Dear Emily

by Fern Michaels

  Now, here she was. Her heart skipped a beat as she slipped on her coat. She was getting a full face-lift and getting her breasts lifted. Hospital time was three full days, then she would return to the hotel and go back every other day for two weeks until all the sutures and staples were removed. Three more weeks for the bruising and swelling to go down, at which point she could return to New Jersey and try to explain all the lies she’d told everyone. She stared at the mountain of books on the dresser that she planned to read while she hid out. Her eyes burned unbearably as she made her way to the elevator. There are some things you don’t share with anyone and this is one of those things, she told herself.

  Emily wasn’t a religious person, but she blessed herself when she entered the hospital. Her surgery was scheduled for noon. It was now 7:30 A.M.

  Surprisingly, there was little pain. Emily slept, drank through a straw, and refused to look in a mirror. When she was discharged three days later, she left the hospital with a colorful Hermes scarf draped half over her face. The bandages had been removed and all she could smell was her own clotted blood. Her hair was matted, glued to her head. The staples felt huge, as if they should be in planks of wood instead of her head. She still didn’t look in the mirror.

  The stitches had been removed from her eyes before she left the hospital. Her eyes felt gritty and she felt incredibly dirty for some reason. She bathed, but wasn’t able to wet her face or head.

  On the seventh day, the staples were removed and Emily was permitted to wash her hair. She still avoided the mirror and hid in the room, telling room service to leave her food outside the door.

  On the tenth day she left the hotel for a walk in Central Park. She sat on a bench and ate a hot dog, the most delicious meal she’d ever eaten. She shared part of the bun with the pigeons who flocked around her feet.

  At the end of three weeks, Emily felt confident enough to leave the hotel and venture into the Manhattan stores, where she bought six frilly bras with an underwire, bikini panties, and two Donna Karan suits.

  At the end of the fourth week, with most of the swelling and all of the bruising gone, Emily made an appointment at Elizabeth Arden for The Works, with the stipulation that her hair be cut in a room without a mirror.

  On the forty-second day, the surgeon discharged her. Emily felt like singing. Five weeks and she was a new person.

  Two more days before she was to return to the house on Sleepy Hollow Road.

  Dressed in one of the Donna Karan suits, sporting a fashionable haircut, her feet shod in Louis Jourdan shoes, Emily closed her briefcase, which held a list of corporations she planned to visit that day.

  Now it was time to look in the mirror. She inched her way into the bathroom, her eyes squeezed shut. Now was the moment. She opened her eyes, stared, then burst out laughing. The surgeon had somehow, miraculously, erased ten years. With a skillful application of makeup, she could erase another five. “Emily Thorn, you are a little devil!” she chortled. The makeup went on with sure, deft strokes. Not too much, less is more, she cautioned herself. Done. She smiled. The Emily Thorn in the mirror smiled back.

  Earrings. The last and final touch. She’d brought them with her—wide, thick, solid gold hoops she’d bought herself one year for Christmas when she was still married to Ian. She’d never worn them because they never seemed to go with any outfit she wore and her hair was long then, shrouding the elegant earrings. “You are one classy-looking chick, Emily.” She twirled for the benefit of the Emily in the mirror, then she laughed, a sound so rich in happiness she wanted to cry with the sheer delight she was feeling. “I’m me again. I really am me again.”

  Emily sat down on the edge of the bathtub. All the bad was suddenly washed away. Her shoulders were lighter, her smile radiant. I earned this moment.

  Emily was aware of the coveted looks she received in the elevator, more aware of the looks she received when she strode through the lobby. The limo she’d hired for the day to take her from place to place was waiting at the curb. She stepped into it, the smile never leaving her face.

  If possible, her smile was even more radiant at four o’clock when she stepped from the limo and walked into a fiber-optic firm, whose headquarters were between Madison and Park Avenues.

  Emily handed her business card to the receptionist and was ushered into Keith Mangrove’s office immediately. “I can give you exactly ten minutes, Miss Thorn. That is all you said you needed. Is that right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Mangrove, that’s all the time I need. Come with me, please. I want a five-minute tour of your facility.” She was moving out the door, down the hall past a large open room and then down a corridor with mini-offices staffed by women who appeared to be middle-aged. “I think it’s commendable of you to hire middle-aged women. Their children are grown, and they’ve elected to go back into the work force to help with college and to buy that vacation home. Tell me what you see, Mr. Mangrove?”

  “Women working.”

  “What else?”

  “Nothing else. Am I missing something here?”

  “Yes.” Emily looked at her watch. “Work productivity at this hour of the day is slow. The women appear to be sluggish. How many candy bars and soft drinks do you see on the desks? Look at the women. How many of them can stand to drop ten or fifteen pounds? You have a wide range of porkers in here, Mr. Mangrove. I can use that word because I used to be one of those porkers. When I leave, I suggest you make this tour again, slowly, get a feel for it. And by the way, I have the perfect exercise that can take three inches off your waistline.”

  Emily looked at her watch again, turned on her heel, and started back the way she’d come. “We have a program called Lunch Hour Physical Fitness. We install and maintain our exercise equipment. You pay for the lease. Our rates aren’t competitive because we don’t have any competition. We are however, reasonable. We guarantee a twenty-five percent productivity rise within the first six months. My staff can be here in seven days. You can be operational in ten days. If you go along with this, I’d suggest you make the program mandatory for your employees. Time’s up.” Emily handed a thin envelope to Mangrove and prepared to leave the office. “You can reach me at the Plaza until tomorrow morning. Or you can call the corporate office in New Jersey. Or if you want to, just call and find out how to take off those three inches.” Emily was in the reception room. She tilted her head, knowing full well Mangrove was behind her. “Ask her how much overweight she is,” she whispered.

  “Wait, I have a few more minutes,” Mangrove said. “Miss Devers, how overweight are you?” he blurted out.

  “I beg your pardon, Mr. Mangrove. That’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t think any such thing. Answer the question, please. I don’t want you snacking on that caramel corn anymore either.”

  “You gave it to me, Mr. Mangrove,” the woman sputtered. “Sixteen pounds,” she whispered. Emily grinned.

  “Wait a minute, Miss Thorn, I have a few more minutes.”

  “But I don’t, Mr. Mangrove. I said ten minutes and I’m a woman of my word.” When she walked through the doors, she heard him say, “That caramel corn was for clients to snack on.”

  In the limo, Emily kicked off her shoes and poured herself a glass of wine from the console. She was so certain she’d locked up all six corporations that she drank to her own success. Wait until she told the others and Ben. They were going to be as delirious as she was. If all six corporations signed on, they were going to be $400,000 richer in a year’s time. If they sold their freeze-dried food, she could double it in a year. She poured a second glass of wine. When she finished it, she asked the driver how far they were from the hotel.

  “Eight, ten minutes, depending on traffic,” was the response.

  “Good, let me out here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

  Standing on the sidewalk, Emily squelched the urge to throw her arms in the air and shout. Instead she gave her skirt an imaginary twist, tugged at her jacket, a
nd started off down the street. Strut, Emily. You earned this too.

  When she reached the Plaza, she was grinning from ear to ear. She eyed the doorman for one split second before she made a wide, dizzying circle and then slapped her knees in glee, to the doorman’s amusement. “I don’t think it gets any better than this,” she said, laughing in delight. People smiled at her, enjoying her happiness.

  “It’s my turn at bat,” she called over her shoulder.

  She laughed again when someone shouted, “Make sure it’s a home run.”

  She was going home in just a few hours. The anticipation was almost more than she could stand as she tried to envision the looks on the girls’ faces and then seeing Ben’s reaction. Lord, she’d missed them all so very much. She wished now that she’d called at least once, but that would have ruined everything. These last six weeks were something she had to go through alone with no support from anyone. Even now as she packed her bags with all her new purchases, she wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing, but it was a done deed.

  She’d deliberately timed her arrival for the dinner hour so she could make her grand entrance. Originally, the plan was to leave early in the morning and arrive home as everyone was getting ready to leave, but she wanted to do some last-minute shopping for the women and Ben as well.

  Emily looked at the list on the bed of things she still had to do. At the top of the list was a call to Mangrove at the fiber-optics firm to set up an appointment for Ben, get valuables and traveler’s checks from the safe downstairs, check out, call to be sure the limo was on time, then have her bags and boxes carried downstairs. Allowing for traffic, she should arrive home at approximately 6:30. Dinner would be under way, the women buzzing about the kitchen. God, she was excited. She’d plop down, they’d all, as in one, demand details, every single one, and then they’d ooohh and aaahhh over her new face and hairdo. Maybe she wouldn’t mention the breast lift. Over dessert she’d give them their presents—Chanel handbags—and again listen to the ooohhs and aaahhs. When the kitchen was cleaned up and they had their last cup of coffee and were all talked out, she’d go over to Ben’s and get his reaction. He’d look at her, grin from ear to ear, scoop her up in his arms and say, This can’t be the Emily Thorn I know and love. She’d squeal and say, Yes, yes, it’s me. They’d rip off each other’s clothes and head for the bedroom, where they would make slow, lazy love for hours. Everything was going to be so wonderful. Wonderful because it was Valentine’s Day.

  “Perfecto!” Emily chortled. “I might even accept Ben’s proposal this time. She looked at the special box on the bed that held Ben’s valentine gift and one for his son Ted.

  The limo driver said, “Are you sure this is where you want me to drop you off?”

  “I’m positive. I’ll walk down the driveway. Just unload the bags and boxes by the mailbox. I’ll take them in later. This is sort of a surprise visit. If I go clunking down the driveway or they see your headlights, it won’t be a surprise.” She handed over a generous tip even though she knew a tip was included in the chit she’d signed earlier. She didn’t care.

  She was home. Really home. For the first time in years she really felt like this house on Sleepy Hollow Road was hers; truly hers. Inside where it was warm, her family waited, and less than five miles away her lover waited. “All good things come to those who wait,” she murmured.

  Emily sucked in her breath and let it out slowly. Her breathing quickened, exploding in hard little puffs of vapor. Until now, she hadn’t been aware of just how cold it was. Dark and cold. She was also aware for the first time of all the cars parked on the side of the road and in her driveway. She counted six strange cars. What did it mean? Her feet refused to move. She shivered inside her new cashmere coat. She began to feel a curl of fear in her stomach.

  Overhead the stars sparkled, the moon a half slice, beaming down directly in the driveway. The sodium vapor lamps on the street cast everything, even the shrubs with their heavy coat of frost, into steely blue objects. Hard and cold. As hard and cold as she felt.

  Emily started down the driveway, weaving her way in and out of the parked cars, strange cars she’d never seen before.

  Scorching an anger rivered through her when she turned her heel over, knowing full well she’d broken it. She felt her gloved hands turn into clenched fists. This was her house. What the hell was going on here? She looked for her car, saw it three cars ahead, blocked in completely. How was she to get to Ben’s? She couldn’t even take one of her friends’ cars because the strange cars were blocking them in too. “Shit!”

  Something was wrong, either with her or inside the well-lit house. She hadn’t felt anger like this since the day she’d received Ian’s termination letter. Now, like then, she felt terminated, displaced.

  Emily walked around to the back of the house and up to the kitchen door. She peered through the glass. The table wasn’t set, but the kitchen was a mess. They must be eating in the dining room. They never ate in the dining room. Not even on holidays. Instead of opening the kitchen door, she walked around to the front of the house which would give her a clear view of the dining room. She took another deep breath before she advanced far enough on the walkway to afford her a clear view. Emily blinked at the strange faces seated at her dining room table. Men! Seven of them! Seated next to her friends. Boy, girl, boy, girl. They were laughing and joking as they ate. Turkey, the carcass almost picked clean. A valentine party. In her house. The women were dressed up, the strange men in suits. Nice-looking men, all of whom wore white shirts. Emily swayed dizzily. She gave herself a mental shake. When she opened her eyes again, the rotund gentleman seated next to Helen Demster leaned over and kissed her cheek. Emily gasped. Helen Demster, admitted virgin, smiled coyly. Her twin laughed aloud. The others smiled benignly. A twin of the rotund man blew in Rose’s ear. “Oh my God,” Emily gasped a second time.

  Emily backed up against a gnarled sycamore tree, her eyes glued to the dining room window. Now she knew what it was that bothered her: The men appeared to be twins. They probably belonged to the twin organization Rose and Helen belonged to. They were couples, units, salt and pepper shakers, shoes and socks. True, the seventh man didn’t appear to have a male mate, but he was paired off with Zoë, who wore the sappiest expression Emily had ever seen. If she went in now, she’d spoil things. Never mind that this little party had spoiled things for her. In her damn house, no less.

  She was jealous. Infuriatingly so. And she was freezing. Inside it looked warm and cozy. The remains of the dinner looked wonderful too. She realized she was starving. They’d gone ahead and done something on their own, and from all appearances, it was working out. They looked so happy, so contented.

  She felt betrayed. They didn’t need her. Right now, this very second, she should storm into the house and boot their asses out into the cold. She was instantly ashamed of her thought.

  Emily walked back to the top of the driveway, looked down at her suitcases, at the boxes of gifts. She pushed and shoved them under the spreading yews that lined the driveway. Damn, she didn’t even have a car to sit in. The keys were inside.

  The anger surfaced again as she made her way down the road to her neighbor’s house. The Mastersons were elderly and never left the house after dark. Perhaps they’d lend her their car so she could drive over to Ben’s house. For years she’d given them blooms from her flower garden as well as vegetables from the garden. Surely they’d oblige her and let her drive their car this evening.

  Emily walked around to the back of the house and rapped softly on the kitchen door. They were having dinner. Harvey struggled up from his chair, walked over to the door, peered out, and said, “Who is it?”

  “It’s Emily Thorn, Harvey. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Emily. How nice to see you. Would you like some dinner?” the old gentleman asked.

  “No, thank you. I need a favor, Harvey. My car won’t start and I was wondering if I could borrow yours for a little while. I promise to be
careful.”

  “If you put gas in it,” Harvey said slyly.

  “Is anything wrong, Emily?” Evelyn asked, speaking slowly. Evelyn did everything slowly, because as Harvey put it, she came from the South and they do everything slow down there.

  “No, everything is fine, Evelyn. I guess my battery is low or something. I’ll have it fixed tomorrow.”

  “Did that handsome husband of yours give you a valentine, Emily?” Evelyn smiled. “Harvey gave me one. Never missed a year in all the years we’ve been married.”

  Emily’s vision blurred for a second. “A very pretty one,” she lied. There was no point in telling the Mastersons that Ian had been gone for years. For the most part, both of them were forgetful and lived pretty much for the moment.

  “Here are the keys, Emily. Be careful. Sometimes the clutch sticks. Bring the car back tomorrow. Evelyn and I are going to spoon for a while and then we’re going to go to bed and talk about the good old days. If you bring the car back here, we’ll hear it and it will break the spell.” He made a grimace that was supposed to be a sly smile and then he winked. Emily winked back and let herself out the door.

  Twenty minutes later she parked the car in a spot down the way from the two spots allotted each owner of Ben’s complex. She locked the car and walked over to Ben’s car. He must be home. She didn’t recognize the car parked next to his. Possibly someone with company had used his extra spot the way she’d just used someone else’s spot.

  Ben’s key was in her hand. Maybe this is a mistake, she thought uneasily. Maybe Ben had company. Better to ring the doorbell and not use the key. “Don’t be shy, Emily, use the key anytime of the day or night.” He’d said that so often she’d lost track. Still, she’d only really used the key three times.

  Emily retraced her footsteps and stood looking down at the car in Ben’s second parking slot. It was a bright red sports model. She bent lower, a Mazda something or other. A younger person’s car. What to do? She’d forgotten the present for Ben and Ted and the valentine was inside her suitcase. “Shit!”