A Daughter's a Daughter

by Irene Vartanoff

  “The good aspect to a dinner or movie date with a new guy is that you can ditch him with ease. All you need is a friend to call your cell with a coded emergency. If you don’t like the guy after knowing him for an hour, you claim you must leave, make your apologies, and scram.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “No, it’s not. The loser gets to keep his pride even if he suspects you of pulling a con. Pride is everything to men. If he’s deluded enough to call and ask you for a date some other time, you can say no thanks and not have to face him when you do it.”

  “What if you like him or can’t make up your mind?”

  “Then you say the call was no big deal and you continue the date.” Sarah’s offhand manner indicated she had ended dates both ways, many times.

  “Why are we talking about dating?” Sarah asked suspiciously.

  “Because I met a man.”

  “When? Where?” Sarah practically shrieked.

  “He lives next door to my mother at the beach.”

  “Oh, you dog. You had lunch with me three days ago and you didn’t let any of this drop. Shame on you.”

  “I was shocked. I had to think about it.” She defended herself weakly.

  “What was shocking? Tell me everything.”

  She could picture the mischievous look on Sarah’s face. Pam poured it all out, ending with the kiss that had so surprised and discomposed her. She heard Sarah sigh.

  “You must immediately go back there and have sex with that man. He’ll be good at it, I guarantee you.”

  “No way. I hate dating.”

  “Did I say anything about dating? Knock on his door, ask to borrow a cup of sugar and jump his bones in the kitchen. Sex on the counter can be fun. Put a dishtowel under your butt.”

  The image was far too vivid for Pam’s comfort. She could see herself making love with Bruce, but in a kind of misty romantic haze.

  “It sounds delightful, but that’s not me. I’m more the slow burn in a comfortable bed type.”

  At which Sarah said something so filthy that Pam immediately blocked it from her mind.

  “Sarah. Don’t.”

  “Okay, my prudish friend. You know you will eventually.”

  “Maybe. That’s my business. I won’t be sharing any details with you.” Telling Sarah that Bruce had kissed her was different. It was the proof that he was interested in a romance with her. Or sex. Or something. Sarah was certainly assuming the sex, since the next words out of her mouth were a safe sex lecture.

  “Remember you’ll still have to use condoms, even though you don’t have to worry about pregnancy anymore.”

  “Yes, Mother,” she said.

  “Your mom would say exactly the same and you know it.”

  Sarah was right. Dorothy would. Time to change the subject. Pam told Sarah all about her coming adventure with grandchildren.

  “You’re sounding almost as excited about that as about Bruce,” Sarah groused. Not being the grandchildren type herself, she often didn’t see the need to pay attention to them. Sarah had been happily childless and was equally happily grandchildless, too. Or if not, she never expressed any regrets.

  “I’m very excited. I don’t get to see them as much as I would like, you know. Everybody is so busy.”

  “See? Another reason it’s good you don’t have that stinking job anymore.”

  “Considering that you’re the person who helped me get it, I’ve never understood why you were so down on it.”

  “Because it became a waste of your intelligence, and we both know it. I was okay with you working there as a stepping stone to better things. But you never stepped.”

  “I’m trying now. Better late than never.”

  “Where do you get these clichés, anyway?”

  “My mother. She’s originally from the Midwest where they have great big bowls of clean-cut clichés in everybody’s entry hall.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “I’ve lived a long time tossing out non-obscene clichés instead of swearing. Life is more pleasant that way,” Pam said.

  They joked around some more and then hung up. Sarah was her best friend, always there, always with a point of view that challenged her yet accepted who she was. Although Sarah was pushy about what she believed in. Her last instruction was that she wanted to meet Bruce. “I’ll size him up for you,” Sarah had promised. “Tell you if he’s a keeper.”

  Whether that was a good thing or not, Pam was not sure.

  Next week, Pam would have her first test of her ability to do anything concrete for her new nonprofit. Through patient and persistent effort, many calls to many people, she had obtained an appointment for an interview with Charles Saunders, the former CEO of Menahl. The man who had brought the company to bankruptcy, and sent her and Magda and so many others out into the street without even their last paychecks. She was already losing sleep over how she would handle their meeting.

  Meanwhile, there was work to be done. She was meeting with a realtor this afternoon. Although she probably would not lease an expensive rented office, she intended to investigate what was available. For now, she had opted for the Internet as the foundation’s major presence, with a post office box for mail. Snail mail, it was called now. She might as well get into the twenty-first century and use current terminology.

  She would provide much of the foundation’s physical reality. She planned to personally visit as many financial executives as she could, and get as much press as possible. She was writing her first press release for later this week. She would use every contact Linley gave her, and build her Internet and physical mailing list. A friend from college had promised to help fine tune the mission statement. Magda insisted she would be office clerical help.

  Pam still wasn’t wild about seeking the spotlight, but she wouldn’t do it Dorothy’s way. Her mother had made a major success out of causing controversy that resulted in news coverage. The free publicity helped her various causes. Pam couldn’t tread that same path, but would adapt the bargaining procedures Dorothy had frequently described at the dinner table and recently reviewed. Pam had seen the game played all her life and she knew every step. She would make this foundation a success.

  Only a few weeks ago, she had thought her work at Menahl was all that could keep her safe and sane. Jeff was gone, and she would be adrift unless she clung to the rock of her routine. She’d finally woken up.

  Her impulse to help Magda had motivated her, despite her initial panic. Imagine at her age running to her mother for advice. Dorothy had pushed Pam to think bigger and do even more. Now she was on the road to try something very difficult.

  Approaching arrogant, outwardly charming executives would not be easy. Even getting in to see them was a challenge. She did have some resources. Her friend Harper had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and she knew lots of people. Sarah, of course, had connections. Secretaries, assistants, and other lower-echelon workers would have fellow feeling for what Pam was attempting. Some of them helped her gain access because they too feared job loss without a golden parachute. Or had experienced it. That was her wedge. Soon, there would be Linley’s contacts to draw on, too.

  She was thinking like her mother. Strategizing. Planning her campaign.

  She was a bundle of nerves. She’d even written a script, and then practiced her speech in front of her mirror. She had called Dorothy and practiced and amended it. Her mother claimed that even though Charles Saunders was seriously persona non grata right now, he would act as if he was terribly busy and could only spare Pam a few minutes. He’d pretend he was still the boss of the universe. Dorothy had warned her. That’s why Pam was practicing carefully.

  Linley had seemed interested in helping with the nonprofit. That was good. She still showed impatience with Pam for daring to interrupt her day. That was bad. It made Pam nervous and then she talked in a silly fashion. She knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself. She always got flustered and acted down to the expectations of people she felt despised
her.

  She had a mission statement to create. The nonprofit was important. Her issues with her daughter would have to wait. She gathered a legal pad and a pen and walked into the generous-sized living room to write. She could have written at the spacious kitchen counter. It was completely empty. The house was too big for one person. She didn’t need all this unused space to remind her she was alone. She ought to sell this house and move. To where? Into the city? Linley’s condo in Manhattan had been incredibly expensive. Pam would have to give up her car or spend a fortune to garage it in the city. Must she live in Manhattan? Although she enjoyed cultural events, she wasn’t compulsive about them. Neither she nor her new foundation had to have a Manhattan address.

  Should she move into a retirement community? She didn’t feel ready for that, not with this new project on her plate. Did she want another house with a yard, or a condo or co-op? City or suburban setting?

  Would her future be as a single woman or with someone else?

  Chapter 16

  Jason had hardly returned to his office—yes, he was visibly higher up the totem pole than Linley was now, but perhaps Marty had in mind to change that too—when he was stopped short by a thought. What the hell was he supposed to tell his buddies on the Hot Tracks show? Sorry, you’re not ready for prime time? When he’d been listening to Marty describe the opportunity, he frankly hadn’t been thinking about anyone but himself. Oh, Lin a little, of course. She’d make a pretty foil for him, and the show would come across as sexy, and that would draw new viewers. All to the good. Lin didn’t want to be a night-time talk show host. She wanted her own daytime money show. As she kept telling him, trying to prove her merit beyond being a blonde, she also had a profession as a statistician. That and a buck might buy a cup of coffee somewhere. She was deluded if she thought her promotions were because of her brains. People liked to see a pretty woman talk.

  As for him, he wanted to ascend the ranks to host his own show. Not about money or politics, even if that was the conventional way up. No, he wanted to go straight for knocking Jay Leno off his perch. He didn’t have twenty years to do it anymore. He’d already been climbing for ten.

  Marty was giving him a shot. If he and Lin could turn their bickering about socialism versus knee-jerk liberal democracy into something hot and sexy, they could get the audience to tune in, even the non-financially-fixated audience.

  No more crazy grabbing her and kissing her. In the office, for God’s sake. Did he have a death wish? Although it was hot. She felt so good under his hands. No more. He had to be a monk around her. No booty calls. No more attempts to reduce the pressure. No other women. Let the sexual tension build. Let it seep through their every move. They needed to become the hot couple of cable talk, seething with repressed sexuality. He wanted the fantasy stock market predictors to take bets on if and when he and Lin finally did it.

  Marty said they’d have an initial ten weeks. If they made good numbers, they could have ten more. That was enough for a start.

  He stopped pacing his small office and shrugged out of his suit jacket, which he still had to wear for three more shows today. After unbuttoning the tight shirt cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, he got to work on the computer. Possible topics. Possible ways to enrage Lin. Possible ways to calm her down again but leave the pot visibly simmering. He loved how she took those deep breaths when she was angry, and those luscious breasts of hers rose. He wanted to make that happen on every episode. Maybe he could even get away with staring at them. He smiled. This would be good. Torture. But good.

  Ernie phoned. “I saw you two get herded into Marty’s office. What’s up?”

  Good thing Ernie had seen nothing else. “I can’t spill yet.” Marty had sworn them to secrecy.

  “C’mom, Jase, I’m your bud. If I need to find a new gig, tell me now.”

  That one was easy. “As far as I know, nothing’s changing with the show.”

  “Something’s up.”

  “Yeah. Sorry I can’t give you the details. Soon.” He made a mental note to be sure to call on Ernie plenty during today’s show, to make Ernie feel more secure. Owning his own brokerage should make a guy confident. Not Ernie. Maybe it was the constant ups and downs of the stock market. Ernie should have chosen a different line of work.

  Time to go over the notes for today’s show. Every day, the show rode on what the stock market had been doing that day in comparison to that week. Linley’s recent forays into heavily researched segments had helped increase their solidity, made them all seem less gossipy. She should keep it up. She’d better not slack off now that she’d gotten what she wanted. Ernie had told him last week he’d seen her going into Marty’s office and coming out with books. She’d been buttering up the boss, probably. He didn’t care. Whatever worked, as long as she wasn’t trying to stab him in the back. She was the type who might, but Marty was no fool.

  Why was he wasting his time thinking about Linley again? Man, he had her on the brain. Ernie had also let on about how sexy she’d looked in her killer red dress at that movie awards show he’d attended with her. That was Ernie yanking his chain. Ernie knew he had marked Linley as his. Maybe he hadn’t scooped her up yet, but the guys knew, all of them, not to mess with her. Linley belonged to him. The new monk on the block.

  #

  Linley was in a fury of working and thinking. In her element. She had no time for further ploys to ensnare Jason’s interest in her. The way he had behaved in the file room was proof enough he was interested. Maybe even too interested. They’d both gotten crazy.

  She didn’t have time for that. She was planning their brand new program, the show that would launch her as a media star. To that end, she was researching every possible competitor, the successes and the failures. Being a network employee gave her access to all kinds of old tapes and other media records as well as current. Of course, the feed they received showed their sister stations owned by the same company, and their competitor networks’ offerings, too.

  Her reading about media figures had helped. She was not as ignorant as she had been only a few weeks ago. Now she understood why Ernie had called Jason and her the James Carville and Mary Matalin of financial television. They were a famous married couple who met while they were working for opposing presidential campaigns. They fell in love and married while continuing in their separate opinions. Unlike in Hollywood, Washington marriages seemed to last a long time. Funny, when she considered that in both towns, power was probably the major aphrodisiac.

  What made her so hot for Jason? Could she isolate it and use it to make their show as exciting as watching Angelina Jolie making Brad Pitt fall in love with her in that movie, Mr. & Mrs. Smith? The movie had been part of Linley’s research, too. She’d watched it and several other movies famous for real-life off-screen love affairs, including old timey movies such as Cleopatra, during which stars Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton had begun a super-scandalous affair. She remembered Grandma talking about how notorious they were. All this research was not because she was interested in affairs. She wanted to see what people showed on camera when they were hot for each other.

  As she was hot for Jason. Oh, lordy. When he’d pulled her into the file room and kissed her, she’d been desperate to do the deed completely. She’d even begun to plot out how they could jam the lock and get a few minutes of privacy. Although a few seconds was all either of them would have needed. Her desire for him had reached the hair-trigger stage.

  What good did it do her to be so achingly aware of her sexuality when she couldn’t do anything about it? Or rather, when she shouldn’t? Too bad she wasn’t some innocent virgin from a hundred years ago. Or a nun.

  Chapter 17

  Dorothy hung up the phone in the hall. It had been the hair salon. She had missed her appointment. She was losing track of the days, despite all her efforts. Despite the calendar in her bedroom with the dates crossed off, and the note attached to it to cross it off every night and write down the time. Despite her other calendars
with reminders on them. Despite the reminder on the refrigerator—well, that one made sense, because she hardly ever entered the kitchen, and she never cooked if she could help it. A little microwaving went a long way. She did not get hungry much these days, because she didn’t do much.

  She had forgotten her hair appointment. The girl at the salon said she had called to remind her this morning. It must have slipped her mind.

  How would she remember things in the future? She could order a cab to pick her up at a certain time, of course, and keep it waiting if she discovered she had forgotten her appointment. She only had two regular appointments per week. Why was she having so much trouble remembering a simple salon visit?

  She was losing track of the days despite all her efforts. Despite the calendar in her bedroom with all the days crossed off. What to do? Have the television on all the time, giving the day and date? No. She wouldn’t become like those helpless victims in nursing homes. She wasn’t going to live the rest of her life in front of a television.

  She moved into the sunroom and sat in her favorite chair. The waves were hypnotic, as usual. Calming. She wondered when that man next door would walk by with his little dog. He reminded her of Greta so much. So much. Poor Greta. Ah, well, but there had been justice at the end.

  After a few minutes, she realized she had fallen into a doze again. This was getting ridiculous. She should see her doctor, find out why she kept napping. Dr. Ong would know. No, Dr. Ong had retired ten years ago, and died soon after. She had a new doctor now. A young man. A sassy fellow who thought he knew everything, as young people always did. Life would teach him differently soon enough. She didn’t need to see a doctor. She felt fine. There was nothing wrong with her. She merely got a little absent-minded from time to time.

  She should call Alexander, see how he was doing in his new home. He had given her the number for his new place in Carolina. North Carolina? South Carolina? She couldn’t remember right now. Where was his new number? Surely he had given it to her? It was probably in her desk, or by her bed. She’d go get it in a few minutes. For now, it was restful to sit and look out at the waves. She had always loved living by the water.