Strapless

by Leigh Riker

  “Cutter Longridge,” Darcie remembered, then couldn’t resist adding, “Why, he must have looked better to you than I did.”

  “No, only different.” Merrick shifted on the sofa. “I left there feeling dazed but no longer mixed-up. I knew that the issue had been mine all along, not Jackie’s or yours or even my family. I’m bisexual, Darce. I went home and called Geoff.”

  He sighed. “It…happened, and then there was no turning back. Do you know why?”

  “No,” she said. Since Dylan had left, she knew very little.

  “Because I realized I’d been living my life by other people’s rules. Geoff encouraged me to live for myself.” Talk about change, Darcie thought. “He’s right,” Merrick added. He got up to fix himself another drink but turned toward her from the minibar with a smile. “I hope this doesn’t hurt you, but I’ve never been happier.”

  Somehow, she returned his smile. He hadn’t offered her a refill, but for once that oversight didn’t faze Darcie. “I can see that.”

  Rejoining her on the sofa, Merrick put an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t pull away. For years, they’d enjoyed each other’s company—in some fashion—but in the past weeks, no, since her trip to Sydney, they had actually, gradually, become friends. An odd pairing, she supposed, like being roomies with Gran, or Gran with Julio…or Darcie with Dylan, but there it was.

  Darcie said nothing. Her throat suddenly tight, she stared into her wine. You’re scared, Dylan had said.

  “All right. Let’s hear it.” Merrick’s embrace tightened. “No, let me guess. From the downcast look on your face, the darker hazel of your eyes, I’d say the Aussie has gone home.”

  “You said it wouldn’t work.”

  “Worse, he’s dumped you.”

  “Even worse, I think he wants to marry me—eventually.”

  Merrick drew back to stare at her. “Serious?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  But when she finished telling Merrick about Dylan, he said, “I don’t get the problem. It’s not Wunderthings, is it? Because with the new Sydney store, you could transfer—run operations from there, expand all over the place into Asia. Make yourself a real star.” He didn’t mean like the ones on her bedroom ceiling.

  “Do you think so?”

  Merrick ruffled her hair. “Get out of the box, Darce. Living halfway around the world from this guy isn’t an insurmountable issue—not in the jet age. You could even commute.” He paused. “Your grandmother’s not holding you back, is she? Or Annie?”

  She waited a beat, listening to her own heart thud. “No, but Dylan’s attitudes are another matter. He thinks women belong at home.”

  “What man doesn’t, deep down? He wants you there just for him.”

  “He’s…a throwback.” She thought of his wrangle with Cutter. But then, he had come through for her with Gran, and Merrick surprised her by taking Dylan’s side again.

  “Or is it really your parents you’re worried about? Your parents who expect—rigidly expect, like mine—things of you that you don’t want to give? Shouldn’t give. I’ve heard about Janet and Hank often enough to suspect I’m right.”

  “You heard what I said?”

  “Often enough.” That’s all he would admit. Typical.

  “Merrick, you really are a beast.”

  Which didn’t bother him. It seemed, tonight, nothing did. She liked him this way.

  He studied the amber liquor in his glass. “The real question is, are you going to keep caring what your family wants for you instead of what you need?”

  She smiled. “But you’re a nicer beast than I’ve thought you were lately.”

  He flushed. “I’m not saying you should marry this guy—” Setting his glass down, he held her face in his hands. “Darce, do you have the courage to make your own decisions? To go your own way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  But for reasons of her own, Darcie knew she’d better find out.

  When Merrick drew her close, she leaned her head on his shoulder. He wasn’t the man for her—never had been—but for a very different reason than she’d thought. He wasn’t, after all, just like her parents. They sat together for a long time, sipping their drinks, and just being. It was the best night she’d ever spent with him. Then Darcie felt Merrick’s lips on her hair.

  “I hope you do,” he said.

  Chapter

  Twenty-One

  Merrick had more faith in her than Darcie did in herself. One of her usual problems. She watched Annie pile underwear into a soft bag, just as Dylan had done, but Darcie could see no organization to Annie’s process. Still, she thought, Annie would go back to Cincinnati—and Cliff—with some new knowledge of herself. More important, her sister had made her decision and for two whole weeks had stuck to it.

  At this point, with Janet and Hank in the kitchen sorting housewares back into boxes, Darcie had retreated to the bedroom with Annie. It seemed safer than having her mother and father deliver another lecture about her own future. The subject made Darcie weary.

  Everything did these days.

  “You’re not yourself, Darce,” Annie pointed out.

  “It shows. I drag to work in the morning, crawl home at night,” she said, lying across Annie’s bed. “I’m no further in figuring out my life than I was before you came. No, when I started living with Gran four years ago.”

  “Before Merrick. Before Dylan.”

  “Long before Cutter, too.”

  She’d heard from none of them. When she’d called him in Atlanta, Cutter’s mother had told her he was “focusing his energies,” presumably meaning don’t call again, he’s done with you. That didn’t bother Darcie, who had no romantic claim on him, but she did hate being stonewalled. Cutter listened to her. He might give her some advice she could use.

  Not that she’d heeded the wisdom Gran, Claire, Merrick, even Dylan had offered.

  Coward.

  Maybe Dylan was right. She was afraid—more afraid of commitment in any form than Merrick had been before Geoff.

  “Have you called him?”

  “Merrick?”

  “No,” Annie muttered, “I meant Dylan. You can’t kid me, Darce. It’s him you’re stewing about. I hear you every night tossing in bed, those loud sighs. And no wonder, he’s hot. Beyond hot, he’s really nice. You need to take the bull by the horns—or the ram, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

  “What?” Annie said. “The guy begs you to follow him home—”

  “Like an orphaned puppy.”

  “No, like the woman he wants in his life.”

  “There’s nothing like a born-again romantic.”

  “Just because I grew up practically next door to Cliff and we’re like, soul mates—and you met Dylan on the other side of the world, doesn’t mean that can’t work for you, too.”

  “There’s nothing like a born-again philosopher.”

  Annie frowned. “I’ve never seen you this miserable, and trust me, I’ve seen you miserable before.”

  Darcie straightened a clump of bras that Annie had thrown into her bag. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to snap at you.” She had a short temper lately, too. “I’m glad you and Cliff will be together again, and you’ve already lined up that job at Lazarus.”

  Once she decided to act, Darcie admitted, Annie didn’t waste time. The upscale department store might be the making of her.

  “I think I’ll be good at PR, don’t you?”

  “Definitely. You’re a people person.”

  Annie grinned briefly. “I won’t mention my tattoos. And did you notice? I’ve stopped wearing my rings.”

  Her nose ring. Her eyebrow ring. Three of the four earrings through her cartilage. Mired in her own misery, Darcie hadn’t noticed—but today Annie, in jeans and a camp shirt, looked normal. Wholesome. Cincinnati-bound. It almost soothed Darcie.

  “I can’t wait to get home,” Annie said. “I’m still worried about you, though.�
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  Now this was an amazing development. Was Annie growing up at last? Thinking of someone beyond herself?

  “I’m impressed. So many changes all at once…”

  Darcie trailed off. She’d had a lot of changes, too, not for the better. Her heart thumped and she got off the bed just as Janet and Hank appeared in the doorway. Trapped, she thought.

  Her mother wasn’t a time-waster, either. She launched into her sole topic of conversation for the past twenty-four hours since she and Hank had driven in from Ohio.

  “If you’d reconsider, Darcie…”

  “I did. I’m staying here.”

  Janet smoothed her already well-combed hair. She was wearing her usual pumps (don’t ask me why) and a dress. The perfect outfit for moving.

  “Your father and I can have you packed in a couple of hours. You can sublease the apartment.”

  “I’ll start on the living room—all those books yours, Darcie?” Her father stood there in his Dockers and boat shoes, neat as a pin except for the smear of kitchen grease across one cheek, which made Darcie almost grin.

  My life can be reduced to a dozen cardboard boxes and a bunch of garbage bags. Janet had objected to those of course. Clothing belonged in wardrobes. Too bad they didn’t have any. Darcie crossed her arms.

  “Not that I’m seriously considering this, but what about my job?”

  Janet answered. “Walter Corwin will find someone else. He can promote that terrible Greta Hinckley. Send her to Australia.”

  Greta? After all Darcie’s hard work?

  “It’s filled with Leftists anyway,” Hank murmured.

  “I know we’ve had our differences,” Janet reminded her. “But nothing would make us happier than to have our girls home with us again.”

  Hank put his arm around Darcie, awkward but firm. “We love you, baby.”

  Her throat closed. She leaned against him, needing something, feeling lonely. Even, yes, a little scared. They had their quirks, like everyone else, but they really weren’t bad parents. In fact, very good ones.

  What was it Gran had said? Someday you’ll realize how lovely it is to have memories with people who’ve known you all your life. Exactly as you are.

  For a moment she felt tempted to go with them, to stay with them forever. Yet she couldn’t just leave.

  “I love you, too.” Knowing further discussion would be futile, Darcie backed toward the door to the hall. “But there’s something I need to do.”

  She had made one decision. All she needed was Walt’s cooperation.

  The next morning Annie was on the road to Cincinnati with Janet and Hank, the apartment—and its full rent—belonged to Darcie again, but instead of preparing her pitch for Walt, she was leaving Greta a note at her desk.

  Scrabbling for something to write with, she knocked over Greta’s penholder. Pencils, erasers, a flash of silver tumbled onto the desktop. As she scribbled the message, instructing Greta to check on the Goolong designs—and only to verify production—Darcie became aware of Nancy Braddock passing by on her usual morning circuit of the department.

  Nancy stopped cold. Her eyes snapped. She picked up the letter opener.

  “Did this come from where I think it did?”

  “Greta’s mug of pencils.”

  “Wouldn’t you just know.”

  At that moment Greta herself appeared, swinging down the aisle with a scowl and her usual bag of pastries. “You know, it’s funny, Braddock—Baxter—but I thought this was my space. My desk.”

  Nancy waved the slim silver piece.

  “What is this?” Darcie asked. It looked like a stiletto but distracted by her need to see Walt, she barely noticed.

  “Walt bought his wife this letter opener in Taos. Their wedding anniversary trip—twenty years of marriage—just before she got sick. She loved the workmanship…”

  Darcie examined the chased silver pattern more closely. “Did Walt give this to you, Greta?”

  Nancy bristled. “He would never part with it. He certainly wouldn’t let Greta have it—no matter what he’s getting from her.” She paused to take a breath while Darcie realized she had seen the opener before. It belonged to my mother, Greta had told her. “I can’t believe Hinckley’s still part of this organization,” Nancy went on. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve caught her stealing—”

  Clearly, Nancy was in no shape to deal with the situation. Darcie gently took the opener from her shaking fingers, and said, “I was going in to see Walt anyway. I’ll ask him about this, too.”

  “There’s nothing to ask. Greta’s a thief! You should know, Darcie. Tell him.”

  Darcie disliked confrontation, especially about Greta and especially since she’d started seeing Walt. But it appeared that Nancy Braddock, too, had had enough.

  “I’m not sure Walt will believe me,” Darcie said.

  Nancy glared at Greta, then looked at Darcie. “He’ll believe you. And me.”

  Greta marched after them. “Walter will believe me.”

  Darcie suspected this was true. Her mentor, she imagined, had other things on his mind these days—mainly Greta. With Hinckley in her wake, she stalked into Walt’s office without knocking. The silver letter opener stayed behind her back, clutched in one hand. She would ask about it later, once she’d posed her own question. Without having time to prepare, she came straight to the point. Make yourself a star, Merrick had said.

  “Walt, I need to see you. Send me to Sydney.”

  He glanced up from his desk. His gaze went immediately to Greta, and she smiled. Although she felt sure Greta wanted to climb on his lap, she took a seat beside Darcie on one of the twin upholstered chairs in front of Walt’s desk. Nancy hovered behind them.

  Walt’s eyes didn’t look happy, Darcie noticed—one miserable person could spot another—and her senses went on alert. Had he heard the commotion in the hall? Was there trouble brewing between him and Greta?

  Greta kept smiling but her eyes turned hard. “Take me with you, Walter.”

  Her tone sounded suggestive. He fidgeted with a stack of papers on his desk.

  “I could help,” Greta went on. “I know there’ve been problems with the store.”

  Some of which Greta had created, but Darcie didn’t need to risk getting what she wanted by saying so. Or bring up the letter opener just yet.

  “I’m familiar with those problems,” she cut in. “I handled the display furniture crisis, the late order—” she looked at Greta “—and our labor troubles over the past two weeks. I’m sure Wunderthings would rather save money at this point than spend more.”

  Walt’s mouth thinned. “Get to it, Baxter.”

  Hoping she didn’t sound desperate, she said, “I can deal with the opening by myself. One plane ticket, one hotel room, one daily expense account. You could stay here to handle the department.” And Greta, she thought.

  Greta turned to her. “You’ve mismanaged the whole Sydney project. Why would he send you? If Walter had listened to me, we wouldn’t have problems. If I hadn’t tried to deal with Henry Goolong—”

  With that, Darcie changed her mind. Too bad Greta wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. Now, Darcie wouldn’t stay quiet about their rivalry. Nancy was right. Darcie tightened her grip on the letter opener. “You overstepped your responsibilities, and if you hadn’t stolen my other ideas—”

  “You haven’t had a good idea in your life. I’m surprised Walter hasn’t fired you by now. You’ve ridden on my creative output long enough—”

  “Greta.” Walt looked increasingly unhappy.

  Darcie studied Greta for a moment, taking in her new makeup and shinier hair, her simply cut but flattering dark suit. Even her shoes looked up-to-date with their chunky heels and sleek silhouette. She’d never be a beauty, but then neither was Walt. He’d definitely taken an interest in Greta. So what was wrong here? All Darcie knew was, she’d tried to help Greta, and her efforts had backfired. Now she had no choice but to confront her, to defend herself.
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  In the chair beside her, Greta eyed Darcie with alarm. Greta’s palms turned sweaty. She gazed at Walter, willing him to glance her way, to see her love for him shining in her eyes.

  “Walt, I know you have a personal relationship with Greta—” Darcie whipped a silver letter opener from behind her back “—and I’m sorry, but this was on—”

  She hadn’t even finished before Walter reached out to take it. “Greta’s desk.”

  And her heartbeat surged with dismay. She’d forgotten all about the treasure she’d taken from this very office weeks ago, before Walter had even looked at her and really seen her at last. Greta tried to ignore the fact that his attention had been captured at Darcie’s housewarming party. Now it fell on the prize found on her desk.

  “Nancy was there,” Darcie said. “She told me what it was. Did you give Greta—”

  Shaking his head, Walter rotated the silver in his hands, spring sunlight flashing on its smooth surface. His mouth went grim. He avoided looking at Greta, who sat dying in her chair, and focused on Darcie instead. Greta felt her recent balloon of happiness deflate with his next words.

  “You ready to leave for Sydney?” He wasn’t talking to her.

  Darcie said, “Well…yes. Sure. Any time.”

  “We’ll both go,” he said decisively, as if making up his mind on the spot.

  “But Walter,” Greta began. She jumped to her feet, her eyes burning.

  “I apologize, Darcie. Nancy,” he added with a nod at his assistant who was wringing her hands at the edge of Greta’s peripheral vision. “It’s taken me too long to recognize the truth here, even when it’s been in front of me all this time.” Still not looking at Greta, he restacked some papers in front of him, then laid the silver opener across them. The End, her pulse seemed to throb. What could she do?

  “Walter—” she said more insistently.

  “You’ve harassed Nancy for the last time. She threatened to quit yesterday and I can’t lose her. I heard the shouting in the hall a few minutes ago. I’ve heard your harangues with her on the phone during the day, with Darcie, too, in her cubicle. I tried to overlook them because you and I…” He trailed off then finished, “But I’ve seen you going through my own papers, even my personal mail.”