Splintered Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

all of a sudden, there was a feeling of wind on her face, a sense of time moving fast.
    Fixing her makeup for her thirtieth birthday party, Marian talked to herself in the mirror. "You still look fairly good for a thirty-year-old virgin." She was thinking about other statistics — how many dates she'd had, how many boyfriends or almost boyfriends, how many, how few kisses.
    "Silly girl, don't you know that counting kisses is "unproductive!" The word was one of Martin Silverman's favorite words.
    There were men — salesmen, buyers, lawyers, and of course Martin, who occasionally escorted Marian to concerts, dinners and movies. But they seemed so shallow. Whenever she accepted a date, she was always disappointed and a little bored. Aunt Paula was always saying, "One of these days Marian dear, you're going to meet 'Mr. Right.'" And maybe that was true, she certainly hadn't met him yet!
    Despite the fact that it was unproductive thinking, Marian continued counting. There was no need for a Burroughs machine. There were nine who had kissed her, a total of perhaps thirty-six kisses except for one experiment.
    ...Stephen MacGregor... He was one year older than Marian, in medical school getting an additional degree so he could become a Psychoanalysist because, "it's what folks need, honey, and it's a good way to make a buck!"
    Stephen was nice but his intonation was Brooklyn and he talked in a sports announcer's rah-rah slang. Everything about him seemed ordinary, especially his dream of a ranch house and station wagon in the suburbs. Marian was certain that what Stephen had in mind was a pots and pans wife and at least three babies.
    He wasn't what she had in mind. He was stubby, just her height and definitely no Prince Charming. Nevertheless, Marian in the mirror was remembering that experiment one summer night — over one-hundred kisses, just kissing and hugging, that's all it had been — the sweetness and delight of a physical exchange. It had taken a lot of will power to banish Stephen MacGregor. Even over the telephone, when Marian was firmly and clearly explaining why there wasn't room in her life for a serious relationship, a part of her kept hoping Stephen would make some foolish jokes and ignore her logical reasons.
    "Well I guess I'm just a late bloomer, Aunt Paula!" Marian began checking her hair for straggling ends, rehearsing what she'd say when Aunt Paula started in. Since Natasha's wedding, Aunty had been asking "Anything new dear?" with a certain pitying, pinchy smile that was infuriating.
    Marian stuck out her tongue at her image in the mirror, then put on Aunt Paula's pinchy smile. She could hear the guests arriving. She knew she looked O.K. — not like an older woman about to enter the danger zone of the thirties — there were no wrinkles, lines, blemishes, just a small indentation on either side of the mirror girl's mouth which went away completely when she took away Aunt Paula's smile and replaced it with her own.
    "Listen Aunty, if an item doesn't sell you put it on the rack, send it off to the storeroom. Who knows, I might become a hot item next season — maybe your niece will come into style and catch the eye of Mr. Right in the Spring."
    Marian bantered with her guests, accepting the teasing remarks about getting older with high good humor. But when it was time to make a wish and blow out the candles on the birthday cake, Marian just stood there. Clothes? Jewelry? A new record player? What good luck something was there to wish for?
    Nothing came to mind.
    It was embarrassing — like the first day she wore a bra to school — no one could see the bra but how different and strange she felt with it there.
    It was a looking down from above feeling, like the day she got her diploma — years of work and all she had was a rolled up tube of paper.
    Everyone was waiting, the candles were melting, so she said "What I want is one of those new digital alarm clock radios, that way I can keep track of time passing,