A Ruling Passion

by Judith Michael

  "Shut up!" Sybille cried.

  "You used to tell me how much you loved Quentin, and Nick, and Chad, even me, and how you needed help because you were helpless and lost in the big cruel world."

  "Shutup! You can't—"

  "For awhile I thought you really believed all that, or you'd convinced yourself it was true, but then I changed my mind, especially about Chad, because you never told little stories about him. Parents

  usually have wonderful little anecdotes to tell about their kids, but you never—"

  "You don't know anything about kids; you don't have any! You don't have anything! I have it all! You think you can make me feel I'm no good, but I'm better than you; I have everything!"

  "Do you? I wonder how much you really have. There's something wrong with you, Sybille, something warped, as if you see everything reflected in one of those crazy mirrors at a carnival. I think you got me here—"

  'Tou bitch, you can't talk to me that way!" Sybille was on her feet, leaning over the desk. "Get out! Get out! Get out!"

  "Let me finish! You got me here to humiliate me, didn't you? To lord it over me because I'm down now. That's just like you; it's what I thought you were like: you're mean-spirited and vengeful and you know how to hate but not how to love—"

  "You fucking bitch!" Sybille stabbed at a button on her desk, her finger stiff and furious. "Get in here!" she screamed when her secretary answered. And when the secretary appeared in the doorway, she said, in a strangled voice, "This woman is leaving. Write her a check, whatever we owe her, and make sure she doesn't walk off with any supplies when she goes."

  "Walk off!" Valerie exclaimed. "You're crazy; I wouldn't take anything from you. I don't want anything from you."

  "You wanted a job. You wanted somebody to take care of you." Sybille's eyes slid over Valerie's. "All those nice security blankets disappeared, didn't they? Husband, bank accounts, all that cushiony life... whoosh. Gone. So you came begging. And I scrounged around and found you a job, but that wasn't enough for you. Who said you don't want anything from me? I took care of you, gave you more than you deserve, and three weeks later you barge in here and tell me I broke a promise, you don't like what you've got, and you expect me to give you everything you want..."

  "Sybille, stop it! You can't make things up and pretend they're real!"

  "Don't call me a liar! You're the liar; you can't stand it that you had to come to me and beg! You're a liar, you're disloyal, you're too spoiled to do a decent job, and you're a cheap tart—making up to Al Slavin, who's got a wife and four kids, so he'll work on me to give you your precious interview show. But nobody wants to see you on television; nobody wants to see you anywhere! You're a failure; you haven't got a goddam thing in the world, and nobody wants to have a fucking thing to do with you!"

  Valerie backed up, away from Sybille's venom. Her stomach was churning; she thought she would be sick.

  "Get out of here," Sybille rasped. She sat down and picked up a piece of paper at random, swiveling her chair away from Valerie. "Get the hell out. I have work to do."

  Valerie left, stumbling in her haste, She had to get away, as far as possible. Whatever waited for her out there, she would rather face it today than stay another moment in Sybille's orbit. She grasped the doorknob to shut the door behind her. But just before the door closed, she heard Sybille's voice, low and intense, reverberating in the room. "That's eventing. Everything. Finally, this is the real beginning of my Ufe."

  Chapter 21

  a

  m m j need a job," Valerie said. She sat in a leadier chair

  1 ^J across die desk from Nick, her head high, her

  ^ ^^T^ white linen suit slighdy wrinkled from the drive to

  1^ ^^F his office in the July heat and humidity. "I have no

  1^^ I money. I found out, after Carl died, that it was all

  gone, and there were debts ... If s a very long story, but the point is, I need a job, and I thought you could help me."

  She was facing the wall of windows behind his desk, her features illuminated by the morning sun. It had been a year since Nick had seen her, at their lunch in Middleburg, and he was struck again by the perfection of her oval face: the steady gaze of her large hazel eyes beneath level brows, her translucent skin, and her tawny hair falling in loose, heavy curls to her shoulders, the lively play of emotions in her eyes and on her fiiU mouth. She had the kind of beauty that made others want to draw close and coax a smile from her; the kind of looks that led most people to the happy belief that great beauty is accompanied by a greamess of soul, since they cannot believe that perfect beauty could mask a warped or evil nature. And so they drew close, thinking that anyone as lovely as Valerie Sterling had to be a person of

  such goodness, loving kindness and generosity that she would bring some of her perfections to their lives, warm them, embrace them with her virtues and thus, by some kind of osmosis, impart virtue, even perfection, to them.

  Nick, who knew she was not perfect—or at least had not been thirteen years earlier—still found himself believing in the possibility of it as he gazed at her. He found it harder to believe that she was there at all: suddenly a part of his life when, for so long, she had been only a memory that would not fade. He reminded himself of that lunch in Middleburg, when he had been sure she had not changed at all, but, even with that reminder, he felt a sense of excitement and anticipation. He felt, in an odd way, very happy, and that was when he knew that he could love her again.

  Or perhaps I've loved her all along, he thought. He did not think that could be true—he did not believe any love could be sustained for thirteen years without contact or hope—but the possibility intrigued him: he liked to think of himself as a constant lover. And why else would he be filled with this happiness .>

  Valerie's eyes were shadowed, and suddenly he realized she was worried at his silence. "Carlton died last January," he said. "What have you been doing since then?"

  "Nothing. Nothing important." She met his eyes, and a small exasperated breath escaped her. "I was working."

  "Where?"

  Her head moved higher. "At Sybille's production company. She offered me a job working with two directors, and I took it, but she and I had different ideas about what I could do, so I... left."

  He nodded calmly. It sounded as if Sybille had fired her. What a crazy situation, he thought. Sybille's always envied her, and then to get a chance to humiliate her... "How long did you work for her?" he asked.

  There was a pause. "Three weeks."

  He nodded again, as calmly as before. "And before that?"

  "I was living with my mother in New York. We were trying to find a smaller apartment for her; she can't afford to stay where she is. I... thought about marrying again, but that wasn't what I wanted." She leaned forward. "I want to do something interesting, Nick; something important. I have to work, but I can't spend my time at silly jobs that a child could do; I have to do something I like, something I'm good at. I want to do an interview show, or an investigative one, or a newscast, and write my own scripts. You know how long I've been doing it; I've

  kept it up. I could have done much more if I'd had the time." She paused, thinking of all the time she had had: hours, days, years, to do exacdy as she wished. So much leisure time, all her own. It had been as much a form of wealth as her considerable fortune, and she had never realized it. "I know you produce some of your own programs; I want you to build one around me."

  Nick sat back, amused at her audacity. For a moment he thought she might be disguising uncertainty, perhaps even fear, but a long look convinced him otherwise: she was absolutely serious, and as arrogant as ever. Adrift, almost alone, victimized by her husband, left with no fortune to buoy her up, she was more than brave: she was foolhardy.

  "I am good at it, Nick; I can do it," she said. And then, unexpectedly, she added, "It's about the only thing I can do," with a small, ruefiil smile that tore at his heart.

  He thought about it. She would be wond
erftil on camera; he knew that. He did not know whether she could sustain her wonderftil presence on camera for half an hour or longer; he did not know if she could write. And he had no reason to think she took the world any more seriously now than in the past, even though her fortune was gone. She's not looking for a career, he thought: more likely she's waiting for a man to rescue her, or for someone to find her money, or for some other miracle to happen, and then she'll take off".

  But even though he was sure of that, he could not send her away. Not with this odd happiness inside him, and her hazel eyes watching him steadily, waiting for his answer.

  "Are you still living in Middleburg?" he asked.

  "No. I had to sell the farm." She steadied her voice. "I have an apartment in Fairfax. I plan to move soon, to something better, but I won't go far. I don't want to leave Virginia."

  "Good." He picked up his telephone. "Susan, what do we have open now?" Rolling a pencil between his fingers, not looking at Valerie's quick frown, he waited. "With Earl," he said. "That sounds fine. I have a friend here, Valerie Sterling; she may want to talk to you about it. I think she'd be very good."

  He turned back to Valerie. "We do have an opening." His voice sounded formal, almost brusque. "We're expanding the staff" for a new program called 'Blow-Up,' and we need another person in the research department."

  Valerie's frown had deepened; she looked at him in bewilderment. "Research?"

  Nick nodded. "We have nothing else right now." It sounded like an

  apology, and he became even more brusque. "It's a good place for you to start. You'll get to know everyone and you'll learn how we operate. A lot of the time we're learning ourselves; everything still seems new around here, and all of us do half a dozen jobs when we have to, to get through whatever the latest crises are. But we do get through them; we don't repeat our mistakes." His voice had grown warm, picking up enthusiasm as he spoke. "We're growing so fast it's hard to keep track of where we were last week and who was doing what. It was like that at Omega, you know... well, no, you don't, but it was pretty much the same. I guess I haven't found a way to start a company without trying to do everything all at once, and I bring in people who are the same, so we charge ahead and then slow down to see where we are, and then start up again, faster than before. It's the most exciting time in a company; nothing comes near it when things get settled and a lot of it gets predictable and routine. So it may be chaotic around here, but it's never dull. And our people don't leave; the five top people I brought in two years ago are still here, and so is everybody we've hired since then. Two years ago this month, in fact, that we started; you can help us celebrate."

  Valerie gave a flicker of a smile. "I don't know anything about research."

  "You'll learn in no time." Nick's voice was still warm and buoyant with energy. "Earl DeShan runs the department; he'll give you all the help you need."

  "But thafs not what I—" She stopped.

  There was silence in Nick's office. Valerie stood up, propelled by panic, and walked across the large room. She couldn't believe what was happening: it had never occurred to her that he would not help her. She stood beside an Eskimo sculpture of a bear standing on his hind legs, dancing. It was a superb piece: she had seen similar ones in private collections, and knew how rare and valuable it was. She didn't know Nick liked Eskimo sculpture. She really didn't know anything about him. Once she had been sure he was uncomplicated, so easy to understand. But that was when he had two loves—his work and her —and spent his time at a battered desk in the engineering building or in an apartment furnished with castoffs, with juice glasses for wine.

  Now he had an office that seemed so simple she knew how very much it had cost, paneled in mahogany, furnished in leather and rosewood and a fine Navaho rug. It was the office of a successful, ambitious man who had excellent taste and the money to satisfy it. Once that was all she would have thought it was. But now it seemed to her

  to be the office of a man who had grown hard; who might sound boyish in his enthusiasm but was really as unimaginative as she had always thought him, especially when he was asked to do something different, like give her a chance. He is£fmn^ me a chance. In her panic, she brushed aside the thought. It wasn't the right kind of chance. After working for Sybille, she needed something she knew she could do; she needed to feel some confidence in herself

  She moved to the fireplace, and nervously picked up and put down a group of small soapstone sculptures of seals and puffins and a fisherman reeling in his line. The office was very quiet. When she turned, she found Nick watching her, waiting for her to settle down. He was one of the most attractive men she had ever known, more so now than in college. His face had new lines that made him look more interesting; his hair was graying at the temples; his smile, though less ready than before, lightened his face more than she remembered, and his deep-set eyes seemed more shadowed. His shirt collar was open and casual, but his lightweight wool jacket hung perfecdy on his broad shoulders, and Valerie was certain, without looking, that his socks matched.

  In the years since they had been together, when his clothes had been shabby, he owned only one tie, his hair was unruly, and his socks did not match, he had been married to Sybille—how could he? how could he have loved her, desired her, needed her?—divorced from Sybille, fathered a son, built two companies, moved across the country and, according to Chad, had lots of women. I don't know him at all, Valerie thought again. Everything about him brought back memories, but still she might as well be talking to a stranger.

  But he's not a stran£fer, and I counted on him. How can he do this to me?

  "You've done a good job of showing me how wrong I can be about someone," she said with something like despair. "I was so sure you'd help me."

  Nick's eyebrows lifted. "You mean, offer you what you want."

  "I mean, offer me something I'm good at. Anyone could offer me a job doing research."

  "Anyone could, but I doubt that anyone would. You said it yourself, Valerie: you don't know anything about research."

  "Anyone could offer me anything," she said edgily, "if they didn't know what I've done, and what I'm good at. But you do. I was sure you did; I was sure you understood me."

  "Let me rephrase that," said Nick, his voice very cool. "You came to me because I know you, and therefore I couldn't resist giving you anything you want."

  Valerie's color rose. "That's a crude way of putting it."

  "Give me another way."

  'We call on friends when we need them. I thought that was what friendship meant. It would be a pretty dreary world, otherwise: everyone alone, cut off from everyone else..."

  He nodded. "You're right. But you did call on me and I offered you a job and told you I wanted you to become part of what we're creating here. That means you wouldn't be alone. How much more than that do you need to make the world less dreary .>"

  Involuntarily, Valerie smiled. It had been a long time since she sparred with a quick-witted man. Her eyes met Nick's; he was smiling at her, relaxed and confident, and her own smile faded. She wondered how long it would take her to get used to losing the status she had taken for granted all her life.

  "I think you'd like it here," Nick said casually. "You might even like research, though I imagine we'll find something else for you after you've been here awhile."

  Valerie's head tilted slighdy as if she had heard a small warning bell. "You mean after I've settled down. This is a test, isn't it? To see if I can fit in and take orders. That's what Sybille did—"

  "No, it's not," said Nick instandy. "And you don't really believe that." Once again his voice was almost brusque. "I want to help you find your own place, something you can always rely on, if that's what you really want. If it is, I'll do everything I can to help you. But as long as you want to do it on my network you'll have to trust me to do it the way I think best."

  Valerie was silent. She was ashamed of herself for accusing him of behaving like Sybille. But she had said it out of frustr
ation. He was like the rest of them; he didn't believe she could do anything. He'd always thought she was frivolous, and now he thought the way to help her was to tuck her away in a corner where she couldn't do any harm or get in anyone's way. I'll go somewhere else, she thought; I have lots of friends.

  But she didn't want to go anywhere else. Of course she believed friends were there to help, but she hated to beg. The few friends she had called before she went to work for Sybille had not offered her anything, and even Dee Wyly had not been able to help, though she called regularly: the only one, after a while, who kept in touch even after Valerie moved to Virginia. It had been hard enough to call Nick and ask to see him, much less plead for a job. And then his formal, businesslike attitude had shaken her. She couldn't imagine doing this

  again, and perhaps again and again, with no assurance that she would get what she wanted.

  Well, then, Fll do it here. No more favors asked. Standing beside the fireplace, her head high, she looked at Nick and smiled. Tou stuffy, rigid, tight-ass businessman — how in God's name could I ever have thought I loved you? — Fll show you what I can do; Fll show you how wrong you are about me. Tou don't know anything about me.

  "Fine," she said lighdy. "Research." He tongue almost tripped on the word. "As I recall, I was pretty good at it in college; I'm sure it will all come back to me." She smiled again and walked to his desk. 'If I'd known what was ahead, I'd have worked a lot harder at it." She held out her hand. "Thank you."

  He stood with her, looking at her searchingly. "I'm very glad you'll be with us."

  Their hands met, and Valerie felt a shock of recognition at the clasp of his long, thin fingers. Quickly she looked away. Her glance fell on Chad's picture on his desk. "I didn't ask about Chad," she said as she pulled her hand back. "How is he?"