Return to Peyton Place by Grace Metalious Page A

can,” said David. “Maybe he wants to sleep with you again, but that's the extent of his love.”
    â€œStop it,” said Allison, snapping the cigarette between her fingers. “I don't want to talk about it.”
    â€œWhy?” demanded David. “Does it still scare you? Shame you? Make you want to run?”
    â€œNo,” cried Allison. “Now, stop it, David.”
    â€œI can't stop it,” said David with quiet desperation. “I have to know about me, you see.” He moved the ashtray and then stared into it, as if he might find the answer there. “I've been waiting a long time, Allison. I have to know.”
    â€œNot now, David. Let's go.” I'm not ready yet, Allison thought. Brad's like a poison in my system. I have to get rid of him completely, before I can be good for anyone else.
    â€œNo,” said David. “Let's get it over with.”
    â€œGet what over with?”
    â€œUs. You and me.”
    â€œDavid, for Heaven's sake, can't we leave things the way they are? Can't we be friends without this everlasting talk of turning it into something else?”
    â€œI told you before, Allison. I told you two years ago and it's still true. I don't want to be your goddamned friend. I want you, and I want you any way I can get you. I'd like to marry you, but if you don't want that, I want to be your lover. I want to live with you if I can, but if I can't, I want you anyway.”
    â€œOh, David,” she sighed. “I'm so tired I can't think now. Let's go home.”
    They sat close together on the sofa in Steve's apartment. Allison's head rested on David's shoulder and he stroked her hair.
    â€œDavid?”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œKiss me.”
    He turned her face toward his and kissed her gently, as if he were afraid to hurt or startle her, and Allison put her arms around him. He began to seek her tongue with his and his hand rested gently on the underslope of her breast, and very quickly Allison began to kiss him harder. Her mouth opened and she moved against him and he pressed her back gently, so that she was lying down. His hand touched the skin under her sweater and he stroked her.
    â€œBut not here, darling,” he said against her cheek. “And not today. Not until you're sure.”
    â€œI'm sure,” Allison lied. She wanted him to take her; she wanted David to drive Brad out and claim her for himself.
    â€œYou're sorry for me,” David said. “I don't want that.”
    She sat up and tugged at the bottom of her sweater.
    â€œDamn it,” she cried. “Don't always be telling me what I am and what I'm not!”
    â€œI'm playing for big stakes, Allison,” said David. “I want all of you, or I don't want you at all. I want you whole and unafraid and I don't want you haunted by the ghost of Bradley Holmes.”
    Allison burst into tears. “Please, David,” she sobbed. “Please wait. Just a little longer.”
    â€œI'll wait,” said David. “It's a habit I seem to have acquired.” He put his arms around her. “Come on, darling. Stop crying. Everything's going to be all right. I'm here.”
    Allison fell asleep with her head in his lap. Steve Wallace found him holding her when she came home at one o'clock in the morning.
11
    T HE WINTER PASSED with agonizing slowness. It seemed to Allison as if not only every stream and inch of ground, but time itself was frozen by winter's iron, unyielding grip.
    Allison MacKenzie had finished the revisions on her manuscript before Christmas and had mailed them to Lewis Jackman. She had worked with a craftsman's skill, with the coolness of a surgeon. She got a two-word telegram in return.
    â€œWell done.”
    In January, Bradley Holmes telephoned and told her that Jackman was ready to publish and that he planned to release the book on April tenth.
    â€œDid you have a good Christmas?” asked Brad.
    â€œVery nice,” said Allison.