The Bleeding Heart by Marilyn French Read Free Book Online Page B

hear it in my head, I just can’t get it out!” she defended herself, laughing.
    Victor spent some time figuring out how to work the toast rack, and being slightly shocked by the British, who were so advanced in so many ways, but had yet to adopt the electric toaster. Dolores pointed out that they did have the electric kettle, which was far faster than any American kettle, but Americans had yet to adopt that. Victor had a number of reasons to explain that, among which was that electric kettles probably used more energy than ordinary kettles. She put her hands on her hips and stared at him, amused and challenging.
    He put his hand up. “Okay, okay, you’re right.” He turned the toast “I’ve only been here two weeks, and I’m still a hard-ass American, I guess.”
    She put her arms around his waist, standing behind him, and laid her head against his back. “I think you have a nice ass,” she said.
    He howled. “First time I’ve ever been told that!” Laughing.
    “Mmm. But I’ll bet you’ve told it plenty, though.”
    He turned to give her a snarky look. “And what about you, huh? I’ll bet it’s been both ways for you.”
    “Oh, not for years,” she said airily, pouring the coffee. They sat down. The table rocked. Victor got up and fished in drawers and shelves, poked into little jars.
    “What are you looking for?”
    “Something to prop up this table leg.” He returned with a paper matchbook, tearing off its cover.
    “It won’t last,” she warned as he placed the folded cardboard under the table leg.
    “It’ll last long enough so that my eggs don’t scramble on the plate.” He creamed his coffee. “How long?”
    “How long what?”
    “How long have you not been told and not told that?”
    Both of them giggled.
    “Years. As I said.”
    “How come? Your Lover unaffectionate? The strong silent type?”
    He’s really prying under the joking surface. Wants to know what the competition is. Would he be happier having some or not having some? Having some. Less responsibility.
    “I’ve been celibate. For several years.”
    He put down his cup and stared at her. “Why? In the name of heaven, why?”
    She laughed. “You know, the new American sin is nonsexuality, even though we haven’t yet got rid of the old one, which is sexuality.”
    “I’m serious, Lorie.”
    Lorie?
    “Well, I don’t know exactly. I had a bad time with a man I was madly in love with. Or thought I was madly in love with. I guess I was a little raw afterwards, for quite a while.
    “And just about then I began work on my second book, which was about images of women in Renaissance literature, and the moral and political meaning of those images. I was very caught up in it and I kept getting angry. Angrier and angrier at what had been done to women. And besides, the book took up all my time—all the time I wasn’t spending teaching, taking care of my kids, who were teenagers then, taking care of the house, cleaning, cooking … you know. I didn’t really have time for anything else. I just drifted into celibacy.”
    “And never came out.” He acted incredulous.
    She shrugged.
    “He must have been something, that guy.”
    She looked at him. Damn, if he isn’t like all the rest after all.
    “It wasn’t just Marsh. You’re married, you don’t realize what it’s like to be a single woman with children. You have a wife to take care of all your needs, to take care of your children. When you’re busy with a project, you don’t have to spend time and energy with your wife. You know she’ll understand. I had to do all of that by myself. And I had only so much time and energy.”
    “Yes. But to turn you off in the first place. And so strongly that even though your kids are grown you haven’t …”
    I do not seek consolation in yet another pair of male arms, is that what distresses you? And when did I ever find it there?
    “You know,” she turned to him smiling, intending to be light, to joke, “you really want to