“It sounds wonderful,” I said, annoyed with Roger. I was glad when the waiter finally returned to take our order. The men ordered filet mignon, but Gina and I both ordered the crab cakes, which got a lot of teasing.
“You can take the girls out of Maryland, but can’t take Maryland out of the girls,” Roger said.
We had yet another round of spytinis when our meals arrived. And wine appeared, although I couldn’t remember any of us ordering the bottle. Conversation between Gina and Roger got a bit louder with each drink consumed, while Henry and I seemed to grow quieter. Gina and Roger argued playfully over sports and the décor in the restaurant and whether or not Baltimore was truly a Southern city. Behind the words, I heard the flirting. Gina was good at it. She’d perfected the coquettish lowering of her eyelids. The smile that lifted only one side of her mouth. The tilt of her head. She was playing with fire, I thought. Henry and I exchanged the occasional commiserative look as we sipped our spytinis. It was odd that in our mutual silence I felt a connection stronger than if we’d been speaking to one another.
I knew I’d had far too much to drink the moment I got to my feet at the end of the evening. I didn’t feel ill, just unsteady, my knees soft as butter. The colors of the room swirled in my vision. The bronze of the ceiling seemed to drip down the walls, and I heard myself giggle, the sound coming from far away. When Henry offered me his arm, I took it gratefully.
Our cab driver wouldn’t let any of us sit in front with him, so all four of us crammed into the backseat. Gina sat on Roger’s lap, and when he rested his hand on the fabric of her dress, high on her thigh, I was relieved to see her calmly brush it away. I sat demurely next to Henry, my own hands folded in my lap, my head in a fog that wasn’t the least bit unpleasant. I’d only had too much to drink once before when Vincent and I attended a party where drinks were handed out like candy. I’d been miserable after that party. I’d thrown up more times than I could count and then crawled into bed, the covers over my head to block out the light. Was I drunk now? I didn’t think so, but I did feel as though, if someone gave me a good pinch, I wouldn’t notice.
I looked down at my folded hands, then over at Henry’s lap where his hands lay flat against his dark trousers. Seven fingers. I wanted to touch his wounded hand in sympathy. I hoped he hadn’t been a child when it happened. How horrid that would have been! More likely, he’d been an adult using some of the equipment in his factory. Child or adult, though, it must have terrorized him. Whatever had happened to him, he’d clearly overcome it. He’d become not only the head of a business, but a man who could negotiate with Uncle Sam, as well.
He lifted his hand, turned it palm side up, and I knew he’d caught me staring. “It happened when I was six years old,” he said, only loud enough for me to hear. “I was playing with my father’s tools, which was strictly forbidden. I couldn’t reach the table saw very well and this was the result.” He rested his hand on his thigh again.
I winced. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Our maid Adora saved my life.”
I felt myself tearing up as I imagined the terror of that little boy. “Thank heavens your maid was there,” I said.
He touched my arm, lightly, gently, and when he spoke again, I heard the smile in his voice. “I bet you’re a very caring nurse,” he said.
As soon as we reached the tourist home, Roger and Gina headed upstairs without even wishing Henry and me a good night. They were laughing, and I watched Roger pull his tie free from his neck and give Gina a playful swat on the bottom with it before the two of them disappeared onto the second story. I heard Gina say, “Oh, no you don’t,” and Roger’s muttered reply. There was some muted conversation I couldn’t understand. Then Gina laughed.
“Go to your own room,” she said. “There’s a good boy.”
I heard her shut her bedroom door, then Roger’s heavy, defeated footsteps in the hall, and I was relieved Gina was taking her flirting no further. She would have hated herself in the morning.
When I brought my attention back to the living room, the pictures on the walls grew fuzzy and I had to grab the edge of an end table to keep from toppling over.
“You’re unwell,” Henry said, taking my arm to steady me.
“I’m all right,” I said. “I’m just not used to … to those spytinis.” I giggled at the name all over again. “Just a bit dizzy. I think I’ll go up.”
“Of course,” he said.
I started for the stairs, and when I lifted my foot to climb the first step, I tripped, nearly wrenching my arm as I grabbed the railing to stop my fall.
“Whoa,” Henry said, rushing to my side. “Let me help you.”
I felt his arm around me, his hand tight against my waist. I didn’t object. I needed the help.
We climbed the stairs together and he walked me into my room. I couldn’t wait to reach my bed. I meant to simply sit down on the edge of the mattress, but my body had other ideas and I lay back, my head against the pillow, my eyes shut. The room spun, but it was a gentle spinning, almost as if I were in a dream, and when Henry leaned down and rested his lips against mine, I didn’t turn my face away. What on earth was I doing?
“I can’t.” My voice sounded like it came from another room. It echoed in my head. “I’m engaged.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” His voice faded away, and once more, I felt his lips press against mine, and the room twirled as if I were on a merry-go-round. Was I pushing him away or pulling him closer? Was his tongue teasing my lips apart or was my mouth inviting him in? Everything was happening so quickly. I knew I should resist him, yet I was not. Instead, I felt my body give in. Not a big deal, the voice in my head said. Let it happen. Get it over with. I felt the pressure of him pushing inside me. Then a sharp pain. The sensation of sandpaper scraping me raw as his body rocked above me. I both knew and didn’t know what was happening and I pushed reality away. I was suddenly back in Gina’s bedroom. You need a little whiskey in your Pepsi for your nerves, Gina said. I held on to the image of her handing me the glass. Everything was pink. Her pink and white striped curtains and pink ruffled bed skirt. Ruffles, I thought, my mind full of cotton. Ruffles. Gina. Whiskey. Pink.
He stood up. I opened my eyes to see his unfamiliar features. His brown hair jutted in tufts from his head. What was his name?
“Oh,” he said. “You should have told me you were a virgin.”
I watched him lift the lamp from the dresser and hold it above the triangle of bedspread between my parted thighs, my nylons down around my calves. I sat up quickly, the walls of the room tumbling around me, and saw the small red stain on the blue bedspread. A sickening dizziness took hold of me and with it a terrible shame.
“Oh no,” I said. Bile teased the back of my throat,