Facets

by Barbara Delinsky

  She did take the edge off his hunger, though. Because she satisfied his wildest sexual needs, he was in greater control with other women. He could play the consummate lover, be gentle and considerate, put his partner’s satisfaction before his own. He could foster the gentlemanly image without worrying that the more earthy of his desires would be exposed.

  Unfortunately, sex wasn’t as exciting that way, so he found himself cutting back. There were still a few women—he had no intention of anyone thinking him queer, and his appetite was in no way diminished—but his playmates were chosen more for their social importance than for any physical satisfaction they might bring.

  The tactic paid off. He came to be regarded as a slightly aloof, vaguely mysterious, but highly appealing and eligible bachelor. He rather liked the image. It had the scent of the upper crust—clean, controlled, dignified, genteel. It went a long way toward countering the image of the miner from Timiny Cove.

  It also held an element of truth. Aside from those bawdy weekends in New York with Hillary, he was clean, controlled, dignified, and genteel. As for aloofness, he chose to call it individuality. He wasn’t a groupie. He mingled with society’s cream, but only on a pick-and-choose basis. He wasn’t afraid to go his own way or to let people know that he did. It added to his mystery.

  It also compensated for the fact that, despite his connections and the inroads he’d made, he remained apart from the Beautiful People. He went to their homes, entertained them at his own, but still he wasn’t fully accepted. No matter how elegant an appearance he made, how intelligently he spoke, how impeccably he behaved, he was still, somehow, an outsider.

  He told himself that he was different, special, superior. But none of those arguments held much weight on the occasional nights when he was home alone and feeling restless. Occasionally he would hustle up a squash partner for a last-minute game or call a woman for a late dinner. Often, though, he stayed home, prowling the library, thinking about Facets, plotting the next step in his ascension to prominence.

  But his restlessness remained. He didn’t understand it. At thirty-two, he had the world at his fingertips. He was already a man of substance and was becoming more so by the day. He’d become a patron for the Institute of Contemporary Art, had had his name listed at benefits for the Cancer Society, the Opera Company, and the Lahey Clinic in that year alone. Facets was doing well, as was the St. George Company. The media were familiar with his name and face. What more could he ask?

  He wasn’t sure. And the restlessness persisted. That was when he went looking for Pam.

  Chapter 12

  PULLING THE CAR INTO THE courtyard, Pam cut the lights and the engine, pocketed the keys, grabbed her books, and slid out. She’d been up late three nights running and was tired, still her step was quick and light as she trotted up the back stairs. Thanks to four cups of coffee, the adrenaline would keep flowing for another few hours, which was all she figured she would need. She had to read through one last chapter and her notes, then pack. She’d crash over the weekend.

  Breezing through the front hall, she checked the table beneath the mirror for messages. Finding none, she swung around toward the stairs without breaking stride, only to bump into John.

  She gasped. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

  “You’re late.”

  She didn’t have to check her watch. She’d had an eye on the Cougar’s dashboard all the way home. “It’s eleven. That’s when I told Marcy I’d be back. Didn’t she give you the message?”

  “I didn’t ask for the message. Eleven’s late for a school night. Where have you been?”

  He didn’t sound angry, exactly, still Pam was cautious. She had found that that was the best way to handle him. Arguing did nothing but raise the level of tension between them, which made living in the same house unbearable. “I was at Ginny Taylor’s. We were studying. The American history midterm is tomorrow.”

  She held her breath while he considered that.

  Sounding benign, he asked, “You’ve been studying all this time?”

  “Uh-huh. I went to Ginny’s straight from school. Mr. Harris piled extra reading on top of everything else, so like there are gobs of names and dates to memorize.” She slipped past him and started up the stairs. “I have to finish.”

  She went straight to her room. Quietly closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for a minute, then quickly crossed to the bed, dropped her books and jacket, and picked up the phone.

  “It’s me,” she said softly when Ginny answered. “Did he call?”

  “Not yet. What’s his problem, Pam? He said ten-thirty. He promised ten-thirty.”

  Pam slid down to the floor, back braced against the bed. She kept her voice low. “He must not be home yet.”

  “They were having dinner at seven-thirty. He thought for sure they’d be done by ten. Ten-thirty was playing it safe.”

  “He has a big family. Maybe it took a while to serve them all. Maybe they got a bad waitress.”

  “I don’t know. Oh, Pam, I don’t need this. Not tonight. Not with this test in the morning.”

  “You’ll ace the test. And we’ll get off like we planned. And they’ll both be there, Robbie and Bill.”

  “Robbie will. He’s wild about you. I’m not so sure about Bill and me.”

  “He’ll be there,” Pam insisted gently, then looked up when a movement caught her eye. John was opening the door, pushing it back all the way, slowly scanning the room before dropping his gaze to her.

  “Maybe something happened to his car,” Ginny went on. “I mean, like it’s been making strange noises all week. What if he can’t get it started?”

  John just stood there, saying nothing, giving Pam no hint of what he’d heard and what he hadn’t. She had been speaking softly enough that he shouldn’t have caught the bit about Robbie and Bill unless he’d had his ear to the door. She wouldn’t have put that past him.

  Speaking in the same soft voice that implied she had nothing to hide, she asked Ginny, “Did you finish the chapter?”

  “What chapter?”

  “I’ve got to do it now. So we’re on for seven?”

  “Uh-oh, someone’s there. Is it John?”

  “Be ready, please? I’ll be dead if I don’t get to the library before assembly.”

  “What if Bill doesn’t call?”

  “Relax. You’ll do fine.”

  “Pam, what if—”

  “Gotta run,” she said smoothly and hung up the phone. Seconds later, she was on the bed, reaching for her books. “Was there something you wanted?” she asked John.

  He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed on his chest. “What was that about?”

  “I was reminding Ginny to be ready in the morning. She has a way of forgetting that I’m picking her up, not the bus. If she wants to keep them waiting, fine. But, like, I’ve got lots to do.”

  He seemed to consider that while he looked around the room. “She must like being driven.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m surprised her parents haven’t given her a car.”

  “So am I. She’s envious of me.”

  “Do you like the car?”

  Pam freely admitted it. “I love the car.” She’d had it for only four months, but it had changed her life. It had given her the kind of freedom for which she had waited for years. She’d been independent and self-sufficient for a while; without a mother in the picture, she did her own shopping, took herself to the beauty salon, the dentist, the doctor. Having wheels made it all much easier.

  When he asked, “Where are you off to this time?” her heart beat a little faster. She followed his gaze to the canvas duffel on the floor. Marcy, bless her heart, had neatly folded and packed the things Pam had piled on top.

  “We’re going to Ginny’s place on the Vineyard. Just for the weekend. We’ll be back Sunday night.”

  “Will Ginny’s parents be there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The whole time?” />
  “Uh-huh.”

  “Like Allison’s parents were in Vail the whole time?”

  She’d known that was coming. He wasn’t about to let her forget it. But if he used it to spoil the weekend she and Ginny had planned, she’d be furious. “Allison’s parents were supposed to be there. They flew out with us, then Allison’s grandmother took sick, so they had to fly back early. But we weren’t alone. Allison’s brother was there. He’s a freshman at Duke.”

  “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”

  “Because you’re a naturally suspicious person. Nothing happened, John. I’m telling you. We went skiing, we went to dinner, we went to bed. Nothing happened. We were fine. Ginny’s parents called every day. They were comfortable. So were we.”

  “I’m sure you were,” he said. “You’ve been comfortable a lot, lately. It’s a pretty nice life—ski trips to Colorado, weekend trips to New York and Martha’s Vineyard, a car for your birthday—”

  “Did you have any less when you were my age?”

  “I wasn’t flunking out of school.”

  So that was it. “I’m not flunking.”

  “I wouldn’t call C’s and D’s a stellar report.”

  “There was only one D, and that was in math because I happen to have the worst teacher in the school. I’m getting a B-minus this term. And there were only two C’s. And you didn’t mention the A’s and B’s.”

  “In art and literature enrichment. Both electives.”

  “Both interesting, not boring like the rest.”

  “Boring or not, if you want to get into a decent college, you’ll have to get your marks up.”

  “I’ll get them up.”

  In point of fact, Pam didn’t care what college she went to, as long as it was beyond commuting distance from Boston. That would mean she had only two more years of living at home, which was a wonderful thought. She was tired of tiptoeing around John, tired of being grilled about what she’d been doing and whom she was with. Things were okay when he was busy and out of the house. When he was home and had time on his hands, his favorite activity was bugging her, which was just what he proceeded to do.

  “It might help if you cleaned this place.” His lip curled as he eyed the desk. “What is all that crap?”

  “Note cards and research stuff for a term paper I’m doing.” When he arched a brow at another pile, she said, “Drawings. I have to do zillions to get the one I want.”

  “Doesn’t Marcy clean?”

  “She does everything but the desk. I won’t let her touch that. I know where everything is.”

  “But you can’t possibly work there.”

  She patted the bed. “I work here. It’s more comfortable.”

  “You talk on the phone there.” His expression was growing darker. She could see that he was getting caught up in his cause. “You’ve already blown it for Penn. Even as an alum, I couldn’t pull enough weight to get you in with C’s and D’s.”

  “B’s and C’s,” she corrected quietly, knowing she wouldn’t go to Penn even if John paid her. It was his school. And it was in the wrong direction. She didn’t want to go south of Boston. She was thinking of going north, to Bates or Bowdoin.

  “You may not think it matters where you go, Pam, but it does. The contacts you make in college are important.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you? Go to a lousy school, and you’ll meet lousy guys. Bring a lousy guy home, and there’s no way I’ll approve of the marriage.”

  “Marriage?” She held up a hand. “Whoa. I’m sixteen years old. I’m not thinking of marriage.”

  “Isn’t that what you and your friends spend hours talking about?”

  “No!”

  “Girls always talk about boys,” his eyes fell to her breasts, which pushed gently against her sweater, “and since you’re finally looking more like a girl than a boy—”

  “John—”

  “You are.”

  “I know that.” But she could still remember the agony of being the flattest of her friends, year after year. She couldn’t begin to tally the sleep she’d lost worrying that she was never going to develop or get her period. After suffering in silence for months, too worried to mention her fears to Marcy or Hillary lest they confirm that she had a problem, she finally took herself to a gynecologist whom one of her friends had seen. The examination was uncomfortable and embarrassing, but the doctor found nothing wrong that time wouldn’t fix. Pam had been fifteen then. Sure enough within three months she started to fill out.

  “You’re looking pretty, Pam,” John went on. “Don’t tell me the boys don’t notice.”

  She shrugged.

  “And don’t tell me you don’t notice them back. You’re out with boys as often as you’re with girls.”

  “We’re all friends. We have been for years.” She waited, wondering if she’d been set up. If he had overheard her talking about Robbie and Bill and suspected that Ginny had invited the two to spend the weekend in the boat house, she’d be in big trouble. Robbie and Bill weren’t schoolmates of theirs. They were freshmen at Boston University. Pam wasn’t in love with Robbie, but he was fun.

  But John made no mention of specifics. “I know how things work with groups like that. You pair up, then break off and pair up with someone else, and through the whole thing the girls are sitting in class doodling ‘Mrs. So-and-so’ on their books. High school is just practice. The serious manhunting takes place in college.”

  “Times have changed,” Pam informed him, straightening her spine. “Women aren’t going to college to get married. They’re training for careers. Look at Hillary. Like, she’s a perfect example.”

  “What’s with this like, for God’s sake?” John barked. “If it’s supposed to be cool, it’s wasted on me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s nothing but poor English.”

  Pam was more interested in making her point than in arguing idiomatic usage. “Isn’t she a perfect example?”

  “Hillary is an exception.”

  “Maybe among the women you know.”

  “And the ones you know are different?” He straightened, preparing for battle. “Come off it, Pam. Your friends come from families that are loaded. Do you honestly think they’re planning to work their way through life? You can bet their fathers have said the same thing to them—more than once—that I just said to you.”

  But Pam doubted that Eugene would have said it. He wasn’t like that. Lord, she missed him. She missed his robust laugh, missed the way she could tell him anything, missed the way he used to hug her for no reason at all except that he loved her.

  She missed Patricia, too, but that grief wasn’t as simple. It was mixed with loneliness, wishful thinking, and guilt. Patricia was still hospitalized. Her psychiatrist, Robert Grossman, whom Pam had begun calling for updates on her mother’s condition, had suggested that Pam visit each month. If she missed a month or two, though, it never seemed to matter. Patricia was pleasant; she responded to things Pam said with simple replies, but she never asked questions, never expressed interest or concern. She never called Pam on the phone, never remembered a birthday, never took the initiative in any aspect of their relationship.

  By keeping busy with her friends, Pam was able to forget how much that bothered her.

  “Besides,” John went on, “if you’re planning on a career, the college you go to is even more important.”

  “Not if I’m going into the family business.”

  “Yes, if you’re going into the family business. I can’t put you into a top slot if you’ve barely squeaked by at a second-rate school.” He seemed egged on by his sense of superiority. “You want people to respect you? You want them to think you’ve got something up here?” He tapped his head. “You need the credentials for that.”

  “I already know more about the mining end of the business than most of the men in your front office.”

  “Mining is only a small part of the business. Facets is where we’re going.”

 
“I’ll find my place.” She had been watching things closely and knew that taking over the presidency was a pipe dream. John was firmly entrenched in that spot, and he was a powerful force. But there would be another spot, one where she could build her own power. She intended to show him up. Somehow, sometime, somewhere, she would.

  “Not if you don’t settle down and study.”

  “How can I settle down and study if you don’t leave me alone?” Having reached the limit of how much of John she could take at one time, she lost her cool. “I told you that I have a big midterm tomorrow. You told me that I should get better grades. How can I do that if you don’t let me study?”

  “How do I know that the minute I walk out of this room you won’t pick up the phone?”

  “Because I have to study! Go, John.”

  He stared at her for a long minute, during which she aged a dozen. She was sure he was going to tell her she couldn’t go for the weekend—which wouldn’t stop her, she’d find another way to get to Martha’s Vineyard, but it would complicate things.

  “I’ll go,” he said finally in the slow and deliberate tone that augured a threat. “But I’m telling you, be careful, Pam. I’ve been generous with you. I’ve given you a liberal expense account—”

  “I haven’t gone over—”

  “—which gives you expensive clothes, expensive skis, dinners, and movies and shows with your friends. I send you to New York every few months. I let you travel to this summer place and that winter place. I gave you your own phone. I’ve given you a car and unlimited gas. And I’ve looked the other way each time you’ve gone to Maine.”

  Her heart skittered to an abrupt stop-start. “It’s important that I go to Maine,” she said quietly. “It’s important that the men at the mines see one of us. You hate going. I don’t.”

  “But you’re still seeing Cutter Reid.”

  She felt another sharp skitter. “He works at the mine, so I see him.”