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way with me, he couldn't wait to brag and then treat me like some trophy he could cast off cavalierly.
I still didn't take the roses. Remaining unimpressed. I looked from them to him.
"What do you want. Corbette?" I asked briskly.
"Oh. I just came to see how you were doing and pay my respects."
"I didn't think you knew what respect meant," I snapped back.
Confronting him now. I realized that time had done little to diminish the embarrassment and belittlement I had felt that day he had brought some of his friends over from Sweet William to watch me horseback riding. From the lusty smiles on their faces. I knew immediately that he had told them everything about our intimate night after the play performance. He tried to get me to sleep with one of his friends, offering me up as if I belonged to him now and he could give me to whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted.
Seeing me continue to stand like a stone statue in the doorway, he nodded and lowered the roses.
"I know. I know." he said. "You've got every right to be angry at me."
"Thanks for giving me permission," I said.
"I was a jerk back then. I wanted to show off and it was wrong," he said. He shrugged. "You know how boys can be stupid sometimes. I was more in love with my own reputation and image than I was concerned about doing the right thing. Our male egos get us into more trouble," he bemoaned shaking his head. "That day I was just plain immature. I'd be the first to admit it. I wish I could go back in time and punch myself in the nose."
His eves clouded with remorse.
I shook my head. How easily he could assume different attitudes, pretend different emotions. No wonder he had been his school's best actor for so long. When a girl looked at that handsome face with its perfect nose and beautiful eyes, it was difficult to be hard and cautious. You wanted to believe him. You wanted him to mean every sweet thing he said to you and you would deny all the signals and warnings to the contrary.
Men were always complaining about women using their good looks and sexuality to snare and trap them. Corbette Adams was a good example of the shoe being on the other foot. Catherine and Leslie, my two French girlfriends back in London, loved to think of themselves as femme finales, I remembered. Corbette was about as fatal for a femme as any woman could be for any man.
"I'm happy you feel badly about that. Corbette. Maybe the next girl you seduce won't feel as low and dirty as you made me feel. Thanks for stopping by," I added and started to close the door on him.
"Wait," he cried putting out his hand to prevent it from shutting. "Can't I spend a little time with you, catch up on things? I'm leaving for college in another two weeks and won't be back for months."
"I really don't think we have much to say to each other, Corbette."
"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he said. I've had a couple of girlfriends this year. but I haven't known any girls as nice as you or as intelligent. It didn't take me long to realize how stupid I was to treat you badly. C'mon," he pleaded. "Let me at least apologize properly. Then, if you still want to throw me out. I'll even help."
He held out the roses again.
Ever thing inside me, including my too vulnerable heart, told me to toss them back in his face and shut the door. but I didn't. Maybe I was bored. Maybe I was just willing to think of something else beside the arrival of my mother: instead of closing the door. I took his roses and stepped back.
"All right. You can come in for a while. but I have people coming in about an hour for an important meeting."
"Thanks." he said entering. He gazed around with some surprise in his eyes as if he expected to see a house stripped of all of its valuables immediately after Grandmother Hudson's death.
"What?" I asked.
"Quite a house, quite a house. My mother always talks about this house. She'd love to buy it."
"Maybe she'll have the opportunity," I said dryly and led him into the drawing room. I set the flowers in a