Touchstone

by Sharon Sala

  Rachel sighed. This was nothing more than she’d expected.

  “No. He’s been kind, but I didn’t know him until I hired on. The owner is a friend of mine. That’s how I came to be here.”

  “You know Mrs. Goodman?” Nedra gasped.

  Rachel nodded. “Yes.”

  “Wow! That’s fantastic,” Abby said.

  “Look, we’d better get dressed before we get into trouble,” Rachel said. “The last thing I need is to get fired.”

  They dressed, chattering among themselves as they fixed each other’s hair and zipped each other up. They stepped onto the elevator together, but the moment they got off, Nedra and Abby each gave Rachel a nervous smile and left, murmuring to each other as they walked away. Rachel could tell that the tenuous bond between her and the two other women had stretched a little thinner. She’d taken a chance on the truth and lost.

  Rachel sighed. Her feelings were a little hurt, but it was nothing she hadn’t experienced before. All her life she’d been outside the realm of what society called normal. Too tall. Too pretty. Too different. So New York City was just like Mirage in that respect. She lifted her chin and gritted her teeth. It didn’t matter. Nothing could matter but success.

  “And let that be a lesson to me,” she muttered, heading off to her station.

  Maris Binder’s studied elegance was part of her persona. As an ad executive with Bartalow and Sons, she had been given the dubious honor of playing hostess at the Crystal Room tonight. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and until Linda Bartalow, the boss’s wife, quit having babies, it wouldn’t be the last.

  Maris eyed herself in the mirror as she put the finishing touches on her makeup. Her face was long and slender, her eyes large and dark. Her lips were too thin for her taste, but she worked well with what she had. Her shoulder-length dark hair was discreetly colored to hide the gray hairs she’d accumulated in her forty-seven years.

  She gave her eyelashes a last swipe of mascara and then stepped back to admire her work. A slow smile spread across her face. Those daily workouts were definitely paying off. Her hair was good, her makeup better. But it was the Versace dress that was her crowning glory. She’d spent her entire bonus from the Duboy account on this dress. In her opinion, it was well worth the price.

  She glanced at the clock on her bedside table and reached for her bag and wrap. She just had time to hurry to the Crystal Room and get in place before the guests began to arrive.

  Her hand was on the doorknob when the phone rang. She paused at the door, listening as her answering machine came on. But when the caller identified himself as Jules Farrier, she raced for the phone.

  “Jules, hello!” Maris said, aware that her breathless voice would be good proof that she hadn’t been screening her calls. The prestigious clients always seemed to resent the idea. “You just caught me. I was on my way out for the evening.”

  “Do you have any news for me?” he asked.

  Maris gritted her teeth. The man was like a bulldog. But there was a smile in her voice as she answered. “Not yet, but things are looking good.” It’s just a small, harmless lie... and it’s good for business.

  “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Farrier said.

  Maris bit her lip. The Farrier account was her baby, and keeping Jules Farrier happy was part of the job.

  “Be fair, Jules. You gave us a month. We still have a couple of weeks to go. And you know how hectic the holidays are, what with people gone and—”

  “I’m not paying for anyone’s holidays,” he snapped. “I’m paying for results.” Then he sighed. “Look, Maris, your work is fabulous. That’s why I went with Bartalow and Sons. But I’m leaving for France in a couple of hours. I’ll be gone for about a week. I wanted some assurance that things were moving along before I left, that’s all.”

  Maris began to relax. Like the typical male, he’d barked, he’d snapped, and now he was reluctantly wagging his tail.

  “Without jumping the gun, let me just assure you that our concept is going to blow you away.”

  He sighed. “I’ve been in the business too long to be fooled. I can live with the fact no one’s had an epiphany yet. But by the time I get back, I want nothing short of magic. Do we understand each other?”

  “Of course, Jules. Of course.”

  “Just find the face,” he muttered. “After that, everything else will fall into place.”

  “Happy New Year, Jules, and safe traveling,” Maris said.

  “Same to you,” he said. “If you need me, my office will know how to reach me.”

  Maris glanced at her watch and rolled her eyes. “Right!” she said lightly.

  A few seconds later the line went dead in her ear.

  “Finally,” she muttered, and headed for the door.

  A few early guests were already mingling when she made her entrance. Her gaze was nervous as she sought out her boss’s presence. It was time to make her apologies for not being punctual. She checked her wrap and bag and then headed across the room toward the bar.

  “Andrew, sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly.

  Andrew Bartalow turned. Whatever he’d been about to say left his mind. He raised an eyebrow and then toasted her appearance by raising his glass.

  “My dear, if a few extra minutes is what it took to come looking like that, then you’re forgiven.”

  She smiled. “Well said.” Then she gave a quick look around, making sure that they wouldn’t be overheard. “Farrier called just as I was walking out the door. He’s antsy. Wanted to know how things were progressing.” Then she sighed. “He didn’t believe a word of what I told him.”

  Andrew frowned. “Damn it, Maris, don’t lose this account. We need it.”

  Maris took a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, lifted it to her lips, and sipped.

  “Nice!” she said, a bit surprised by the quality, considering the size of the expected crowd.

  Andrew smiled. “You know my motto. Only the best.”

  Maris nodded. “And that’s what we’ll give Farrier. The best.” Then she frowned. “But he didn’t make it easy. Timeless is a wonderful perfume. There are any number of top models who would have made fabulous representatives for the product. But Jules wants an unknown.” A wry grin tilted the corners of her mouth. “How did he put it? Oh yes... ‘a face as new and memorable as the scent.’ ”

  Andrew’s smile never reached his eyes. “You’ll make it happen,” he said. “You have no other choice.” Then he softened the warning with a pat to her arm. “Thanks again for standing in for Linda. I’ll let you get on to your duties.”

  Maris nodded. She’d just been dismissed.

  Rachel moved through the crowd with a tray of appetizers. Even without the two-and-a-half-inch black heels she was wearing, she was a head taller than many of the women, and eye to eye with most of the men. She felt naked before the world in the small black dress. It swayed as she walked, like a dainty bell. Now and then a glimpse of the narrow white hair band was visible beneath the loops of hair she’d piled high on her head. Except for a slash of cranberry lip color, her face was devoid of makeup.

  But her mind was not on her job. She kept thinking of last New Year’s Eve with Houston. They’d gone to the local bar and laughed and danced for more than four hours. But when the countdown toward midnight began, Houston had pulled her into a corner away from the rowdy crowd and buried his face against the curve of her neck. She remembered how she’d felt then, with the noise getting louder and louder and her heart beating slower and slower. His breath had been warm and soft against her skin. His hands, so strong—yet gentle. Suddenly a roar had erupted around them. Houston had looked at her then and she’d seen the truth of what he felt for her, there in the depths of his gaze. It was a powerful thing to be loved.

  “Miss? Miss?”

  Rachel jerked as if she’d been slapped. She’d been so lost in the memory that she’d forgotten what she was supposed to be doing.

 
“Yes?”

  “What are these?”

  Rachel looked at the tray, at the particular appetizers in question.

  “I believe they’re toast points with beluga caviar.”

  “Ooh, I’ll have that,” the woman squealed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rachel said, and offered a napkin. The woman greedily took two appetizers, and Rachel moved on, making sure that her mind stayed on the job at hand. After all, there was no need to dwell on the past. It was over.

  ***

  Maris’s dress was a success. If she didn’t wind up on the society pages tomorrow, she’d be surprised. And it wouldn’t hurt Andrew Bartalow’s feelings at all to have one of his employees in the limelight. For him, everything was business, even when he played.

  But all through the evening she kept finding herself distracted from the festivities. It wasn’t until an hour or so before midnight that she realized what she’d been doing. Every time she’d been introduced to a new woman, she’d been studying her face. It was driving her mad. To date she’d sent Farrier more than a hundred and twenty-five photos of models, and he’d rejected every one. At this point she was beginning to question her ability to recognize beauty.

  She sighed. Maybe if she looked at the women from a man’s point of view, she would see something different. And then she snorted lightly beneath her breath and lifted another glass of champagne from a tray. If she knew what constituted a man’s point of view, she’d own the damn company instead of getting her annual headache from bumping against that glass ceiling.

  “Maris! Wonderful party!”

  She turned, the smile fixed on her face as she searched out the identity of the voice. A man raised his glass to her from a few feet away. It was Pullman... no, Perleman, from accounting.

  Then her gaze slid from his face to the woman passing through the crowd behind him. All she got was a swift glimpse of profile, but it was enough to make her heart skip a beat.

  Who is she? The question came swiftly, followed by another more urgent. Where did she go?

  She set down her glass and started moving through the crowd, looking for a woman with a crown of black hair and a long, slender neck with an exquisite curve. Minutes passed and she began to get frantic. For the first time in her life she cursed her lack of height. And then someone suddenly grabbed her arm.

  “Maris, is something wrong?”

  Anger pushed at her nerves as she spun. “Oh, Andrew, it’s you.”

  He frowned. “Yes, it’s me. I just wanted to know if you’re all right. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “No, nothing is wrong,” she muttered, and looked back through the crowd, groaning with dismay. “Damn, where did she go?”

  Andrew lowered his voice. “I insist. Either tell me what’s going on, or sit down for a moment and calm yourself.”

  Maris grabbed him by both of his arms. “Did you see a very tall, very elegant woman walk by here just now?”

  He smirked. “Maris, I fear you’ve had too much champagne. Almost every women here is elegantly turned out.”

  Barely restraining the urge to slap him, Maris lowered her voice. “I’m talking stunning here, Andrew . . . as in just right for the Farrier account. Do you follow my drift?”

  His eyes widened as he lifted his head like a stag sniffing the air for a doe in heat.

  “What did she look like?”

  Maris groaned. “That’s just it. I didn’t get a good look at her face.”

  Andrew sighed in disgust. “Good Lord, woman. I thought you were on to something. If you didn’t see her face, then what is the purpose of this conversation?”

  “Damn it, Andrew, you’re not listening to me. What I’m trying to say is that in the brief glimpse I had of this woman’s profile, I felt as if I’d been blind-sided. I can’t explain it, but there was something so elegant and yet so innocent about her profile that it made my heart hurt.”

  Andrew stared. He had never heard Maris wax poetic about anything or anyone.

  “You’re serious?”

  Her jaw clenched. “As serious as I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “Then find her, and when you do, bring her to me. Anyone who can elicit such a response from you is worth checking out.”

  Maris pivoted, and if the skirt on her dress hadn’t been so tight, she might have hiked it up and started running. More than once she heard her name being called as she moved through the crowd, but she couldn’t spare her friends and colleagues more than a glance. Once she thought she saw her quarry in the opposite corner of the room, but then the woman turned and Maris stopped in midstride.

  It wasn’t her.

  She turned away, hoping that her disappointment wasn’t evident. And then a thought occurred. What if the woman had been in the act of leaving? Oh God, what if she was already gone? She didn’t know her name. She hadn’t even gotten a good look at her face. Panic began to set in. She moved toward the front door, thinking she might stop her there, and then reason took over. It wasn’t yet midnight. Surely no one would leave until the grand finale to the evening was over.

  Unaware that she was being observed, she pressed her fists against her belly to keep them from shaking. While she was still scanning the room, Maury Feldman walked up beside her.

  “Miss Binder, may I be of some assistance?”

  Startled, Maris spun around, then recognized the manager.

  “Mr. Feldman, isn’t it?”

  Maury nodded. “I couldn’t help but notice you seem disturbed. Is there a problem?”

  Maris sighed. “I didn’t know it showed,” she said. When he frowned, she quickly spoke. “Nothing is wrong. The Crystal Room looks fabulous, and the food and service are marvelous.”

  “Why do I feel there is a but in that bit of glowing praise?”

  She shrugged. “It’s purely personal,” she said. And then she thought to enlist his aid. “A bit earlier I saw a striking young woman, but from a distance. I wanted to speak with her, but I lost her in the crowd. I wonder if you might know her. She was very tall and had the most amazing profile. Her hair was very black and piled high on her head. I couldn’t see what she was wearing, but she moved with such grace.”

  Maury frowned thoughtfully. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But that description doesn’t bring any particular woman to mind. Could you tell if she was with someone or if she was alone?”

  Maris groaned. “I don’t know.” Then she managed a halfhearted smile. “I know this sounds crazy, but I am going to go nuts if I don’t find out who she is.”

  Maury didn’t respond. It wasn’t his place to ask questions of paying customers, although he did wonder what was so pressing about finding this particular woman. In Maris Binder’s business, beautiful people were easy to come by.

  “I’m sorry,” Maury said. “If I see someone who fits that description, I’ll be happy to let you know.”

  Maris sighed. “Thank you. Now I suppose I’d best get back to my duties. It’s almost midnight. Time to begin the countdown.”

  Rachel winced as she relinquished her empty tray for a fresh one. Her feet hurt, and her natural inclination was to withdraw from crowds such as this one. She was tired of smiling at strangers, even though it was part of her job.

  “It’s almost over,” Abby said, and leaned over to rub her ankle. “And it’s none too soon for me. These shoes are killing me.”

  Rachel nodded. “Mine were, but my feet are so numb now that it doesn’t really matter.”

  Abby giggled, and then shifted a little closer to Rachel.

  “Say, Rachel, about earlier...”

  Rachel waited.

  Abby blushed. “Well, I just want to say thanks again for letting us change at your place and all. It was real generous of you.”

  “You’re welcome again,” Rachel said.

  Abby smiled. “You know, for someone so pretty, you’re really nice.”

  Rachel couldn’t help but grin. “I think that’s the most backhanded compliment I’ve ever
been given.”

  An embarrassed grin spread across Abby’s face. “Well, you know what I mean,” she said. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Rachel said, and then caught Joe eyeing them. “We’d better get back to work before we give Clousie a reason to can us both.”

  A few moments later they were back to work, just in time for the countdown ceremony to begin. A television over the bar had become everyone’s focus. The ball in Times Square was beginning to drop as Dick Clark counted down the seconds. The crowd began to call out in unison with the numbers rolling down on the screen.

  “Ten... nine... eight...”

  Hit by the incongruity of standing in the midst of strangers as she began a new year, Rachel felt like crying. Never had she felt more alone.

  “Seven... six... five...”

  She lifted her chin, bracing herself for the moment when the room would erupt. Suddenly she knew she couldn’t be here, standing in the middle of such revelry with this pain in her heart. She set her tray on a nearby table and started toward the kitchen, fighting her way through the crowd.

  “Four... three... two... one... midnight!”

  The room became an explosion of sound. Streamers and confetti suddenly showered down upon the heads of the guests, and the merrymaking started anew. The familiar strains of “Auld Lang Syne” soon filled the room as the people began to sing.

  Rachel made it to the kitchen just as Joe Clouse was coming out.

  “Where is your tray?” he snapped. “If you’ve dropped it, I’ll—”

  “I didn’t drop anything,” Rachel said, and hated the fact that her voice was shaking. “I’m sorry, Joe, but I’m not feeling well.”

  Joe frowned, but even he could see that she was telling the truth. Her face was drawn, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  “Well, then, I suppose you can call it a night.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll mark you down as going off duty at midnight.”

  For a moment their gazes met and held, and for once, the animosity he usually held toward her seemed absent.

  Rachel sighed. “Thank you, Joe. Thank you very much.”