Chapter 12
In the days that ebbed from the calendar, carrying Nadine toward the end of June, one thought recurred over and over: it was no longer fun.
She had only to scan a mental check-list to realize this.
Sherry had gone out with George Weidberger three times, but she had not reported on these exciting events. Sherry remained silent, sullen and aloof. Nadine made it a point to avoid Sherry's caller, speaking to him a patronizing adult-to-child manner when she was forced to speak to him at all. (And learning not from Sherry, but from Leila Stroud, that George spoke to Sherry of many things ... but mostly about her mother!)
And Vince. No word from Vince. Had he guessed Nadine's rapport with Warren ... her closeness to Monty? Did Gwen know? Why didn't Vince call?
And why didn't Warren Ryner stop calling? There was nothing Nadine could do for him. His behavior was somewhat less adult. She began to think of him as she thought of Vince. Poor Warren. A bore, but pitiable. Poor, dear Warren.
Then, of the two major frustrations, there was Paul. Tense, moody, depressed. Not touching her. And Nadine afraid to approach him for fear of being rejected completely. Wondering through the unbelievably loveless nights, why? And still afraid to demand the answer.
Growing sick with desire and frustration. Beaming that desire toward Monty, whom it was impossible to see. Never a feasible time, never an adequate excuse. Nadine substituted long, impassioned letters to which Monty did not respond; but only because he did not dare. And she spoke to him through afternoon-long phone calls white Sherry was out of the house.
"When are you going away, dearest?"
"Don't talk to me about separation. I only want to think of being in your arms."
"I'd love to go with you."
"To France?"
"Yes. Would you want me?"
"Yes ... yes, certainly I'd want you ... but you...."Monty, I'm so miserable here. I can't tell you how miserable it's been."
"Come here, lover. Now."
It was a word-game. They played it each afternoon, with Nadine making the phone calls only because Monty could never be sure she was alone.
But it wasn't fun anymore. With no one to love her, with Paul using tiredness and a nebulous "confusion" as his excuse, there was no one but Monty Carrell.
Nearing the end of June, Nadine existed almost wholly in a dream world in which Monty made continual and fervent love to her and in which the Rue de Tournon held more reality than the main drag in Riverdale. And the mundane morning and evening sound of the C.B. and Q. commuter train was lost in the penetrating bass beep of the S.S. America's ail-aboard horn. Confetti, serpentine, baskets of fruit, farewell-waving at the rail, Nadine clinging to Monty's arm. Flowers in their cabin...."Do Not Disturb" sign hung from the doorknob to warn the steward that they wanted to be alone. Monty and Nadine ... alone with their love ... alone....
And regretting the moment in which the five-forty-six pulled into Riverdale to disgorge its passengers ... the reverie ending with the approach of a disconsolate advertising executive who flashed nothing now but imperceptible, subliminal smiles and said as he approached the Chrysler, "Hello. Been waiting long?"