by Nell Kincaid
And then, once in the cab, she let her feelings come to the surface. And she was suddenly dizzy, almost ill with confusion, sick from the stale smell of smoke that had suffused her clothes at the party.
The party. She had worried about it, made it a focus of her life for the past few weeks; it had turned out very well, exceeding her most optimistic hopes; and she hardly cared.
For Ben was apparently content to break off communications completely, to leave things as they had been when he had walked out of Kate's apartment.
At the party he hadn't even looked into her eyes with anything except utter coldness; he had barely looked at her at all.
And Kate was suddenly swamped with regrets: What if she hadn't ever spoken up? What if she could have taken back her words?
But that would have only postponed the inevitable. For she would still be who she was; he would still be who he was; and nothing would have changed. Yet she hadn't meant what she had said to be a good-bye. . . .
The next morning Kate awakened with a vague hangover—aching, fuzzy, slightly dizzy. For a brief moment— a blessed moment—she thought her encounter last night with Ben had been a dream.
But with an unwished-for clarity she remembered the whole scene in a painful vision. And by the gray, drizzly light of the morning there was an inexplicable but definite feeling of finality to the memory. Last night the experience had seemed dreamlike, indefinite, from music that was too loud and drinks that were too strong; but now, it was all too clear.
Kate got ready for work clumsily and inefficiently, her body grudgingly going through the motions of the morning routine: shower, get dressed, put on makeup, drag yourself out the door.
At the store everyone looked a bit drained and pale, just a little the worse for wear than yesterday. As Kate rode up in the crowded elevator, she accepted congratulations for the evening with a forced smile, and shut herself in her office with a cup of black coffee and the Times.
Mechanically, she turned to the page on which fashion and society news appeared. And her heart skipped a beat as she began to read: "Last night bright lights of Seventh Avenue gathered to celebrate the launching of Ivorsen and Shaw's new and ambitious ad campaign. It was a glorious party celebrating a glorious store whose reputation has unjustly faded over the years. As one woman was heard remarking to another, The whole store is divine.' And indeed, judging by the swarm of fans there to celebrate, the world will soon be beating a path to those East Fifty- second Street doors once again."
Kate smiled. Lovely. She couldn't have asked for a more positive article. She picked up the phone, buzzed Linda, and asked her to be sure all board members received copies of the article by the afternoon with a memo she'd give her in a few minutes.
She hung up, and then, hand still on the receiver, hesitated. It would have been so natural to call Ben if this had been only a few short days ago—to share in the excitement, share the pleasure, enjoy a joint triumph. But now everything was different.
She went back to her work, composing a memo to the board that was positive without being overly self-congratulatory. The message had to be clear: Yes, gentlemen, parties like this do work, and our ad dollars were well spent. It would have been a simple memo to write—just a line or two—if her mind had been clear.
But now—now the tasic seemed Herculean.
She wished sfie could talk to Ben, wished she could turn back the clock and make all that had happened disappear.
She sighed, staring at the newspaper. And suddenly she realized she hadn't even given any thought to the future of the campaign: how would she and Ben work together from now on? Would she be able to look him in the eye knowing the warmth she loved was gone? Would she be able to pretend she wasn't being torn apart inside as she listened to that voice she adored?
She closed her eyes, trying to think. What would she do?
And then she knew she would have to go on as well as she could, just as she had done last night. She would have to ignore and hide and suppress her feelings, and go on.
And perhaps now was the best time to start. For she wanted to tell Ben—the one she loved, not the "new" Ben—about the clipping; she wanted to try to share some of the triumph; and it would be among the easiest topics they would ever discuss again.
She dialed Blake-Canfield, gave her name and asked for Ben, and then tried to slow the beating of her heart as she waited for Ben to come on.
She heard a click, then "Kate," in a voice that was completely neutral, chilling, devoid of clues.
"Uh, hi," she said. Suddenly she was swept with fear: why had she called? It was too soon after last night. "I, uh, thought I'd let you know about the Times."
There was a pause, just a beat. Then: "Yes, I saw it," he answered in the same unreadable tone.
She waited for him to say more. But there was no reply.
"Well," she muttered, "I guess that's about it." She
closed her eyes. God, why had she said that?
"By the way," Ben said, "you'll be working with a woman named Christina Casey for a while, Kate. I've decided to stay on in California for an extra three weeks— we have some business out there and I'm combining my time off with that." He paused. "I'll be staying at the Drake," he said, and gave her the address and phone number. "I don't know if—" He hesitated. "Well, there it is if you need it."
"Okay," she said, her throat closing over her voice.
"Well. I guess that about wraps it up," he said. "I'll be here the rest of the afternoon, and then I'm off."
"Right," she said quietly. "Good-bye."
She put the phone down and put her head in her hands. Now there was no question. It was definitely over. Ben was fleeing, putting as much distance between them as he could—and for as long as he could. Kate had spoken her mind; she had told him she wasn't happy, that she didn't want to go out west with him; and her words had been enough to make him end it completely. And it had ended as inevitably as all her other relationships had ended.
Kate closed her eyes. Except Ben was different, she said to herself. God, how I loved him.
Yet she knew that this time, there was no way out—no way back in. This was no misunderstanding, no tragic error that could be reversed at the last minute. For no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise, Kate knew there was no solution this time. She had stood up for herself, rescuing herself at a very steep price from the most important relationship of her life. Yet if she hadn't done what she had done, it would have cost her—once again— her self. For no matter how she resolved the minor ques- tions, there would always remain a sobering and immutable fact: if Ben couldn't accept her as she was, she would be playing a role for him, perhaps for the rest of her life. And Ben obviously couldn't accept her for herself; he couldn't even accept the fact that she wanted to be true to herself. And so it was over forever.
Kate sipped at her now cold coffee and looked at the mass of papers on her desk. Insertion orders from newspapers; magazines that didn't interest her a bit; a stack of interoffice memos—most completely without importance —that seemed a mile high.
At least she was good enough to do her job mechanically for a while, even if her heart wasn't in it. And she began to move through her work and through the morning slowly and surely, half her mind on the job and half on Ben. And gradually a new anger was born, a feeling much closer to what she had felt the other night. She may have been the one who had started the argument, but he hadn't even been able to fight. He had walked out, washing his hands of the matter as if it didn't exist. And it was over because of his stubbornness, his refusal to let her think and act and even feel as she wanted. He was the one who had no faith in her, who wanted to be analyst rather than lover, critic rather than partner. And she had made a choice she had never been able to make before: she had chosen to be honest with herself over all else.
Just before lunch Linda came in with some papers for Kate to sign. "Oh, you look awful," she said.
Kate managed a wan smile. "Yes, well, I'm a lit
tle hung-over."
"Do you want me to take over so you can go home? And what about the in-stores? Aren't Alexandra and Pierce supposed to do one tomorrow?"
"Yes. I have to call Alexandra. God knows what kind of shape she's in. And thanks, but I'll manage."
"Good luck," Linda said. "Let me know if you need anything." And she left the office and shut the door.
Kate dreaded calling Alexandra. She would have to lay down the law for her, and she wasn't completely certain of the best approach; for she didn't know how much of Alexandra's misbehavior and lateness stemmed from Kurt's destructive influence. She sighed. Perhaps Alexandra was simply a hopeless case, one of those talented, star-quality newcomers who every year and in every field fall under the influence of someone bent on destroying them. Perhaps she didn't have a chance as long as she was involved with Kurt. But perhaps she did. Kate simply didn't know how to make the judgment.
But the first step, in any case, was to talk ta her.
Kate had to let the phone ring six times, and then Kurt answered. At first it was difficult to get Kurt even to hand the phone over to Alexandra. But when he finally did, Alexandra made Kate's decision even more difficult; for she was wildly apologetic, nearly in tears and quite concerned over how much she had inconvenienced Kate and the campaign. And she promised with apparently deep sincerity that she would be on her best behavior from now on.
The next day, however, as Kate waited with Pierce for Alexandra in "The Sporting Life," I and S's sporting- goods department, her doubts bloomed anew. The two models were scheduled to demonstrate exercise equipment from twelve o'clock to one, and Kate had told Alexandra
to be there at eleven, thinking that even if she were a bit late, it still wouldn't interfere with the demonstration. But it was now eleven forty-five; Kate had called Alexandra's and Kurt's apartments several times over the past hour; and Alexandra was nowhere to be found.
Kate looked at Pierce, calm and serene as usual as he lounged on a weight-lifting bench. "This is going to be a wonderful promotion," Kate said sarcastically. "Most of the equipment we planned to demonstrate is pretty much geared to women. And no offense, Pierce, but two models are more than twice as good as one."
He smiled and looked at his watch. "Don't worry, Kate. I'll handle it if I have to. Do you want me to change?"
"Oh, you can wait a bit," she said. She looked at Pierce carefully. "What do you think of Alexandra, by the way? You must know her better than any of us by now."
He shook his head, his handsome pale blue eyes placid as he said, "I really hardly know her. Kurt keeps her on a very tight emotional rein." He shrugged. "I've seen it happen dozens of times, though—in acting, mostly. Maybe she'll get out from under his control. But if she does, she'll just go looking for another one."
"Mm," Kate said, thinking for a moment about herself. Surely she had been only a pale version of Alexandra when she had been with Kurt. He had dominated her in only a very few areas. But what Pierce had said was disturbing nevertheless. For she didn't like to think she resembled Alexandra in any way; and she knew that, in the past, she had.
And the heartbreak of it was that she had had to break away from a man she truly did love in order to save herself from repeating the pattern.
Kate tried to bring her thoughts back to the promotion. She looked at her watch: ten to twelve. People were starting to come to the area, glancing at the twelve o'clock demonstration sign and moving on a bit. They were waiting, Kate recognized, interested in the demonstration but unwilling to waste time waiting for something when there was a whole store to look at. And if the demonstration didn't begin soon, they would leave, either drifting away without giving it much thought or stalking off in annoyance.-I
And then, just as Kate was about to go over and talk with Gloria Lennox, the woman who was going to narrate I the demonstration, Alexandra came running in—alone.
"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly. "Really sorry. I'll explain later. Where do I change?"
"Go in there," Kate said, pointing to the women's try- on room. "Your things are at the front. And, Pierce, you know where to go."
"Right," he said, saluting.
Kate stayed at the exercise area with Gloria Lennox and the salespeople, and a few minutes later Alexandra and Pierce came racing out of their changing areas, both looking appropriately young and fit and attractive in their very expensive maroon workout clothes.
And the promotion began. The newest best-selling exercise record—music only, with an accompanying aerobics booklet—began pulling customers in with its quiet but steady rhythm, and Gloria Lennox began her talk as Alexandra and Pierce warmed up to the beat.
People came, drifting in from the Trattoria down the floor, "Best Toys for Best Kids" in the other direction, from "Active Swimwear" across the hall. And as Alexan- dra and Pierce worked together and apart, demonstrating the newest, in weight-training for women, aerobics for men, and tandem exercises for both, the crowd grew. It was made up of both men and women—some interested in the equipment, most interested in Alexandra or Pierce, all certain at some level to be inspired by their youth and energy.
Kate noticed a familiar-looking man in the crowd; she was certain she had seen him somewhere recently, but she couldn't place him. And then her attention shifted back to Alexandra. She was eyeing a man in the crowd—handsome, gray-haired, obviously wealthy—with a look of such frank sexuality that even in a promotion such as the rather physical one going on, it was out of place. She was supposed to be spotting for Pierce as he demonstrated the weight-lifting bench and its properties, but she had eyes only for this man. And then, as suddenly as the flirting had begun, it shifted. Alexandra had a new target—this one younger, very casually dressed, at the front of the crowd. He smiled at her, and she shifted again as the exercise ended for a moment and Pierce moved the weights back to the edge of the demonstration area. Alexandra had a peculiar gleam in her eye as she picked up two three-kilo weights and brought them to the edge of the crowd.
"These are specially designed to be handled easily," she said in a soft, seductive voice. "And even if you're the strongest of men," she said breathily, her eyes roving the crowd, "they can make you strong in places you never even thought to exercise." She walked up to a man across from where Kate stood, at the edge of the crowd. He was in his late thirties, tall, fair, classically handsome, dressed in a beautifully tailored suit. "How would you like to try?" she cooed, coming up so close to the man that she was nearly touching him.
At first he was a bit taken aback by having been singled out this way. But then the light of surprise in his eyes turned to one of interest as he smiled. "Anything to please a beautiful young woman," he said, taking the weights from her hands. "Now, just what did you have in mind?
Alexandra turned crimson, as if she had been sleepwalking and just awakened in the middle of some embarrassing act. "I, uh, they're very light," she stammered, and a ripple of laughter swept through the crowd.
Kate was completely puzzled. What on earth had Alexandra just been up to?
The rest of the demonstration was uneventful in terms of Alexandra; and in terms of sales, it was excellent. People bought weights, books, exercise mats, workout suits, virtually everything the department stocked.
And so the promotion had been a hit, even if parts had been a bit mysterious.
Later on, after Alexandra and Pierce had changed and Pierce had gone off for the afternoon, Kate took Alexandra to II Trattoria for a talk.
After they were seated and had ordered, Kate looked at Alexandra carefully. "I want you to understand," she began slowly, "that I'm talking to you both as an employer and as a friend. Both are important. You obviously know, Alexandra, that we aren't going to be able to keep you on if you keep being late and not quite right for the in-person promotions."
"I have a contract," she said in the naturally small voice she used when not in public.
Kate shook her head. "Your contract demands a lot of things, Alexandra, and one of
them is that you be on time."
"But my uncle—"
"Listen to me," Kate said gently but firmly. "Fm not going to argue because it's not worth arguing about. There's nothing to argue about. Alexandra, I don't have to tell you that what you've been doing lately would be completely unacceptable to anyone who hired you. If you want to get ahead, you're going to have to make a lot of changes. It has nothing to do with me, it's just a fact. What I don't understand is why you're doing what you're doing. Why are you late when you could be on time? Isn't it important for you to do well?"
Alexandra was looking down into her lap. When she raised her head, her eyes were brimming with tears. "It's more important than anything. And it's more important to Kurt than anything."
"Forget about Kurt for a minute, Alexandra, and—"
"Why?" she demanded. "Just because you might be jealous or—"
"I'm not jealous," Kate said calmly.
Alexandra looked skeptical. "Well, I don't want to forget about him even for a minute. He has everything to do with my success."
"Then why are you on the brink of getting fired?"
"You wouldn't do that. My uncle—"
"Your uncle," Kate interrupted, "isn't so hot on this campaign himself. He wants you in it, but he's not going to want you in it any more than I will if you keep showing up cranky and late. And what was that all about today, anyway?"
