No easy way out (16 page)

"I may choose
never
to buy diapers or formula!"

Alex took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and gave her an
encouraging smile. "Once you're settled in New Orleans, puttering
around the house all day, you'll change your mind."

"Babies should not be created to ease boredom and-" She stopped,
tilting her head. "What do you mean New Orleans? I live in
Florida."

"I have an apartment in New Orleans."

"I have a house in Cocoa Beach."

"My job is in New Orleans." Alex clearly enunciated each word.
"Since you'll be quitting-"

"Quitting!" Virginia stared at him, her jaw dropping in
amazement. "Where did you ever get the stupid idea that I would
leave Briarcliff?"

His right eye began to twitch. "Are you proposing a shuttle
marriage?"

Virginia sought to control her erratic breathing. "I don't know
what I'm proposing." Her defiant gaze locked into his. "I only know
I am not leaving Briarcliff. I am not abandoning my career."

"Well, just what is your next step, Dr. Farrell?" Alex leaned
his hip against the dining room table. "The Nobel prize?" came his
sardonic inquiry.

"And why not?" she retorted, moving closer to her husband.
"Where is it written that I couldn't win the Nobel prize?"

Alex squared his shoulders, straightening, trying to use the
extra few inches of his height to intimidate. "So that's it! Since
you won the Science Medal, you think you're going to capture all
the glory?" His lips thinned. "You know you've been impossible ever
since you got that damn award!"

She swallowed hard. "I've been impossible?" Her voice was
shrill. "Me?" Her balled fist hit her breastbone. "That damn award
has nothing whatsoever to do with
who
has been impossible
around this house."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" There was a deadliness to
his words.

"I thought marriage was supposed to be a partnership. More than
just love and commitment-equality too." Her bare foot tapped an
angry tattoo. "A couple should share in both the benefits and the
obligations of a marriage."

Virginia shook her head at him, wet strands stinging her cheeks.
"But let me tell you something, Alex Braddock, you don't know the
meaning of the word
share.
All you do is delegate!" A twinge
of nausea twisted her stomach. "I'm getting a little sick and tired
of your tried and true rules on what women should be and should do.
Is this all carved in granite somewhere?"

She took a deep breath. "Alex, you are a male chauvinist-" She
looked back toward the living room. Newspapers scattered
everywhere, empty cans and glasses, crumbs, jacket tossed over one
sofa, tie on another. She turned back to her husband and added,
"Pig!"

Alex drew himself up with dignity. "Are you quite through?"

Virginia pushed up the wide sleeves of her robe. "I have not yet
begun to fight!" she snapped. "I think it's high time we got a few
things out in the open."

"Like what?"

"Well... well..." She licked her lips. "Let's start with the
housework. 'We don't need a cleaning person,' you said. 'I'll
help,' you said." Her head bandied cockily at him. "Help? Well,
Alex, my definition of help and yours seem totally opposite.

"I don't call putting dirty clothes
on
the hamper instead
of
in
the hamper a help. I don't call little teeny tiny bits
of beard and shave cream all over the bathroom sink a help. I don't
call tossing wadded-up socks under the bed and under the sofa a
help. I don't call"-she stalked over to the couch, picked up his
jacket, and snatched up his tie-
"this"
-she shook them at
him-"a help."

"And do you think"-he ran his fingers over the narrow louvered
blinds shading the dining room window, walked over, and shoved them
against her nose-"dust is clean?" He smirked at her. "You hang your
clothes on the doorknob or drape things over chairs."

"But in the end I pick them up. You don't!"

"I can't tell what's clean and what's dirty." Alex's lips
twisted into a sneer. "All the laundry, either
in
or
out
of the hamper, is dingy!"

That rankled. "I'm not the one with the sweaty neck," Virginia
replied waspishly, tossing his jacket and tie back on the sofa.
"Why don't you try scrubbing out your own
'ring-around-the-collar'!"

"I'd love to, but unfortunately I'm usually too weak from hunger
or hampered by acid indigestion to get much of anything done."

"I knew it." Her hands slapped her thighs. "I knew you'd make
some nasty crack about my cooking."

"Cooking?" His laughter had a maniacal ring to it.

"That's what you call it. Cooking?" Alex gripped his stomach,
his lips twisting into an exaggerated grimace. "I think poison
would leave a more pleasant aftertaste than one of your meals."

"That's low," Virginia hissed. "I told you right from the
beginning I was no Betty Crocker. I have tried my best. I have
followed the recipes to the letter." She marched back to the
kitchen. "Things would have been different. You could have made
life easier for me if you hadn't been so damn fussy."

"Fussy?" He strode after her. "Do you call balking at eating
ashes and cinders being fussy?"

"Yes, you're fussy!" she shouted. "Everything has to be made
from scratch, and everything has to be fresh." Virginia yanked open
the freezer and began slamming packages of frozen foods on the
counter. "Stouffer's and Morton and Swanson's and Banquet weren't
good enough for you!" She jeered and moved on to the cabinets.
"Campbell's and Lipton weren't fresh enough." She dropped cans and
tossed boxes at him. "I call that fussy!"

Her arm slashed amid the piled items, sending them exploding in
different directions. Alex jumped clear of flying objects. "I don't
give a damn whether plastic wrap clings better than aluminum foil.
I couldn't care less whether Tide cleans better than liquid All. I
have no desire to attend a Tupperware party. I am not Suzy
Homemaker! Defrosting Sara Lee is my idea of gourmet!"

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and moved into
the dining room. "I've tried to do everything to please you, Alex,
but our marriage can't be geared to just you and your needs."
Virginia found her anger subsiding. Her voice, while still
trembling, sounded much more rational. "You seem to have the
impression that a man's home is his castle and he is king." She
pushed her hair behind her ears. "Well, that was the day before
yesterday. Traditional marriages are a thing of the past. Husbands
have to do more, and right now you are doing less than
minimal."

His eyes were twin slits of steel. "Oh, so I'm the bastard!" He
pounded his chest like an angry gorilla. "I'm the one who's
enslaving you?" Alex plunged his fists into the pocket of his brown
trousers. "There are thousands . . . no . . . millions of women out
there who manage to cook and clean and raise children and still
hold down a job." He shook his head, wagging his finger at her.
"But not you," he sneered. "You're too good for that."

"What you need," Virginia grated, her rage mushrooming with his
sarcasm, "is one of those autoanimatronic Barbie dolls that whips
up perfect souffles, mops and shines in flowing chiffon, and turns
into the perfect sexual playmate under the sheets."

"My mother did it all!" Alex shouted, his massive chest rising
and falling in anger.

"Then, why don't you go home to your mother!" Virginia yelled
back. "She's the only one who could tolerate such a hypocrite."

"I'm beginning to wonder why I ever married you!" he growled,
pacing back and forth like a caged lion.

"I didn't go into this marriage just to give you sex and maid
service in exchange for support," she fumed, easily matching his
angry strides with her long legs. "I don't need your support. I was
always self-supporting. And I'm not a maid. It seems to me all we
do have is good sex."

"As I recall," he interjected in a venomous tone, "I didn't have
to marry you to get that."

Virginia caught her breath. The sheer malice of his words made
her face flood with color. Her own tightly leashed rage made
retaliation sweet. "As I recall, you were no virgin either."

They glared at each other. Bitter words hung in the air like
invisible bricks, cemented together with destructive mortar. A wall
had been constructed. Neither one attempted to climb over it.

Virginia tightened the belt on her robe. "My work at AVELCOMP is
finished." She spoke in an odd, detached voice. "I am going back to
my house in Florida and will await another assignment from
Briarcliff."

Alex gave her a careless nod. "I've just got another few weeks
left here myself." He walked over and picked up his jacket. "When
I'm finished, I'm going home to New Orleans." He shoved his arms
into tan corduroy sleeves. "Right now I think it would be better if
I went to a hotel." He headed for the front door. "I'll pick up my
things tomorrow."

"I won't be here."

"Fine." Alex stared at his hand, watching as five long fingers
turned the brushed-gold doorknob. "You can file for divorce anytime
you'd like." With that he walked out.

Virginia stared at the door for a long time, then her eyes
wandered slowly around the apartment. The mess in the kitchen
tumbled into the dining room and spread into the living room. Three
rooms and two lives-all in an uproar.

The tabletop Christmas tree drew her like a magnet. She flicked
a switch. Instantly tiny colored lights flared, then began blinking
in a random pattern. Delicate hand-painted ornaments, candy canes,
and white doves shimmered between swirls of gold garlands. She and
Alex had selected everything with such care, with such love.

Beneath the tree were dozens of foil-wrapped packages, their
tags warning: Do not open till Christmas. Christmas-it was only
three days away. A holiday she had always hated. A holiday that
signified togetherness and family and love.

Virginia swallowed the bitter lump that threatened to strangle
her. She reached down and viciously yanked out the plug. Why should
this year be any different?

"I really think you're making too much of your first little . .
. um . . . misunderstanding," Diane repeated for the tenth time. As
soon as Virginia turned her back, she scooped up three sweaters
from the suitcase and quickly replaced them back in the bureau
drawer.

"I saw that!" warned a sharp voice. Virginia snagged Diane's
eyes in the mirror. Her head nodded toward the suitcase, watching
as the clothes were reluctantly repacked.

"Husbands and wives fight all the time," Diane continued,
flopping cross-legged on the edge of the bed. "You're making a big
mistake by walking out." Her beige-tinted fingernails scratched
confused little lines along the knees of her prewashed jeans.

"I didn't walk out," Virginia corrected matter-of-factly, "he
did." She added a neat pile of lingerie to the suitcase. "Alex is
very immature. I tried to have a nice quiet discussion, and he
turned it into a . . . a . . . brawl."

Diane arched a blond brow, fluffing out her hair with a shake of
her head. "It takes two to ... brawl," she countered flippantly.
"And from the looks of this apartment, I'd say you were both
equally guilty."

"Say what you like," Virginia replied coldly. "I haven't one
iota of guilt in me. I spoke the truth; Alex just didn't like what
he heard."

"Maybe it was the way you said it," Diane suggested, her teeth
clamped lightly around a cigarette while she searched the pockets
of her khaki safari shirt for a match.

Virginia stuffed a few toiletries into the corners of the
Pullman. "Relationships don't collapse under sledgehammer fights,"
she said in an even tone. "It's the little things that chip away
the love. Twisting and turning it until love gets mixed with anger
and turns to hate."

She looked down at her trembling hands, her tongue nervously
tracing her lips. "It was like deja vu," she whispered. Old
memories whirled in her mind, making more than just her hands
shake. "My career got in the way again. Alex resented my work, the
award. He ... he assumed I would give up everything. My house, my
job, my hopes, my dreams. He didn't want to discuss it-he demanded
it."

She nudged Diane over. "What's so wrong with a woman keeping her
career once she's married?" Virginia asked, lackluster blue eyes
staring into space as if searching for an answer. "I never flaunted
my work at him. I never overpowered him." She blinked rapidly,
trying to dam the tears burning beneath her lids. "Alex resents
everything about me."

Diane slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Take it
easy." One blond head leaned against another. "Sometimes men create
their own anxieties, their own insecurities. I don't think Alex
really resents you," she sighed, giving Virginia a quick hug. "Why
don't you talk to him again?"

"No." Virginia shook her head, swallowing hard. "I'm not sure he
even loves me. I think it was just infatuation and desire that got
out of hand." She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "We should have just
lived together. The novelty would have worn off soon enough, and
the legalities would have been eliminated."

Virginia stood up. She felt calmer, more in control. "The best
thing I can do is leave. Maybe I am smothering. Maybe that will
always be the problem." She shrugged and went back to her packing.
"Maybe I'm just fated to be alone."

Diane stared up at her friend's determined expression, then down
at the suitcase again. She racked her mind for the right persuasive
tone, the words that would make Virginia change her mind and stay.
But even Diane found herself at a loss for something to say.

CHAPTER TEN

It was quite possibly the greatest tourist attraction in the
world-Walt Disney World. In the last ten years host to over one
hundred twenty-five million visitors. The Magic Kingdom was built
on dreams and imagination: a one-hundred-acre theme park inviting
guests to escape to six "lands," forty-five attractions, forty-one
shops, and twenty-three various eating facilities.