true that opposites attract, then duplicates attract even more.
“Do you think we’ll ever get bored with each other?” she had asked
him toward the end of the first week of their honeymoon.
“Bored?” he had asked, faking an enormous yawn.
“Seriously.”
“We won’t be bored for a minute,” he said.
“But we’re so similar, so-”
“Only three kinds of people bore me, ” he had said. “First: someone who
can only talk about himself. And you’re not an egomaniac.
//second?
“Someone who can’t talk about anything. That kind bores me to tears.
But you are an intelligent, active, exciting woman who always has
something going. You’ll never be without something to say.”
“Third?
“The most boring person of all is the one who doesn’t listen when I talk
about myself,” Alex said, half serious but trying to get a laugh out of
her as well.
“I always listen,” she said. “I like to hear you talk about yourself.
You are a fascinating subject.”
Now, sitting on the bed which they would share tonight, she realized
that listening to each other was the main thing that made their
relationship work so well. She wanted to know him, and he wanted to
fully understand her. He wanted to know what she was thinking and
doing, and she wanted to be a part of all that concerned him. When you
got right down to it, maybe they were not duplicates at all. Maybe,
because they listened so well, they came to understand and appreciate
each other’s tastes and, soon, to share them. They did not duplicate
each other so much as they helped each other expand and grow.
The future seemed so promising, and she was so happy that she hugged
herself, an unconscious expression of satisfaction and delight which she
had unknowingly passed on to Colin.
Downstairs, the doorbell rang.
She looked at the bedside clock: ten minutes past two.
Could they be here an hour early? Could he have overestimated the
length of the drive by that much?
She got off the bed and hurried into the hall, took the stairs two at a
time. She was excited at the prospect of seeing them and asking lots of
questions about the trip, but . . . At the same time she was a bit
angry. Had he just mistaken the length of time they would need to drive
in from Reno?
Or had he broken all the speed limits getting here? If he did .
. . How dare he risk their future only to shave an hour off a five-day
trip? By the time she reached the front door, she was almost as angry
as she was pleased to know they were finally home.
She pulled off the chain and opened the door.
“Hello, Courtney,” he said, reaching out to gently touch her face.
“George? What are you doing here?”
Twenty-two Before she could turn and run, before she could even grasp
that there was something sinister about his unexpected appearance, he
took her arm in a viselike grip and walked her over to the Spanish sofa,
sat down with her. He looked around the room and nodded, smiled. “It’s
nice. I’ll like it here.”
“George? What-” Still gripping her arm in one hand, he touched her
face, traced the delicate line of her jaw. “You’re so lovely,” he said.
“George, why are you here?” She was somewhat afraid, though not quite
terrified. His appearance did not make any sense, but it was no reason
for her to go to pieces.
He let his hand slide along her throat, felt her pulse with his
fingertips, then dropped the hand and cupped one of her heavy,
unrestrained breasts. “Just as lovely as ever,” he said.
“Please. Don’t touch me like that,” she said. She tried to pull away
from him.
He held her tightly, and his free hand fondled her. He caressed the
other breast now. “You said that you’d let me touch you again.
“What do you mean?” His fingers were digging into her arm so deeply
that shooting pains exploded in her shoulder.
“You said I could make love to you again.”
His voice was low and dreamy. “Like before. “