Balancing Act

by Fern Michaels

  She drew a deep breath and held up her hand to silence him. “Please, Griff, let me say what I have to say because if I don’t I may never get the nerve again. This was wrong for all the right reasons. I wasn’t ready to make a commitment to you, either in a relationship or in marriage. I came here with you telling myself that I was going to go back to school. I wasn’t even truthful with myself. Oh, in the beginning I believed it, at least for a little while. I copped out is what I did. With school, with you, and with myself. I tried to be like Sylvia because I thought that was what you wanted. Then I tried to be like Lily because I saw the approving way you looked at her. When that didn’t work out, I tried to be a combination of both of them, thinking I read you wrong. What I didn’t ever do was be myself. I’m not Susy Homemaker and I’m not a social butterfly. I’m me. I lost sight of that for a while. I’m not perfect but I’m all I’ve got and I have to get me back while I can. I’m not a loser, Griff. I don’t even want to be a winner, I just want to be me. I have to go back and pick up my pieces.”

  “I know,” Griff said huskily. “I know.”

  Warm tears trickled down Dory’s cheeks. “I love you, Griff.”

  “And I love you.”

  “I’ll only be an hour away. We can still see each other. I can write or call.”

  “I can do the same.”

  It was a lie and they both knew it.

  “It took nerve for you to wear that muffler out in public, especially to the airport,” Dory said, wiping at her tears.

  “You’re telling me. I lost track of the people who turned around to stare at me. Come here, Dory.”

  His arms wrapped around her. Her haven. Her warmth. Her security. She didn’t have to let go. She could hang on and maybe some day. . . .

  “No regrets, Dory,” Griff said, smoothing the tangled hair back from her forehead. “You gave it your best shot and so did I. It wasn’t meant to be . . . for now, anyway.” There was a long pause.

  “When will you leave?” Griff asked.

  Without a second’s hesitation, Dory replied, “In the morning. I’ll stay in Katy’s spare room till my sublet leaves.”

  Griff tilted Dory’s head back so that he could meet her tear-filled gaze. “It’s right for you. If you hadn’t made the decision, I would have made it for you. I’m proud of you, Dory.”

  “Oh, Griff, I do love you. I hope I can handle this. Help me, please.” She burrowed into his chest, her sobs racking her body. If it was this hard now, what was it going to be like when she got back to the city and was alone? Griff held her close, stroking her hair and her back.

  He held her through the long night, his arms and back numb with the pressure of her body, but he didn’t move. He watched the fire die down and then he watched the smoldering ashes. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree were the only light once the embers turned to feathery, light dust.

  As dawn crept up Griff shifted his weight on the sofa, his grip secure on the sleeping woman in his arms. “Almost time to leave the nest,” he murmured.

  His eyes smarted. From the smoke in the fireplace, no doubt. And the lump in his throat, his mouth was dry. The night had been long and his throat was parched.

  She felt so good, so right in his arms. He had to let her go. She needed to go. He knew that one word, one look from him and she’d stay. He loved her too much to do that to her. In the end she would grow to hate him. He would hate himself.

  “Time to fly, little bird,” he said softly as he tried to move his arms. Dory stirred sleepily and then was instantly awake. She smiled. The first dazzling smile he had seen on her face since they moved here. His heart ached for what might have been.

  “Griff, the tree, all the decorations . . .”

  “I’ll have one of the boys from the clinic pack everything away. While you get your things together what say I make us a going-away breakfast.”

  “Sounds good to me. Most of my things have been packed for some time. Griff, don’t make more of that statement than there is.”

  “I won’t.” Griff’s movements in the kitchen were sluggish. He hated what he was doing. He hated farewells. He hated good-byes of any kind.

  Dory sat down to black toast and brown scrambled eggs. It was the most delicious food she had ever tasted. “Let’s not make any promises or play any games, Griff.”

  “Agreed.”

  “We’ll keep in touch. If you’re ever in the city . . . if I ever find myself here . . . you know. Tell Sylvia and Lily I’ll drop them a note.”

  “Gotcha,” Griff said, forcing a light note into his voice.

  A horn sounded outside. The taxi. Dory looked at Griff. “I didn’t want you to take me to the airport. I wanted to leave you here, so I could think of you this way, not among strangers in a sterile airport. I have to go, Griff,” she whispered, choking back a sob.

  “I know, Dory love. You need to be back in your own climate, in your own environment. It’s where you thrive, where you like yourself to be.”

  “I like to be in your arms, Griff. That’s where I like to be. But it’s not enough.”

  “I love you, Dory. Hurry, cab drivers aren’t known for their patience.”

  “Griff . . .”

  “I know, love. I know.”

  “I love you, Griff.”

  “And I love you. Move, damn it, or this is all going to be for nothing, and we’ll have to replay it all when the next cab comes to get you.” The sound of the horn pierced the frigid air outside.

  Without another word, without another glance, Dory turned and walked out the door.

  Griff stood by the window long after the taxi had gone. She was going back to her world. She was gone. He felt like hell. Probably a cold coming on. He was overdue.

  Maybe he should go over to Rick and Lily’s to have coffee and tell them that Dory was gone. Lily would be feeding the baby about this time.

  Griff blew his nose lustily. For sure, it was a cold. What else could it be?

  Chapter Twelve

  Dory had put in her first week of work on the job and she knew she had made the right decision. Life was exciting again; she accepted her share of stress and plunged herself into learning Lizzie’s managerial duties. Soon, she hoped, she would be able to blend those managerial skills with her own brand of creativeness, and her job would be innovative as well as challenging.

  So what if this particular brand of happiness was paid for by crying herself to sleep every night? So what if her appetite was less than it should be and every pair of broad shoulders and head of dark hair she noticed in a crowd seemed to be Griff? She was coping. She was handling it better than she had expected. That was all that mattered, she told herself. As Pixie often said, “Everything in life has a price. The trick is deciding if you want to pay it.”

  The door to her office opened and in stepped David Harlow. “Katy said you’d need this coffee about now.” He sat a cup that boasted “BEST BOSS IN TOWN” down on her desk. “You look tired, so I guess she was right. I stopped by to invite you out for dinner.” There was a gleam in his eye as he appraised her sleek shining hair that brushed the shoulders of her mauve silk blouse. With a proprietary air, he reached out to smooth the pale blond strands.

  Dory backed away. “Sorry, Mr. Harlow, I can’t make it.” She leaned back in her chair, sipping the fragrant brew.

  “When we’re alone you’re to call me David,” he told her, his tone oily. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Busy, Mr. Harlow. In case you’re not getting the message, I will call you Mr. Harlow.” Dory placed the cup on her desk and stood up to face him.

  She stood tall, smoothing her skirt over her hips. “Let me tell you something, Mr. Harlow. I am well aware of the fact that you have it in your power to remove me from the ranks of Soiree. Before I made my decision to return here, I knew that there would never be anything between the two of us, and I’m prepared to start over again somewhere else. I will not be compromised.”

  Harlow spoke as though he hadn’t
heard a word Dory had said. “What about dinner Saturday or Sunday? We can take in jai alai in Connecticut.”

  Dory shook her head.

  “When won’t you be busy?”

  Dory flinched at his tone. This was it. “You’re not listening to me, Mr. Harlow. It’s time we understood one another. If you and what you’re suggesting goes with this job, then you have the wrong woman. Oh, I could make all kinds of threats about going to the Civil Liberties Union or yelling sexual harassment, but I’m going to get on with my life, and I’m not going to let you get under my skin. I’ll simply clean out my desk and be out of here within the hour. That, Mr. Harlow, is the bottom line. Take it or leave it.” There, she had said it and she knew he’d been listening. And it hadn’t been as difficult as she’d thought. She kept her gaze steady and waited.

  Harlow grinned wolfishly and held out his hand. He was whipped and he knew it, and wasn’t it said that discretion was the better part of valor? There were other girls, less dedicated women who could appreciate a man like himself. Oh, he knew he wasn’t much to look at, but he also knew something else. Women were attracted to power. An Adonis of a janitor couldn’t compete with the homeliest of men who held the three “P’s”: power, position and persistence. “Well, they told me you weren’t a pushover, Dory.” He grinned broadly. “This is only a truce; it doesn’t mean I won’t keep trying.”

  “Just so the record is straight,” Dory told him firmly. “And also for the record, if you’re Mr. Harlow, then I’m Ms. Faraday. Got it?” She extended her hand for a shake.

  “You have style, Faraday, I’ll give you that.”

  “That’s what they tell me. Time to get back to work, Harlow. Thanks for stopping by.”

  Harlow grinned. “Next time I’ll make an appointment.”

  “Do that.” Dory grinned back.

  Harlow left her office, but he winked at her before he left. She wanted to throw something at him. He’d said the words and played the scene, but he hadn’t believed a word of it. As far as he was concerned, Dory was simply going to take a little longer than other women. But even with her anger, Dory knew a satisfaction. She’d played by her own rules, and while she hadn’t exactly had a complete victory, the ball was in her court. David Harlow would probably always be a thorn in her side but she’d cope. It was going to be rocky, but she’d been over rough turf before.

  There was one more thing to do before she could sit back and relax with Pixie’s letter, which had arrived in the morning mail. And then back to Katy’s comfortable ranch house on the Island.

  She flipped through the Rolodex till she found the number she wanted, then dialed and waited.

  “Senator Collins’s office. May I help you?”

  “Dory Faraday, Miss Oliver. Is the senator in?”

  “One moment please.”

  “Ah, Miss Faraday, it’s a pleasure to hear your voice at the end of a long day, a very long day.”

  “Thank you.” There was that smile in his voice again. “Senator, I really do want to apologize for not getting together over the holidays. I moved back to the city and managed to get myself promoted in the bargain. I think I more or less have things squared away here. How’s your schedule?”

  “Hectic. But, I have a farm in McLean where I go weekends. By pure chance I happen to have the next four free. I have to warn you, though, that could change at any time. For now, it’s good for me if you could manage to get down here.”

  Dory’s heart picked up an extra beat as she contemplated a long weekend with the man who owned such a wonderful voice. “I think I can arrange it. Would you like to start this weekend?”

  “It’s all right with me. Just tell me your flight number and I’ll have someone pick you up at the airport.”

  “I’ll get back to your secretary tomorrow, Senator. I’m looking forward to working with you on this project. I think it’s going to be one of our better political profiles.” As she spoke, Dory riffled through the files in the bottom right-hand drawer of her desk. Where was the envelope Katy had sent her with that material on Drake Collins? She had been so involved with making her decisions that she’d never opened it.

  Her fingers found the mailing envelope and she pulled the tab to open it. Senator Collins was talking about bringing a pair of warm boots and heavy sweaters to the farm. She’d have to follow him around while he tended to chores and he planned to do some riding. Did she ride?

  The contents of the envelope scattered out onto Dory’s desk. There were newspaper clippings, Xeroxed copies of magazine articles in Fortune, Business Week, and Time. And an 8 x 10 black-and-white glossy photo, no doubt from the senator’s campaign. Dory picked up the photo. Laughing eyes looked back into hers from a handsome face. Dory’s eyes widened. The man at the airport. The senator was the man at the airport who had picked up her dropped glove and had wanted to take her for coffee! Little bubbles of excitement fizzed through her blood. There had been an instant attraction between them. She knew it; any woman could instantly tell if a man was interested in her.

  “I’m counting on this article for Soiree to assure me of being a shoo-in on my next campaign for office,” the senator quipped.

  “We do have an astronomical circulation in your home state, Senator. If nothing else, you’ll have the edge over your opponent.”

  “I’m looking forward to your visit. Till Saturday,” Drake Collins signed off.

  Dory sat for a long time staring at the phone. It was incredible, simply incredible. It would be fun to see if the senator recognized her from the airport. Fun. That was what she wanted right now. She still wasn’t over Griff, and she didn’t expect to be for a long, long time. She wondered what he was doing right now, this minute. She glanced at her watch. He’d still be at the clinic. Would he eat supper alone? With someone? Was he eating right?

  Dory’s shoulders slumped. She shouldn’t be worrying about him this way. But love, when it died, died hard. And Dory still loved Griff, in a very special way. More special because Griff recognized her needs and was unselfish enough to think of Dory first. If anyone had had doubts or qualms about Dory moving to Washington, it had been Griff. He’d wanted to marry her. Perhaps marriage would have made the difference. There would have been a commitment. She would have had to think things through very carefully. Dory realized now that she had never burned her bridges behind her when she left New York. She had purposely contrived to keep a spot open for herself in case she wanted to return. But then, why had she left in the first place? Was it plain weariness of job and stress? Was it because she realized Lizzie would be leaving and she’d been the most natural person to step into the job? Did she think at the time that she couldn’t handle the position? Was that why running away with Griff had seemed so important? And that was what it had been, running away, knowing that Soiree would welcome back its prodigal child.

  She loved Griff, yet she had used him. In return for all those household chores and making a home, she had expected safety and solace. And still it hadn’t been there for her. No sooner had she arrived than she had begun to worry that Griff didn’t love her, didn’t admire her, that he’d admired other women more. She had expected to keep a home for Griff, but she had also expected him to make a home for her. Foolish girl. Why and where had she gotten the idea that all things good and worth having come to a woman only through a man? Griff hadn’t changed, she had! Griff hadn’t expected her to sacrifice, she had simply done it. He hadn’t asked . . . she had simply given. And always he had appreciated it, but probably the whole time he’d wondered where his Dory had gone. The Dory he had known in New York and had fallen in love with.

  “Griff . . . Griff . . . I let both of us down, didn’t I?” She looked at the phone. She’d finally gotten it all straight in her own head and she wanted to tell Griff. Her hand fell back into her lap and she laughed aloud. Griff knew. Griff had always known.

  Dory blinked back a tear, a smile forming on her lips. For now, she had found the place she needed to be, to grow. It
wasn’t the answer to everything in her life, but until she wanted to be somewhere else, it was home. And she was home free.

  On to bigger and better things. Better things like a letter from Pixie. The airmail paper was as crisp and crackly as celery. Dory smoothed out the pages and leaned back, her feet propped up on an open drawer. It paid to be comfortable when starting one of Pixie’s letters.

  Dory, Sweet Child,

  I know you must be chewing your nails wondering how I’m doing. In a word, super. That’s as in s-u-p-e-r! Mr. Cho (he insists I call him Mr. Cho) and I are a perfect match. I’ve already filled the journal you gave me for Christmas. There was a tricky moment or two when Mr. Cho wanted to know why I had so many names. I glossed over the whole thing and he now thinks all Americans are crazy. Wealthy and crazy!

  I’m marrying Mr. Cho on the second day of the Chinese New Year which is shortly after ours. He’s a remarkable man. As you know, he demanded a dowry. He also demanded all my assets and said he would retire to manage them. We’ve worked up a written contract whereby he agrees to devote his entire life to me and to make you and me all the shoes we can hope to wear in a lifetime. (I had to fight for that one.) We both know I have a tendency to be flaky, but I have never been one to buy a pig in the poke. We did a little plea bargaining which is another way of saying I demanded a sample of his devotion. My dear, may I say it was one of the most heady experiences of my life. I worried for naught. I think even Mr. Cho was startled. We had a bit of role reversal when I had to wait for him for two days before he could get it all together. I loved every minute of it. I felt so . . . so . . . lecherous.

  Mr. Cho is thirty-nine years old. I was a little surprised but he said not to concern myself, that age was only a number. He constantly tells me I’m a work of art, meaning, I’m sure, that I’m a treasure.