Balancing Act

by Fern Michaels

  “I’m impressed,” Dory said in a hushed voice.

  “So was your mother, that’s why she has this detective on me. She says she wants me to be respectable. Can you believe that? What business is it of hers if I have my ass lifted?”

  Dory watched in stunned amazement as Pixie literally leaped from the sofa. “See what I mean, I sort of bounce.”

  “You know Mom. She’s . . . well, she’s . . . what she is . . .”

  “Dead from the neck down. I’ll say it for you. You know I love her but she drives me nuts. I’m so horny right now I could scream. I don’t dare do a thing with this cretin she hired to watch me. She had the gall to tell me that sex should be curtailed at fifty. Fifty!” Pixie screeched. “I could hardly believe my ears. Fifty! I sent your father a condolence card.” Dory nearly choked on her coffee as she watched Pixie strut around the room. “I refuse, I absolutely refuse to be a geriatric casualty. You should do an article on the subject for that magazine you work for.”

  Dory’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Pix, would you defy Mom and do a layout, baring all? Verbally I mean,” she said hastily as she noticed a wicked gleam in her aunt’s eyes.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Pixie said, flopping down and then bouncing on the sofa. “Of course. Will it be in good taste? Even if it isn’t, I don’t care.”

  “Listen, Pix, if you’re serious, I’ll speak to Katy about it. If it can be done in good taste, you’re our gal.”

  Pixie bounced up again and tugged at her wool sweater. “The talk-show circuit, residuals, commercials—will I get it all?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Who’s going to tell Mom?”

  “He is,” Pixie said, pointing to a man lounging next to a car on the street below. “I refuse to be a party to your mother’s next anxiety attack. Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

  “I sure am. I have to get moving. Why don’t you stay and finish off the coffee. Lock up when you leave.”

  “Would you mind if I stayed the better part of the day? I could do some entertaining while I’m here. I have this friend . . .”

  Dory turned to hide her smile.

  The talk-show circuit yet! Hot damn, it might be good for a story at that. There must be a lot of older women who have the same feelings Pixie has. What do they do? How do they handle it? Her mind started racing as she pictured the layout and the intimate shots they could do of Pixie. By God, it would be interesting! Soiree’s readership, if you believed the last poll, consisted of twenty percent over the age of fifty-five.

  All the way to the office her mind clicked like a computer. It wasn’t until midmorning that she realized she hadn’t thought of Griff or the town house once. She sat down with a thump. She was giving it all up. Permanently or temporarily. Damn, Pixie would make a terrific story, and with the two of them working together it would have been super terrific. She sighed heavily. Someone else could handle it. Someone else would handle it. She would have to read about it like everyone else from now on.

  Katy’s eyes bugged out when Dory presented her idea. She jotted down Pixie’s address and phone number. By the time Dory left the conference room the entire floor was buzzing with the news that David Harlow himself had given the okay to do a cover story with Dory’s sexy old aunt. They were even toying with the idea of putting Pixie’s picture on the cover, Katy said.

  “Harlow said you were to be commended,” Katy gasped. “Commended, mind you. Not congratulated, but commended. Jesus, Dory, do you know who you have to be to get your picture on the cover of Soiree magazine?”

  Dory giggled. “You can’t say I’m leaving quietly. Fanfare, style, that’s my departing theme. You’ll all remember me in the days to come. Why don’t you get us some lunch and I’ll tell you how I’m going to decorate the spare bedroom.”

  “Again? You told me that yesterday and the day before.”

  “That was the living room. This is Griff’s den. The extra bedroom is going to be his study. I thought all earth tones with a few splashes of color.”

  “Where are you going to do your work, your studying?” Katy asked.

  For a moment Dory looked blank. “Oh, I suppose I could use Griff’s desk or the kitchen table. It doesn’t make a lot of difference where I study, I’m adaptable.”

  “I can see that,” Katy said sourly. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Dory. “It’s . . . it’s . . . commendable what you’re doing. Don’t slack off before you start.” Her tone was sour and Dory picked up on it immediately.

  “It’s just that I have so much on my mind. How could I slack off. That’s the main reason for the move. Don’t worry. When you see me next, I’ll be on my way. Do you think you’ll have any difficulty calling me Doctor Faraday?”

  “Not a bit. By the way, I left a pile of information on your desk and all the cookbooks are stacked in boxes. One of the stock boys said he’d drop them off at your apartment after work. There’s even one on microwave cooking.”

  “Katy, that’s fantastic. I’ll buy a microwave. It will make things easy for me when I start school. Thanks for mentioning it.”

  The going-away party for Dory was held in the office at three o’clock. There was champagne punch in plastic glasses and assorted canapés, made by the girls, on paper plates. A Coach leather briefcase was her going-away gift from the office staff. Lizzie and Katy had chipped in and added a matching overnight bag. David Harlow handed her an envelope she didn’t have the nerve to open. His eyes were too readable, too knowing. Suddenly, she felt as though she were swimming upstream in shallow water.

  Later, after all the hugs and kisses, Dory walked through the offices for the last time and opened the envelope. A pink check (why were they always pink?) in the amount of one thousand dollars made her blink. Bribe was the word that came to mind. And then a second: pimp. She swallowed hard. She didn’t want the check. She stuffed it and the envelope into her bag; she’d think of it as a microwave oven. A microwave and three pairs of shoes. Or six pairs of shoes and an electric toaster-oven. Or a new outfit and some schoolbooks. Or, put it in the bank and let it grow some interest. Or tear it up and forget about it? She disliked David Harlow intensely. He was slick, unctuous. Hell, it was company money, not David Harlow’s personal money. That made a difference. It didn’t matter what she did with it. Tomorrow, when she drove down to Virginia, things would look different. One more day and she would be with Griff. Not even one whole day. If she started early in the morning, as she planned, she would be with him around noon. Perhaps they could even have lunch if he was free. She ached for him. Her eyes thirsted for the sight of him and her mouth hungered for his. It was just hours now. Hours till he took her in his arms and wiped away all thoughts of David Harlow and New York.

  The Big Apple. She was actually leaving New York. In her wildest dreams she had never imagined living anywhere else. This was her city, her town, her people. Pixie lived here. Her parents lived here. Her job was here. Wrong . . . Her job used to be here. She didn’t have a job anymore. Now she was a free spirit. Her feelings were so mixed that she wanted to cry.

  As Pixie would say, this was fish-or-cut-bait time. All the decisions were made. Now all she had to do was follow through. She wasn’t giving up her career entirely. She would be keeping her hand in, in a limited way. Freelance work would keep her active. School would definitely be an asset to her later. Perhaps a doctorate wouldn’t actually help her career, but Ph.D. after a name never hurt. Doctor Dory Faraday sounded good no matter how you looked at it. The opportunity was here so why shouldn’t she take advantage of it? Everything would fall into place once she settled into her new home. She could handle it all. She worked best under pressure, when things were at sixes and sevens. Long hours and rigid schedules had never frightened her. She could handle anything as long as Griff was in the picture. Anything.

  Was she making a mistake by leaving the door open at Soiree? Shouldn’t she have cut the cord completely? If she had resigned she wouldn’t have anything to come back to
if things soured between her and Griff. God, why did she have to think of something like that? She couldn’t go off with negative thoughts to start a new life. She had to consider the temporary leave and the open door at Soiree as an option. An option she could either renew or cast aside. It would be her choice.

  Damn it, she hadn’t realized it was going to be so hard to leave. Her life was here. This was life. Dear God, don’t let me be making a mistake, she prayed silently. No, it was the right thing to do. Griff was the right thing. She loved Griff. Happiness was being with Griff. A job was only a job.

  A devil perched on her shoulder. If that’s true, why aren’t you marrying Griff? Why aren’t you making it for life instead of this . . . whatever it is you’re calling it in your mind? “Shut up,” Dory said tartly as she shrugged her shoulders, hoping to dislodge the devil’s unwanted voice that always irritated her when she was in turmoil.

  It was time to leave. She was doing the right thing. It felt right and that would have to be good enough. Griff was right for her. All the rest didn’t matter. Not really.

  Dory said her last good-bye to Sara, her next-door neighbor, promising to keep in touch. Sara handed her a thermos, saying she knew Dory would want to get to Virginia as soon as possible and not have to stop. Dory thanked her and was off, the SUV loaded to the top, the rear end noticeably lower than the front. Books were heavy. Thank God, Griff had flown to Washington and left the SUV for her.

  Shortly after nine o’clock Dory uncorked the thermos and took a healthy swallow. She turned on the radio. Someone was shrieking about a love that lasts forever and ever and ever and then some. She switched the station and Willie Nelson warbled to life. She grinned. Griff loved the seedy, rambunctious Willie with a passion. He had every tape and record the man ever made and could sit and listen dreamily for hours on end. He said Willie was better than any tranquilizer for his animals and would probably make sure that his music was piped into the new clinic.

  At eleven thirty Dory, guided the loaded SUV into her assigned parking space. Sylvia and Lily, pushing a stroller, walked around to the parking area with Duke, the manager, walking just a shade too close to Sylvia. Lily smiled happily and hugged Dory. God, Dory thought, eleven thirty in the morning and Sylvia looked as if she had spent the entire morning in bed. There was no mistaking the look on her face. Dory wondered if John was responsible for the contented, rapturous look—or could it be Duke? She couldn’t help wondering. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “Darling, for hours. The phone people were here at eight. They hooked up the washer and dryer at nine thirty and the movers called to say they’d be here at two o’clock. Your refrigerator came awhile ago and it’s plugged in and running.”

  Dory looked pointedly at Lily. “No, I’m a slouch,” she said. “I just got here. Little Rick naps in the morning. I had to bathe him and feed him and then he was hungry again. I haven’t done a thing. But I’m here now and I’ll be glad to do my share if little Rick can behave himself.”

  Duke smirked as he swaggered over to the car and offered to help with the heavy cartons. “Did you ever see such muscles?” Sylvia whispered.

  “Can’t say that I have,” Dory said, bending over to take a box out of the car.

  “I brought coffee and Lily brought some of her homemade blueberry muffins,” Sylvia volunteered.

  “Where’s Griff?” Dory demanded. “Why isn’t he here?”

  “Darling, he’s in McLean checking on some senator’s horses. John went with him. You won’t see him till late tonight or maybe tomorrow if they have to stay over. This is a whole new ball game for you, so you’d better adjust, darling.” It was clear that she had indeed adjusted. Dory wondered if John had any idea how well.

  “You’ll get used to it, Dory,” Lily said softly. “If you had a bundle of love like little Rick, you’d hardly notice Griff’s absence.”

  Dory’s heart plummeted. She had been looking forward to seeing Griff, and now if what Sylvia said was true, she might not see him till tomorrow. She would have to spend her first night in the town house alone. There would be no one to carry her over the threshhold. Griff would have carried her over it, she was sure of it. He was romantic in so many ways. “Damn,” she muttered. Lily’s eyes flew to the baby to see if he had heard. She frowned to show her disapproval. Dory winced and made a note to be careful of her vocabulary from now on.

  “Why don’t we have those muffins so we can all gain five pounds? Lily uses pure butter, tons of it,” Sylvia complained. “Maybe Duke will be good enough to let us heat the coffee in his apartment. You don’t have any pots. I’ll do it. You two go along and I’ll bring the coffee as soon as it’s ready.” Before Dory could agree or disagree, Lily was pushing the stroller ahead of her and around to the rear of the building. Duke had made three trips to the back and now, with the exception of her luggage, the SUV was empty. Brawn certainly did have its merits. She couldn’t help wondering how artful he was in bed. If Sylvia’s Cheshire-cat smile was any indication, he performed admirably. Sylvia would never settle for less than the best. I wonder if Griff knows, Dory muttered to herself as she trudged behind Lily, lugging two heavy suitcases. Sylvia’s trilling voice and Duke’s phony Texas twang grated on her ears. Damn, she wanted to see Griff. She didn’t need Lily and her baby or Sylvia and her Saks wardrobe and alleycat appetites.

  Inside the town house Lily was unpacking muffins wrapped in waxed paper, Saran wrap and tinfoil. She spread colorful checkered paper napkins to match the paper plates on one of the packed cartons. Dory fought the urge to tell her to leave. The phone shrilled to life and so did little Ricky. Lily tried to quiet the squealing baby as Dory strained to hear Griff’s words.

  “Oh, darling, it’s so good to hear from you. I just this minute got here and Sylvia said . . . Sylvia said . . . When are you coming home, Griff?” she all but cried.

  “Not till tomorrow. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you and I can’t wait to see you. This will give you a chance to start your decorating without me underfoot.”

  “What did you say, Griff? I can’t hear with the baby crying and all.” She sent Lily a murderous look that went right over the young woman’s head. The more she crooned, the louder little Ricky shrieked.

  “He does have a good pair of lungs, doesn’t he?” Griff laughed.

  “What? Talk louder, I can’t hear you.”

  “Never mind, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow, darling.”

  “God damn it to hell, Lily, that was Griff. Couldn’t you keep that kid quiet for two minutes? I have no idea what he said to me,” Dory wailed. She felt like throwing a tantrum to equal little Ricky’s. Instead she sat down with her back against the wall and bit into one of the moist muffins. Lily waited expectantly for her comment. Evidently, Dory’s sharp words about her baby had fallen on deaf ears.

  “Good. Very good,” Dory muttered. Lily frowned. “Delicious. Are they difficult to make?” she babbled. “Can you make them in a microwave oven?”

  “Do you really think they’re good? I spent all last evening making them for today. I brought enough for Griff too, so you won’t have to worry about breakfast tomorrow.”

  Dory ignored her as Sylvia tripped into the kitchen on her three-inch heels. The skin-tight, lime-green coverall was made of silk and clung to Sylvia as though it had been painted on. Three strands of real pearls graced her throat. Dory would have parted with her eye teeth for just one of the strands. The pearls were worth at least four thousand dollars and the coverall around three hundred. She wondered how much John paid for his clothes.

  “Here we are, kiddies, piping hot coffee. I’d like to stay and chat, but I have to go to the hairdresser and then I have an appointment for a pedicure. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, Dory, to see how things are.”

  “You just went to the hairdresser day before yesterday,” Lily grumbled.

  “Darling, I refuse to look dowdy or matronly. It wouldn’t hurt you to pay more attention to
your own looks. You need a rinse and isn’t it time you stopped nursing that child? You look positively . . . fat. You have to start thinking about your figure now.”

  “Why? Rick hasn’t complained. I’ll work on it when little Ricky is older. I want to enjoy every minute of him and nurse him as long as I can.”

  “You’re a fool,” Sylvia said curtly. “I love you, Lily, but you are a homemaking fool. Still, somebody has to do it.” With a breezy wave of her hand Sylvia was gone, her heels clicking on the flagstone walkway.

  “I just bet she slept with that . . . that . . . jockey,” Lily said through pursed lips. “How could she?”

  “It’s easy, you take off your clothes and slip between the sheets. Isn’t that how you got little Ricky?” Dory sniped. God, what was happening to her? Had she really said that to Lily? Evidently she had, for tears welled up in Lily’s eyes. “Look, it isn’t your business or mine. I’m sorry. Let’s forget it. Why don’t you take little Ricky home? I can manage and I’d like to be alone for a while. I’m also very tired.”

  “But Rick said I should stay and help you,” Lily complained. “He’ll be upset with me if I don’t help you.”

  Dory lost what little patience she had left. “Then for God’s sake don’t tell him. The baby looks sleepy. You go along now and I’ll manage very well. Thanks for thinking of me with the muffins. I would like the recipe, if you don’t mind.”

  Lily’s world was suddenly right side up. Her face lit like a beacon. “I’ll call you as soon as I get home and give it to you. You’re sure now that I can’t do anything?”

  “Not a thing. Go along now,” Dory said in a motherly tone.

  The moment Lily and the baby were out of sight, Dory locked the back door and sighed with relief. Now, damn it, she could cry. She could cry or bawl or stamp her feet and bawl at the same time. Instead, she rummaged in one of the cartons till she found a fat, silken comforter. She carried it upstairs to the bedroom. She spread it out by the fireplace and lay down. She had time for a short nap before the movers arrived. Tears clung to her lashes as she closed her eyes in sleep.