“I’ve run a household,” Pam said. “Paying utility bills on time isn’t complex finance.”
Dorothy ignored Pam’s protest. “Let’s say no more about it.” She gathered up the papers from the bed.
“Wait. The water bill,” Pam said in an urgent tone. “It’s overdue, too.”
“No more. I’ll handle my own business,” Dorothy said.
She took the papers downstairs. Instead of depositing them on the dining room table, which Pam hoped would happen, her mother continued to her suite. She put the bills on her desk there. It was piled with unopened mail also.
Pam’s heart sank. There was more she needed to investigate, but Dorothy would not let her youngest and officially least competent daughter have open access to her financial situation. Pam had lost her chance. She had approached the delicate issue of her mother’s failing competence all wrong, by grabbing her private papers. No wonder Dorothy was outraged. Apparently, Pam’s clever negotiating skills were limited to egotistical CEO types.
What should she do now? Call Alexander to mediate? Try again later with her mother? As she dutifully followed Dorothy through the house to the sunroom, they passed the dining room again. Pam’s hands ached to go through another pile, and delve into the mystery of her mother’s situation, but Dorothy was too strong, too intimidating to openly disobey. Pam dared not call down her mother’s ire on her head again. Surely she’d have another opportunity to search the papers before she left tomorrow afternoon.
Oh, what a mess. Bruce a betrayer. Her mother still her old stubborn self, but possibly in the first stages of dementia. She, hoping to build a new life for herself, now doubting she had the stamina even to deal with her life as it now was.
Chapter 28
Linley and Jason argued over lunch. Not only had they argued earlier about what to order, but now they were arguing about the menu. It was their third lunch together this week. The novelty hadn’t worn off. Linley enjoyed pulling Jason’s chain about every decision he made, whether for the new show or for pizza at lunch. If he was against it, she was for it.
“How can you eat that greasy, white-carb-laden poison?” he asked. His plate held a virtuous serving of white fish, no sauce. Somehow, he had made it seem like a manly man decision.
“I like cheese. I like tomatoes. I like bread. Together, they’re great,” she said with satisfaction after she’d polished off her second piece. Of course, she would be eating a very light dinner, but Jason didn’t need to know that. She enjoyed sounding like she’d never heard of the food pyramid.
“What are you, a magic eater?”
“I can eat anything and I do. Why do you care?”
At her challenge, he looked intent. “I’m trying to puzzle you out. Every time I think I have, you’re different again.”
“You’re never going to get me, Jason,” she replied, attempting to look serene.
“Yes, I am,” he replied, bending a dark look on her that made her nerves sizzle with anticipation.
Neither of them mentioned that one night last year. They had found magic in bed together. Would they dare to try it again?
On Monday the first show went well. Live TV was no novelty to either of them, but the argument format kept them on edge. Marty was pleased. They’d get ratings and reviews beyond tweets, maybe within a few minutes on a couple of the influential blogs. Jason retreated to his office to await the verdict of that transplanted college kid blogger who now worked for the Wall Street Journal.
Linley went to the ladies room to calm her shaky nerves. Being alone with Jason for a half hour on television had been too stimulating. Especially since he looked straight at her the whole thirty minutes. She’d done okay during their brainstorming and tryout sessions. Now, when it was real, their chemistry as they spent a half hour disagreeing with each other was shattering. She’d gotten so aroused she’d actually thought about jumping him during one of the commercial breaks, in full view of the crew and the observers.
She was losing it. She wanted him badly, wanted to feel his powerful arms around her, wanted him pressing into her, wanted him kissing her. Kissing, oh god. He kept taunting her with mentions of licking. She wanted to lick him. She suspected he wanted to lick her, too.
She wrung the wetness out of a paper towel and patted the nape of her neck, which had no makeup to mess up. She needed to cool off.
Another woman came into the ladies room. “Nice show,” she said.
“Thanks,” she replied. Time to move on. She couldn’t let her coworker see her standing there minute after minute.
As she approached her cube, Marty stepped into the hall. When he saw her, he motioned her into Jason’s office.
“The reviews are in. The kid likes it. The others do, too.” Marty was exultant.
She read the blog, which called her “the heartthrob of cable financial arguments.”
“Now I’m a heartthrob,” she said, taking a bow. It was a great review. She was on her way.
“How about me? The ‘finance hunk’ who is ‘sure to draw drooling female fans.’ He’s calling me a piece of meat,” Jason complained.
“A choice cut, don’t forget,” Marty said, as Linley smirked. “Now we’ll pick up more viewers. More ads. Good job. Go celebrate.”
After he left, Jason smiled at her, a sly smile. “Want to go to my place for a private party?”
“Marty wants us to go out and be seen, be an item,” she demurred. Not that she intended to. Even that was inherently dangerous. Not because of gossip, once they’d gotten the word out that Marty was pushing a fake romance. No one at the station would rag on them because they spent a lot of time together now. The problem was their carefully crafted walls were cracking. The chemistry between them was real and gaining power.
“Come home with me tonight, Lin,” he asked, “You know what I want.”
“I can’t believe you said that. We have to keep our battle stances to make the show work.” She started for the door.
He backed into it, closing it with his body and blocking her. Sealing them in the privacy of his office. “You’re a feisty chick—a woman with a strong sense of herself. You’ll still fight me on the show even if you lick me all over in bed.”
Lick. He’d been thinking the same thing she had. The image he conjured up of them mutually licking got to her. She fought it down.
“No way. I’m not jeopardizing my career for some mattress time with you.” She gestured at him. “Step aside.”
He moved. As she passed him, he murmured, “I know you want me.” There was no hint he’d been put off by her forceful rejection.
“You must be deaf.”
“You want me as much as I want you, Lin. The only difference between us is I’m not in denial.”
He moved closer. He didn’t touch her or overwhelm her physically as he had done before. He didn’t even invade her space. He stared at her intently, daring her to keep lying about what was between them.
She wanted to sway and fall into his arms. She wanted him to hold her against his broad chest, not capitalizing on her weakness, but treasuring it. She wanted to have super hot sex with him, no holds barred. For hours and hours. She wanted him to peel off her jacket, push the straps of her camisole down, and put his lips on the peaks of her breasts. For starters.
Instead, she kept her poker face, and spoke as coldly as she could. “Let’s keep our minds on business, shall we?”
She walked away, trying to make it look as if she was cool and calm. Her emotions were a wreck. She wanted him. She didn’t deny it to herself, but she had to hold him off. She had to exercise a kind of control over herself she’d never needed before.
For years she’d felt free to hook up with guys on a whim. Everybody did it. They practiced safe sex, and used condoms, and there were no consequences except the occasional hurt feeling. How ironic was it that now what she feared most about getting involved with Jason were consequences? Emotional consequences?
#
Jason watc
hed Linley walk away and wondered what the hell had come over him lately. Every time he was near her, he wanted her. He wanted to claim her openly as his. It was building to a dangerous level. Even he knew he was getting crazy. Trust Linley to tell him to his face.
They’d come a long way since that first night. They knew each other now. They had worked together for months and now they were partners, a situation that threw them together even more than before. Yet, she was more elusive.
He rubbed his neck and returned to his desk. Comments were being added to the blog and the twitter feed about their show. They had a good start, but that was all. They shouldn’t take it as a sure thing.
This was the moment for him to push his visibility any way he could, not obsess over getting Linley to come home with him. Yet Linley was all he could think about. He wanted to host a late night talk show, but his thoughts kept circling back to Linley. How to find a moment to make love to her here at the studio. How to convince her to give him another shot. How to coax her to come to his place—and stay there forever. He wanted to sex her up. He’d take his time. He’d lock them both in his bedroom for an entire week if he could. After a few days, they’d send out for her favorite pizza and he’d suck sauce off her nipples. Or anywhere else she’d let him.
He shifted to ease the discomfort of his massive hard on from thinking about her. He had to stop this. He read another tweet.
“Jason and Linley are sweet. They’re obviously in love and dying to jump each other.”
In love? He’d never felt this way before and he didn’t much like it. It didn’t suit his macho image of the emotionally free bachelor guy, the man who could get any woman and selected only a few, with no emotions involved. Now he was a mess who had lost all interest in other women. Was he in love? Was that why he wasn’t sleeping at night? Why he kept thinking about Lin?
He stood. Maybe he could catch her before she left. They had to talk.
Linley was already on the street when Jason called her name. She turned and saw him coming after her.
“What’s up?”
“You and me. Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”
Chapter 29
On Sunday, Pam was torn. She couldn’t do much more about her mother’s financial situation on a weekend, and she had promised to babysit her grandchildren all this week, starting later today. She needed to go, but she worried she should stay.
She had reviewed all she could of her mother’s finances by dint of setting her alarm for two a.m. She had dragged herself awake, sneaked down to the dining room, and grabbed all the remaining mail. Then she’d retreated to her bedroom and locked the door. She’d spent the rest of the night reading every piece of mail. It had all been unopened.
Things weren’t as bad as she’d feared. Most bills had only recently begun to be in arrears. As if everything had been fine and then suddenly it all went bad. The piles of newspapers and magazines were older. They’d been the first sign, but no one had recognized it, not even Alexander.
She hadn’t been able to talk to Alexander about it last evening. When he’d called her back, he’d called the house landline. Naturally, Dorothy wanted to talk to him. There was no way to have a private conversation.
Her mother seemed to have plenty of money with which to pay her bills. In fact, there was a lot of extra cash sitting in her checking account, where she received most of her income through direct deposit. Much of it was from pensions that weren’t affected by the stock market, thank goodness. The financial meltdown wasn’t over yet.
She had health coverage through more than one source, and that was another can of worms. Dorothy took no medications that Pam knew of. She presented as healthy. Yet shouldn’t she be seen by a doctor who could diagnose whether she was showing signs of dementia? It could be malnutrition, after all. Or depression, although Dorothy certainly did not seem depressed. Her positive attitude still was her dominant trait.
Hard to believe her mother had ever owned a gun. She’d never seen her with one. They’d never had any guns in the house, surely? How believable was the tale Dorothy had told Bruce yesterday? It certainly had been very detailed.
Pam packed as she thought about Bruce. She’d been so outraged by his deception, and then by his open disbelief, that she had tamped down her own incredulity at some parts of her mother’s story. What was the truth? What had happened between Dorothy and Roger all those years ago? If her mother was lying, why? She couldn’t have shot Bruce’s father. He died in a car crash and an autopsy would have revealed a bullet wound. If they’d bothered with an autopsy. If there was enough body left after the car crashed. She shuddered.
When Jeff died, he’d fallen to the sidewalk in Manhattan. Good Samaritans had made sure his wallet remained on him, which meant she was contacted immediately. She’d had to officially identify him because he’d died on a public street. Not one of her happier memories, although they’d been kind. There had been an autopsy because a man in good health didn’t usually drop dead. But Jeff had.
Dorothy’s tale of threatening Roger Dietrich with public exposure was plausible. Her mother’s usual mode of operation was to vilify her opponent via a community campaign. She was the master of such tactics. Carrying a gun, making a personal threat, didn’t sound like her mother, although the part about publicizing Greta’s letter was typical Dorothy.
If the letter had ever existed. Dorothy might have been bluffing Roger Dietrich. If there was a letter, where would it be now? Surely she would have kept it? In her safe deposit box at the bank? In some drawer in her bedroom? Where?
During breakfast, Pam remarked, “You don’t appear any worse for the wear this morning.”
“Aside from getting older, I feel fine, Pamela.” Dorothy seemed to have completely put behind her the confrontation with Bruce yesterday. Or had she forgotten it?
Pam spent the morning preparing two other bedrooms for her grandchildren’s visit next weekend. This was a big house and could hold plenty of guests. Dorothy now didn’t much bother with the upstairs rooms since there was a convenient master suite on the main floor. It was just Pam’s ill luck her mother had made the trip upstairs yesterday and caught her in the act. Dorothy mostly spent her time in the sunroom, ignoring the other parts of the house. Certainly the kitchen.
Pam intended to cook some goodies with the children. Callie never seemed to want them in her own showplace kitchen. That was her choice. It was a grandmother’s privilege to expose the children to something new.
Oh, she had lots of ideas to entertain the children if they’d let her. During the school week, she would follow the strict routine Callie had set down for their lives in their own home. Here at the beach, they could all be free.
Before she left, though, she broached the idea of her mother seeing her doctor.
“Why would I want to see a doctor? I’m as healthy as a horse.” Dorothy replied.
“Everyone should see a doctor at least once a year for a routine checkup.”
“That’s nonsense, Pamela. It was dreamed up by the medical establishment to make doctors rich.”
“Mom, you shouldn’t neglect your health. Please consider what’s in your best interest.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need any doctor to tell me that. Or you.”
That was Dorothy’s final word. Pam had made no headway with her mother on that score and she hadn’t tried again on the bills. She wanted to investigate the situation first.
She stayed nearby when Bruce came over with his dog. At least he had the good sense not to attempt to talk to Dorothy about his parents today. Pam didn’t trust his motive in continuing to treat her mother like a friend. She didn’t speak to him directly. Although he glanced at her as if to gauge her mood, he didn’t attempt to talk to her, either.
The day was well launched and it was time for her to leave. She put the beautiful Dior dress in her car, and the pearls, and carefully secreted the stack of bills she wanted to take action on in her large tote bag. This time around, Dorothy didn
’t go out to the car with her. They said their goodbyes in the sunroom. Her last act was to remind her mother about her next visit.
“Now remember, I’m spending all of this week at Steve’s house, and then bringing the children here on Friday night. We’ll have two nights here and leave on Sunday afternoon. Steve and Callie are returning Sunday night.”
Dorothy nodded, but looked impatient.
“I’ll call you before we arrive, to remind you,” Pam added.
“Pamela, I am perfectly capable of remembering you will be back here next weekend. Please don’t act as if I am in my dotage. My brain works fine.” Dorothy’s tone of voice became waspish.
Pam nodded compliantly. She wasn’t sure of anything. For now, she’d have to hope for the best.
When she went out to the car the final time, Bruce was waiting for her, his hands shoved in a tan windbreaker, and that unruly dark curl lying on his forehead.
“I couldn’t let you leave without trying to straighten things out between us,” he said with a dogged air.
She sighed. Did she need this now? Did she even care? Their relationship might mean more to Bruce than it did to her. “It’s okay, Bruce. We can agree to disagree.”
“That’s not good enough, Pam. We had something. I want it back.” He looked frustrated.
“How can I know if you are sincere?” she asked. Had it all been an act? Did he want a convenient source for no-strings sex? Was he trying to soften her up again only to get at her mother’s memories? “How can I trust you?” she asked.
Bruce wasn’t happy with her questions, she could tell. The old Pam might have said anything to smooth over a problem rather than confront it. But she wasn’t quite the old Pam anymore. She waited for Bruce to answer.
Finally Bruce said, “I promise I won’t ask Dorothy anything more about my parents until you’re here again to referee, how’s that?”
A Daughter's a Daughter Page 25