A Daughter's a Daughter

by Irene Vartanoff

  “She had a baby right away, and I know she was happy about it. I’m not sure Roger cared about the child, although back then most men weren’t interested in their babies until they learned to talk. Your father wasn’t, either.”

  Reacting to Pam’s shocked expression, Dorothy laughed. “Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not criticizing Malcolm. Times were different then. Women did all the nurturing while the men supported the family.”

  “Jeff was always interested in our babies,” Pam said.

  “Decades later, when being a touchy-feely dad became fashionable. Caring for infants was not the manly thing to do in the 1940s and 1950s. Malcolm never changed a diaper. I was pregnant a lot then, too. I could have used his help. Let’s see. Christine was born in 1944. Neil in 1946. Alexander was 1948. Then you came in 1950. Then I’d had enough.”

  Pam had heard this part before. Although she waited for her mother to say her last child was an unwelcome afterthought, Dorothy didn’t. Instead she gazed at the picture again.

  “Did your friend Greta have a lot of babies, too?”

  “No.” There was sadness in her expression. “That boy next door reminds me of Greta. Take a look at her photo and tell me what you think.”

  It was black and white, as photographs from that period all were. A slender young woman with a broad smile was wearing one of those light-colored, knee-length linen suits with big shoulders that women wore during World War II. She sported a large hat with a wide brim, like the one Ilsa wore in Casablanca. Jaunty and romantic looking. Greta wore the harsh makeup of the period. Her eyebrows were very dramatic and dark, as were her lips. She had a cloud of shoulder-length dark hair. A pretty woman who knew it and was happy about it.

  Bruce’s hair was mostly grey and his features didn’t contrast strongly with it. That’s what happened to people as they aged. They dimmed. Oh, he was a good-looking man, but this young woman had been a stunner. It was hard to see any similarity. Maybe the nose? Her hairline was hidden by her hat. It was no use. Many people shared similar facial characteristics. Perhaps Bruce did resemble Greta, but Pam couldn’t see it.

  “I can’t tell.” She handed the photo back, and picked up her crocheting again.

  Dorothy stared some more at Greta’s photo, then put it carefully upright on a small table. She took her usual seat and looked out at the water.

  Pam wanted to ask what happened to Greta, but then the landline phone rang. Dorothy gestured for her to answer it.

  It was Sarah. “You didn’t pick up your cell. I’ve found a job prospect for you, but you’ll have to act fast. Have you updated your résumé? I want to send it to my contact right away.”

  “Uh, no.” Her thoughts had been focused on helping Magda.

  “Then jump on it. Get the résumé done today. Do you have a computer you can use out there in snobland? One that does the Internet?”

  “Linley gave my mother a laptop for her last birthday. I assume it’s still here.”

  “Good. After you write the résumé, take the laptop to your local coffee house with wifi and email me with the document as an attachment. Now copy down my email address.”

  She dutifully did because of course she hadn’t brought any notes with her.

  “I need the résumé by four today. Got that?”

  She felt like saluting. Sarah didn’t have children, but in running a division at her corporation, Sarah had developed her version of the mommy voice quite well.

  “Yes. Thanks, Sarah. I’ll get right on it.”

  She asked and received Dorothy’s permission to use her laptop, which as expected was still in its original box and showed no signs of ever having been used. Dorothy was simply too old to care about this new medium of communication. For her a landline telephone was good enough.

  Pam cobbled together a résumé that was vague about her education dates and thus protected her age. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a lot of accomplishments to list, but it would have to do. She ran into town to a wifi spot. Despite the cutesy old-fashioned village charm, it was completely modern, as befitted a shopping Mecca for the wealthy local inhabitants.

  Sarah called her right away to complain about how modest the résumé sounded.

  “I’ll have to punch it up,” she said.

  “What’s the point? I’m not exactly a career go-getter.” Was that hopelessness in her voice?

  “This is a competitive world, and you need to fight for what you want. You’re not working merely to pass the hours.”

  “I used to be,” she sighed.

  “That was before, my friend. You’re living in a new era.” Sarah hung up, never the type to waste time.

  Sarah didn’t need to mention that the collapse of Pam’s firm was merely the tip of the iceberg. The Wall Street downturn was all over the media. Like many others, Pam had gone overnight from someone who was financially secure to one who could be in danger. At least she had retired the mortgage on the family home. With the housing market in chaos, it was good not to worry about foreclosure, but she was now land rich and cash poor. It wasn’t fair. Jeff had saved for decades, and she had saved for many years, too. There ought to be more security to show for their efforts.

  Enough repining. She did far too much of it these days. She locked the laptop in the trunk of her car and nipped into a nearby drugstore for a few odds and ends, including a cute doggie toy for Yappie. He might come on their picnic. She was looking forward to her date with Bruce. Walking on the beach with someone was more fun than walking alone.

  Chapter 9

  The hike and picnic started smoothly. Bruce got Yappie on a leash, and went next door and knocked soon after he saw Dorothy being picked up in a cab.

  “Should we have done this some other time so you could drive your mother to her appointment?”

  Pam was looking quite fresh and pretty in a bright yellow striped slacks outfit. She shook her head as she motioned him in.

  “Thanks for asking. I already lost that battle. She insists on her independence. She takes a cab so she can have a drink with lunch.”

  He’d come to the kitchen door. Yappie wasn’t dirtying any fancy rugs as he pranced around and sniffed in corners. She gathered up a large wicker picnic basket covered with a checked tablecloth. She shrugged.

  “I couldn’t resist this classic, although I guess a Styrofoam cooler would be lighter.”

  Bruce took the basket and handed her the leash. “This’ll work.”

  She smiled her thanks, and they took off.

  The walk down the beach was about what he had expected. Pam was a restful companion. She didn’t talk too much, although she dutifully pointed out and identified local landmarks, and told short tales about them. He pretended to pay attention.

  She appeared to be bothered by something. He wondered what it could be.

  They found a good spot for a picnic, laid down the blanket, and soon were relaxed under a sheltering outcropping of rocks. Yappie ran around nearby, sniffing at everything while they sorted through the large selection of leftovers. She had turned the cold cuts into several kinds of sandwiches. There was bottled water, and what looked like homemade cookies, too.

  Bruce felt relaxed. Perhaps now he could learn more about her. She had been discreet about her personal life in their previous encounters.

  “Why were you running away from Dorothy yesterday?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “It looked that way to me.” He was taking a gamble by pushing her, but in his experience, women wanted to talk about their problems and their feelings. Most men never bothered to listen. He smiled at Pam reassuringly, and she sighed.

  “I want to help a coworker—former coworker, I should say. She and many other people have lost their jobs and need financial help. My mother thinks I should start a charity. It’s a good idea, but she also wants me to be the public spokesperson.”

  “I thought it was something personal.”

  “To me it is.” She took a deep breath. “You know about my
mother being a retired community activist?”

  He nodded.

  “She always courted publicity to help her various causes. But I’ve never liked being in the public eye.”

  “So if you start this charity, you’d be fighting your natural impulse to stay out of it?”

  “Exactly.” She moved restlessly on the blanket. “I hate the idea of putting myself out there, but how else can I get people to contribute to a new charity?”

  “Tell me more.”

  She talked about her friend who needed money. He nodded at appropriate moments, noticing how bright her expression was as she spoke. Pam was a sweet woman, unselfconscious about her womanly appeal. He felt a tug of attraction, something he’d not felt for any woman in a long time. Too long.

  He decided he liked her ears. They were small, set tight to her head, and had soft lobes with no holes in them. He found himself reaching out to touch one. Her flesh was incredibly soft under his thumb and forefinger.

  Pam was so shocked she stopped speaking.

  “Why don’t you have pierced ears?” he wondered out loud.

  “I…my mother wouldn’t let me,” she replied, stuttering. He was still admiring her earlobe. He leaned in.

  “What are you do—?”

  He hushed her with his lips on hers. Her lips were soft, and tasted of surprise. His hand cradled the back of her head as he kissed her more thoroughly.

  Hesitantly, Pam’s lips opened under his. Her stiff body softened. He gathered her closer and let his tongue penetrate her mouth. She sighed and put her arms around him, finally returning his kisses with her lips and tongue, and pushing her soft breasts against his chest.

  A while later, they were recalled to reality when Yappie wedged between them, whining.

  Pam held the dog to her chest, stroking him while she stared at Bruce with wide eyes.

  “Don’t think Yappie’s going to protect you. He’s my dog.” He couldn’t help smiling as he made the threat. She was so clearly, sweetly overcome. He wanted to kiss her again.

  She put up a hand to stop his forward motion. “I hardly know you.”

  He shrugged. “I’m willing to work on that.” He fed Yappie a scrap and sent the dog away.

  The interruption had allowed Pam to gather her protective barriers. She shrank away from him.

  “No?” He cocked his head.

  She shook hers, not looking at him. She started feverishly gathering the picnic things. He put a hand out and covered hers. She froze, but still refused to look in his direction.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Her head bowed.

  “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”

  She finally looked at him. Her eyes were filled with tears. “I haven’t kissed a man in four years.”

  “Since your husband?”

  “Yes.” The topic obviously upset her, but why? He could see she was trying not to explain, but her emotions were working against her. He waited.

  “I—People keep telling me to date. I haven’t. I guess I’m shocked at myself.”

  “Because we kissed and you liked it?” He didn’t want her to slide away into denying her enthusiastic response. She gulped and wiped the unshed tears away. Then she gave him a frank look.

  “Bruce, I need time to process what just happened.”

  “Speaking of time, how long are you staying?”

  She looked suddenly rueful. “I might have a job interview later this week. I’ll have to leave in a day or two. Then I have to work on starting the nonprofit.”

  She would be back. He could tell. He had managed to forge a bond between them, and she would find reasons to return. He wasn’t being a conceited fool. By his age, he knew women, some of them, quite well. Pam was transparent, unlike his ex, who had shown an amazing capacity for deviousness once they were divorcing. What you saw was what you got with Pam. It was very soothing.

  He hoped she would return soon. Meanwhile, they had the walk home to enjoy. He’d hold her hand and they could pretend they were teenagers with their whole lives ahead of them.

  Chapter 10

  Dorothy was a little lonely with Pamela in the city for a job interview. Surprising how pleasant it had been to have her daughter here. She had always been a sweet little child. Possibly she hadn’t gotten as much attention as the older children, but what was done was done. Pamela had seemed happy with the life she had made for herself. She still owned the home she’d bought with Jeff in Ardsley. A nice suburb. Perhaps Pamela would get this job she was interviewing for, and her quiet life would resume without a hitch.

  Dorothy had never liked that kind of existence for herself. She despised inactivity, although these days she was not as able as she had been. Not only had she lost the fire, but also she could not keep all the facts she needed in her head when on a campaign. The key to her success had always been her ability to marshal the data and present them when she could make the opportunities to be heard. No longer. She’d had to pass the torch to the younger generation of activists. Her brain had gotten old, like her body. It had succumbed to the inevitable ravages of time. Her skin was thin, wrinkled, and fragile. Her hair had passed through gray to white, which she made no attempt to hide with color out of a bottle. She suspected she wasn’t hearing quite as well as she used to. She knew her sense of smell had dimmed. She made a special effort to wash every day. She didn’t want to get the old woman stink that came with diminished sense of smell. She had a system for keeping her clothes clean. Once she wore them, even if only for an hour in town, off they went to be laundered.

  What she hated most was the dozing off while she was trying to do something. She couldn’t count the number of times it had happened while she was working the crossword. As a result, she was still trying to finish a book of crosswords she’d had around for months.

  At least she was better off than her friends whose grown children had taken away their driving privileges. She could still drive. Although the last time she had driven the car, it had taken forever to get home. On the whole, it was easier and safer to take a cab if she wanted to go somewhere.

  #

  Pam was afraid to pursue the charity idea, but also drawn to it. If total strangers might send Magda money merely from hearing about her on television for a few minutes, why shouldn’t rich executives want to contribute? Perhaps some of those men might have genuine charitable impulses. The rest would only give with ulterior motives, wanting fame or glory along with a tax deduction. Could she work on their vanity successfully?

  She hadn’t tried to do anything difficult in years. Perhaps the charity idea, outlandish as it seemed, was the answer to the questions plaguing her about her future. Helping displaced workers was a worthwhile goal. Occupying herself with building a new charity would give her a reason to wake up in the morning. Although, so would looking forward to seeing Bruce.

  Did she want to get involved with a man again? Have a romance? Have sex again with a live human? Her attitude might be prudish, but she’d never been one of the flower children in the 1960s, talking about free love and sleeping with multiple partners. She had stayed a virgin until she had met Jeff. They’d learned about sex with each other, and that had been enough for both of them for all their years together.

  She wasn’t naïve, another reason she hadn’t jumped into dating once widowed. Every younger woman would be a potential rival. Older men wanted a nurse, or a sexpot. What if she suffered bad health? How could she ever trust any man she met in the future to want to take care of her? She couldn’t. She didn’t intend to.

  Then there were the body issues. It was a cliché, but she didn’t much want to expose her sagging, crepey flesh to a stranger’s eyes. Bruce had been married, too. He’d obviously experienced how bodies changed over time. Why had his marriage ended? What was his attitude toward a woman aging? Did she even care to find out?

  More questions surfaced. Why have a relationship with a man again? What was in it for her? Why not
concentrate on trying to build the nonprofit charity idea into a viable structure? Wasn’t helping Magda and other distressed, displaced workers more important than kisses or sex?

  Chapter 11

  Linley managed to avoid talking directly to Jason all week except when they were on the air. She also made herself absent for the briefings before the DC trip.

  She had kept busy, doing her guest radio segments and blogging. She had worked her mother’s job loss as far as she could take it and had met with some success. An area university had invited her to give a talk on personal finance. There was no real money involved, but it was a prestige gig. Another new contact had suggested Linley teach an adult education course at one of the many local colleges. She didn’t need academic credentials to teach those classes, and teaching at the college level was a cerebral touch to add to her resume. She didn’t want anyone to mistake her for an empty-headed television personality. Bad enough she was a blonde.

  She’d ridden as far as she could ride on her personal connection to the Wall Street crisis. Now what could she do about Jason? This situation was becoming untenable. She refused to let him force her into a hookup. Even though she was desperate for him. Sitting next to him now on the train down to Washington, it was all she could do to ignore him.

  Jason had been surprisingly circumspect. After declaring his intentions, he’d backed off. He’d let her run away at the studio. He hadn’t bugged her all week. Even now, although they were entirely alone because the production crew would be picked up from the DC branch of the network, he wasn’t pushing his advantage. He wasn’t trying to talk to her. Not pressuring her in any way.

  He probably thought he didn’t need to. They would do their broadcast, go to the press club bash, and one thing would lead to another. Jason was depending on her to behave the same way with him this time as she had the first night they had met.

  Her feelings were completely different now. She knew Jason. She worked with him. Hooking up with him was not on her agenda. Instead, she was thinking seriously about starting an affair with him. If he didn’t want more than a hookup, too bad for him. Whatever happened between them tonight would be on her terms.