The Spiked Heel

“And you just now kissed me. In the midst of all my fear and helplessness, you kissed me. Just a peck on the cheek, and all at once it seemed like the most sensible thing in the world for me to have stepped in when McQuade was taking you out of the room. The most sensible thing, and the only thing, and oh, Jesus, oh, Jesus, it’s like the kid who sees the freckled girl next door all his life, and suddenly she’s not in pigtails any more, as clichéd as that, Marge, as damned corny as that, but it seemed right somehow, it was the most natural thing in the world for you to kiss me, but… I, don’t know what I’m saying, Marge. What am I trying to say?” He shook his head helplessly.

Her eyes were wet. She was sure that everything she felt was shining there in the wetness of her eyes.

“I don’t know, Griff,” she said. “What are you trying to say?”

“I know what I want to say, Marge, but it’s impossible and I’d feel stupid saying it, because I know it doesn’t happen this way, and yet I feel as if it has happened, and I know it’s happened because I’m not afraid for myself any more, the hell with the job, let the job go, I’m afraid only for what almost happened to you, afraid of what McQuade might have done next, but not to me, to you, Marge, to you, and that’s how I know, even though it’s stupid, even though my common sense tells me it’s stupid, that’s how I know.”

She went around the table to him and she cradled his head in her arms, standing behind his chair, and she said very softly, “What do you know, Griff?”

“That I love you,” he said simply.

They were silent for a moment, as if the enormity of his statement had left them drained and empty. She cupped his head, and his face looked very strong, and his mouth was very firm, and she brought her own mouth down against it tenderly, savoring his mouth, holding his head gently.

“I love you, too, Griff,” she said.

“Marge, you don’t have to—”

“No, Griff, no. Darling, I love you so much. Griff, honestly, I wouldn’t…” She opened her eyes wide, anxious that he should believe her, anxious to tell him she was not simply returning his words. “Griff, please, you must believe me. I love you. Oh, darling, darling, I love you.”

He moved his chair back, and she went onto his lap, her hands idly caressing the back of his neck. She kissed his ear, and she smiled, knowing the smile was a foolish-looking one, but unable to keep it off her face. He held her close, and neither spoke, as if speaking would spoil the moment, as if words had not been invented.

“I feel silly,” he said. “I love you so much, and I sit here with my goddam hand in a pot of water.”

“Leave it there,” she whispered.

“Marge…”

“Griff, I love you.” She kissed his cheeks and his eyes and his mouth. “Griff, darling, do you know I love you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I love the taste of those words. Darling, those words are like honey to me. I want to open the windows and yell it to the streets. I love you, I love you, I love you. Have we known all along, Griff?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to say, Marge. I guess so, yes. Otherwise…”

“Oh, all the time we’ve wasted. Oh, all the time gone down the drain. Griff, please kiss me.”

He kissed her tenderly, his left arm tightening across her back. She pulled away from him gently, her mouth leaving his reluctantly.

“What I said about your being a clam…”

“I know.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

“And you have a wonderful sense of humor. I laugh at everything you say, Griff… not everything, I mean not when you’re serious… but whenever you’re being funny in the office… Griff, sometimes I have to turn my face so you won’t see I’m laughing, so you won’t think I’m a silly little… but now I won’t have to turn my face any more, will I? Oh Griff, isn’t that wonderful? Now I can love you, and laugh with you, and Griff, hold me tight, hold me tight, take your hand out of that silly pot of water.”

He held her, and then he said, “My hand is wet. It—”

“I don’t care, darling.”

“Your blouse—”

“Hold me, Griff.”

He held her close, and she felt a oneness she had never felt in her life, a complete happiness that covered her like a warm canopy. The smile blossomed on her face, ripe with her love, ripe with the warmth that spread through her.

“I used to think modeling shoes was the most important thing in the world. I used to think that would be complete happiness. So this afternoon I modeled shoes, and tonight you’re in love with me, and you haven’t even mentioned my legs or looked at them once, and I don’t give a damn. I’m so happy I could burst wide open. I’m so happy, I could—”

“Your legs are wonderful,” he said.

“Don’t say that, Griff. McQuade used those words. He—”

“They are wonderful. McQuade is a bastard, but he was right.”

“It sounds different when you say it, anyway.”

“Marge?”

“Yes.”

“I love you.”

“Mmmm.” She buried her head in his shoulder. “I’m giddy and silly, darling. I feel as if I’m being born. Do you feel that way?”

“Yes.”

“Does your hand hurt?” she asked suddenly, sitting up.

“I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Put it back in the water.”

“No.”