Balancing Act

by Fern Michaels

  While Dory prepared the sandwiches Pixie trekked about the kitchen opening and closing cabinet doors. Neat too. She kicked at the evergreen boughs, shoving them into a corner, and peered through the glass on the back door. The cobalt sky was fast darkening. The snow had stopped, thank God. Snow was the enemy. A body could slip and fall and then they stuck pins in you to put you back together. She meandered back to the sink area. She forced a casual note into her tone. “What do the red X’s mean?”

  Dory stared at her aunt and then at the calendar. She’d known that sooner or later the foxy old lady was going to question her about it. Her voice was light as air when she replied, “I suppose you could say they’re my bottom line.”

  “The big red circle, what does that mean?”

  “I have to make a phone call on that day. That’s the real bottom line. Here’s your sandwich, Pix. I trimmed the crust off the rye since I know it’s hard for you to chew.”

  “I knew there was a reason I put you in my will. Did I tell you I have receding gums? It’s tough to grow old.”

  “Pixie, you’ll never be old. Not to me. You want to hear something funny? Every time in my entire life that I’ve been in a fix you’ve showed up. ESP, eh?”

  “Not exactly. That mother of yours is the one you can thank. She called me the other day and said she thought you could use a good dose of me ahead of schedule. Said you didn’t sound like yourself. That’s the main reason I’m here.”

  Dory’s mouth dropped open. “You mean that entire business with Mr. Cho was a put-on?”

  “My God, no. I was going to just call you from the airport on my way, but when your mother said you needed me, I decided that Mr. Cho would have to wait an extra three days to ravage my body. That’s what they do nowadays. They ravage and plunder your body. I read that in a romance book. God, I can’t wait.”

  Dory stared at her aunt and then burst out laughing. “Pixie, you got guts.”

  “So do you. Now, get on your hind legs and put them to use.”

  Dory cleared the table. Pixie yawned and pleaded for a nap. “I think I’ll have a nightcap first,” she said, picking up the brandy bottle and carrying it into the den.

  “Sofa bed’s all made up. Just crawl in. What time do you want me to wake you up?”

  “You know I die when I fall in bed. Don’t ever try to wake me. I might be having one of those lascivious dreams I love. I’ll see you later.”

  Dory flicked on the television. The evening news was going off the air. What was she going to do with the rest of the evening? She knew from long experience that Pixie would sleep straight through till morning. The greenery. She might as well start on it. It would be nice for Pixie to see the house decorated before she left. It was a good thing she had her present. She would have plenty of time to wrap it before the older woman left. It was a gag gift, the only kind that Pixie would accept. A leather-bound journal embossed in heavy gold leaf. The perils and pitfalls in the life of Pixie Browning Baldeman Simmons Caruthers Ninon Roland Fallon. The salesman had stared at her in amazement when she told him yes, I want every word on the front. It had been hard to keep a straight face. Even harder when he told her how much it was going to cost. Pixie would love it now that she was going off on another one of her escapades.

  It was after midnight when Dory swept up the last pine needle. The place really did look gorgeous—festive, bright, and cheerful. That’s what the holidays were all about. The huge, red velvet bows on the staircase were magnificent. The garlands of greenery were fragrant and rich. Dory drew in her breath, savoring the tangy scene. She had always loved Christmas. She looked at the six-foot evergreen in the corner. That had been a job to get into the stand but she had managed. It used to take her father, her mother, her brother and herself to stand the tree in the tub that was used for just that purpose. She had done it alone. Alone, with no help. She had surveyed the scene, calculated the best way to get the screws into the thick trunk and then done it. True, she was scratched and her robe was almost ruined, but she had done it alone. She had put up a six-foot Scotch pine Christmas tree. Tomorrow, she would string the lights and put on the decorations. It wasn’t till she was climbing up the stairs that it occurred to her that she hadn’t wondered once how Griff was going to react to all the decorating.

  It was womb dark when she turned off the last light and settled into bed. She smiled to herself in the darkness as Pixie’s loud, lusty snores wafted up the stairs.

  Chapter Nine

  Dory fussed with the evergreen boughs over the fireplace in the living room, adjusting a bright red bow and shiny glass ornaments. Aunt Pixie sat curled up on the sofa, watching her, from time to time complaining about the “absolutely fattening” aroma coming from the kitchen as dinner simmered in expectation of Griff’s arrival home.

  “How does the house look, Pix? Think Griff will approve?”

  Pixie snorted in her most unladylike fashion. “Dear heart, you are sleeping with the man. You should know what he likes and doesn’t like, not I. Are you always so uncertain where this young man of yours is concerned?”

  Dory winced. “Ouch! Right to the point, Pix. No, I know what he likes in bed well enough. I was wondering about the decorations.”

  “If he exhibits the same good taste as myself, he’ll think they’re atrocious. Don’t you think you’ve overdone it, Dory?” Pixie’s keen eyes circled the room, taking in the extravagant and, to her mind, tacky Christmas cheer. “If you were so set upon using poinsettias, why didn’t you buy real ones? Silk is overrated, don’t you think?”

  Dory laughed. “I suppose you’re right, but the real ones need so much care. This way, I’ll be able to use them again next year.”

  Pixie raised an eyebrow and studied her niece. “Next year? Do you mean to say you intend to make a uniform out of those faded jeans and that fuzzy sweater you’re wearing? God, Dory, will it take you a year to see what’s becoming of you?”

  Dory bristled. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with a woman loving her home and her man and taking the best possible care of both? Honestly, Pix, sometimes you make me feel that if I’m not wearing an Albert Nipon original I’m no one at all! I’ve had enough of juggling a career and a private life. I’m happy! Leave me alone, okay?”

  “And Griff?” Pixie asked. Obviously the thrust of her question was lost on Dory. Pixie wanted to know if Dory thought Griff was happy with these changes in the woman he had fallen in love with.

  “Griff’s wonderful,” Dory answered, “and you know you love him. He’s a terrific man and he adores you.” Pixie sniffed. “I’m into old smoothies myself. He isn’t one of those, what do they call them, those macho types?”

  “Jocks? No. He’s just a great guy. Levelheaded. Warm and kind, loves his work. You barely met him in New York. You’ll love him when you get to know him. Any guy who loves animals is okay. Animals have a sense about people.”

  “How can you say that, Dory?” Pixie demanded as she drained her drink.

  “Very easily. It’s true. Everyone knows that animals have a keen instinct and trust only reliable, likable people.”

  “Then how do you explain that Saint Bernard attacking me ten years ago when we were vacationing in Maine? I still think your mother sicced that dog on me.”

  “You were carrying the brandy bottle. All that dog wanted to do was lick your face. That dog was a real love. He was Mother’s shadow for a good many years.”

  “Yeah, until he . . . never mind, your mother is a lovely woman . . . most of the time . . . like when she isn’t minding my business. She’s never approved of me. She’s going to kill herself with all that golf she plays. What are we going to drink when this brandy is gone?” Pixie complained as she shook the empty bottle, “cough syrup?”

  Dory tried to keep a straight face. Her mother and aunt’s battles had been going on for years. “How about some vodka or gin? I have some bourbon. I think it’s a hundred proof. Almost as good as your white lightning. You know something, Pix
, you’re fast.” Dory grinned as Pixie trotted into the kitchen toting a bottle of bourbon.

  “I hope this was a good year for bourbon,” Pixie said, breaking the seal on the bottle. “I never really got into bourbon. But when in Rome . . .”

  “I could have Griff stop and pick up some more Scotch on his way home.”

  “What? And have him think I’m a drunk? Never. I’ll suffer with this bourbon.” Dory watched in awe as Pixie filled her wineglass almost to the brim.

  “He’d never think that, Pix. And if he did, he’s too much of a gentleman to say so.”

  “What kind of wine are you serving with dinner? And what is that mess you keep stirring?”

  “Red. And this is stew. Very nourishing, lots of vitamins. Crusty French bread and a cherry pie. I baked the pie last month and put it in the freezer.”

  “I can’t eat all that,” Pixie said in horror. “What time will Griff be here?”

  “Any minute now. Move over so I can set the table.”

  “You mean you don’t use paper plates? Who’s going to wash all these dishes?”

  “The dishwasher. Don’t worry, I remember that soapy water makes brown spots on your hands. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do dishes.”

  “You’re such a wonderful child,” Pixie said, tilting the bourbon bottle.

  Griff arrived minutes later. Dory stood by and watched while Pixie and Griff gave each other a big hug.

  “What are you drinking?” Griff asked. “Looks good. How about making a tired man a Scotch and water?”

  “She can’t. There isn’t any more,” Pixie said, sipping at her drink.

  “Oh, I thought we had a full bottle. That’s okay, how about some brandy?”

  “There isn’t any,” Pixie said.

  Griff nodded. “What you’re saying is you drank the Scotch and the brandy, and if I want a drink, I better take some of this bourbon or that’s going to be gone too.”

  “You got it. And when that’s gone it’s cough syrup for the both of us. I do like a fully stocked liquor cabinet,” Pixie complained.

  “I thought I had one.” Griff grinned at Dory.

  “That’s right, you did, but you had nothing in reserve. That’s the keyword, reserve.”

  “I’ll remember that. Where are you going with all those suitcases? Looks like the Grand Tour.”

  “I’m going to Hong Kong to get married.”

  Griff choked and sputtered. Dory wasn’t sure if it was Pixie’s declaration or that he had just happened to notice her fringed Indian slippers.

  “Who . . . who’s the lucky man?”

  “Probably a gentleman of dubious nature. I haven’t met him yet. Don’t look so shocked. We’ve been pen pals for a while. He writes a mean letter, or at least that’s what the man at the Chinese embassy tells me. He translates them for me since they’re written in Chinese.”

  Dory filled a bowl with stew and set it in the middle of the table. A long loaf of crusty bread and a small crock of butter, along with a plate of fresh cut vegetables, were set on a mat near Pixie.

  “I’ll just pick,” she said, filling her plate to the edge. “This girl is a whiz, a pure whiz. I had no idea you could cook like this, Dory. You must be very proud of her, young man.”

  Pixie made a pretense of sipping at her drink while she watched Griff’s face. His eyes were blank and his face actually stilled. It was the first time she had ever seen that happen. A writer says such things in a novel, and the reader tries to imagine what a face looks like when it stills. Now Pixie was actually seeing it happen. Nothing moved on Griff’s face. Then he smiled, but the blank look remained in his eyes. “Very proud. Wait till you taste the cherry pie.”

  “I have no intention of tasting the cherry pie. It’s obscene to serve pie after a big meal like this,” Pixie said as she ripped off a chunk of bread. “I can only eat the center or one of my four partials will come unglued.”

  “That makes sense,” Griff said.

  “I’ll donate an emergency room to your clinic if you can use one. Do animals have emergency rooms? I want my name over the door. Is that okay with you?”

  Griff swallowed hard, his eyes imploringly on Dory. Was the old lady so plastered she didn’t know what she was saying or did she mean it? Dory kept on eating, refusing to meet his gaze. “I . . . I think that can be arranged. Our clinic is new and we could certainly use another room. Are you sure you want to do this? What I mean is, you don’t have to feel you . . .” he floundered for words.

  “What you’re trying to say in a tactful manner, young man, is you think I’m blitzed and tomorrow I won’t remember. Ha! I can hold my liquor and I get my liver checked once a month at the same time I go to the proctologist. At my age you can’t leave anything to chance. When I told the doctor about these headaches he told me to stop reading. Eyestrain. So simple and I was so worried. This wine is terrible, Dory. Of course I’ll remember. I love animals. Animals have a sense about people . . . don’t they, Dory?”

  “Have some more bourbon,” Griff offered. Dory continued to stare at her plate.

  “With stew? Goodness, a body could get sick doing something like that. Maybe with my coffee.” Pixie leaned back in her chair and lit a cigarette. “Are you sure now that my name will be over the door of the emergency room? And the word ‘Emergency’ clearly painted on the door. That’s a must. I love to do good deeds as long as everyone knows I do them. I never hide my light in a closet.”

  “That’s under a bushel, Pix,” Dory said.

  “Whatever. I’ll call a banker in the morning before I leave. Send me a picture. A colored one, and then another one when the first patient is treated.”

  “I’ll do that,” Griff gasped.

  “I told you, Dory, I couldn’t eat any of that pie. My God, there must be at least a thousand calories in one piece. Nuts and raisins, too. A small piece, I’ll just pick.”

  When Dory carried the last dish to the dishwasher Pixie got up from the table. “I fear one of those damnable headaches is coming on. Dory, you should have stopped me from reading the National Enquirer.”

  Griff was full of concern for Dory’s aunt. “I have some strong headache pills. Can I get you a couple? I know what it is to get a headache.”

  “Good heavens, no. Medicine of any kind never touches this body,” Pixie said. “I’ll just take this bourbon with me in case I need something to make me sleep. You can always count on a good bourbon to put you to sleep. Dory, it was a wonderful dinner; even though I just picked I could tell. Don’t get up, dear boy, these feet can still find the way.” With a wild flourish she picked up the bourbon bottle and succeeded in knocking the crust off the cherry pie. She grabbed a piece of the crust to “nibble” on and made her way to her room.

  Griff cleared his throat. “Tell me she’s real. The truth now.”

  In spite of herself Dory laughed. “She’s about as real as they come. She grows on you is what she does.”

  “Are you telling me she’s serious about the emergency room?”

  “She takes her ‘good deeds’ as seriously as she does her drinking. If I were you, though, I’d make sure her name is very big. Very big. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure it gets in the papers. She’s big on papers too. Especially the National Enquirer. She reads it from cover to cover.”

  “What say you and I have a drink in front of the fire? I have to unwind after that lady. She’s a piece of work, your aunt. Or did she drink all the good stuff? What do you two have planned?”

  Dory giggled. “Every last drop. I can make us some hot chocolate. There’s some hot coffee left. We’re just going to wing it. Visit. Talk. Old times, that kind of thing. Why do you ask?”

  Griff rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a thin envelope. “Here, I finally remembered to pick up the theater tickets you wanted. Why don’t you and Pixie go. You won’t miss me. The two of you will have a ball.”

  Dory’s entire body froze. How cool he was being. How blasé. He didn’t want to go to the
theater with her. Not anymore. Before he would have gone simply to please her and pretend he was enjoying himself. Was it too much effort to pretend these days? And that look of relief on his face when he held out the tickets to her. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe Griff was simply being generous in giving up the tickets so Pixie could enjoy herself. Don’t think about it now, her inner voice warned.

  “What’s it going to be, hot chocolate or coffee?” she asked brightly.

  “It’s not a drink I want, it’s you. Come on, woman, let’s you and me snuggle up in front of the fire and make wild, passionate love.”

  Dory linked her arm in Griff’s. “Best offer I’ve had all day. I’m going to hold you to that wild part.”

  Griff smiled lecherously. “You’re on.”

  “But not in front of the fire. Pix might hear us. Up in our room, okay?”

  “Okay.” Griff’s voice was husky and sexy and his arms were warm and so strong.

  Dory’s eyes went to the unfinished dishes. “Give me a minute and I’ll be right up.” She pushed him toward the doorway. “Two minutes,” she called after him, rushing back to the sink to rinse out the coffee cups and put the milk and pie in the fridge. One chore led to another and it was nearly twenty minutes before she climbed the stairs to their room and the softly glowing fire Griff had lit. He was sprawled on their bed, head cradled in his arms, fast asleep.

  There was a sadness in Pixie’s eyes when she said her good-byes at the airport. She clutched her Christmas gift tightly in mittened hands. “Pix, you’re the only woman in the world who would wear mittens with a sable coat. I hope your first entry in the journal proves to be memorable,” Dory whispered as she hugged the old lady, careful not to disturb the freshly curled wig. “Write. Send it to Mom’s house and she’ll see that I get it.”

  “Gotcha.” Pixie kissed Griff soundly and waved airily to Dory as she bounded up the ramp behind a group of chattering youngsters.

  Entering the town house the couple was assaulted with the scent of fresh evergreens. “I love it, reminds me of when I was a kid. I still can’t believe you put that tree up yourself. You are absolutely amazing,” Griff said, kissing her softly on the neck. “Hmmmmn, you do wild, wonderful things to me. Let’s forget dinner and go to bed. We haven’t been spending enough time together and it’s all my fault. I didn’t realize we were going to be so damn busy. Usually, when you open a clinic like ours it takes a good year to become established. I guess John’s and Rick’s fame has spread. I was the one who got that colt to nurse, though. There was a congenital obstruction in the pharynx, which required emergency surgery. Almost lost the little beauty. It was touch and go for a few hours.”