The bedroom door was still locked when he got home. Ike didn’t care. He had things to do; he would deal with Corabeth later. Setting the bottle down on the kitchen table, Ike began a thorough and systematic search of the house. He checked all the hiding places he knew, all the ones he suspected--the pantry, the cabinets, behind the post office boxes. Everywhere he found a bottle, in varying stages of empty, he pulled it out of its nest. Soon he had four bottles--two of sherry, one white wine, and a fourth of something French. Carrying them to the sink, he emptied each bottle down the drain. He then took Corabeth’s fancy silver serving tray down from the cupboard and placed the four bottles along with the whiskey and two glasses on it.
It took both hands to carry the tray to the bedroom door, so he knocked with the toe of his right shoe.
“Go away!” She sounded like a character from a movie.
“Corabeth Walton Godsey. You open this door, or so help me God, I will break it down.” Ike muttered a silent prayer that she wouldn’t call his bluff. The last thing he needed with his heart condition was to have to break down a door. He was almost beginning to think he’d have to do it when he heard the lock unlatched from within.
She didn’t open the door, however, and was not in the bedroom when he finally managed to get himself and the tray through the door.
He could break down the bathroom door, too, if need be. To his relief, she hadn’t locked that door. In fact, she hadn’t even closed it all the way. He could hear water running in the sink--she was probably rinsing out her mouth so he wouldn’t smell the alcohol.
Didn’t matter. He set the tray on her vanity, sat in the chair, and waited for her to make her entrance.
When Corabeth finally shut the light and came into the bedroom, her face went pale as she saw the tray. She tried to cover her horror, then confusion, then outright dismay at the sight of her addition, set out for all to see on the company dishes.
“Mr. Godsey,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “What exactly do you think you are doing?”
“Something I should have done a long time ago.” Ike stood, leading his dazed wife to the chair he’d just vacated. “We’re going to have a few new rules around here.” He picked up the empty French bottle. “Rule number one: No more bottles of things I can’t pronounce.” He dropped the bottle into the trash bin with a plop. Corabeth’s eyes grew wide as he took an empty bottle of sherry in each hand. “And this--sherry is for cooking. I don’t want sissy food in my house, so you won’t be needing this. As for the wine...” He turned over the label. “What does this mean? ‘Riesling.’”
Corabeth sat shock still. Ike repeated the question, and she whispered, “It’s a region in--in Europe, where they make the wine.”
“Where in Europe?”
“Germany,” she said.
“I won’t have any German wine in my house. I’m civil defense chairman,” he added with a frown. “Downright unpatriotic.” The fourth bottle joined its mates in the trash. Tears were streaming down Corabeth’s face now. A part of Ike wanted to hold her, to make the tears go away, but he forged on with his original plan.
“So, now that we’ve got that out of the way, let me just check a few things.” He left her there, crying softly as he began to search the room. He pulled a bottle out of her dresser and another out of the closet.
Faced with the evidence of her own addiction, Corabeth collapsed into soft sobs.
Ike hardened his heart as he dropped both bottles into the now overflowing waste bin. “A marriage is no place for secrets, Corabeth.” He opened the bottle of whiskey and poured a glass for each of them. “From now on, anything you drink, I drink. No more bottles in dresser drawers or pantries.” He shoved a glass in her hand. She tried to refuse it, but he wrapped her fingers firmly in place. Taking the other glass, he downed it in one gulp. “You wanna get drunk, Corabeth? Let’s get drunk.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” she sobbed.
“Because.” Ike lowered himself to his knees, taking the glass from her shaking hand and placing it on the vanity. “You’re my wife. What happens to you, happens to me. You drink; I drink. You suffer. I suffer.” Her tears were truly getting to him now, inspiring tears of his own. “I thought we’d gone through this all before,” he whispered. She was crying in earnest now, not the histrionics of her earlier scenes, but a deep, painful sound that cut him to the quick. He pulled her into his arms, rocking her gently. “Please, honey-babe. Please let me help.”
“You can’t help,” she choked. “I’ve ruined it. I’ve ruined everything.”
“Ruined what?”
Another round of sobs muffled her reply. Ike kissed her tear-stained face, murmuring softly in an effort to calm her frantic breathing. “Ruined what,” he asked again.
“Aimee. I sent her away, and now--”
“But, Corabeth, I thought this is what you wanted. I thought this was the best thing for her.”
“It is the best thing for her. But I didn’t know--I didn’t know!”
“Didn’t know what, precious?”
She leaned into his shoulder, her entire body shaking with grief. She spoke softly into his shirt, so softly he almost didn’t hear her words. “How much I’d miss her.”
“I miss her, too,” Ike kissed her gently, his fingers stroking a mass of curls shot through with silver.
“Oh, Mr. Godsey, I am so very sorry.”
“Shhh. Tell you what, sweetheart.” He lifted her chin, smiling deep into her tear-stained eyes. “Why don’t we go up to Doe Hill this weekend? We can take Aimee out for a picnic, maybe a movie in town, and you could visit your Aunt Cordelia. Would you like that?”
Corabeth sniffed. “But we weren’t planning on going up until--”
“We’re her parents, aren’t we? And if we want to go up for a weekend to Doe Hill to visit our only daughter, well...” He winked slyly. “Well, I suppose there’s not much anybody can do about it, is there?”
“No, Mr. Godsey,” Corabeth laughed she placed a tender kiss on his cheek. “I suppose there’s not.”
“Corabeth, honey--just one thing.”
“Yes, Mr. Godsey?”
Ike drew in a long breath before speaking. “No more drinking. Promise me.”
She turned her eyes downward, a cloud of self-doubt darkening her refined features. “I...I want to--”
“Promise me, Corabeth.” He frowned at the heavy silence, then kissed her temple. “Promise me at least that you’ll try,” he whispered.
She leaned against him for a long moment. “I promise, Ike.”
Ike checked the time again. Twenty after six. It seemed later. The open signed laughed at him from the window, evidence of his scattered state of mind. It didn’t matter. He closed the money bag. He’d count the money tomorrow morning. If there was a tomorrow, he thought glumly.
Sheer nerves forced him from behind the counter. Ike wasn’t a man comfortable alone with his thoughts for too long. He preferred to keep busy. Rolling the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to the elbows, he headed for the vegetable display. Might as well start--
A noise from the driveway caught his attention. He recognized the sound--it was Corabeth’s car. Ike turned from the window, not sure what to do. He looked around, spotting a pen and clipboard on the counter. Grabbing the pen, he started writing. The bell on the door rang, and Corabeth was in the store.
She stopped at the counter, her cheeks flushed, unable to make eye contact. She looked beautiful. It was the first thought Ike had. Her hair hung loose around her bare shoulders, framed by a low-cut maroon dress. She had on more make-up than she normally wore--Ike couldn’t help notice how her lips glistened in the light.
There was an awkward pause before she spoke, husky and low in the throat. “You haven’t closed up yet.”
“Oh...” Ike struggled for something, anything to explain his behavior. He wasn’t ready to confront her, not yet. “Well...I had some book work to do, and I didn’t notice what time it was...I guess.” He dropped his gaze for a moment. “You’re home early.”
“Ah, well, Aunt Minerva wasn’t feeling very well and...” She took a few steps towards the house, hand trailing along the counter as she stumbled over the words. “We decided that we’d have supper some other time.”
She was lying. He was suddenly overwhelmed with love for this woman who was such a lousy liar. On a whim, Ike grabbed the Carmen record and hid it behind his back as he followed her. “Oh. I’m sorry Aunt Minerva wasn’t feeling well,” he murmured. She turned to him, her eyes filled with a sadness he understood deep down inside. “Sure am glad you’re home early,” he added earnestly.
He waited as she digested the words. Her eyes sparkled, not quite tears, but misty nonetheless. “I thought about you the whole way,” she whispered, touching his cheek. Her hand was warm against his skin. “You’re a good man, Ike. And I love you dearly.”
Something in her voice, in her eyes, told Ike what he needed to know. This was not the voice of a woman who had strayed. This was not guilt, but fear. Fear of what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but definitely fear.
“I adore you, Corabeth. I really do.” The expression on her face assured him this was the best thing he could have said. Her relief hit him like a cool spring breeze, and he continued, quite giddy. “So much so that I went out and bought you a present.” He pulled the package from behind his back. “A new record album.”
A knowing smile brightened his wife’s face. “More Guy Lombardo?”
“No, sirree. Your favorite opera. Carmen.”
The silence was replaced by a laugh and a brilliant smile as Corabeth dropped her head back and cried, “Ole, Mr. Godsey. Ole.” She wrapped herself in his waiting arms, kissing him in a way he’d almost forgotten. The warmth of her skin, her perfumed hair, the overwhelming intimacy she shared with him--time stretched to fill the enormity of the moment. When she finally stepped away from him, her face had been transformed.
“I’ll go up and...change into something more comfortable.” Her eyes twinkled with invitation; and she held his hand, backing up the stairs slowly until only their fingers touched. Ike knew that look.
“I’ll be right along, Corabeth,” he said, then smiled as he watched her disappear into the house. Once out of eyesight, though, his smile faded. Even though he knew in his heart of hearts that she had been faithful, the truth of the matter is that she had been tempted. Ike knew first-hand how easy it was, how thin the line between fidelity and disaster could become. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the note and read out loud, “‘I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honor more.’”
The words rung in his ears for a long time, blending with the faint, crisp sound of the paper he refolded and slipped into his pocket. She had been tempted. He suspected she’d been tempted before, and she could be tempted again. Ike wasn’t about to let that happen.
He hurriedly closed up and followed her into the house. She was in the bedroom, making something of a racket in the closet. “You okay in there?”
“Fine, Mr. Godsey. I’m...” There was a thud, then she spoke quickly, “It’s all right. I’m just looking for something.”
“Do you need some help?”
“Um, no. No, it’s okay. Put on the record, will you?”
Ike looked around the living room and found the record, still wrapped, on the table next to the sofa. Tearing away the white paper, he pulled the disk out of its sleeve and placed it on the phonograph. A slight crackle, then the room was transported to long-ago Spain. For a moment, Ike was transported by the music. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he kind of liked Carmen.
He was just picking out a modest tango when he heard Corabeth in the doorway behind him. Turning with a dramatic flair, he almost fell when he saw her there.
She was dressed in a sheer black gown, cut low in the back, plunging in the front. Tiny beads sparkled like stars in the silky black fabric. She’d removed a little of the makeup, but her hair still fell in thick curls around her bare shoulders. Behind her, the bedroom light shone through the gown, rendering it almost transparent.
For a moment, Ike was speechless. Then, “Is that--”
She grinned. “The nightgown you gave me last year for Christmas?”
“Yeah,” Ike nodded. She’d been horrified at the gift, another fight in the ledger of fights that was their marriage. What had he thought she was? Some kind of harlot? He’d thought she’d thrown it out.
Obviously, he was wrong.
She stepped out of the doorway, closing the distance between them until she was just a step away from him. “Don’t you like it?” Her smile was blinding. For a moment, Ike wondered absently if he’d remembered to take his heart medication.
“Uh...” Her fingers made their way up the front of his shirt, opening one button, then another. She was tickling his chin when he finally managed to finish his statement. “Uh, yeah. I like it. A lot.”
Wrapping her slim hands in his shirt, she pulled him very close. “Mr. Godsey. You haven’t asked me to dance,” she scolded. Before he could defend his lack of manners, she had pressed herself against him, snaking her arms under his shirt as they began to sway to the music. The beat was irregular, and the steps were from no dance Ike knew, but together they found a rhythm that suited them.
A small kiss grew into a longer kiss. The longer kiss grew even more intense. Their dance forgotten, Corabeth pushed the fabric from his shoulders. As his shirt fell to the floor behind him, Ike felt the sleeve cuff snag on his watch. Distracted, he let go of her to free it. She bent over to help him, and the note fell out of his shirt pocket on to the floor.
There was a long, terrible silence as both of them stared at the crumpled fold of blue paper. Finally, Ike reached down and picked up the note along with his shirt. Corabeth’s face was ashen, her eyes huge. She couldn’t look him in the eye.
Neither of them knew what to say. A moment later, Corabeth turned and ran into the bedroom. Cursing himself all the way, Ike followed her.
He found her, seated on the bed facing the opposite wall. Her back was straight, head high. She sat perfectly still. Ike sat down on the bed next to her, facing away.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Nothing happened.”
“No. Nothing happened.” She took a deep breath. “I’m still sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Ike.”
He turned to face her. “Nothing happened, Corabeth.”
“But--”
Taking her shoulders in his hands, he turned her until they were sitting eye to eye. For a moment, he thought she would run into the bathroom. But she stayed put.
Ike rubbed the note between his thumb and forefinger before lifting it so she could see it. Slowly, deliberately, he tore the note into tiny shreds before her eyes. “Nothing...happened.”
He was prepared for a round of hysterics. Instead, she took the scraps of paper from him and tossed them into the waste basket. Silently, she turned off the lamp behind her and slipped under the covers. She held out her hand to him. On impulse, he kissed it gently. “I love you,” he whispered.
“Shhhhh....” Her hand wrapped around his, tugging gently. “Come to bed, Mr. Godsey.”
He gestured, indicating his trousers and undershirt. “I’ll just go put on my pajamas.”
“That isn’t necessary.” His eyes had adjusted just enough to see her wicked smile in the moonlight. “They’ll just get all rumpled down there on the floor.”
Ike began to laugh, then to cough. By the time he had his trousers off, he was shaking with laughter. To his complete amusement, Corabeth started laughing too as she pulled the undershirt over his head and tossed it behind him. Their laughter muffled by kisses, they rolled onto their sides. She smelled incredible, the soft scent of the French perfume she liked so much lingering on her skin and hair. He kissed her again, shifting slightly so he could remove her negligee.
Corabeth buried her face in his neck, whispering softly as she nibbled the tender skin beneath his left ear.
“What did you say?” Ike struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings of her nightgown.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “Tennyson.” Her lips burned into his flesh.
Pulling slightly away, he looked into her smoky eyes. “Tell me.”
She grinned. “You don’t like poetry, Mr. Godsey.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“‘What knowest thou of love-song or of love? Nay, nay, God wot, so thou wert nobly born, Thou hast a pleasant presence.’”
Ike stared at her for a long moment, then gave up. “What does it mean?”
“It’s from the Idylls of the King. Lady Lynette believes Sir Gareth is a simple kitchen knave, but he keeps proving himself noble before her eyes. By the time she finds out he is really a prince, she’s already in love with him.”
“I see...”
She snuggled up to him, reaching back to undo the fastenings for him. “He defeats four evil knights and frees her sister from a fate worse than death before she finally figures out...” The sheer black fabric slipped over her shoulders, revealing her smooth, flawless skin. “How incredible he truly is.”
Ike lowered his mouth to her throat, tracing a path down the line of her collarbone before taking a rose-colored nipple between his lips. It stiffened immediately, and Corabeth gasped as he bit gently. Before long her fancy lingerie joined his clothes on the floor. For a moment, she was everywhere--hands, breasts, softly spoken words, she melted into him and he into her.
He felt like a soldier, returning home after a long and terrible battle. The landscape was the same, but seemed fresher, truer, more lovely and fragrant than he remembered. As their bodies merged completely, he had to fight the urge to cry. He wanted nothing more than to stay this way for the rest of his life, wrapped in her warmth, drowning in the scent of her hair, nourished only by the sweet sounds of pleasure she made.
But that wasn’t possible. Soon, too soon, he felt the familiar urge of climax. He couldn’t leave her wanting, but he had no idea how long he could last. He slipped his hand between them, finding that one spot which would send her over the edge. Soon, she was panting hard, her body straining as she climbed towards release.
She came with a cry, pulling tightly against him in an effort to take as much in as possible. Ike felt the pressure of her orgasm drawing him to his own. It seemed to last forever, but soon they fell gasping onto the pillow.
Ike was exhausted, but he found his way onto an elbow to look down into her face. She lay there, eyes partially closed as she struggled to calm her breathing. After a moment, she blinked them open. “Mmmm...” was the only thing she could manage to say.
“Yeah.” Ike pulled a wayward strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She gave a kitten-stretch, moaning slightly as she did. Ike’s hand slid down the curve of her torso till it rested in the hollow of her waistline. One more probing kiss, and she was wrapped in his arms again.
“Mr. Godsey?” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“Mmmmhmm?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
He rolled away to free her, happy and sleepy all at the same time. “Promise to come back?”
“On a stack of Bibles, Mr. Godsey.” She eased out of his embrace. “Don’t fall asleep,” she ordered.
“I promise,” he answered. She grabbed his robe from the foot of the bed and wrapped herself in it. Ike found the sight of her in his old bathrobe sexier than any fancy negligee. He watched as she disappeared into the bathroom, then sank down into the pillow. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to figure out just how he’d lucked out tonight. What started out as disaster had ended up with--
Corabeth in his bathrobe. He couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. Somehow, they always seemed to start off with disaster and end up with silly smiles on their faces. It was weird, but it seemed that chaos only made their marriage stronger.
He caught himself drifting off, wrapped comfortably in the thought that he would never again take her for granted, when the door to bathroom opened. He snapped himself awake and watched as she removed the robe. He noticed she didn’t bother putting on her nightgown. With a smile, he kissed her as she slipped into bed beside him. As he kissed her shoulders, the forgotten strains of Carmen floated into the bedroom. As the sensual tones of the habanera wafted above them, he heard Corabeth’s voice soft against the pillow.
“Goodnight, Mr. Godsey.”
“Goodnight, Corabeth.”
The End
