Underwater

by McDermott, Julia

  But she was surprised that Rob hadn’t presented her with a ring last night, even in bed; it wasn’t like him to forget. What had he given Felicia? Unless—had he mentioned this to her in the past?—it was a family heirloom passed down from his grandmother.

  Well, Candace wasn’t sentimental in that way, or in any way, really. Her heart rate climbed as she worked the machine on a high setting and sweat began to pour. Her phone, sitting on a tray under the TV monitor, vibrated. It was a text message from Rob.

  Let’s go to Tiffany’s next week to choose a ring.

  Perfect. Of course he knew that she would want to pick it out. Perhaps she’d do something different from the usual diamond. She loved sapphires. That might work.

  Gazing at the screen in front of her, she listened to a playlist on her iPod as she pumped her arms and legs. She knew Rob’s mind so well. He knew all about her company, her family, her past—at least, almost all. What other things would they need to discuss?

  Family—not hers or his. Theirs. Children, or at least, a child. Did he want one? Did she? Is that what had prompted his proposal? They’d brushed up against the topic a few times in the past, but now it was time to iron this out. Did Rob have a desire to be a father—and did he think that if they didn’t try now, the opportunity would be lost?

  But—did she want a baby? More urgently, did she want to be pregnant? She never had been, and had no idea what it might be like. She had worked hard to sculpt her body for so many years now—and the idea of an enormous belly, even temporarily, was repugnant. It would be difficult to get her body back, but countless other women had done it, so she ought to be able to as well. She tightened her arms and glanced at her thighs. She was getting ahead of herself. Here she was, already worried about recovering from an imagined future pregnancy, and she didn’t even know how her new fiancé felt about the idea.

  The last song on her playlist began and her hour of cardio was almost over. Candace checked her phone again. She scrolled through business emails that could wait and a couple of missed calls from the office; there were no more texts. She would need some time to think about whether she wanted a child and about how one would affect her life. After all, it was her reproductive window that was important. She was in the best shape of her life at the moment, but she’d be turning forty in November. If she didn’t have a baby, would she regret the decision in five years or so? She might. She hated regrets. Her pattern had always been to do, rather than not to do.

  She started her cool-down, slowing her strides and toweling off the sweat. She and Rob would speak about this, and when they did, she’d be ready.

  4

  Images

  Helen rose quietly early Wednesday morning and showered, taking care not to wake Monty or Adele. After she was dressed, she would get Adele up and get her ready for school—it was much easier that way. She had laid out an outfit for the little girl last night, and now she stood in front of the closet, its dim light turned on. She surveyed her clothing to figure out what to wear to work.

  She picked out her slim, olive-colored dress pants; a V-neck, black rayon top; and a pair of black open-toed heels. She would need to wear her SlimZ underneath, the product that Candace had invented over a decade ago. Monty called it nothing but a thin girdle—just cut-off panty hose. Helen knew it was much more than that, though. It was an essential part of her wardrobe. She needed to look professional at the office, where she was regarded as an experienced graphic designer, and was respected for her work. It was her income that supported the family, and the way that she presented herself at the office mattered, especially with all the layoffs recently.

  Monty denigrated her job, however, saying that anyone could do it and that it took no special aptitude or intellect. Back when they met, he had been full of compliments about her artistic ability, but once they were married he only criticized and trivialized it. He said she had chosen an easy career and accused her of adopting a superior attitude toward him because she had a degree. Over time, Helen had learned not to let his cutting words pierce.

  Monty also disparaged Candace, saying her success had only been the result of good luck. But Helen knew she had worked very hard to achieve it. She pulled on her SlimZ, which was a little more snug than the last time she had worn it. She never put it in the dryer, so how could that be? She’d been watching what she ate more than usual lately, which hadn’t been difficult since her appetite was low. She finished getting dressed and sat down in front of a small magnifying mirror in the bathroom to apply her makeup.

  An hour later, after feeding and dressing Adele and dropping her off at school, Helen sat down at her desk in the office. Just as she began checking her email, her cell phone vibrated. It was Dawn.

  “Hey,” said Helen. “I just got to work. Are you already at the office?”

  “No, I’m still getting ready, but I thought I’d try you before you get busy. Can you talk?”

  Helen took a deep breath and glanced out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah, I guess. How are you? How’s Frank?”

  “He’s good. He’s in Minneapolis on business. How’s Monty?”

  Helen adjusted the left shoulder of her top, trying to conceal the raised, ropey scar on her collarbone. “He’s the same.”

  “If you don’t want to talk—”

  “I do want to talk. I wish you were here.”

  “I can be there, as soon as you want me,” Dawn said in a soothing tone.

  Helen picked up her cup of coffee. “It’s just—we don’t have room.” The tiny cottage was barely big enough for the three of them.

  “When will you be able to move back into the house?”

  Helen took a sip of the hot liquid. “He keeps saying just a few more weeks. But I never see any progress.”

  “It’s been over two years since you guys started this whole thing, Helen. Why isn’t the basement redone by now?”

  Helen put her cup down. “Dawn—”

  “I’m sorry. I know things are screwed up. They have to be. I’m just worried. Not about the house—about you. I don’t want to add to your problems, though.”

  Helen swallowed. Dawn had been an emotional substitute for their mother for so long now, and her concern was grounded in kindness and love. “Well, I’m okay. Although I’ve been feeling kind of queasy lately.”

  “I hope you’re not getting sick. Just tell me: Do you know everything that’s going on, financially? Do you pay the bills?”

  Helen paused for a second. “He does,” she admitted.

  “Damn it, Helen!”

  “It’s just easier that way,” said Helen. “I don’t expect you to understand, but we get along better if he handles that.”

  “What about the money you’ve gotten from Candace? And the loans to her?”

  “That’s between her and Monty.”

  “Helen! Don’t be such an idiot! Your name is on those loans, isn’t it?”

  Helen began to scroll through her email. “That’s the only way we could get the money, Dawn.”

  “Look, Frank and I can come down there. We’ll stay at a hotel. Then the four of us can sit down together and talk.”

  “That’s a bad idea. Monty won’t do it. He won’t answer any of my questions, so there’s no way he’ll answer yours.”

  “Has he gotten a job?”

  Helen put down her cup. “He’s working on something, I think. And he’s busy with the renovation.”

  “You just said you never see any progress! You keep making excuses for him, but nothing ever changes!”

  Helen glanced around. Most of her coworkers had arrived. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you this weekend, when I have some time.”

  “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

  “Of course not,” said Helen. “I love you. I know you’re worried about me. But I have to go.”

  “Okay. But call me, all
right? Love you!”

  “Me, too. Bye.”

  Helen took another sip of her coffee. Somehow it didn’t taste good today.

  Candace’s phone buzzed.

  “David,” she said, sitting behind the wheel of her Mercedes. “What’s up?”

  “I just got an email from Monty with two vendor invoices and receipts attached.”

  “Dated?”

  “January and February.”

  “Well, that’s a one-eighty from his response last Friday. I’m amazed. He must really want that hundred grand.”

  “Right. That’s what I’m thinking. I wonder if an overall budget and updated progress reports are on the way, too.”

  Candace slowed down for a red light ahead as light rain began to fall. She had a lot to do at the office. “I doubt it.”

  “I can forward this to you—”

  “No, don’t. I don’t want to see them. Just have your assistant look them over, and let me know if you do get anything else. I’m not gonna give him that money, even if he does provide everything we’ve asked for.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And, I’ve decided you’re right about his threat. I’m not worried.”

  “Good,” said David. “Before you leave town, why don’t you go over to the place and see it for yourself?”

  Candace glanced in the rearview mirror. The car behind her was following too close. “You know, I really don’t want to see it. More than that, I don’t want to talk to him and ask to see it.”

  “You’re a creditor, Candace. You have every right to see it. He’s supposedly working at home. You can just pop over there, unannounced, whenever.”

  Candace focused on the road ahead again. She hardly remembered the blueprints, and she didn’t relish viewing the current reality. She preferred to straight-arm it; seeing it in person just might be too much emotionally. “That would be tacky, David.”

  “Would you like me to drive over?”

  “No, I guess not. I don’t want you to have to confront him, especially after the fit he had in your office last Friday.”

  “Well, think about it. It’s a way to check up on this, and I think that doing that is in your best interest. Unfortunately.”

  “You’re probably right. As usual.”

  “Well, that’s all I have.”

  “Okay. And we don’t need to meet this week. Talk to you later.”

  Candace put down her iPhone and mentally shifted to her day’s agenda. She would be meeting with the design department this morning to talk about launching a swimsuit line. It had been in the planning stages for several years and would be a big departure from the company’s current product lines that so far included only undergarments. But the new line would fit in well with the SlimZ mission to highlight the positive and increase attractiveness.

  Candace believed that, for her target customer, an attractive swimsuit—one that she’d be proud to wear on a cruise, at the pool, or at the beach—was built on structure. The brand name would do a lot to sell the new line, but the product had to be perfect. SlimZ technology was patented, so customers would assume they were buying the same look, feel, and confidence of other SlimZ products. The swimsuit’s extra support in the lower abdomen would address that problem area that almost all women over twenty-five had to some degree. The line would compete against the MiracleSuit and the other better swimsuits on the market.

  Swimwear was, for all practical purposes, just underwear. You wore nothing under it and displayed your body in it. When a customer bought a swimsuit, she was buying what she wasn’t going to be wearing more than what she was. Most of her skin would be exposed to the world. Therefore, every bit of the small amount of material in a swimsuit was important and worth its price point. Every decision made in developing the line had to be right.

  She pulled the Mercedes into her reserved space in the parking lot next to her Buckhead offices. After checking in with Jess and directing her to go ahead and book a flight to New York for Sunday, she walked into a meeting room filled with six designers and the department head. Whiteboards with swimsuit drawings were propped on easels, and fabric swatches littered a large table in the center of the room.

  “Let’s get to it,” she said, and dropped her bag on a chair. “What have we got?”

  At eight o’clock, a driver was waiting for Rob at the entrance to Candace’s Midtown condo. During the short ride to his firm’s Atlanta office, he checked his messages and returned a call to New York. He planned to arrive there Friday and had a busy weekend planned. That night, he’d be at a gallery opening, and the following evening he was expected at a cancer charity event, but in between, he would put in some time at the office and the gym. He needed to get a workout in later today as well—he could stop in at the office fitness center and do some lifting, at least.

  He was delighted with the decision he and Candace had made to wed. They’d been seeing each other for a couple of years, and while it had been very convenient to continue their separate lives and get together for frequent lusty interludes, Rob wanted to make their merger complete—and permanent. His short marriage had occurred over fifteen years ago now, and as a single man, he’d certainly had an assortment of sexy blondes. However, they’d all been playthings. None had had any brains.

  Which had suited him fine at the time. But now his life was different. He and Candace had celebrated his fortieth birthday three weeks ago, and he had come to a realization. He needed a woman he could talk to, who understood business, who appreciated him and not just his money. A woman who had her own money. A woman like Candace. She was quite lovely, and exciting in bed. She was smart and would be a great companion. If they decided to have a child, her genetic makeup was an ideal match.

  Their personalities meshed well, too. He loved making her laugh and pushing her to try new things, and he was thankful for the intimacy they shared. It had taken some time to get her to open up to him and to earn her trust after what happened during her marriage to Ted. Her issues with her brother—financial and otherwise—could be dealt with. In fact, Rob had an abundance of confidence in her ability to do so. He would be there for her if she needed him emotionally, and he suspected she would. For even though Candace was a very strong woman, she had a sensitive side that few had seen.

  Monty returned from his morning run just before ten o’clock and sat down at his computer. He’d cool off for about fifteen minutes before he showered and shaved. He pulled up his email and found another message from the granite vendor saying his past due payment would go to a collection agency if he didn’t take care of it by Friday.

  He deleted it. Fuck those bastards. The kitchen and bathroom counters had been installed over six months ago, but he wouldn’t pay them until his sister forked over more money. The money that he had requested last week, when he met with Shepherd, her scumbag accountant. Let the collection people call that fucker. Candace had cosigned the home equity loan, so if she was going to cut off any more funds—funds he had to have yesterday—she could deal with it.

  He scrolled through the rest of his email, finished his bottle of Powerade, and stripped off his clothes, heading for the shower. He did some of his best thinking standing naked under a hot stream of water. He had scanned and sent those receipts and invoices earlier this morning. If he did some tweaking to an old construction budget, he could make it look credible. He didn’t really want to fuck with it. But it might be all he would need to do to push Candace again.

  Toweling off, he quickly finished in the bathroom and then put on a pair of designer jeans and a polo shirt. He needed to get out and do some clothes shopping soon, to update his wardrobe. At the meeting with Langford, he’d have to look sharp. Then, once he got him on board as an investor, funds would flow. Being Candace’s brother had its advantages, but sometimes he wondered if they were really worth all the shit he had had to put up with from her.

  G
rabbing his laptop, he headed for the door. A cup of java was what he needed right now, and he could hang out at a coffee shop until lunch.

  Just before one o’clock, Jess brought Candace a lunch of broiled salmon, cooked medium rare, and an arugula salad with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side. Candace took a bite of the fish and, satisfied that it wasn’t overcooked, decided she didn’t need to send it back. The president and CEO of SlimZ Inc. ate by herself in her office as she perused the swimwear market report prepared by the sales and marketing department. Her employees ate lunch at their desks—when Candace was in town, one was a fool not to. She was manic about keeping ahead of the competition and expected all her employees to adopt not only her work ethic but her frenzied pace as well. If one didn’t keep up, one’s career at SlimZ was over before it began. Whenever Candace was in town, the office hummed in very high gear.

  At 1:20 p.m., finished with her lunch, Candace called Jess to remove her dish and to summon the design department employees to the conference room. Five minutes later, the head of SlimZ entered the room where a group of seven women were seated in front of her, waiting.

  “We’re not doing big prints,” said Candace. “Small prints, maybe, but only if it looks like a solid. We’re not Lands’ End—we’re not going to make women wear upholstery, and it’s not about swimming. We’re also not Anne Klein or Ralph Lauren, so no buckles, ropes, or bangles. We’re SlimZ, and we’re doing one-piece swimsuits—for now. We’re doing black, of course, and I’m open to other color suggestions.”

  “What about nude? And white?” asked Meredith, a twenty-something brunette.

  “Let’s talk about nude,” said Candace. “First, if we do it, it won’t be nude. It’ll be beige. But do we do it? Why would we?”

  “Well, if done well, it blends with skin tone and makes a sexy body sexier,” said a blonde named Heather.