Serendipity

by Fern Michaels

  The sheriff looked at Jory. “Do you want me to oversee Mrs. Landers . . . the removal of office property. . . ?”

  “I won’t be taking anything but the files, Sheriff,” Justine said coolly. “I understand Marjory’s rights as well as my own. You are, of course, welcome to stay. I guess that means neither one of you want coffee.”

  “No, thank you,” Jory said.

  “I’ll check back at the end of the day, Miss Ryan,” the sheriff said.

  “Will there be anything else?” Justine asked coolly.

  “Do you have a place to go, Mrs. Landers?” Jory asked.

  “Yes. To a very cold, drafty warehouse. But that’s not your concern. I hope you find a good tenant. By the way, how is your Auntie Ann column doing?” Justine asked slyly.

  Jory’s eyebrows shot upward. “You know about that?”

  “Of course, since the day after that column appeared, when you said something sarcastic about TIF. You can get that kind of information if you’re willing to pay for it. If memory serves me correctly, it cost us two hundred dollars. The recipient was the personnel director of the Democrat.”

  “But Ross said if you found out, you’d . . . crucify me and the paper. Why didn’t you?”

  “Crucify you? You never did anything to me, Marjory. Whatever was between you and Ross had nothing to do with me. All of us make mistakes at one time or another during our lives. It helps if you’re wise enough to correct them. If not, you learn to live with those mistakes. I’ve certainly made my share.”

  “Stay!” Jory blurted out “I can’t put you out on the street.”

  Justine snorted. “And here I’ve been thinking you’re one smart cookie. That’s not good business on your part. But thank you anyway. If I tell you something in confidence, can I depend on you not to repeat it to anyone?”

  Jory thought about the question for a full minute before she nodded.

  “Come with me, we’ll have coffee while I start my packing.”

  Justine poured coffee into two fragile cups. She handed one to Jory. Instead of drinking hers, Justine opened the wall safe and pulled out duplicate copies of her complaints and summonses. “These represent lawsuits. Against me, against TIF. If they go to court, they could wipe me out. I have three more issues to publish, and then I’m going to . . . there’s an expression: take it on the lam.”

  Jory burst out laughing. Justine joined her. “I really am. This sleazy magazine was my way of getting back at every single person who ever put me down, wronged me, insulted me, and talked about me behind my back. I was never good enough for Jasper’s crowd of friends. I didn’t have the finesse, the polish. I wasn’t Main Line Philadelphia, whatever the hell that’s supposed to be. It’s just another way of saying I was from the wrong side of the tracks, I suppose. I tried to fit in, tried to teach myself, because Jasper couldn’t be bothered to help me. I swore one day I would get even. You know that old saying, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’ I took TIF, ostensibly to do exposes on movie stars, starlets, and anyone else in filmland that would make good reading. I planned to gradually work into the last few months of . . . what you were reading in the reception area. I took all those people who hurt me, and I hurt them back by exposing their insidious little secrets, and they did have secrets. They groveled, Marjory. I had seeds, nuggets of information, and built on that. I felt so powerful when they came here pleading with me. Sometimes the men sent their wives, who would show me pictures of their children and beg me not to ruin them. I turned a deaf ear to all of them. I got even. As I said, I have three more issues, and then I’ll be out of everyone’s life.”

  “Where will you go, Justine?” Jory pointed to the pile of legal papers on the desk. “Will they be able to make you come back?”

  “I certainly hope not.” She sipped at her coffee. “No one knows about this but you, Marjory. I don’t know why I’m telling you. I think it’s because you have guts.”

  “Mrs. Landers,” Jory said, “maybe you should talk to Ross. He’s a fine attorney. He might be able to help you. You’ll be in . . . exile.”

  Justine turned her back to pour more coffee into the cup. “In a sense, I’ve been in exile a good deal of my life,” she said wistfully. “I don’t expect you to understand. The fact that I finally understand is all that’s important. More coffee, Marjory? Ross can’t help me,” she went on, “but you’re right, he’s a fine attorney.” She smiled again. “If my sources are right, Jasper has turned into a worthwhile human being.”

  “Justine, if you want to stay on here one more month until you publish your next three issues, it’s all right with me,” Jory said generously. God, did she just say that? “I take it the last three issues are the most important.”

  “How did you guess? What will you do now that you have no job?”

  “I’ve been thinking about going into business for myself. I have these four dogs, you see. I need to be self-employed, where my hours are my own. Ross managed to get me a very handsome settlement from my accident last year. I’d like to use it to start up something.”

  “Why not start up your own magazine? Everything is right here. I can leave it for you. I did it on my own, so you can too.” Justine smiled. “Maybe this is fate.”

  “You’d do that for me?” Jory asked, astonished.

  “Why not? You never did anything to me. As I recall, you were always nice to me back in those early days. I more or less thought of you as a brainless twit with good manners.”

  “And I more or less thought of you as a woman with brass balls.”

  Both women convulsed in laughter.

  “Do you want to stay on?” Jory asked.

  “Why the hell not? If I have to take off suddenly, will you clean up the debris I leave behind?”

  “Why the hell not?” Jory said, sticking out her hand.

  Justine reached for it. “You’ll look out for Ross?”

  It was a question Jory wasn’t prepared for. She shook her head. “No promises.”

  Justine smiled. “I accept that.”

  “Can I ask you a personal question, Justine?”

  “You can ask it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to answer it.”

  “Did you love Ross? Do you love him now?”

  Justine sat down, the china cup in her hand, refilled for the fourth time. “I was afraid to love him, afraid he’d hurt me the way . . . yes, in my own way I do. I wanted Ross to grow up independent and . . . tough. You need to be tough as steel to survive in this world. I didn’t want him to turn out like Jasper. I didn’t want him to turn out like me either. All those affairs and functions he said I never went to . . . I was there, he just didn’t see me because I didn’t want to be seen. When he had his appendix out, I was there too. Of course it was the middle of the night after Jasper and his amour left. I sat with him till it got light out and then left. Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes, it does. Maybe you should think about telling Ross how you feel.”

  “And maybe you should think about minding your own business, Marjory. Ross will be fine. He has Jasper now. I don’t plan to worry about him.” Her voice was not unkind.

  “I wish you luck, Justine. Brainless twit, huh?”

  Justine grimaced. “Marjory . . .” she said hesitantly.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t think—this is going to come out of left field—I mean, you came here to evict me, and here I am—we are—talking like we like each other. I’d like to tell you about a dream of mine. Do you have a few minutes?” she asked.

  “I have all day, Justine,” Jory said gently.

  “Hear me out. I’m not an educated woman. I think that’s why I went into the expose end of publishing. I didn’t trust myself. Sleazy journalism I understood, and then there was that get-even thing I had to clear out of the way. I did some stupid things I’m going to have to pay for. I’m digressing here. . . . What I wanted to do was start up a magazine, a really first-class operation for the older woman, women like myself.
I tried to talk to Jasper about it, but he told me I was crazy. He told me it would cost millions to do what I wanted. He took great pleasure in telling me no one wanted to read about over-the-hill women. I didn’t believe that then and I don’t believe it now. But at the time I didn’t have the financing. I have it now, but circumstances . . . these,” she said, tapping the piles of legal papers, “are raining on my parade.

  “I’ve always been a reader, all the trashy magazines, even the good ones. Everything is geared to young women like yourself. As women grow older, they tend to be forgotten. I personally take that as a grievous insult. If you believe what you read, life is over the moment you reach thirty-nine. I wanted to take a shot at proving all those people wrong. I spent a lot of time working up numbers, and Jasper was right, it would be very expensive to start something like that. I have everything right here in this folder. If you . . . you’re young, but if you want . . . God, you know how to write, you have a college education . . . it would be yours, I’d just put up the money. If you agree with me that there is a need for such a magazine. Maybe I’m ahead of my time, but I don’t think so. Will you at least think about it?”

  “Justine . . . I don’t know what to say,” Jory replied. “I know what you’re saying, I even understand it, but are you just going on instinct here, gut feelings?” At Justine’s nod, she continued, “You should do some test marketing, hire someone to do some market research. That’s not something I feel I can do. I don’t have that much money. What if it doesn’t sell?”

  “It probably won’t at first. Any new business needs a year, maybe two, before it gets off the ground. I’ve allowed for all of that in my business plan,” Justine said proudly.

  “You have a business plan?” Jory said stupidly.

  “More or less. I told you I had numbers. It’s my own version of a business plan.” She waved her hands, airily dismissing the money end of things. “What do you think of my dream? Do you think older women would be interested in buying a magazine that tells them they’re worthwhile and not second-class citizens? I hesitate to mention this, but one day you’re going to be thirty-nine. You could do articles on what happens to women when their husbands die. How to cope, who handles their finances . . . who takes charge of things. I’d like to see articles about wrinkles. Women taking charge of their lives.”

  In spite of herself, Jory wanted to know more. “Why me, Justine? I came here to evict you, and here you are . . . my God, we must both be insane.”

  “Probably. You didn’t evict me, though, did you? You . . . are more like me than you know, Marjory. I’m just sorry we didn’t take the time to get to know one another before this.”

  “I’m sorry too, Justine.” Jory realized she meant it. She really liked this vulnerable-looking woman. “What I don’t know about magazine publishing will fill a book . . . but if you’re really serious, I’ll do it. I don’t have to think about it.”

  “I knew I was right about you,” Justine said happily. “Brass balls, eh?”

  Jory laughed, a genuine sound of amusement. “Only a twit like myself, with her own set, would do what I’ve just promised to do. I’ll see you around, Justine.”

  “I’d like that, but don’t wait too long. There is every possibility I could end up in jail. How would that look? ‘Older woman behind bars.’ I’m sure there’s an article in that somewhere.”

  Jory laughed all the way out to the reception area, to the elevator, and down to the first floor. She was still laughing when she got behind the wheel of her car.

  “Why do I feel like we just did this a few days ago?” Jory said, standing back to admire the angel on top of the tree.

  “It does seem like that, doesn’t it? It’s been a hell of a year for all of us. I think, and this is just my opinion, that next year is going to be the best yet. Jory, I want you to marry me.”

  “This is just like last year. Let’s not spoil anything, Ross.” Her heart was pounding. What was wrong with her? Why did she always draw back, refuse to acknowledge Ross’s feelings? Her own too. For so long she wanted nothing but Ross Landers, wanted to hear the words he was now repeating on almost a weekly basis. He was definitely a good catch, as they said. He was handsome as sin and he was nice. He was also a good friend, and if one started out with friendship, according to the slick magazines, marriage had a chance of succeeding. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. She reached for her glass of wine and sipped at it, her eyes on Ross atop the ladder.

  “Is that a yes or a no? I’ll settle for a maybe. If there’s someone else in your life, tell me.”

  How miserable he looks, Jory thought. How unhappy. If she were to nod her head even slightly, he would smile.

  “If there is or isn’t, it doesn’t concern you, Ross. Are we going to dwell on this now?”

  “I’m not giving up,” Ross said, coming down from the ladder.

  Jory smiled. She allowed him to kiss her, and it was as wonderful as all his other kisses. She said so, to Ross’s amusement.

  “And now for the pièce de résistance, or however you say it,” Ross said, whipping out the macaroni wreath he’d made the year before. He pretended to study the tree, holding up the little wreath against first one branch and then the other. “Aha, right here in front. Perfect!” he chortled.

  “It does add something,” Jory laughingly admitted. “Quick, turn out the lights so we can see it in all its splendor,” she ordered.

  “Ahhh,” Ross said.

  “Ooohh,” Jory said.

  The dogs barked in unison.

  A long time later Ross said, “What’s that little package under the tree?”

  “It’s my first present. Woo left it in my mailbox before he went to Lancaster.”

  “I didn’t think he was going to go home this year,” Ross mused as he stared at the present beneath the tree. “I guess he just wanted to try out the van and be on his own. He’s been dependent on too many people this past year. New Year’s is a big milestone for him. It’s going to be great working with him again. I’ve really missed him.” Ross watched Jory carefully. “I wish he’d find some nice girl and fall in love and get married. Woo is perfect husband and father material. He’s just so damn shy when it comes to women.”

  Jory snorted. “I find that almost impossible to believe with you in the wings. Casanova himself, meaning you. Didn’t any of that rub off on Pete?” Jory said lightly.

  “Not on Woo. He takes it all very seriously. Don’t go getting the wrong idea here, I take it seriously myself. Woo is . . . deathly afraid of rejection. He thinks he’s big and ugly, and now he’s . . . lame. If somebody loved him, they’d love him for the person he is. Don’t you agree?”

  “Absolutely, and Ross, I know what you’re trying to do here, so just stop it. It’s time for you to leave, isn’t it? You did tell me to remind you when it was eleven o’clock. It’s five minutes past eleven. Time for me to walk the dogs.”

  “So it is. Am I being invited for Christmas? I’m only asking because my father asked me. If you have other plans . . . or if it’s too much bother . . . or if you’re going away, say to Lancaster . . .”

  “Will you stop it, Ross? If you and your father want to come for dinner, consider yourselves invited. I think I should tell you I invited your mother. Do you and your father still want to come?”

  Ross’s jaw dropped. “You invited my mother here? For God’s sake, why? I still don’t understand why she’s still in the building. You get yourself into a flap, hire a lawyer, involve the sheriff and take up the taxpayers’ time, and then change your mind. If she’s coming, then we’ll decline your invitation,” Ross said sourly.

  “You more or less invited yourself, Ross. It’s not necessary for you to know my business. I don’t have to report my affairs to you. Furthermore, I can invite whomever I damn well please to my house.”

  “She’s going to hate these dogs. She’s never happy with the food that’s served to her, she never takes wine or flowers to the hostess, and she hates Christm
as,” Ross snarled.

  “Perhaps. I’ll find a way to muddle through. If you change your mind, let me know. I find it rather curious how close you and Jasper have become. There was a time when you couldn’t stand him. Then, all of a sudden, you changed your mind. You call him Dad, you go to dinner and the club with him, and you went fishing together. He works for you. I think it’s wonderful that you’re both making new lives and you’ve come to some . . . agreement about the past. Why haven’t you done that with your mother? You gave your father a second chance, why can’t you give your mother one?”

  “Because she doesn’t deserve one,” Ross said bitterly.

  “You want to know something I’ve found out the past seven years, Ross? There are two sides to everything. As a lawyer I would think you’d be aware of that. In law don’t they say there’s three sides—both sides and then the truth. Something like that. Hatred is like a dreaded disease,” Jory said quietly.

  “Now that’s funny coming from you, Jory. Isn’t hatred right up there with forgiveness?”

  “Don’t be nasty, Ross, it doesn’t become you. I said I forgave you. I also said I couldn’t forget. There’s a difference. ’Night, Ross. Thanks for helping me trim the tree.”

  The moment the door closed behind Ross, Jory’s breath exploded in a sound so loud the dogs ran for cover. They peeked at her from behind the corner of the chair. “I don’t know what possessed me to say that,” she moaned. “I feel like there’s a devil perched on my shoulder these days.” The dogs ran to her, circling her feet until she snapped her fingers. “Leashes. On the double!”

  The walk was short and uneventful, to Jory’s relief. The moment they were back indoors by the fire, Jory reached for her address book next to the phone. Maybe she’d be less of a liar if she called now, even though it was almost midnight.