Midas Touch

by Frankie J. Jones

  You flirt with other women,” Carol sniffed.

  “No, Carol. Other women flirt with me,” Sandra replied. “I am so tired of your never-ending accusations. I’ve done nothing to justify your jealousy, but you never seem to understand. You knew how it would be from the beginning. It’s the money. That’s all they’re interested in.” Just like you, she finished silently. “If I worked at Wal-Mart they wouldn’t give me a second glance.”

  Sandra flung her arms in frustration, sending a splash of club soda over her hand. “Damn!” She set the glass on a table and wiped her hand with a napkin.

  “You don’t love me anymore,” Carol said, her sniffs growing louder.

  “Please, don’t start. I’m tired and…”

  Carol whirled to face her. “You’re always tired. If any of those bitches in there knew what a lousy lover you are, they wouldn’t be so hot for you!” Without waiting for Sandra’s reply, Carol stormed across the balcony and disappeared inside.

  Stunned, Sandra turned her attention to the city lights. A remnant of the old thrill ran through her as she sighted one of her designs, the Strauss Building, her first major project in Dallas.

  She gazed at the structure as a mother would a child. It had been a long, hard process, but she had been involved in every step of

  its creation. She recalled the joy she once felt in designing a new building. How she had thrived on creating beautiful buildings that would survive the rigors of time. At some point in the last few years, her work stopped providing the same thrill. When had it all changed? When had she lost her enthusiasm for her work? All she wanted was… was what, she wondered? What did she want?

  Exhausted, she leaned her back against the cold stone wall for support. The French doors swung open and Sandra groaned as Lona Cromwell stepped out. Too late, she realized she should have followed Carol back inside. If success had taught her anything, it was that money was the world’s most powerful aphrodisiac.

  “Are you okay?” Lona asked. She stopped short of actually touching Sandra.

  Sandra tried to move away, but the corner of the balcony trapped her.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve been working too hard.” She attempted to edge past, but Lona placed her hand on the wall blocking her way.

  “You need a woman who understands you,” Lona whispered, pressing her body against Sandra. She ran her hand along Sandra’s cheek. “I know what you need. I could make you happy.”

  Sandra pushed Lona away. “What I need is none of your concern.” She sidestepped Lona and returned to the party.

  The room was much more crowded than it had been before she stepped outside. After the bracing cold of the balcony the room felt overheated. Sandra searched for Carol in the swarm of over-dressed women. She heard Carol’s laughter from across the crowded room. How odd it was to hear Carol laugh. She seldom laughed anymore. As Sandra drew closer, she saw Carol talking to a blonde who looked familiar.

  The band struck up a rousing rendition of “Proud Mary” and Sandra groaned. Did every band in the world know that song?

  Women were beginning to dance. A short heavy-set woman Sandra recognized as a district judge, bumped into her. Sandra

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  felt the judge’s drink hit her arm and looked down in time to see a dark, sticky stain begin to spread across the front of her gown. The woman was apologizing, but Sandra waved her off and continued to make her way toward Carol. The heat and noise pressed down on Sandra. She tried to focus on a single individual or conversation, but the multitude of smells from the food, alcohol, and dozens of different perfumes wrapped around her like sheets of cellophane wrap. She struggled to keep her breathing regular as the tightness in her chest grew. The short, sharp pains plaguing her during the past week came back. There was not enough oxygen in the room. She turned trying to make her way back to the balcony, but Lona stood at the door waiting for her. Sandra stumbled toward the kitchen. With these women, the kitchen would be the safest room in which to hide. She was nearing her sanctuary when she spied Janice cutting her off.

  Sandra whirled around and pushed her way back across the floor.

  Carol was still talking to the blonde, but Sandra no longer cared about protocol. The only thing important was escaping the crush of the room.

  “Let’s go,” she insisted, taking Carol’s arm.

  Carol’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “I’m not ready to go.”

  The noise level continued to grow around Sandra. The bass guitar’s pounding beat went straight to Sandra’s brain. She tried to block the guitar out. A smirk played across the blonde’s lips as she began to tap her nails against her glass. The sound grated in Sandra’s ears.

  “Carol, I really need to leave,” Sandra urged, looking desperately around the room. There was not enough air to breathe, and the room was closing in. The mirrors began playing tricks on her. She was reminded of the House of Mirrors she and her dad had gone through when she was nine. The grossly distorted images cast by the mirrors had rendered the young Sandra immobile. Her father had to carry her from the building.

  She was feeling the same overwhelming sense of confusion.

  Everywhere she looked, she found a reflection of herself staring back. Voices thundered in her ears. The air filled with swirling

  red dots. The pain in her chest grew. Her heartbeat accelerated until she was certain it would burst through her chest onto the blonde’s immaculate white gown. She had to escape. A blur of surprised, angry faces greeted her as she shoved her way to the door. She heard Lona calling her name, but nothing was going to stop her from getting out. She pushed through a crowd standing in the doorway and made her escape into the hall.

  Lona called her from the doorway and Sandra ran. She raced down the staircase, oblivious to the startled faces of the women coming up. She heard people calling her name, but it only served to make her run faster. As she approached the first landing, her ankle turned. The heel broke. A sharp stab of pain sliced through her ankle. She was falling. The sensation seemed to last an inordinately long time. She slammed against the wooden railing.

  Sandra clutched at the cold railing and regained her balance. She rotated her throbbing ankle until the pain began to subside. The only real damage seemed to be her shoe. The broken heel rested against the bottom step. Brand new shoes ruined because of her carelessness. Growling in frustration, she ripped the shoe from her foot and flung it against the wall.

  A young woman in a black tuxedo appeared on the stairs in front of her. “Ma’am, let me help you.” She reached for Sandra’s arm.Sandra pushed her aside and rushed down the stairs. The remaining heel made it impossible to run. She kicked it off and ran barefooted. As she burst off the stairs, she came face-to-face with the startled staff at the doorway. Someone reached out to her. She slapped his hand aside and rushed out the door, onto the brightly illuminated porch. A group of surprised valets sprang to life as she charged out.

  “The silver Jag,” she shouted to the nearest valet.

  “Which silver Jag? ” he queried, looking at her with both confusion and suspicion.

  Sandra started to yell at him when she heard Carol’s voice calling her name.

  The hell with it, she decided. Carol can drive herself home. Sandra

  turned away from the valets and sprinted down the walkway, across the street, and into the safety of darkness.

  Several minutes later, still moving in an awkward shuffling run, she crossed a road and staggered into a park. The streetlights grew farther apart as she ran deeper into the park. Darkness closed around her like a protective cloak. She should go back to the party and apologize for her rudeness, but she was unable to stop.Sandra moved deeper into the park, the night as dark as her mood. A sprinkler system installed along the sidewalk hissed and soaked the nearby ground. She continued to run, until she smashed into a tree and fell. The dampness from the wet grass soaked through her thin gown. Unable to manage anything other than short hard gasps, she was incapable of inhaling en
ough oxygen. She wondered if she was dying of a heart attack and tried to fight off the numbness engulfing her. She was not ready to die. So many new experiences awaited her. Her last conscious thought was that she never accomplished the one thing she most wanted in life. She wanted to know her mother.

  Birds sang overhead as weak rays of light poked their way through the treetops. Sandra’s body ached from lying on the cold, damp ground. Her face burned with shame as the events of the previous night came back to her. How could she have lost control? Never in her life had she let her emotions get so out of hand. As realization of her current situation came to her, fear mobilized her frozen limbs. She was alone in the middle of a park. She needed to leave before someone found her. A thousand scenarios filled her head. None of them appealed to her.

  She pushed herself up and took a tentative step. The ankle she twisted coming down the stairs was tender, but nothing seemed to be broken. Her bare feet were bruised and sore. Dried blood caked her left elbow, which protruded through a rip in her jacket. She limped to a bench and tried to get her bearings. She was positive she was still near Lona’s house.

  How was she going to get home? There was no way she could

  go back and face Lona. Carol would have driven the car home.

  Would anyone be looking for her? She cringed at the thought of her photo appearing on the front page of the newspaper. The headline would scream: prominent architect goes berserk and flees lesbian party. She clutched her head in her hands, thanking God the police required a twenty-four hour waiting period before a person could be declared missing. At least, she would avoid that embarrassment.

  She did a quick perusal of her appearance. Jagged runs in her stockings spread like spider webs about her legs. Her gown, covered with dirt and grass stains, was beyond repair. The original mid-calf side slit now extended all the way to her hip.

  The jacket had a hole in the elbow. A button dangled on a shred of torn fabric. Given the current condition of the jacket, Carol’s concerns of Sandra stretching the material out of shape were now laughable.

  She ran icy hands across her head and encountered a tangled mess of leaves and twigs. Using her fingers, she tried to comb the short brown strands into some semblance of order.

  She winced as her palm brushed over a knot above her left eye. That must have happened when she collided with the tree.

  What possessed her to go tearing out of Lona’s like a crazy woman? When had her life gotten so out of control? A cry of frustrated exhaustion tore from her throat. She tucked her cold hands under her arms and forced herself to calm down. The right planning and determination could put her back on track. The most obvious change needed was to cut back on her hours and stop working so hard. She would schedule a few days off. She and Carol could take a vacation.

  A mental image of her calendar for the next several weeks popped into her head, and she reluctantly pushed the vacation idea away. There were too many things going on. It would be impossible for her to leave. She would simply have to get control over her emotions. I’m probably going through menopause, she rationalized. Thirty-seven was young, but anything was possible.

  Maybe it was nothing more than a hormone imbalance. Maybe,

  maybe, maybe, she mumbled to herself.

  She took a deep breath and tried to reassure herself. I’m just tired and under a lot of stress. It’s time I stopped trying to do everything on my own. I’ll let someone help me. When I get home, we can talk this out, and we will start spending more time together. I’ll start leaving the office earlier, she promised the cold, gray dawn.

  A violent chill ripped through her, prodding her to get out of the park before she caught pneumonia, or worse, someone recognized her. Hobbling on her sore feet, she located a phone booth at the edge of the park. With frozen fingers she punched in the long string of memorized numbers from her calling card.

  There was only one person she felt she could count on—Laura Mendoza.

  She and Laura had met during their freshman year at college.

  They were working in a large Mexican restaurant. Laura was working to help pay her way through college, while Sandra was there on a full scholarship and working for spending money.

  They became best friends. The resulting friendship endured through the years.

  Laura’s sleepy voice cut into Sandra’s reverie.

  “Laur…ra,” Sandra’s teeth chattered loudly.

  “Hello?”

  “Laura, it’s…San…dra.”

  “I can’t understand you. Sandra? Is that you?”

  “Laura, I need help. Can you come and get me?”

  “Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Sandra looked down at her ruined clothes. “I’m near the corner of Medford and Lane, by the park.” A chill ripped through her causing her to fumble the telephone. Grabbing it up she continued. “Could you bring a coat and some shoes, please?”

  “Coat? Shoes? My God! Sandra, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  “I’ll explain later. Just hurry please.”

  Luckily, not many people were out this early on a Sunday morning. Sandra moved back farther into the trees where she

  would be concealed from the casual passerby, but could still watch for Laura. She sat down and leaned against a tree wrapping her arms around her body, knowing it would take Laura at least an hour to reach her.

  Forty-five minutes later, she spotted Laura’s brand new canary yellow Volkswagen Beetle running a red light and streaking toward the park.

  Watching the car race down the road, Sandra realized how much Laura and her car had in common. Both were small but strong and dependable. The little car was just as feisty as its owner.

  Sandra stumbled to her feet, ran out, and waved her hands.

  The Volkswagen skidded to a halt. As she approached the vehicle, Sandra saw the shocked look on Laura’s face.

  Sandra opened the door to the passenger side after Laura leaned over to unlock it. A blast of delicious warm air engulfed Sandra as she scrambled into the vehicle.

  “Christ, Sandra. What happened?”

  “Coat.” Sandra’s teeth chattered unmercifully. She had never been so cold in her life. Laura grabbed a coat from the back seat and helped Sandra struggle into it.

  “Are your hurt?” Laura asked, staring at Sandra’s torn clothing and shoeless feet. “I’m going to drive you to a hospital,”

  she insisted.

  “No! I’m not hurt. Just a little worse for wear.”

  “Your feet?”

  “They’re all right. They look worse than they are. Did you bring shoes?”

  Again, Laura leaned over into the back seat and retrieved a pair of fuzzy house shoes.

  “They are probably a couple of sizes too small, but I thought you could just slip your toes into them,” Laura said.

  Sandra wiggled her toes into the warm fuzzy slippers. Nothing had ever felt so good on her feet. Shivering, she pulled the coat tighter around her. She felt foolish. How could she explain her bizarre exit from the party? She had no idea what sparked her

  panic and caused her to flee. “I’m freezing,” she said weakly.

  Laura switched the heater fan on high.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  Laura looked unconvinced, but conceded. “Then I’ll drive you home.”

  “No! I’m not ready to face Carol.”

  Laura hesitated before asking. “Is there somewhere you want to go?”

  Sandra turned to stare out the window. “There’s no place to go,” she replied softly.

  “As long as I’m here, you’ll always have a place.” Laura reached across the seat and gently squeezed Sandra’s hand.

  CHAPTER TWO

  An hour later they walked into Laura’s small cottage. Sandra let the calming effect of its cheerful colors and homey atmosphere wash over her. The cottage contrasted drastically with Sandra’s penthouse, which Carol ha
d insisted on having decorated by Marvin Dolman, the current guru of interior design. The result was a red velvet and chrome monstrosity Sandra secretly thought of as Whorehouse ala Chez. Of course, Carol loved it. Sandra tolerated it for Carol’s sake. She was rarely there anyway.

  Laura’s warm brown eyes studied Sandra. “You look exhausted. I’m going to run you a hot bath. While you’re relaxing, I’ll find you something to wear. Then we can eat and talk.”

  After starting the bath water, Laura removed her coat and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. She was still wearing her yellow and white checkered pajama top tucked into her jeans.

  Sensing Sandra’s stare, Laura glanced at the top and shrugged.

  “What can I say? You scared the shit out of me.”

  Touched by Laura’s concern for her, Sandra swallowed the

  lump in her throat.

  “Would you like to call Carol, to let her know where you are?”

  “No.” Telling Carol she was at Laura’s cottage would only make the situation worse. Carol was unreasonably jealous of Laura and Sandra’s friendship.

  Laura looked as though she wanted to say more, but instead shook her head and started down the hallway. “Come on. Hop into the tub before you catch pneumonia.”

  “You don’t catch pneumonia from getting chilled.”

  “Oh yeah. Well, you explain that to my abuela Mendoza.

  Now, get in the tub. There’s some first aid supplies in the cabinet if you want to take care of that.” She pointed to the cut over Sandra’s eye.

  Sandra entered the sunny yellow kitchen wearing a black with white trim, fleece-lined, jogging suit two inches too short and the blue fuzzy house slippers. Greeted by the sweet smell of something baking and fresh coffee, she took a deep breath. Some of the tension eased from her body.