Balancing Act (29 page)

“Thanks, Katy. You really helped me.”

“Hey, you did it yourself. I just listened. Did I give you even one piece of advice? Did I say you were right or wrong?”

“You’re right! God, I really did it all myself, didn’t I? I figured it out. I’ve got it together. Well, almost. I have a few more hurdles but I can handle them. I might even have a setback but I know where I’m going. And before you leave I have to know how the profile and layout with Pixie came out.”

Katy laughed. “It’s going to be one of the best pieces
Soiree
ever put out, I can tell you that. The feedback we’ve been getting is fantastic. Pixie was so divine to work with. She asked about doing a follow-up next year—said she’d come all the way from Hong Kong—and she keeps questioning us about talk-shows. Talk-shows yet!”

“I’m glad Lizzie decided to go with it. Was it hard to get around what Pixie calls ‘old age horny’?”

“Good Lord, no. It’s a work of art. Exquisite taste, I can tell you that. That article generated so much interest, the entire board came to see the last shooting session. They loved Pixie, particularly after that bash at the Sign of the Dove. I sent you the last in-house release, didn’t you read it? Harlow gave you full credit, two whole paragraphs as a matter of fact. He said, and this is a direct quote, ‘We have Dory Faraday to thank for her insight and her courage in bringing this matter to our attention. It’s a topic that most magazines would shy away from. Always being a front-runner,
Soiree
and the board feel that Faraday showed remarkable foresight in laying the groundwork for such a remarkable profile.’ And he went on and on, giving you fragrant bouquets. I mailed it to you days ago.”

“Not a word yet. I’ll probably find it waiting when I get home tomorrow. When does it come out?”

“Spring issue.”

“Send a dozen copies to Aunt Pixie in Hong Kong.”

“What is she really doing over there?” Katy asked.

“She’s doing her thing. She stopped by for three days before she left. She hasn’t changed a bit. She’ll live to be a hundred and enjoy every day of it. Griff loves her; they get along wonderfully.”

“How could he not like her? She’s one of the most remarkable women I ever met. Age certainly does have its moments. Give her my regards when you write to her.”

“I’ll do that. It was great talking with you, Katy. I missed you. I’ve missed all of this. I’ll be in touch.”

Katy wrapped her arms around Dory. “Any time. See you.”

Dory drew the dead bolt and changed for bed. She’d think about all this tomorrow when she got back to Virginia.

 

 

Dory deplaned the following morning at National Airport. It was close to the lunch hour and the winter sun was glinting brightly through the long glass windows in the terminal. As she waited for the conveyor to deliver up her packaged shoe boxes her eyes kept swinging over the travelers. It was silly to think she might see the man she’d met the afternoon before, but she couldn’t help herself.

Feeling more disloyal to Griff than she liked, she scooped her parcels off the conveyor and headed for the parking lot.

The town house seemed alien with its wealth of greenery. For some reason it irritated her. She adjusted the thermostat and hung up her fox coat. Annoyance cloaked her when she looked at the messy bed. She hadn’t missed the littered breakfast table with the toast crumbs and empty coffee cup. Woman’s work! she thought nastily. One leg of Griff’s pajamas hung over the hamper. A wet and soggy towel was wadded up in the basin. One slipper was stuck under the door, preventing it from closing. “The hell with it!” Dory exploded as she made her way downstairs. She fixed a cup of strong, black coffee and sat down to drink it. When she was finished she would exercise for an hour and start to get back into shape. A salad for lunch and dinner and she would be off to a good start. Griff could have steak and salad. No more gourmet meals. No more a lot of things.

Four days to make a decision. Her eyes flew to the calendar. Four days. Ninety-six hours. Five thousand seven hundred and sixty minutes.

Griff. She had to think about Griff. If she went back, what would happen to their relationship? It was a known fact that distance did nothing for love. It did not make the heart grow fonder. Could she make it without Griff? Did she really want to go back? When she had left the
Soiree
offices she had stood outside, looking up at the office windows. She recalled saying, “This is where it’s at.” The words stunned her at the time and gave her food for thought as she made her way uptown to Saks.

If that was true, what about her time here with Griff? What did that count for? Was it a trial, a jumping-off point? Exactly what was it? A haven. A safe place to be for a while. Not permanently, but for a while.

When had “not permanently” become a part of her thinking? When she made the decision to take a leave of absence and return to school and move in with Griff, some secret part of her believed it was forever. It was to be a modern relationship that would eventually lead to marriage. She could admit that to herself now.

She loved Griff. Loved him heart and soul. A part of her would die if she left; this she knew as sure as she knew she needed to breathe to stay alive. But she needed more. There was no challenge here. She was making so little contribution to life. Her stomach churned with her thoughts. God, what should she do? How had she ever allowed herself to get to this point? Finding no answers, her eyes swept to the calendar and the red X’s.

She was across the room to the phone in a lightning quick moment. She flipped the calendar to the back “note” page and punched out the number she wanted. Her breathing quickened as she waited for someone on the other end of the phone to pick it up. “Senator Carlin’s office. May I help you?”

“Yes. This is Dory Faraday. Several months ago
Soiree
magazine spoke to both you and the senator about doing a profile of him when the Senate offices adjourned for the holidays. I’d like to discuss a mutual date if he’s in.”

“As a matter of fact you just caught him. He’s already packed to leave to return to New York for the holidays. One moment, I’ll fetch him. He’s talking to someone in the outer office.”

An omen. It was an omen, she was sure of it. Dory’s throat tightened as she waited for Drake Collins to come on the line. Even though she couldn’t be seen, she brushed her hair back from her forehead and rubbed her index finger across her lips.

“Miss Faraday.
Soiree
magazine said you’d be getting in touch with me. I thought you’d forgotten.” His voice was deep. A smile was in that voice, she could hear it.

“Senator, that’s very amusing. I don’t think the woman has been born who could forget you. If I’m to believe your press, you have charisma. That’s the main reason I want to do this profile. You could consider it a public thank-you for all those breathless females who ran to the voting booth.”

A low chuckle came over the wire, sending a chill up Dory’s arms. “My first rule when taking office was never to get caught up in my own press releases.”

Dory laughed. “When can we get together?”

“I’m free from the day after Christmas until the third of January when we go back in session. I believe my secretary gave you my home address.”

“Yes, she did. I want to interview you on your home turf and perhaps do some pictures of you both there and in Washington. And at Ollie’s Trolley, complete with pictures of you and Nick. That’s a must.”

“Will it be a problem for you to come to New York?” Was that an anxious tone in his voice? Dory wasn’t sure, but if it was, she liked the idea.

“No,” she replied without hesitation, “Tell me, is there a particular lady in your life?” She held her breath, waiting for a reply. “Senator, I’m not asking for myself. If there is someone close to you, our readers would like to know. Pictures of the two of you together having lunch, jogging in Central Park, that sort of thing.”

The low chuckle came over the wire again, but no answer to her question was forthcoming. Dory licked at her lips and smiled. “You’re engaged and married to your career, is that it?”

“Now, you’re talking my language. Until the right lady comes along we’ll go with that. I’d like to chat with you longer, but I want to catch the shuttle. I’ll tell you what. Let me get settled in, pick up a few groceries and I’ll call you back tomorrow and we can set up a date. Have a nice Christmas, Miss Faraday.”

“I will, Senator, and . . . enjoy your holidays.”

Dory stared at the phone for long minutes after she replaced the receiver. It was a new beginning. Her first major decision since moving into the town house. It was something concrete, something she could get her teeth into. Something she wanted to do, damn it. Something she was going to like doing.

Picking up the phone once again, Dory punched out the number for
Soiree,
catching Katy just before she left for lunch. “Katy, I’ve made contact with Senator Collins and now I’m in a fix. Can you wire me everything we have on him? If I’m going to appear intelligent on this interview, I’ve got to know something about the man. Express mail would get it here before noon tomorrow and that’ll give me a chance to read it over.”

Dory felt good. She’d gotten the ball rolling, and all she had to do was follow along. It was easy! Why had it seemed so difficult during these past months?

The niggling voice Dory lived with questioned her about Georgetown. An excuse for me to move here with Griff without the commitment of marriage, she answered it honestly. I’m not ready for that doctorate, not yet. Maybe never. Maybe next year, but it will be for the right reasons. I have things to do, places to go. I’m just not ready.

She certainly was clearing all the cobwebs out of her mental closets today.

How she hated that kitchen calendar. The notation in green lettering told her Griff’s mother would arrive the following day.

 

 

Esther Michaels was a lovely woman, a young, fiftyish widow running a small advertising agency and making a go of it. She and Dory had gotten along well at their initial meeting, engineered by Griff, in New York. The talk over dinner had centered on the theater. Esther was into theater, the ballet, and jogging. She was a rail-thin, gaunt woman, eating on the run and trying to nurse a peptic ulcer at the same time. Dory liked her because she was Griff’s mother. Esther’s eyes told her that she approved her son’s choice. Dory was pleased when they left the restaurant, promising to meet again one day for lunch. It was the kind of promise all busy people make. Some day. Maybe. It wasn’t important.

Dory felt annoyed that Esther was coming, but Griff had knocked himself out for Pixie. How could she do less? She couldn’t. But, she admonished herself, I don’t want to entertain her. Not now, when things are so up in the air, so uncertain. Surely Esther would notice the strain. She might comment and then she might not. She might prefer to let Griff and Dory handle their affairs in their own way without offering advice. She didn’t want advice from Esther. From Pixie, yes. Pix would never steer her wrong. Pix could always see both sides of an issue, drunk or sober. Esther would side with her son. Dory knew that Esther wouldn’t feel charitable toward her if she thought Dory was casting her son aside.

Her head ached. She rubbed at her temples trying to erase the nagging ache. If anything, it intensified. She could call Esther and tell her she would love to have her for a visit, for a day, but not for a full week. She couldn’t handle a week. She would be lucky if she could get through a full day. That’s what she should do. But would she do it? Her shoulders stiffened imperceptibly. Griff wouldn’t like it if she changed Esther’s plans.

I don’t want her here. It’s going to cause me emotional turmoil, and I have enough going on right now. A call to Griff would settle it. Dory would feel him out, see what he thought.

No, damn it! She wouldn’t call Griff, or if she did, it would be to tell him her decision. If he didn’t go along with it, that was his problem. Since it was she who would be with Esther most of the time, it should be her decision.

Dory reached for the telephone, punched out Griff’s number and waited for the receptionist to put her through.

“Griff, I’m calling about your mother. I plan to call her today but I did want to talk to you first.”

“Is something wrong, Dory? Look, if you feel it isn’t convenient, cancel out. Mother will understand. Make it for later.”

Damn, he was making it too easy. Besides, she didn’t want later. She didn’t want now, but she was stuck.

“That’s just it, Griff. I don’t want to make it for later. To be perfectly honest, I don’t want to make it for now either. I don’t think I can handle your mother for more than two days. Don’t be angry. I’m trying to be honest with you. I didn’t want to go ahead and call Esther till I spoke to you. She is your mother. But, you’re going to be busy with the clinic and I’m the one who will have to entertain her. I don’t want to do it, Griff. I can handle two days because I feel that’s fair to you and to me. More than that I can’t . . .”

“Dory, it’s okay with me. You’re right. Mom is demanding as a house guest and yes, you’re right, you are the one who would have to entertain her. The decision is yours.”

“Then you aren’t upset with me?”

“Of course not. I know what Mom is like. I understand, Dory,” Griff said softly. “Honey, I’m glad that you felt you could be honest with me about all of this. Don’t give it another thought.”

“It’s settled then. I’ll call Esther now. See you later, Griff.”

It was done. Her second breakthrough. Her second decision. Esther was coming for just the weekend. Dory felt good when she hung up the phone—good about herself. And ready for Esther.

She would have to clean the spare room and change the sheets. She felt as if some kind, wise person had given her a personal reprieve when she yanked sheets and pillowcases out of a drawer. A week ago she would have stewed and fretted over the pattern and probably even ironed the creases. Lily ironed permanent press. But Dory Faraday’s ironing days were over. When she was finished she stood back to view her work for neatness. She blinked. The orange and brown zigzag pattern was almost blinding. These had been Griff’s sheets. He joked that he had bought them on purpose so they would wake him up in the morning. Esther would certainly be wide-eyed.