They looked at each other in silence for a long moment.
"Look, Mom, you could still work with your group as an aide."
"Aide? A helper, you mean. That's what I've been all my life."
"There's nothing wrong about being a helpmate, you know. Housa—"
"Exactly. Housa." Beth's tone was cutting.
"Mom, don't take the resentment you felt toward Dad out on me."
"Is that what you think I'm doing? I know you and Dana feel I'm too old to have ambitions—certainly too old to enjoy a man's company—but I'm sorry you think I'm that petty. No, no, allow me to finish, please. This morning I advised Housa not to allow her life to be defined by her children, and now I'm telling you the same thing. I can understand my mother's disapproval—she thought the sun rose and set on your father—but you? I'm disappointed, truly I am."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Andy said stiffly, "but I want you to understand that Housa and I and our children are doing just fine. Now, do you want to go on here as an aide or not?"
"Yes! What choice have I? To do otherwise would mean abandoning the women who trust me."
"You can do this with good grace? If not, you'll do more harm than good, you know."
"Of course I know! I can do grace; I can do grace very damn well! God knows I've had enough practice."
Just then Andy's phone rang. An emergency. As he spoke urgently into the phone, Beth got up and walked out. One of Andy's partners hailed her as she stalked stony-faced down the corridor. The look she gave him cut his cheery greeting short.
"I can do grace," she repeated under her breath as she swept out through the entrance, "but that doesn't mean I have to."
As Beth slowed for the entrance to her drive, she saw a familiar car standing parked in front of the house. Monica Davenport. If only she'd give me some notice! Then, realizing she hadn't been home that afternoon to be given notice, and knowing she'd have to listen to one of Monica's cutesy messages on the machine when she returned, she jammed her foot on the gas. The screech of the accelerating tires drew an indignant glare from an elderly neighbor walking a little dog.
Please, God, don't let me end up old and mean and no use to anyone or anything but an overweight beagle.
She pulled into the condominium complex where both Karim and Georgina lived and parked near her friend's unit, trying not to wish it were Karim's and he was home.
Georgina lived in the rear in a duplex overlooking a shady glen. As Beth rounded the corner of the path, she saw her on the balcony watering the impatiens plants in the flower boxes mounted along the railing. Beth recalled her buying them as puny, prepacked, mixed-color specials; now they were a billow of sherbet colors: raspberry, cherry, peach and ice white.
"They look gorgeous!" Beth called.
"To hell with the flowers, what about me?"
"You, too, my dear. Of course, the dim light helps."
Georgina upended the watering can over Beth's head. "Serves you right!" she said as Beth ducked under the overhang. "Come on up."
"Don't you know better than to drop in on people unannounced?" she said as Beth entered. "Who knows what kind of unrestrained debauchery might have greeted your innocent eyes?"
"Why do you suppose I did?"
They grinned at each other.
"Drink?" Georgina asked.
"Please," Beth said, settling into a high-backed chrome and leather chair. Georgina's furnishings, contemporary in style, had been chosen for comfort; the colors-black, yellow, spring green, brick red—were as vivid as her coloring. Alerted by the sound of Beth's voice, Georgina's trio of Siamese cats appeared as if by magic and clamored for her attention.
"Would you like wine? I have a Gallo chenin blanc on ice. It's not bad."
"No-o-oo, I think something tall and cold. Maybe something with rum in it?"
Georgina turned from the open refrigerator. "With rum in it," she repeated slowly. "And what else, please?"
Beth's smile was sheepish. "I don't know exactly. Surprise me." Sitting down, she accepted one of the cats in her lap; another settled behind her head along the back of the couch; the third stalked off, disgruntled.
Giving Beth a quick, covert glance, Georgina reached for the sour mix in the back of the fridge. She got a bottle of rum out of the liquor cabinet, poured four generous shots in her blender—and added the mix. "What's up, honeybunch?"
"Oh, nothing, really. I had a little...disagreement with Andy."
"With Saint Andrew?" Georgina raised an eyebrow as she turned on the machine.
"What'd you do?" she asked when the roar subsided. "Forget to pick up his heavenly robe from the dry cleaners?"
Beth looked pained.
"Forget I said that, Beth. That was stupid, even for me." Georgina poured the foamy mixture into two ice-filled glasses, and handed one to Beth.
"Andy said I can't work at the clinic—not as a counselor, anyway. The state's gotten fussy about qualifications all of a sudden. Apparently actual accomplishments don't count for much."
"Oh, Beth, I'm so sorry. Have you no recourse?"
"I can stay on as an aide."
"Oh, well, that puts a better light on it...doesn't it?"
"You're used to success, Georgina; mine was hard won. I don't snap back the way I used to."
"Oh, God, who does? Are you sure there's nothing else?"
Damn it, Georgina, isn't that enough? Beth ducked her head to hide a sudden angry welling of tears.
"0-kay," Georgina said carefully. "Suppose I tell you something. Amity Donovan came to see me today."
Beth's head snapped up. "Whatever for?"
"She wanted her daddy's itinerary. I told her I didn't have it—1 don't, by the way, but that's another story—so she asked if his lady friend had it." Georgina rolled her eyes. Beth stared at her.
"Don't you get it, Beth? She meant you!"
"Me? His lady friend?"
Georgina threw up her hands. "Hey! Her words, not mine. Anyway, I sent her to Donovan's secretary, and when I left for lunch there she was in the parking lot with this nice-looking guy, arguing. I couldn't hear the words, but you can always tell. Actually, I should have said she was arguing with this nice-looking guy, because she was doing all the talking, complete with scowls and jerky hand gestures—a bona fide crazy lady. Why is it they always get the good guys? Can you tell me that?"
"Not all the good guys, Georgina."
"Oh, well, him." Georgina swirled the liquid in her glass. "How come you're so sure he's so all-fired good?"
"Sure? I never—”
Georgina didn't wait for her to finish. "After Amity left I got to thinking: how come he didn't leave his itinerary with me? Peabody's PR is put out by my office, isn't it? Aren't I the alumni liaison person? The fund raising coordinator? Doesn't it strike you he's undercutting my position taking off alone like that?"
"No, I can't say it does. He probably wanted to introduce himself as Peabody's new president without any fund-raising overtones."
"He thinks I'm too aggressive, is that it? Sneaky s.o.b.," she added in a mutter.
Beth stared at her friend. "I thought you'd changed your mind about Karim."
"Yeah, so did I. Beth, I.…" She got up and walked to the window. "I haven't been entirely honest with you," she said, turning back. "I told you I left the recording company after Phoenix died, which is true; what I didn't tell you is they couldn't get rid of me fast enough. They blamed me for the money lost because of the canceled tour; they said I must have known how dependent on drugs he'd become. I was his wife, how could I not know?"
Georgina strode to the kitchen, poured the dregs of the rum concoction into her glass and gulped it down. "They were right, of course. I should have known, and maybe I did; maybe, it was easier to look the other way. Maybe, like them, Donovan can't wait to see the last of me."
"He thought you'd be pleased with his reception by the alumni. I thought you were."
"I was, until I thought about it. Distract 'em with kind words and then—
" Georgina drew her finger across her throat.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Beth said, putting her empty glass down on the coffee table. "Thanks for the drink."
"I can mix up another—only take a sec." Beth shook her head. "Maybe you'd like to stay for supper? I made a tuna salad this morning, and I have a couple of hydroponic tomatoes, next best thing to fresh."
"Sorry, but I really should check my machine. Monica Davenport showed the house this afternoon—who knows, maybe her clients are so anxious to get it they've offered a premium."
They both knew it for a lame excuse.
"Sure. And maybe Sean Connery will fly me out to Hollywood."
"There's that, too," Beth said, forcing a smile. "Take care. Any chance of seeing you before the hospice dinner?"
"I don't know. Is there?"
Beth, not knowing what to do with the ball Georgina had thrown back into her court, took the coward's way out. "We'll see," she said.
The only real estate-related message on Beth's machine was the one informing her of Monica's imminent arrival with the clients she had escaped from to Georgina's. Her mother had called with a question about place cards for the hospice dinner; the rest had to do with arrangements for, or the rescheduling of, meetings of her various volunteer activities. Andy had not called; neither had Karim.
Her mind elsewhere, she opened a can of tuna. It wasn't until she went out to snip some chives to liven up the mayonnaise that she realized she was duplicating the supper Georgina had offered.
She rested her head in her hands, suddenly overwhelmed by a world turned topsy-turvy. How had it happened? How, she wondered, had she managed to become estranged from the people who meant the most to her? Estranged because of someone she hardly knew? A man whose character had been called into question?
She closed her eyes, allowing Karim, never far from her thoughts these days, to fill her mind's eye. His honest, intelligent, hazel eyes gazed directly into hers. The wide, warm smile that lent brightness to his olive skin emphasized the chunkiness of his jawline and deepened the lines bracketing his mouth and eyes. He had, she thought, the kind of looks that improve with age: his head must have seemed too large and his nose too prominent above a younger, slimmer torso.
Was this the face of Dana's fortune hunter? Mother's bandit? Georgina's sneaky s.o.b.? Beth's heart said no, but she was unused to defiance. Hard as she tried to ignore them, the doubts introduced by the people she loved best allowed her little peace that night.
Chapter Eleven
The following week, Beth was too busy to feel sorry for herself. Karim called late Monday evening to tell her his homecoming would be delayed. He'd been waylaid, he said, by the San Francisco alumni contingent. Beth could hear the burble of lively conversation, glasses clinking, a trill of feminine laughter.
She frowned into the receiver. What was he doing, pub crawling? Then she realized that out on the Coast it was only seven-thirty, the normal tail end of the cocktail hour.
"My hosts' apartment has a view over the Bay," he said. "I can see freighters and ferry boats, a cluster of white sails and an arc of the bridge curving through a tatter of fog. There! The lights are just coming on." He laughed at himself. "If I lived here I'd be too busy looking to get anything done. I wish you were here to share it with me."
"If wishes were horses..."
"Ah, yes—we'd have a stable full, wouldn't we?"
"I'll settle for one: that you'll be back by Saturday."
"Sooner. Thursday evening. I've already asked my secretary to set up an appointment with Georgina for Friday. My talks with the alumni I've met have given me some ideas I want to discuss with her. Are you free Friday evening?"
"I'd like to be, but we'll see."
There was a brief pause, punctuated by a background burst of laughter.
"Don't call me, I'll call you?"
"Oh, Karim, I didn't mean it that way. I miss you."
"Me too, you." The other half of the formula, dutifully supplied. "Night, Beth."
He replaced the receiver so softly Beth wasn't sure he was gone until she heard the familiar buzz.
"What do you suppose he wants?" Georgina asked when she called the next morning to inform Beth of Karim's Thursday arrival.
Beth pleaded ignorance. "At the very least, it means he's not about to give you your walking papers."
"Yes, I suppose it does." Her voice sounded hopeful. "Look, Beth, I'm sorry about the other evening."
"It's forgotten. We caught each other on a raw edge, that's all. It happens."
"Yes. Have you and Andy.…?"
"I'll be seeing him tomorrow at the clinic. We'll manage. We always have."
"Remember when Housa was pregnant with Clara, and she refused to go to the town hall to vote for the school addition because she didn't want to expose her unborn child to the first selectman's cigar smoke?"
Beth laughed. "How could I forget? I'd never seen Andy angry with her before. He's lived in a small town long enough to know that every vote matters."
"I forget, how did you solve it?"
"I got her an absentee ballot. I gave it to them without saying a word. I didn't have to; Andy felt a fool for not thinking of it himself." She sighed. "I'm afraid this won't be solved as easily."
* * * *
To Beth's regret, her prediction proved accurate. Thursday morning, a week after Nina Balkin's commitment of her mother, the clinic received a request for information only a medical doctor could supply. Andy demurred, on the basis of insufficient personal knowledge of the situation, but he offered to pass the letter and accompanying form on to Howard Springer.
Remembering the older doctor's forceful encounter with the old lady, Beth agreed he was the obvious choice. "I just wish he weren't so preoccupied with his plans for retirement."
"I know what you mean," Andy agreed. "I bet he crosses out the date on his desk calendar at the end of each day."
"In red."
He smiled. "I'll lean on him, Mom. Howard owes me."
Andy told her Housa had finally agreed to shop for a new dress for the hospice dinner. "You know Housa, she'd rather spend the money on the children," he added, which Beth took as a subtle rebuke. "Would you like us to pick you up? I expect the parking will be tight."
"I'm going with Karim Donovan," she said. "I thought I told you."
"Did you? I must have forgotten." He shifted from one foot to the other. "Well, then.…" He began to turn away.
"Andy? Have you any idea how soon you'll be hiring someone to take my place as counselor? The women were wondering."
"We've received resumes from a couple of dozen qualified people, and expect we'll be getting a lot more with the employment picture the way it is. A month, say?"
A couple of dozen, already? That means the word must have gone out before he told me. Beth found herself unwilling to make allowances for the awkwardness of Andy's situation.
"When you and your partners have narrowed the field, may I sit in on the final interviews? I won't say anything, but I think I have a better idea of the kind of personality needed than you."
Andy looked startled, then sheepish. "Of course, Mom."
It hadn't even occurred to him, Beth realized. She nodded stiffly. "Thank you, Andrew."
On her way home Beth fumed about the lack of sensitivity that professionals of all kinds too often displayed, as if their training in market forces and that current buzz word, paradigms, absolved them from trying to understand the individual needs of ordinary people.
She recalled Betty Halstead's account of her CAT scan at a Florida hospital last winter. The supervising doctor, she said, was called away near the end, and took off without a word to her. He left me strapped in that miserable steel cocoon for over half an hour! It turned out he had never bothered to experience the process himself, and didn't appreciate Betty telling him it would be a damn good idea if he did.
Beth's plan for a quiet rest after lunch was routed by the unexpected arrival at two by a b
roker whose introduction to her clients was overshadowed by the two large silver dogs they held straining at the end of leashes. Weimeraners, Beth was told. Champion stock. Cooped up all day driving, poor babies. She found their pale eyes unnerving.
"When I left the message on your machine, I didn't know about the dogs," the broker confided in a low voice. "I told them they couldn't .take them in the house, but you know how it is, some people think everyone must love their dogs as much as they do. So I—"she smiled weakly— "I'm afraid I said you had a timid cat."
Beth, who had listened only for Karim's voice on her machine when she arrived home from the clinic, had no choice but to accept the situation gracefully. She and the broker watched in apprehensive silence as the dogs, loosed without so much as a by-your-leave, energetically lifted their legs on the roses and clawed divots out of the lawn with their powerful hind paws. She decided to leave before their owners encouraged them to leap into the pool for a cooling swim.
"Watch that the cat doesn't get out!" she called as she headed for the car. The broker turned and smilingly waved, grateful for Beth's willingness to back up her well-meant falsehood. Beth looked at her watch. If she allowed an hour, she could be back by half past three. In the meantime she decided to drive to the college. Maybe Karim was there; maybe with Georgina. What had Karim wanted to discuss with her? If her reaction had been hostile, she should be kept at a safe distance from Karim at the hospice dinner, Beth decided. Georgina was not one to hide her feelings, no matter the occasion. I wonder where Mother seated her? If necessary, I could sneak in and switch place cards.
The parking lot held only a few cars;
Georgina's was not among them. Neither was Karim's. Feeling like an aimless teenager on a slow Saturday night, she drove next to Hemlock Woods, but there was no response to the bell save for the muted howl of greeting through the narrow door-long window against which one of Georgina's Siamese stretched itself, fixing her with sapphire, slightly crossed eyes. She tapped the glass with her knuckles, inviting jabs of his sleek seal-brown paws. You would have given those dogs something to think about, she muttered.
She debated waiting in the car, then decided instead to check out the farm stand Housa had called to tell her had opened that week on Route 6 between Woodbury and Watertown. She claimed this stand was genuine: none of those wax-coated cucumbers transferred from wholesalers' cartons into rustic baskets. Which meant they wouldn't have any local field-grown tomatoes until August. But June was strawberry month, wasn't it? When Karim called about dinner later she'd suggest dessert at home. She already had vanilla frozen yogurt in the freezer...or she could make biscuits. A private strawberry festival. She smiled to herself. It was worth a look.
And Be My Love Page 14
