Going Back

by Judith Arnold

  “First of all, it’s not such a big house,” she answered, keeping her voice level. “Second, you’ve lived all by yourself too. You should know just how strange it is.”

  “I’ve been living in an attached townhouse condominium,” he corrected her. “That’s different from a whole house, with your own four walls and your own grass to mow.” He shot another glance at her, then grinned. “Frankly, whenever I think about moving into that expanded cape you showed me, it strikes me as weird. Me, all alone, with three different toilets to choose from?”

  “I admit that house is bigger than you need,” she agreed. “But a larger house is a usually better investment than a smaller one. Better resale value.”

  “Besides, those two-and-a-half bathrooms will come in handy when I do business entertaining.”

  “Good point,” Daphne agreed. “And maybe someday you’ll get married and put a diaper pail in one of them.”

  Brad guffawed.

  “Why did you ask me about the shirt?” Daphne asked, figuring that if he could be nosy, so could she.

  His grin vanished, taking his dimples with it. “The truth?” he asked. “I was wondering whether you’d inherited the shirt from a boyfriend.”

  Brad’s comment should have surprised her. That it didn’t was itself surprising. “Why?” she asked, wondering why he was so interested in learning about the possibile existence of a man in her life.

  He mulled over his reply. “Andrea and Eric are married, Melanie and Steve Persky are married, Phyllis has that he-man plumber she’s living with...and you go to parties with a guy who’s just a friend of yours. Is it that you’re just between lovers?”

  Sure, she was between lovers. So what if the gap between one lover and the next spread across years? She wished she could come up with a sassy, light-hearted response to Brad’s probing, but she couldn’t. Not after she and he had been so honest with each other at her house. “I don’t date much,” she said blandly.

  “Why not?”

  “Why not you?” she challenged. “How come you’re still single?”

  Brad accepted her nosiness as she had accepted his—without complaint. “I came mighty close to getting married in Seattle,” he told her.

  “Oh? How close?”

  “Close enough for me to ask her what size ring she wore.” Brad lapsed into thought for a moment, then smiled wistfully. “Nancy and I were together for a long time, and we talked about marriage pretty frequently. She was a terrific woman. Beautiful, cultured, well-educated…”

  “And…?”

  “And it just didn’t work out,” Brad said laconically.

  Daphne gazed across the seat at him. He was remarkably handsome in profile, his nose creating a sharp angle that balanced the rugged line of his jaw. She couldn’t imagine why a woman wouldn’t want to marry Brad.

  “We fought all the time,” he elaborated without prompting. Reflecting on what he’d said, he laughed. “Constantly. About everything. But...she was one terrific woman.”

  Daphne remembered what Midge, her fellow real estate agent, had told Brad when he and Daphne had visited one of the houses Midge had a listing on. “In the inimitable words of my colleague, Midge, a nice young man like you ought to be able to find someone sooner or later.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember,” he said with a nod. His dimples took hold again, and he eyed Daphne playfully. “Bless the woman’s heart. I feel so much better about my prospects now. Isn’t that the park up ahead?”

  “Uh-huh. There’s an empty space between the station wagon and the Samurai. Grab it before someone beats you to it. On a day as gorgeous as this, finding a parking space can be a real challenge.”

  Brad swerved into the empty spot, yanked the parking brake, and switched off the engine. “Come on, Daffy,” he said as he climbed out. “This place is teeming with healthy-looking young people. Let’s see if we can find ourselves some suitable spouses before sooner turns into later.”

  Daphne returned Brad’s grin and opened her door. Watching his loose-limbed stride as he circled the car to help her out, she couldn’t help thinking that, unlike her, he wouldn’t have any difficulty finding himself one of those suitable spouses—sooner rather than later.

  Chapter Six

  IT WAS UNANIMOUSLY decided that, while Indonesian food made for an interesting epicurean adventure, adventure wasn’t really what Phyllis, Andrea and Daphne were looking for in their monthly luncheons. On the first Wednesday in May, they decided to congregate at a new cafe Andrea had heard about which was supposed to have tame cuisine and reasonable prices.

  In Daphne’s opinion, no salad costing fourteen dollars, not even one featuring imported Belgian endive, fresh capers and Dijon mustard dressing, was reasonably priced. But she didn’t care. She could worry about money in the future—and she undoubtedly would, once the euphoria wore off. Today, she was determined to be carefree about the practicalities.

  During the train ride into Manhattan, she had considered sharing her good news with Andrea and Phyllis. But so far, she hadn’t mentioned it. For one thing, it was still too new to her; she herself had only just received word that morning, when Bob Battinger had called her from the Montclair office. She wanted a chance to accustom herself to the situation before she started talking about it to others.

  For another, Phyllis was jabbering non-stop on the subject of her relationship with Jim. Her diatribe had begun the moment the three women were seated in the restaurant. She had paused only long enough to order cocktails for herself and Andrea, and again, briefly, when their entrees were delivered to the table. But she was going great guns now, and Daphne wouldn’t dare to interrupt her.

  “Jealous! Can you believe it?” Phyllis huffed. “He says he’s jealous because of the way I looked at Brad at the party. Looked, mind you—that was all I did. So I said, ‘God gave me two good eyes, and I have every intention of using them.’ To which he said, ‘God gave you a brain, and I don’t see you using that very often.’”

  “Leave him,” Andrea advised. “Hand the SOB his walking papers and kiss him goodbye.”

  “It’s not so simple,” Phyllis argued, indulging in a melancholy sigh. “I do love him, you know. But just because I love him doesn’t mean I can’t look at Brad, does it? You’re happily married, Andrea, and I bet you look at Brad all the time.”

  Andrea laughed. “To tell you the truth, I’m getting a little sick of looking at him. Next Monday is going to be the two-week anniversary of his arrival on our doorstep, and if he hasn’t settled on a house by then, he’s threatening to cash in his return ticket to Seattle. Why don’t you sell him a house already, Daffy?”

  “We’re getting close,” Daphne told her friends. “He’s half the distance to making an offer on an expanded cape I showed him. As a matter of fact, I’m supposed to meet him at his office after lunch today, and we’re going to drive back to New Jersey and check it out one more time. I’m doing my best.”

  Andrea laughed again to reassure Daphne that she was only kidding. “I’m not that sick of him, yet. He offered to move to a hotel after last weekend, but Eric and I said absolutely not. As house guests go, he’s been terrific. Our apartment’s neater than it’s been in months, thanks to Brad. He’s always picking the wet towels off the bathroom floor, he washes any dirty dishes he finds in the kitchen sink—”

  “And he’s something to look at,” Phyllis broke in. She turned to Daphne. “I know Brad isn’t your type, Daff, but don’t you think he’s something to look at?”

  Daphne grinned and twirled her straw through her glass of club soda on the rocks. “Sure, he’s something to look at. So is urban blight.”

  Phyllis scowled. “It’s easy for you two to talk. You’ve both gotten to spend so much time with him since he came to New York. You’ve gotten to gaze into those bedroom eyes of his, and ogle his luscious body…”

  “Especially his cute little buns,” Andrea snorted. “Phyllis, if you want to make a move, make one. Dump Jim and go after Brad. Wh
at’s stopping you?”

  “I don’t know.” Phyllis sighed again and eyed Daphne dolefully. “I don’t even know if I’d like Brad if I ever got close to him. But he does seem to have a lot going for him. What do you think, Daff?”

  Daphne meditated. Ever since Brad had visited her at her house Sunday afternoon, she’d been thinking about how very much he had going for him: the gallantry, however misguided, to have accepted full responsibility for Daphne’s foolishness in college, the courage to force Daphne and himself to confront their past, the sensitivity to believe that a man’s satisfaction came primarily from satisfying his woman. That he picked up the bath towels and washed the dishes at Andrea’s apartment was nice; that he had bedroom eyes and a hot body was also nice. But when Daphne thought about Brad’s most winning attributes, she thought about integrity. Decency. Honesty. The kinds of characteristics she looked for in a friend.

  “I think,” she remembered to answer Phyllis, “he’s very sweet.”

  “Sweet?” Phyllis shuddered. “If he’s sweet, I probably wouldn’t like him at all.”

  An hour later, after a typical squabble over how to divvy up the restaurant bill, Daphne said goodbye to her friends and strolled east to Madison Avenue, where the New York office of Brad’s firm was located. He had mentioned to her that he felt obligated to make more regular appearances at his new office; the people he would be working with there seemed to expect it, and he considered it good politics to show up every now and then, even before his official start date. When Daphne had informed him about her plan to meet Phyllis and Andrea in the city on Wednesday, he’d suggested that she meet him at his office afterward so they could drive back to New Jersey together. It saved Daphne a return trip on the train, and she was looking forward to having Brad’s company for the ride.

  She was also looking forward to selling him a house. She had a gut feeling that he’d make his final decision on a house very soon, possibly that evening. Buying a house could be nerve-wracking, but it was also exciting. Daphne was pleased to think that today might be the big day for Brad—and even more pleased to think that she’d play a part in it. She wanted him to buy himself a house not so she could reap her commission, not so she could settle old scores or remedy old insecurities, but simply because she cared for him.

  The afternoon was slightly overcast but warm. Tucking her purse securely between her elbow and her ribs, she dug her hands into the deep pockets of her loose-fitting blazer and strolled along the crowded sidewalk, whistling. Whistling wasn’t something she ordinarily did, but today she felt as if her only options were to whistle or to fly—and flying, without benefit of an airplane, wasn’t possible.

  So she whistled: the theme from Bridge on the River Kwai, “Heigh-Ho, Heigh-Ho” from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, “I Whistle a Happy Tune” from The King and I, all the great classics of whistling she could think of. She was happy about more than just her imminent meeting with Brad, more than just the likelihood of selling him a house. She was whistling because she hadn’t yet shared her good news with anyone. It was all hers, her own secret, and she reveled in it.

  Brad’s office was located in a foreboding modern skyscraper with exposed steel girders and gray-tinted windows. She entered the gloomy lobby, scanned the directory until she found the name of his firm, and rode upstairs in the elevator.

  She didn’t know much about corporate head-hunting, but judging from the company’s lavish reception area, she concluded that wowing potential clients was significant part of the business strategy. The forest-green carpet was thick and plush, the walls were covered in wallpaper which, if not authentic raw silk, closely resembled the stuff, and the wall behind the receptionist’s semicircular desk—which appeared to have been carved out of a solid block of ebony—held an enormous Jackson Pollack canvas. The receptionist appeared to be a refugee from a modeling agency; she was young, thin, impeccably made-up and sporting an unspeakably modern hairdo that featured spikes pointing every which way.

  Such a glamorous woman would look absurd working in the staid suburban offices of Horizon Realty, Daphne thought with a grin.

  She crossed the reception area to the desk, her heels sinking into the carpet with every step. “My name is Daphne Stoltz,” she identified herself. “I’m supposed to meet Brad Torrance here.”

  The receptionist offered her a practiced smile and signaled Brad on her intercom.

  He entered the reception area several minutes later, slinging on his blazer as he approached Daphne in long, energetic strides. “You’re not a minute too soon,” he welcomed her, grabbing her arm and steering her briskly to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked in bewilderment as they waited for an elevator.

  Brad groaned. “I told those clowns that if they wanted, while I was in the office today, I could meet a few candidates for a new IT position. I mean, I was flattered that they were giving me a chance to voice my opinion. Next thing I know, they’re parading fifteen tech wizards through my office and expecting me to do all the interviews. I thought they were going to screen the first round and narrow it down to a few finalists before they dragged me into it.”

  “Ah, the responsibilities of management,” Daphne said with exaggerated sympathy. By the time she and Brad had reached the building’s ground-floor lobby, she’d begun to whistle again.

  Brad smoothed the collar of his hastily donned jacket, then eyed her suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

  “Whistling,” she answered. More than whistling, she was practically bouncing as she walked beside him down the block to the garage where he’d parked his rental car.

  Brad stared at her, then smiled, curled his fingers around her elbow and tugged her to a stop. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why are you whistling?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be whistling?” she countered.

  “Why shouldn’t you be whistling?” he echoed, considering his answer. “Children are starving in Africa. We’re destroying the ozone layer. Terrorists are building bombs. Three good reasons, right off the top of my head.”

  Daphne laughed. “All right, I’ll stop.”

  “Don’t stop. Just tell me why you’re in such a good mood.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Daphne approached the garage’s cashier booth with Brad and waited as he slid his wallet from his hip pocket and presented the cashier with his ticket. “Now that you’ve got me thinking about the ozone layer, I’m all depressed.”

  Brad laughed, then addressed the attendant. “It’s a silver Toyota,” he said as he counted his change. Turning back to Daphne, he said, “Come on, tell me. Did you sell that million-dollar estate in Saddle Brook?”

  “Upper Saddle Brook,” she informed him. “And I haven’t sold it yet, although the virtual tour video has been viewed more than twenty times since I posted it last week. But if you really want to know...” She deliberately dragged out the telling, partly to see how long Brad’s patience would last and partly to come to terms with the fact that he was the very first person she was going to tell. “I’ve been offered a partnership in Horizon Realty.”

  “A partnership?”

  “A full partnership in the company. One of the partners is retiring, and the other two invited me to buy out his share of the company.”

  Brad’s blue eyes sparkled with delight. “Wow, that’s terrific!” Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her cheek.

  Daphne returned his hug, then returned his kiss. It suddenly seemed marvelous to her that Brad was with her for this special occasion. Andrea and Phyllis were much closer friends, yet they often seemed less than totally involved in the ups and downs of Daphne’s life. Oh, that’s Daffy, seemed to be their attitude. Of course she’s scored a professional coup. What do you expect? That’s Daff for you, stable and safe and making her way through this world without any major psychological trauma.

  They would have been excited for her, of course. They would have cheered, raised their cocktails in a toas
t to her, congratulated her...and then resumed quarreling about what Phyllis ought to do with Jim.

  But Brad’s focus was solely on Daphne, his only apparent desire to share her joy. Andrea and Phyllis wouldn’t have hugged Daphne, but Brad did—and it felt wonderful. His arms were strong, his embrace powered by the delight he took in her good fortune. She felt flooded with warm emotion for him, an emotion much more intense than what she’d felt the night he had taken her to bed.

  Shocked by that realization—shocked that in the middle of a friendly embrace she could think about Brad in sexual terms—she relaxed her hold on him. As her hands fell from his shoulders, she acknowledged how conscious she was of their sturdiness and solidity, and as she took a discreet step back from him she admitted how delicious his lean male body had felt against hers. As he released her, she suffered an inexplicable stab of loss.

  You couldn’t lose what you’d never had in the first place, she reminded herself, trying to erase her memory of his light kiss. Thinking of Brad as a man wasn’t safe. And weren’t Phyllis and Andrea always saying that Daphne preferred safety?

  “There’s your car,” she murmured, grateful for the distraction as the attendant cruised up the ramp in the silver Ford.

  If Brad noticed the alteration in Daphne’s mood, he didn’t comment on it. He opened the passenger door for her, then climbed in behind the wheel and steered out of the garage, merging with the traffic on the street. “Now tell me more about this partnership offer,” he said, using a stop at a red light to remove his jacket and toss it into the back seat. He managed to loosen his tie and unbutton the cuffs of his shirt sleeves before the light turned green again. “When did you find out?”

  “This morning. Mr. Battinger called—I mean, Bob.” Daphne laughed faintly. “I guess I can stop thinking of him as Mr. Battinger now, if I’m going to be his equal in the firm.” Talking about the partnership offer was certainly much less dangerous than thinking about how good Brad’s arms had felt around her. She hoped she and Brad could talk about business until they reached the house he was considering buying, and then they could talk about that, and by the time they’d run that topic into the ground, Daphne wouldn’t have to worry anymore about reliving the sensation of Brad’s lips brushing her cheek.