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"You don't understand. Listen . . . listen," he pleaded. He stepped toward me. "I know you and Jimmy have been trying to have a child and have failed all this time. But we wouldn't fail," he said in a loud whisper. "We wouldn't."
"What?" Instinctively I brought my hands to my bosom.
"We wouldn't fail, and no one would have to know, not even Jimmy. He'd think the baby was his own, don't you see? It would be our little secret, our precious little secret." His smile widened as the possibility of such a fantasy coming true suddenly loomed in his eyes. "Look at how pretty my children are. Ours would be no different, and if the child had golden hair, too, why, no one would think anything of it, seeing the color of your hair.
"I want to do this for you . . . for us . . . for the family," he pledged.
"Philip, you're mad, even madder than I ever imagined. I know that some of what you're saying, you're saying because you're drunk, but even to have these thoughts is terrible. I'm your sister. We share family blood."
"It won't matter." He closed his eyes and shook his head vigorously. "It won't. We have different fathers."
"Philip," I snapped. "Even if we weren't related, I would never betray Jimmy. I would never be unfaithful."
"Sure you would," he insisted, smiling licentiously. "You're like me. You've inherited some of Mother, too."
"No," I cried. "I want you out of here now. I insist you leave. Go home to your wife and sleep off these distorted and terrible thoughts. Go!" I ordered, pointing toward the door. Desperation made my voice high and shrill. He staggered for a moment, and then his debauched smile returned.
"Dawn . . . our child . . ." He came toward me. I started to flee the room, but even in his drunken state he had quick enough reflexes to reach out and seize my left arm, pulling me toward him and toward the sofa.
"Philip! Stop this!" I screamed. He locked his arms around mine, holding me down. Then he began to flood my face with his wet kisses. "Philip, you're doing a horrible thing again!" I tried to kick my way free, but I only lost my balance and fell back to the sofa with him over me. Once again I screamed; I even tried to bite his ear, but he didn't release his viselike grip.
"Dawn, oh, Dawn," he chanted. His mouth began to nuzzle between my breasts. I grew dizzy with the struggle. I couldn't believe what was happening. When he started to bring his right hand to my thigh, I pummeled his head and shoulder with my free left fist, but it was like a fly attacking an elephant; his drunken stupor kept him from feeling any pain. He was drowning in his fantasy. It was almost too late.
And then I heard Christie's small voice. I stopped struggling and listened again. She was calling from behind us, from the doorway. Miraculously, Philip heard her as well, and it brought his attack to an end. He froze.
"Momma!" Christie called. I pushed Philip away and sat up, quickly straightening my robe and my hair. I couldn't let her see what was happening.
"What's wrong, honey?" I asked, forcing a smile. I swung my legs out from under Philip, who sat back on the sofa, his eyes sewn shut.
"I thought I heard Daddy," she said. "Is Daddy home?"
"Oh, no, Christie." I rose from the sofa, went to her and picked her up to hold her in my arms. "It's not Daddy. It's Uncle Philip."
"Uncle Philip?" Her sleepy eyes shifted toward the couch. Philip opened his; he was just sober enough to realize what was happening.
"Hi, Christie," he said, waving.
"Is Aunt Bet here, too?" Christie asked.
"No. Uncle Philip just stopped by to tell me something about the hotel. But he was just leaving," I added pointedly.
"Yes, that's right." He struggled to his feet and straightened his own clothing. "It's late. So," he declared, "I shall wander on home." He turned and started toward the door. "Home to my bed of dreams," he added. He stopped at the doorway and turned, bowing. "Good night, ladies."
Christie giggled. I said nothing until he opened the door and was gone.
"Uncle Philip's funny," Christie said.
"Not really," I replied, but she didn't hear or understand. "Let's go back to bed," I told her, and I carried her up. After I put her in again I went back downstairs to be sure the front door was locked. Then I put out all the lights and went up to bed, my heart still pounding. I pulled Jimmy's pillow close to me and pressed my face into it to stifle my .tears. That was how I finally fell asleep.
In the morning the events of the night before seemed more like a nightmare. I got Christie dressed and ready for school; then I dressed myself, and we had breakfast together. After I sent her off I went to the hotel and my office. I wasn't there an hour before I heard a knock on the door. It was Philip. He looked tired, drained, his normally immaculate style flawed by loose strands of hair, a poorly knotted tie and drooping eyelids.
"Dawn," he began. I glared at him. "I just came by to apologize for my behavior last night. I drank too much, and . . . and I lost my sense of proportion," he confessed,
"Don't you ever come to my house without an invitation again, Philip," I snarled. I was not in any sort of forgiving mood. "To think that Christie almost saw—"
"I know; I know. I'm sorry, and I hate myself for it," he said. Humbly he bowed his head and gazed down at the floor. My anger abated, and the tension left my body as I relaxed back in my chair.
"You need to see someone, Philip. You're disturbed. I'm afraid if you don't, you'll end up like Randolph." He lifted his head and cut his eyes toward me sharply. "You're already doing strange things."
