Balancing Act (22 page)

“I hope the girls hit it off and can do things together. Sylvia still has a lot of time on her hands. Lily has never managed to domesticate her, so it’s up to Dory to take her in hand. Sylvia doesn’t like to be pushy, if you know what I mean. She’s going to stand back and give Dory room. You mark my word, those two are going to be good friends. You do think they’ll hit it off, don’t you?”

Griff noted the anxious tone of the older man. “I’m sure of it, John. But I do think we should let them pace it out themselves.”

“Absolutely.” John leaned back and closed his eyes. There was no sense in telling Griff that he was worried about Sylvia and the way she was spending her time
and
money. His money. It was nothing for her to drop two thousand dollars at the Galleria in one day. Even with wise and careful investing, he was going to have to draw the line with her. And, she was now annoyed when he asked her where she was and how she spent the day. He hated to use the word secretive, but, it was the only word that applied to Sylvia these days. He also wasn’t going to tell either Griff or Rick that he had joined a men’s health club. His blood pressure was up and he had willingly given up salt and spicy foods. It wasn’t too late, he assured himself. There was still time to put that lift in his step and beef himself up a bit. He had never been athletic and his lean body seemed to be shrinking into a kind of old man’s stringiness. Sort of like a tough, old rooster.

“I think I’ll tell Dory to put whatever she cooked for dinner in the fridge and take her out to dinner. I could use some ambiance this evening. Dory started school today and I know she’s not going to be in the mood for much of anything. A nice, quiet dinner, just the two of us.”

“Sounds good to me,” John drawled. He wondered if Sylvia was going to serve Swanson’s pot pies or make soup and sandwiches. Someday he was going to figure out how many cans of Campbell’s soup he had consumed since marrying Sylvia. Christ, how he hated what Sylvia called grilled cheese sandwiches. White bread with a slice of cheese on a paper plate warmed in the microwave oven. Low-calorie yogurt on a stick was dessert seven days a week. But he loved her, heart and soul. It never occurred to him to complain. Sylvia wouldn’t like it if he complained. When he complained Sylvia turned away from him in bed and spent money faster than he could breathe. He wondered who was going to take care of him in his twilight years. He smiled. Sylvia would hire the best nurse possible to wheel him around. She would check on him three times a day. The thought made him want to gag. I’m counting on Dory Faraday to bring some stability to my marriage, he admitted to himself. If it didn’t work out, naturally he would bring pressure to bear on Griff. He wouldn’t like doing it, but if it meant saving Sylvia from whatever she needed to be saved from, he would do it. In his gut he knew she wasn’t sleeping around. Sylvia would never do that to him. She respected her marriage vows. He was
almost
sure of it. But why was she so restless, so lacking in serenity? He hoped Dory could find out.

Griff dropped John off and headed north toward his own home. The goddamn plum pits were still in the van. Sylvia’s stale perfume curled his nostril hair. He fought off a fit of sneezing and turned on the air-conditioning. It didn’t help. Sylvia might be a class act, but she sure needed a lesson or two in the use of perfume. He wondered how John stood it.

The van slid in next to the SUV. Walking around the back, he noticed the spilled dirt and broken leaves and branches in the back of the wagon. He frowned. He’d always been meticulous about his car. What in the hell had Dory been lugging around?

“Hi, honey, I’m home. What say we splurge and go out to dinner this evening?” Griff called out to Dory as he walked down the hall to the kitchen.

Dory stared at the thickening gravy of the pot roast and then at Griff. Griff’s eyes took in the set table, the bubbling pots and Dory’s flushed face. “You did all this and went to school too?” he asked in amazement.

Dory nodded happily. “Pot roast, gravy, string beans, corn on the cob and pears soaked in brandy for dessert. Do you still want to go out to dinner?” she teased.

“Hell no, only a fool would do a thing like that. How about a beer while I get ready to shower?”

“Go along and I’ll bring it up to you. How did you like the living room?”

“Why, what did you do? I just headed straight down the hallway.”

Dory uncapped a bottle of beer and trailed behind Griff. She couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

“Honey, this is fantastic. How in the hell did you do all of this? I didn’t know you were Superwoman.”

“By working my tail off. I’m so glad you’re pleased. Plants make all the difference. Tell me you like it, Griff.”

“You did a great job, honey. Was it expensive?”

“Not really. I got some bargains and . . . the total was . . . around one hundred dollars or so,” Dory lied.

“Fantastic. A bargain hunter too. I definitely approve. I knew I liked you for a reason. What time is dinner?”

“Dinner is whenever you finish your second beer,” Dory said, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Griff ate voraciously. He praised everything at least three times. Dory preened as he complimented her. She rattled on about the care and feeding of the plants and the amount of sunshine they needed, and how a grow light was a must. From there, she babbled on about the apple juice in the pot roast gravy and how she had, just by a stroke of luck, found the last corn of the season. Griff listened to every word, mesmerized by her excitement. “How did school go?” he asked when she slowed down to sip at her wine.

Dory frowned and told him about her dizzy spell. Griff stared at her with concern. “And you did all this when you got home? No more spells?”

“No. Never felt better. Nerves, I guess.”

“Anxiety attack. Don’t overdo, Dory. We have a year’s lease. Take your time and don’t push yourself. Promise me that if it happens again, you’ll tell me and we’ll get it checked out. I’m as sure as you are that it’s just nerves, but it doesn’t pay to leave anything to chance.”

“It’s sweet of you to be concerned, but I’m okay and I promise. Now tell me what you’re going to do this evening? Do we watch television like an old married couple or do you have work to do in your den?”

“Honey, I have to go back to the clinic. We have a Kerry blue that had nine pups today, and they aren’t doing all that well. Upper respiratory problems. They’re such valuable dogs, I want to make sure we do everything possible for them. I’d do the same for a mutt, but these particular dogs belong to Senator Gregory. Politics, my dear.” He grinned.

Dory’s face fell. Her wonderful mood was shattered. Griff didn’t seem to notice as he talked on about the Kerry blues. “I guess you’ll have the den to yourself for studying. I shouldn’t be too late. Around ten or ten thirty. I’ll be back before you know it. By the time you get the kitchen cleaned up and do some studying, I’ll be home, and then look out,” he leered. “Say, why don’t you call Sylvia? John told me she’s about to go back to work at Neiman-Marcus. I know she’d love to hear from you.”

“Okay, I’ll do that,” Dory promised as she started to clear the table. Griff pecked her on the cheek and left by the kitchen door. It was at times like this that Dory wished she smoked.

While the dishwasher sloshed its way through two rinse cycles Dory called Sylvia and chatted for a few minutes. “Darling, how nice of you to call. How was school?” Not waiting for a reply, Sylvia rattled on. “I always hated school. So Griff told you about my job. I just adore it. And,” she said, laughing, “I get thirty percent off anything I buy. Let me know what you need. And, darling, when you have some free time and want to go shopping, just call me. I can show you the stores to stay away from. If Lily would just stop breast-feeding that tot and get a sitter, we could have some wonderful times. I don’t know about you, but I’m mortified every time she unhooks her bra. That baby just . . . guzzles and Lily always has this stupid look on her face as though she’s orgasmic. Disgusting. I’d love to chat longer, but John and I are playing bridge with some friends this evening. Call me now,” Sylvia said airily. Dory stared at the phone for a minute and then hung up. So much for Sylvia. Thirty percent off. That was good. She wondered if it applied to anything in the store or just cosmetics.

Dory stared at the phone, willing Sylvia’s animated face to appear. What made Sylvia run? What was Sylvia all about? A little dose of Sylvia went a long way. She thought she knew what the older woman’s problem was, if it was a problem. She feared old age, suffered from a fear of being unloved and ending up alone someday. Fear was the crack in Sylvia’s veneer. Dory could understand that fear. It was something every woman could understand. It was the way a woman handled that fear that made the difference. Tolerant . . . that’s what she must be, with Sylvia.

Dory sighed. She might as well call Lily too. She felt as though she needed an excuse. Her eyes fell to the trash can and the blueberry muffins she had thrown out. “Lily, I just wanted you to know Griff loved the muffins.”

“Oh, I knew he would. Men always love anything homemade. How are you, Dory? I’ve been thinking about you all day and how I admire you going back to school and all. I wish I had the stamina to do it, but I’m locked in here with little Ricky and big Rick. Did Griff tell you about the Kerry blues? Rick said they’re all worried about them. Wouldn’t it be awful if all nine of them died?”

“Yes, it would. Sylvia told me she’s going back to work. Isn’t that wonderful?” God, it was hard to talk to Lily.

“I’m not sure if it’s wonderful or not. Sylvia just pretends to work. She spends most of her time making up her face for the customers. I hardly find that work. In fact, I think it’s dull. I rarely use cosmetics myself, Rick doesn’t like them. So when I do use them I use the organic kind.”

“Somehow I knew you would.” Dory’s tart tone was lost on Lily.

“Dory, I’m starting to make quilt squares. I’m going to make a quilt for little Ricky. Quilting makes me feel so . . . so Old American, you know, like in Colonial times or something. If you want to do one, we could work on them together. I have the pattern and loads of material. I save everything, all kinds of scraps. I have so much we could each make three quilts and I’d have some leftovers.”

“Lily, I’m all caught up in school and everything. It sounds . . . interesting. If I find the time, I’ll be glad to give it a try. I better get going now, I have a lot of work to catch up on. I’ll call you as soon as I have some free time.”

“Any time. I’m always here. Now, don’t you work too hard. Those old teachers are slave drivers. I remember what it was like.”

Quilts. Quince jelly. Blueberry muffins. I bet she paints murals on little Ricky’s wall too, Dory thought uncharitably as she turned off the kitchen light and headed for the den.

The tape cassette she had recorded in class was playing, but she listened with only half an ear. Curled up on the new recliner she had bought for Griff’s den, Dory recalled her conversation with Lily and tried to figure out what it was about the young woman that irritated her. She had known other women, her mother included, who concentrated all efforts, physical and emotional, to the making of a home. Lily’s devotion to home and husband wasn’t really that unusual, so what was it?

The remainder of the recorded lecture went unheard as Dory pondered her own questions. Finally, after much soul searching, she decided that Lily’s capabilities and unswerving sense of direction made Dory feel inferior and inept. Rick seemed so content and happy due to Lily’s ministrations, and Dory wanted to put that same gleam in Griff’s eyes.

This was silly, Dory chided herself. Of course Griff was happy. What was there to be unhappy about? The niggling thought that she had refused Griff’s proposal of marriage crept into the back of her mind. Was it possible that Griff really needed the stability and contentment of a legal, committed relationship? Was this arrangement of theirs somehow threatening? Why wasn’t she able to commit herself to marriage? If she was happy with Griff, why shouldn’t she turn in her resignation to
Soiree
and plant her roots here in D.C.? Did Griff suspect her of always needing a back-door escape out of a situation, and was he right?

The sudden, unwelcome thought of David Harlow sent a shameful shudder down her spine. It was true, she was trying to cover all the angles, even to the point of compromising herself to Harlow by not making it perfectly clear that she could never have more than a professional interest in him and that she resented his implying that she might. Compromised. She had walked into his trap with her eyes open, and now Harlow was sitting back in New York thinking that when she returned as managing editor there would be after-hours recreation. Fool! Fool!

The sound of a key in the door made Dory jump in alarm. Griff! How long had she sat here? Her eyes flew to her watch. It was after nine and she still hadn’t listened to the recorded lecture.

“Hi, I’m home!” Griff called. Dory was on her feet and running out to the living room, throwing herself into Griff’s arms.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, holding her tightly, feeling the tremblings race down her spine. “What’s the trouble, honey? Did something frighten you?”

Dory clung to Griff as if for dear life. That was the word—frightened. Scared to death. She wanted him to hold her and tell her it was all going to be all right, but she knew she couldn’t express
what
frightened her. It was impossible to put it into words, or even to face the fears head-on. Right this minute, she only knew she needed Griff’s strength, his love, his support. She wanted to hide herself away in him, have him protect her from the world and from her self-doubts. Safe. She wanted to be safe!

Dory buried her face in the crook of Griff’s neck, wrapping her arms around him, wanting to dissolve inside him. She began kissing him, frantic little kisses at first, then longer, more seductive caresses of her lips and tongue contrived to evoke his passions and responses.