Chapter 8

Suzanne lay on her bed, staring out the wide window at the whitecapped Detroit River. In the distance a lonely tug broke the silence with its mournful hoot, and a flock of birds was silhouetted against the clouds, flying north to Canada.

She stretched, lifting her arms lazily; she smiled, and snuggled back against the pillow. For the hundredth time, she reached for the letter on the nightstand, opened it and read, an extra smile of pleasure creasing her face.

A brief knock at the door heralded its opening, and Mrs. Delacorte walked in, carrying a breakfast tray.

"How many times are you going to read his letter?" she said, her normally prim face relaxed in a sympathetic grin.

Suzanne folded the paper and pushed it back in the envelope.

"Every hour until he gets here," she replied happily. "Oh, Mother, I'm so excited."

"I guess I would be, too," said Mrs. Delacorte, placing the tray across the bed. "Come on, I've fixed your breakfast myself today. Scrambled eggs the way you like them, sausage and toast and coffee. Your father says I'm spoiling you."

Suzanne laughed, and looked affectionately up at her mother. "Sit down and talk," she said.

"I was intending to," said the older woman. "After all, since you left home, I've missed our little chats. It's good to have you back."

"I know. I'm glad to be back, too."

Mrs. Delacorte lit a cigarette from the box on the nightstand, and leaned back, her eyes resting lovingly on her daughter.

"You're certainly looking better than you did when you returned," she commented. "I can't tell you how unhappy I was with your living in that dreadful slum."

"It wasn't that bad," Suzanne admitted, sipping her coffee. "But... well, there's no place like home."

Her mother nodded. "Especially when it's clean, modern and comfortable," she said. "Tell me, what really made you decide to move back? I mean, I had fully expected you to return, but not quite so soon."

Suzanne hesitated, and took a mouthful of sausage and eggs before replying.

"Well, lots of things, really," she said guardedly. "I guess, to be honest, I got tired of slumming."

"Spoken like a true Grosse Pointer," said Mrs. Delacorte, and they both laughed, knowing the humor of her statement.

"Truthfully, I wanted to stay, but the neighborhood is really worse than I had expected."

"Why do you think the city's tearing it all down?" asked her mother. "Another few years, and all those crummy buildings will be gone, and nice, new highrise apartments for students will take their place. And it's about time, too. Wayne's a good school, and I've never understood how they've put up with those ghastly people living in those old buildings, right next door, as it were. I mean, it's terrible that the poor have such bad living conditions, but I feel if half of them got out and worked, they wouldn't have to live like they do. It's a sad situation." She sighed. "I'm thankful that your father and I have been able to give you a good home and a respectable upbringing. I've often imagined what might happen if a girl grew up among those people." She shuddered. "I've been told that half of them are pregnant by the time they're sixteen."

Suzanne stared at her mother intently. Mrs. Delacorte's face had a tolerant look of distaste which accentuated the tiny wrinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes, skillfully covered with a layer of makeup. Her hair was immaculate, and from her ears a pair of diamonds were suspended on small platinum chains. Her dress was a sophisticated black sheath, simple and tasteful, but obviously from Saks or Bergdorf's.

Suzanne had a passing mental image of Donald's mother, seated in her rundown apartment on Forest Avenue, her hair hanging in rat-tails, her coarse features devoid of makeup, and her breasts swinging obscenely under her cotton shift, while her bare feet rested on the torn linoleum rug, and the woman's drawling Kentucky accents echoed in her ears... "Work? I dunno. There ain't much I can do. 'Sides, I git enough from welfare to get by."

Suzanne shivered and took another bite of toast.

"I learned a lot, I'll say that," she murmured, washing the toast down with a sip of coffee. "I'll probably have a real good grade in sociology, thanks to my research. My paper's coming along nicely."

"Good," replied Mrs. Delacorte vaguely. "It's a blessing that you're intelligent, my girl."

Suzanne stared at her mother, not quite comprehending the words which sounded out of context to what they had been discussing. But she decided to let it pass. There were many things her mother said which she realized were merely words to fill up time between what Mrs. Delacorte considered the important aspects of life.

"So when's Sam arriving?"

Suzanne smiled happily, and her heart beat a little faster.

"Five o'clock," she replied. "On BOAC. I'm going to be at the airport in plenty of time. I don't want to miss seeing the plane come in. Oh, Mother, I'm so happy."

"You look it, I'll say that for you." Her mother paused and smirked. "You are going to marry him, aren't you?"

Suzanne nodded emphatically. "Of course. I've always been in love with Sam."

"Hm. To be truthful, I had expected you to get married a few months ago, but then he suddenly upped and flew off to Europe. Did you by any chance have a tiff?"

Suzanne shook her head. "Nope. He just said he wanted to get away for a while," she lied. "But let's not talk about that. Sam's coming back, and just as soon as we can, we're going to be married."

"He asked you in his letter?"

"No. He didn't ask. He said so."

"Oh. Caveman tactics."

"No. He's aware how I feel. I guess he just took it for granted that I'd say yes, and I will. Oh, Mother, I can hardly wait."

Mrs. Delacorte sniffed. "Well, I want you both to have a talk with the minister first. You know, there are lots of things a young couple should know before getting married. And of course we'll have to send out the invitations and everything. Oh, I want you to have the biggest and best wedding that Grosse Pointe has ever seen. After all, Sam's family is well known, and it should be a real nice splash on the social pages."

Suzanne leaned back and wiped her mouth with the linen napkin.

"Mother, I'd just as soon have a quiet ceremony. I know Sam's not planning a big wedding. He's often said so."

"Suzanne, children do not arrange their weddings. Their parents do, and you're not going to deprive me of seeing my only daughter married in high style."

"But, mother, it's my wedding."

"I'll not discuss it any further, Suzanne," said Mrs. Delacorte, rising and lifting the breakfast tray off the bed. "You're going to have a big wedding and you may as well get used to the idea."

Suzanne sighed. "Yes, Mother."

"And don't look like that. You know you really want it, just like any other Grosse Pointe girl. Remember, you only get married once, and you may as well go all the way. It's not that we can't afford it, remember, like those other people."

"I know. But I think Sam'll want to get married right away, and a big wedding takes time, and there's so much planning and all that nonsense."

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Delacorte's voiced rose three octaves. "Suzanne, you listen to me, my girl. I'll arrange everything, and you can get married, oh, say, in about a month or six weeks. Besides, that'll give you and Sam a little time together. After all, he has been away, and I'm sure you both have lots to talk about."

"I suppose so." Suzanne threw the covers back and stepped out on to the thick, plush carpet. "Mother, I think I'll shower and get dressed. Thanks for the breakfast."

Mrs. Delacorte picked up the tray and moved to the door.

"You're welcome, dear, and believe me, darling, it's so wonderful having you back home again. You've no idea how much happier I am, knowing you're back where you belong."

She left, closing the door behind her. Suzanne glided across the carpet soundlessly, and went into the pink and white tiled bathroom, resplendent with gold fixtures and a sunken tub. She stared at herself in the full-length mirrors, and slipped off her pajamas, standing naked while she surveyed her body.

She heard a voice echoing in her mind... "Jeez, lookit them tits!" She closed her eyes, seeing Donald's naked body on top of her own, his mouth hungrily devouring her lips while his penis moved slowly in and out of her vagina.

With a quick shake of her head, she dismissed the memory, stepped into the tub, and turned on the faucet. As the stinging warm water splashed on her skin, she reached for the soap and began soaping herself all over, relishing the sensual feeling of her fingers and the spray.

It was nice to be home again, she thought, enjoying all the comforts that her parents' wealth afforded her. Yet there had been a cozy warmth to her little apartment on campus; if only it could have stayed that way, instead of being so violently disrupted by those boys. And Yvonne... poor Yvonne! Suzanne would never forget the look on the woman's face as she walked out of the apartment that night, her age and her frustrations deflating her expression, removing the constant forced sparkle and superficial gaiety. And Carole, whose eyes had betrayed her remorse even if her mouth had remained silent. Yes, it had been a bad scene, but as an experience, it had been invaluable. Even her encounters with the three boys had been a traumatic breakthrough for her, revealing her innate sexuality to herself and enabling her to dispel her inhibitions. She knew now that when she and Sam slid under the sheets, she would be able to satisfy him completely. And she knew instinctively that a wife who keeps her husband happy that way need never fear about his straying from home. Yes, she would be able to give Sam every type of sensual satisfaction he could possibly crave. Her body glowed at the thought, and she finished her toilet quickly, eager to be dressed and ready to go to the airport and meet him. Her heart beat quicker at the thought of seeing his handsome face once more, feeling his arms about her and his lips pressing on her own. Oh, Sam... Sam... hurry home, darling, hurry home. My arms are waiting and my body is eager to feel you, naked and aroused, lying on top of me...

Detroit Metropolitan Airport was crowded as Suzanne and her parents pushed their way through the mass of people to the arrival gate. Suzanne's hands were trembling, and she bit her lip as she moved, her body bumped by the throng of travelers disembarking. Her eyes were glued at the oncoming sea of faces, eagerly searching for the broad, handsome features and shock of brown hair that she had been dreaming of for so long.

"There he is!"

Mrs. Delacorte's voice cut through the babble like a knife, and Suzanne turned and stared.

"Oh, Sam!"

She rushed forward, and they were in each other's arms, and she felt his wide lips cover her own. Her arms held him tightly, and instinctively she opened her mouth and let her tongue lick across his lips for a second before breaking apart. Sam's large blue eyes were wide, and he laughed enthusiastically.

"Now that's what I call a welcome," he breathed. "Oh, Suzanne, it's so good to see you."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, and kept one arm around his waist while he shook hands with Mr. and Mrs. Delacorte. He looked around.

"Mother and Dad didn't come?" he asked disappointedly.

"No, afraid not, Sam," said Mr. Delacorte, "Your father's in Chicago on business, and your mother wasn't feeling well. Nothing serious, just a touch of the flu."

"Oh, well, you're here," Sam said, looking at Suzanne. "That's all that really matters."

They walked back through the terminal and collected his two suitcases, and in ten minutes were driving back down the expressway towards Detroit, Sam sitting close to Suzanne in the back seat of the Delacorte Cadillac, while Mr. and Mrs. Delacorte rode up front, both keeping their eyes tactfully on the road, conscious that the two young people in the back would much rather be alone. Suzanne snuggled close, her one hand on the inside of Sam's thigh; his arm was around her, and every few seconds, they would lean close and kiss. Suzanne felt her loins responding, and she knew Sam was getting excited. She had already noticed the slight bulge in his pants, and inwardly she felt a glow of satisfaction. Oh, she could hardly wait 'til they were really alone. She wanted him so badly, she almost hurt.

"You're having dinner with us tonight," said Mrs. Delacorte imperiously, "Of course, we'll drop you off at your home first so you can say hello to your mother, but then you come on over. I know Suzanne's got lots of things to discuss with you, and we have to make plans for the wedding and everything."

Sam's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"Wedding?"

Suzanne squeezed his thigh.

"Of course, darling." She kissed him quickly. "Don't tell me you're turning me down?"

He grinned happily. "No, of course not," he said firmly. "But I thought at least you'd wait 'til I asked you."

Mr. Delacorte's gruff voice broke in.

"Sam, if Suzanne's like her mother, you don't stand a chance, take it from me. Mrs. Delacorte proposed and married me before I could say, Drop your drawers."

"Really!"

Mrs. Delacorte's acid tones were drowned by Sam's loud laugh and Suzanne's high-pitched giggle.

"At least you're not marrying her for money," Mr. Delacorte continued more soberly. "Which is comforting."

"I'm marrying Suzanne," said Sam evenly, "because I love her."

Suzanne steered the car carefully around the winding street. Her eyes were on the road, but she knew Sam's were on her, taking in every inch of her profile.

"Well," he murmured gratefully. "At last we're alone, really alone."

"I know," she replied. "My folks can be a real drag sometimes, but they mean well."

The car pulled up outside the large mansion.

"You coming in for a while?" asked Sam, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"Try and stop me," Suzanne answered.

They climbed out of the car and walked up the driveway arm in arm.

"That was a good dinner," said Sam inconsequentially.

"Mm."

"You going to cook for me when we're married?"

"Of course."

He laughed. "I thought maybe you'd want a cook like your mother has."

"Never. I'm going to cook for you, clean house, do everything for you."

"Everything?"

She squeezed his waist. "Everything."

"You sound terribly menacing."

"Maybe I am."

"I love it."

"And I love you."

She turned into him, moved her arms up around his neck, and pulled him to her, closing her lips over his. Breathlessly, they clung together, the warm breeze caressing their faces, and the bright moonlight turning Suzanne's hair to silver.

They broke apart and continued walking up to the front door.

"Mother's probably asleep by now," said Sam, opening the massive carved slab and ushering her inside.

"Good. We won't be interrupted then," said Suzanne, walking into the tiled entrance hall, her heels clicking softly.

He laughed softly.

"Are you planning to seduce me, young woman?"

She nodded.

"Of course. You really didn't invite me in for coffee now, did you?"

"Of course not."

"All right, then."

She walked into the wide living room, illuminated only by a small reading lamp at the far end. The warm glow gave her cheeks a sensuous patina, and Sam smiled as he approached her, took her in his arms, and kissed her gently.

"You're very lovely," he murmured. "And I've missed you terribly."

"Me, too. There wasn't a day I didn't wish you were back here. Oh, Sam, why did you ever leave?"

"You know why," he replied calmly. "I couldn't stand it any longer."

"Couldn't stand what?"