Balancing Act (24 page)

“Not really. How about a diet soda?”

Dory frowned. “I don’t think we have any. Sylvia had the last bottle yesterday. How about some coffee or beer?”

“Ice water. I have to start watching my weight. All this rich food is going straight to my waist. That Sylvia really does watch her figure, doesn’t she?” he asked, looking pointedly at Dory.

“Yes, she does. But, Griff, she’s like a stringy hen.”

“I never noticed,” he said blandly. “I’m not all that hungry, so don’t make much for me.” He opted for the truth. “I played racquetball and picked up a hot dog with Cal Williams.”

“Oh, is that where you were. I thought you were working late. Why didn’t you call me? I would have waited on dinner.”

Now. Now the fireworks would start. Instead, Dory grinned. “Who won?”

“He did. He’s in shape. He noticed the weight I put on and ribbed me all night. Cut down, Dory, forget the pies and bread and give me salads and chicken.” His tone was cooler and more curt than he intended. Dory’s face fell. She looked guilty and frightened. God, why should she look
frightened
? “Hey, it’s not the end of the world. I’ve always been weight conscious, you know that. You used to be too. Somewhere, somehow, we’ve gotten off the track. Let’s get back on before we get to the point where it’s hard to take the pounds off.” He watched carefully for her reaction. There was none. She moved away from the stove and stared at him for a minute.

“I can fix you some chicken if you want. It won’t take long.”

“No. Just some salad. In fact, I don’t even want salad. I feel bad that you cooked all this food.”
And
spent all this money, he thought.

“It’s no problem. If you’re sure you don’t want anything, I’ll get back to my work.”

Goddamn it, Griff thought as the needle-sharp spray attacked him. She made him feel guilty. Then he grinned. A tiff. They were having a tiff and what fun it would be to make up.

Dory was usually the first one in bed, her arms and body waiting for him. Tonight, she elected to stay in the kitchen to work. Christ, was she going to start holding him off when something didn’t set right with her? He hated the thought. Hated the impulse that came over him to run downstairs and take her in his arms. Hated the thought that he would even go so far as eating the food he didn’t want. He gave the pillow a vicious punch and then another. He rolled over and tried to sleep. He was still wide awake at three o’clock when Dory crept into bed. She lay so far to the edge he thought she would fall out of bed if she moved. He wanted to gather her in his arms and make love to her. Her stiff body told him she might agree but it would be on her terms. There was no giving in her this evening. Jesus. Women! He closed his eyes and eventually slept.

Warm tears soaked into the satiny pillowcase. What did I do, she cried silently. And he never noticed the scarecrow leaning crookedly against the front door.

I
t was raining hard the next morning when Dory woke. She crawled from bed and padded down to the kitchen. She put coffee on to perk and pulled out the toaster. If Griff didn’t want her homemade cinnamon rolls then he could have dry toast with his coffee. She would eat the rolls herself and smear butter all over them. It wasn’t an easy task to make cinnamon rolls from scratch and she refused to waste them.

The phone rang. It was Lily. “I can’t possibly come to lunch today,” she apologized. “I can’t take the baby out in this weather and the morning news says this is going to keep on for the whole day.”

Dory voiced her disappointment, but she felt secretly relieved. Lunch with Lily might have been nice, but there were other things that needed doing today, and at least she wouldn’t have to rush home from the university to prepare a sumptuous lunch straight out of the pages of
Woman’s Day.

Griff walked into the kitchen. He assessed the situation of Dory sitting at the table lathing butter on the cinnamon roll and kissed her soundly. “Oh, they look delicious. I’ll have two with lots of butter.”

“No, you won’t. You’re having dry toast with your coffee. I’m having the rolls.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Fine,” Griff lied. Damn, he really wanted the cinnamon rolls. “How about you?”

“Fine,” Dory lied in return.

Griff gulped his coffee and reached for the toast. “I think I’ll eat this on the way to the clinic. See you this evening. Remember, it’s my late night tonight. Do you have classes today?”

“One at ten and another at twelve. I should be home by one at the latest,” Dory replied, biting into the warm bun.

The minute the door closed behind Griff, Dory tossed the rolls into the trash. She watched the driving rain as she sipped her coffee. There was no way she was driving out to Georgetown in this weather. This was the kind of day you cleaned out closets or baked cookies. But her closets were neat, and if Griff was on a diet, that left schoolwork or a book to be read.

She admitted she loved to snuggle in and putter around. A whole, entire day to snuggle and putter. Maybe she would call Katy and Pixie and see how they were doing on the article for
Soiree.
After she made the bed, that is, and cleaned the bathroom and rinsed the dishes and coffeepot. Then she would relax with a fresh pot of coffee and make her calls. Maybe it was time to see about the profiles. Katy was certain to ask how that was going and she didn’t want to lie. On the other hand, she could do what all the other freelancers did, say she was
on top of it.
If the rain stopped, she could take a trip to Ollie’s Trolley and see if the senator showed up. But that meant she would have to get dressed and schlepp out in the puddles. A girl could ruin her shoes doing something like that. Perhaps today wasn’t the day to think about calling Katy or Pixie. Her eye went to the calendar by the phone. It was almost time to call Lizzie. Dory counted the large red X’s and groaned. Where
had
the time gone?

Gay little notes penned by the office staff and Katy had been arriving with regularity these past weeks. For some reason they frightened her. She always tore up the notes and then was nervous and edgy for the rest of the day.

There was no point in calling Pixie either. Pixie would chatter on and on about what a wonderful time she was having as the star of a
Soiree
story. She really didn’t want to hear about it.

You don’t want to go to school; you don’t want to get in touch with the senator; you don’t want to call your friends; what
do
you want? A tired voice within her answered: “God, I wish I knew.” Lately, she couldn’t seem to make even the smallest decision about herself. She knew she should be hitting the books, attending the lectures, taking notes. She knew she should go on a diet and take off at least eight pounds. The number made her blink in awe. Eight pounds!

Maybe she should call Sylvia and ask her to go shopping. It was time to think about Thanksgiving decorations, and while she was at it, she could pick up some new knickknacks for Griff’s den. The crystal unicorn he had admired in Neiman-Marcus.

I’ll buy you a gift, a bribe if you will, and you be nice to me. Don’t notice me for my lack of direction. Don’t make me feel frightened. Don’t ever do that to me again, Griff, she pleaded silently.

Something was wrong.

What?

Who to believe?

Sylvia? “Spend. Enjoy. Reach out, take it. Go for it.”

Lily? “Snuggle in. Let’s cook, bake and decorate. Be creative in your home. Forget independence. Forget the outside world, it’s cold and cruel. Let Griff worry about it all.”

Hide!

School?

It’s hard. Work, work, work. Headaches. Nervous indigestion. Notes, always notes. More notes.

Take off those eight pounds.
Now.
Before it’s too late.

Career. Once it was the most important thing in life. B.G. Before Griff. Griff said he understood. Everyone needed a hiatus.

Hide!

Hide from Katy, from Pixie, from the unseen senator, from Lizzie.

David Harlow!!!

The red X’s on the calendar seemed to run together.

Was this the way it was supposed to be?

Aunt Pixie would tell her to clean up her act and straighten up and fly right. What did Pix know? She lived in a wine bottle.

Something was wrong. Was Griff falling out of love with her?

Was she falling out of love with Griff?

Never!

David Harlow!

The red X’s.

Decisions.

Challenges.

Hide. For God’s sake hide!

Griff.

Dory looked around, unseeing. Her heart was fluttering wildly. She could call Griff and Griff would make it better. Whatever it was.

No!

I can take care of myself. I have for years. I don’t need anyone to take care of me.

Givvve meee aaa breaaakkk, the inner voice chided. If that’s true, why are you sitting here doing nothing? A noncontributor.

The phone rang. Dory glared at it as if it were the enemy.

Dory didn’t realize how cautious her voice sounded till she heard Griff asking her who she was trying to evade.

“No one. Why would you say such a thing?” Dory asked fretfully.

“Dory, I hate to bring this up, especially on the phone, but right now I don’t have any other choice. The clinic needs a new centrifuge. If I put in my share, which I intend to do, my personal account is going to hit rock bottom. Now, we both agreed when we signed the lease for the town house that you were going to help with the finances. I didn’t like it then and I still don’t like it. You convinced me that it was the right move and I went along with it. The rent and the utilities are due in five days. I have a car payment to make and some payments on my charge accounts. If we can’t swing the payments, then we’re going to have to try and break the lease and move someplace cheaper. I told you that I wouldn’t be taking a salary for the first six months and things were going to be lean. I’m sorry, Dory.”

“But, Griff, I’ve been buying all the food and I did pay for all the extras, the chair for your den and the drapes and plants,” Dory said in a shocked voice.

“Those were things we didn’t need, Dory. I’m talking about the essentials. Didn’t you hear what I just said? Once I pay this month’s rent and pay my bills, I’m virtually wiped out. How would it look to John and Rick if I went back on my word and asked for an advance? I won’t do it, Dory. I want you to think about this today, and we’ll talk this evening when I get home. Dory, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I am. And I’m shocked. You never told me your bank account was so low. I thought you had . . . what I mean is, I expected . . . oh, I don’t know what I mean,” Dory fretted. She didn’t like this conversation. She didn’t like it at all. As a matter of fact, she hated this conversation.

When she hung up the phone she swallowed hard. He was supposed to be taking care of her, providing for her. God, what if she had married him? If she had married him, would he have said the same thing to her? Griff wanted money from her. How cool and detached his voice was. How impersonal. How goddamn impersonal.

She had spent at least three thousand dollars. Maybe more. What more did he want? Hadn’t she knocked herself out making the town house a home to be proud of? Hadn’t she forsaken all else to make Griff a comfortable place to live? She had neglected school, her freelance work,
everything,
to be what Griff wanted. Now, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. He wanted her share. Did he have any idea how expensive food was? Did he think she liked running to the damn supermarket every two days? Did he think she liked all this hausfrau work? Did he think she liked cooking and doing dishes? God, where was the time for herself? And the gas, who did he think paid for the fuel for the gas-guzzling SUV? Some magical gnome who had an unlimited supply of money?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“How
was
it supposed to be?” The inner voice asked petulantly.

Dory sputtered. “Certainly not like this,” she said to the empty kitchen.

Rain beat against the kitchen windows, beating a tattoo as fast as her heart was beating. Her share.

She felt like throwing a fit. Anger, hot and scorching, coursed through her, the first honest emotion she had felt since moving into the town house. She stormed about the kitchen, beating at the appliances with her bare fists. Cups and saucers were swept willy-nilly from the table onto the floor. She kicked out at them. Her share! What was her share? Was it making a home? Doing the cooking? The shopping? Thinking of his every need? His every whim?

He accused her of not pulling her share!

Ignoring the mess, she raced up the stairs and pulled her suitcases out of the closet.

Run.

Hide.

Leave.

Go where?

Do what?

Her share!

Admit defeat!

Admit to being worthless!

Her share!

Griff’s disappointment in her!

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Tears of self-pity rolled down her cheeks. She continued to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at her open suitcase. This was silly, childish. If she were Griff’s wife, the suitcase wouldn’t be on the bed. She wouldn’t have thought of leaving. Theirs would be a marriage, not a partnership that shared expenses.

Marriage. Was that her choice? Was that little piece of paper the difference between a commitment and a financial arrangement? A man protected and took care of and supported his wife. With his lover he had every right to expect her to pay her share.

Dory admitted it wasn’t the money. Money was only incidental. What hurt was discovering that all she had done, all she had accomplished in making a real home for the two of them was unappreciated. The decorations, the drapes, the plants . . . on and on she could add to the list . . . and it wasn’t appreciated. The bills were due. She could give him the damn money, that didn’t matter. It was knowing that all she had done was meaningless. Griff preferred to deal in hard facts and figures and remind her of broken promises.

The rain continued to beat its cacophony against the windows. At least they would get a good washing, she thought inanely.

The ringing phone demanded her attention. She ignored it.

Anger fought to the surface and she squelched it. More self-pity. Her world was falling apart. Nothing was the way she thought it would be. Not Griff. Not even herself. Nothing.

An inner voice warned her against taking rash action. “Slow and easy,” it told her. “Think. You can handle this. Make a decision and stick to it. Do something, for God’s sake! Anything, just do it!”

The phone shrilled a second time. “Hello,” she snapped into the receiver.

“Dory, is that you?” the voice on the other end of the phone queried hesitantly.

“Katy!” Dory squealed. “My God, Katy, is it really you? I’m so glad you called. What are you doing? What’s going on at
Soiree
? Tell me everything. How are all the girls? What’s going on with the layout? How did Pixie do? Did the girls like her? Tell me the truth. I want to know everything. How’s the weather in the city? Smoggy, I bet. How’s your husband and the cat? Don’t leave a thing out. You’re calling on the WATS line, aren’t you? Shoot,” Dory said breathlessly.

“Is it that bad?” Katy asked.

“Yeah. Now tell me everything.”

“Okay but first I called you with a few problems. I hope you don’t mind. Let’s get them out of the way first and then we can gossip.”

“Hit me.”

Fifteen minutes later Katy grumbled. “God, it was so simple. I should have been able to figure all of this out myself. I guess that’s why you’re you and I’m me. I’m telling you, Dory, you did this magazine a favor when you sent us your aunt. The place hasn’t been the same since. She’s got Harlow eating right out of her hand. I think she’s lusting after him and making no bones about it. She’s got to be the horniest woman I ever came across.” There was open awe and admiration in Katy’s voice when she continued. “And she isn’t faking it either. Another thing I wanted to tell you. I sent some layout copy to you for your approval. Harlow says it doesn’t go until you initial it. I thought that was swell. Do you agree?”

“Harlow said that? You aren’t kidding me, are you?” She was feeling better and better by the minute.

“No way. He said this was yours and you have to pass final approval and he didn’t care if you were residing in Nome, Alaska.”

“Super,” Dory said. Compliments from on high were so rare that when they did fall one had to be ready to catch and appreciate them.

“Pixie hosted a dinner party at the Sign of the Dove for all the crew and everyone from
Soiree
who wanted to attend. I might add that she had one hundred percent attendance. She’s a trip. Harlow was so impressed with the check I thought he was going to pass out. I left at two thirty and the girls were telling me that the management stayed open till four to accommodate Pixie. I’m telling you, this place is like a morgue now that she’s gone.”