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Page 7.

Chapter 6.

Lexa Whiston awoke with a start, having dreamed that unseen hands were choking her. As she sat up in bed next to a sleeping man, she rubbed her face and tried to remember who or what had threatened her in the dream, but the nightmare faded like a puff of fog as her consciousness returned.

She fought a feeling of alarm and dislocation. For a moment, she thought she was back at SUNY and this was Xavier Stinson lying beside her. But this was not Xavier; it was her fiancée, Arthur Robinson, asthma and all.

Quietly, so as not to awaken Arthur, she slipped out of bed, donned her burgundy robe over her silk pajamas, and padded out of the richly carpeted bedroom. The rest of the fortieth floor penthouse atop the Beering Arms was a single cathedral ceiling unit, with naves for living room, dining room, kitchen, and office. Gray morning light filtered in from several skylights as well as large draped plate windows.

The unease would not leave her. It burned in the pit of her stomach. Lexa turned on some soft rock music punctuated by gushy weather reports, news blips, and traffic conditions. She yawned, preparing toast and black coffee.

She had been dating Arthur since high school. For a time there had been other boys, but Arthur was the one she'd fallen for. He was the only one of whom Grandfather had approved.

After putting butter and marmalade on her toast, she carried it and coffee to the breakfast nook overlooking the sky patio. Sitting with legs crossed at the knees, she yawned again and pushed the drape aside. It looked gray out there amid the staring clock faces. She let the drape slide back. Rocking her heel to a tune, she munched her breakfast and hoped it would drive away the sensation in her stomach. Or the sense of dishonesty in her head.

In the stillness of the penthouse, alone with her thoughts high above the traffic and morning hubbub, she thought back to her summer. She'd insisted on spending the summer on campus, away from Arthur and from Grandfather and from Raritania, finishing two last courses toward her degree. Xavier Stinson had been her instructor a year earlier in a Modern American Lit course. Xavier had been teaching several summer courses. In her boredom, Lexa had agreed to have lunch with him one day. Xavier was a cross between a biker and an intellectual. He had long curly blond hair and beard, but they smelled clean. He rode a Harley (not chopped) and wore leather overgarments, but his clean dungarees were fluff-dried and his short-sleeve shirts were meticulously ironed. He had crooked teeth, but they were well brushed. He had a rough sense of humor, but he was kind. Why had she let him break her ice? Over pizza and colas, he had remarked: "Why do you look so sad?" It was the tone of his voice that made her cry.

For several weeks, she had seen Xavier nearly every day, except when Arthur flew up to visit on weekends. Xavier had wanted to make love, but she had resisted to the end. Fearful of being discovered, she had enjoyed dating and felt guilty about her pleasure in it. They had gone to movies, seen plays, had lunch, even petted in his car. She had put her life on hold. She had pushed Arthur and Raritania out of her thoughts. She had refused to probe beneath the surface of Xavier Stinson, not caring about rumors that he had a complicated life--an ex-wife in Canada, two children by a common-law wife in California. She wondered, perhaps I am a bad person. Xavier had turned out to be a decent sort. He'd confessed he was falling in love with her. He'd written her poems, one of them in a book he'd given her ("Symbolist Poets") and when she'd said no he'd wistfully disappeared into the sunset, to some new life in Minnesota. What had Xavier said one night when they were together eating ice cream? "Lexa, you're 24. You're no longer who you were when you were 17. You've outgrown your love for Arthur."

Lexa, in the midst of her thoughts, was startled by Arthur, who yawned as he opened the bedroom door. Arthur, a slim, neat man of just under six feet, with dark hair and an honest face, was wearing only boxer shorts. They were, like everything else about him, nipped and tucked form-fitted boxer shorts, top quality. Arthur poured himself a cup of coffee, opened and shut the penthouse entrance to retrieve the Wall Street Journal, and padded on bare feet to put an arm around her. "Morning," he said happily.

Lexa leaned back, exchanging pecks of the lip. "Morning, darling," she said. Dear Arthur. She felt dismal.

"You look thoughtful," Arthur said, sitting opposite her at the small table. It looked as though he were going to have a day free of asthma attacks. She could tell.

"I didn't sleep well," she said.

"I heard about your little discussion with your Grandfather," Arthur said, fluffing his paper.

Lexa pushed away the memories of summer. "Grandfather was disappointed that I took the editing job instead of coming into the firm," she said.

Arthur shrugged. "You'll come around."

"Thank you, Arthur." She cringed at the sound of ice in her own voice. There were a dozen things she wanted to blurt all at once, about him being condescending, etc etc, but she bit her tongue.

Arthur sipped his coffee and stared into his newspaper, and whenever he did that he usually lost himself. This time, he crunched the paper down into his lap with a perplexed look. "Darling, I've been thinking."

"Yes?" she asked gaily, wanting to throw something at him.

"Lexa, it was difficult for me being separated from you so much this past summer. I know you had your mind on finishing your degree, and I'm proud of you." He paused, looking troubled. "I thought I'd go crazy without you, and I almost did. Those weekends I flew up to see you, I thought you seemed so... distant. And I blamed myself for intruding upon you. Well, anyway, now that you are back, won't you just move in with me?"

She stared at him, not knowing what to say. Her scalp prickled, and her spine noised with scary feelings. Her stomach rumbled uneasily.

He said: "I never really understood why you insist on continuing to live with your mother, when we are so close to our wedding date. Why don't you just move in?"

Lexa felt stunned. "Darling," she said, "I need some time to readjust. You just don't understand. The strain..."

"Of course," the redoubtable Arthur said, "I understand. It's been a great strain finishing your degree and of course you need time to adjust. I was just thinking, very selfishly I suppose, that we could be together that much sooner. Well, I'll try to be patient. Never mind, my dear." Incredibly, he rattled his paper open once again, this most dense and opaque of men, and began reading stock quotes.

Lexa went and poured herself another coffee and brought the Art Deco Sampler to the table. Arthur frowned over the rim of his paper. "Nice book, it looks like. Where did you find it?"

"Oh, just something I picked up," she said, thinking it would be a simple matter to return it by Friday to that handsome what was his face.

"As long as you are happy," said Arthur.