Anything You Can Do

by Sally Berneathy

  CHAPTER 13

  "Bailey, old buddy! Hey, save that scowl for the clients. I'm on your side."

  At Gordon's teasing words, Bailey made a conscious effort to rearrange her expression into something pleasant, something that didn't accord with the storm crashing around inside her head.

  "You're certainly looking rested and complacent," she observed. "No more burning the eight o'clock oil? Are we back to our former decadent lifestyle?"

  Gordon slouched into one of her chairs. "We should all do what we do best. Anyway, Paula likes me as a semi-lawyer."

  Bailey leaned back in her chair and smiled. "Are we working up to a confession here?"

  "Maybe. Have you got something of equal value to trade?"

  "Hunh?"

  "My confession for yours."

  Sitting upright in her chair, Bailey folded her hands. "I guess we'll have to talk about the weather. My life is too dull to afford me any confessions."

  Gordon laughed, unaffected by her aloof tone. Bailey clenched her hands tighter. Sometimes, she thought, there could be such a thing as too much intimacy.

  "Not even if we were to talk about a certain deceitful client and a certain pushy attorney from an opposing firm?" Gordon asked.

  I'm not mad at Gordon, Bailey had to remind herself as her knuckles turned white. This is my friend, and he means well.

  "Not even," she grated through clenched teeth and was pleased as well as dismayed to see Gordon flinch slightly. While she hadn't meant to be rude to him, at least he realized she was serious. Surely he'd drop the subject now.

  With a sigh he stood, closed the door, then returned to his seat. "I don't know what's going on, but I do know that my two best buddies are unhappy. To put it in language you can understand, don't you think it's time to schedule a conference and work out a settlement agreement?'"

  "If you weren't my friend, I'd tell you to mind your own business. Since you are my friend, I'll just say there are times when friends respect each other's privacy. "

  Gordon rose from the chair. "You got it," he said, and started for the door.

  "Wait a minute," Bailey called. "We've dispensed with my confession, but what about yours? You were going to tell me about Paula."

  He paused with one hand on the door. "I could tell you friends respect each other's privacy."

  Bailey slumped backward in her chair. "Oh, Gordon, I'm sorry. Please come back and sit down. I didn't mean to take out my anger on you."

  "Are we going to talk about Austin now?" Gordon asked as he resumed his seat.

  Bailey ignored his question. She didn't want to talk about or even think about Austin, though she wasn't having much success at the latter. "Did you know Paula isn't coming to the year-end party?" she asked.

  Gordon crossed his hands over his chest and looked smug. "Yes, she is."

  "No, she's not. Secretaries aren't allowed. And Paula's a secretary, making her, it appears, something less than a person according to the existing code."

  "Not to worry. She's coming as my date, my fiancee."

  Bailey's jaw dropped, came back up to form a smile, then a frown. "When did this happen? Paula hasn't mentioned it. As of last night, she wasn't coming, and she certainly didn't say anything about marriage."

  "I just figured it all out myself. I haven't told her yet. "

  "Don't you think it would be a good idea if you let her in on your plans?"

  "I will at dinner on Saturday. Flowers, champagne, then a small black box. Maybe I'll even get down on my knees."

  Bailey circled around her desk to hug him. "You really have turned into Prince Charming since Paula showed up," she teased, settling into the chair next to his. She could have sworn he was blushing, though it was hard to tell beneath his tan.

  He shrugged. "But on the practical side, I have to find out what size ring she wears. Any suggestions?"

  "Sure. I can find out for you."

  "I thought you might. I also thought you might go with me to pick out something she'd like."

  "I'd love to. I'll even take off work on time."

  "The ultimate sacrifice!" Gordon beamed as he stood to leave. "I'll hold you to it. My house at six tonight. "

  After Gordon left, Bailey sat staring out the window at the parking lot and office building next door, not really seeing either. Her lips curved up in a half smile.

  She couldn't think of anything that would please her more than the marriage of her two best friends. If she hadn't been so wrapped up in her own problems, she'd have seen it coming. In spite of Paula's thorny shell, it was obvious she cared for Gordon. The fact that she continued to see him in spite of his occupation spoke volumes.

  As for Gordon, in all the years they'd been friends, he'd never acted this way. Certainly there had been no lavender teddy bears or blushes!

  Would anybody ever love her that way?

  Bailey scowled at the last maverick thought and ordered it from her mind, but not before a recollection of the look of loathing on Austin's face as he left her office yesterday stabbed through her.

  I'm happy. I'm happy for my friends, she told herself in an attempt to drive away the hollow, painful feeling that had suddenly returned.

  This will at least solve the problems of Paula's going to firm functions and of her low salary, Bailey reflected, diverting her thoughts to the positive side.

  No, on closer examination, that wouldn't do. There was still the principle of the thing.

  *~*~*

  Somewhere around ten o'clock that morning Austin lost count of how many times he had picked up the phone with the intention of calling Bailey then put it back down. By noon he estimated that the number exceeded a hundred.

  Never had his emotions bounced around so wildly.

  After the initial shock had worn off, he'd begun to search for some explanation for Bailey's behavior. And against all the evidence he'd come to believe, as Gordon did, that there must be some explanation—at least, he desperately hoped there was.

  When and how had this irritating woman gained so much importance in his life?

  He gulped down a dry sandwich and tried to return to his work. No one at the firm had been particularly upset or even surprised that the merger had failed. Some of the older partners gave him unsolicited but probably good advice on selecting a more likely firm next time.

  Though he'd never admit it to anyone else, Austin acknowledged to himself that he'd pushed for the Hoskins, Grier firm as much from emotion as from factual data. His judgment had been influenced by his desire to change an old failure, an unaccustomed failure, to a success. Then, even when Morris' revelation had blunted the edges of the rejection, he'd pushed ahead with his plan because of Bailey. She became the one he wanted to conquer.

  So how could he condemn Bailey for doing the same thing?

  Except he hadn't done anything unethical in his effort to win, and she had—hadn't she?

  He picked up the phone and, before he could change his mind, punched out her number.

  Just hearing her voice identifying herself sent a rush of adrenaline through his body.

  "Bailey," he began, talking fast before she could hang up on him, "I'm sorry I got upset about the merger. You had every right to vote the way you wanted. And if you'll just tell me why you're still representing Candy Miller, I'll try to understand."

  She didn't hang up. To his surprise, her voice was calm, sweet even. "Understand? You think you can understand?"

  "I think I can. Just try me." This was too easy.

  "Blow it out your ear. Can you understand that?"

  She hung up.

  An hour later a bomb came in the afternoon mail, a bomb in the form of a copy of the pleading he'd seen on Stafford Morris' desk. The smear of cigar ashes across the top had photocopied perfectly, identifying it beyond any reasonable doubt. He read it slowly, carefully, jubilantly. Hoskins, Grier and Morris was asking to be released as attorney of record for Candy Morris due to "pertinent facts of which said firm was not aware at the t
ime of original filing."

  This was the explanation he'd been looking for. Bailey had been trying to withdraw from the case, not pursue it. Her ethics were as beautiful as the rest of her. He clutched the piece of paper exultantly, barely able to restrain himself from tossing it into the air, from shouting to the heavens, from dashing out, grabbing the first person he saw, and forcing him to view this incredible document, prepared by the woman he loved.

  He snatched up the phone, eager to share his joy with Bailey, then replaced it just as quickly. She'd only hang up on him again, and he couldn't blame her. As rude as he'd been, she'd probably never forgive him.

  With a heavy sigh, he reached for the phone again.

  Might as well start crawling. Somehow, whatever it took, he had to make things right with Bailey.

  *~*~*

  Bailey's fingers drummed her desktop. She was still seething from Austin's condescending phone call at noon. Slamming the receiver in his ear had done little to decimate her anger. In fact, that latest addition had been like gasoline to the smoldering coals of her fire.

  The more she thought about it, the hotter she became until flames finally erupted.

  She shoved her chair back from her desk, crashing into the credenza behind her, and charged down the hallway to Stafford Morris' office.

  Paula looked up as she approached, then stood and reached for her arm, but Bailey was in no mood to be detained.

  "What's wrong?" Paula demanded.

  Bailey shook off her hand and pushed into Stafford's office without even knocking.

  "Come in, Bailey," he said, raising his eyes from the papers on his desk. "Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. "

  Bailey tried to slam the door, but the obstinate thing closed slowly and quietly.

  "I want to talk to you."

  "By all means. Sit down."

  "No!" She wanted to be able to tower over him. "I have three points to cover. Number one, representing that woman is wrong. I don't know why you're so insistent on doing it, but it's wrong. I refuse to be a party to it."

  Stafford raised the hand clutching his cigar and started to open his mouth, but Bailey interrupted him. "I'm not through. Number two, you treat Paula despicably. She's my best friend. She's been there for all my important events, and she should be there to see me made partner. But that's really beside the point. The point is, being a secretary doesn't make her another species. She's entitled to the same things we are. And that's not all," she declared as Stafford again started to speak. "Number three, this firm makes good money. We're not striving to make payroll, yet our accounting department tells me that our entire support staff is living barely above the poverty level. If you can't see the gross injustice of that, at least consider where you'd be without them."

  The door flew open again, and Paula burst into the room. "Bailey, what on earth do you think you're doing?" she demanded, closing the door behind her and standing in front of it. "Please tell me this isn't because of what I said last night. I never intended—"

  "I'm expressing my opinions, that's what I'm doing," Bailey interrupted. "Standing up for what's right. This is supposed to be an office of law, of justice and equity, and I haven't seen much of that lately."

  "So you come in here and make a big scene. What's that supposed to accomplish?" Paula made a move to take Bailey's arm.

  Bailey sidestepped her. "At least I'm doing something. You hate this job, but you stay and take it."

  "Until I get something better," Paula agreed. "In the meantime, I start night school next month, so I don't need you taking me on as a cause."

  "Something better?" Stafford roared. "You're planning to leave? You can't do that. I need you."

  "She can and she will," Bailey declared. "And I will, too, right now! You can take your stupid partnership and blow it out your ear. I don't care to be associated with partners who have no ethics!" She started for the door, motioning Paula out of the way, then, on a sudden urge, turned back.

  Stafford had just retrieved his cigar from the crystal ashtray and was moving it toward his mouth. Bailey snatched it from his grasp, crushed out the fire in the ashtray, then smashed the remaining three inches in the middle of Stafford's desk.

  "Good-bye," she said, smiling and feeling satisfied for the first time in a while. "I'm going home."

  "Take the rest of the day off, Bailey," he called after her, an act she felt somewhat diminished the impetus of her exit.

  Sharon handed her a pink message slip as she dashed into her office to retrieve her handbag. Austin had called again. She crushed the paper into a tight ball and tossed it into her wastebasket.

  That afternoon Bailey paced back and forth across the plush carpet of her living room, though its luxurious feel failed to imbue her with the usual sense of contentment and accomplishment. Her well-ordered life, her rising career, her comfortable home—everything was chaos now.

  And the beginnings dated back to Austin's advent into her life. Somehow he was responsible for all her problems, even beyond those of which he was the direct and proximate cause. Like bringing sunshine and joy into her life, then replacing them with anger and sadness. She'd been perfectly content before he came along and taught her the thrill of besting him in a contest or even running a close second, not to mention the thrill of touching him, being held against his hard body. She hadn't had those things before he came along, and their absence hadn't seemed to leave a gaping hole inside her chest. But their removal sure did, and that much was definitely his fault.

  Everything else, she decided, from her problems with the Miller case to her fight with Morris, was indirectly Austin's fault.

  She felt a soft touch on her ankle and looked down to see Samantha's bright eyes peering up at her.

  "Oh, sweetheart!" Bending over, she scooped the fuzzy bundle into her arms and flopped onto the sofa. "As long as I have you, things aren't totally awful." Samantha planted a tiny lick on her chin, and Bailey smiled, cuddling the little animal.

  The front door burst open, and Paula called, "She's here."

  "Who?" Bailey exclaimed, turning to see Paula and Gordon coming inside.

  "You," Gordon said, closing the door behind them.

  "Why didn't you answer the phone?"

  Samantha leaped over the back of the sofa to greet the newcomers, and Bailey turned around to again face the window. "I couldn't think of anyone who might be on the other end that I wanted to talk to," she replied. That should give them a hint.

  But it didn't. Paula closed in on one side of her and Gordon on the other.

  "We've been worried about you," Paula said. Bailey stood and moved to a chair. "Obviously you wasted your concern. Why don't you two go to dinner or a movie or Las Vegas or something?" Surely they couldn't miss that hint.

  "Bailey, I never intended to upset you so much last night. Why didn't you say something to me before you attacked Stafford Morris with all guns blazing?" Paula asked.

  Bailey reached down to where Samantha had curled at her feet and lifted the dog into her lap. Maybe if she ignored them, they'd go away and leave her to sort things out in private.

  "Don't you think I'm capable of doing my own complaining?" Paula continued. "Why did you risk your job over something that doesn't even affect you? You need to call Morris and apologize."

  "When rental rates on the Plaza go down," she grated.

  "But you know it's not going to matter in the long run," Gordon interjected.

  "Oh, sure," Bailey exclaimed, losing the few remnants of patience she'd had left. "You'll marry Paula, and she'll never have to worry about money again, but what about the person who takes her place? What about the other secretaries? What about the principle of the thing?"

  "What makes you think he's marrying Paula?" Paula interrupted, raising one eyebrow as she peered first at Bailey, then at Gordon.

  "Way to go, friend," Gordon complained.

  Bailey slumped lower in her chair and sighed. "Damn! I'm sorry, Gordon."

  Perched o
n the edge of the sofa cushion, Paula somehow made a formidable appearance in spite of her diminutive size. "Is this something the two of you have cooked up? Is this supposed to solve my problems? Marry Gordon and be an appendage? If that's not just like two lawyers!" She sprang to her feet and started across the room with Gordon right behind her.

  Grabbing her shoulders, he turned her to face him. "Don't give Bailey so much credit," he said. "It was my idea."

  Paula turned her head to glare first at his right hand on her shoulder, then at the left, then directly into his eyes. Gordon jerked his hands from her shoulders as though she had suddenly become a ball of fire.

  "Can you help me out here?" he appealed to Bailey. "You got me into this."

  "Don't give me too much credit," Bailey said with a laugh. "Anyway, I'd probably only make it worse. You're on your own, Romeo."

  "Paula, let's go to dinner and discuss this," he pleaded.

  "No way. We're here to save Bailey from herself, and we can't leave until we do." She folded her arms and glared at him.

  Gordon threw his hands up. "Fine. I wanted to do this right, with flowers and champagne and a diamond. Can you at least corroborate me on this, Bailey?"

  "Absolutely. I'll give you a notarized statement. He asked me to help pick out a ring this evening, Paula." Bailey stroked Samantha's head, enjoying the exchange, glad to be temporarily diverted from her own problems.

  Paula stood unmoving, making no response, but Bailey saw the corners of her mouth quiver slightly just before she compressed her lips to stop the incipient smile.

  "Well?" Gordon demanded.

  "Well what?"

  "You're not going to make this easy, are you?"

  "Why should I?"

  Gordon rolled his eyes then tried to take one of her hands. She tucked them neatly beneath her still-folded arms.

  "I want to marry you," he shouted.

  "So you two won't have your social consciences upset by watching me working for a creep, earning a pittance?"

  "No. So I can live with you. So I can take care of you. Because I love you!"

  Paula's eyes wavered, and Bailey thought she was going to give up her resistance, but her stance didn't relax. "I don't intend to stop working at the firm until I get my degree."