by Arlene James
“An hour to the new year.”
She was shocked. “So late?”
“Cass, it’s not too late for us,” he told her softly. “I won’t let it be.”
“But, Paul, what can you do without—”
“I want to talk to you!” The angry, determined voice took them both by surprise, so much so that they stopped in their tracks there at the edge of the dance floor. Betina glared at Paul, then moderated her expression for the benefit of those around her. Cassidy she ignored as insignificant. Cassidy gulped and made as if to move away, but Paul’s arms instantly tightened.
“No. Whatever it is can wait.”
Betina pushed in between them, though Paul kept a firm grip on Cassidy’s hand. “No, it cannot wait!” she hissed. “You’re trying to make a fool of me, and I won’t stand for it!”
“Won’t you?” Paul asked coolly. “And just what do you think you can do about it except to quit the field gracefully and resign yourself to the inevitable?”
“I’ll ruin you!” Betina promised, no longer keeping her voice as low as necessary. Heads began to turn. Paul laughed mirthlessly.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“Your precious company—” she began, but Paul cut her off, making no effort at all to keep the conversation from reaching other ears.
“I’ll resign. I will. What I won’t do is marry you.” People around them began to stop and stare. Cassidy held her breath. He had to know how great a gamble he was taking. Betina glanced around them, and for a moment Cassidy thought that she would back down, at least delay the confrontation. Instead, she set her face grimly, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin. Her face twisted into a mask of pure venom. “How dare you use me like this!” she proclaimed loudly.
Cassidy’s eyes widened with horror, but Paul merely bowed his head, smiling secretively. “I haven’t used you, Betina,” he said calmly, almost conversationally. “You walked into my office naked as the day you were born and threw yourself at my feet.” Betina screamed and slapped him. His head jerked to one side. Calmly he turned back to face her and went on. “Much to my regret, we used each other for a time. But that’s long over. I will not submit to your blackmail.”
“Damn you!”
“Paul,” Cassidy urged, gripping his wrist. “Not now. Please!”
“I won’t marry you,” he said to Betina, ignoring Cassidy. “I’ll resign. I’ll give away my ”Barclay shares. But I won’t marry you.”
It was as if the whole room came to standstill, despite the music playing gamely on. Whispers flew around the floor.
“Spencer’s resigning.”
“It’s suicide, businesswise.”
“Awful timing.”
“Where are we without Spencer?”
“Square one.”
“In the cellar!”
Suddenly William was at Paul’s side, laughing stupidly and trying to smooth over what had become a much-too-public scene. “Now, now, kiddies. No public brawling. I suggest a time out.”
“Go to hell, Penno!” Betina snarled. “If you’d taken your little slut of a sister out of my way as I’d asked you to—”
Paul’s insouciance vanished. He took a threatening step forward. “Shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you.” Alarmed, William unwisely grabbed Paul by the arm.
Cassidy sent him a shocked, censorious glance before turning her attention fully to Paul. Whatever lengths she might drive him to, Paul would never strike a woman. The way he shook off William, proclaimed that he had no such scruples where men were concerned, however, and Cassidy knew that she had only seconds to avert true, and very public, disaster. She pulled her hand free of his and stepped close. “Let it go, Paul. She’s trying to provoke you.”
As if to prove her point, Betina threw back her head and shrieked at Paul. “I’ll bury your precious bakeries!”
“Even if I’m not there?”
“Especially if you’re not there!”
“Then there’s nothing to say.”
Betina paused, glaring at him. “You’d give up everything?”
“Not everything,” he said, “not Cassidy. Never Cassidy.” Horrified, Cassidy divided a desperate look between them. They couldn’t mean this! But they did. Betina looked down her nose at Cass and smirked, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Very well,” she said. “Barclay Bakeries dies, and you get your little playmate.”
“No!” Cassidy backed away, shaking her head. She couldn’t let this happen. Not to Paul, not to his family. She looked around her blindly. William stepped up to her side. She shook him off, thinking only that he would never understand. Tony’s face suddenly appeared from nowhere. She moved toward it, desperately grateful. “Take me home!” she whispered. To his credit Tony merely nodded and turned her toward the door.
“Cassidy!” Paul clamped a hand on her shoulder turning her back. “Don’t go.”
She turned away. “I have to.”
“No! Sweetheart, wait.” He put himself in her path, seized both her hands.
“Get out of her way, Spencer.”
Paul ignored Tony as if he didn’t exist. “Stay with me, Cass. We’ll bring in the new year together, the way it should be.”
She shook her head, splintering inside. “I-I can’t. Betina—”
He stepped close, bending his head. “She doesn’t mean it! She’d be cutting her own throat, destroying her own income!”
“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, desperate to get away before he could convince her to let him sacrifice himself. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn’t let him do it. He couldn’t give up everything he’d worked so hard to build, not now when all his hard work was about to come to fruition. She couldn’t be the cause of that. She needed to tell him, but the words lodged in her throat, trapped by the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. Tony hovered at her elbow. She grabbed him and held on. Doggedly he pushed her through the crowd and tables. Paul kept pace until they reached the edge of the tent. She knew that he spoke, but she couldn’t hear the words for the misery roaring in her brain. Once free of the tent, she ran, Tony beside her. At some point, she realized Paul was no longer following. It was then that she began to sob, then that Tony took her in his arms and held her. Then that the loss finally broke her and she let it sweep her away.
Paul stood in the dark of his office, brooding. What a fiasco, Betina ranting at him like a madwoman, Cassidy running away, William bleating one inane comment after another in a vain attempt to cover what could never be hidden. Paul had pulled himself together and made a dignified public apology devoid of explanation, then quietly exited. He had intended to go after Cassidy at once, but reason told him that it was wiser to wait. Better to do what he now knew had to be done and then present her with a fait accompli. Otherwise, she would try to talk him out of it. She would see herself as responsible for his losses, when Betina was really to blame. He couldn’t let that happen, so he would do what had to be done and go to her afterward.
He turned into the room, the heavy glass of the window cool against his back, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants. Carefully, a bit at a time, he looked around the room. This paneled office had once been his grandfather’s. Betina had tried to get him to paint the golden oak paneling white and replace the burgundy and gold carpet with pale gray. She had envisioned a glass and chrome desk and Danish modern chairs. Paul had laughed at her, and she had taken immediate offense, but he could find no reason not to love this room just as it was. He tried to envision how Cassidy would decorate it and chuckled at a vision of Tiffany lamp shades, glowing candles, and paisley prints. Suddenly he felt her absence with keen longing. He was not complete when she was away from him. As hard as it would be to leave this room for the final time, it would be much, much more difficult, even unbearable, to give up Cassidy.
He crossed over to his desk, clicked on the banker’s lamp that sat to one side pulled out the chair and sat down. Carefully he opened the center drawer and selected
a pen, laid it beside the blotter and closed the drawer. Turning slightly to one side, he opened another drawer and extracted a single sheet of company stationery, which he placed in the very center of the desk blotter and smoothed needlessly with his hand. Sitting forward in his chair, he checked the pocket watch that had once belonged to Theo. Three minutes past midnight. He picked up the pen and wrote the date at the top of the paper. January 1. What a way to start the new year. He shook his head, took a deep breath, then began to write. When he had finished, some minutes later, he lifted the paper and read aloud what he had written:
“To whom it may concern:
It has been my pleasure and my privilege to serve this company and the family it represents in one position or another, from errand boy to CEO, for more than twenty years. During that time, I have sought to perform my duties to the very best of my abilities. Had I been as scrupulous about my private life, I would not now find it necessary to tender my resignation, effective immediately. My final act, if it is permissible, is to recommend Cal Thomas as my replacement. I believe that Cal will tend the family till, so to speak, with the same care and skill as I myself. My gratitude is extended to many persons too numerous to mention here. Let me say then, in conclusion, that I wish only the best for this company and the noble family who are its shareholders.
Sincerely, Paul Barclay Spencer.”
Well, that about said it all. He let out a sigh and rubbed a twitching muscle in the hollow of one temple with the tip of his forefinger. Then he folded the letter in thirds, creasing it sharply twice with the edge of his thumbnail. He took out an envelope, slipped the letter into it and folded down the flap before tucking it into the breast pocket of his rented coat. That done, he reached for the telephone and dialed the first of five numbers, each of which he knew by heart. As expected, he reached only answering machines. None of the residents would be home yet. They were all at the party, all except perhaps Betina. He left the same message on every machine. He was calling an urgent meeting for one o’clock that afternoon at the Thomases’. He apologized to Joyce and Cal for appropriating their home but promised that he would explain as soon as he saw them.
After he hung up from the final call, he sat for several moments longer, letting the ambience, the history, of this place fill him one last time. Then he switched off the lamp, got up, and fished his keys out of his pocket. He removed the ring that held keys to the building and laid it in the center of the blotter.
As he rode the elevator down and walked through the lobby, he thought about all the improvements that had been made over the years. He remembered how they’d grown, flourished, really, and felt a sense of pride in all that had been accomplished. His contributions had been many. He could be proud of that, at least. Hereafter, he meant to live his life, personally as well as professionally, in a manner in which he could always take pride. For that he could thank Cassidy, that and so much else.
He walked out of the building and went home, where he turned off the telephones, boxed his costume for return, took a shower and tried to catch a few hours sleep. He was more successful than he’d expected. Waking about ten, he shaved, dressed, put the costume box in the car and went out for a late breakfast. The city had apparently partied hard the night before, for the streets were all but deserted in the light of day.
Paul thought of Cassidy. Had she slept as well as he? Was she able to enjoy her breakfast. Did she have the hope that he would work things out so they could be together? Did she even understand how much he loved her? He didn’t see how she could. After all, she had offered him her most precious gift, her virginity, and he had walked away from it, but surely she knew how difficult that had been for him. Surely she had felt the strength of his love last night. If not, he would see to it that she understood—just as soon as he got through this meeting. He knew that though the shop would officially be closed today, she would be receiving returned costumes from last night’s party between one and four. He wanted to be at the shop before four.
He took his time over breakfast, then drove around for a while, washed the car, checked all the fluids and the pressure in the tires and filled the gas tank. When he’d killed enough time, he drove to his cousin’s house, arriving around half past noon. Joyce answered the door wearing pink fleece and bedroom slippers. Because she wore no cosmetics, he easily identified the slightly purplish half-moons shadowing her eyes.
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, which she turned up for him. “Hey, cuz. You feeling okay? Baby giving you a little morning sickness?”
She shook her head, dark ponytail swinging. “Nope. I’m fine. Just a little tired.” She turned and led him through the impressive, vaulted entry into the spacious living room, saying, “Late night last night.”
He nodded a little shamefacedly. “Party break up late?” She sent him an enigmatic look. “Not particularly. Cal and I left right after the ‘Auld Lang Syne.’”
“I see.”
“We missed you,” she said lightly.
He looked away, muttering, “I sort of lost my party mood.” Joyce waited until he looked at her again before saying gently, “You love her very much, don’t you, your Miss Penno.”
He smiled. “Very much.”
“I’m glad. Sit down. I’ll get Cal.”
He wandered toward the massive sofa in the center of the room, but bypassed it and went instead to the low-backed armchair placed close to the free-standing rock fireplace that divided the living area from the dining area. Joyce had been gone only moments when the doorbell rang. Just as Paul began to wonder if he should go and answer it, the door opened and his aunt Mary’s voice rang out, “Yoo-hoo! Joyce dear, it’s Mother!”
He stood and called to her. “In here, Aunt Mary.”
Presently Mary appeared, wearing a simple gray wool skirt, walking shoes and a red sweater embroidered all over with “Happy New Year!” in what appeared to be every known language. She wore a red headband and looked rather girlish for it, her thick white hair waving about her face in untutored curls. The thought struck Paul that she had not taken time to style her hair, and as she drew nearer, he noticed something odd about her lipstick. It feathered at the edges, accentuating unkindly the small wrinkles around her mouth. His own lips twitched as he faced the sudden knowledge that his dear aunt, sweet little lady that she was, had been wearing carefully applied lip liner lo these many years and he had failed to notice. She was a woman, he realized, like any other. The thought fascinated. He began to count in his head the number of years that she had been a widow.
Joyce and Cal arrived then. It seemed that Paul had gotten his entire family out of bed for this meeting, an impression confirmed by Uncle John shambling in a quarter hour later, his hoary jaw unshaven, his voice still rough and thick from sleep. He had hardly rumbled a hello when Joyce got up to fetch coffee, and the entire party, save Paul, heaved a sigh of relief for needs about to be met. He could only chuckle as the steaming mugs were passed to eager hands.
“The party must have improved considerably after I left,” he commented only half-teasingly. “You all look as though you were up until the wee hours.” Was it his imagination, or did an expression of conspiratorial guilt tiptoe around the room. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but John beat him to it.
“All right, Paul, out with it.”
Again he opened his mouth. Again he was forestalled. “We agreed to wait for everyone to arrive, John,” Cal said, the ring of authority in his voice.
John grunted, and before Paul could ask when they had made such an agreement, Mary said rather forcefully, “I enjoyed last night’s dramatic presentation, Paul. I would say that was one of your better ideas, and you were really quite good, you and Miss Penno.”
“Penno,” John rumbled. “Kin to that what’s-his-name, is she?”
“William,” Paul confirmed.
“Never cared for him,” John stated flatly.
“She’s his sister.”
“Which is not to say, of cou
rse, that I would not like Miss Penno herself. I’m not one to judge too quickly, as you know, and after all, what would an old bachelor like me know about young women? I merely said that I do not care for the brother. Something of a toad, don’t you think? Er, the brother, mind, not the sister.”
Paul was flabbergasted and mildly amused. “I, ah, am persuaded, Uncle John, that you will like Cassidy quite well.”
“Just as I suspected,” John muttered. “Just as I suspected.”
“She is not at all like—”
The doorbell chimed, and Joyce leaped to her feet. “That will be Uncle Carl and Aunt Jewel. I’ll just let them in. The help is off for the holiday, you know, not that it matters, Paul, not that it matters at all.”
“William.” Paul finished, watching her hurry from the room as if escaping some peril unknown to him. The notion was so strong that he actually looked all around him, twisting about in his chair to do so, the others studiously ignoring him. What was going on here? Would eerie music start to play next, like it did in the movies to warn an unsuspecting audience that it should prepare to scream?
Carl and Jewel entered the room shepherded by Joyce. If anything, this pair looked even worse for wear than the motley crew already assembled. Carl was as bleary-eyed as if he had not slept at all. His clothing, on the other hand, might have been slept in. Jewel wore no cosmetics at all, her silver blond hair scraped back into a tight twist at the nape of her neck. He rose as Jewel came straight across the room toward him. To his surprise and confusion, despite the tense look in her eyes, she merely laid a hand upon his shoulder. From sheer habit, he bent forward, and she kissed him on the cheek, her hand patting him understandingly.
