Rapture

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Jeffs long-distance pursuit of Georgianne began the following week. He fell into a routine of calling her on Tuesdays and Fridays. His preparations for each telephone encounter were as ritualistic as those of a baseball player setting himself in the batter's box before the next pitch. He would come home from work early in the evening, remove his shoes, unknot his tie, and unbutton his shirt. He would pour a large measure of malt Scotch into a crystal tumbler and add a splash of bottled water. The drink would be placed on a tweed coaster on the coffee table, next to a clean crystal ashtray, a fresh pack of cigarettes, and a book of matches. Then he would stretch out on the couch, propping himself up at one end with a pillow. He would light the first smoke, take a sip of whiskey, and pick up the telephone. He even developed a certain rhythm for tapping out the sequence of numbers that would bring him Georgianne's voice.

Once in a while, she had something planned for a Friday night, and would tell Jeff on the Tuesday before; then he would call on Thursday or Saturday, and the routine went on.

He liked to think of her taking all his calls in her bedroom: half-dressed, in a pajama top perhaps, or some girlish nightie. The mental image was sometimes so distracting that he lost the thread of the conversation. But it was always easy, reminding him of the many hours he had spent on the phone with his various girlfriends in high school. Two people could often say more to each other on the phone than they ever did face to face. And the connection was usually so clear Jeff had no difficulty imagining that he and Georgianne were in the same town.

At first, he had to make the greater effort. Georgianne found it hard to accept the fact that Jeff really didn't mind piling up large telephone bills. She felt uncomfortable, as if she could hear the meter ticking, but after a couple of weeks she relaxed about it. The telephone had become an important part of her life since Sean's death. She talked to Bonnie every night, her mother once a week, and now she had Jeff on the line every Tuesday and Friday night.

He talked about anything that came to mind. He knew that, for a while at least, the mere fact that they were in constant communication was more important than what they actually said. So he told her about all sorts of things-Los Angeles, the weather, systems analysis, the people he worked with, his aquarium of tropical fish, the bars and restaurants he knew in the area, even defense spending. He managed to give her a better idea of some of the things being done in mo lecular biology, and how Bonnie's field of interest might interface with the work he did. The whole high-tech future was a minor but recurrent motif in his conversation.

Georgianne was a good listener. At appropriate moments she always came up with a reasonable question or comment. There were no awkward pauses or stifled yawns.

For her part, Georgianne talked about Bonnie most frequently. She was still doing well at Harvard and she liked the school and the whole Cambridge environment. Jeff was also given odd bits of news about Georgianne's mother, and her two brothers and their families. It was boring, and Jeff couldn't have cared less, but he always listened patiently. She also told him regularly about her job at the nursery school. She liked working there. The kids were endlessly energetic, and she always went home feeling worn out, but she thought that was good for her and she hadn't regretted a day of it yet. Besides, some of the children were really wonderful. Jeff had to agree that it was a good thing for Georgianne to be doing.

The house soon became a factor. This pleased Jeff. Every time he called, it seemed, he heard about one thing or another Georgianne had to take care of-the storm windows, leaves clogging a gutter pipe, a leak in the dishwasher, loose tiles in the bathroom-never anything serious, just the usual household nuisances. Georgianne was far from helpless, and she coped well. She paid a neighbor's son to mow the lawn, rake the leaves, and when it snowed, to clear the driveway. She was proud of the fact that she could handle prob lems one way or another, but as the weeks went by, Jeff was sure that the whole business of maintaining a house was beginning to get to her.

With time, too, he and Georgianne were able to talk about more personal matters. The telephone seemed to make it safer and easier. She hinted at, then admitted to, being lonely, as if she were somehow to blame for it. He told her it was the most natural thing in the world. She told him about the increasingly open advice she was getting from her friends-she should start to date, she couldn't deny herself that right, she couldn't hide herself away and become old before her time, and so on. She found this predictable and even a little amusing, but it was clear she was also considering it seriously. Jeff tried to remain neutral. If, one evening, she told him that she was going out to dinner or to a movie with another man, he would deal with it then. But he sensed that Georgianne had real reservations about becoming a dating woman again after all these years, and he believed that his reassuring presence on the phone twice a week helped somewhat to lessen her need for male companionship.

Jeff was carefully ambiguous about his personal life. He let Georgianne know that he socialized to a certain extent, insofar as it went with the job, but that he could take it or leave it. Once, she asked him if he was dating anyone special, and he replied immediately, "Yes-you, every Tuesday and Friday." Georgianne laughed at this, but warmly, like a confirmation, and he felt good about it. He always tried to strike a light tone. He didn't want to make any intense declarations over the telephone, at such a distance. If she clammed up or otherwise failed to respond, everything would be in jeopardy. So he would kid her, joke with her, and sympathize with her when necessary. His role was to be there, safe, solid, reassuring, the complete friend. They were, thanks to the telephone, two disembodied souls moving slowly closer together. One day, Jeff was sure, Georgianne would answer his call and he would hear something new in her voice. Understanding. She would realize that he was the man in her life and she would be ecstatic about it....

Late in November, she told Jeff that Bobbie Maddox had introduced her to a single man at a cocktail party. It had been a terrifying experience. Georgianne still felt too close to Sean, and she had hardly been able to talk coherently to the stranger. The man didn't interest her in any way, but she was disturbed by her reactions, her inability to handle a perfectly ordinary situation.

Jeff soothed her and told her that she hadn't done anything wrong, that she had no social obligation to feel comfortable with any stranger who happened to cross her path. The only timetable she had to follow was the one dictated by her own feelings; nothing else mattered. Georgianne sounded much better after talking to Jeff about that incident. Secretly, he was quite pleased. It was still too early for her to have real feelings for another man, but she had never felt the least bit uncomfortable with him; just the opposite. It was a message to Jeff that he had the inside track and was far ahead of anyone else.

The only worry, and it did bother him when he thought about it, was that Georgianne regarded him a little too casually. Sometimes he got the impression that she talked to him the same way she would to a close girlfriend. His greatest fear was that their relationship would solidify at a certain superficial level that included confiding, sharing, and affection, but nothing more. A sanitized, platonic, brotherly load of nonsense. But all he could safely do was to hint at his true feelings and occasionally, lightly, call her "my girlfriend."

Georgianne spent the long Thanksgiving weekend in Boston. She stayed at a hotel and took Bonnie out to a restaurant for a turkey dinner. They went to a football game, a play, a couple of films, and a punk gig at a Cambridge club. They had a great time together, Georgianne said. Jeff wished he could have been there with them. It was just the kind of weekend away he wanted with Georgianne. But it would have been wrong to intrude, and he knew there would be many more Thanksgivings for them.

Georgianne and Bonnie spent the Christmas holidays in Tampa, where the rest of the Slaton family had gathered. Georgianne later admitted feeling miserable, thinking of Sean on Christmas Eve. In a way, Jeff was glad to hear that. The holidays were drab and lonely for him in Santa Susana. He went to a couple of parties but was unable to get in the mood. In the past he had just continued working, but now he couldn't be bothered. He stayed in and drank or went out and drank, mostly alone. He called Georgianne in Tampa on Christmas morning, but their conversation was brief and limited to the usual season's greetings and best wishes. He could hear music and laughter in the background, and he knew it was the wrong time for a longer talk, so he got off the phone. He called her mother's number again on New Year's Eve, but Georgianne was out with her brothers and their wives, celebrating at some restaurant. That night he drove to Triffids and got drunk. He danced with, kissed, and groped a number of merry women. He woke up early the following afternoon, fully dressed but with his pants around his knees. Whoever had returned with him was gone. Considering the amount of liquor he had put away and the blank spot of twelve hours or so in his memory, he decided that unzipping his pants was all he had accomplished. He sat up and let his monster headache do its worst while he stared uncomprehendingly at Georgianne's drawing of the stone wall.

The turning point came in January. Connecticut was experiencing particularly bad weather that month, and Georgianne was growing restless. She complained about the cold, the house, and the loneliness. She still liked her work, and she was happy about Bonnie's progress at Harvard, but otherwise she was coming to dislike the way she lived. Her friends were well intentioned, but she hated being their special project. She was tired of gratuitous advice and she had no stomach for the ritual of being in traduced to single men, none of whom aroused any response in her. She wasn't at all sure she was capable of responding to anyone, but at night, alone, she began to want someone in her life. Georgianne didn't say these things to Jeff in so many words, but he was certain that he understood her meaning perfectly.

His time was coming, and he knew it. He started to plan another trip to Danbury. February, he thought, would be right. It was usually as bad as January in terms of the weather, and even worse psychologically. February was the bottom of the pit of winter, when spring still seems still seems impossibly far away. Georgianne would feel low and blue. He would arrive at exactly the right moment, in the nick of time, and convince her to come out to Los Angeles for a visit. At his expense, of course, unless she absolutely insisted on paying her own way. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that if he could just get her to California, she would want to stay. She would stay.

Jeff was certain that his elaborate, grand scenario had reached its final phase. He thought of it as a very natural progression geared to the seasons of the earth, and he felt he was on the verge of a remarkable achievement. When it is complete, he told himself, I will have plucked Georgianne from the past, transformed her life utterly and mine as well, and saved two people who were going nowhere without even realizing it. And all because he had finally learned how to read and follow his deepest instincts. It was extraordinary how the whole thing had started and grown. A whim had taken over the personal destinies of several people. A gesture of curiosity and half buried longing had snowballed, gaining the momentum of an irresistible force. It gave Jeff a feeling of almost godlike power. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he couldn't share this knowledge with anyone-for who else on this planet had gone to such lengths for the love of a woman? Jeff was now unique in his own eyes. At the center of this transformation was Sean's killing, which he regarded as the one true act of his life. Even now, months later, it had a magical, religious significance: it was an act of transubstantiation.

Late in January, before Jeff could announce his plans for another trip east, the change in Georgianne became more pronounced. She wouldn't stay on the phone talking as long as she had previously. She always sounded tired, and sometimes his calls actually woke her from sleep. She worked full time at the nursery school now, came home dead tired, and went to bed early. Jeff didn't know how to deal with this new development. It was just until June, Georgianne told him. She liked the work, she wanted the extra money, and, besides, it kept her mind off other things. He saw that she was doing what he had done years before-she was deliberately losing herself in her job. But he didn't know how to talk her out of it, or even if it was a good idea to try.

On the plus side, it seemed to show that Georgianne was taking charge of her life, finding a new strength and sense of purpose. Work was a way of buying time to heal. But there were negative aspects too. The long telephone talks with Jeff were no longer quite so important to her. She didn't need them the way she had earlier. Now they were friendly, brief chats-nothing more. They left Jeff feeling increasingly removed from her.

Georgianne was still vague about her plans. She was saving money. She was thinking seriously of selling the house in the summer, but then again, she might not. A condominium in the Danbury area was a possibility, but only if she decided she really wanted to stay on at the nursery school. Boston was the other alternative, and one that she admitted was attractive. She could go back to school there, take some night courses, and also find a job. Bonnie would be nearby. A city offered social and cultural distractions, and many opportunities to find a new direction for her life. There were a lot of things to be weighed and considered, and she was still far from sure what to do.

This was what Jeff had expected, in a way. Georgianne was beginning to see the various possibilities that lay before her, and she was taking a healthy interest in them. But it was happening quite apart from him, which was not what he had intended. He was disturbed and frightened at the prospect of somehow losing control.

Now that the right moment seemed to be at hand, he felt tense and nervous. Twice he couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted to say to Georgianne. He felt intimidated by the new sense of self-assurance that radiated through the telephone. She was on a positive upswing, and that threatened to disarm him completely.

On the first Tuesday in February, Jeff had to force himself to say something explicit to Georgianne. Get it out in the open. He planned to fly to New York the next week, or the week after at the latest, and she had to be told. This wasn't going to be another vacation, nor would he try to revive the spurious Union Carbide connection. He wanted Georgianne to know that he was making the long journey for the sole purpose of seeing her and being with her.

It felt like the most important day in his life. He came home from work and had two cold beers to take the edge off and settle himself. He went about his ritual preparations and then sat staring at the fish in the aquarium, as if they could help him plan his words. His mind had a way of going blank at important moments, and this was one of them. You can't rehearse real life, he thought glumly. Feeling heavy and slow, he picked up the telephone. The rhythm wasn't there. He disconnected, got a new dial tone, and then tapped out the sacred numbers correctly. He and Georgianne chatted for a few minutes, and when she mentioned Bonnie, he took it as his opening.

"What about L.A.?"

Bread on the water. A slight pause.

"Los Angeles? What do you mean?"

"Well, you know. You've been thinking of selling the house and moving to Boston this summer."

"Yes, it's an idea," Georgianne said as if it were more than just an idea. And then she confirmed this. "I've just been looking through some study programs."

"Well, good. But, as I said, what about L.A.? Anything you can do in Boston you can do here, and the weather is a lot better."

Hesitation.

"Oh, Jeff, I'd love to come out and see L.A. and visit you sometime, but-"

"No, I mean why don't you think about living out here?"

"I couldn't possibly." Quick, definite.

"Why not?"

"Jeff, it's so far away."

"No it's not. It's just down the road from here."

It was such a feeble attempt at lightness that Jeff was oddly annoyed when Georgianne laughed. She was taking it as a joke, ignoring the very clear implication of his remark.

"It's the other side of the country," she said. "If I do move, it'll be to some place where I'm still close to Bonnie."

"Anywhere in the country is only a few hours' flying time," he pointed out lamely.

"That's not the same thing," she replied.

"No, really. Stop and think about it for a minute," he urged reasonably. "How often do you see her now? At Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter, and then in the summer. If you were in California, you'd still see her at those times. When a kid is away at college, the distance, the exact mileage, doesn't make a whole lot of difference."

"I guess that's true," Georgianne said dubiously. "But if I moved to Boston I'd be able to see her much more often. Every weekend, at least."

Jeff couldn't argue with that. It was a mistake, a digression. He had the nasty feeling that things were quickly slipping away from him now. The whole point of her moving to L.A. was that he loved her, and if she still didn't have a clue about that, he wouldn't get anywhere. Perhaps it had been a blunder to put himself in this position on the damn telephone.

"Oh, I wanted to tell you," he started over, "I'm coming to Danbury again."

"How nice. It'll be good to see you. When are you coming?"

She did seem pleased, he thought hopefully. "Pretty soon," he said. "Next week, or the week after, maybe. Which would suit you better?"

Silence. A sickening sensation. He could almost see the puzzlement on her face.

"Uh ... doesn't it depend on your work, Jeff? You are coming to see the people at Union Carbide, aren't you?"

"No, that's all over. I told you about that the last time I was there."

"Oh, yeah, I guess you did." Pause. "Well ...

"This time I was planning to come back ... just to take a few days off and ... see you."

"Oh."

"Is there anything wrong with that?"

No, of course not. But I am working full time now, and I get home pretty beat at night. I mean, it would be great to see you again, but I just don't have much time during the week. Not time when I'm fit company for anybody."

"So? How about if I turn it into a long weekend? That's easy enough to arrange."

"Yeah ... but I'm just waiting for the weatherman to say we're going to have a halfway decent weekend so that I can go up to see Bonnie again."

"Fine. I'll come on the next lousy weekend. We can sit around the fire, have a few drinks, and watch the snow drift."

"Jeff, you don't have to."

"What if I want to?"

"Yeah, but I'm just saying you don't have to."

"I don't understand."

"You were very kind to me, Jeff. You were really very good to me, and it meant a lot. But I'm better now. I feel like I've finally gotten up off the floor and-"

"I wasn't planning to come just because I thought you needed help or sympathetic company."

"I know, I know. You're very sweet, but-"

"I love you, Georgianne." Fuck sweet!

"I love you too, Jeff."

She means friendship, he thought bitterly. A black thundercloud was swallowing his mind.

"No, really, I mean-"

"I know," Georgianne interrupted. "It's just that I don't want you to come all this way for ... oh, I wish I knew what to say."

Jeff recognized this as the vacant, pseudo-innocent tone of voice a woman uses when she wants you to figure out what she can't bring herself to tell you. He was no longer aware of his whiskey, his cigarette, his room, or even the telephone in his hand. He was floating in darkness, high above the earth, and a voice was broadcasting a message to his brain: Stay there, don't come back.

'Say it's okay,' he begged.

"It's okay, of course. But it's not necessary, Jeff. You don't have to. Really, I mean it. I wish you'd just ... understand that...."

He did. That was the trouble. When he hung up the telephone a few moments later, he kicked the coffee table over in a rage, spilling whiskey and scattering ashes. Then he buried his face in the couch and pounded his head with the heels of his hands. It took more than an hour for the fury and trembling to subside, and then, still in a daze, he noticed that he had bitten clean through one of the seat cushions.

On the following Friday, he called Georgianne at the usual time. No answer. She hadn't told him beforehand that she wouldn't be there, and this single disruption of the routine, the only one to occur in four months, dealt their relationship another mortal blow. He waited grimly until the next Tuesday. Georgianne was there, but the conversation was brief and trivial. She seemed distracted, as if she wouldn't mind getting off the phone because she was busy with something else. He tried to raise serious matters, but it was impossible. Georgianne seemed to have erected an invisible barrier that he couldn't penetrate. Anything he said was either deflected or ignored. Her only news was that she felt fine and was going to Boston the next weekend to see Bonnie. He got the message: she wouldn't be there to take a Friday call.

Jeff knew it was all over before he hung up the phone. His grand scenario had been washed away like a sand castle at high tide. He could hardly believe it, but no other conclusion was possible. Ten months had elapsed since he had re-established contact with Georgianne. He had zeroed in on her, pierced the heart of her life, isolated her, consoled her, pursued her, and opened himself to her. But now, astonishingly, he had apparently passed right through and come out on the other side, as insignificant and transitory as a stray atomic particle. He was back in the vacuum.

After that second Tuesday in February, Jeff abandoned his ritual. He wouldn't call her again. The next time, she would come to him. And there would be a next time-of that he had no doubt.

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