“I’m fine,” he said, the terse remark an indicator that his ego was bruised worse than his nose. They started for the locker rooms. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“Well, I didn’t want to hurt you, but I figured that if I didn’t, you’d never believe I could do it.”
“You could have warned me.”
“Surprise is nine tenths of the battle, remember?”
He gave her a sidelong glance as he wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand.
“Are you mad?” she asked.
“No.”
“Yes, you are mad. I can tell.”
“I’m not mad,” he said, getting angry. They stopped at the entrance to the men’s locker rooms. “I’m... disappointed, is all.”
“Disappointed? Why?”
“Well, you don’t want my money. You don’t need me to teach you anything. I can’t do anything for you. You won’t let me help. I feel... useless.”
“Useless?” she said, laughing softly as she reached up and gently wiped blood from his upper lip. “Oliver, I’m depending on you to give me what I need the most. I need you to love me. I need you to teach me how to slow down and enjoy my life. I need your help to get through the day. I want to be with you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before.”
He took her hand and watched his thumb rub back and forth over her knuckles.
“It’s not enough, Holly,” he said slowly. “It’s as if you have two separate lives. The one with me and the one you struggle with day after day. I need to be a part of that too. You don’t talk about the problems you live with every day, so how can I fix any of them? Make it easier for you? Make a difference in your life? I feel left out. I want to be involved in your whole life, not just a part of it.”
“You want to work at the clinic?” she asked, floored.
“No, of course not. But I want more than to come over and make love to you every night, or take you out to eat once in a while. It’s not enough. I want more.”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
Did he really want to hear how she had to beg for food or that they were running out of warm clothes in children’s sizes or that the shelters were full and they had waiting lists for jobs and housing and nonemergency medical care? What would he do? Go out and buy food and clothing? Hire doctors and nurses? Invent jobs? Build housing?
And what about his aunt? What if she told him she was threatening to cut the funds to the clinic? Would he take over the foundation and would he expect Holly to tell him which charities to support and which not to? Even she didn’t want that kind of responsibility.
And she didn’t want Oliver thinking he had to single-handedly cure the world’s ills, just to make her happy. It wasn’t all up to Oliver. It was everyone’s responsibility.
“Hello, Oliver?” she said, calling impulsively with her great idea. “How’s your nose?”
“Swollen and I have two black eyes. Clavin sends his cheers.” She covered the mouthpiece so he couldn’t hear her giggles. “Are you calling to gloat?”
“Who, me? Gloat?”
“Are you laughing?”
“No way. I’m dead serious. I have a favor to ask.”
“What is it?” His attitude changed instantly.
“Were you serious when you said you wanted to do something to help?”
“You know I was—I am.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking...”
“There’s news.”
“...there’s not a lot I could ask you to do at the clinic. I mean, you’ve donated money and—”
“What’s the favor?”
“Well, if I work at my end and you do the work that’s appropriate for you at your end, would that make you feel a little less left out? I mean, it doesn’t have to be day-to-day nitty-gritty stuff, it just needs to be helpful, right?”
“What is it?”
“Well,” she said, finding it hard to ask, knowing it was a stupid way to feel. “There’s a bill in the state senate to appropriate more funds for prenatal care, immunizations, and special ed services. I was wondering if... well, if...”
“If I could throw some Carey weight around and get it passed?” he asked with enthusiasm.
“I thought that since you sort of hobnob with those kinds of people that maybe—”
“Holly, you don’t need to explain. It’s a great idea, and I want to help. I’ll do whatever I can.” There was a brief silence. “Was it really that hard for you to ask me for such a small favor?”
“I’m not used to asking people to do what I couldn’t or wouldn’t do myself. But in this case, nothing I did would make any difference. You said you wanted to make a difference.”
“I do,” he said, and after another brief pause he added, “And Holly? Thanks for letting me try.”
That Thursday she dyed three gray heads the same striking blue, gave four tight perms and ten haircuts. She listened to the hospital gossip involving two night-shift attendants and caught up on the story about Mr. Jared’s niece and the Arab prince she was dating. She tried not to give any weight to the whispers about old Ed McGreevy chasing after Darleen Gibbs, a young seventy-six, but then she didn’t deny any of the rumors she heard that Oliver had a serious crush on Mrs. Quinn... he’d sent her a box of batteries for the fans.
She told Carolann all about her problems with the Carey Foundation. She was wishing for some empathy when she began to tell her about the situation between her and Oliver and Elizabeth Carey George. She wanted advice, but got none.
It was a gray, yucky day, but dry and far from dark when she decided to walk the ten blocks home rather than take the bus. Oliver had a dinner meeting and wouldn’t be coming till late, if he came at all. She took her time, walking and thinking.
One of the best things about her life was Marie Spoleto.
She owed Carolann her life, but she was never sure of her motivations. Had she given birth out of love? Or because she knew she wasn’t going to survive, and that small part of her that wanted to, needed Holly to carry on for her? Or had she been so completely out of it that she simply hadn’t cared one way or another?
Now Marie Spoleto, she was something else. No secrets there. Marie lived hard, worked hard, loved hard. She moved from place to place to place in straight lines. Openly, honestly, and independently. After so many years, Holly didn’t need to ask her advice. She could hear in her heart the words she’d heard so many times before.
“You follow the rules, you do what you can, you say what you must, and you live with what happens.”
By the time she got home she was almost done second-guessing herself. Should she? Shouldn’t she? What if? What about? Her head was throbbing with questions for which she only had one answer.
“I’ll follow the rules, I’ll do what I can, I’ll say what I must, and I’ll live with whatever happens.”
There was a knock on her door shortly after six and, not expecting to see Oliver until much, much later, she called out, “Who is it?”
“It’s Johanna, Holly. May I come in? Please.”
If she hadn’t heard it in her voice, she would have certainly seen the fear in Johanna’s face when she opened the door. She scooted into the apartment as if she were being chased. Holly stepped into the hall, scouting in both directions. It was empty.
“Are you all right?” she asked, noting the flutter of her hands over her heart.
“Yes, of course,” she replied breathlessly, her voice high-pitched but unwavering, her eyes darting to the door as if to tell Holly to hurry and close it. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“Well, I’m great,” she said, chuckling as she observed Johanna’s version of Oliver’s reaction to the neighborhood. “It’s wonderful to see you, but I hope you’re not going to tell me you were in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. I wouldn’t believe you.”
“No, no, I came here on purpose,” she said, her hands twitching nervously at her hair and her perfect sandalwood-colored wool suit as
she watched Holly close and bolt the door. “I... I was going to call, but I thought it might be better if I came in person.”
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, no. I came to tell you something. I...”
Johanna’s agitation wasn’t all because of the neighborhood, Holly could see now. She must have been pretty upset to drive herself to Oakland in the first place, she realized.
“Let’s sit, shall we?” she said, motioning to the chair and sofa a few feet away. “It’s always easier to talk sitting down.”
Johanna took a couple of steps forward and then shook her head, refusing to sit.
“I can’t. I...” She released the long strap of her purse from her shoulder and stood clutching the bag with both hands. “I overheard my mother talking to Babs—ah—Barbara... Barbara Renbrook this morning. They’re plotting—” she hesitated, “well, this goes back a while, it’s been their plan all along. I’m not sure it ever would have worked, but it might have, eventually. Who knows? But now with you...”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to sit down,” Holly broke in. “You’re making me really nervous.”
Johanna took an emotional step down and tried to smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said, lowering herself into the chair. “I know my mother is capable of many things, but I never dreamed she could be so... so cruel.”
“What has she done?”
“Nothing yet. It’s the plot—the plan she and Barbara have been working on all this time. For years. You see, my mother and Barbara have a sort of friendship. They like each other and they have a lot in common—including a meeting of minds in regard to social standing?” She looked askance to detect if Holly caught her meaning, and Holly nodded. “As you can probably guess, Oliver is the catch of the century. I was always a little surprised that my mother didn’t try to marry me off to him, since we’re only related by marriage. But it didn’t work out that way. Thank goodness,” she added with a nervous giggle.
“My mother always thought Barbara would make him a better wife, and she throws the two of them together every chance she gets. Only Oliver’s too cagey to get caught in her trap. He hardly notices Barbara. Oh, he cooperates with my mother to keep the peace and invites her to family functions and escorts her here and there, but he always finds other women to get involved with. And my mother lets him, thinking he’ll eventually come to his senses and marry Barbara anyway. Then he met you.”
Holly’s brows rose with interest. It wasn’t as though the plan were out of this world—she herself was planning to marry and live happily ever after with Oliver someday. It was the pain in the pit of her stomach that had her concerned and curious.
“Oliver is so plainly in love with you, you’ve got them shaking in their boots,” Johanna went on. “Especially my mother, who is so used to handling everything at the house and getting around Oliver without another woman’s interference. You’re a real threat to her.”
Holly nodded. She could understand that too. She wished Johanna would get to the bottom line.
“They were in the sunroom this afternoon having tea. I was going to join them, but just as I was about to, I overheard them talking about you. So I listened.” She looked to Holly for absolution, as if eavesdropping were a major crime.
“I knew you’d make a great spy,” she said, smiling.
“Well, I thought you’d want to hear what they were saying about you.”
“I can imagine that,” she said. “I’m more interested in their plan to get rid of me.”
Johanna nodded, glad she didn’t have to repeat a great deal of what she’d overheard and glad that Holly had caught on so quickly.
“It’s a simple plan, according to mother. She says that all she has to do is refuse to renew the grant for the Paulson Clinic and let it filter down through the proper channels that it was Oliver’s decision to withdraw. And you have a reputation for fighting for what you want, so she has determined that you’ll fight with Oliver, he won’t understand what you’re talking about and get angry back, or if he does figure it out, he’ll assume you were after the foundation money all along, and your relationship will be over. But”—she held up a single finger—“just to ensure it, she’ll cancel the grant to St. Augustine’s as well.”
Holly sighed loudly and fell back against the couch, lacing her fingers together across her aching abdomen. Her first reactions were not those of fear or anger, but those of repugnance and sadness that any two human beings of her own gender could be so totally pathetic and hateful. It was a shame to call them women.
“What are you thinking?” Johanna asked, her voice small and tentative.
Holly smiled. “I’m thinking how glad I am that you’re my friend.”
“You’re going to tell Oliver now, right?”
“Nope,” she said, sitting up again. “I don’t think it’ll be necessary at all now.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to your mother. I’ll tell her that if she does revoke the grants, I won’t get mad, I’ll get even. I’ll turn the tables on her. I’m not above a little blackmail, now and again. I’ll tell her that I’ll tell Oliver the whole story.” Her smile grew brighter. “In fact, since we still have a few days before the hearing, I’ll insist I get her guarantee to reissue the grants, in writing, by tomorrow afternoon, or I’ll go straight to Oliver before the hearing. That way she won’t be able to come up with another plan.”
“Uh-oh,” groaned Johanna, slumping down in her chair in a very un-Johanna-like manner. “I knew I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Holly said immediately. “We don’t want any of this coming down on you from your mother. Gee, let’s see, we’ll have to revise the counterattack a bit, so she won’t know it was you who told me.”
She was already deep in thought by the time Johanna spoke again.
“It’s too late for me. That’s not what I meant about keeping my mouth shut.”
“What’s too late for you?”
“My mother knows we’re friends, you and I. I knew she wouldn’t like it, but I’ve disappointed her so often as it is—with my failed marriage, my lack of social leadership, my inability to organize even the simplest gala affair,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I figured one more heart-crushing failure on my part couldn’t possibly make that much of a difference to our relationship.”
“She knows because of the way you’ve always been so nice to me?”
“Oh no, I had to tell her plainly. It’s another flaw,” she said, dejected. “I’m nice to most everyone. I failed Snubbing 101.”
“That’s a shame, but I can’t say I’m sorry,” Holly said, trying to make light of her friend’s supposed inadequacies.
“You will be in a minute,” she said. “I waited for Barbara to leave and then I confronted my mother with what I’d overheard.”
“Uh-oh.”
“She said that if I wanted to befriend a... a...” She stood, suddenly agitated again.
“It’s all right, Johanna, say it.”
“...a guttersnipe, that it was fine by her. In fact, she was glad of it because now she could send me to you with a message.”
“A message?”
She nodded. “She said she hated the idea of having so many needy people going hungry and cold on her conscience, and that she was willing to advise you on an alternate course that would change the fate of the Paulson Clinic.”
“Go on,” she said calmly, already convinced that she didn’t want to hear the alternative, and just as sure she wanted it out in the open.
“She... she said that she preferred to let your conscience deal with the poor, hungry children. She said to tell you that she was perfectly willing to renew the grants to both the clinic and the convalescent center and increase them by fifteen percent each year if you... Her chin fell to her chest. She couldn’t go on. Couldn’t bring herself to repeat her mother’s vicious words.
“I
f I what, Johanna? Tell me.”
Johanna lifted her eyes to Holly’s. There were tears in them. Her chin quivered, and she chewed her lower lip for a second before she could speak.
“Walk away from Oliver.”
Eleven
“OH, MAN, YOU’RE A sight for sore eyes,” Oliver said, stepping into the apartment, scooping her into his arms at the same time.
“Sore eyes is right,” she said, tipping her head back to look at the red crescent moons casing the inner aspect of both his eyes, the right slightly darker than the left. “Oh, Oliver, I’m sorry. Do they hurt a lot?”
“Only when I’m not holding you,” he said, squeezing her tight. She looped her arms about his neck and squeezed back, harder, until she was afraid she might choke him.
It was a little before ten, and he smelled of pipe smoke—an odd observation, but that she could make any observations at all was admirable. She felt numb through and through.
“I didn’t think Larry Clark would ever stop talking so I could leave and come back here to you,” he went on, his face buried in the curve of her neck. He pulled away smiling, enjoying the sight of her. “He’s never been a favorite of mine, but I know now why he’s on the state appropriations committee. He talks incessantly, until whoever’s asking for money forgets what they came for and... Hey. What’s this?” He pulled her into the circle of dim lamplight as he scanned her face more intently. “Are you all right? Have you been crying? What’s happened?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. Really,” she said. By his careful visual inspection of her body parts and expression, she could tell he didn’t believe her, so she added, “I’m a little tired.” He wasn’t buying that either. “And Tony called,” she said, as if, yes, there was something wrong. “Mama’s sick.”
It was the first good excuse for puffy red eyes that came to mind, other than the truth, and she didn’t know what to do about that yet.
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