Rapture

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Friday evening they went out to dinner at Ma Maison and resumed a desultory conversation, begun the week before, about Georgianne's plans for the future. Jeff was cool. He didn't try hard to persuade her to stay on in Southern California, but he carefully reinforced the idea by the way he acknowledged its advantages and appeared to discount the alternatives. He assumed, correctly, that Jan also wanted Georgians to stay and would be more direct and outspoken about it. So he took the softer approach.

Once again, it struck Georgianne as odd that Jeff had virtually nothing to say about Bonnie. No questions, no comments, no hint that he wanted to sympathize or share in her sorrow. It was as if Bonnie had been ruled ineligible as a topic for discussion. But because she wasn't really looking for sympathy and was herself reluctant to mention her daughter's death, she was still faced with the possibility that Jeff was simply being considerate.

After dinner, neither of them felt much like doing anything special, so they returned to Santa Susana and drank several nightcaps while watching Hanover Street and Vertigo on cable.

Georgianne made brunch late Saturday morning. When she turned on the radio, she heard the latest reports on the wildfires in Los Angeles and Ventura countries. Contained in some areas, the fires had nonetheless continued to burn and spread throughout the week. The desert winds, which had let up for a day or so, had regained force and were now said to be blowing at fifty miles per hour in some places. At Ravenswood Estate, it was another hot Saturday, with the temperature at about eighty degrees, twelve percent humidity, and a glorious sunny sky, clear but for a distant plume of gray.

Jeff had told her to bring her bikini, and she had bought one in Santa Barbara, but she wasn't in the mood to go anywhere. She didn't even want to take the short drive to the beach. Instead, they spent part of the afternoon at the Ravenswood pool, swimming and sunning, swimming and dozing. Aware of how pale she looked in the land of the permanent tan, Georgianne was glad to take on some color. She had the kind of skin that didn't burn easily, and she applied plenty of suntan lotion. The sun felt great on her body.

It was almost four in the afternoon when they picked up their towels and walked slowly back to the condo. Georgianne liked the feel of the chipped-stone path on her bare feet. But a strange, diffuse mood seemed to be gathering within her, trying to form itself into something more definite. She felt heavy and sluggish, not tired, but lazy.

Her room was cool and dark, with the drapes drawn, the lights off, and the air conditioner humming softly. A shower, followed by a tall cold drink? No, she didn't want either of those yet. She folded her towel and hung it on the bar in the bathroom. She tried to focus her thoughts, and wondered briefly if she hadn't wanted to go to the beach because she was afraid of seeing some girl there who would remind her of Bonnie, or because Bonnie had died at a beach. But her mind wouldn't settle. She stood indecisively in the middle of her bedroom until the realization finally came that-

The door to Jeffs room was ajar. He had taken off his swim trunks and put on his black robe. He was now laying out on the bed the clothes he intended to wear after he showered. They hadn't decided whether or not to go out for dinner. He didn't really care, though he would be a little happier to stay in. But broiling a steak was the limit of his ability in the kitchen. Was there a bag of French fries in the freezer, he wondered.

"Jeff."

Because he wasn't expecting it, he wasn't sure he'd actually heard it. He hesitated a couple of seconds, then tightened his robe modestly and went to Georgianne's door, which was slightly open too. He tapped on it once before entering. She was standing there, still in her bikini, with an uncertain look on her face.

"Did you call me?"

She gave a short, sharp nod, as if it required a special effort for her to move at all. She was waiting, helplessly it seemed, and she didn't speak.

"What are you doing?" Jeff asked delicately.

"Nothing." A hint of a shrug.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes." Then, "I don't know." Then, "No." Then, in a voice cracking with conflict, "Would you hold me?"

Jeff embraced her immediately. He couldn't think straight but that was good, because if he could think, he would say something and he knew this was not the moment for talking. She felt magnificent in his arms. He experienced a jumbled sensory rush. The texture of her skin. The trace of chlorine from the pool in her hair. The buttery smell of suntan lotion. The heat that radiated from her body.

"I need you"-she almost used the word "some- one"-"to hold me."

Jeff squeezed her a little more tightly and lifted her chin so that she was looking up at his face. He smiled. In his mind, he could see the smile perfectly. It had warmth and tenderness. It was a smile that said, It's all right. It was a smile that communicated love. And when he felt the smile had achieved its purpose, he kissed her. He was a man in control. Sexual passion was building rapidly within him, and he let Georgianne know it with that kiss-but carefully, not too forcefully, not yet. He was rewarded. Her arms came up around his back as she responded to his embrace and kiss with her own enthusiasm.

The realization finally came that ... she was going to make love with Jeff. Part of her rebelled weakly at the idea, but she was surprised by the force of certainty she felt. How could she if she thought there was the slightest chance he had been involved in the deaths of Sean and Bonnie? But, paradoxically, that seemed to be part of the impulse, as if she knew instinctively that it would take more than dinners and drinks and scenic drives to get past his smooth, resilient facade. To learn what he really thought and felt. Maybe it was also the sun, the heat, the sight and proximity of his body, and the fact that Georgianne hadn't made love in more than a year. She seemed to have reached the point where intimacy could no longer remain implied, an abstraction, but had to be faced and tested. Now. Before they showered and dressed and sat down for another round of cocktails. Before the moment was lost.

Not that Jeff had any intention of letting it pass. He had waited more than half his life, and his time had finally come. The vague, inarticulate yearning, the doomed marriage, the years of total immersion in work, the substitute bodies, the intermittent but everrecurring dreams and fantasies were all behind him, and he knew that he had succeeded in retrieving from the past the only thing, the only person he truly wanted.

Georgianne's desire was obvious as they moved to the bed, clenched in an embrace and kissing passionately, and it struck Jeff with all the power of a religious revelation: She wants me. The words repeated in his mind.

Her body was a delight. Not quite as firm and hard as Diane's or Bonnie's; yet it was more beautiful than he had imagined, perhaps because he had it at last and could begin to savor its richness. This close, he could see the incipient lines around her eyes and feel the slight softening of her breasts-but those things didn't matter; nothing did. For once, the reality was greater than the dream.

Even as her body responded to his, Georgianne could sense the aching hunger in him, the enormous depth of his desire. It was like a force that had been held in check, perhaps too long, and was now breaking loose. It felt good to experience this, to be with a man again, but there was something awesome, almost frightening, about it too. She had nearly forgotten the kind of intensity that can be created between two people.

Everything changed in a few moments. As they rolled about on the bed, Jeff eased off her bikini bottom, unhooked the bra, and shrugged out of his robe. He moved on top of her, and as her legs opened to accept him, Jeff and Georgianne seemed to reach a clearing, a tender pause in their passion. She looked at him with half-open eyes, trying to hold back the tears that, for no reason she could think of, were trying to find release. He smiled lovingly at her and kissed the tears away. He had an idea how sensitive and emotional this moment must be for her. But it was his moment too, and he was so confident of his control that he thought he could hold himself there, rock-hard and ready, long into the night if need be. 'Jeff ..."

So tiny and distant it might have been a dying echo, so gentle and vulnerable it might have been the voice of a little girl.

"Mmm," he murmured, kissing her lightly about the face.

"Do you think ..." She smiled as if she saw some minor silliness in her thoughts. "Can you ... do I look like ... Bonnie?"

The furious passion that had been about to sweep them up like a tornado skittered off in some other direction. Everything seemed to stop except his own blood, which he heard as a whirrushing whisper in his ears. Then, absurdly, he thought it had to be the air conditioner. It was the only thing his mind could fix on. He felt chilly and self-conscious, but unable to move or speak or think.

Georgianne could feel his erection dwindle away on her thigh until there was nothing left to it. She saw the vacuum in his eyes. He was still looking at her, but he had lost all focus. Finally, he seemed to relax, or sag from within, and he took his eyes from hers. They remained there, still and quiet in each other's arms, for a long time-until the room itself became a presence, cold, dark, and uncomfortable.

Tears. The damn tears came, and she didn't want them, but they came anyway, and all she could do was wipe them off her face and try to contain her jagged breathing. She thought she was doing a bad job--of everything. She couldn't even think clearly.

She had gotten out of bed, grabbed some clothes and her handbag, and shut herself in the bathroom. What, if anything, had that unfathomable moment ac tually meant? She was afraid, not just for herself but for Jeff. Had she seen something in his eyes and his expression in the sudden death of his desire? The most terrible possibility was that she had seen what she wanted to see, that her imagination alone was trying to render a verdict.

She sat on the toilet cover and awkwardly got the ridiculous bullets into the little gun, not at all sure she would need it or even be able to use it. Something to keep her busy while she tried to think. Maybe it was all her fault for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, for thinking of her daughter when she should have been in tune with the man making love to her. Maybe. But then, maybe not .. .

She couldn't stay in the bathroom forever. If Jeff had moved, he hadn't made a sound. She put the gun in her handbag. She put on sneakers, jeans, and a light blouse. Her face in the mirror looked a wreck, but she couldn't do anything about it now. She just wanted to leave. What if he wouldn't let her?

When she opened the bathroom door, Jeff was in his robe, sitting on the bed. He gave her a pathetic smile, then sucked nervously op a cigarette. Twice he looked like he was going to say something, but he couldn't get it out.

"I'd like to go," Georgianne said quietly.

You don't have to."

"I really think I should."

.Hey. ..*

"I'm sorry, Jeff. It's my fault. But I just don't think this is a good idea. Any of it."

"All right. Well ... that doesn't mean-"

"I'll call Jan. She'll come and get me."

"No, don't bother." He got off the bed, as if to intercept her, but she hadn't moved from the bathroom doorway. "I'll run you up to Santa Barbara ... if you really want to go."

"Thanks." She looked away from him. "I do."

"Okay. Well." He moved indecisively, toward his room, toward her, then stopped. "Georgianne."

There it was. She had to look at him.

"Yes?"

"You ... don't ... love ... me?"

He sounded so weak and defeated that she despised herself for letting the situation get to this point. What had she been thinking? She felt nothing for Jeff, but that didn't alter the fact that she had behaved badly- or so she thought. When he was like this, it was impossible to imagine him hurting anyone, except possibly himself.

"I don't love anyone," she said. "Maybe I can't any more."

Jeff appeared to consider that for a couple of seconds, his face the picture of desolation. Then he nodded once and left the room.

Maybe that was worse than shooting him, Georgianne thought. Somehow the two of them had conspired to do nothing, and yet she felt dirty.

In his room, Jeff stood trembling so violently he wondered if his body was literally coming apart. His teeth bit together painfully, and he seemed to be sweating from his forehead to his crotch. He forced himself to sit down and swallow huge gulps of air. A few minutes later, he felt calm, maybe even serene.

There followed a ghastly interlude-leaving the condo, carrying her suitcase, getting in the car and starting out-that was like walking underwater, or trying to get out from under a dome of silence.

But when they reached the street, Jeff began to feel better. He could accommodate all the bitterness and frustration. He could bear the pain of final rejection. He could even fight off the nausea he felt when he thought of how she had cut him off, physically and psychically, just before the moment of penetration. A kind of castration-that was the only word for it. He could take it all, he could take anything. Shit on me, it doesn't matter. Because he knew what he was doing and where they were going.

He spun the wheel, and the car turned smoothly to the right. Then he slammed his foot down, and they accelerated sharply, streaking north into Topo Canyon on a road that went nowhere.

Georgianne knew immediately that something was wrong. The road looked wrong, the direction felt wrong, and the expression on Jeff's face frightened her.

"Where are we going?"

"A slight detour."

"Detour? Where?" No response. "Why? Jeff."

"Relax," he said sarcastically. "I just want to get a look at the fire. That's all."

"I don't want to."

"There's a good vantage point I know."

"Jeff, I don't want to go anywhere near the fires. Please, let's turn around."

"It's not dangerous. Really."

Just then Georgianne spotted an unmanned barricade a couple of hundred yards in front of them. The road was closed. But before she had a chance to breathe easier, the Ferrari swerved off the asphalt into high grass and hardly lost any speed as it bounced along a rutted, partially overgrown trail. Branches whipped the windshield, scratched the roof, and raked the sides of the car.

"Jeff! What are you doing?"

He laughed, as if genuinely amused.

"They closed Topo Canyon Road, but there are a lot of these dirt tracks up into the hills," he said. "Bikers come here and roar around the countryside when they have nothing better to do."

"Jeff, please take me out of here."

"Yeah, yeah, in a minute."

"If the road is closed, it can't be safe. The fire must be close to this area."

"It is." Jeff laughed again. "The fire's in this area. I want to get a look at it."

There was no point trying to talk to him. Georgianne reached into the handbag on her lap and closed her fingers around the gun. She held it there, waiting.

Then she gasped as she noticed the sky. It was a black wall just ahead of them.

"You know," Jeff said, "I never thought of it before, but this area is a little like that place you have back in Foxrock. What is it-the Gorge?"

He said it without thinking-there was nothing to think about any more-and he was surprised at himself, but pleased as well. There was a certain mean pleasure to be had in daring her, taunting her, and, most of all, scaring her. But he wouldn't hurt her. He could never hurt Georgianne-no more than he could let go of her.

But had he ever really loved her, or was he always in love with the idea of her and of having her? He couldn't tell now. It might be worth thinking about, as a matter of academic interest, but he was not inclined to do so. It would be too much like feeding on his own corpse.

They had driven two or three meandering miles away from the paved road. When they came up over the top of a rise and started downward, Jeff hit the brakes and Georgianne cried aloud. Below them, stretching from one end of a small depression to the other, was a shimmering curtain of fire. The air was suddenly harsh with smoke. A wave of heat hit both of them with physical force, like a blow to the forehead.

"Jeff, we have to get out of here!"

"In a minute. This isn't bad."

The fire was crawling steadily up the rise toward them. Jeff calmly put one hand on Georgianne's arm while he stared ahead. It felt good, his hand on her arm, and then he remembered. Of course. He'd made the same gesture with Bonnie at the beach. He had come through that scene all right, but he had to admit it was really a defeat to be where he was now with Georgianne. The situation had finally gotten away from him. The only good part about it was that he had learned the truth and he honestly didn't care any more. To hell with it.

"Isn't there something beautiful about it?" Jeff said. "Fire on a scale like this? Raw, wild nature on the loose. It's spectacularly beautiful."

Georgianne flung his hand off and released her seat belt. She took the gun out and pointed it at him.

"It's getting hard to breathe," she said. "Please take us out of here. Right now."

"Oh, this isn't bad. You should see what these fires can do. The wind isn't too strong here, but it can get up to a hundred miles an hour, and the temperatures can reach twenty-five hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Can you imagine what that's like? Houses implode; palm trees go off like giant firecrackers. The chaparral goes up like cellophane. They say if a bird gets caught in the middle of the worst zones, it blows up. Really. In midair, like a hand grenade."

"Please." She felt sick.

Jeff sat back against the car door and smiled. He looked at the gun as if he were noticing it for the first time.

"I'm not moving yet," he said indifferently. "Did you ever play chicken? I bet I can stay here longer and let the fire get closer to me than you can."

Georgianne stared at him. It was very difficult for her to grasp that this was actually happening. She seemed to be trapped in a weird dream. They were like two complete strangers, but she couldn't afford to think about it. Her head was pounding, her eyes were running, and she didn't seem to get any air in her lungs when she breathed.

"Drive," she ordered hoarsely, waving the gun at him.

Jeff took the keys out of the ignition and studied them as if they were a fascinating relic from another age.

"I meant to tell you-"

"I'm going," Georgianne said curtly.

She started to open her door.

"Wait," Jeff cried, suddenly anxious and reaching for her.

"No!" She fired the gun, and kept firing as she screamed, "No, no, no ..."

"Ah, Jesus." Jeff exhaled, slumping back against the door.

"God damn you, God damn you," Georgianne sobbed. "God damn you ..."

"I wanted to tell you that I was thinking, and I really really, always always ... loved you."

But she was gone, running back the way they had come. He glanced up at the rearview mirror. He couldn't see her any more.

Georgianne ran back the way they had come, and it was like fleeing down a tunnel or a corridor surrounded by orange flickering darkness. The black air scorched her throat and lungs. It swarmed with flying sparks that burned her arms and neck and singed her scalp.

She stopped for a second when she heard the loud, unmistakable sound of an explosion behind her. Then she drove herself on, stumbling, gagging on smoke, gasping for air. She was hardly aware of anything when she was finally grabbed by strong arms and taken out of that place.

You have to be philosophical, Jeff told himself. You have to look beyond all the pain and stupidity, the heartache, the waste ... all the shit. Because that's what it is-just shit. All of it. Smile philosophically; nothing else is called for.

Oddly, his parents came to his mind. A plain, stolid couple with marginal expectations. Christ, why am I .thinking about them now?

Georgianne was all wrong for him. He could see that finally. It must be the longest lesson in history, but he had more or less grasped the point. She had a limited imagination, a stunted intelligence, and an overriding self-interest that masqueraded as sweetness. She belonged in Foxrock, living her vacuous little suburban pseudo-life. He should have left her there and forgotten about her. What a mistake!

Still, he'd followed the damn trail all the way to the truth, nasty as it was, and that had to be better than perpetuating a fantasy. It was, in a way, a triumph for him.

The fire was much closer now, and the heat very nearly unbearable. Jeff examined himself. Five or six shots had been fired in his general direction, but Georgianne had shut her eyes and waved the gun wildly, like a little girl in a cornball horse opera. The only respectable wound was to his left knee, which looked quite bloody and generated a lot of pain. He tried to push that foot to the floor, but he winced and groaned, and his vision was blinded by a swarm of black spots. No, he wasn't going to walk anywhere on that leg.

He'd been grazed on the right shoulder too, but the damage there was trivial. It didn't even hurt. What else? He smiled. The Blaupunkt had taken a smashing hit, and another bullet appeared to be lodged in the door panel. That left one or two that had probably gone right by him and out the open window.

The gun was lying on the passenger seat. He picked it up, pointed it at his forehead, and pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing. Typical, he thought. She'd left him absolutely nothing.

It had been a brilliant try, a long effort full of dazzling moves and bold strokes. But Jeff could see now that he had missed an even greater brilliancy. He'd fooled himself with misguided nostalgia and childish sentiment. She was in every way unsuitable for him.

What he should have done was remove Sean and Georgianne from the scene. Then the way would have been clear for him with Bonnie. Dear, beautiful, bright, young Bonnie. She had liked him, she was in tune with him. He would have wooed her and won her, brought her to Southern California ... oh, it all would have been so much better. How had he missed it? He could have done anything he wanted with Bonnie. She would have been Georgianne as she should have been. He could have taught her, molded her, composed her. It would have worked. He was sure of it.

The car was full of smoke. Jeff put the key in the ignition. He was dizzy and he could feel the air being sucked out of his lungs. The left front Michelin exploded while he was trying to recall the look on Georgianne's face in bed when she mentioned Bonnie. Did she know? She had to know. But then, why hadn't she tried seriously to kill him? There wasn't even enough substance to her to sustain a desire for revenge. He should have come right out and told her to her face, before she ran. Made her eat it-anything to raise a sign of life in her. But she was just another walking stiff. The right front tire detonated a few moments later. He didn't care. He wasn't going anywhere.

. He'd gotten to the truth, and that was something. He tried to light a cigarette and eventually succeeded in spite of the fact that it was almost impossible to inhale now.

Ah, shit, shit, shit. But the truth. It abolished fear, and Jeff appreciated that.

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