Touch Me When We're Dancing

by Suzanne Jenkins

  “He’s so damn lazy. I don’t know how you can stand it,” Julie said, shocking Lisa.

  “You think he’s lazy?” she asked, stopping. “I never thought of him as lazy, just not inspired.”

  “No, he’s a slug,” Julie said. “I still don’t see how someone as dynamic as that whore Sandra is could marry old lazybones. He’s a dud.”

  Stunned, Lisa didn’t respond. “I’ll be right back.”

  She shrugged into her heavy winter coat, the wind howling. It was a terrible day to move, to have doors open when the heat was on, but it was the only day, and she couldn’t wait to get out of Smithtown and that house, with its lingering sadness of dead and missing husbands. Good riddance.

  She ran through the backyard, hopping over a snowdrift, and pounded on the guesthouse door. She heard him shout, “Come in,” so she opened the door, glad to see packing boxes stacked up.

  “Amazing how much crap I collected in such a short time.”

  “Are you all set? The movers will be here at noon. They said it will take six hours to load. I don’t want to stay here another night, so I’ve got the car packed up with sleeping bags and blankets and pillows. Everything we need for morning coffee and cold cereal and toast for breakfast is ready to go.”

  “Do you want to head over to the new house after the kids come home from school? I can stay here while they load.”

  “Tim, are you sure you don’t mind?” Lisa asked, relieved he was offering.

  “Not at all. I can work while they work. My car is packed with everything Brent and I need for the night.”

  “That’s great,” Lisa said, happy that Julie’s prophesy didn’t materialize. “We can stop by my mother’s for dinner.”

  “Sounds good. A new adventure!”

  Lisa smiled at him and left the guesthouse with its pervasive sadness. All the hopes and dreams she’d put into having it built, first for Cara so she could live there with Dan Junior and they could remain an extended family, and then when that didn’t work out, for her mother-in-law and father-in-law, Gladys and Ed, who were divorcing after forty years of marriage. It seemed unfathomable. But Lisa couldn’t judge. She was never getting married again anyway and didn’t even have a desire to have a male friend.

  Being alone had so many pluses she had to write them down so when detractors argued with her about why she should continue to look for dates even though she was pregnant, she could recite the reasons why it was okay to be single.

  Chapter 2

  Right before noon, curiosity about commotion out in the hall beckoned Sandra to get up from the desk and peek out. A television crew from the production company Randy brought in to do the New York architecture series had arrived. Peter was confused; no one had told him they were going to look around, and the intercom buzzed on her desk.

  “Help me out here, will you? You know I hate this shit. Just come out and say hello.”

  “Peter, you’re out of control. Randy Braddock is not going to want me within a mile of this project.”

  “Trust me, Sandra, he doesn’t have a choice. They’re talking about doing the Dutch house as the first project because it’s already under way, and that’s your baby. Come out, please.”

  Squelching the annoyance at yet another interruption, Sandra took a last look in the mirror on the wall of her office and was pleased with the face staring back at her.

  She strolled down the hallway like it was a runway at Fashion Week, and no one missed it.

  “Here’s Sandra now. She’s leading the project,” Peter announced, and every head turned her way.

  Sandra immediately made eye contact with Randy Braddock and was slightly confused by the friendly expression of approval on his face after their heated confrontation. Either the man was a good actor, or he was insane.

  “Everyone, meet Sandra Benson, my grandson’s mother. We like to keep these projects in the family.”

  Giving him a sidelong glance, it didn’t take long to see what he was up to. She wanted to smash his smug face in with her fist. Wondering what on earth he was going to tell Pam, she quickly shoved the thought into the back of her mind and put on the charm for the producer and film crew.

  For the next two hours, until her two o’clock appointment showed up, she mesmerized the group with her knowledge and walked the fine line between consummate professional and coquette. By the end of the chat, she had the job of host of the show and two invitations that she refused for the time being: drinks after work with the production team and lunch the next day with Randy—that would never happen as far as she was concerned.

  All she could think about was calling Michael as soon as she could. She had sixty seconds before the two o’clock client was due, so she grabbed the office phone and punched his numbers in. The voice mail answered, so she whispered, excited and giggling, her news.

  “You won’t believe this, but I’m going to host the show Randy Braddock is doing about disappearing New York architecture, and they’re starting with the Dutch house. You denied knowing anything about it this morning, but now I’m sure you must have had something to do with it! Anyway, I’m so excited! Love you!”

  After she hung up, a wave of heat flooded her body. Love you? She had not said I love you. Trying not to perseverate on the faux pas, she took another look in the mirror, freshened up her lipstick, and prepared for the client. If she landed the contract, it would be such an accomplishment that she’d never have to look for work again.

  It was a revitalization project north of the Brooklyn Bridge in a section of the city called Two Bridges. Among the high-rise public-housing projects, there were historic properties that she was itching to sink her teeth into. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, she had to stay on top of her game today, and suddenly, knowing how Jack would handle it came to her. He had allowed a little personal emotion to show when he described his plan for a structure. Not weepy emotion, but admiration for the builder and respect for the design.

  Gathering her notes, she made her way to the conference room once she was sure Randy and his entourage had cleared out, and there she’d wait for the receptionist to announce the arrival of the client. The door opened and she looked over her shoulder at Peter.

  “Well, that was unexpected,” he said.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t have something to do with it, as much as you hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. And I didn’t know you were coming in early, so believe me, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “So how did it come about?” she asked, baffled.

  “George Crier looked at you. That was it. ‘Who’s that?’ Randy told him your name, adding that ridiculous grandparent comment. ‘That’s our host!’ Crier shouted. Then he looked at Randy. ‘Do you mind?’ and Randy shook his head. ‘Not at all. I don’t need to act. I’m sick of acting.’ I got the feeling he wants to do the series, but not the grind. Are you up for it?”

  “What do you think?” she asked, frowning at him as she organized her presentation. “My only concern is Two Bridges. I don’t think you understand the significance of this project, Peter.”

  “I’m too busy to get excited about anything right now,” he said.

  “Well, make time for this one, because it’s huge.”

  “I’m getting something to eat. Can I bring you anything?” he asked.

  Sandra looked up at him. “You’re offering to bring me something to eat.”

  “Well, yes. I am.”

  “Peter, no, thank you, but thanks for asking. Are you okay?”

  “I thought I was rid of you,” he said. “Now you’re practically running the show.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she said. “Find out what Braddock has up his sleeve. He’s the one you need to watch. I don’t trust him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m sure he tried to get me killed.” She looked up from a pile of prospectus folders. “He is definitely up to something.”

  “You’re paranoid,” Peter said. “I ha
ve to go.”

  “Wait! You said you’d sit in on this.”

  “You don’t need me,” Peter said. “Do whatever you want.”

  With that, he left the room.

  The meeting went well, and at the end of the presentation when the payout schedule was examined, the flinching and murmuring and fidgeting began.

  “That’s a lot of money,” the developer, a handsome guy who’d flirted with her at their initial meeting, said. The project was Richard O’Dell’s first large development, and he’d heard about Lang, Smith and Romney from the architect he’d consulted.

  “Consider this,” Sandra explained, “you won’t have to do a thing. You won’t have to deal with the city, for one thing. You’ve already tried talking to the historical commission. How’d that go for you?”

  “It was a nightmare.”

  “We do everything: pull permits, deal with suppliers, contractors, architects. The most you’ll have to do is look at a paint chip, and that only after the historical commission approves it.”

  “We could go to your competition,” one wise guy blabbed.

  “You could, if there was any,” Sandra replied, smirking.

  “We came to you thinking you were the competition,” Richard replied, smiling. “Someone in this office dropped your name.”

  “For a big project like yours, although it’s not necessary, I’d welcome the support of Lang,” she said, emphasizing the word big, and it hit its mark, the men sitting up a little taller in their chairs.

  Richard stood up and stretched across the table to shake her hand. “Okay, I’m psyched. This is going to be a roller-coaster ride.”

  “Ha! It won’t be bad,” she said, taking his hand. “Hopefully, there will be few surprises.”

  Sandra texted a notary out in the pool to come in while the contracts were signed. Peter saw her go into the conference room with her stamp and ink pad and raced to get the door for her.

  “Are they signing?” he whispered.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes!” he said, shaking his fist in the air.

  Randy Braddock left the office without saying goodbye to anyone, suddenly sorry he’d ever gotten involved. He’d wanted to have a word with Sandra, but she was already in another meeting. Not completely sure what had just happened, now that Sandra was going to host the show he was producing, he had to find a way to tell Pam, who was not going to be happy.

  The limousine pulled up to the curb with Frank at the wheel.

  “Sit in front,” Randy told Clint. “I’ve got a few calls to make.”

  Clint nodded, still in shock himself. The whole time he was in the office, he’d cowered behind the door. Afraid that Sandra would recognize his voice if he spoke, he’d whispered everything he’d said. And he’d heard the slur Sandra had made, calling him a goon. It had hit its mark, and he’d quickly combed his hair and stood up straight.

  Randy got in the back and slid the window shut, not wanting an audience to hear what he had to tell Pam. As soon as Frank pulled away from the curb, he called. They made their usual small talk about what was going on, what the dogs were doing, the weather at the beach. Then he got down to business.

  “I have to tell you something,” he said. “It’s not easy for me.”

  “Okay. Just fire away,” she said, unsuspecting.

  “Sandra was at the office today, and George Crier saw her. He insisted that she come on board as host of the show.”

  When Pam didn’t respond right away, he yammered on about how she’d captivated everyone and that there was no question once he asked her to join the team that it was the right decision.

  “What about you?” Pam finally asked, horrified. “You were going to host!”

  “I didn’t really want to, though. We’d talked about finding someone else, and honestly, Pam, when she walked down the hallway, I knew what George was going to say. She’d be perfect in that role.”

  “I feel sick,” Pam said. “Why’d you buy her out? All that money, for what? I don’t like to think about you working with her intimately.”

  “I could bow out of the project if you feel strongly about it.”

  “Oh, that would be great for our relationship,” she said, a note of hysteria in her voice. “I don’t understand why you didn’t refuse right away. Tell George the truth. She’s trouble. She has a prior murder arrest warrant. Is that what you want associated with your show?”

  “I mentioned that to him, and he said as long as she’s not in jail now, it didn’t make any difference to him.”

  “Good old Sandra, getting the attention of everyone’s husband.”

  “Pam, you know that’s not the case with me. I can’t stand being in the same room with her for longer than five minutes. But I have to hand it to her, she had everyone in the crew mesmerized right away. She’ll be good for business.”

  “Won’t your sponsors have a fit?”

  “No, because they’re all New York based. Everyone seems to love her.”

  “I feel sick,” Pam said, disbelieving. “Sick and out of control. I’m supposed to just sit back and let her take over our life. I’m sure Lisa and Tim are going to have plenty to say about this.”

  “She’s not going to take over our life,” Randy said, feeling a bit of Pam’s panic.

  “She already has. Beautiful Sandra, just one look and everyone drops to their knees. No matter that Clint tried to kill her to get her off our backs. Now she’s in charge of the show.”

  “Pam, I’ll do whatever you want, I can leave the show, but I can’t undo what George has set in motion. If you think about it for a moment, you might find you’re stretching this out of proportion.”

  “I’m hanging up,” Pam said, not hearing him. “I don’t want to hear her name again.”

  With that, Pam hung up on Randy. Speechless, he knew she’d be annoyed, but she was more than annoyed, she was livid.

  The ride home was uncomfortable. He played Candy Crush on his phone, trying to blank out the anxiety. He and Pam had never had a fight before. This was a big issue, too. Everything she’d said was right. The only alternative was to bow out of the show. He should sue Peter for allowing her to come around again.

  Pam had recently told him that she trusted Peter to make decisions for the business that would be beneficial. He wondered if that was true now. Why had Peter let her back in the office? Deciding to confront him now, he found Peter’s direct line, hit call, and Peter said hello after the second ring.

  “We have a problem, Houston.”

  Chapter 3

  Donning her thickest down-filled coat, Pam tethered up her dogs for a long winter’s evening walk. They were both wearing their hated quilted coats again, and this time flannel-lined boots. But the minute that she opened the sliding glass door that led from the veranda to the beach, they seemed to understand why the boots were necessary. The temperature was below freezing, and the salt spray was like icy pellets. They pulled and jumped, excited to be having an adventure after dark. Pam had other reasons for being out. She needed to come to terms with what had happened downtown, and she needed to do it quickly.

  The frigid air matched her thoughts—shock at her response to his news because in the past, she would have let it go. But she’d paid the price. That Pam was a dead person, the Pam of the silent cry, whose pain was never acknowledged. The current Pam felt the blood coursing through her veins, heart pumping wildly so that she could feel it in her throat—she hoped she wouldn’t stroke there on the beach.

  Randy was her husband. When she married him, she really believed in her vows—until death do us part. Now he’d let Sandra in. Or someone let her in—George, an ageist whom she loathed, who had treated her with such dismissiveness in Greece she wondered after the fact if perhaps that was why she’d gotten so sick with an illness that mysteriously disappeared when she returned home.

  Although no one had said this, Pam read enough in the tabloids about the production crew to know that George liked young women.
Gladys told her stories about his contempt of her until she’d proved herself, and then his acceptance of her was in a mother’s role and not just as another player, a woman.

  It appeared George was calling the shots in New York. Pam couldn’t understand how Randy let him get away with it unless he really wanted Sandra to host. Maybe he felt guilty about driving her out with a four-million-dollar buyout. Or maybe he was frightened that she’d start making accusations about Clint being her attacker. There had to be a reason that he was suddenly taking such a passive stance.

  Finally, after ten minutes the wind and cold had gotten to her, and she was worried about the dogs, so she turned around toward home, sprinting with them leading her.

  “Come on, you hounds, move!”

  “Mrs. Smith!”

  She heard someone calling her, a female voice, so she stopped, thinking it was Alison calling from down the beach.

  “Mrs. Smith, up here! At Ted Dale’s place!”

  Pam looked over at Ted’s, and there was a tall figure waving at her. It appeared Jack’s old schoolmate had moved in already. Ted was certainly slick. She thought maybe he’d move out at the first of the month. But when he’d sat at her table that morning, he’d meant that day.

  “I’ll put the dogs in the house and come around,” she said, not about to invite her over.

  She unleashed the dogs and filled their water dish and, before she ventured back out, took a look in the mirror. She looked like a woman who was freezing after running on the beach. She was almost sixty. What did she expect? She did quick math, and this woman would be older. She’d be Jack’s age.

  Running back over the dune, Marian Cooper was still waiting for her with the door open. “Come in, come in! It’s miserable out here. I expected the weather to be intense, but maybe not quite this intense.”

  “Hi, I’m Pam Braddock,” she said, pulling her glove off to shake hands.

  “Of course, I’m sorry about the Smith. Ted told me your husband’s name, and it slipped my mind. I’m a big fan of Adventure Trek, so it was just old age. I hope you’re not offended.”