The Carlton Club Read Online Free PDF

had been disrupted by the harsh brightness inside the house and by the knowing glances of Kathleen’s best friends. Knowing, slightly envious glances at their beautiful friend with her hair flowing sensuously down her back and her cheeks flushed. They knew why Kathleen and her tall, dark, handsome date were leaving so early. And they were a little jealous.
    Kathleen’s friends knew because they knew Kathleen. They knew Kathleen always got her way. Effortlessly. And they knew how much men wanted Kathleen. Always.
    But as Mark and Kathleen drove in silence, holding hands, Kathleen didn’t know. And Mark didn’t know.
    He knew he wanted her. He knew he wanted to hold her naked body against his, to kiss her, to make love to her.
    Janet’s words roared in his ears. “You don’t even want to make love anymore. Maybe you can’t.”
    Mark wanted to make love with Kathleen. More than he had wanted anything for a long time.
    And Kathleen wanted to make love with Mark, but it scared her. He scared her because he wasn’t a Carlton Club Kid. He took everything so seriously. He spent his days and nights saving people’s lives or watching them die. He wasn’t ready to give up on his marriage, and she could get hurt.
    She had never felt this way, not quite this way, about anyone ever before.
    “Would you like to come in?” he asked as he parked his VW behind her BMW. She could easily get into her car and return to the party or home or wherever Carlton Club Kids go at ten-thirty at night when the workers are sleeping.
    “Sure,” she said, shivering inside her camel’s hair coat.
    Mark’s apartment was on the second floor of an old Victorian house which had been converted into apartments. Its occupants were mostly interns and residents because it was only a five-minute, albeit uphill, walk to University Hospital.
    Mark held her hand as he led her up the stairs. He hadn’t made a decision except that he didn’t want her to leave. He heard his phone ringing as they approached the apartment. It would be Janet. He hadn’t heard from her for a week. Not once, he realized, since he had met Kathleen. It could only be Janet. Leslie was on call, but she wouldn’t call him on his night off. There were senior residents in the hospital to help her. It could only be Janet. He could let it ring.
    Mark slowed his pace and opened the door only after the ringing had stopped. Once inside Mark unplugged the phone and turned to look at Kathleen.
    “Probably Janet,” she said, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Because Janet was the issue, phone call or not.
    “Probably. She knows I often disconnect the phone when I’m not on call,” he said. “Would you like something to drink?”
    “No, thank you.”
    Mark lifted the stack of four records that lay on the stereo turntable up the stem until they rested, poised, ready to drop one by one. Then turned on the stereo.
    Neither spoke or moved until the needle met the record and the music began. In those moments Kathleen tried to guess, What will it be? Jazz? Blues? Rock and Roll? Waylon Jennings or Neil Diamond? Barbra Streisand or Beverly Sills? Mozart or the Bee Gees?
    Those four records, obvious favorites, played and replayed, would tell her something new, something else about him.
    Mark listened to the first few bars, adjusting the volume, then looked at her quizzically.
    “ Scheherazade,” Kathleen said, smiling, gazing into his eyes.
    “Very good,” he said, walking toward her. “Do you want to take off your coat?”
    Kathleen looked up at him and said softly, bravely, “I want you to take off my coat.”
    And my dress, she thought, shivering again.
    Mark smiled. He kissed her as he unbuttoned the buttons of her coat. When he had it off he held her against him, kissing her, reaching carefully for the tiny silk-covered buttons of her dress. Patiently, he began to unbutton them with one hand, the other hand buried in her soft, tangled black hair, holding her head,