No More Lonely Nights

by Nicole McGehee

  Just as Dominique was thinking of her, Sylvia appeared at the door of her office, her face grim. Dominique looked up in surprise. Sylvia usually communicated with her by memo. What did she want? Quickly, Dominique smoothed her features into an expression of polite expectancy.

  “There’s a problem at the Cosmos Club,” Sylvia said in clipped tones.

  “Mary’s event?” Dominique mentioned the name of one of the account executives as she glanced at her watch. “Isn’t that due to start in an hour?”

  “Yes. You’ll have to go over right away.”

  Dominique half stood. “Oh! But I have plans. Can’t someone else go?”

  Sylvia raised one eyebrow. “I’m sorry about your plans,” she said in a way that indicated the opposite. “I can call Mrs. Filmore and ask her whom else we might send.”

  Dominique straightened and squared her shoulders. Don’t threaten me, she wanted to say. Instead, she snapped, “Why would you do that? I thought these decisions were yours.”

  Sylvia looked taken aback for a moment. Then her eyes narrowed and her mouth clamped into a thin, hard line. “I need people I can count on in emergencies. Who’ll change their plans when necessary. Maybe you don’t understand that about this job.”

  Tight-lipped, Dominique replied, “I understand very well.” She wanted to tell Sylvia exactly what she thought of her: that she was malicious and petty. That Dominique knew she was only trying to spoil her evening because she was jealous. Dominique bit the inside of her mouth lest she say something she would regret. She couldn’t afford to lose this job!

  She leaned forward and snatched the phone from its cradle. “I’ll leave right away,” Dominique said woodenly. “I need to make a call first.” She glared at Sylvia until the other woman nodded and left the threshold.

  Gabrielle curled her finger over the top of Dominique’s morning paper and confronted her mother with an expectant look. “Mom, you promised we’d go look for my Christmas present.”

  Dominique couldn’t help laughing at her daughter’s impatience. She put down the paper and glanced at Solange. A conspiratorial look passed between them. Solange had already bought Gabrielle a blouse and the album on her Christmas list: Carole King’s Tapestry. Dominique had promised the girl a pair of shoes, jeans, and a sweater.

  “I’m tired,” Dominique teasingly complained.

  Gabrielle groaned. “You’re never tired!”

  Dominique yawned elaborately. “I may go back to bed. After all, it’s the weekend.” She gave her daughter a sidelong glance.

  “Mom! Christmas Eve is tomorrow!”

  Dominique opened her eyes wide. “It is?” She looked outside, as though the bright morning sunshine contradicted her daughter’s words.

  Solange laughed. “Stop torturing the child!” she said in French.

  Dominique pushed back her chair and stood up. She stretched as she gazed out the window. Frost sparkled over the little herb garden, now a winter brown, but the ivy draping the back wall was still deep green.

  “Okay,” Dominique told Gabrielle. “Unload the dishwasher while I dress.”

  For once, Gabrielle scrambled to her chores.

  Dominique smiled as she watched her. Then she turned to Solange. “Join us?”

  Solange’s expression turned secretive. “No, thank you. I still have some Christmas shopping to do. I believe I’ll take a walk down Wisconsin Avenue and see what I can find.” Solange loved that busy strip of Georgetown. She had found a sidewalk café, Au Pied de Cochon, where she would go in the afternoons for an espresso and a chat with the French waiters, all of whom adored her.

  Thirty minutes later, Dominique and Gabrielle were in the car headed toward a mall in the Virginia suburbs. They chatted happily until Dominique pulled into the parking lot of JC Penney. Then Gabrielle’s eyes widened in horror. “Mom, I don’t want to get my stuff here!” she cried. “Everyone at school will think I’m weird!”

  Dominique clicked off the engine. “Why?” she asked coolly.

  “Mom!” Gabrielle said with exasperation.

  Dominique turned to her daughter and said gently, “Gabrielle, I know the girls at school come from wealthy families, but try to understand our situation. It’s not like when your father was with us.”

  Gabrielle tightened her lips in an unconscious imitation of Clay. “I don’t see why we had to move away from Dad!” she cried. “None of this would be happening if we were still in New Orleans.” Every so often, Gabrielle had these outbursts. Dominique understood the girl’s distress, but the episodes were painful for her, too.

  Dominique’s voice hardened. “It was happening when we were in New Orleans. Why do you think I had to sell the house?”

  Gabrielle hesitated a moment, then said in an accusatory tone, “Dad said you wanted to start fresh.”

  Dominique’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. Clay was twisting the truth to make her the villain.

  Gabrielle narrowed her eyes and studied Dominique, her expression unforgiving.

  Dominique gritted her teeth. “I was perfectly content where we were. Your father has given you the wrong impression.”

  Gabrielle made a sound of disbelief and turned her head away.

  Dominique drew in her breath, too outraged to speak. Her palm itched to slap the girl. “Don’t turn away from me like that, young lady! And don’t ever make that sound—like you think I’m lying.” Her voice was steely. “I’ve never lied to you and you know it.”

  The girl’s head snapped back to face Dominique. “Then why won’t you tell me exactly why you and Dad split up?” she hurled. “You never have, you know!”

  Until now, Gabrielle had naively accepted the fiction—put forward by Clay—that Marie had somehow materialized after the separation. Dominique had never contradicted it. But, for the first time, Gabrielle was asking a direct question. And Dominique wasn’t prepared to shoulder the blame in order to preserve Clay’s image. In a voice that was deadly quiet, she said, “You’ve met Marie.”

  Gabrielle shook her head, panic creeping over her features. She didn’t want to accept the truth. “No, I mean, why did you and Dad decide he should move out? I know he met her after—”

  Dominique held up a hand like a person stopping traffic. “Just a minute!” Her eyes glittered with rage. “Your father,” Dominique said in a brittle voice, “left me. I never wanted him to.” What a coward not to own up to his actions!

  Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open. The roses in her cheeks faded abruptly to white. “But… I thought…” Dominique saw confusion in Gabrielle’s eyes as the girl fought against the revelation. Then her expression grew dark. “He lied!” Her cry betrayed her disillusionment. Parents weren’t supposed to lie! “He cheated on you and then he lied!”

  The sight of Gabrielle’s misery made Dominique’s anger collapse. She reached for her daughter, her heart aching in sympathy. Gabrielle had only recently discovered a Clay who was more patient and pliable—more fun. But a Clay who was false! Who had lied to her just as he had lied to Dominique. Oh, but the circumstances were different! In spite of Dominique’s disgust with Clay, she was convinced he had lied to Gabrielle to preserve the father-daughter relationship. And she had to persuade Gabrielle of it. The girl was old enough to know the real circumstances of the split, but was anyone so mature that they were not hurt by a parent’s dishonorable action?

  Dominique hugged her daughter close, and Gabrielle clung so tightly that she almost squeezed the breath from her.

  “Your father was afraid you’d think less of him, that’s all,” Dominique murmured.

  Gabrielle straightened abruptly, though she continued to grasp her mother’s upper arms. Her face crumpled with disgust. “I hate him!” she declared vehemently. “How could he do that to you?” Her eyes filled, but she blinked back the tears.

  The expression on Gabrielle’s face re-ignited Dominique’s own fury at Clay. At that moment, she could have shot him with no remorse. She didn’t trust herself to answer
her daughter. She could feel the venom poised to flow out of her.

  Gabrielle’s mouth started to tremble. She bit her lip and fixed Dominique with a determinedly hard gaze, as though bracing herself.

  Dominique couldn’t bear to see Gabrielle’s eyes turn cynical. She was too young! There was all the time in the world for disillusionment. Why did it have to happen now, when Gabrielle was so impressionable? And yet, why should Dominique find excuses for Clay’s inexcusable behavior? The blow he had dealt Dominique wasn’t confined to adultery. He had torn her life apart.

  Dominique burned to empty her heart to Gabrielle, to someone. But in the long run, that would most damage Gabrielle herself. “Gabrielle, I know it’s hard to understand, but what your father feels for me now—the fact that he left—doesn’t take away from the love he feels for you.” She put her hand under her daughter’s chin and looked into her eyes. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Gabrielle jerked her head back. “Why are you protecting him?” she cried. “He cheated on you! We had to sell our house and move up here. Why don’t you hate him?”

  I do! Dominique wanted to shout back. The words were on the tip of her tongue. She was so tempted. She could avenge herself by turning Gabrielle against her father. It was Dominique’s only means of retribution, Clay had robbed her. She could rob him, and in the process, assure the loyalty of her daughter. She would no longer have to put up with stories about Marie’s accomplishments or Clay’s wonderful new life. Gabrielle would hate them both.

  Dominique’s body was tense with the strain of suppressing her thoughts. She had a hand on each of Gabrielle’s upper arms and she could feel the slender limbs under her fingers. Suddenly, she realized she was clutching them too tightly. They were so delicate—not yet grown. Gabrielle was still a child, after all! She was lost and confused by a rupture she couldn’t understand. What could be more despicable than to rob her of the only anchor left in her life—her family. Her parents. Both of them.

  Dominique slid her hands down the length of Gabrielle’s arms and took her daughter’s hands. She gazed into her eyes, and knew that the girl’s anger was nothing but bravado. Gabrielle was frightened—badly frightened. She had been raised to believe in certain principles, and one of the very people who had raised her was defying them. That made him bad, didn’t it? Gabrielle’s own father, whom she had always believed to be fundamentally good, now appeared to be fundamentally bad. Weak. Selfish. A liar. If that was possible, then who was there left to trust?

  It was too much of a burden to inflict on Gabrielle. Why don’t you hate him? Gabrielle had asked, loyally prepared to do so herself.

  “Gabrielle,” Dominique said gently, “I don’t hate your father, because we have a lot of good memories together.” She paused. “And… we have you.”

  CHAPTER 25

  DOMINIQUE lifted the hem of her gown and stepped off the escalator into the monumental corridor that was the Kennedy Center’s Hall of Nations. Enormous, colorful flags from many countries were suspended overhead, lending a ceremonial flourish to the grand space. Along the white marble walls were placed long tables to be used for the cocktail buffet. Dominique drew close to one of the tables, examining the centerpieces provided by the Dutch embassy. They were three-foot-high compositions of fruits and flowers—masterworks of artistry.

  But Dominique could afford only a moment’s pause. She was to meet Mark at six-thirty and there was still so much to check! She felt dwarfed as she made her way down the hall, around a corner, and into the wide lobby that served the Kennedy Center’s theaters. She automatically looked toward the bank of vermilion doors that would later be thrown open to admit the guests to a special performance of Cabaret, A rush of adrenaline coursed through her, as it always did before a big event, and her step quickened. She hurried around the corner and into the Hall of States, also hung with flags. Good, the tables were already set up, as they had been in the other corridor. Waiters scurried about with trays of food, ice, and cutlery.

  At the opposite end of the palatial hall was the bank of doors Mark would be entering. Dominique glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost six-thirty. Her pulse hammering in her temples, she made her way down the endless concourse.

  Mark glanced for the umpteenth time at the clock on the dashboard. Dominique was to meet him at six-thirty at the main entrance of the Kennedy Center, but Mark had been so eager that he had arrived fifteen minutes early. He didn’t want Dominique to know that, though, so he circled the block, then eased into a parking space a few seconds away from his destination. If he stopped in the drive in front of the center, a parking attendant would take his car. So he would wait until six-thirty. Maybe even a little longer.

  Impatiently, Mark drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He tilted the rearview mirror down and studied his bow tie. He could never get it quite straight. His friends’ wives teased him about that, claiming that he needed a wife of his own to tie it for him. He smiled wryly at the thought. Nina had never possessed the touch of maternalism that caused women to perform such tasks for their husbands.

  With a sigh, Mark gave the black silk cloth a tentative tug at one corner. For a moment, the tie straightened, but as soon as he released it, the corner tilted up and the tie was askew again. Mark felt a thin line of sweat form on his upper lip. He considered undoing the bow and starting over. Or would it only end up worse? He decided to leave it.

  Mark reached up to return the mirror to its former position, then hesitated with his hand on the frame. He wasn’t a man who usually spent time looking in the mirror. Even when he shaved, his mind was elsewhere, but he suddenly found himself wondering if Dominique would be pleased by what she saw. He brushed his fingers through his hair. Should’ve had a haircut, he thought. He always let it go just a little too long before cutting it. He studied the lines around his eyes and his mouth. Did he look older than his forty-four years? It was hard to say. The lines were definitely there. His mobile face and constant smile had caused that.

  So be it, Mark thought. That’s who I am and there’s nothing to do about it. Some of his congressional colleagues had ever-so-discreetly opted for plastic surgery as a means to remain young in the eyes of constituents. Mark shrugged and flipped the mirror back into place. That sort of thing wasn’t for him.

  He took another look at the clock. Mark’s heart raced as he realized it was time. He started the engine and pulled into traffic, anxious now lest he keep Dominique waiting. The gala started in just half an hour. He saw the traffic signal ahead turn yellow and stepped on the gas just in time to avoid the red. Then he pulled into the Kennedy Center’s drive and handed the keys to the parking attendant.

  He turned to the heavy glass doors. Behind them he saw the outline of a female form. His step faltered. Suddenly he was assailed by doubt. Now that he was to finally see Dominique, would he still feel the same? Was she changed? Embittered? Could she possibly be as attractive as he remembered?

  He had been waiting for this moment since the day Dominique had phoned him in October. What had been the real reason for her last-minute cancellation of their cocktail date? Had she been trying to put him off? It had taken all his willpower not to call her when he’d returned from the holiday recess two weeks before, but he’d known she was busy with the gala.

  Mark rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It was disagreeably dry. He hesitated one more time before the door and nervously fingered his tie. The female form inside moved closer. He took a deep breath and resolutely stepped through the doors. When he emerged on the other side, he abruptly stopped. He tried to focus on the figure before him.

  For one confused moment, it was as though he had been transported back in time. In the soft light, Dominique looked no older than on the first day he had met her. The brighter lights from the central hall many yards away outlined her body, but her long black velvet gown and the shadows of the foyer created an illusion of mystery, as though she were not quite real. Something near her face sparkled, th
rowing off colored beams. Mark stood where he was and watched Dominique move toward him.

  She was speaking to him in that enchanting musical accent. Her hands were stretched forward in greeting. She came nearer and he inhaled the light perfume that seemed uniquely hers: flowers and spice. Then she turned her face up to his and he saw the flash of her smile.

  Mark’s feelings toward Dominique, which he had firmly suppressed over the years, burst to the surface of his consciousness. He wanted to reach forward and touch her face, to cup it in his hands. He wanted to pull her into his embrace.

  He closed his arms about her. He felt her arms go around him. He lowered his head to hers, his eyes focused on her lush mouth. He was going to kiss her, just as he had always wanted to. He was going to show her how much she meant to him. He forgot propriety, the past, their friendship.

  As he drew closer to her, she ever so slightly turned her head and kissed his cheek. “Mark, how good to see you again!” Dominique’s voice was affectionate, there was no mistaking it. But it didn’t have the husky note that he had been imagining. There was nothing at all romantic in her manner toward him.

  The realization jolted Mark back to reality. He blinked as her scented hair brushed against the skin of his face. He was confounded by her proximity, yet his social training told him that something was required of him. Something mundane and hearty and appropriate.

  “Dominique, how are you, it’s been much too long!” Mark heard his voice as though from a distance. It sounded right. It just didn’t feel right. It wasn’t at all what he wanted to convey.

  Dominique disengaged herself from his arms, but held on to his hand. Mark allowed himself to be guided forward. She was chatting about something. He couldn’t quite focus on her words. In a moment he would get his bearings, regain control. But every nerve in his body seemed perilously close to the surface of his skin. With hypersensitivity, he felt the touch of her palm against his.

  They stepped onto an elevator.