romantic?"
"A reunion," Jeff said, and the word reverberated through his mind.
"Right. I bet it would be fun."
"I'm not sure reunions are such a great idea."
"I think there was a movie about two people who did that," Bonnie continued. "They'd meet once a year, and they kept the affair going for about twenty years."
"There's a movie about everything, but that doesn't mean it would work."
"Oh, Jeff." She poked him playfully. "You're getting tired of me already."
"No, it isn't that. I wouldn't mind taking you back to L.A. with me tomorrow. But a year is a very long time in some ways, and you'll be a different person next May.*