Balancing Act

chapter Six


September’s exquisite Indian summer days gave way to a sharper October complete with a kaleidoscope of autumn colors. Dory went to classes on a hit-and-miss basis, preferring to settle snugly into the town house poring over decorator books and gourmet recipes. She studied when the mood struck, often leaving it until early Monday morning while she did laundry. Sometimes, late at night after Griff was asleep, she would creep downstairs to pore guiltily through her notes and read assigned chapters.

In the morning, Griff would find her asleep at the desk. He’d kiss her consolingly and bring her coffee, saying, “Poor baby, you’re really carrying quite a load, aren’t you?”

Dory would protest heartily, pretending to slough off his commiserations. Although she crept down to the den with full intentions of studying, her real reason for getting up was that she couldn’t sleep, knowing how she was neglecting her schoolwork. But once settled in the den with soft music coming from the stereo, she would soon fall asleep. Nothing she read could penetrate the hateful malaise.

Griff was truly concerned. Dory had always been eager to share her life with him, telling him what was going on at the magazine and discussing new projects with him. Since coming to D.C. he’d noticed that she often became quiet, preferring to listen while he told about his day at the clinic and how business was increasing. It was tender and sweet, he decided, the way she listened so intensely to his recital of the day’s events, and he had to admit he was selfish with her attention. But when he did ask her about her studies or her freelance projects for Soiree she would become quiet and introspective. He was quickly learning to shrug off Dory’s lassitude. When he came right out and asked her if something was troubling her, she would look at him with that wide-eyed green stare of hers and offer denials. He might have pressed her further, following his instincts, if he weren’t so involved and preoccupied with the clinic and his doubling patient file. That Dory was happy living with him, Griff had no doubt. She took pride in their home, was steeped in new ideas and color schemes, and she always sang or hummed tuneless little songs while she worked in the kitchen. Dory made their lives comfortable and cozy. It was just that she seemed to have taken on a burden—housekeeping, cooking, her studies, and her freelance work. When he thought of the subtle changes in her, a little frown would form between his brows.

Dory knew that Griff was concerned about her graduate work and her promised projects for Soiree. He always asked questions, which she took great pains to dodge. How could she tell him that she was already weeks behind in her reading and that she hadn’t even made the first contact for her magazine articles? It was easier to avoid the subject entirely. Just yesterday, she’d received a phone call from Katy, telling her Soiree had contacted several promising subjects for her, giving her the names and data on each. But when Katy began asking how things were going in D.C., Dory found an urgent excuse to cut the conversation short. She had heard the puzzlement in her friend’s voice and several times during the day she had been tempted to call Katy back, but somehow she lacked the courage to pick up the phone. It occurred to Dory that she was actually hiding out, pulling the ground over her head. How could she converse about what she was doing and how she was doing it, when in truth she was doing nothing? She was disappointed in herself, angry actually, and was constantly vowing to get a grip on herself. Each night when she crawled into bed beside Griff she would experience deep shame and self-loathing because today had been no different from yesterday. It was only when she was buried in Griff’s embrace, feeling his hands on her body and hearing the little love words he murmured, that she felt good about herself. She could hide away, even from herself, while she surrendered her body and her soul to the man she loved.

Shopping trips with Sylvia left her teeth on edge. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the trips; she did. But the older woman’s preoccupation with spending money in the shortest time possible annoyed her. If she was hiding, then Sylvia was hiding, too. She hid behind designer labels, costly makeup and secret trysts in the late mornings. Dory knew that shortly, inevitably, Sylvia was going to confide in her, and she didn’t want to hear those confidences or be a part of them. Little by little she inched away from Sylvia and leaned more toward Lily. Lily was safe. With Lily she didn’t have to think. Sylvia’s blatant independence and bravado made Lily roll her eyes in dismay. “She’s the most dependent person I know,” Lily had smiled at Dory over a casserole lunch on the day before Halloween. “If you took John away, she would cave in and wither up like an apple.”

Dory decided she almost liked Lily. Tolerating the plump young woman wasn’t as difficult as it had been in the beginning. Take today, for example. She hadn’t winced when Lily invited her for lunch to make scarecrows for the doorway. Halloween was such fun, she had said. Dory agreed, although she couldn’t remember ever having much fun on the children’s holiday. “It’s little Ricky’s first Halloween and I made him a Peter Cottontail costume,” Lily said. “I’m taking him trick-or-treating in the stroller so he can see all the children. You can’t start early enough with the little ones. I want him to be a part of everything and that includes Halloween.” Dory nodded agreeably. Griff was certainly going to be surprised when he came home this evening and saw her outdoor arrangement. She was handy and creative, as Lily pointed out. “You’ve changed since you got here, “ Lily smiled as she stuffed straw arms into a plaid shirt.

“How so?” Dory asked.

“When you first arrived you were New York City from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. You were like Sylvia would like to be but isn’t. Do you know what I mean? You had the clothes, the right hairstyle; by the way, would you like me to trim your hair? I’m real good at it. I always cut Rick’s hair.”

“Sure.” She giggled to herself. She wondered what her stylist at Vidal Sassoon would say if he could see Lily “trimming” her hair.

“Anyway, as I was saying, now you’re just like everyone else. You cook, you clean, you go to school, and you’ve come out of your shell. I bet Griff is happy with all you’ve been doing.”

Dory frowned. Was Griff happy with the things she had done? Or was he tolerating her? She wasn’t sure. He seemed to have changed too. The pressures of the new clinic and all, she told herself. He never seemed to want to go out unless it was to someone’s house. Money, she told herself. It always came down to money. She hated to see the look of concern on Griff’s face when he made out the bills. Perhaps she should have offered some of her money. Next month, she told herself. After all, she was buying the groceries and she had paid for all the decorating. Surely he didn’t expect more. He seemed drawn and tense these days. And twice a day he quizzed her about school and how she was doing. She found to her chagrin that she was beginning to lie, telling him she went to class when she stayed home to trim the plants and feed and water them. Or just to sit and read Redbook all by herself. She always felt guilty when she did something like that and then would outdo herself cooking a gastronomical feast for Griff.

“Is he?” Lily prodded.

“Is he what?” Dory asked, coming out of her reverie.

“Is he happy with the way you’ve taken over and turned that house into a home?”

“I think so. Griff doesn’t say much. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, and you know all three of the guys are uptight with the clinic. He comes home some nights and falls into bed exhausted. But I think he’s happy.” Dory spoke with more confidence than she felt.

“Well, I know one thing for certain. Rick says Griff’s so proud of you sometimes he gets on his nerves the way he talks about you.”

“Rick said that?” Dory’s eyes glowed like moonbeams at the words.

“That’s what it’s all about, Dory,” Lily said softly. “Taking pride in one another’s accomplishments. Griff is so pleased that you’re going to school and that one day you’ll hold your doctorate. He brags about you to John, too. Sylvia told me just the other day. By the way, what’s wrong with her? She seemed out of sorts.” Dory shrugged. She didn’t want to get into a discussion of Sylvia.

Lily finished the torso of her scarecrow and watched as Dory followed her instructions. She admitted to herself that she hadn’t liked Dory Faraday when she met her for the first time. She felt responsible for Dory’s transformation, as she called it. She didn’t feel at all guilty about subtly persuading Dory that her own lifestyle was far superior to Sylvia’s gypsy, freewheeling attitude. Her patience had been rewarded; Dory had become domesticated. Yes, she liked Dory Faraday much better now, and she would like her even more if only she wouldn’t withdraw at times into her own secret world. Meanwhile she would stand by and be the good friend that Dory needed. Who knows, she mused to herself, I may even talk her into marriage.

“I’m done, what do you think?” Dory asked as she propped her straw man next to Lily’s.

“Perfect,” Lily said as if she were talking to her prize pupil. “I want you to call me after Griff sees it and tell me what he says. Promise now,” she said, wagging her finger in the air.

“Okay. I’ve got to run now. I’m going to make that apple pie you gave me the recipe for. I bought the apples at the stand where you told me to go. While it’s baking I have some notes to transcribe. By the way, I took some cuttings from my plants. If you want them, you can stop by tomorrow. I’ll make lunch this time.”

“Wonderful. Now don’t forget to use the large pumpkin instead of the small one. By the way, what are you and Griff doing for Thanksgiving?”

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Rick and I would love to have you. We make a real big deal over the holidays. I’m having twenty people. We’d love it if you’d come,” she repeated.

“I’ll speak to Griff. If he’s agreeable, what can I bring?”

“Pies,” Lily said promptly. “Pumpkin, of course, and several of the apple quince I showed you how to make. A pecan one would be nice too, just to be different.”

Dory bent down to dangle her fingers at the baby and then looked around. Lily’s house was screamingly neat. She frowned. Something should be out of place. Some piece of lint on the carpet, something.

All the way back to the town house she thought about Lily and her neat house and about Sylvia who lived like the Queen of the Gypsies. The thoughts did nothing for her tense mood. She was getting a headache. She was getting a lot of headaches lately. And she had gained seven pounds. Seven pounds in all the wrong places. Griff had jabbed at her playfully and mentioned it. Womanly. She looked womanly. She banished the word matronly from her mind.





Griff sat in the clinic offices, a small puppy in his lap. He fondled the silky ears and knew he should put the little dog back in its cage. He should be doing a lot of things, like getting ready to go home. He glanced at his watch. It was after seven. He should have left an hour ago. There was no pressing business. Rick had seen to everything in the office and clinic before he left at five thirty. One thing about Rick, hell or high water, he left at five thirty on the dot. He had a family and regular hours were a must. Sit-down dinner was at six fifteen. By keeping regular hours he had a good thirty minutes to play and cuddle with his son. His family would always come first. He had been honest, laid it on the line with Griff and John, before he signed his share of the partnership.

Griff stared at the puppy, wondering what Dory was making for dinner. Six-course dinners were beginning to take their toll on his waistline and hers as well. Maybe a few hours of racquetball would do him some good. He’d call Dory and tell her he had to work late. Homemaker Dory would never understand that he would rather play racquetball than be with her. And it wasn’t true. He just wanted some time for himself, time to work off some hostility. God, now why had that word cropped up? What in hell did he have to feel hostile about? Nothing. Not a damn thing. That wasn’t exactly true either. His bank balance was precariously low. He was living like a prince, or maybe a king, due to Dory’s intense efforts, so he really shouldn’t complain, but he was going to have to. The rent and utilities were draining him. When the heat was turned on his bill would triple. Dory’s second-quarter tuition would be due, the holidays were around the corner, and he needed some new clothes. A long talk with Dory was called for. If not tonight, then by the weekend.

Still, he didn’t carry the puppy to its cage. This quiet time to himself was a balm. Everyone needed some space. When two people lived together they had a tendency to smother one another. That was it, he felt smothered. How it happened, how it got a foothold, he had no idea. Dory really was Superwoman. She went to class, worked on her papers at night, cooked, cleaned, and still managed to have a social life with Sylvia and Lily. If that was the case then why did he feel smothered? Was there such a thing as one person being too good to another? He loved her. God, how he loved her. If he searched the world over he could never find anyone he could love more. Then why the dissatisfaction? Why was he dragging his feet about going home? Why did he want to play racquetball? Why? Why? Maybe he needed a drink. He should call Dory. He really should.

The black and white puppy yipped its displeasure when he was put back in the cage. “It’s a cold, hard world out here, little guy. Be thankful you have a place to sleep,” Griff said softly as he shut the cage and turned off all but the nightlights.

Griff drove past the racquetball club and then made a U-turn and drove back. Cal Williams’s car was in the lot; there was no mistaking the ruby-red Ferarri. Cal could really give him a workout. He knew he should call Dory. Instead, he walked by the phone booth without a second glance.

When Griff walked into the kitchen a little after ten, he expected Dory to be fighting mad because her dinner was ruined. Instead, she smiled, laid aside the notes she was transcribing. He saw his dinner plate and silverware. “It’ll only take a minute to warm in the microwave. Go along and take your shower. Would you like a drink?”

“Not really. How about a diet soda?”

Dory frowned. “I don’t think we have any. Sylvia had the last bottle yesterday. How about some coffee or beer?”

“Ice water. I have to start watching my weight. All this rich food is going straight to my waist. That Sylvia really does watch her figure, doesn’t she?” he asked, looking pointedly at Dory.

“Yes, she does. But, Griff, she’s like a stringy hen.”

“I never noticed,” he said blandly. “I’m not all that hungry, so don’t make much for me.” He opted for the truth. “I played racquetball and picked up a hot dog with Cal Williams.”

“Oh, is that where you were. I thought you were working late. Why didn’t you call me? I would have waited on dinner.”

Now. Now the fireworks would start. Instead, Dory grinned. “Who won?”

“He did. He’s in shape. He noticed the weight I put on and ribbed me all night. Cut down, Dory, forget the pies and bread and give me salads and chicken.” His tone was cooler and more curt than he intended. Dory’s face fell. She looked guilty and frightened. God, why should she look frightened? “Hey, it’s not the end of the world. I’ve always been weight conscious, you know that. You used to be too. Somewhere, somehow, we’ve gotten off the track. Let’s get back on before we get to the point where it’s hard to take the pounds off.” He watched carefully for her reaction. There was none. She moved away from the stove and stared at him for a minute.

“I can fix you some chicken if you want. It won’t take long.”

“No. Just some salad. In fact, I don’t even want salad. I feel bad that you cooked all this food.” And spent all this money, he thought.

“It’s no problem. If you’re sure you don’t want anything, I’ll get back to my work.”

Goddamn it, Griff thought as the needle-sharp spray attacked him. She made him feel guilty. Then he grinned. A tiff. They were having a tiff and what fun it would be to make up.

Dory was usually the first one in bed, her arms and body waiting for him. Tonight, she elected to stay in the kitchen to work. Christ, was she going to start holding him off when something didn’t set right with her? He hated the thought. Hated the impulse that came over him to run downstairs and take her in his arms. Hated the thought that he would even go so far as eating the food he didn’t want. He gave the pillow a vicious punch and then another. He rolled over and tried to sleep. He was still wide awake at three o’clock when Dory crept into bed. She lay so far to the edge he thought she would fall out of bed if she moved. He wanted to gather her in his arms and make love to her. Her stiff body told him she might agree but it would be on her terms. There was no giving in her this evening. Jesus. Women! He closed his eyes and eventually slept.

Warm tears soaked into the satiny pillowcase. What did I do, she cried silently. And he never noticed the scarecrow leaning crookedly against the front door.