Forging a Desire Line

by Mary P. Burns

  Charley picked at her salad for a moment. “Not the radiation, huh? We have to begin with this?”

  Tricia looked at her expectantly.

  “I want no advice from the peanut gallery, got it?”

  “Not offering advice. Just listening.”

  Charley gave Tricia an abbreviated accounting of what Brooke and company had been doing, fixing her up with women for the last two years.

  “I’d say you needed that kick in the pants.”

  “Peanut gallery, did you not hear my warning?”

  Tricia tilted her head in apology, and Charley decided to let her know about how Karen had affected her, and how that had led to Neely.

  “A third woman first? Interesting. Why did you let Karen get away without at least one night of fun in bed? You were the queen of short affairs when I met you. Have you lost your touch? Maybe you need to pick someone up in a bar this weekend, make sure everything still works.”

  “No advice and NO judging!”

  “I mean, when was the last time you slept with a woman, Charley?”

  “Friday night.”

  Tricia missed the coaster she was putting her glass on, sending lemon slices, ice, and water cascading across the coffee table, spilling over the edge in a miniature waterfall.

  “Oops. Weren’t ready for that, were you?” Charley said smugly as she got up and headed toward the kitchen.

  “With who?”

  “Whom,” Charley corrected her as she disappeared down the hall. “If I was out with the writer Friday night, who do you think it was?”

  “Neely,” Tricia said quietly.

  When Charley came back into the living room with the roll of paper towels and set about cleaning up the spill, Tricia was staring out the window.

  “You told me she wasn’t right for you.”

  Charley stopped wiping the table, aware that Tricia’s concentration on the city below was a ruse for the emotional pain she was likely feeling. “I’m not sure we should discuss this anymore,” Charley said. “In fact, I should put up the stop sign.”

  “Not yet. Why did you sleep with her when there’s someone else on your horizon? And you haven’t told me anything about the other woman, not even her name.”

  “Stop sign.”

  Tricia picked up a forkful of salad. “I already know she’s gotten under your skin. We both know how far down that blush came from the other night when you mentioned her.”

  Charley sighed. “I don’t know if I mean anything to her yet. Or if I will. And Neely was my George Mallory moment. Like Everest, she was there. But it’s the writer in her that I want, so I left a note of apology on her pillow in the middle of the night.” Charley realized she’d said more than she’d meant to when she saw a light dawn in Tricia’s eyes.

  “You’re writing again.”

  “And what if I am?”

  “Well, it’s about time, that’s all. You were good, Charley, and I was always so sad that you stopped.” Tricia took a spoonful of her vindaloo. “It’s getting cold. We’d better eat.”

  Charley gratefully dug in.

  “Maybe that’s the difference I’m sensing.” Tricia glanced at her. “You were always so much lighter when you were writing. But I bet the other woman has something to do with this lightness in you. Who is she? Where did you meet her?”

  “Stop sign.”

  Tricia played with her food. Charley watched out of the corner of her eye, unsure if it had something to do with the conversation or Tricia’s appetite after the radiation.

  “A note on her pillow, huh? Isn’t that like kids today breaking up by text?”

  “I wasn’t breaking up with her. It was a one-night stand. And you need to eat. You can’t afford to lose any weight.”

  “Not really hungry. Heard from her yet?”

  Charley put her bowl down.

  “Do you think you broke her heart?”

  “Please don’t say that.”

  “Then who’s the mystery woman?”

  “You promised you wouldn’t push.”

  Tricia put her hand on Charley’s. “I don’t want to see you get your heart broken in this equation. I can’t watch that happen to you. I need to know it won’t happen.”

  Charley leaned back against the couch. “I love that you’re concerned, but it’s my life and my heart. And you are the last person in the world who can protect me or who should step in the way of anything I’m doing with anyone. Understood?”

  Tricia sighed and nodded contritely.

  The truth was, Charley wasn’t sure whose heart would get broken in this situation. Or if Neely’s already had.

  Chapter Nineteen

  There was something wonderful about the way the city smelled on autumn afternoons: brownstone fireplaces burning fragrant pine and oak, restaurant exhaust systems emitting the tantalizing aromas of winter comfort dishes, and the sharp smokiness emanating from the hot chestnut carts that began popping up on street corners. But mostly what Charley loved was the almost bitter pungency of the earth winding down for winter. Decaying leaves mulched, giving off a dense woodsy odor. It mingled with the peculiar perfume of the various hibernating florae planted around all the trees on the streets. Other greenery standing sentinel in decorative pots on either side of apartment door buildings was replaced with small pine and fir trees releasing that clean sap scent, and they’d be decked in lights and Christmas decorations soon enough. She breathed it all in on the walk downtown, jingling Tricia’s keys in her coat pocket as she worked on a plan to move her toward hiring in-house help for evenings or overnight stays. She would need them sooner or later, and Charley needed them now for sanity’s sake. She’d spent almost every night with Tricia this week and she was tired. Besides, she needed to keep a step ahead of things. Tricia’s own fatigue as the week’s radiation wore on seemed to compound on itself. Time was of the essence in everything she would be doing for Tricia.

  Charley heard the football game on the TV when she let herself into the apartment. Tricia was curled up on the couch sound asleep, so she covered her with a white afghan that was folded up in a basket next to the couch, lowered the volume on the TV, and went to the kitchen to see what the refrigerator held that could be put together for dinner. On the counter was a receipt from the supermarket’s delivery service. She read over the list of items Tricia had ordered, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out the rib eye roast. It was the perfect afternoon for a roast with potatoes and vegetables. As tempted as she was to quietly walk through the rest of the rooms that Tricia hadn’t shown her, Charley prepped the ingredients for the roasting pan, seared the meat in some herbes de Provence, got it into the oven, and then opened her laptop to work on the novel.

  A while later, she went to the living room to look in on Tricia and found her awake, the afghan pulled up to her chin.

  “God, there is nothing like a fall Sunday, football, and the smell of a good roast in the apartment. When did you get here?”

  “Around three.”

  “Where have you been? I thought for sure you’d be sitting right here glued to the games. Or were you poking through the other rooms? I realized after you left the other night that I never showed you the whole place.”

  “Been in the kitchen working.”

  “Really? What time did the roast go in?”

  “Three thirty.”

  “That’s a long time in the kitchen. Don’t tell me you’re saddled with stuff from work?”

  “No, the novel.”

  Tricia regarded Charley thoughtfully. “Good.”

  She pushed the afghan aside and sat up. “Oh my God, I’m tired. And I have to pee. Do you want the nickel tour?”

  “Sure, and then I’ll jump out the window of the last room.”

  “Don’t say that. I was afraid you’d have that reaction. What I did to you depresses me.”

  “What you did to us.”

  Charley thought she caught a glimpse of regret in Tricia’s steady gaze. “Mea culpa, my sweet. I’v
e paid for it.”

  She did, indeed, want to jump out the window of the last room because it was a fully loaded laundry room with a view of New York Harbor. And I do my laundry in a cramped basement space that holds twenty washers and dryers and two five-foot folding tables for three hundred and fifty apartments. I bet Reagan never did laundry in here, but I still hate her for this.

  “Come to the kitchen. I need to talk to you,” Tricia said. She opened a bottle of wine and poured them each a glass. “How’s Neely? Anything?”

  Charley busied herself putting away the dishes in Tricia’s drain board. “She took the week off from her job, emailed me to tell me. Said she needed a little time.”

  “So you did break her heart.”

  “You said you needed to talk?”

  “Is that my stop sign?” Tricia asked.

  Charley cocked her head, knowing her stare was the blank one she’d perfected years ago for department store salespeople and other idiots.

  Tricia pursed her lips and Charley knew whatever the news was, it wouldn’t be good.

  “The firm doesn’t want to buy me out. They suspect something is wrong. They didn’t believe that at my age I want to bow out of the hustle of the Big Leagues to open my own little shop where I can work a couple of hours a day.”

  “How could they actually know that? What did you say to them?”

  “Not ‘them.’ Schuyler. The board flagged him to my request, which I knew would happen, and he said that whatever I might be thinking, the firm isn’t willing to lose my name from the door. So I can retire, but I have to leave them my name.”

  “Well, then.”

  “I’m going to hire a lawyer. I want a buyout.”

  “Why? Just retire. You’re gonna be a little busy soon, ya know?”

  “I have plans for that money. I want it.”

  Charley checked herself. “Do whatever you feel you need to do. But understand that this could add unneeded stress to your life, and stress will not be good for you.”

  “You know I always liked a good fight.”

  “You forget who you’re talking to.”

  “I’m going to need your help. I can’t use my assistant at work.”

  “Oh.” Charley looked at the ceiling. “Well, I signed up for everything, but not that. Hire some kid to temp for you.”

  “I need your expertise. It would only be for, like, ten hours a week. I’ll pay you whatever price you name.”

  “No.” Charley drew a line in the sand, surprised at how easy it was now. “I have precious little time to write as it is. And how long do you plan on continuing to go into the office?”

  “Until I can’t put one foot in front of the other.”

  Tricia’s medical team had addressed a timeline with her. It had been the hardest part of the meetings for Charley, especially when Dr. Gerard had told her to consider knocking off anything on the top of her bucket list right away. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because it’s who I am. You know that.”

  “Maybe you could consider being someone else for once.”

  Tricia’s expression didn’t change as she took a sip of wine.

  Charley sighed. “I’ll get you a top-notch temp. And I think we need to discuss when we should bring in a night nurse. If you’re going through with a lawsuit, you’re going to be drained at the end of each day. And I can’t spend every night here.”

  “Not ready to discuss a nurse.”

  “Tricia!”

  “I’m putting up my stop sign.”

  Charley studied her for a moment. “Fine. Do you want to eat in the living room, the dining room, or in here? I’m not sure I even know who’s playing tonight.”

  “Seriously? That’s not like you. Denver at Indianapolis. It’ll be fun watching the Broncos steamroll that Colts front line. Let’s eat in the living room with the game.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were set up and waiting for the talking heads to come on the air.

  “Charley, this is terrific. You have no idea how much I’ve missed your cooking.”

  “Let me guess. Reagan complained if she broke a nail calling out for delivery.”

  “You seem to have figured her out in a hurry.”

  After dinner, Charley grabbed her laptop from the kitchen and sat back down next to Tricia, who leaned over to look at the screen.

  “Don’t even try,” Charley said.

  Tricia turned the sound down on the game.

  “I can concentrate with the game on. Sports has become soothing white noise while I work. If the game is actually any good, I’ll tune back in, so you can leave the sound up.”

  An hour later, Charley heard light snores from Tricia, who had stretched out on the couch.

  She worked a while longer and then woke Tricia to take her into her bedroom. After settling her in, Charley walked slowly through the apartment, turning on the lights in each room, marveling at what she saw, and ended up in a recessed window well in the formal dining room looking at the Modigliani she had seen the first night. The dark, she decided, was infinitely better, and she turned the light off, sitting in the recessed window again. This was supposed to be my life. I put in the years getting Tricia from associate to partner. This should’ve been mine.

  As much as she wanted to, she no longer felt sorry for herself. The travails of the last three years had been her crucible, and she knew now that she’d come through them. Tricia’s affair had actually set her free.

  Charley went back to the living room and sat down to finish the chapter she’d been working on. But first she pulled out her phone and scrolled to Joanna’s contact.

  Still thinking about texting me?

  Joanna: Sorry, can’t hear you. Do you have your ego on over there? Kinda loud.

  Charley laughed and hit the phone icon. Joanna answered right away.

  “Can you talk? I realize I probably should’ve asked you first.”

  “For just a minute, yes,” Joanna said.

  “I really only wanted to find out if you’re still up for going out tomorrow night.”

  “I am, but I realize it’s my turn to find a place and I don’t really know any good bars or restaurants in that part of town, and I haven’t had time to research.”

  “Do you want me to make any suggestions?”

  “I’m not a slacker. I’ll find something.”

  “All right, then, see you tomorrow.” She hung up, feeling like a teenager getting ready for a first date. But it wasn’t one, right? Not yet.

  Chapter Twenty

  Charley poured the coffee she’d just brewed into her thermos.

  “Wow. What are you doing up at this hour?”

  Charley was surprised to see Tricia standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She looked pale and worn out. “Going to the pool. My class begins in half an hour. Decided your coffee looked good, so I made a pot. Want a cup? I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No. I’ve been up a while. I wanted to ask you something last night. Yes, I’ll take a cup.”

  Charley found a mug, retrieved the milk from the refrigerator, and put them both in front of Tricia, who’d sat on a stool at the granite work island.

  “I decided your temp idea last night was good. You’re right, you shouldn’t give up any more time than I’m already asking.”

  “Great. I’m sure your assistant can find a temp for you.”

  “I can’t ask her to do that! I need you to find this person for me.”

  Charley sighed. “Of course you do. Send me an email.”

  “And listen, I can take care of myself tonight. You stay home.”

  Charley wasn’t sure Tricia could take care of herself, despite the fact that all Tricia would have to do was warm up the roast leftovers, but she sent up a silent thanks to whichever saint fielded prayers for caretakers.

  * * *

  Charley saw Neely at the front desk of the Y when she reached for the door. Hoping she’d found some peace, and feeling a little anxiety settle in her ow
n chest, she went in. Neely looked up immediately.

  “Hi,” Charley said, handing her ID over the counter.

  “Hi,” Neely said, her tone neutral. “I’m sorry about last week. I just needed a little space.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology. If anything, it’s me who owes you one.”

  Neely studied the desk for a minute. Charley listened for anyone else coming in the door. It would be awkward if they got interrupted in this moment.

  Neely swiped her ID and handed it back to her. “No. I think it was something we both needed. Or it wouldn’t have happened. I wish it didn’t have to end, though. And I’m still working on what you said in your note. But I like being your teacher. So, tomorrow night?”

  Charley smiled and headed for the stairs but turned back. Handing the balance stone to Neely, she said, “My best friend gave this to me when…well, at a time of turmoil in my life, and she promised me that what’s inscribed there would come back to me. It did. I think you need this now.”

  Neely turned it over and over and ran her thumb across its smooth surfaces. Her eyes watered, and Charley headed for the stairs before she lost her composure, too.

  In the afternoon, when Emily left for several back-to-back meetings, Charley was able to concentrate on the search for Tricia’s assistant. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but if it takes things off my plate, it’s worth it. Her first call was to a friend who temped full-time to find out what agencies she worked with, and then she contacted the one that most intrigued her, an agency that represented actors between gigs. The consultant she spoke with understood Charley’s parameters for the job, and by the end of the day, she had five résumés to peruse. She studied each one carefully, scrutinizing them for bullshit or buzzwords, and settled on two candidates to interview, one male and one female. Tricia hadn’t specified, and while Charley knew she’d rather work with a woman, a man might be exactly what she needed now. She called the consultant back and set up the interviews for late Tuesday afternoon, and then headed out for the pool.