Bruce whistled for Yappie, who rose from his mat and obediently came to have his leash snapped on.
“You’re a good boy. Thanks for going along with this little game, fellow.” He patted the well-trained dog. After he had found Yappie, he’d attended dog obedience school with him. The teacher and he had quickly realized Yappie already knew the basics. Bruce was the one who had to learn how to behave around a domestic animal again. It had been a long time since there had been a family pet in his home. They’d had a dog when the kids were young. Not in the later years, when everyone was busy. It was another instance of the sterility of their home. No one had the love to spare even for a dog. How he and Carol had come to make such a wrong turn, he still didn’t know. He didn’t intend to make that kind of mistake ever again.
“Come on, Yappie. Time to play with Dorothy.” They walked next door, and as was his habit, he knocked at the entrance to the sunroom. She was sitting in her usual seat, but got up when he tapped on the pane.
“Hello, Dorothy, how are you this afternoon?”
“Very well, thank you,” she smiled and nodded, but had a slightly puzzled look on her face.
“I’ve brought Yappie so you can reinforce your morning obedience lesson as we walk along the beach.”
“Oh, of course. It’s that time already? How quickly the day passes.” She opened the door and leaned down to pat the little dog.
“He’s been behaving well since you took him in hand,” Bruce remarked.
“He’s a good dog. It doesn’t take a good dog long to learn.”
Had he not been looking for signs of faltering memory, he wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss. Dorothy’s manners were refined and automatic. She had carefully responded to his prompts, never giving a hint she might not recognize him, or know his dog, or even know how long she had been giving the dog lessons or taking afternoon walks with Bruce.
Even though the first time he had met Pam, he had given her a strong warning, she hadn’t listened. Nor had she seemed to pick up on any of it during her visit. Was Dorothy deteriorating suddenly, or was it because he was a newcomer in her life that he noticed? Pam was her daughter, after all, and was deeply familiar. Dorothy was probably on autopilot with her.
What if he introduced himself to Dorothy one day as Greta’s son? Would she recognize him then?
Chapter 18
Pam hauled out her car again and made the long drive to Long Island to see her mother’s attorney in his office in Port Jefferson. He was even farther out on the island than Dorothy.
Signing the documents only took half an hour. The emails they had exchanged in the past week had saved them precious face time. She had come prepared. The attorney knew exactly how to handle the filings and promised he’d expedite them as much as possible. After shaking hands again, she’d walked out a bit poorer but happy to have taken the first big step to solving Magda’s money problem. Luckily, the law allowed Pam to partially fund the nonprofit. She had cashed in a CD, and used the proceeds to start the ball rolling.
Now it was time to visit her mother again. The beach community was all the way south across the island, but not terribly far. When she had driven most of the way, she stopped at a grocery and picked up a prepared meal, the kind Dorothy preferred, and a few other things.
An hour after she left the lawyer’s office, she was turning her car into the drive at the beach house. The houses were far enough apart that some of the beach was visible behind and between them. Dorothy and Bruce were returning from their daily beach walk with his dog.
“Hello,” she called from the driveway.
They waved, and Bruce left Dorothy with his dog and sprinted over to help Pam, whose arms were filled with groceries.
“Pam. Glad you’re back.”
The words were conventional, but the expression on Bruce’s face said he meant them. He wasn’t exactly smiling. That would be too revealing. By his age a man knew how to keep a poker face. There was a lightness to his expression. His eyes looked happy.
She had no such hesitation. She smiled, a big goofy smile.
“Yes, I’m back.”
They stared at each other for a second, taking each other in. Then they both started, as Dorothy came up behind him.
“Now don’t stand there gawking, Pamela. The man is holding your packages. Open the door.” Dorothy chided her.
Pam sprang into action and opened the door, which as usual was unlocked. In other times, her mother’s words would have mortified her. With Bruce, it didn’t seem to matter.
“You don’t keep your front door locked, Dorothy?” Bruce asked. It was obvious he disapproved of unlocked front doors.
“Of course not. Who would bother me way out here?”
“You’re not in the sparsely populated countryside anymore,” Pam reminded Dorothy. “The New York suburbs have spread all the way out here. Maybe you should.”
“Oh, nonsense. After all these years of living in an unlocked house, it’s more likely I’d forget the keys and lock myself out than somebody would bother me.” Dorothy said it in her usual take-no-prisoners manner.
Pam said no more, but Bruce didn’t know Dorothy well enough to stop. He frowned. “I’d be happy to keep a set of keys for you. If ever you got locked out, you could come to me. I’m here all the time.”
“No, thank you. I’m not planning to change my habits,” Dorothy replied in a crisp tone of voice. Her mother would never be so rude as to tell off a neighbor, but she made it clear she would not take his advice or his assistance.
Pam held her breath.
Bruce smiled ruefully, “Have it your way, Dorothy.”
He set the grocery sacks, reusable mesh that Pam kept in her car, on the kitchen counter. Then he took back Yappie’s leash and turned to Pam. “Are we still on for our trip to the park tomorrow?”
She smiled. “Yes. You’re doing a lot of walking with my family.”
“The rest of the day, I sit and write. It’s the perfect balance.”
Tomorrow, they would go to the arboretum. She could hardly wait.
Before she could say anything more, Bruce spoke up again. “Would you like to go out for a drink later this evening?”
“Why don’t you have dinner with us?” Dorothy offered.
“I’ve got to finish a chapter.” He replied.”It’ll take me about three hours.”
By now, Dorothy had gotten the lay of the land. Bruce and Pam were interested in each other. She didn’t press him. “I don’t like going out at night anymore. You and Pamela go.”
Pam looked at her mother, ready to argue. They’d gone out to dinner last week and Dorothy hadn’t said one word about not liking going out at night. Dorothy winked at her, then said blandly, “I’m a little tired. I’m going to sit down.”
She left them alone in the kitchen, staring at each other. They were only three feet apart. Pam felt her breathing accelerate.
Bruce broke the silence. “I like your mother. She’s the anti-chaperone.”
She laughed. “You’re right. She might as well put an ‘Available’ sign on me.”
“Are you?”
“What?”
“Available?” he asked softly.
She squirmed. Suddenly she felt defenseless, as if everything she was feeling was being revealed to him through her eyes and her body language. He put a hand on her shoulder, gently.
“Don’t be shy. Tell me.”
“Yes. Maybe. Yes,” she said more definitely.
Bruce leaned down and kissed her lips.
“Is eight o’clock okay?” He kissed her again. “Pam? Eight o’clock?”
“Yes…”
He kissed her once more, this time clasping her in a close embrace. She could feel him from her shoulders to her knees. Inside, she could feel him everywhere. Her blood sang. She kissed him back. Her arms raised and wrapped around him, too.
Suddenly, she felt something around her ankles, pulling tight.
They broke the kiss and looked dow
n.
“Yappie, no.”
Yappie had wound himself and his leash around their legs and was straining toward the door.
Bruce grinned. “Guess he’s telling me it’s time to go.” He carefully reeled in his anxious pooch and untangled the leash from their ankles. Then he grabbed another swift kiss and headed for the door. “See you later.”
As Bruce and Yappie let themselves out, Pam stood by the counter, turned to stone. How did he do that? How did one little kiss become many? Why did she cooperate enthusiastically? It was crazy. She was crazy. She had never been like this before in her life. She felt buoyant, carried away like a bright balloon. Exhilarated.
They ate dinner in the sunroom. Her mother would never eat in the kitchen, but the dining room was still cluttered. In fact, the piles looked a little higher. When Pam made to do something about them, her mother waved her away.
“They’ll wait. Now that we’re done with dinner, let’s discuss how you go about getting substantial contributions for your charity. You should push for big money, Pamela. Go talk to the richest executives you can find, and ask each man for at least several million dollars.”
Pam gasped. “That much?”
“These men have it. Remember, they think in millions. You must show you’re in their league by speaking in millions yourself,” Dorothy said in her most didactic voice.
“Why would they be personally willing to donate millions of dollars?”
“Because you’re going to let them in on the ground floor with this new charity. They can be the big names for it.”
At Pam’s puzzled look, Dorothy explained. “Well-established charities already have a hierarchy of big names attached to them. A newcomer trying to make a name for himself as a charitable giver would merely be an also-ran. Despite his millions.”
“I’d be offering these men a chance to be the first major contributors?”
“Exactly,” Dorothy nodded. “Appeal to their raging egos. Make sure you come across as if you are upper class.
“In fact,” she paused, “I’ve got some suitable clothing for you in my closet. If you want to convince executives and corporate big shots to part with big money for your new foundation, you should dress the part.”
“I have clothes, Mom,” she protested.
Her mother wasn’t listening. Dorothy led the way to her ground floor suite, and then into her walk-in closet. She started rifling through the garment bags that lined one side.
“Ah. There it is,” she said. She unzipped the bag and carefully pulled out a pale pink suit. Even Pam, who normally paid no attention to fashion, recognized what it was.
“Chanel? You have a vintage Chanel suit?”
Dorothy inclined her head at the words, and then gently opened the suit jacket to show the hexagonal label that simply said “Chanel” on it.
“It’s the real thing, Pamela. Look at this.” She used a fingertip to lift the label and under it was another label with a code printed on it. “The certificate of authenticity.”
Then she lifted the jacket hem and had Pam hold it. “Feel that.”
“Why is it so heavy?”
“A couture suit is always weighted so it hangs right. Chanel suits all have chain inserted between the lining and the fabric, along the hem.”
“It’s beautiful, Mom, but why are you showing it to me?”
“This is what you should wear when you’re bearding self-important men in their offices. They’ll be in twelve thousand dollar, hand-tailored suits. You should wear something equally impressive.”
“Did you wear this suit to visit the mayor or the governor?”
Dorothy smiled a reminiscent smile. “I did indeed. Not for the public protests. For them, I always dressed like a suburban housewife, the way you do.” She gave Pam a stern look. “That will not work with these executive types. Don’t try to dress down. You must dress up, way up.”
“I don’t think I could wear something this valuable. Or antique,” she demurred. “Anyway, it probably wouldn’t fit.”
“Don’t be silly, Pamela. It’s Chanel. It never goes out of style. Here, put it on right now. Let’s see if it fits.”
She couldn’t well protest. Her mother wouldn’t pay any attention. Pam stripped off her nondescript slacks and blouse and carefully lowered the skirt over her head. Then she buttoned herself into the jacket. To her surprise, it fit well. It felt wonderful, soft and luxurious. She ran a gentle hand over the fabric of the skirt.
“Ah, it’s perfect. Look in the mirror,” her mother said.
Pam gazed at herself. The cut was amazing. She looked taller. She felt stronger. “I feel different.”
“That’s what couture does, dear.”
Pam twisted a little, to admire her backside. It looked good.
“Make sure you get some designer shoes. You won’t need a handbag since you’ll be carrying a briefcase.”
Her mother was in her element, citing rules for jewelry, hairstyle, and more. It all became too much.
Who was Pam kidding? She couldn’t pull this off in a million years. She changed out of the suit quickly.
Dorothy hadn’t noticed her sudden shrinking away. She bustled about, carefully re-hanging the Chanel suit in its garment bag.
“Take it to your bedroom so you won’t forget it.” She rezipped the garment bag and thrust it into Pam’s hands.
Dorothy shooed her off. “Come down quickly. We must find you something to wear tonight.”
Pam dutifully placed the garment bag in the closet of the upstairs guest bedroom she used. Her mother was always so sure of herself. She must have moved mountains while wearing this suit. Not that Pam remembered it from the old days, but then she’d hardly paid attention. Her mother couldn’t be right about such an old piece, could she? Even if it was Chanel? If she was, could Pam muster up enough presence to get the same effect?
She ran downstairs to her mother’s suite. Dorothy had pulled out several bright print sundresses.
“One of these might do for cocktails tonight.”
“But it’s already October.”
“The weather hasn’t turned yet. Add a cardigan and you’ll be warm enough,” Dorothy said.
“In that case…”
Pam was drawn to the gay colors in spite of herself. She picked out one with a large red pattern on white. It had wide halter straps and a full skirt.
“That will go well with your pale skin and dark hair,” Dorothy approved.
Pam put it on, whirling in front on the three-way mirror her mother had at the far end of the closet. This dress didn’t ask her to grow in presence or be someone she wasn’t. The red flowers contrasted with her still-dark hair. It was a dress fit for an evening in a beach town. Even when the season was over. She liked it.
“It looks good on you.”
“You’re sure you don’t mind if I wear it tonight?” she asked her mother.
“Of course not. I’ll never wear it again,” her mother said. “In fact, we should clear out this closet sometime. Most of the clothes could be given to charity or to vintage re-sale shops.”
“Should we sort things now?”
“I’ve had enough for a while. I want to sit down. Bruce will be here soon.”
Bruce arrived a few minutes later. He wore khakis and a nicely pressed long-sleeved cotton shirt. He whistled when he saw her coming down the stairs carrying her purse. “You look fantastic. I should go back home and put on a tux.”
She couldn’t help a delighted smile.
He turned to Dorothy, standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Why don’t you throw on your glad rags and join us?”
Dorothy declined. Earlier she might have been faking being tired. Now, the time spent standing and rummaging through her closet had clearly worn her out.
Bruce drove them to the pier, where the yacht club bar overlooked the busy marina. The bar was a quiet place on this weeknight, conducive to talking. They sat at a candlelit table next to a large window, where they could w
atch the boat lights and the occasional departure or arrival.
Bruce said, “Your mother seems to be throwing us together. Is she always like that?”
Pam reddened. “No, this is new. Embarrassing. Of course, I was married for twenty-seven years. She didn’t have to play matchmaker then.”
“That’s a long marriage. What was he like?”
“Most men wouldn’t want to hear about the previous, er, well, you know,” she stuttered to a stop.
“Would I sound conceited if I said I’m not most men?” he asked. “You spent half your life with him. Were you happy?”
“Yes,” she said. She paused. “Yes, we were, although we had our moments. Jeff was…he took care of me, and that’s what I needed when I was young. He took charge, and I molded myself to him.”
“But? You outgrew him?”
“I never tried to grow at all,” she admitted. “I submerged myself into being a wife and mother. Then he died, and I was lost.”
She shook her head, looking out over the water. She had wasted years in the futile effort to pretend her life had not changed.
“You still haven’t told me what he was like.” Bruce’s comment drew her back to focus on his question.
“It’s hard to remember now. He was a good man who would have wanted me to do more with my widowed life than I have.” She wanted to take the spotlight off herself. “How about you and your wife, or is that a sore subject?”
Bruce answered readily. “No. Carol and I looked around once the kids were grown, and realized we had lost touch with each other. Sadly, neither of us cared enough to reestablish our relationship.”
“You fell out of love?”
“I guess so.” He shrugged. “We split up two years ago. She’s happier with her new husband.”
“What about you?” She gave him a concerned look.
“Better now that we’ve met.” He bent a soul-searching gaze on her.
She flushed with pleased embarrassment. “Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
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