by Nell Kincaid
"Oh, about a thousand phone calls. I'm following up on the invitations to the party Tuesday night—making sure people got all the invitations and all that."
"You?" he asked. "What about your assistant? And your secretary, for that matter?"
"They're doing some," she said. "But I want to do a lot of it myself. A little personal contact never hurt, you know. A lot of people respond to that sort of thing."
"Mm, I know," he said, pulling her close and sending a thrill of desire through her. He stopped and turned, looking into her eyes. "When am I going to see you, Kate? I feel as if we've created a monster: we're both so busy because of the damn campaign that we never see each other outside of studios and offices."
She smiled. "I know. It's ridiculous."
"But what about us? I've got to fly out to Michigan this evening to meet with a client. I'll be back Monday, but—"
"Why not this afternoon?" she said. "I feel the same way, you know. I just want to . . . hold you in my arms. It's been so long."
"Well. Monday," he said quietly.
She blinked. "Fine. But what about this afternoon?"
He shook his head. "I'd love to. But I can wait, Kate, and so can you."
She stared at him. "Are you serious? You mean because of my work? Isn't that for me to determine?"
He looked into her eyes. "I want you to understand something," he said. "I guess I really haven't made it clear." He glanced at the passing crowds, then back at Kate. "I love you, Kate. I've been waiting for someone like you to come along—looking for someone like you for years. I love all kinds of things about you—your moods, your looks, your strengths, and one of the things that first caught my eye was something I thought of as a paradox— this beautiful young woman who's so strong in business and so vulnerable and giving underneath. But, Kate, sometimes the line between those two fades. You're too ready to give in, too ready to empathize with someone like Alexandra Dayton."
"I don't really see what that has to do with us," she said. "Not that I even agree with what you're saying, by the way."
He sighed. "It's a perfect example," he said. "I want to see you, you want to see me, and you're willing to jeopardize your job instead of waiting."
Her eyes widened. "If you could hear yourself," she said quietly. "You know what, Ben? I just realized something about you: you are a complete and total perfectionist. I can't think of one instance as I look back when you haven't expected everyone and everything around you to be perfect. And look—this morning you chipped another imperfection off your perfect self—you stopped smoking. You don't need a lover, Ben; you need some sort of plaything you can work on to your heart's content—someone who doesn't mind changing just to please you. But that isn't me."
"Kate—"
"I mean it," she said.
"But it's such a minor thing."
"Then, why couldn't you let it go?" she demanded. "You can't have it both ways, Ben. If my staying or going to work for the next couple of hours is such a minor thing, then why couldn't you have let it go and said nothing?"
"Because I have to be honest with you."
"Oh, come on," she said. " 'Being honest' is usually just an excuse to say something the other person doesn't want to hear."
Ben frowned. "Kate, I— Is that how you really feel? That I want to say something you don't want to hear?"
"All I know is that you can't seem to accept me as I am from one day to the next. In bed we're just great together —but I can't keep this up if I feel you're trying to ... remold me every time you see me at work or in action."
She searched his eyes, fighting the memory of lovemaking. "I can't see you if it's going to be on that level."
"Don't say that," he said, taking her by the shoulders.
She resisted the warmth of his touch, resisted the honeyed pull of his eyes. "What do you suggest?" she asked hollowly. "I'm telling you how I feel, Ben. You have to say more than 'don't say that.' "
"All right—let's grab a taxi and we'll go to my place."
Her eyes widened. "Oh, forget it," she breathed. "God! Do you really think we're still talking about this afternoon, Ben?"
"i don't know," he said loudly. "Kate, I don't know how to please you. You want to get together, and I say I think you should work. But when I agree, you don't want to see me anymore."
She shook her head. "Uh-uh. Not so. I'm the one who doesn't know how to please you. You know, the first time we talked, you said you didn't mean to sound sanctimonious, but that you had never looked at another woman when you were first married. At the time I had found that difficult to believe. Everyone's human, after all—if only in terms of fantasizing. But you probably didn't look at anyone else, out of sheer determination." She could see the pain in his eyes, but she went on. It was the only way she would get through to him, the only way she would break through the problem. "You're so controlled; every part of your life is so planned and programed that you probably are as perfect as you want to be. And now you want some perfect woman to fit into your life. But dammit, Ben, I don't want to be with you if I'm always feeling that you're trying to change me."
His eyes were dark and unreadable. "Well," he said quietly. "It seems you haven't been as happy as I thought. Or as happy as I've been." He looked past her, and then into her eyes. "What do you suggest?"
They were alarming words, and she could say nothing at first. "I—I don't know."
He searched her eyes. "i hadn't realized you were unhappy."
"I'm not," she said, and then shook her head. "Or I am. But not..." Her voice trailed off. "I don't know what to say."
His gaze was sad, serious. "I've told you before," he said quietly. "I don't believe in forcing issues or people or things. If you're unhappy, Kate, then this relationship isn't worth a damn." His gaze was deep and powerful, as deep and powerful as their lovemaking had been. She wanted to tell him to forget what she had said, but she couldn't; for she knew she had been right. "I think we both have some thinking to do," he said, brushing a wisp of her bangs back. "I'll be in Michigan for the next few days, but I'll be back on Monday. I hope I can see you then. And I hope you still plan on coming with me to California." And he turned and walked away, up Second Avenue into the autumn wind.
Kate wanted to call out to him, to stop him. But what could she say? He was right: she was unhappy. She was the one who had brought it up. And she did have some thinking to do. But as she watched him walk away, head down and shoulders hunched against the cold, she felt as if a part of her heart had just been cut out.
Kate walked back to Ivorsen and Shaw, though it was cold and rather a long distance. But she needed time to think, to snap out of the haze that had fallen over her as she had watched Ben walk away. The haze was part panic, part fear, a terrible feeling of emptiness that had closed over her soul like a chill gray mist.
For she had no idea how Ben had felt as he walked off into the cold. He had said he hoped she still planned on coming to California; but did he really? He wouldn't have even brought it up unless at some level he hoped she wouldn't come. God—what had she done?
But she shed no tears. For there was a part of her that knew she had done the right thing. She had just taken a painful step she had never taken before. With Kurt and other boyfriends, she had never stood up for herself. Each in his own way had tended to be very dominating, and, translating this into caring, Kate had accepted it. She had told herself that Kurt or Alan or Steve or whoever wouldn't care about what she wore or said or did if he didn't love her. And over and over again, she had failed to see it wasn't true caring.
She remembered how Kurt would lie on her bed as she got dressed before a night out on the town, and she would have to try on six different outfits before he finally said one looked good. Something about this had made her feel loved; she felt he was doing it because he was proud of her, and he wanted her to look her best. But now, as she looked hack on it all, she saw how wrong she had been. Yes, Kurt had wanted her to look good, but only so that he coul
d look good. And he had rarely complimented her, either— perhaps out of the fear that if she became too confident, she would leave him. And this had happened—in different ways—over and over again with all the men Kate had ever been involved with.
And now she had stood up for herself.
She knew that Ben's criticisms weren't of the self-serving nature that Kurt's had been. But even so, they hurt, and they rankled. Why did she have to be perfect? And what was so wrong with what she did? This was a new period of her life—a period of strength, of standing up for herself. And Ben would have to see that.
When Kate got back to the store, she went straight to Alison's office, in credit operations on the eighth floor.
Kate sat down at her friend's desk and listened to the tag end of Alison's conversation with a customer who had defaulted on a payment.
Kate smiled and shook her head as Alison hung up the phone. "I don't know how you do it."
"Well, I'll tell you a secret. When I want to be nasty, it helps if I pretend they're my last rotten boyfriend. Or my first husband's new wife. Or I could take all of your exes, Kate." She smiled and exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Speaking of whom. Or which, I should say in this case. I heard some interesting news."
"What?"
"Well. Again, this is third- or fourth-hand, but your little ex-charmer Kurt Reeves is in the hot seat right now. Really touch and go, Kate."
Kate smiled. "Great. Why?"
"Well, it seems that he's made no secret of the fun he's having with Miss Tiny Tears—what's her name?—Alexandra Dayton. And not only fun—but he seems to have become her rep."
"I know."
Alison smiled. "Needless to say, this news doesn't sit
too well with our favorite v.p.-operations, Mr. Richard Dayton. According to my sources he's livid. Kurt's chances of getting the art directorship are less than zero right now, and as soon as they can hire someone else, he's out."
"Really?"
"Plus—and you'll get a kick out of this, I think—Dayton 'ordered' Alexandra to stop seeing Kurt and she refused."
Kate shook her head. "Poor kid. She's really still a kid, you know. She's completely taken with Kurt. Everything she does on the set has to be 'okay with Kurt.' She's totally passive. And I really don't envy the position she's in right now—being pulled by Kurt in one direction and by her marvelous uncle in the other."
Alison nodded. "I know. But look—better her than you, right?"
"Definitely. Except that I seem to have a problem of my
own."
Alison raised a brow. "Ben?"
Kate nodded.
"Mr. Perfect? Ben Austin? What's the matter?" .
"You just said it," Kate said. "Mr. Perfect. It's the most ridiculous of ironies. All my life I've been attracted to guys who are wrong for me in some way. Finally, through some miracle, I find one who seems great: he likes me; he's not afraid of commitment; he's wonderful in every way. Nothing wrong with him, right?" She shook her head. "He's very sure of himself, Ally. And he's very sure that he wants someone in his life. But he's so damn sure of those things that what he's looking for just doesn't exist. He wants the perfect woman. Someone strong, apparently, but I think he wants someone he can control as well. And he expects me to be it." She gave an ironic smile. "And as you and I know all too well, Ally, I ain't perfect."
Alison sighed and put out her cigarette. "Men. What pains."
"i know!" Kate said. "And if this had happened six months ago, I would have gone along with it: 'Yes, Ben, no, Ben, oh, you're right, Ben.' Except that that doesn't work. If you're molding your personality according to what you think your man wants, then you're not even really with him. He's having a relationship with someone who's playing a role. And then the whole thing falls apart." She sighed. "And I don't want that to happen with Ben."
"Have you told him all this?"
Kate shrugged. "Some. But it's hard to say, when you're feeling it most strongly. Anyway, he's going to be away for a few days. And that'll give us both time to do some thinking."
"Well, it sounds tough, Kate, but don't let him give you any crap. You had enough with Kurt to last a lifetime. And if Ben can't deal with your standing up for yourself, to hell with him."
"Right," Kate said absently, wishing it were all as easy as it sounded.
When she went back to her office and immersed herself in the task of calling selected names on her guest list, her spirits lifted. Naturally, representatives of the major newspapers would be at the party—not because Ivorsen and Shaw was a big advertiser, but because the event and its invitees would make interesting coverage in either the
gossip column or, in the case of the Times, "The Evening Hours." Kate hoped that eventually the store's resurgence would be covered in the business pages, too, but felt it would be just as well if that coverage came a bit later, when there was good rather than bad news to report.
All the women's magazines were sending people from their fashion and beauty departments, though the event would be more one of goodwill than coverage. As national magazines they would be unlikely actually to write anything about this store which existed only in New York City. But their presence meant something special to the manufacturers and designers who would be there. Staff members from most of the cosmetics companies whose products the store carried were coming, too, and some of them—those whose counters were manned by their own employees rather than employees of Ivorsen and Shaw— were already intimately involved with the revamping of the store.
By the end of the afternoon Kate had called most of the people she had wanted to call, with good results. They were all naturally excited about the new campaign: more customers at Ivorsen and Shaw meant more buyers, ultimately, for their products. The momentum was definitely building.
And a few days before the party the ads came out. Store attendance was up, morale was up, and Kate received enthusiastic compliments on the ads from every board member including Dayton.
The day before the party Blake-Canfield sent over a tape presentation they had prepared for it. The presentation was a series of quick shots of Alexandra and Pierce spliced in with shots of the store's different departments and bou- tiques, and it was going to be shown continuously on the far wall of the discotheque. Kate was surprised at how good it looked even without the accompanying music; the audio-visual people at the agency had done a beautiful job, and she felt better than ever about the following evening.
The only part that she dreaded was facing Ben. Now that she had spoken up, what came next? Would Ben change? Would he want to change? Had the sadness in his eyes come from a realization that the relationship could never go anywhere?
Kate wasn't certain she wanted to know the answers. Because she knew that, no matter what problems there were, and no matter what conflicts existed, she loved him. And part of her wished she had never said anything at all.
CHAPTER NINE
Kate thought she would hear from Ben when he returned from Michigan Monday afternoon; he wasn't the type to leave anything unresolved, and she knew he would want to talk before the party Tuesday night. But he didn't call.
And his words kept coming back to her: "This relationship isn't worth a damn." But it wasn't true! She had been trying to be constructive, to face something that was bothering her. But in Ben's quest for perfection, perhaps he felt it was time to move on.
When Kate walked into her building and greeted the doorman, she remembered the night Ben had come without calling. Would that happen tonight? Or perhaps he had called and left a message on her answering machine. Well, if he hadn't, she would call him. If he was back in the city, there was no reason not to try to talk things through.
Kate's answering machine indicated there was one message, and Kate set the tape for "play" and sat on the edge of the couch next to the machine to listen.
But it wasn't Ben. "Kate? This is Mother. I know it's been a long time, but... it's two weeks till Thanksgiving, and I wanted to know whether you were coming.
>
. . . I hope everything is okay. Please call when you can. I love you."
Kate turned off the machine and sank back into the couch. Damn. Now she didn't know what to tell her mother; it all depended on what Ben had to say.
Kate had never been oveijoyed by the holiday season anyway, even as a child. She had seen Thanksgiving and Christmas as days on which she was expected to be happy, days on which she had to pretend and force a smile. That had changed somewhat when she had left home, and since Kate had begun working at Ivorsen and Shaw, the holidays had meant good things in terms of work: business increased tremendously, the ad budget skyrocketed for a month, and there was a genuinely happy if somewhat frenetic atmosphere at the store.
But there had been the visits to her mother as well: strained visits in which there had been little to say, less to be happy about. Now, perhaps it would be a little easier with her mother's new husband. Nevertheless, it was not something Kate looked forward to.
She dialed Ben's number instead. Even that was easier than facing the prospect of what was sure to be a difficult call.
"Hello?" Oh, that voice she loved.
"Hi, it's Kate."
"Hey, I'm glad you called," he said. He sounded as if he were smiling, and her spirits leaped.
"I thought you might like to come over," she said.
"I'd love to. Have you eaten?"
"Nope."
"Chinese okay?"
