Well, she'll be disappointed of course, but she'll be pleased to know that you have plans. Something ' uh ' something exciting, I hope.
Yeah, George. A real knockout.
Anything serious? Now George sounded worried. Christ; there was no satisfying them.
No, nothing to worry about. Just some good clean fun.
Excellent Well, Merry Christmas and all that.
Same to you, and give Mother my love. I'll call her tomorrow.
I'll tell her. George was wreathed in smiles when he hung up, pleased that the boy was finally recovering. Michael had been leading a very strange life for a while there. Marion would be relieved, too, though undoubtedly she'd be mad as hell for a few minutes that he wouldn't be home for dinner with her friends. But he was young after all. He had a right to a little fun. George grinned to himself as he took a sip of his Scotch and remembered a Christmas in Vienna Twenty-five years before. And then, as always, his thoughts wandered back to Michael's mother.
In Michael's office, the phone continued to ring. Ben wanted to be sure he had plans. Michael assured him that he would be at his mother's, boring but expected, and assorted clients called, alternately to complain, congratulate, and wish him a Merry Christmas. As he hung up after the last one he muttered to himself, Ah go to hell, and then looked up in surprise when he heard unfamiliar laughter from the doorway. It was that new interior designer Ben had hired. A pretty girl, too, with rich auburn hair that fell in thick waves to her shoulders and set off creamy skin and blue eyes. Mike never noticed, of course. He never noticed anything anymore, unless it was lying on his desk and needed a signature.
Do you always wish people Merry Christmas that way?
Only the people I truly enjoy hearing from. He smiled at her and wondered what she was doing there. He hadn't asked to see her, and she had no direct business with him, not that he knew of anyway. Is there anything I can do for you, Miss ' Damn. He couldn't remember her name. What the hell was it?
Wendy Townsend. I just came to wish you a Merry Christmas.
Ah. An apple polisher. Michael was amused and waved her to a chair. Didn't they tell you I'm the original Scrooge?
I gathered that when you didn't show up at either the office party or the Christmas dinner last night. They also say you work too hard.
It's good for my complexion.
So are other things. She crossed one pretty leg over the other, and Michael checked it out. It did as little for him as anything else had since last May. I also wanted to thank you for the raise I just got. She flashed a set of perfect teeth at him, and he returned the smile. He was beginning to wonder what she really wanted. A bonus? Another raise?
You'll have to thank Ben Avery for that. I'm afraid I had nothing to do with it.
I see. It was a pointless conversation, and she knew it. Regretfully, she stood up, and then glanced at the window. There were seven or eight inches of snow piled up on the window ledge. Looks like it's going to be a white Christmas after all. It's also going to be practically impossible to get home tonight.
I think you may be right I probably won't even try. He pointed at the leather couch with a grin. I think that's why they put that there, to keep me chained to my office. No, mister, you do that to yourself. But she only smiled and wished him a Merry Christmas. Michael went back to signing letters, and true to his word, he spent the night on the couch. And the next night as well. It suited him perfectly. Christmas fell over a weekend this year, so no one knew where he was. Even the janitor and the maids had been given the holiday. Only the night watchman realized that Michael never left the office from Friday until late Sunday night, and by then Christmas was over. And when he got back to his empty apartment, he had nothing more to fear. Christmas, with all its memories and ghosts, was already a thing of the past. There was a large, ostentatious poinsettia wilting outside his door, sent to him by his mother. He put it near the trash can.
In San Francisco, Nancy had spent the holiday more comfortably than Michael, but in equal solitude. She had cooked a small capon, sung Christmas carols alone on the terrace on Christmas Eve, after she came home from church, and slept late on Christmas Day. She'd hoped to keep the day from coming, but there was no escaping it. It was relentless with its tinsel and trees, its promises and lies. At least in San Francisco the weather reminded her less of Christmases she had known in the East. It was almost as though these people were pretending it was Christmas, when she knew it actually wasn't. The unfamiliarity made it a trifle easier to bear. And she had two presents this year, a beautiful Gucci handbag from Peter and a funny book from Faye. She curled up in a chair with it in the afternoon after she had eaten her capon and stuffing and cranberry sauce. It was all rather like celebrating Christmas at Schrafft's, with all the old ladies, and all your life's hopes stashed in a shopping bag. She had always wondered what they carried in those bags. Old letters maybe, or photographs, trinkets or trophies or dreams.
It was after six o'clock when she finally put down the book and stretched her legs. A walk would be nice; she needed to get some air. She slipped into her coat, reached for her hat and camera, and smiled at herself in the mirror. She still liked the new smile. It was a great smile. It made her wonder what the rest of her face would look like, when Peter was through. It was a little bit like becoming his dream woman. And once he had told her that he was making her his ideal. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but still, she liked that smile. She slipped the camera over her shoulder and took the elevator downstairs.
It was a crisp breezy evening, with no fog she knew it would be a good night for taking pictures and she headed slowly down toward the wharf. The streets were mostly deserted. Everyone was recovering from Christmas dinner, recuperating in easy chairs and on couches, or snoring softly in front of the TV. The vision she created in her own head made Nancy smile, and then suddenly she tripped, making a little shrieking noise as she stumbled. Peter had warned her to be careful of falling. She couldn't indulge yet in any active sports because of that danger, and now she'd almost fallen on the street. Her arms had gone out to save her and she had regained her balance before hitting the pavement. And then she realized that she wasn't the only one who had shrieked. She had stumbled over a small shaggy dog, who looked greatly offended. Now he sat down, waved a paw at Nancy, and yipped. He was a tangled little fur ball of beige and brown. He stared at her and barked again.
Okay, okay. I'm sorry. You scared me, too, you know. She bent to pat him and he wagged his tail and barked once more. He was a comical little dog, barely older than a puppy. She was sorry she had nothing to give him to eat. He looked hungry. She patted him again, smiled, and stood up, grateful that she hadn't dropped her camera. He barked at her again and she grinned. Okay. Bye-bye. She started to walk away, but he immediately followed, trotting along at her side until she stopped and looked down at him again.
Now listen you, go on home. Go on ' But each time she took a step, he did, too, and when she stopped he sat down, waiting happily for her to go on. She stood there and laughed at him. He was really a ridiculous little dog, but such a cute one. She stopped down to pat him again and felt his neck for a collar, but there was none. A totally naked dog. And then suddenly, in amusement, she decided to snap some pictures of him. He proved to be a natural, prancing, posing, waving, and having a marvelous time. Nancy had made a new friend, and at the end of half an hour he still showed no sign of deserting her. All right, you, come on. So off they went, to the wharf, where she shot pictures of crab stalls and shrimp vendors, tourists and drunken Santa Clauses, boats and birds and a few more of the dog. She had a good time, and never succeeded in losing her friend. He remained at her side until at last she stopped for coffee. She had gotten quite good at going into coffee shops and fast food places, lowering her head so she concealed most of her face beneath her hat, and ordering whatever she wanted. Now she even had a smile to go with the thank you, and it wasn't as hard to pull off as she once had thought. This time she ordered black coffee
for herself, and a hamburger for the dog. She put the red paper plate on the sidewalk next to him, and he gobbled it up and then barked his thanks.
Does that mean thank you, or more? He barked again and she laughed, and someone stopped to pat him and ask his name. I don't know. He just adopted me.
Did you report him?
I guess I should. The man told her how and she thanked him. She would call from her apartment if the dog stuck with her that far. And he did. He stopped at the door of her building as though he lived there, too. So she took him upstairs and called the ASPCA, but no one had reported losing a dog that looked like him, and they suggested she either resign herself to having a new dog, or drop him off at the shelter and have him put to sleep. She was outraged at the thought and put a protective arm around him as they sat side by side on the floor. You look a mess, you know, kid. How about a bath? He wagged tongue and tail simultaneously, and she scooped him up in her arms and deposited him in the bathtub. She had to be careful not to get splashed, so as not to get her face bandages wet, but he submitted to the bath with no resistance. And as they progressed, she discovered that he was not beige and brown, but brown and white. His brown was the color of milk chocolate, and his white was the color of snow. He was really an adorable dog, and Nancy hoped no one called to report him missing. She had never had a dog before, and she had already fallen in love with this one. It hadn't been possible to have a dog at the orphanage, and pets weren't allowed at her apartment building in Boston. But this building's management had no objection to pets. Nancy sat back on her heels and rubbed him again with the towel as he rolled over on his back, waving all four feet. And then she thought of a name. It was the name of a dog Michael had told her about the first puppy he'd had as a child, and somehow it seemed the perfect name for this independent little dog. How do you feel about Fred, little guy? Sound okay to you? He barked twice, and Nancy took that to mean yes.
Chapter 13
Nancy peeked her head around the door to grin at Faye, already cozily settled near the fire.
And what do you have up your sleeve today, young lady? Faye smiled at her, relieved that she looked so well.
I brought a friend.
You did? I'm gone for two weeks and you already have a new friend? Well, how do you like that? And with that, Fred bounced into the room, obviously proud of his new red collar and leash. No one had reported losing him, and as of that morning he officially belonged to Nancy. He had a license, a bed, a bowl, and about seventeen toys. Nancy was lavishing him with love.
Faye, I'd like you to meet Fred. She smiled down at him with motherly pride, and Faye laughed.
He's adorable, Nancy. Where'd you get him?
He adopted me on Christmas night. Actually, I should probably have called him Noel, but Fred seemed more appropriate. For once, she was embarrassed to tell Faye why. She was beginning to feel like a fool for clinging to Michael. I also brought you a stack of my work to look at.
My, haven't you been busy. Maybe I should go away more often.
Do me a favor, don't. A glimpse into Nancy's eyes told Faye just how lonely she'd been. But at least she had made it through Christmas, and alone. That was no small accomplishment for anyone. And ' She drew the word out with pride ' I've made arrangements for a voice coach. Peter says It's all part of the package. I start tomorrow at three. I can't do dance class yet, because my face isn't finished, but I can do that next summer.
I'm proud of you, Nancy.
So am I.
They had a good session that day, and for the first time in eight months, they didn't talk about Michael. Much to Faye's astonishment, it was spring again before Nancy mentioned his name. It was almost as though she were determined not to. All she talked about now was her plans. Her voice lessons. Her photography. The work she wanted to do with the photography when her techniques became more sophisticated. And in the spring she and Fred went for long walks in the park, through the rose gardens and along the remoter paths near the beach. She sometimes went on drives with Peter to out-of-the-way beaches where her bandages didn't matter. But little by little her face was emerging, and so was her personality. It was as though by remolding her cheek-bones and her forehead and her nose, he was also revealing more of the soul that had been hidden by youth. She had matured a great deal in the year since the accident.
Has it already been a year? Faye was astonished as she looked at Nancy one afternoon. Peter was working on the area around her eyes just then, and she was wearing huge dark glasses which hid her cheekbones as well as her eyes.
Yes. It happened last May. And I've been seeing you for eight months, Faye. Do you really think I'm making progress? She sounded discouraged. But she was still tired from her last surgery three days before.
Do you doubt your progress?
Sometimes. When I think of Michael too much. It was a heavy confession for her to make. She was still clinging to the last shreds of hope that he would finally find her, and the deal with his mother would be off. I don't know why I still do that to myself, but I do.
Wait till you get out in the world a little more, Nancy. You have nothing to do now but look back at things you remember, or ahead at things you don't yet know. It's natural that you'd spend a fair amount of time looking back. You have no other people in your life just now, but you will. In time. Be patient.
Nancy sighed a long tired sigh. I'm so sick of being patient, Faye, and I feel like this work on my face will go on forever. Sometimes I hate Peter for it, and I know It's not his fault. He's doing it as fast as he can.
It'll be worth the time you invested in it. It already is. She smiled, and Nancy smiled back. The delicate shape of the girl's face had already emerged, and each week there seemed to be changes. The voice coach had done her work well, too. Nancy's voice was pitched a little lower now, beautifully modulated, and she had far greater control over the smoothness of her voice than anyone without training could have. It gave Faye an idea. Have you ever thought of acting when this is all over? The experience might give you an incredible amount of insight.
Nancy smiled at her and shook her head. Making films maybe, acting in them, no. It's so plastic. I'd rather be at my end of the camera.
Okay, it was just a thought. So what's on your agenda for this week?
I told Peter I'd take some pictures for him, we're flying down to Santa Barbara for the day on Sunday. He wants to see some people there, and he offered to take me along for the ride.
I should lead such a life. Well, kiddo ' She looked at her watch. See you on Wednesday.
Yes ma'am. Nancy saluted with a smile, and Fred bounced out of the room with his leash in his mouth. He was used to the sessions in Faye's office. Nancy never left him behind.
When she left Faye's office, she decided to walk a few blocks toward a little park nearby, to see if there were any children to photograph in the playground. She hadn't taken any shots of kids in a while. When she got there, there was an ample supply of subjects, climbing and pushing and shoving and running. Nancy sat down on a bench for a while to watch them and get a feeling for who they were and what they were up to. It was a beautiful day, and she felt good about life.
Do you come here often?
Michael looked up in surprise from the bench where he sat. He had escaped to the park for an hour, Just to get away from the office and see something green. There was always something magical about those first spring days, when New York turns from gray to lush green, bushes and trees and flowers exploding into life. But he had felt sure he would be alone in the secluded little spot where he had found an empty bench. The sudden voice surprised him. When he looked up he saw Wendy Townsend, the designer from his office.
No' I' as a matter of fact, almost never. But I was having a rare case of spring fever today.
So was I. She looked embarrassed as she held her dripping ice cream stick and then took a quick lick to keep from losing a big slice of chocolate.
That looks delicious. He smiled at her in the warm spr
ing air.
Want some? She held it out like a friendly third grader, but he shook his head.
But thanks for the offer. Would you like to sit down? He felt a little silly being caught in the park, but it was such a nice day he didn't mind sharing it, and she was a pleasant girl. Their paths had crossed a number of times since she'd walked into his office five months before, to wish him a Merry Christmas. She sat down next to him and ate the last of her ice cream. What are you working on these days? he asked.
Houston and Kansas City. My work is always five or six months behind yours. It's kind of interesting to follow on your heels that way.
I'm not quite sure how to take that. But he wasn't particularly worried about it.
As a compliment. She smiled at him from under long auburn lashes.
Thank you. Is Ben treating you decently or is he the slave driver I tell him to be?
He wouldn't know how.
I know. Mike smiled at the thought. We've known each other for half our lives. He's like my brother.
He's a hell of a nice man.
Mike nodded silently, thinking how little he had seen of Ben in the past year. He never had time. He never made time. He didn't even know what was happening in Ben's life. It had been months since he'd taken the time to find out. It made him feel guilty as he sat next to the girl, lost in his own thoughts. But a lot had changed for him in the past year. He had changed.
You're a long way away, Mr. Hillyard. Someplace pleasant, I hope.
He shrugged. Spring does strange things to me. It kind of makes me stop from year to year and take stock. I think that's what I was doing today.
That's a nice idea. For some reason, I always do that in September. I think the idea of the school year' marked me forever. A lot of other people take stock in January. But spring makes the most sense. Everything is starting again, so why wouldn't we start our lives again each spring? They exchanged a smile and Michael looked out over the little lake, still except for a few contented-looking ducks. There were no other people in sight. What were you doing this time last year? She went on. It was an innocent question, but it cut through him like a knife. A year ago on that day '
the Promise (1978) Page 9
