Balancing Act

chapter Three


The days moved swiftly but not swiftly enough to suit Dory. She concentrated on one thought: get to Virginia as soon as possible and be with Griff. She went through the motions at Soiree, but at the end of the day she wasn’t certain she had accomplished anything. Her thoughts were on furniture, dishes, and lamps. Green plants and drapery fabrics were a close second. Her doctorate was almost an afterthought.

She packed with feverish intensity in the early hours of every morning. Boxes of books and her personal things would go with her in Griff’s SUV when she bade her final adieu to the Big Apple. Subletting the apartment had been no problem, Katy’s cousin’s boyfriend’s sister was delighted to take it off her hands at a hundred dollars more a month than she was paying. An extra hundred to decorate with, Dory chortled to herself, and then later, that hundred dollars every month would buy what she wanted. Shoes, new blouse, lacy underthings. Whatever.

Never more than a cursory cook, she now mentally planned nourishing menus that she would serve on just the right dishes with just the right place mats and real napkins that had to be ironed. She would make a centerpiece and an exquisite dessert. She would need cookbooks. Katy could take care of that for her with a phone call to her friends in the publishing houses. Dory could imagine herself poring over cookbooks in front of the fireplace while Griff studied his veterinary journals. Togetherness. Wonderful. Griff would sigh with delight and pat his stomach and look at her the way he looked at Lily Dayton. Homemaking would have its own brand of rewards. Candlelight. Dinner would always be by candlelight. She would make sure the atmosphere stayed romantic so Griff would have no cause to regret his decision to rent the town house. In the spring she would plant some pansies and tulips. Griff loved flowers and bright colors. Pots and pots of flowers. Maybe a few geraniums. Spring? Spring would be March. April. Six months away. Her stomach churned as she thought of the deadline she had promised Lizzie. She could play house for six months and get it out of her system, as Lizzie put it. Or she could settle in, marry Griff, and finish her doctorate. Or she could come back to Soiree and take on David Harlow and all the problems that would go with the job. Six months was a long way off. For now she couldn’t think past Thanksgiving and Christmas. She would make it memorable for both Griff and herself. It would be their first Christmas. God, how she could decorate that place for the holidays. Just last year Soiree had done an in-depth interview on a wealthy woman who handmade Christmas decorations for the Fifth Avenue crowd. They had been exquisite and the prices had been mind-bending. Somewhere in the bowels of the Soiree building were cartons of those decorations that she herself had packed up to be stored. She vaguely recalled the wealthy woman saying she could have them for the wonderful job she had done on the layout. Feeling guilty because all the office girls wanted them, she had packed them up and then forgotten about them. Now, she would add them to the boxes to be transported to Virginia in the SUV.

Dory fixed herself a cup of coffee and walked to the window. She certainly hoped she would sleep better once she was in Virginia. The past days, with only three or four hours of broken sleep, were doing nothing for her already impatient disposition. She wanted to be gone, to be with Griff in their new home. New home. How wonderful it sounded. How happy. A nice, warm, snug, safe place of their own. Decorated by her for Griff with loving hands. Griff couldn’t help but approve. They were going to be so-o-o-o happy.

The heavy drapes swished open. To the east the sky began to grow light. A streak of orange-gold appeared on the horizon, dividing the space into two endless halves of smog and pollution.

The phone shrilled just as Dory finished making a second cup of coffee. She balanced the cup in one hand and cradled the receiver next to her ear. The voice on the other end of the phone delighted her. A wide grin stretched across her face as she carefully set the cup on the counter. “Pix! Talk about timing. I was just thinking about you. How are you?”

“Do you want the truth or an outrageous lie?”

“I’ll take the truth. How’s things in the Dakota where all the fancy people live?”

“B-o-r-i-n-g. But, yesterday I saw Yoo Hoo in the elevator. You know the one who wears the sunglasses and was married to that rock singer. Anyway, she took off her glasses when she saw me.”

“You probably dazzled her with one of your costumes. What were you wearing and how many diamonds did you have on? By the way, where are you?”

“In the coffee shop downstairs. I thought I’d stop by to see you for a few minutes. Do you have the time?”

“Pix, for you I’ll make time. Have you had breakfast?”

“Breakfast! Good God, Dory, if I ate breakfast it would kill me. I feel in the mood for Irish coffee and a bagel. Can you swing it?”

“Absolutely. I’ll have it ready when you get here.”

Dory opened the door at the sound of the buzzer. She stood back to view her aging aunt. For some reason she was always reminded of a rainbow when she saw Pixie. They hugged each other and giggled like two schoolgirls. “God, I’m exhausted,” Pixie said, slumping down on the sofa. “It’s a jungle out there in the morning.”

“Tell me about it. I have to hack my way through it every day. What are you doing up so early? I thought you slept till three.”

Pixie snorted as she gulped at her Irish coffee. “If you would just figure out a way to get your mother off my back so I can get on mine I could sleep till three. Ten days of celibacy is all I can handle.”

Dory laughed. “Mom’s at it again, huh?”

“I swear that woman has a private detective trailing me. I think I shook him this morning, though. She said I was becoming an embarrassment to her and she wasn’t going to tolerate it anymore. Can you believe that?” Pixie snorted again as she straightened her silvery wig of cascading curls. “I think you put too much coffee in this cup. This is the way your mother serves it to the minister when he stops by to console her over my antics as she calls them. How do you stand her? I know she’s my sister and your mother but she’s missing out on all that life has to offer. She must spend at least twenty-one hours of every day worrying about what I’m going to do next.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” Dory giggled.

“I already did it,” Pixie said, filling her coffee cup a third time. “I put myself in the hands of the best plastic surgeon in the country and told him not to stint. You’re looking at the results.”

Dory frowned. “What did you have done?” She hated asking the question but she had to know. A sucker was born every minute. Not Pixie. Pixie wouldn’t . . . or would she?

“I knew you were going to ask that. Not a whole hell of a lot. I got a boob job and a derriere lift. Doctor Torian, who by the way is a handsome devil, and a class act, said he was a skilled surgeon and not a miracle worker. My fanny is now featuring a silicone implant. It’s so marvelous, I can’t tell you. I can bounce like a rubber ball. I am disappointed in my boobs, though. I would have had a complete overhaul but the doctor said there was only so much he could do. So, I settled for this. But,” she said, wagging a bony finger at Dory, “I know that when I walk away from someone I juggle. I mean jiggle. It was worth it,” she grinned as she slurped the last of her coffee. “You used instant coffee, didn’t you?”

“I’m impressed,” Dory said in a hushed voice.

“So was your mother, that’s why she has this detective on me. She says she wants me to be respectable. Can you believe that? What business is it of hers if I have my ass lifted?”

Dory watched in stunned amazement as Pixie literally leaped from the sofa. “See what I mean, I sort of bounce.”

“You know Mom. She’s . . . well, she’s . . . what she is . . .”

“Dead from the neck down. I’ll say it for you. You know I love her but she drives me nuts. I’m so horny right now I could scream. I don’t dare do a thing with this cretin she hired to watch me. She had the gall to tell me that sex should be curtailed at fifty. Fifty!” Pixie screeched. “I could hardly believe my ears. Fifty! I sent your father a condolence card.” Dory nearly choked on her coffee as she watched Pixie strut around the room. “I refuse, I absolutely refuse to be a geriatric casualty. You should do an article on the subject for that magazine you work for.”

Dory’s eyes grew thoughtful. “Pix, would you defy Mom and do a layout, baring all? Verbally I mean,” she said hastily as she noticed a wicked gleam in her aunt’s eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Pixie said, flopping down and then bouncing on the sofa. “Of course. Will it be in good taste? Even if it isn’t, I don’t care.”

“Listen, Pix, if you’re serious, I’ll speak to Katy about it. If it can be done in good taste, you’re our gal.”

Pixie bounced up again and tugged at her wool sweater. “The talk-show circuit, residuals, commercials—will I get it all?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Who’s going to tell Mom?”

“He is,” Pixie said, pointing to a man lounging next to a car on the street below. “I refuse to be a party to your mother’s next anxiety attack. Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

“I sure am. I have to get moving. Why don’t you stay and finish off the coffee. Lock up when you leave.”

“Would you mind if I stayed the better part of the day? I could do some entertaining while I’m here. I have this friend . . .”

Dory turned to hide her smile.

The talk-show circuit yet! Hot damn, it might be good for a story at that. There must be a lot of older women who have the same feelings Pixie has. What do they do? How do they handle it? Her mind started racing as she pictured the layout and the intimate shots they could do of Pixie. By God, it would be interesting! Soiree’s readership, if you believed the last poll, consisted of twenty percent over the age of fifty-five.

All the way to the office her mind clicked like a computer. It wasn’t until midmorning that she realized she hadn’t thought of Griff or the town house once. She sat down with a thump. She was giving it all up. Permanently or temporarily. Damn, Pixie would make a terrific story, and with the two of them working together it would have been super terrific. She sighed heavily. Someone else could handle it. Someone else would handle it. She would have to read about it like everyone else from now on.

Katy’s eyes bugged out when Dory presented her idea. She jotted down Pixie’s address and phone number. By the time Dory left the conference room the entire floor was buzzing with the news that David Harlow himself had given the okay to do a cover story with Dory’s sexy old aunt. They were even toying with the idea of putting Pixie’s picture on the cover, Katy said.

“Harlow said you were to be commended,” Katy gasped. “Commended, mind you. Not congratulated, but commended. Jesus, Dory, do you know who you have to be to get your picture on the cover of Soiree magazine?”

Dory giggled. “You can’t say I’m leaving quietly. Fanfare, style, that’s my departing theme. You’ll all remember me in the days to come. Why don’t you get us some lunch and I’ll tell you how I’m going to decorate the spare bedroom.”

“Again? You told me that yesterday and the day before.”

“That was the living room. This is Griff’s den. The extra bedroom is going to be his study. I thought all earth tones with a few splashes of color.”

“Where are you going to do your work, your studying?” Katy asked.

For a moment Dory looked blank. “Oh, I suppose I could use Griff’s desk or the kitchen table. It doesn’t make a lot of difference where I study, I’m adaptable.”

“I can see that,” Katy said sourly. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Dory. “It’s . . . it’s . . . commendable what you’re doing. Don’t slack off before you start.” Her tone was sour and Dory picked up on it immediately.

“It’s just that I have so much on my mind. How could I slack off. That’s the main reason for the move. Don’t worry. When you see me next, I’ll be on my way. Do you think you’ll have any difficulty calling me Doctor Faraday?”

“Not a bit. By the way, I left a pile of information on your desk and all the cookbooks are stacked in boxes. One of the stock boys said he’d drop them off at your apartment after work. There’s even one on microwave cooking.”

“Katy, that’s fantastic. I’ll buy a microwave. It will make things easy for me when I start school. Thanks for mentioning it.”





The going-away party for Dory was held in the office at three o’clock. There was champagne punch in plastic glasses and assorted canapés, made by the girls, on paper plates. A Coach leather briefcase was her going-away gift from the office staff. Lizzie and Katy had chipped in and added a matching overnight bag. David Harlow handed her an envelope she didn’t have the nerve to open. His eyes were too readable, too knowing. Suddenly, she felt as though she were swimming upstream in shallow water.

Later, after all the hugs and kisses, Dory walked through the offices for the last time and opened the envelope. A pink check (why were they always pink?) in the amount of one thousand dollars made her blink. Bribe was the word that came to mind. And then a second: pimp. She swallowed hard. She didn’t want the check. She stuffed it and the envelope into her bag; she’d think of it as a microwave oven. A microwave and three pairs of shoes. Or six pairs of shoes and an electric toaster-oven. Or a new outfit and some schoolbooks. Or, put it in the bank and let it grow some interest. Or tear it up and forget about it? She disliked David Harlow intensely. He was slick, unctuous. Hell, it was company money, not David Harlow’s personal money. That made a difference. It didn’t matter what she did with it. Tomorrow, when she drove down to Virginia, things would look different. One more day and she would be with Griff. Not even one whole day. If she started early in the morning, as she planned, she would be with him around noon. Perhaps they could even have lunch if he was free. She ached for him. Her eyes thirsted for the sight of him and her mouth hungered for his. It was just hours now. Hours till he took her in his arms and wiped away all thoughts of David Harlow and New York.





The Big Apple. She was actually leaving New York. In her wildest dreams she had never imagined living anywhere else. This was her city, her town, her people. Pixie lived here. Her parents lived here. Her job was here. Wrong . . . Her job used to be here. She didn’t have a job anymore. Now she was a free spirit. Her feelings were so mixed that she wanted to cry.

As Pixie would say, this was fish-or-cut-bait time. All the decisions were made. Now all she had to do was follow through. She wasn’t giving up her career entirely. She would be keeping her hand in, in a limited way. Freelance work would keep her active. School would definitely be an asset to her later. Perhaps a doctorate wouldn’t actually help her career, but Ph.D. after a name never hurt. Doctor Dory Faraday sounded good no matter how you looked at it. The opportunity was here so why shouldn’t she take advantage of it? Everything would fall into place once she settled into her new home. She could handle it all. She worked best under pressure, when things were at sixes and sevens. Long hours and rigid schedules had never frightened her. She could handle anything as long as Griff was in the picture. Anything.

Was she making a mistake by leaving the door open at Soiree? Shouldn’t she have cut the cord completely? If she had resigned she wouldn’t have anything to come back to if things soured between her and Griff. God, why did she have to think of something like that? She couldn’t go off with negative thoughts to start a new life. She had to consider the temporary leave and the open door at Soiree as an option. An option she could either renew or cast aside. It would be her choice.

Damn it, she hadn’t realized it was going to be so hard to leave. Her life was here. This was life. Dear God, don’t let me be making a mistake, she prayed silently. No, it was the right thing to do. Griff was the right thing. She loved Griff. Happiness was being with Griff. A job was only a job.

A devil perched on her shoulder. If that’s true, why aren’t you marrying Griff? Why aren’t you making it for life instead of this . . . whatever it is you’re calling it in your mind? “Shut up,” Dory said tartly as she shrugged her shoulders, hoping to dislodge the devil’s unwanted voice that always irritated her when she was in turmoil.

It was time to leave. She was doing the right thing. It felt right and that would have to be good enough. Griff was right for her. All the rest didn’t matter. Not really.





Dory said her last good-bye to Sara, her next-door neighbor, promising to keep in touch. Sara handed her a thermos, saying she knew Dory would want to get to Virginia as soon as possible and not have to stop. Dory thanked her and was off, the SUV loaded to the top, the rear end noticeably lower than the front. Books were heavy. Thank God, Griff had flown to Washington and left the SUV for her.

Shortly after nine o’clock Dory uncorked the thermos and took a healthy swallow. She turned on the radio. Someone was shrieking about a love that lasts forever and ever and ever and then some. She switched the station and Willie Nelson warbled to life. She grinned. Griff loved the seedy, rambunctious Willie with a passion. He had every tape and record the man ever made and could sit and listen dreamily for hours on end. He said Willie was better than any tranquilizer for his animals and would probably make sure that his music was piped into the new clinic.

At eleven thirty Dory, guided the loaded SUV into her assigned parking space. Sylvia and Lily, pushing a stroller, walked around to the parking area with Duke, the manager, walking just a shade too close to Sylvia. Lily smiled happily and hugged Dory. God, Dory thought, eleven thirty in the morning and Sylvia looked as if she had spent the entire morning in bed. There was no mistaking the look on her face. Dory wondered if John was responsible for the contented, rapturous look—or could it be Duke? She couldn’t help wondering. “How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Darling, for hours. The phone people were here at eight. They hooked up the washer and dryer at nine thirty and the movers called to say they’d be here at two o’clock. Your refrigerator came awhile ago and it’s plugged in and running.”

Dory looked pointedly at Lily. “No, I’m a slouch,” she said. “I just got here. Little Rick naps in the morning. I had to bathe him and feed him and then he was hungry again. I haven’t done a thing. But I’m here now and I’ll be glad to do my share if little Rick can behave himself.”

Duke smirked as he swaggered over to the car and offered to help with the heavy cartons. “Did you ever see such muscles?” Sylvia whispered.

“Can’t say that I have,” Dory said, bending over to take a box out of the car.

“I brought coffee and Lily brought some of her homemade blueberry muffins,” Sylvia volunteered.

“Where’s Griff?” Dory demanded. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Darling, he’s in McLean checking on some senator’s horses. John went with him. You won’t see him till late tonight or maybe tomorrow if they have to stay over. This is a whole new ball game for you, so you’d better adjust, darling.” It was clear that she had indeed adjusted. Dory wondered if John had any idea how well.

“You’ll get used to it, Dory,” Lily said softly. “If you had a bundle of love like little Rick, you’d hardly notice Griff’s absence.”

Dory’s heart plummeted. She had been looking forward to seeing Griff, and now if what Sylvia said was true, she might not see him till tomorrow. She would have to spend her first night in the town house alone. There would be no one to carry her over the threshhold. Griff would have carried her over it, she was sure of it. He was romantic in so many ways. “Damn,” she muttered. Lily’s eyes flew to the baby to see if he had heard. She frowned to show her disapproval. Dory winced and made a note to be careful of her vocabulary from now on.

“Why don’t we have those muffins so we can all gain five pounds? Lily uses pure butter, tons of it,” Sylvia complained. “Maybe Duke will be good enough to let us heat the coffee in his apartment. You don’t have any pots. I’ll do it. You two go along and I’ll bring the coffee as soon as it’s ready.” Before Dory could agree or disagree, Lily was pushing the stroller ahead of her and around to the rear of the building. Duke had made three trips to the back and now, with the exception of her luggage, the SUV was empty. Brawn certainly did have its merits. She couldn’t help wondering how artful he was in bed. If Sylvia’s Cheshire-cat smile was any indication, he performed admirably. Sylvia would never settle for less than the best. I wonder if Griff knows, Dory muttered to herself as she trudged behind Lily, lugging two heavy suitcases. Sylvia’s trilling voice and Duke’s phony Texas twang grated on her ears. Damn, she wanted to see Griff. She didn’t need Lily and her baby or Sylvia and her Saks wardrobe and alleycat appetites.

Inside the town house Lily was unpacking muffins wrapped in waxed paper, Saran wrap and tinfoil. She spread colorful checkered paper napkins to match the paper plates on one of the packed cartons. Dory fought the urge to tell her to leave. The phone shrilled to life and so did little Ricky. Lily tried to quiet the squealing baby as Dory strained to hear Griff’s words.

“Oh, darling, it’s so good to hear from you. I just this minute got here and Sylvia said . . . Sylvia said . . . When are you coming home, Griff?” she all but cried.

“Not till tomorrow. I just wanted you to know I’m thinking about you and I can’t wait to see you. This will give you a chance to start your decorating without me underfoot.”

“What did you say, Griff? I can’t hear with the baby crying and all.” She sent Lily a murderous look that went right over the young woman’s head. The more she crooned, the louder little Ricky shrieked.

“He does have a good pair of lungs, doesn’t he?” Griff laughed.

“What? Talk louder, I can’t hear you.”

“Never mind, darling. I’ll see you tomorrow. Tomorrow, darling.”

“God damn it to hell, Lily, that was Griff. Couldn’t you keep that kid quiet for two minutes? I have no idea what he said to me,” Dory wailed. She felt like throwing a tantrum to equal little Ricky’s. Instead she sat down with her back against the wall and bit into one of the moist muffins. Lily waited expectantly for her comment. Evidently, Dory’s sharp words about her baby had fallen on deaf ears.

“Good. Very good,” Dory muttered. Lily frowned. “Delicious. Are they difficult to make?” she babbled. “Can you make them in a microwave oven?”

“Do you really think they’re good? I spent all last evening making them for today. I brought enough for Griff too, so you won’t have to worry about breakfast tomorrow.”

Dory ignored her as Sylvia tripped into the kitchen on her three-inch heels. The skin-tight, lime-green coverall was made of silk and clung to Sylvia as though it had been painted on. Three strands of real pearls graced her throat. Dory would have parted with her eye teeth for just one of the strands. The pearls were worth at least four thousand dollars and the coverall around three hundred. She wondered how much John paid for his clothes.

“Here we are, kiddies, piping hot coffee. I’d like to stay and chat, but I have to go to the hairdresser and then I have an appointment for a pedicure. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, Dory, to see how things are.”

“You just went to the hairdresser day before yesterday,” Lily grumbled.

“Darling, I refuse to look dowdy or matronly. It wouldn’t hurt you to pay more attention to your own looks. You need a rinse and isn’t it time you stopped nursing that child? You look positively . . . fat. You have to start thinking about your figure now.”

“Why? Rick hasn’t complained. I’ll work on it when little Ricky is older. I want to enjoy every minute of him and nurse him as long as I can.”

“You’re a fool,” Sylvia said curtly. “I love you, Lily, but you are a homemaking fool. Still, somebody has to do it.” With a breezy wave of her hand Sylvia was gone, her heels clicking on the flagstone walkway.

“I just bet she slept with that . . . that . . . jockey,” Lily said through pursed lips. “How could she?”

“It’s easy, you take off your clothes and slip between the sheets. Isn’t that how you got little Ricky?” Dory sniped. God, what was happening to her? Had she really said that to Lily? Evidently she had, for tears welled up in Lily’s eyes. “Look, it isn’t your business or mine. I’m sorry. Let’s forget it. Why don’t you take little Ricky home? I can manage and I’d like to be alone for a while. I’m also very tired.”

“But Rick said I should stay and help you,” Lily complained. “He’ll be upset with me if I don’t help you.”

Dory lost what little patience she had left. “Then for God’s sake don’t tell him. The baby looks sleepy. You go along now and I’ll manage very well. Thanks for thinking of me with the muffins. I would like the recipe, if you don’t mind.”

Lily’s world was suddenly right side up. Her face lit like a beacon. “I’ll call you as soon as I get home and give it to you. You’re sure now that I can’t do anything?”

“Not a thing. Go along now,” Dory said in a motherly tone.

The moment Lily and the baby were out of sight, Dory locked the back door and sighed with relief. Now, damn it, she could cry. She could cry or bawl or stamp her feet and bawl at the same time. Instead, she rummaged in one of the cartons till she found a fat, silken comforter. She carried it upstairs to the bedroom. She spread it out by the fireplace and lay down. She had time for a short nap before the movers arrived. Tears clung to her lashes as she closed her eyes in sleep.

Dory felt as though she had just closed her eyes when the phone jangled. Thinking it was Griff, she crawled groggily across the room. “Hello,” she said sleepily.

“Dory, it’s Lily. I just got home and I’m calling like I promised, to give you the muffin recipe. Do you have a pencil?”

“Of course,” Dory lied. Why me, she said silently, her eyes raised upward. She listened patiently while Lily read off ingredients and measurements. “Thank you, Lily,” she mumbled between clenched teeth.

Sleep was out of the question now. She might as well get up, change her clothes and get to work. Maybe Griff would change his mind and make it home tonight after all. If she could entice the movers to set up the bed and place the furniture, she could get on with the unpacking.

It was late afternoon when she realized she was hungry. Dory looked around to survey her handiwork. She felt pleased with herself. She had definitely made inroads. Tomorrow, the drapery people would hang the curtains and the surprise chair she had purchased for Griff would arrive. Covered in a deep plum velour, it would give his study just the touch of color needed to make the room restful and yet attractive. He was going to be so surprised. She smiled to herself as she envisioned the way he would pick her up and twirl her around, his eyes laughing merrily. Then he would say, “How did you know this was exactly what I wanted?” And then she would say, “Because I think like you do and can read your mind.” They would kiss, a long, searing, burning, mind-reeling kiss, and then they would go to bed and make the universe tilt the way it always did. If I don’t get some food, Dory thought, I won’t have the strength to kiss him, much less tilt universes.

She backed the SUV out of the parking spot and headed back toward Jefferson Davis Parkway. She drove till she came to Fern Terrace and Ollie’s Trolley. It was a real trolley car, converted into a diner, and Ollie had the best chili dogs on the eastern seaboard. At least that’s what his sign proclaimed. Dory tested his advertisement and agreed. Two chili dogs, one giant root beer and one envelope of greasy French fries made her burp with pleasure. “Ollie,” Dory said as she paid her check, “you are indeed a prince among men. You deliver what you promise. I think these were the best hot dogs I’ve ever eaten.”

The man named Ollie threw back his head and laughed. He had baby-fine hair that barely covered his scalp and an infectious laugh, and Dory found herself joining in. “I get people from all over. Secret is in just serving what you advertise. When you add to your menu, that’s when you get into trouble. As you noticed, the French fries leave a lot to be desired, but I have to serve them. Kids demand French fries. You were lucky, I was just getting ready to close up. Good day today. I had two senators and the secretary of the navy sent his aide for a batch of my dogs. The Pentagon is my best customer. You take that Senator Collins. He comes here three times a week. He says he’s never getting married as long as I stay in business.”

Dory’s ears perked up. “He’s the young good-looking one from somewhere in New England, isn’t he? A bachelor and the youngest man in the Senate, right?”

“That’s the one,” Ollie said, packing up his stained wrap-around apron in a plastic bag for his wife to wash. “Three days a week, huh?”

“Yep. Why, a person could just stop by, say around one-ish and you’ll find him leaning against the trolley eating three dogs. Always has two root beers. Never touches the French fries. Says the grease gives him zits. He’s always gettin’ his picture took and he don’t want no . . . blemishes marking up that good-lookin’ face of his. You new around here?” he asked, shoving his money bag into his plastic carryall.

“Just moved in today. I live over in the town houses on Jeff Davis Parkway. My name’s Dory Faraday,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Nick Papopolous, a.k.a. Ollie,” Nick said, offering her a hand and arm as large as a railroad tie. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. Lots of loonies around here.” To prove his point, he withdrew a heavy-looking black gun and shoved it into his belt. He didn’t bother to pull his shirt down over the weapon, preferring to let it show. “I got a permit for this,” he said, pulling the door closed behind him.

Dory watched in awe as he tossed his plastic bag full of money and his dirty apron into the back of a Mercedes 380SL. The hot dog business must be good, Dory thought as she guided the SUV out of the parking lot. Drake Collins, the newest, the youngest, the sexiest senator on Capitol Hill. Soiree would love him. Unattached, brilliant, going far, eye on the governor’s chair. What more could a girl want, especially an unemployed girl. Woman. Career person. Soiree reader. Soiree was aimed at the successful woman and was rated second only to Time. Collins was perfect for her first Soiree profile. She would definitely make it her business to lunch at Ollie’s Trolley every chance she got. But first things first. She had to finish the house and start school.

For some reason she felt annoyed and out of sorts when she got back to the house. The boxes of books made her frown. She had to find a place for them until she could have some shelves installed. One more day to herself before she hit the classroom. Even though she was late, she would catch up. She would have to!

Dory made up the bed, showered and washed her hair. Wrapped in a cheerful lemon-colored robe, she gazed down at the bold geometries of slate grays and umber browns on the crisp sheets and pillowcases. Griff loved this particular set of sheets, saying they made him want to do wild, impetuous things to her. She was propping the pillows up so she could read when the phone suddenly rang. It had to be Griff saying good night. She smiled as she picked up the phone. Her voice was a low, sensuous purr. “I miss you, darling,” she said, leaning back into her nest of pillows.

“You’d be in big trouble if it wasn’t me on the phone,” Griff laughed.

“Who else would be calling me after dark? I really don’t want to complain but this bed is so big and I’m not taking up much room. I wish you were here.”

“I do too, honey. But I’ve got my work carved out for me here. This was a golden opportunity that was too good to refuse. It just came at a bad time. I’m sorry. There’s eleven thoroughbred horses in the senator’s stables, and this afternoon I began inducing labor in one of his prize mares. By noon tomorrow she should drop a fine colt.”

Dory bristled. Normally, she loved to hear Griff talk about his work. She loved animals too, but this . . . this was too much. She had just propositioned him over the phone, and he was telling her about a prize mare and eleven thoroughbreds. Even as she thought it, Dory felt ashamed. Just because her needs weren’t being met was no reason to get her back up. Griff had needs too.

“Dory?” his voice questioned. “Are you there?”

“I’m here, Griff.”

“You’re not angry, are you? Tell me you understand, Dory.”

“I do, Griff. It’s just that this would have been our first night together in our own house. I thought you would carry me over the threshhold and we could have some wine. You’d light the fireplace in the bedroom and we’d make long, lazy love. But it’s all right. I understand.”

Griff’s groan was clearly audible. Dory felt smug. At least now he knew what he was missing. “We’ll do that tomorrow night and that’s a promise. Now that you’ve churned me all up, I’m going to have to take a cold shower. By the way, did Sylvia give you a hand today? She offered to help.”

Dory thought of Sylvia and then of Duke and the smitten looks on both their faces. “Yes, Sylvia helped,” Dory said grudgingly. Helped herself is what she did, the nasty thought concluded.

“She’s something. I think she’s one of those people you can always count on in a pinch,” Griff was saying. “Look how she hunted apartments for us.”

“Hmmmm. I suppose.” And look what the wonderful Sylvia came up with, Dory grimaced, thinking of that last especially unattractive apartment house complete with Sylvia’s own brand of grime.

“Remember now, we have a date for tomorrow night. I’ll give you a call sometime during the day if I get a chance. I love you, Dory.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to give her usual response of “I love you, darling” but she didn’t. Instead she said, “Me too.”

Dory lay for a long time staring at the ominous jacket of Dean Koontz’s latest book. Tomorrow wouldn’t be the same. Tomorrow was tomorrow and this was now. Today. The first night. How could tomorrow possibly be the same? She felt cheated. Angry and cheated. And she didn’t like it.

She opened the book with a dramatic flourish. And just what did one do for a horse in labor that took the entire night? Priorities. Order of preference. She came after a horse. And induced labor? The thought just struck her. If Griff had had to induce the labor, couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow? He was setting the timetable, not Mother Nature!

Her eyes snapped and chewed at the words written by Koontz, not comprehending, not caring. Angrily, Dory leapt from the bed, the new book skidding to the floor. She ripped the geometric sheets from the bed and carried them to a white wicker hamper in the dressing room. She replaced them with a frilly set of lacy ruffled sheets and pulled them up haphazardly. These sheets were designed with a single woman in mind. Extravagantly feminine, too lush, too Victorian to make a man feel comfortable.

Sitting alone on her girlish bed didn’t make her feel a hell of a lot better. Griff could have talked to her longer. He could have said more. Been more romantic. Groans didn’t count. He could have asked her how her day went, how she had made the trip down from New York. How the house was coming. He could even have asked about his SUV! For all he knew, she could have had an accident. Sylvia. Horses. He was only allowing himself a precious few minutes to talk to the woman he said he loved, and yet he talked about a horse she didn’t even know and a woman she wasn’t certain she even liked.

She wouldn’t cry. What was the point? To feel better? Would tears really make the hurt go away? Too bad she didn’t have a Band-Aid big enough to ease the pain she was feeling. Was she expecting too much? Would she be feeling the same way if they were married and this happened? Griff had priorities, but so did she, damn it. If she could put him first, why couldn’t he put her first?

What really hurt was the fact that she was disappointed in Griff. Not in the circumstances, but in Griff himself. Was it unrealistic to expect the man you love to come home on the first night and make love to you? No, and tomorrow wouldn’t be the same. How could Griff think it would be? For God’s sake, she wasn’t sitting here waiting to be seduced. Their relationship was beyond that stage.

She felt as if she had been put through a mill and had come out mangled and smashed. It was so damn easy to pick up the phone and make a call, sure in the knowledge that the other person would understand and forgive. Forgive, yes; forget, no. When you hurt you don’t forget, she told herself. And when you’re taken for granted, you don’t forget that either.

Despite her resolution not to cry, the tears trickled down her cheeks. She wanted him to want to come home to her. She didn’t care about priorities, she didn’t want to think about them. All she wanted was Griff here beside her. She wanted him here telling her he loved her and it was right, this move to D.C. Goddamn it, she needed reassurance. Second fiddle to a horse. Wait till Pixie heard about this one.

Sleep would never come now. She should get up and watch television till she worked off her hostility. Or better yet, have a few snorts from the bottle of brandy Pixie had given her. Now, if she could just remember where she had put it, she could get pleasantly sloshed. Snookered, maybe. On second thought, three aspirins would be better, she decided. Besides, she had promised herself to save the brandy to toast Pixie’s story.

Dory punched the pillow with a vengeance. She was angry, frustrated, out of control. The thought made her rigid. Eventually, she slept, her dreams panicked by a wild-eyed stallion carrying Sylvia on his back as he raced up and down Jefferson Davis Parkway. She woke exhausted.