Chapter 32

After another sleepless night I wanted to call Paul before I left for school just to hear his voice, but I knew he would still be asleep. Besides that, I would have had to wake Harry up too since I didn't know what name he had used to register Paul or his room number.

The day was a blur of classes, with two tests taken in a distracted haze. I was a student on autopilot. When Brenda asked how I thought I had done on the tests, I came up blank. I couldn't remember a single question. She quizzed me and said “Well, if those are the answers you wrote down, I think you did all right.”

“It doesn't matter. I can afford to mess up a couple of tests. Maybe after tomorrow it really won't matter at all,” was my gloomy response.

By the time we got home, I had a headache that made every step feel like a sledge hammer was bashing my skull. All I wanted was to hide in Paul's arms. Trying to call Harry at the hotel got no answer and I wondered if Paul had been stuck alone in his hotel room all day while Harry was out doing more sleuthing. I took some aspirin and Brenda insisted that I go lie down until Paul and Harry showed up, saying she would wake me the minute they arrived. Knowing I was too tense to fall asleep anyway, I agreed and curled up on my bed—that mattress on the floor where Paul was supposed to be with me.

I woke up to Paul's gentle touch as he stroked my cheek. “Wake up Cinderella. Prince Charming is here.”

Dizzy, half sick to my stomach, overstretched wire cables for neck muscles, and leaden with the after-effects of exhausted daytime sleep, I sat up and went into his arms.

“Tough day, eh?” he asked.

I just nodded.

“Put it there,” he said softly, pulling me to him. “If it weighs a ton, put it there.”

It was an unfamiliar phrase to me but I knew what it meant, the love it carried. He tipped a pillow up against the wall behind him and leaned back, pulling me back against him. I groaned and leaned back, feeling rotten but happy to have such a nice spot to feel rotten.

“Tell me,” he said.

There wasn't much to tell. Nothing bad had really happened. It had just been emotionally charged. As I told him that, he began massaging my neck and shoulders, his strong hands gently melting away the lingering tightness and bringing me slowly awake. Of course with wakefulness came other feelings.

I turned my head, rubbed my cheek on his fingers. He stopped massaging and put his cheek to mine. It wasn't nearly enough for me and I turned sideways, finding his lips with mine. One long deep kiss and a shuddering sigh as desire exploded through me.

“No, love,” he said as he pulled away from another kiss.

I knew he would stop me if I tried to kiss him again so I rested my head on his shoulder not wanting this moment to end, not wanting to go back into the world, yet knowing this couldn't be allowed to go anywhere. The bedroom door was open. Harry, Sandy, and Brenda were in the living room just a few feet away. I could hear them talking about wine. Harry had apparently brought a bottle to go with dinner.

But Paul was so warm, so good to hold, so sweet to kiss, I couldn't leave it alone. I brushed my lips against his ear, kissed his neck, nibbled on his earlobe and generally pushed my luck. When I started circling his ear with the tip of my tongue, he pried me away.

“Get up. Dinner,” he said regretfully but determinedly.

“One kiss.”

I got it. Knowing that was all I would get and amused by his self control, I ended the kiss by trailing a finger down his chest and slipping my hand very lightly over the erection I knew was waking up down there.

“Oh, you don't want to do that,” he warned me with a laugh.

“That sounds like Br'er Rabbit saying 'Please don't throw me in the brier patch!',” I said but of course the reference to such an American story was lost on Paul. He gave me a puzzled look.

“He wanted to be thrown in the brier patch. He knew he could get away then.”

“Oh,” said Paul, still sounding unclear on the concept.

“Reverse psychology. Like Tom Sawyer being reluctant to let anyone else whitewash the fence.”

“Well, we are making progress,” Paul chuckled. “I at least have some idea of who Tom Sawyer is, and I don't know about reverse psychology, but if you don't get your hand away from there, someone's gonna get whitewashed!”

“Oooooh!” I said, bursting into laughter at his filthy joke. “You are awful!”

“What I am is horny as hell and you know it, girl,” he growled. “Now let's go see about dinner.”

“One more kiss first?”

“Can I trust you to behave?”

“No.”

“Good!” he laughed and gave me the kiss I wanted. I couldn't resist. He had all but dared me. I squeezed him, stroked him, and felt him instantly respond. The bulge went from firm to rock hard.

Big mistake. I had done it to tease him for pretending to be so in control, but the minute I touched him my insides turned to molten lava. The rush of intense sensation inside was so strong and sudden it was almost painful. It was like a spoonful of something too sweet to taste good but more intoxicating, demanding more, needing only his touch to break into an all out orgasm. I could have done it, satisfied myself with just a touch from him, but some sense of fair play stopped me. I couldn't do anything for him, not with the bedroom door open and Harry in the living room waiting to talk to me. I shouldn't allow myself this pleasure if I couldn't offer it to him in return. I jerked out of his arms and held him at arms length, heart pounding so hard it woke up the echoes of my headache.

He looked at me, startled and concerned. “Tess?”

With a shaky little laugh I said “That backfired,” and somehow he understood. He smiled and carefully eased me back into his arms for a comforting, calming moment. My head and heart stopped pounding and the frantic lust settled down to aching desire. For a quiet moment I concentrated on mentally reciting the cranial nerves and I suppose he did some equivalent mental gymnastics to cool off.

“I think we better go now,” I said when I felt like I could stand up.

“This is crazy,” he muttered as he stood up, pulling me up with him. “I thought I was in tough shape in London. This is torture!”

“I'm sorry,” I said, instantly regretting teasing him. “I shouldn't have done that.”

He just laughed at me. “You'll pay for it as soon as I get you alone after the hearing tomorrow. What are we going to do with your roommates? Dinner and a movie?”

“Then bowling and some bar hopping.”

“Then the early bird breakfast at the Monarch Cafe.”

“Then they can come home and catch a few hours sleep before we send them off again.”

Laughing, I pushed Paul out of the bedroom so I could change out of my uniform, knowing that doing so in front of him wasn't going to help the situation at all.

Harry had no new findings to report, saying only that he had spent his day trying to find out who was behind the complaints about me and, more critical at this point, checking out the businessman and banker. He was satisfied and calmly confident. He had found nothing there that made him believe either of them preferred witch hunts to sound business practice. Paul had spent most of the day alone in his hotel room.

Knowing it was Paul's favorite, Sandy had made lasagna and we were soon sitting down to eat. Everyone seemed to intentionally steer away from the topic that was hanging over the table, and it was a pleasant meal. Afterward, Brenda and I had homework to do, so the rest of the evening was spent at home. The others watched television, laughing at Red Skelton while we sat in the kitchen trying to concentrate on our papers; mine on care of the post-tonsillectomy child, hers on the asthmatic child. “Five weeks and one day,” we told each other. I wondered if the count might not be down to just one day for me.

Homework hurriedly done, Paul and I went for a walk. It was cold and rainy and a miserable night to be out, but we were desperate to be alone. Outside two cars waited, one full of teenagers, the other with a single man. The kids surrounded us, Paul signed a couple of autographs and said, “Now, if you'll excuse us, Tess and I are going for a walk.” We headed down the street toward a small park where I planned to find a private spot behind the evergreens. As we reached the park, a car pulled over to the curb across the street behind us.

“Damn it,” I grumbled, recognizing the car. “That reporter followed us.” It was probably just as well. It was too wet and cold out here for what I had in mind. “We could take my car and lose him,” I suggested.

“No,” Paul said, watching as the car pulled out of sight behind a stand of trees at the corner. “I don't think we want to lose this one.”

Something in his voice alerted me. “What's wrong?” I asked.

“Love, did you ever see a reporter who didn't shove a camera or microphone in your face? Or one who tried to stay out of sight?”

He was right, this was no reporter. Mrs. Berghoff's cohorts were following us, hoping to get the evidence they needed. The idea that they had been snooping around had been distasteful enough. This was worse. I shivered, only partly from the damp cold. Being followed gave me the creeps. I realized that if it hadn't been so wet out, whoever was following us might well have caught us tormenting each other with immoral deeds under the pine trees.

We looked at each other, wordlessly acknowledging the need to be more careful, and moved on. It was too cold to stand still. We walked for an hour or so, talking, trying to make the best of a bad situation and making certain the car tailing us didn't lose us.

“So back to plan A,” I said. “Kick Brenda and Sandy out the minute we get home tomorrow. One way or the other, it will be settled by then, and I am going to strip you naked, kiss you from one end to the other.” It was easier to laugh and tease than to discuss the bigger problem of trying to stay in school.

Paul played along. “Stop! I will drag you into the next alley if you keep talking like that!”

I laughed and hugged him and we walked the rest of the way home in silence. The car hung back, obviously someone trying to remain inconspicuous but definitely not experienced in surveillance. After another unsatisfying good night kiss, Paul and Harry left and we went to bed.

Sleep was not even close. I lay there aching for Paul, worrying about tomorrow and feeling uneasy, as if the watchers outside could see through walls. I told myself they would have left when Paul did but then wondered if they realized that we knew they were watching. Would they wait, hoping that Paul would come back later or that I would sneak out to meet him? How determined were they? I couldn't resist. I got out of bed and walked through the dark apartment to the living room window and peeked out. The car was there, half a block away, turned to face the apartment. It was after eleven o'clock and they were still watching.

D-Day arrived. Raining and cold, there was no trace of spring in the air. I got up, tried to eat breakfast only to seriously consider throwing up, then headed off to another (my last?) day of school. A car, a different one from last night, followed Brenda and me to school. Well, today would put an end to that, one way or the other.

The committee was to meet at one o'clock and Harry had said he would be waiting in the parking lot when I got out of class at four, but I figured I would know the decision before then. The meeting would last twenty minutes and then Mrs. Berghoff would triumphantly return to class and kick me out, or she would return and glare daggers at me for the rest of the afternoon.

I finished my morning of clinical and sat in the cafeteria with my friends trying hard to eat a sandwich. It stuck in my throat and then sat in my stomach like a brick. At one o'clock we were back in the classroom building, settling in for the afternoon's lecture. Mrs. Berghoff was conspicuously absent and another instructor filled in with a discussion of cystic fibrosis. I hoped there wouldn't be any questions on the State Board Exams about it because I couldn't seem to hear the material covered. The hands on the clock crawled by. Mrs. Berghoff did not return. At two fifteen we took a break and as we filed out of the classroom, I said to Brenda, “Mrs. Berghoff isn't back. What do you suppose is going on? They can't—”

The girls ahead of us erupted into excited chatter and we looked up to see Sister Ignatius was waiting with two men at the far end of the hallway near the main door. One of them was Paul.

I wanted to go to him but my feet weren't cooperating. I stood rooted to the spot, mind racing. He was here because he wanted to tell me the good news himself. Or he was here because they were kicking me out and he didn't want me to have to leave alone. His back was to me, and there was no tell-tale clue on Sister Ignatius's always serene face. Brenda give me a little shove and I started toward them just as Paul turned and saw me. It was a long hall, but the smile on his face was unmistakable. I violated one more school rule and ran down the hall to him. He caught me, picked me up off the ground and spun me around.

“Nurse Martin!” he said.

“Really?”

He laughed. “Only until you become Nurse McCartney.”

“Even better,” I said wishing Sister Ignatius would disappear so I could kiss him.

Behind us my classmates broke into cheers and moved in to congratulate me and to talk to Paul. I turned to look for Harry, wondering why he wasn't with Paul and realized with shock that the neatly dressed man with the tidy hair talking to Sister Ignatius was Harry! I went to him, started to thank him and ended up hugging him. “You look great, Harry,” I said, too surprised to be tactful.

He laughed. “I can when I have to, but it won't last. In another hour the suit won't fit and the tie will be crooked in spite of Paul's best efforts.”

“Congratulations, Miss Martin,” Sister Ignatius said with a smile. “I am very happy that you will be finishing school with us and I know that you will always make us proud to have you as a St. Vincent's Nurse.”

“Thank you, Sister,” I said. “I will certainly try.”

An outburst of laughing and giggling from the crowd of girls drew our attention. Paul was chatting up the girls with his usual ease. Up and down the long corridor, classroom doors were opening and irate instructors were looking our to see why the strict rule about quiet in the hallways was being so blatantly violated. Seeing the dean, they came out into the hall. The disappearance of the instructor and the excited laughter of my classmates was too much for the students left behind. Girls were sneaking to doorways to see what was going on, and the minute they saw… It was time to get Paul out of here. There were nearly two hundred girls in this building on Friday afternoons. They weren't hysterical thirteen year olds, even so this was no place for a Beatle without Mal and his band of muscle men.

I headed for Paul but he was surrounded by my classmates. I grabbed Harry and said, “You've got to get him out of here now!” and began elbowing my way to Paul. I tugged at his arm, and said. “Go. Now!”

As if to emphasize the point, the first squeal of recognition came from the classroom on our left.

He looked up, took in the situation and smiled at the group around him. “Sorry, girls. Gotta run.”

I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the door. I started to push him through, planning to stay there and bar the door if I had to, but Paul resisted my push and Harry's “Ahh, Paul, I think we should go!”

“Come out to the car with me,” Paul said, tugging at my hand. “Just for a few minutes.”

“Go!” I said, as the noise level in the hall escalated as students poured out of classrooms. Suddenly Paul started laughing and I turned to see what he was looking at. Sister Ignatius had positioned herself between us and the crowd. She stood with her back to us, arms tucked under her apron, habit stiffly arched over her head and shoulders. She was a black and white island of calm, singlehandedly doing what it ordinarily took a row of barricades and policemen to do. Armed with nothing but God-bestowed intimidation, she held back the crowd. The sound of a mob about to give chase receded to excited whispers and giggles.

“Moses and the Red Sea,” Paul laughed. As if to test the strength of divine intervention, he put his arms around me and swooped me back over his arm for a dramatic, dizzying kiss. The girls squealed and cheered, and I was spun back upright. “I'll wait for you at the flat,” he said and was out the door.

Sister Ignatius never turned around. She simply raised one hand for quiet and then announced, “Break is over, ladies. Back to class.”

The students obediently began to move back to the classrooms. I tried to slip past Sister, but she said. “Miss Martin, you have certainly chosen an interesting life for yourself. I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you, Sister,” I said. “It gets crazy sometimes, but…” I wanted to try and explain that when we were alone none of that seemed to matter, but I didn't know where to start.

“But you love each other?” There was something teasing in her voice. “You aren't that naive, Miss Martin.”

I smiled at her. “No. I hope not, but we both want the same things, to find enough privacy to have a halfway normal life. To have children and work at the things we love.”

“That won't be easy considering who he is.”

“His being a Beatle will make it difficult, but who he is will make it easy. He is a nice, normal person. The world has gone nuts over the Beatles, but he hasn't.”

She considered that for a moment, then smiled. “Well, at any rate, he certainly is charming,” and then she startled me by tilting the superstructure of her habited head to lean in and comment confidentially in my ear, “ and very good looking, too!”

I looked at her in surprise. The smile of a teenager broke through the sixty plus years of wrinkles. With a laugh and a nod of her head, she turned to go only to stop, perform a stately about-face and add “Of course, he does need a haircut!” Like a majestic sailing ship, she then corrected her course and sailed off in the direction of her office.

Harry and Paul were waiting at the apartment when Brenda and I got home and Harry quickly filled us in on how the meeting had gone. Sister Ignatius and Mrs. Hawkins, the banker and the businessman had voted for me to stay. The priest and the hospital V.P. had voted against. Mrs. Berghoff had played martyr to the cause, voting against me. Harry seemed a little surprised at the close vote. “Berghoff was the last one to vote, so she knew she couldn't change the outcome,” Harry said. “But she announced 'I stand by my principles' and did it anyway.”

Paul and Harry exchanged a quick look before Harry went on. I figured Paul had said something quite unflattering and very Liverpudlian about the woman when Harry first told him and Harry was wondering if Paul would repeat it in front of us. Paul said nothing and Harry went on.

“I wasn't sure about the businessman at first. He seemed to be asking a lot of questions, but by the time it came to a vote, he was avoiding eye contact with the V.P and the priest so I figured he was going in our direction and let them proceed with the vote without playing all my cards.”

“What did you leave out?” I asked, amazed that he would take any chances.

“Whoa, Harry! Look at the time!” Paul said, getting to his feet. “You'll miss your plane if you don't get going!”

“Oh. Yeah. I'd better be leaving,” Harry said.

I jumped up and blocked Harry's exit. “What did you leave out?” I asked again.

Harry looked at Paul, Paul looked uncertainly at me, and realizing I wasn't going to let this go unanswered, said, “Ah, well… a little financial incentive was a possibility.”

“A bribe?”

Harry burst out laughing at the indignation in my voice. “We don't use that term, Terry. It is simply a financial incentive used to arrive at a solution acceptable to both sides.”

I ignored Harry and looked at Paul. “If it came to that, I told Harry to offer them a scholarship fund,” he admitted.

“Oh, Paul,” I said, surprised, dismayed that he tried to buy my nursing license but loving him for doing it. “You didn't have to do that.”

“Yes I did,” he said. “I would have done anything… Harry suggested the scholarship idea.” He grinned. “I didn't think I could afford the new hospital wing that he suggested first, so a scholarship sounded great!”

“I learned this morning that the hospital administrator was going to be more of a problem than I anticipated,” Harry explained. “I thought that he would respond like a businessman, but discovered that he is more interested in pushing his religious agenda than in the business of running a a hospital. So... I wanted something extra to offer him. It never came to that though. It was apparent that he wouldn't be persuaded even if it were a new wing so I didn't put it on the table. I was fairly certain of how the vote would go by then anyway and we didn't need him.”

“Well, even if it wasn't needed, I think it was a wonderful idea,” Brenda asserted. “Terry would have gotten to stay, and someone who otherwise couldn't afford to go to school would get a scholarship.”

In that light, it did sound good and we all agreed that if it was a bribe, it was a noble one.

“What time do you have to get to the airport?” I asked Harry.

Paul and Harry exchanged another look.

Harry checked his watch. “Not for while yet. We'd better get it over with.”

He was looking Paul as he spoke and Paul groaned and said “Oh shit.”

“What now?” I demanded of him.

Paul took my hand and led me back to the couch, then sat down in front of me on the coffee table. “They voted to let you stay but it isn't over. You are kind of on probation. Any further indication of improper behavior, any definite connection to drugs, and they won't allow you to graduate.”

He let that sink in for a minute, let the roller coaster drop and whip me around another spine jerking corner. I nodded in resignation. “I guess we should have anticipated this,” I said.

“It means I can't stay here. We can't be here alone for any length of time. We have to be very careful.”

I looked at him and my plans for holding him close all night long crumpled. I felt tears prickling my eyes. I really didn't want to cry over this in front of Harry. Unmarried people weren't supposed to sleep together anyway.

Sandy got home just then, racing up the steps and bursting in the door. She took one look at me, said, “Oh, no,” and burst into tears. “How could they do that? Oh, Terry, I am so sorry. It just isn't fair!”

Everyone burst out laughing and I got up and hugged a bewildered Sandy. “No, they voted that I could stay!”

Sandy had to jump around and hug everyone, and we answered her questions about the hearing and explained the business of my being on probation. Paul had his arm around me and his fingers squeezed my arm tightly as Sandy looked at me with sympathy.

“You can still see each other everyday. It is better than having him in England,” she said.

“It will be OK,” I agreed, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I felt as I thought about what this probation period would mean. There would be no nights together at his apartment, no waking up early and kissing him awake. Those were the obvious things, but just not having time alone together to talk, to go for walks without malevolent eyes watching, just to be together, that was just as disheartening.

“As long as we can be together with a chaperon present, I guess I can make it until June.”

Brenda and Sandy laughed and agreed that a chaperon might get distracted by a TV show or something once in a while but I caught yet another look between Harry and Paul.

I turned to face Paul. “What else?” I asked.

He sighed. “Harry isn't really sure about this, but it might be more complicated than that.” He stopped, touched my cheek with his fingertips. “Tess, it isn't just the school,” he said.

I was lost. “What… who?”

Paul looked to Harry for help. “I'm not sure how this all got started, “ Harry said. “Someone went to the board members to complain several weeks ago.”

“Mrs. Berghoff,” I said.

“Actually, I don't think so. I got some response this morning on my questions about who is behind this and she wasn't affiliated with the group who was pressuring the board members until very recently. There is a group called 'Citizens for Decency' and they are the ones behind it.”

Harry went on to fill us in on what he had been able to find out about this group. Apparently they were not well organized nationally but similar groups were found all around the country as a result of the Catholic Church's Ecumenical movement. Every diocese had its share of people resistant to the changes in the Church (the Mass in English not Latin, meat on Fridays, nuns in normal clothes) but Minneapolis had one of the more active organizations. They had been very vocal in their protests and had published pamphlets outlining their concerns. One of the cornerstones of their beliefs was that it a mistake to try to keep young people in the Church by making the Church less Catholic. They insisted that more discipline and less freedom was needed to combat the hippie and drug culture that was destroying the morals of our youth.

“Might I hazard a guess as to who they see as ringleaders in the moral decline of youth?” Brenda asked.

“None other,” Harry replied and Paul shook his head in disgust.

“But what good does discrediting Terry do?” Sandy asked angrily. “Keeping her out of nursing isn't going to change the peace movement or flower power, much less the Church!”

“She was a handy target,” Harry said, “bringing a Beatle right into their hometown, and publicly flaunting the new morality.”

Harry held up a hand to halt the outpouring of objections to that. “I know, I know. I am sure you saw the recent picture in Life Magazine.”

I looked at Paul and he smiled a sad, rueful smile. “Yes,” He said. “That is what triggered this.”

“Why?” I asked. “Everybody thought it was a great picture!”

Harry answered. “The rest of the world saw it as a sweet picture of two young lovers deprived of privacy. The Citizens for Decency were outraged that the magazine chose to portray it as amusing, even touching. They decided to stand up for decency and claim that the picture is not art but just another example of moral decay.”

“Should I…” Harry asked Paul. Paul nodded almost reluctantly and Harry reached for his briefcase and extracted a paper. “This is one of their newsletters,” he said and handed it to me.

It was a cheaply printed tri-fold pamphlet. I opened it and read the basic tenets of the Citizens for Decency that Harry had mentioned. After that was a commentary on the Life Magazine photo, stating that it was time for decent citizens to protest. These were “not young lovers to be sympathized with, but a pair of immoral, drug defiled, hippie freaks bringing their dissolution to the children of our city. That the young woman is currently enrolled in a Catholic school is insupportable. It sends the wrong message to our children and should not be tolerated.”

It was incredible to see Paul, much less myself described in such terms. Unreal. I handed the paper over to Brenda and Sandy in stunned silence.

Harry went on. “When they found out that you were a student at a Catholic institution—one they have considerable control over since the Administrator of the Hospital and his wife are charter members of the Citizens group—it was inevitable that they would attempt to make an example of you and show the world that some people still believe in old fashioned morals and enforce them.”

“Well, they lost!” Sandy said. “So it is over, right?”

“These things develop a life of their own,” Harry said. “They escalate beyond what is reasonable or practical or even useful. Losing the vote today had to be a bitter defeat for them. We have to be concerned with what they will try next.”

“Next?” I said with an echo from Brenda and Sandy.

“We won the round with the school, but you are going to have to be very discreet or they could force the issue again. The Administrator made that very clear. His parting words to me were, 'This isn't over, Mr. Weinberger. We have other options than the school.' Tess, if these people are really determined, they can appeal to the State Nursing Commission and try to prevent you from taking your licensing exam in July.”

I felt my knees do a preliminary little wobble as they considered buckling. Paul sensed it and got both arms around me again, holding on tight. Harry had paused and when I came out of that still upright, he went on, “I don't think they will do that unless they have something more concrete than what they went to the hospital with. They won't rely on rumors again but if they come up with anything between now and July…”

He hesitated, letting that hang in the air. It took a minute for his meaning to sink in.

“If I go to England with Paul” I said in a voice as wobbly as my knees.

Harry nodded and Paul turned me around to face him and held me tight. Everything inside of me just kind of caved in. I could feel tears running down my face but I wasn't making a sound. I was too worn out by the stress of the week, the pressures of the last few months, to feel angry or resentful or anything but defeated and too shocked to really cry, too hurt and miserable to do anything but lean against him and hold on.

Paul didn't say anything, just held me and let me leak silent, dispirited tears all over his shirt.

In the background, Sandy, Brenda, and Harry were discussing this newest turn of events, weighing how serious the threat was, talking about the level of organization and determination exhibited by a group big enough to carry out round the clock surveillance. Harry confirmed that there was someone out in front when he and Paul arrived.

“Terry, we need to go over how you are going to handle this…” Harry said gently. He did have a plane to catch so I had no choice but to pull myself together and sit down and listen. “You two cannot be alone together, day or night,” he started off. That was just one more nasty surprise but I was beyond reacting. I didn't have any fight left.

He cautioned Brenda and Sandy to make sure that it was obvious to anyone watching that we were never here alone. One of them would have to be here anytime Paul was and they were to be very visible. “Go with Terry to pick him up and take him back to the motel. Don't go into the motel room with him, Terry, not even for a moment. One photo of you coming out of his room is all they need.”

If Paul took a cab to the apartment, Brenda or Sandy were to go with me to answer the door and let him in. They weren't even supposed to answer the door alone themselves in case someone mistook them for me. We were to step out onto the porch and make certain they saw at least two us with Paul.

Paul was to leave the apartment before it got even remotely late. We were to go out, spend time in public places as much as could be managed and still keep Paul safe. Where ever we went, we shouldn't go alone unless it was a public place or to my parents. And, we absolutely should never, ever try to ditch our surveillance.

By the time he was done, I wanted to throw up. Sandy and Brenda looked just plain horrified at how out of control the situation had gotten just when we thought we had won. Paul was pacing what little floor space there was with one hand rubbing his neck and his face tight with anger.

Harry finished, gathered up his coat, and I managed to thank him for all his help. He shook hands with Paul, Brenda, Sandy, and then turned back to me. “I'll keep in touch,” he promised, “and I want you to call me anytime day or night if the situation changes. Even if you just suspect something is happening, call me.” I nodded, he shook my hand then turned that into a warm hug and headed out the door, leaving us to cope with the weeks to come.

The room was quiet. Paul looked at me and I went into his arms. “State boards aren't until mid-July,” I said to him. “That's almost three more months. We can't be together. You may as well go home.”

“No,” he said.

“There is nothing for you to do here. You can't sit in a hotel room all day waiting for me to get home from school and there is no reason to get an apartment now. We can't be together there either. It isn't just a matter of a few weeks anymore. It will be three months before we can be together! You can't stay here all that time and I can't…” my voice quavered and broke as I finally started to cry with jerky little sobs.

“Shh, love. Don't cry,” he said softly as he kissed my forehead. “You can go to England with me. You just have to marry me first. Would that be so awful?”

“M-Marry you?” I stammered between sobs.

“Yeah. Marry me.”

“Before we go to England?”

“No. Now. As soon as we can. Next week. Then I'll make love to you every day and twice on Sundays and they can be damned.”

Brenda and Sandy applauded and laughed happily but I just clung to him and burst into a fresh storm of tears. I sobbed miserably on his shoulder.

“Tess, baby, what…? You know I want to marry you. We don't have to wait.”

“No, no, no!” I sobbed and pounded weakly on his chest. He leaned back so he could look at me. He looked understandably bewildered and hurt.

I struggled to get enough breath to talk and found one last pocket of anger for fuel. “I won't let them ruin this! I want to marry you—you know I want that—but I don't want to do it because they are forcing us. Even if it has to be just a legal ceremony in judge's office, it is going be our wedding day, the day we pick to start our life together, not a… a… legal maneuver to get them off my back!” Then I just dissolved into exhausted, nerve shattered tears.

Brenda and Sandy stood by, Sandy crying along with me and Brenda fighting tears.

Paul tried to comfort me. “OK, baby. I understand. It's all right. It's all right.”

Paul's soft words eased me down to miserable snuffling but I couldn't seem to stop crying. He stroked my hair, kissed my wet cheeks and tried so hard to soothe me. I could feel his anguish at not being able to comfort me, much less solve this mess. He groaned and squeezed me so hard it hurt. Awareness that I was only making him feel worse finally slowed my tears. I took a couple of deep breaths, kissed his neck, his cheek, and tried to comfort him in return. A mistake. I felt him take a shuddering breath, felt his body responding to mine and mine to his. We had triggered the very feelings we were not allowed to express, the desire we weren't supposed to feel.

“Here,” Brenda said, putting a Kleenex in my hand, handing one to Sandy, and taking one from the box for herself. “Cool it girls,” she said. “We are almost out of Kleenex!” she said in a tone meant to lighten the moment.

“This isn't like us,” she apologized to Paul. “We aren't normally so emotional!”

“No,” Sandy agreed, “In fact, I never even saw Terry cry until—”

She stopped abruptly, but it was too late. Paul raised his face from my damp cheek to look at her. "Until she met me?" he asked, his voice low and intense.

Sandy didn't answer but the embarrassed flush flooding her face confirmed it.

He looked down at me, studying me face for a long moment. I took a steadying breath, determined not to let one single more tear fall regardless of the Kleenex supply. He put his cheek down to mine and said softly, "I never wanted to make you cry. I'm so sorry I—”

I jerked my head up, cutting him of, and put my hands on his shoulders. "I'm not!" I said, surprising myself with the fierceness in my voice and even more by the little shake I gave his shoulders. "I am not one bit sorry! You are worth every tear and even if I end up crying again and and again, loving you, being loved by you, is better than anything I've ever dreamed!"

I ended that outburst by putting my arms around his neck and kissing his startled face just as fiercely as I had spoken. His response was a soft groan and kisses that matched mine. When our mouths found each other the result was predictable, inevitable.

He moved quickly, reaching down and picking me up and turned to my open-mouthed roommates and said, “Turn the telly on. Loud.” With that he carried me into the bedroom and elbowed the door shut behind us with a slam. It bounced, too warped to close tightly that way. He made an irritated sound, took a step backwards and leaned back against it and pushed hard enough to get it to shut. A couple of steps forward and he let me down slowly, his mouth on mine as he put me back on my feet. He had no intention of leaving me upright though. His mouth still locked on mine in a determined kiss, he pulled me down onto the mattress.

There was a moment of what was no doubt shocked silence in the living room before the TV set blared to life. There was a moment of after-school cartoons, then flashes of music, dialog from some old movie, gun shots from some shoot-em-up, and channel flipping static, followed by silence. Paul was already on top of me. “What the bloody hell?” he growled, pushing up again.

“Wait,” I said. Just as I suspected, a moment later the stereo blared to life and the sounds of “Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me” filled the apartment.

Paul muttered “Thanks, Sandy,” and unzipped his pants. He meant business.

I unbuttoned his shirt, he unzipped my uniform. I kicked off my nursing shoes, and his hand slid up my leg. He groaned with me at the incredibly sexy feel of his hand on the silky nylon, and we both groaned again as his hand encountered the insurmountable obstacle of a panty girdle, the chastity belt of the 60's. I unhooked my white hose, and slid them off one at a time. He watched, stroking my bare leg as I slid the other one down. I stood up and pulled off the girdle and started to lift my uniform up over my head.

“Uh uh,” he said reaching up and pulling me back down onto the mattress. “Leave it on. I want to do you in their uniform. Hell, I want to fuck you right on the front steps of the hospital!”

“I'm not waiting long enough to drive over there,” I said, and it was true.

When it was over, the emotional backlash hit and I started to cry, this time inf joy, smiling at him through the tears. He smiled back, caressed me, and gently rolled me off him so he could cuddle me in his arms and we lay together, rumpled and sticky and exhausted. The music had ended, and the TV was back on with the evening news, and we could smell dinner cooking.

“Oh oh,” I said.

“What?”

“It was supposed to be my night to cook and Mark is coming over for dinner. We have to get out of bed before he gets here.”

“Hell, he knows we sleep together, doesn't he?”

“Well, yeah. I guess he does, but he has never been around while we were actually in bed together. Sandy is seeing Dave tonight too, and he could show up at any time.” I got out of bed and found my underwear and put it back on.

“I didn't even get you undressed,” he said as he got up.

“Next time,” I promised.

We looked at each other, wondering when the next time would be.

“We'll figure out something,” I said.

“Marry me,” he said.

“No,” I said, choking on the words, “Not like this.”

He sighed and pulled his shirt on. I got a change of clothes out of the closet and clean underwear out of the drawer. “I sure wish the bathroom was next to the bedroom,” I complained. “I'd like to wash up before I face Brenda and Sandy.”

Paul looked at me, realization dawning. “Oh, God. I can't believe I did this!” he groaned. “Dragging you into the bedroom in the middle of the afternoon with your roommates standing there! They must think I'm a bloody animal!”

“I have never seen you embarrassed about us having sex!” I was amazed.

“This is different,” he said. “A little beyond the boundaries of good taste.”

I had to laugh. “You are right. Emily Post would not approve, but then, Emily has never made love to you.”

“No, but I think George goosed her at a party once,” he teased as he opened the bedroom door.

I was not sure what to expect from my roommates. Amusement hopefully, but I knew that Sandy in spite of all her romantic ideas was embarrassed any time she was confronted with reminders of what Paul and I did in the bedroom. Sleeping together at night was one thing, but flat out sex in the daytime was a little much for her to deal with. Brenda was less embarrassed but she also had strong ideas on what was appropriate behavior. More than once she had expressed disgust at the sight of a couple necking in a public place. I suspected this would be way over the line for her.

Brenda looked up as we came into the kitchen, smiled a rather awkward smile, said “Dinner is almost ready,” and busied herself with getting something from the oven.

Sandy was setting the table and her awkward smile was accompanied by an embarrassed blush. Paul caught the tone immediately and looked at me. I knew I should say something but wasn't sure if I should apologize. If Paul and I couldn't find a little privacy somehow, I couldn't promise it wouldn't happen again in the weeks to come and an apology under those circumstances wouldn't be worth much.

Before I could think what to say, Paul spoke up.

“I'd like to apologize,” he said, obviously truly embarrassed. “That was really rude, but I just… I'm sorry. It won't happen again. If we can't find another place where we can be alone, then I we will just have to wait.”

He grinned at the surprise on my face. “Tess doesn't think I can, but as long as she keeps her hands to herself—”

“I didn't!” I protested my innocence but his raised eyebrow and laughing face reminded me of my earlier teasing of him. “Well, not then, I didn't!”

My embarrassment broke the awkwardness and they all laughed.

“It's all right,” Sandy assured us, face even redder than before. “You two have some special problems to deal with—”

“So I put saltpeter in tonight's casserole!” Brenda announced. “That ought to help a bit!”

As they laughed I ducked into the bathroom. Washed and changed, I came back out and Paul went in. Mark arrived, and we settled down to eat and to bring Mark up to date on the days events.

“So what did you decide about getting married?” Sandy asked over dinner.

“We, ahh, we didn't really discuss it.” I said.

“It would solve everything,” Brenda pointed out.

“Terry is right. It wouldn't be a real wedding. It would just be a way of getting to have sex, and that isn't what weddings are for!” Sandy protested.

Mark looked up, feigning astonishment. “It isn't? Brenda says we can't have sex without a wedding! She says the equipment won't work if we don't have an operators license. I have strong evidence she is wrong, but…”

We all laughed.

“Come on, you know what I mean,” Sandy persisted. “A wedding should be a special day, not just to satisfy some bunch of self-righteous busy-bodies.”

“Exactly!” I said.

Paul turned to Mark. “Can you believe this? I have wanted to marry this girl since the first time I put my arms around her. Hell, since the first time I really saw her. She broke my heart and turned me into a drunken shell of a man, made me follow her halfway round the world, got me on my knees to propose, and now she won't marry me!”

“Ohhhh,” Sandy said, her romantic heart melting all over.

“I do want to marry you,” I protested. “I just want it to be for us, not for them!”

“Tess, it is just a piece of paper,” Paul said, suddenly serious. He reached over to take my hand in his and said softly, “As far as I am concerned, you are my wife. You have been ever since that first night in Scotland. That was our wedding night, love. Now marry me.”

I couldn't resist that. It was just how I felt. I nodded. “Yes,” I whispered.

“All right,” he said with a triumphant smile. “A week from today. 'I do' at the magistrates office, back here for a party. Sandy can decorate the apartment with hearts and flowers and doves and all that stuff. Your family will be here—you wanted that, right? Then off to the hotel.”

While Sandy shrieked, “A week! I can't plan a wedding in a week!” I leaned into Paul's embrace and we kissed.

“You have to find a dress!” Sandy went on, now up out of her chair and waving her arms. “I don't where you'll find anything suitable in just a few days. And the cake. We have to have a cake. My aunt can do the cake! How can we get a photographer on such short notice? You won't be able to go away for a honeymoon! Terry, this is crazy!”

“Yes,” I agreed mellowly. I had already visualized this wedding every which way with options covering both sides of the Atlantic, homes, churches, magistrates offices, judges chambers, ship's captain's quarters. This was just one new variation, so, having decided to do it, I wasn't sweating the details.

“It is crazy, but it is going to happen. My brother will be the photographer, and I'll find a dress. A simple white suit, or something ivory or pastel. Not a wedding gown. If your aunt will do the cake, we'll have a cake. The honeymoon can wait until June.”

“Invitations!” she said. “There isn't time to send out invitations!”

“No invitations,” Paul said firmly. “No one is to know about this. Not the cake baking aunt or anyone. Anyone you invite is to be told it is just another party. Not one word about a wedding.”

Sandy looked pleadingly at me, unable to imagine living in a world where weddings went on like this.

“He's right, Sandy,” I said. “It has to be kept quiet or it will be a disaster.”

She burst into tears. “I won't get to be your bridesmaid!” she squeaked.

Paul pulled Sandy over to him and down onto his lap. He put his arms around her and said, “I'm sorry, luv, but you will be there with us. Even if the ceremony itself is a little… ahh… lacking, you can make the party after as romantic as hell! It will be fine, you'll see,” he went on as she sniffled. “I'll buy all the flowers you want. And candles. We'll have candlelight. Caviar and champagne. Pink champagne if you like.”

“Afterward, you can help me pick out wedding announcements to send out,” I said. “Really nice ones, expensive, engraved on parchment.”

Paul looked at me over her head, an amused grin on his face. He knew as well as I did that we wouldn't be announcing anything that hadn't been on television and newspapers around the world. “Well, they will be nice collector's items for fans,” I laughed.

“Better than a Beatle wig or a pack of Beatles chewing gum!” Mark put in.

Sandy straightened up, joining us in the laughter and wiping her eyes. “OK, Paul. You'd better call your accountant. We start shopping tomorrow and this is gonna cost you a bundle!”

Paul sighed as Sandy got off his lap. “I'll pay you be the one to break the news to Tess's parents!”

Oh, yeah. That had to be done. Over the rest of dinner, we made plans. Paul and I had to go see my parents tomorrow, and I was scheduled to work Sunday. Brenda volunteered to work for me, but I said I needed the paycheck.

“No you don't,” Paul said quietly. “I'm taking care of everything from here on out. Go shopping with Sandy or she won't let us get married,” he added with a stern look.

Sandy decided she would get a head start on shopping the next day without me. She could scout out the dress shops and save me time later. She would call and ask her aunt to do a cake for a friend whose cake baker supposedly canceled at the last minute. Sunday we would do what shopping we could but few stores would be open. Paul was to find out if Michael could fly over to be his best man. Anne would be the Maid of Honor. On Monday, Mark would help Paul get the license and Sandy would find a caterer to supply a feast.

By the time Dave arrived at seven-thirty, Sandy had organized a loose leaf notebook into “The Wedding Book” with sections for dress, guests, food, decorating, each with a to-do list and phone numbers to call. From garters to mints, boutonnières to napkins, it was all there. She had talked Paul into letting her ask Carol and her husband if she could rent the dance studio for a party Friday night. Short notice or not, we were going to have as close to a real wedding as Sandy could make it.