A Winning Battle

by Carla Neggers

  The rest was more or less just a question of logistics.

  Or so he told himself as he pulled out the chair to his desk and got to work.

  * * *

  Forty minutes later Page pressed Chris’s buzzer for the third time, growing impatient. He had to be up; she’d seen the light in his attic window. Had he nodded off? Was he so absorbed in his work he didn’t hear the buzzer? Was the damn buzzer broken?

  She marched out to the sidewalk and craned her neck as she peered up at the window. It was open. “Chris?” she called, not very loudly.

  No answer.

  “Chris.”

  Still nothing.

  She cleared her throat and glanced around for anyone looking, and then tried once more in a loud hiss. “Chris!”

  Nothing.

  Obviously he was going to have her reduced to throwing stones again! She started looking around for something to pitch up to his window to get his attention. There was another bit of brick over there and ... What was she doing?

  She grabbed the brick chip, which fit handily into her palm, and checked up and down the street for any police.

  Then she heaved the brick up as high and hard as she could and—

  Crack!

  Her aim was right on target this time. A little too right on target. The brick had struck the glass upper part of the attic window rather than the screen.

  Up in the attic she could hear a curse and the window being yanked open. She ducked behind a shrub in the tiny space that passed for a front yard; at least she was out of view of the upstairs.

  “What’s going on down there?”

  Chris sounded annoyed. She didn’t blame him: she’d cracked his damn window. She was debating whether to ‘fess up or just sneak back to her apartment, when she heard the window bang shut.

  Then she heard the pounding of feet on the stairs inside the building. It sounded as if he were taking them three and four at a time, which indeed was apparently the case, because in a matter of half a minute he landed breathless and fuming on the sidewalk in front of her shrub. His hands were on his hips and his eyes were narrowed as he scanned the sidewalk for the offender—who was perhaps eighteen inches behind him. Page didn’t breathe.

  He turned and spotted her. “You!’’

  “Well, hello, there.” She stepped guiltily from behind the shrub and ran one hand through her hair. “I thought I spotted a discarded quarter under this shrub here. You know me. Waste not, want not.”

  “You broke my window?”

  “Broke your—No, of course not. I just got here. I did notice three or four teenagers racing up Beacon as I arrived. They cut down Charles.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Liar.”

  “Me? Lie?”

  “Organized people lie better than the rest of us. They have a knack for sorting out whatever mess they happen to find themselves in and finding the most workable situation. You, Page B., are the most organized person I know and therefore the biggest liar.”

  “That’s a generalization. It’s also not true.”

  He held his palm out to her. “The quarter.”

  “It wasn’t there. A trick of the light, I think.”

  “Quick, Page B. Real quick. How do you keep coming up with them?”

  “Don’t you want to know what I’ve been up to?”

  He raised his chin and looked down his straight nose at her. “You’ve been throwing rocks at my window—”

  “It was a brick and I only threw one.”

  “A brick!”

  “Just a piece of one. Good aim, huh?”

  “You planned it that way, I suppose.”

  “Nope. I just winged it. And see what happened?”

  “You broke my damn window.”

  “I got your attention. If you’d answered your buzzer, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Blame it on me. I didn’t hear the buzzer.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s broken.”

  She sighed, shaking her head. “Not that line again.”

  “It’s true. Broke the other day. You must be a jinx or something. I should make you fix it and the window.”

  “I didn’t do a thing to your buzzer! And it’s not my fault I broke your window. If you’d had your buzzer fixed, you’d have heard me and answered your door like a civilized human being, instead of forcing me to throw a brick to get your attention.”

  “Wait just a minute—”

  “But I’m willing to call us even. You fix your buzzer and your window yourself, and I’ll forgive you for putting me through such trauma. Anyway, don’t you want to know what I’m doing back here?”

  “Looking for quarters,” he muttered.

  “Uh-uh.” She held up the small overnight case she held in one hand. “I brought my toothbrush.”

  Chapter Eleven

  On a Wednesday afternoon two weeks later, Chris had his feet up on his desk and was looking out across the Public Garden, where the grass had turned green and the leaves were budding. Spring had arrived in full force; he hardly ever had to close his window now. But the feel of the warm breeze on his face only made him want Page. He’d like to whisk her away for the afternoon—walk the Freedom Trail, eat hot dogs off a cart, take a ride up the coast, make love to her in the fresh spring grass. That, however, was impossible. Page was working. Page was responsible. Page was not spontaneous.

  He sighed. And you’re being unfair.

  They’d had a spectacular two weeks. They’d driven out to Concord one weekend and met his family, his parents having just returned from Florida. Page had fit right in with her smile and her poise and her knowledge of business. His mother had liked her so much she tried to lure Page into a conspiracy to get rid of her only son’s “horrid truck.” But Page, laughing afterward with him in bed, had said, “Now I understand why you’re so disorganized. You were brought up with very rigid ideas about what it means to be responsible, organized and all that. To establish your independence, you rebelled against what essentially were artificial expectations.”

  “Whatever,” he said. At the time talk was the last thing on his mind.

  “It’s your determination and goal-oriented nature that counts. You are responsible, but in your own way.”

  “Uh-huh.” He’d taken a pink nipple between his fingers and begun rubbing it gently, erotically, to shut her up.

  It hadn’t. At least not right away. “But don’t worry— I’d never try to reform you!”

  She liked him just the way he was. And now that had him worried.

  If their relationship was going to grow, he’d have to make compromises. As much as she enjoyed his bed, she could barely tolerate how he lived. It drove her nuts when he tossed the morning newspaper on the floor beside the bed and ate cold pizza for breakfast. His capacity for spontaneity thrilled her—and unnerved her, too. He knew she felt out of control, a little crazy.

  But he wasn’t going to pretend he could change completely. He couldn’t. He could no more drop into her organized life than she could drop into his disorganized life. Her 4:15 message checks and mail-sorting routine drove him nuts. He found her schedules constricting. He couldn’t live her life. She couldn’t live his. Did that mean they couldn’t build some kind of life together?

  No. It couldn’t. Somehow he’d do a little giving and she’d do a little giving and they’d work something out. They had to.

  The telephone rang, and he seized it, thinking it might be Page. Maybe she’d been staring out her window and wanted to get out. But when William Norton said hello, Chris told himself he should have known better: Page had a business to maintain. Obligations. Different from his, but as important. If he took off for an afternoon, he could always make up for it that night. She couldn’t, especially when she had a client. As it was, her filing was backed up after he’d spirited her away from a “filing session” to join Millie and William for a rare weekday afternoon Red Sox game.

  “What’s up, William?”

/>   “I’ve got news.”

  He sounded excited—and nervous. “What’s that?”

  William hesitated.

  Chris leaned over his grandfather’s typewriter and felt his heart race. “Bill? Is something wrong?”

  “No. No, everything’s great. It’s good news. I... Millie and I are getting married.”

  * * *

  Page had had difficulty concentrating all afternoon and was relieved when she checked her messages at 4:15 to hear Millie Friedenbach’s voice. Millie would restore her sense of duty and responsibility and end the disquieting suspicion that Chris had been trying to connect with her telepathically—or somehow—to quit early and ride the swan boats in the Public Garden with him.

  “Hey, Page,” Millie’s cheerful voice said on the message machine, “by dinner tomorrow night William and I’ll be married. Think I should keep my own name?”

  That was it. No explanation, no details. Page almost choked. What was Millie up to this time? She tried her best friend’s apartment six times before she finally gave up and called Chris.

  “You’ve heard?” she asked.

  “‘Bout what?”

  “Millie and William.”

  “Oh, yeah. William called about an hour ago and told me he and Millie are getting married tomorrow.”

  “And what are you doing?”

  “Working on my column.”

  “What! How can you concentrate?”

  “It’s not easy. I keep thinking about you.”

  “Never mind me. What about William and Millie? How can you possibly work when you know by this time tomorrow those two are going to be married? We’ve got to do something!”

  “Why?”

  “They’ve known each other less time than we have!”

  “And William says they’d spent virtually every minute of their days together and he’s come to know her as he never knew his ex-wife, to whom, I might add, he was married seven years.”

  Page groaned. “You gave him your blessing?”

  “Sure.”

  “You think I’m overreacting.” It wasn’t an accusation: she wasn’t sure herself she wasn’t overreacting.

  “Right again.”

  “You don’t know Millie. She’s liable to do anything—and half of what she does she regrets later. I can’t just stand by and let her make a mistake. I’m her friend.”

  “Who says she is making a mistake? Page, William’s a good guy. And he’s in love with her.”

  “What if they’re out of control?”

  “What they are is on their way to Florida. They’re getting married by a justice of the peace and then taking Beth to Disney World for their honeymoon.”

  “But Millie has to work.”

  “She had some personal time coming.”

  “What about Beth’s school?”

  “She’s in the first grade, Page. What she misses won’t hurt her for life—and her mom’s getting married, right? That and Disney World ought to make up for missing a couple of days of school.”

  Page forced herself to sit down at the kitchen table and calm down. But didn’t the man see her point? “And William would have no trouble taking a week or two off now—”

  “Now that you’ve organized him,” Chris finished for her.

  She sighed miserably. “It’s all my fault. I knew Millie would do anything for hockey tickets, but I never thought...well, they just didn’t seem a pair. Do you know what I mean? There are no checks and balances where they’re concerned. They’re both incurable romantics and unbelievably impulsive and disorganized. Qualities like that lead to...to Disney World marriages!”

  “To each his or her own. I’ve got the name of the place they’re staying. We can send them flowers.”

  “You’re not worried?”

  “Sure I’m worried, but they’re adults. They can make their own decisions.”

  “Millie’s my best friend.”

  “How do you plan to stop her? They’ve already left. William was calling me from the airport. You can’t very well go to Florida and talk them out of it.”

  Page didn’t respond immediately. Florida. If she could get an early flight, she could be there by mid-morning, or noon at the latest, and take a late flight back.

  “Page?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Page—”

  “I’ll call you back in fifteen minutes.”

  “Page!”

  She hung up and started calling airlines. There were no cheaper fares available, but she could book two first-class seats on a direct flight to Orlando at seven tomorrow morning. It would cost a fortune. Holding her breath, she recited the number of her American Express gold card—she had all her credit card numbers memorized—and booked the two seats.

  Her hands were shaking, and she was breathing fast. It took three tries to tap out Chris’s number. She sat back and swallowed hard, trying to regain her composure, but Chris answered on the first ring.

  “Page, what the hell’s going on?”

  She told him.

  “Are you crazy? You’ve got work to do tomorrow, remember? You said this morning you couldn’t spend the night because you had to be up so early, but now you can go traipsing off to Florida to horn in on your best friend’s honeymoon? And me—I’ve got a deadline.”

  “I can make arrangements,” she said. “And you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

  “Now who’s being impulsive?”

  She could almost see his wry smile, and it did things to her insides she couldn’t think about right now. “No, I’m being a friend. If I were doing something Millie thought questionable, I’d want her to take action. I...I’m not being impulsive, dammit. This is a rational plan based on an objective look at the facts.”

  “Horse hockey. You’re being crazy and I love it. I’ll pack my bags and be at your place in an hour.”

  * * *

  They took a cab to Logan Airport the next morning. Chris insisted the subway was faster, but Page said a cab was more civilized. She refused to look at him so he could say he told her so when they got caught up in tunnel traffic. But they made the airport in plenty of time for their seven o’clock flight—which was no thanks to one energetic journalist. Since they had to be up so early and didn’t have much time to sleep, he’d reasoned, why sleep at all?

  She picked up the tickets. “Wait, there’s a mistake. I booked a return flight for tonight. These are just one way tickets.”

  The efficient-looking woman behind the counter informed her that according to the computer, reservations for the return flight had been canceled. Unfortunately there were no seats available. She checked other flights. “No, nothing until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” Page grumbled, and finally she gave up. She’d deal with the problem of getting out of Florida once she got there. Tucking their tickets in the outer compartment of her pocketbook, she breezed out into the corridor, Chris Battle right beside her. She went on huffily, “Honestly, it’s amazing to me airlines ever make a profit.”

  “Maybe they should hire Get It Together Inc.”

  “Maybe they should! How could they let something like this happen?”

  “Impossible to imagine.”

  “You don’t seem upset.”

  He shrugged. “Why waste energy trying to change what I can’t change?”

  “Well, I have to be back for tomorrow. My clients were very decent about my traipsing off to Florida to rescue a friend, but I can’t put them off another day.”

  “What about rescheduling them altogether?”

  “Oh, God, no. What a mess that’d be! I’d have to rearrange my entire calendar.”

  “What do you do when you get sick?”

  She sniffed. “I don’t get sick.”

  With that they reached their gate. Chris stepped aside and let Page make all the arrangements for boarding. He’d offered to pay his half of the fare, but she’d turned him down, explaining that since the enti
re business was her idea, she’d accept full financial responsibility. He’d said fine, but he considered what she paid a hefty amount for a one-way seat to Orlando, Florida.

  He’d even quoted her the exact figure.

  As she got her boarding pass, Page frowned and thought suddenly, how did he know how much a one-way ticket cost?

  * * *

  Chris had the feeling that Page was onto him, just as she’d been that first day when he’d tried to get her to take him on as a client. She was not an easy woman to hoodwink. But he wasn’t ready to explain.

  “Chris, buddy, do me a favor. Don’t let Page stop us!”

  Easy for you to ask, my friend, Chris thought. William, however, was his friend, and he’d promised at least to try to keep Page from doing anything as sensible as asking the two lovers if they knew what they were doing.

  “If marriage is what they want,” she said as she settled into the window seat, “then fine. But I’d like to know if they’ve considered the consequences of their actions.”

  “Page, they’ve both been married before. I think they know.”

  She scowled at him. “Then why aren’t they making sure they’re doing the right thing in getting married so soon?”

  “Maybe they are sure.”

  “How could they be?”

  He looked at her, with her jaw set and her arms crossed. “Don’t be so self-righteous. Come on, Page. How sure is sure? When do you know you’re doing the right thing? Marriage is a big step, and you shouldn’t go into it lightly. But it’s always going to be a risk.”

  “It doesn’t have to be as risky as William and Millie are making it. They barely know each other!”

  “But they love each other. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s a start, but it’s not enough.”

  “You have a timetable for relationships?” he asked dryly.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then tell me. How long do people have to know each other before they should get married?”

  She lifted her shoulders and frowned. “Until they’re convinced they want to make a lifelong commitment to each other.”