Tender Triumph

by Judith McNaught

  "And so," he interrupted in an insulting drawl, "you brought me in here to give me a much better time?"

  "No!" Katie fumbled, "I—" Her voice choked as his black eyes raked her from head to toe. Just when Katie thought he was going to turn on his heel and leave, he turned in the other direction and strode over to the coffee table. He picked up the pencil she kept near the telephone and wrote some­thing on the small pad beside it.

  Striding back to the door, he turned with one hand on the knob. "I have written down a phone number where I can be reached until Thursday. If you want to talk, call me." His gaze lingered on her face and then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

  Katie stood where he had left her, stunned and fragmented into jagged splinters of misery. That last glance before he left.. .it was as if he had been memorizing her face. He hated her, was furious with her, yet he had wanted to remember how she looked. Katie could not believe how shattered she was. Tears burned her eyes, and she had an aching lump in her throat.

  She turned and slowly walked into her bedroom. What was the matter with her—this was the way she had wanted it, wasn't it? Well, not exactly. She wanted Ramon, she was ready to admit that to her­self, but she wanted him her way: here in St. Louis, working at some decent job.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A determinedly cheerful Katie presented herself at her office the following morning, but the effects of her sleepless night were evident in the blue smudges under her eyes and the tightness of her nor­mally spontaneous smile.

  "Hi, Katie," her secretary greeted. "Did you en­joy your four-day weekend?"

  "Very much," Katie said. She took the handful of messages her secretary handed her. "Thanks, Donna."

  "Want some coffee?" Donna volunteered. "You look as though you haven't been to bed since Fri­day. Or," she finished with an irrepressible grin, "should I say you look as though you haven't been to sleep since then?"

  Katie managed a wan smile in reply to Donna's banter. "I'd love some coffee." Glancing through the messages, she walked into her small office. She sat down in the chair behind her desk and looked around. Having a private office, no matter the size, was an important status symbol at Technical Dynamics, and Katie had always been proud of this external sign of her success. This morning it seemed trivial and meaningless.

  How could it be that when she'd locked her desk on Friday she'd never heard of Ramon, and now the idea of never seeing him again was gnawing at her heart. Gnawing at her body not her heart, Katie corrected herself firmly. She looked up as Donna placed a white Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee on the desk.

  "Miss Johnson would like to see you in her office at nine-fifteen," Donna said.

  Virginia Johnson, Katie's immediate supervisor, was a brilliant, capable, attractive woman of forty, who had never married and who held the title of director of personnel. Of all the career women she knew, Katie admired Virginia more than anyone.

  In contrast to Katie's small, functionally equipped office, Virginia's was spacious with lovely French-provincial furnishings and thick grass-green carpeting. Katie knew that Virginia was grooming her to take her place, that she intended Katie to be the next director of personnel—the next occupant of this office.

  "Did you have a nice four-day holi­day?" Virginia asked, smiling as Katie entered the room.

  "Very nice," Katie said, sitting down in the chair across from Virginia's desk.

  "I'm not having such a good 'today' though; I can't seem to get back into the swing of things."

  "Then I have some news that may fire your en­thusiasm." Virginia paused meaningfully and slid a familiar-looking form across the desk toward Katie. "Your raise has been approved," she beamed.

  "Oh, that's very nice. Thank you, Virginia," Katie said scarcely glancing at the form which grant­ed her a monumental 18-percent increase in salary. "Was there anything else you wanted to see me about?"

  "Katie!" Virginia said with an impatient laugh. "I had to fight tooth and nail to get you that large an increase."

  "I know," Katie said, trying to sound properly grateful. "You've always been terrific to me and I love the idea of the extra money."

  "You're entitled to it and if you were a man you would have been making it before now, which is what I told our esteemed vice-president of opera­tions."

  Katie shifted in her chair. "Was there anything else you wanted to see me about? I have an interview scheduled now. The applicant is waiting."

  "No, that's all."

  Katie got up and started for the door, then stopped at the sound of Virginia's concerned voice. "Katie, what's wrong? Is it anything you could talk to me about?"

  Katie hesitated. She needed to talk to someone, and Virginia Johnson was a sensible woman—in fact, the woman Katie most wanted to emulate. Walking over to the broad windows Katie gazed down seven stories below, watching the endless string of traffic. "Virginia, have you ever con­sidered giving up your career to get married?" Turn­ing abruptly, Katie found Virginia studying her with penetrating interest, her forehead creased into a frown.

  "Katie, shall we be frank with each other? Are you considering marrying someone in particular or just looking toward the obscure future?"

  "My future would definitely be obscure with him," Katie laughed, but she felt tense and de­pressed. Nervously smoothing her hand over her perfectly neat chignon Katie explained, "I met this man—very recently—and he wants me to marry him and leave Missouri. He isn't from here."

  "How recently did you meet him?" Virginia asked perceptively.

  Katie actually blushed. "Friday evening."

  Virginia had a rich throaty laugh that was at vari­ance with her diminutive size. "For a few minutes there you had me worried, but now I think I under­stand. Four days ago you met a splendid man, a man unlike any man you've ever known. You can't bear the idea of losing him. Am I getting the picture right? He's extremely handsome, of course. And charming. And he turns you on like no one else ever has. That's it, isn't it?"

  "Just about," Katie admitted, mentally squirm­ing.

  "In that case, I happen to have the perfect cure: I recommend that you don't let him out of your sight unless you absolutely must. Eat with this marvelous man, sleep with him, live with him. Do everything together."

  "Do you mean," Katie said in amazement, "that you think things could work out—that I ought to marry him?"

  "Absolutely not! I'm suggesting a cure, not that you marry the ailment! What I'm prescribing is huge doses of the man taken around the clock—just like antibiotics. The cure is very effective and the only side effect will be a mild case of disillusionment. Believe me, I know. Live with him if you want to, Katie, but give up the idea of falling in love in four days, marrying him and living happily ever after. Which brings me to the question of why we always 'fall' in love. One falls down steps, off lad­ders, into rivers and down mountains. If love is so wonderful, why don't we soar in love, or climb in love, or… “ She broke off at the sound of Katie's infectious laughter.

  "Good, I'm glad to see you cheerful again." Taking an interoffice memo from the stack of correspondence on her desk, Virginia smiled widely and waved Katie to the door. "Now go interview your applicant and earn that raise of yours."

  Watching the disgruntled young man leave her of­fice twenty minutes later, Katie thought disgustedly that her secretary could have done a better job of interviewing him than herself. She had asked vague, general questions, not concise, pertinent ones, and then listened to his answers with total lack of inter­est. But her crowning achievement had come at the conclusion of the unfortunate interview. Standing up, she had shaken hands with him across her desk and regretfully advised him she couldn't be very encouraging about his chances for a position as an engineer with Technical Dynamics.

  Rather huffily, the young man had replied, "I was applying for a job as an auditor.''

  "Well, not as an auditor, either," Katie had mumbled tactlessly.

  Still hot with embarrassment over her blunder, Kat
ie picked up her phone and dialed Karen's office number downtown. "How're things in the news­paper business?" she asked when Karen's secretary had put her through.

  "Fine, Katie. How about you? How are things in the busy personnel office of mighty Technical Dynamics?" she teased.

  "Awful! I practically told an applicant that he didn't have a prayer of getting a job with us in any capacity."

  "What's wrong with that?"

  Sighing, Katie said, "Personnel people are sup­posed to have more finesse than that. Normally we say we don't have anything available commensurate with their background and experience. It means the same thing but it sounds better, and it doesn't hurt anyone's feelings." Katie ran her hand around the nape of her neck, massaging her tense muscles. "Listen, the reason I was calling was because I won­dered what you're doing tonight. I don't feel like spending the evening alone." And thinking about Ramon, Katie silently added.

  "A few of us are going to the Purple Bottle," Karen said. "Why don't you meet us there? I might as well warn you, though, it's strictly singles. But they've got a good singer and the music isn't bad."

  Katie's efficiency, if not her enthusiasm, im­proved after that. She spent her day solving the usual problems and settling the usual disputes. She listened to a supervisor complain loudly and at tedious length about a file clerk; then she listened to the file clerk's tearful complaints about the super­visor. At the conclusion, Katie ignored the super­visor's demands that the file clerk be terminated, and instead, transferred the clerk to another depart­ment. After looking through the applications for employment she chose a file clerk who had im­pressed her during the interview as being extremely assertive and self-confident, and arranged for her to come in for an interview with the supervisor.

  She calmed an irate accountant who was threaten­ing to file a discrimination claim against the company because she had been passed over for promotion. She finished a survey on the company's compliance with governmental safety requirements.

  Between all that and interviewing applicants, Katie's day flew by. At the end of it, she leaned back in her chair and somberly contemplated an entire life of days spent just like this one. This was "hav­ing a career." Virginia Johnson had devoted all her energy, her whole life, to "having a career." To this.

  That restless, empty feeling that had been haunt­ing her these past few months came over her again. Katie tried to ignore it and leaned forward to lock her desk.

  Katie had the worst time of her life at the Purple Bottle. She stood around pretending to listen to the music, watching the men and women making their approaches. She was uncomfortably aware of three men who were sitting at a table directly on her right and looking her over—judging her assets, measuring her possible bed-worthiness against the effort re­quired to approach her. Privately, Katie thought that all women who were considering divorcing their husbands should first be required to spend one night in a singles' bar. After that degrading and demoral­izing experience, many of them would run flying back to their husbands.

  She left at nine-thirty, one hour after she had ar­rived, and drove back to her apartment. In the car thoughts of Ramon haunted her. She had a life to live here and he couldn't be part of it, while his life was too alien, too far away for her to even consider sharing it.

  Katie went to bed at ten-thirty and after several hours, finally fell into a deep exhausted sleep.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She slept so deeply that she didn't hear the alarm go off, had to dress in frantic haste, and still she was fifteen minutes late for work.

  Thursday, June 3, hex calendar boldly proclaimed as she unlocked her desk and reached for the cup of coffee Donna had brought her. Thursday.

  The last day she would ever be able to reach Ramon. How late would he be at that phone number? Until he finished working at five or six o'clock? Or would he be working late tonight? What difference did it make? If she called him she would have to be ready to leave and marry him. And that she just couldn't do. June 3.

  Katie smiled sadly as she sipped her steaming cof­fee. At the lightning speed with which Ramon swept her along, she probably would have been a June bride. Again.

  Katie gave her head a hard shake and employed what was for her, a special talent she discovered she possessed during her divorce: By instantly forcing herself to think of something different the moment an unwanted subject entered her mind, she could totally repress the subject.

  She was a positive whirlwind of productive activi­ty all day. Not only did she handle all her scheduled interviews, she took three more applicants who had arrived without the required appointment.

  She gave most of the clerical tests herself, repeat­ing the instructions for how to type the sample copy as if it were the most interesting speech she'd ever made. She stared at the timer while they typed as if it were an absorbing masterpiece of complicated tech­nology that utterly fascinated her.

  She breezed into Virginia's office, thanked her profoundly for the marvelous raise and the wonder­ful advice, and then she slowly closed her office door and reluctantly went home.

  It was not nearly as easy to practice her technique in the solitude of her apartment, particularly when the radio kept reminding her what time it was— "This is KMOX Radio and the time is six-forty," the announcer said.

  And Ramon won't be at that number much long­er, if he still is, the announcer in her mind added.

  Angrily, Katie snapped off the radio and turned on the television, prowling around her apartment, unable to sit down. If she called Ramon, there could be no half-measures; she would have to tell him the truth. Even if she did, he might not want to marry her any longer. He had been furious to learn she'd been married before. Maybe the church wasn't the issue at all. Maybe he didn't want 'secondhand' goods. But if he wanted to be finished with her, why had he left her a number where she could call him?

  The television screen flared to life. "It's seventy-eight degrees in St. Louis at six forty-five," the an­nouncer intruded into her thoughts.

  She couldn't call Ramon unless she was prepared to resign her job with one day's notice. That was all that was left. She would have to walk into Virginia Johnson's office and say to a woman who had been wonderful to her, "Sorry to be leaving you in the lurch, but that's the way it is."

  And she hadn't even considered the problem of her parents. They would be angry, alarmed, heart­broken. They would miss her terribly if she went to Puerto Rico. Katie dialed her parents' number and was informed by their maid that Mr. and Mrs. Con­nelly had gone to the country club for dinner. Damn it! Katie thought. Why were they gone when she needed them? They should be at home, missing their little Katie, whom they only saw every few weeks. Would they miss her so much if they only saw her every few months?

  Katie leaped to her feet, and in desperation to be doing something, changed into a bikini—the yellow bikini! Sitting at the dressing table in her spacious bedroom, she briskly brushed her hair.

  How could she be thinking of giving all this up in exchange for the sort of home and life Ramon could offer her? She must be insane! Her own life was a modern American woman's dream. She had a re­warding career, a beautiful apartment, expensive clothes and no financial worries. She was young, at­tractive and independent. She had everything. Absolutely everything. That thought caused Katie's brush strokes to slow as she stared soberly into the mirror. Dear God, was this really everything? Her eyes darkened with despair as she again contemplated a future just like her present. There had to be more to life than this. Surely this wasn't everything. It just couldn't be.

  Trying to shake off her dismal thoughts, Katie snatched up a towel and marched down to the pool. There were about thirty people swimming or relax­ing at the umbrella tables. Don and Brad were with some other men drinking beer. Katie waved to them when they called to her to come and join them, but she shook her head no. Putting her towel down on the most isolated lounger she could find, Katie turned and walked over to the pool. She swam twen­ty laps then climbed ou
t and flopped down on the chair. Someone had a portable radio on. "It's seven-fifteen in St. Louis, the temperature a balmy seventy-eight degrees."

  Katie closed her eyes trying to shut her mind off, and suddenly she could almost feel Ramon's warm firm lips moving with gentle coaxing over hers, then deepening his kiss until it was wildly erotic and she was joyously surrendering to the searching hunger of his mouth and hands. His deep voice spoke quiet­ly to her heart: "I will live my life for you… I will make love to you until you cry out for me to stop... I will fill your days with gladness."

  Katie felt as if she were slowly suffocating. "We belong together," he had said, his voice thick with desire. "Tell me that you know it. Say it." She had said it. She had even known it—as surely as she knew they couldn’t be together.

  He was so handsome, so masculine with his beau­tiful black hair and dazzling white smile. Katie thought of the slight cleft in his chin and the way his eyes—"Ouch!" Yelping with surprise she jack-knifed into a sitting position as icy water ran down her thigh.

  "Wake up, sleeping beauty," Don grinned, sit­ting down on the lounge. Katie squeezed over to make more room for him, watching him warily. His eyes were glassy, his face slightly flushed; he looked as though he'd been drinking all afternoon. "Katie," he said, his eyes delving into her deep cleavage exposed by the skimpy bikini top. "You really turn me on, do you know that?"

  "I don't think that's very hard to do," Katie re­plied with a fixed smile, pushing his hand away when his fingers started to trace the trickle of water across her left thigh.

  He laughed. "Be nice to me, Katie. I could be very nice to you."

  "I'm not an old lady, and you're not a boy scout," Katie quipped, hiding her uneasiness behind flippancy.

  "You have a clever little tongue, redhead. But there are better things to do with it than sniping at me. Let me show you an example." His mouth start­ed descending toward hers and Katie pulled back averting her head.