82 Desire

had preparations to make.
    First, he went to a hairdresser—an actual salon instead of a barber shop—and said, “Do something. I hate this hair.”
    “What’s the matter? Blonds don’t have more fun?” The guy obviously took him for gay.
    “My wife won’t sleep with me anymore.”
    “Well, honey, maybe you should try Viagra.”
    Russell got up and flung off his smock, but the guy smoothed him down. “Take it easy, take it easy. Teeny little joke, that’s all.” And then he was all business. “Okay, what shall we do? How about something sandy—like mine—with a few highlights to make the transition?” He cocked his head, assessing. “And maybe a little more contemporary cut.”
    When he left there, Russell felt human again. Of course, he now looked a little like a straight man trying to pass for gay, but that was better than looking like himself or Dean. In fact, the effect took ten years off his age, in his own humble opinion. Even the three-day beard wasn’t that scruffy.
    Next he went and bought a pair of khakis (God, it felt good to wear them again!) and some kind of unconstructed linen jacket. After that, a dozen red roses, and he was Mr. Smooth Swain.
    Dina had gone to trouble as well. She had on a black dress with halter top and little swing skirt, the old Marilyn Monroe style, and her short hair had somehow been persuaded into curls and waves and things. She held out her hands for the roses. “Why, Mr. Woolverton,” she said. “How very kind of you.”
    He bowed. “My pleasure, Mrs. Wolf.”
    After that, things got a little more informal. In fact, they went so well he had to congratulate himself on combining his makeover with his lady friend’s tiny request. And indeed it did seem tiny when you considered how genuinely pleased she seemed to be. After dinner, she said, “Let’s don’t go dancing. Let’s find a motorcycle to ride.”
    He certainly wasn’t stealing one, if that was what she meant. But apparently she didn’t mean anything. “Or maybe a horse,” she said.
    “No, let’s just walk.” He pulled into a beachfront parking lot. “And you tell me about Mr. Wolf.”
    She kicked off her shoes, slithered out of her pantyhose, and slid out of the car, chattering like a little girl. “Well, his name’s Akela and he hangs with Kaa, the snake, and Bagheera, the panther. They don’t like tigers much.”
    “You want to go over that again?”
    “You never read Kipling when you were a kid? ‘Now this is the Law of the Jungle—as old and true as the sky. And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, and the Wolf that shall break it must die.’ “ She sighed. “It’s the hardest thing in the world to find someone with the same frame of reference. Don’t you think? Bet you read Sailing magazine, and that’s about it, right?”
    He was speechless.
    “Why are you looking so surprised? Caught you, didn’t I?”
    You don’t know the half of it, he thought. He said, “You are one surprising babe.”
    “You know what? Just ‘cause you brought me roses, I’m going to let you call me babe. You know, I really like your hair that way—the blond thing just wasn’t you.”
    “Are you going to tell me about your ex-husband or aren’t you? I’m really sorry I never asked you about him.”
    “Well…” She seemed to get shy all of a sudden. “He was my high school boyfriend, and then he was a rep for a printer—I got him the job. And then he was pretty much of nothing.” She gave Russell a strained smile, the sort he thought of as “brave.” “Mr. Wolf liked his toddy,” she said. “Hey, want to go swimming? You know what? It’s a gorgeous night. We could skinny-dip.” But she didn’t. She simply waded into the surf fancy dress and all, holding the skirt up so that the wind caught it and came under it, and made it a black mushroom floating on the water. “Come on in,” she shouted.
    But he hadn’t left his old life so far behind that he could just wade in. He first removed his jacket, shoes, and pants, and then he ran in, feeling the water like a healing spring around him. He caught her and held her, thinking they could make love right there, right in the water, but in the end he didn’t want to, only wanted to hold her and be comforted by her. As he held her in the softness of the night, and the gentleness of the water, a tenderness came over him, part of it simple joy in her presence, and part of it a great longing, something tinged with sadness.
    He