Pot of Gold

by Judith Michael

  "Almost one of the family," said Hale as Gina and Claire embraced. "She's here all the time, seems like; as crazy about cleaning up after horses as Roz is. Claire, let me take your coat. I know Quentin doesn't have one; he never does. Only man I know who's never cold. There's some people in the living room waiting to meet you, Quentin, and plenry to drink, as usual."

  Roz put her arm around Claire. "I'm glad to see you; last-minute parties are always the best, don't you think.'' Did I ever thank you for sending me Gina.'' She's wonderful on the farm. She's wonderful, period. I'm getting a lot done that I've been planning for years and just never got around to. You'll have to come out in the daytime and see what we're doing. And take those riding lessons you never took."

  She was talking a little too fast and Claire wondered why she was nervous. "You girls coming.'"' Hale asked, closing the door to the coat closet and turning toward the living room.

  "In a minute," said Roz. "I want to talk to Claire."

  "More secrets," he said with a mock sigh. "Things going on all the time and I don't know half of them. I come out from New York for a day or two and it hardly feels like my own house anymore."

  Roz and Gina were watching him. "Well, I know, I know, it never was," he said with a short laugh. "Roz bought it with her money, runs it with her money. I'm not allowed to forget that. Claire, you want me to bring you a drink.-*"

  She shook her head. "I'll have one later. And I want to talk to you about mail for Emma that's coming to Kiger Labs."

  "For Emma.''" Gina said. "How could that happen.''"

  "I've got a few in my briefcase if you want to see them," Hale said to Claire. "They're a little dim. these women, but at least we know that Emma's making an impression. And that's what we want, vou know; that's what we need. And Emma's terrific, vou

  know; I think we'll be offering her a contract one of these days, a damned good one. A good contract. For a good model and a good girl. You say the word when you're ready and I'll get you those letters."

  Claire watched him go into the living room. "Why is everyone so nervous around here.'"' she asked.

  "Come this way," Gina said, and led the way down the hall to a small den with a leopard-patterned rug and a cur'ed green velvet couch. A fire was burning in the marble fireplace, and the heavy, fringed draperies were pulled shut. Gina put another log on the fire, poked it a little, then said, "Let's sit. Are you sure you don't want a drink.''"

  "Do I need one.'"' Claire asked. "What's going on.''"

  "Well, I wanted you to know about Hale and me," Roz said. "If you want to know why he's nervous, it's because his latest lady friend called from New York this morning and demanded to know why I was refusing to divorce Hale so he could marry her. I told her there was no problem; if she wanted to marry Hale, she could start making plans."

  "You're getting a divorce," Claire said. "Am I ver' slow or something.-^ I didn't see this coming."

  "You're not slow, Claire; you see more than most people. Nobody saw it coming. I thought it would probably happen someday, but I couldn't swear to it, and Hale didn't have a clue. Well, he wouldn't. He tells all his women I won't divorce him; it's his security blanket."

  "But something happened.'"' asked Claire. "You've made up your mind to do it now.''"

  "As fast as I can. I'm going to tell him tonight, when—"

  "He doesn't know.''"

  "He probably sees the handwriting on the wall, but if you mean have I talked to him about it, I haven't. But I will, tonight, when you've all gone home to your peaceful beds."

  "And what will you do then.^"

  "Stay right here, my favorite place in the world. It is mine, you know, and Hale's always resented it. At first he resented the time I spent here; he wanted me in the city with him. But then he started in with his young chicks—this was about ten years ago, when our kids were both gone—and then he didn't care where I was. But he didn't like the money I put into it, either; he's always

  thought of it as ours even though I kept it in my own name. Maybe he expected me to leave him my fortune in my will. But that would mean he assumed I wouldn't outlast him. Or he didn't really think it through."

  "It sounds very unpleasant," Claire said.

  "Well, then, I'm exaggerating. We really get along pretty well. We haven't had a fight in the longest time; I can't even remember the last one. We didn't even fight this morning when that stupid woman called. Maybe that's one of the problems. Neither of us cares enough to fight. Anway, I'm staying here, I live here, I love it, and Gina's helping me run it, and I feel better about myself than I have in a long, long time."

  She looked at Claire almost defiantly. "I'm glad," Claire said, thinking how odd it was that Roz seemed as defensive about this divorce as if they were living a hundred years ago instead of in a time when everyone they knew was either divorced or close to someone who was. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

  "Oh, love and encouragement are all I need right now. And between you and Gina I'll be fine. I just wanted you to know. I didn't want you to hear about it from someone else. And I hope Emma won't think less of me. I mean, she's only been here once, but I'd like her to come a lot and really learn to ride, and if she thinks things have changed here—"

  "Think less of you.^ Of course she won't. Good heavens, Roz, I'm divorced; Emma doesn't surprise easily about the way people live these days. She'll like you as much as she always has. If she has time to think about anybody but Brix, that is."

  "Is she still seeing so much of him.'" Roz asked.

  "She never sees him more than once ever week or ten days, and a couple of times it's gone as long as two weeks. But when she's not with him, she's agonizing over his silence, or whatever he said or didn't say on their last date, or whatever it is she's worried about with him. Sometimes I think she's afraid. Not that he'll drop her, though I'm sure she's afraid of that, but also of something more serious. I don't know what that could be, but I sense it."

  "She doesn't talk to you at all.'^" CJina asked.

  "She's tried, a couple of times, but it's as if she's so sure I'll criticize him that she can't take the chance. And 1 guess she's right; I would. Did you tell her to talk to me.'"

  "I told her she'd be a lot better off if you two connected."

  "Well, we're not connecting. And I don't see it happening soon."

  Quentin appeared in the doorway. "There are people who want to meet you," he said to Claire.

  "I'm sorrv." She went to him, then turned back to Roz and Gina. "Thank you for telling me," she said, and followed Quentin down the hallway.

  "Telling you what.-^" he asked.

  "About a project they're going to do together."

  He dismissed them without interest. "Hale invited these people for me," he said, holding her back at the entrance to the living room. "Their name is Collop and they own a small food company in New Hampshire."

  "Collop's jam. I've bought it. It's ver' good. They make breads, too, I think, and cakes and cookies, though I haven't bought those. They have a beautifully designed catalog."

  "You should make a point of telling them that. They're thinking of selling the company and I may decide to buy it. I want you to find out all you can about it and about them. Design is a good place to start."

  Wait a minute. Claire looked into the living room where twenrv' people stood about in small groups or sat near the fire. Vm at a parly. Vm not at work, and neither is Quentin. This isn't the time or the place for him to be giving me assignments. And besides, Im a designer, not a spy.

  "Hale is going to show^ me those letters," she murmured, and walked quickly into the living room. "Can I see them now'"' she asked Hale, who was standing near a coffee table almost covered by a cast-bronze, galloping horse.

  "Sure thing. Did you have a good talk with the girls.^"

  "Yes. Hale, if this isn't a good time for you to leave your guests—"

  "No, it's okay; come on, we'll do it right now." He led the way to a librar^ at the end of the h
ouse, illuminated by another fireplace. "Roz likes fires," Hale said. "It's like living in the seventeen hundreds, like nobody ever invented furnaces and light bulbs; you expect to see Pilgrims marching by. Probably burning somebody at the stake," he added gloomily. He opened a briefcase, "I brought about a dozen; we have more in the office. You

  can have them all, if you want. Emma might get a kick out of them."

  He watched Claire open an envelope and scan the letter. "Listen, Claire, your PK-20 designs; they're terrific. I know we've told you that, but I'm looking ahead and I think you ought to be thinking about taking other clients. You wouldn't have to worry about me telling Quentin; he always feels he's bought us when we work for him, so he doesn't have to know. But if you decide to do it, I've got a couple of clients, major companies, Claire, not piddling stuff, who'd like your work. You don't have to answer right now, but think about it. You know, you were so far ahead of the other two firms Quentin called, there wasn't even a contest. . . . Is something wrong.^"

  Claire was frowning. "The other two firms.'*"

  "He didn't tell you.^ Well, that's Quentin. He never trusts anybody to do what he wants; he always puts two or three people on something, at least until he's absolutely sure of them. He trusts me and Tod Tallent by now . . . well, you know, I couldn't swear to that. He might be getting proposals from all kinds of people every time he starts a new campaign; how do I know, I'm only the hired help."

  "You're his friend."

  He shrugged. Claire returned the letter to its envelope and slipped the small bundle into her black evening bag. "We should get back."

  "Is Roz going to leave me.''" he asked abruptly.

  "Hale, the only person who can answer that is Roz."

  "Right. I'm afraid to ask. She thinks I don't care about her because I . . . dabble now and then, you know, sort of test the waters to see if everything's still working the way it ought to, and if I'm . . . oh, shit, you know, desirable, what a lousy word, but it doesn't mean anything, you know, it's like a game, it doesn't mean a damn thing; I'm crazy about Roz, that's never changed."

  "Claire," Quentin said from the doorway.

  "I'm sorry," she said, and went to him. He put his arm around her and she felt the long wave of desire that he could arouse with the slightest touch. "Thank you for the letters," she said to Hale as Quentin turned her with him and they left the room. "I didn't mean to stay away so long," she said, and wondered why she was apologizing.

  "It's important to me that you're with me," he said. "Not just in the vicinity, but beside me. I've told you that before."

  "I know."

  "Was he asking you to work for him.^"

  Claire hesitated. "He said he had some cHents who would be interested in my work."

  Quentin stopped beside the fire in the foyer fireplace, before they reached the living room doorway. "You work for me, Claire. I have enough to keep you busy for a long time, especially working part-time. I don't want you working full-time; I told you that when we began this project."

  "What you didn't tell me was that you talked to two other firms about the PK-20 line while you were telling me I'd be the head designer for it."

  "Of course I did. I'd have been crazy not to. Did you really think I'd give this whole project to someone who'd never been in charge of one before.'^"

  "You told me you liked my ideas."

  "I did. Good God, Claire, stop being childish. You keep reducing things to a personal level. This had nothing to do with whether I thought you were good or not; it had to do with getting the best designs in the shortest time. Your kind of person works best when you think you're in charge: you're more creative and you work harder. I have a lot riding on this—"

  "More than you have on our being together."

  "What the hell does that mean.^"

  "You could have told me. If you'd cared about how I felt, you would have explained it to me and I would have understood. I know a good deal about business; I spent a lot of my life dealing with businesspeople. But even if I hadn't, you owed me the courtesy of telling me what you were doing. And I would have thought you'd want to share your thinking and your worries with me—"

  "I don't share my thinking with people who work for me."

  Claire pulled away from him, her eyes furious. "I work for Goddard Designs. At the moment, you're a—"

  "Goddard Designs.?" He chuckled. "Do you really need that, Claire.'' Is it to compete with me.'' You don't have to be a business; your work is excellent and you're an extraordinarily lovely woman, and none of that would be helped by a corporate logo."

  "At the moment, you're a client," Claire went on. She knew she was being reckless, but having created a company out of thin air in the last twenty seconds, and suddenly feeling excited about it, she had to defend it. "And if I decide I have time to take on other clients, or if I decide to hire a staff, that's what I'll do. We don't even have a contract, Quentin."

  His amusement was gone. "Has one been necessary.'"'

  "No, of course not." She cringed inwardly as she saw his face darken. "And it's not now. But I have to think about . . ."

  "What.^" he demanded when she fell silent.

  "Having something to focus on," she said at last.

  "You have me. You have your friends and your home and your daughter. You're comfortable enough to make work a pastime instead of a daily drudgery. Why can't you learn to live like a woman with money.''"

  Claire gazed into the fire. The flames were low, curling long fingers around the remnants of logs. "It isn't drudgen,. Someone told me, just this morning, that writing is a leap of faith and a declaration of love. I didn't realize it until he said it, but that's what design is, too."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "I'm sorrv' to hear that. You don't feel something like that in your work.^ That you're creating something new, with a kind of commitment that is like passion.''"

  "I wouldn't use those words for it."

  "No," Claire said softly. "I can see that."

  "Do you lack for passion in your life.''"

  Claire sighed. There was only one acceptable answer to that. "Of course not, Quentin."

  He put his arm around her again. "If you insist on forming your own company, we can work it out so that it's satisfactory to both of us, perhaps as a subsidiary of Eiger Labs. We'll deal with it tomorrow. Now I want to introduce you to these people, and I want to leave right after dinner; I want to be home, with you."

  Claire rested against him briefly. She wanted that, too. But it would not last. She knew it would not because her sexual desire was so deeply entwined with the mindless comfort she still found in his authoritarianism that she knew as soon as she rebelled against his authority that desire would vanish. But for now, she could not ignore it, or even diminish it.

  Emma and I, she thought; and wondered if Emma reahzed what had happened to her with Brix: that she was caught with a man who seemed so powerful she could not escape her own desire and so became submissive. I have to talk to her about it, Claire thought. But she knew she could not until she had broken away from Quentin.

  That's what I have to figure out how to do, she told herself as they joined the party in the living room. But first, tomorrow morning I'm going to form Goddard Designs, Incorporated, and it won't be a subsidiary of anything.

  TWELVE

  E

  M M A saw Brix watching from the doorway and her heart leaped. Her body leaned toward him. "Hey," Tod Tallent said.

  "Fm sorry," she murmured, and resumed her pose, leaning back on her hands, her long legs stretched out, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, as if soaking up the sun. She was wearing white shorts and a white bikini top and she sat in a circle of blinding light.

  "Nice," Tod muttered, circling her. "Okay, Emma, that's it. The last shoot of the campaign, unless somebody has a brilliant idea and we start again. You've been terrific; I hope we work together again sometime."

  Emma stood and hugged him, catching him
unawares. "You're so nice, Tod. Thank you for being nice and making me look good."

  "Sweetheart, you made me look good. It's been a blast. You'll be on the road in January-, right.'' Personal appearances and all that.'"'

  "I don't know. I think so. Nobody's said anything definite."

  "Well, whatever. You'll do great. I guess you want to get going."

  Emma blushed because she knew he had seen her glancing at Brix, longing to go to him. "It's just that—"

  "No sweat, it's okay. Listen, Emma, before you go."

  "Yes.''" she said when he paused.

  "You need an agent. You're going to be too big to handle this yourself, even if it's you and your mother doing it."

  "Too big?"

  "Hale's been getting calls. Ralph Lauren. Donna Karan. One or two others. These are not little ma-and-pa outfits, as you well know; these are major players, and they're interested in you. They know you've been getting mail; they know all about you. Plus, what do you do when Eiger offers you a contract.^"

  "Are they going to.'^"

  "That's what I hear."

  "How do you—"

  "I listen. You wouldn't believe how much I hear. People think the guy with the camera is deaf, like all my faculties are tied up in the viewfinder; it's very weird. Anyway, I just thought. . . you know, a suggestion ..."

  "Hale didn't tell me about Ralph Lauren or Donna Karan, or anybody."

  "Well, maybe I'm wrong. Ask Brix; he knows about it. Goodbye, sweetheart; you take care of yourself."

  Emma stood still, frowning, when he left. Brix crossed the empty room and stood close to her, running his hands over her warm, bare arms, her back, around her waist. He slid his fingers inside the bikini top and held her breast. "Emma, you are one fantastic girl. I just about went crazy, watching you."

  He put his other arm around her, pulling her roughly to him, and kissed her, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. Emma's skin prickled beneath his tweed suit, her bare toes pressed against the glossy shine of his shoes, her fingers lay along the starched crease of his shirt collar. She felt embarrassed by being almost naked while he was so completely and professionally clothed and she opened her eyes, confused by too many sensations. "I have to get dressed."