Balancing Act

chapter Nine


Dory fussed with the evergreen boughs over the fireplace in the living room, adjusting a bright red bow and shiny glass ornaments. Aunt Pixie sat curled up on the sofa, watching her, from time to time complaining about the “absolutely fattening” aroma coming from the kitchen as dinner simmered in expectation of Griff’s arrival home.

“How does the house look, Pix? Think Griff will approve?”

Pixie snorted in her most unladylike fashion. “Dear heart, you are sleeping with the man. You should know what he likes and doesn’t like, not I. Are you always so uncertain where this young man of yours is concerned?”

Dory winced. “Ouch! Right to the point, Pix. No, I know what he likes in bed well enough. I was wondering about the decorations.”

“If he exhibits the same good taste as myself, he’ll think they’re atrocious. Don’t you think you’ve overdone it, Dory?” Pixie’s keen eyes circled the room, taking in the extravagant and, to her mind, tacky Christmas cheer. “If you were so set upon using poinsettias, why didn’t you buy real ones? Silk is overrated, don’t you think?”

Dory laughed. “I suppose you’re right, but the real ones need so much care. This way, I’ll be able to use them again next year.”

Pixie raised an eyebrow and studied her niece. “Next year? Do you mean to say you intend to make a uniform out of those faded jeans and that fuzzy sweater you’re wearing? God, Dory, will it take you a year to see what’s becoming of you?”

Dory bristled. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with a woman loving her home and her man and taking the best possible care of both? Honestly, Pix, sometimes you make me feel that if I’m not wearing an Albert Nipon original I’m no one at all! I’ve had enough of juggling a career and a private life. I’m happy! Leave me alone, okay?”

“And Griff?” Pixie asked. Obviously the thrust of her question was lost on Dory. Pixie wanted to know if Dory thought Griff was happy with these changes in the woman he had fallen in love with.

“Griff’s wonderful,” Dory answered, “and you know you love him. He’s a terrific man and he adores you.” Pixie sniffed. “I’m into old smoothies myself. He isn’t one of those, what do they call them, those macho types?”

“Jocks? No. He’s just a great guy. Levelheaded. Warm and kind, loves his work. You barely met him in New York. You’ll love him when you get to know him. Any guy who loves animals is okay. Animals have a sense about people.”

“How can you say that, Dory?” Pixie demanded as she drained her drink.

“Very easily. It’s true. Everyone knows that animals have a keen instinct and trust only reliable, likable people.”

“Then how do you explain that Saint Bernard attacking me ten years ago when we were vacationing in Maine? I still think your mother sicced that dog on me.”

“You were carrying the brandy bottle. All that dog wanted to do was lick your face. That dog was a real love. He was Mother’s shadow for a good many years.”

“Yeah, until he . . . never mind, your mother is a lovely woman . . . most of the time . . . like when she isn’t minding my business. She’s never approved of me. She’s going to kill herself with all that golf she plays. What are we going to drink when this brandy is gone?” Pixie complained as she shook the empty bottle, “cough syrup?”

Dory tried to keep a straight face. Her mother and aunt’s battles had been going on for years. “How about some vodka or gin? I have some bourbon. I think it’s a hundred proof. Almost as good as your white lightning. You know something, Pix, you’re fast.” Dory grinned as Pixie trotted into the kitchen toting a bottle of bourbon.

“I hope this was a good year for bourbon,” Pixie said, breaking the seal on the bottle. “I never really got into bourbon. But when in Rome . . .”

“I could have Griff stop and pick up some more Scotch on his way home.”

“What? And have him think I’m a drunk? Never. I’ll suffer with this bourbon.” Dory watched in awe as Pixie filled her wineglass almost to the brim.

“He’d never think that, Pix. And if he did, he’s too much of a gentleman to say so.”

“What kind of wine are you serving with dinner? And what is that mess you keep stirring?”

“Red. And this is stew. Very nourishing, lots of vitamins. Crusty French bread and a cherry pie. I baked the pie last month and put it in the freezer.”

“I can’t eat all that,” Pixie said in horror. “What time will Griff be here?”

“Any minute now. Move over so I can set the table.”

“You mean you don’t use paper plates? Who’s going to wash all these dishes?”

“The dishwasher. Don’t worry, I remember that soapy water makes brown spots on your hands. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do dishes.”

“You’re such a wonderful child,” Pixie said, tilting the bourbon bottle.

Griff arrived minutes later. Dory stood by and watched while Pixie and Griff gave each other a big hug.

“What are you drinking?” Griff asked. “Looks good. How about making a tired man a Scotch and water?”

“She can’t. There isn’t any more,” Pixie said, sipping at her drink.

“Oh, I thought we had a full bottle. That’s okay, how about some brandy?”

“There isn’t any,” Pixie said.

Griff nodded. “What you’re saying is you drank the Scotch and the brandy, and if I want a drink, I better take some of this bourbon or that’s going to be gone too.”

“You got it. And when that’s gone it’s cough syrup for the both of us. I do like a fully stocked liquor cabinet,” Pixie complained.

“I thought I had one.” Griff grinned at Dory.

“That’s right, you did, but you had nothing in reserve. That’s the keyword, reserve.”

“I’ll remember that. Where are you going with all those suitcases? Looks like the Grand Tour.”

“I’m going to Hong Kong to get married.”

Griff choked and sputtered. Dory wasn’t sure if it was Pixie’s declaration or that he had just happened to notice her fringed Indian slippers.

“Who . . . who’s the lucky man?”

“Probably a gentleman of dubious nature. I haven’t met him yet. Don’t look so shocked. We’ve been pen pals for a while. He writes a mean letter, or at least that’s what the man at the Chinese embassy tells me. He translates them for me since they’re written in Chinese.”

Dory filled a bowl with stew and set it in the middle of the table. A long loaf of crusty bread and a small crock of butter, along with a plate of fresh cut vegetables, were set on a mat near Pixie.

“I’ll just pick,” she said, filling her plate to the edge. “This girl is a whiz, a pure whiz. I had no idea you could cook like this, Dory. You must be very proud of her, young man.”

Pixie made a pretense of sipping at her drink while she watched Griff’s face. His eyes were blank and his face actually stilled. It was the first time she had ever seen that happen. A writer says such things in a novel, and the reader tries to imagine what a face looks like when it stills. Now Pixie was actually seeing it happen. Nothing moved on Griff’s face. Then he smiled, but the blank look remained in his eyes. “Very proud. Wait till you taste the cherry pie.”

“I have no intention of tasting the cherry pie. It’s obscene to serve pie after a big meal like this,” Pixie said as she ripped off a chunk of bread. “I can only eat the center or one of my four partials will come unglued.”

“That makes sense,” Griff said.

“I’ll donate an emergency room to your clinic if you can use one. Do animals have emergency rooms? I want my name over the door. Is that okay with you?”

Griff swallowed hard, his eyes imploringly on Dory. Was the old lady so plastered she didn’t know what she was saying or did she mean it? Dory kept on eating, refusing to meet his gaze. “I . . . I think that can be arranged. Our clinic is new and we could certainly use another room. Are you sure you want to do this? What I mean is, you don’t have to feel you . . .” he floundered for words.

“What you’re trying to say in a tactful manner, young man, is you think I’m blitzed and tomorrow I won’t remember. Ha! I can hold my liquor and I get my liver checked once a month at the same time I go to the proctologist. At my age you can’t leave anything to chance. When I told the doctor about these headaches he told me to stop reading. Eyestrain. So simple and I was so worried. This wine is terrible, Dory. Of course I’ll remember. I love animals. Animals have a sense about people . . . don’t they, Dory?”

“Have some more bourbon,” Griff offered. Dory continued to stare at her plate.

“With stew? Goodness, a body could get sick doing something like that. Maybe with my coffee.” Pixie leaned back in her chair and lit a cigarette. “Are you sure now that my name will be over the door of the emergency room? And the word ‘Emergency’ clearly painted on the door. That’s a must. I love to do good deeds as long as everyone knows I do them. I never hide my light in a closet.”

“That’s under a bushel, Pix,” Dory said.

“Whatever. I’ll call a banker in the morning before I leave. Send me a picture. A colored one, and then another one when the first patient is treated.”

“I’ll do that,” Griff gasped.

“I told you, Dory, I couldn’t eat any of that pie. My God, there must be at least a thousand calories in one piece. Nuts and raisins, too. A small piece, I’ll just pick.”

When Dory carried the last dish to the dishwasher Pixie got up from the table. “I fear one of those damnable headaches is coming on. Dory, you should have stopped me from reading the National Enquirer.”

Griff was full of concern for Dory’s aunt. “I have some strong headache pills. Can I get you a couple? I know what it is to get a headache.”

“Good heavens, no. Medicine of any kind never touches this body,” Pixie said. “I’ll just take this bourbon with me in case I need something to make me sleep. You can always count on a good bourbon to put you to sleep. Dory, it was a wonderful dinner; even though I just picked I could tell. Don’t get up, dear boy, these feet can still find the way.” With a wild flourish she picked up the bourbon bottle and succeeded in knocking the crust off the cherry pie. She grabbed a piece of the crust to “nibble” on and made her way to her room.

Griff cleared his throat. “Tell me she’s real. The truth now.”

In spite of herself Dory laughed. “She’s about as real as they come. She grows on you is what she does.”

“Are you telling me she’s serious about the emergency room?”

“She takes her ‘good deeds’ as seriously as she does her drinking. If I were you, though, I’d make sure her name is very big. Very big. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure it gets in the papers. She’s big on papers too. Especially the National Enquirer. She reads it from cover to cover.”

“What say you and I have a drink in front of the fire? I have to unwind after that lady. She’s a piece of work, your aunt. Or did she drink all the good stuff? What do you two have planned?”

Dory giggled. “Every last drop. I can make us some hot chocolate. There’s some hot coffee left. We’re just going to wing it. Visit. Talk. Old times, that kind of thing. Why do you ask?”

Griff rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a thin envelope. “Here, I finally remembered to pick up the theater tickets you wanted. Why don’t you and Pixie go. You won’t miss me. The two of you will have a ball.”

Dory’s entire body froze. How cool he was being. How blasé. He didn’t want to go to the theater with her. Not anymore. Before he would have gone simply to please her and pretend he was enjoying himself. Was it too much effort to pretend these days? And that look of relief on his face when he held out the tickets to her. Maybe she was being unfair. Maybe Griff was simply being generous in giving up the tickets so Pixie could enjoy herself. Don’t think about it now, her inner voice warned.

“What’s it going to be, hot chocolate or coffee?” she asked brightly.

“It’s not a drink I want, it’s you. Come on, woman, let’s you and me snuggle up in front of the fire and make wild, passionate love.”

Dory linked her arm in Griff’s. “Best offer I’ve had all day. I’m going to hold you to that wild part.”

Griff smiled lecherously. “You’re on.”

“But not in front of the fire. Pix might hear us. Up in our room, okay?”

“Okay.” Griff’s voice was husky and sexy and his arms were warm and so strong.

Dory’s eyes went to the unfinished dishes. “Give me a minute and I’ll be right up.” She pushed him toward the doorway. “Two minutes,” she called after him, rushing back to the sink to rinse out the coffee cups and put the milk and pie in the fridge. One chore led to another and it was nearly twenty minutes before she climbed the stairs to their room and the softly glowing fire Griff had lit. He was sprawled on their bed, head cradled in his arms, fast asleep.





There was a sadness in Pixie’s eyes when she said her good-byes at the airport. She clutched her Christmas gift tightly in mittened hands. “Pix, you’re the only woman in the world who would wear mittens with a sable coat. I hope your first entry in the journal proves to be memorable,” Dory whispered as she hugged the old lady, careful not to disturb the freshly curled wig. “Write. Send it to Mom’s house and she’ll see that I get it.”

“Gotcha.” Pixie kissed Griff soundly and waved airily to Dory as she bounded up the ramp behind a group of chattering youngsters.

Entering the town house the couple was assaulted with the scent of fresh evergreens. “I love it, reminds me of when I was a kid. I still can’t believe you put that tree up yourself. You are absolutely amazing,” Griff said, kissing her softly on the neck. “Hmmmmn, you do wild, wonderful things to me. Let’s forget dinner and go to bed. We haven’t been spending enough time together and it’s all my fault. I didn’t realize we were going to be so damn busy. Usually, when you open a clinic like ours it takes a good year to become established. I guess John’s and Rick’s fame has spread. I was the one who got that colt to nurse, though. There was a congenital obstruction in the pharynx, which required emergency surgery. Almost lost the little beauty. It was touch and go for a few hours.”

“That’s wonderful, Griff.”

“Nothing like success to make you feel on top of the world. I could slay dragons right now or make love to the most beautiful girl in the world. I think I like girls better than slaying dragons.”

“I should hope so. What say we shower together? You soap me, I soap you.” Dory grinned devilishly.

“Now I know that’s the best offer I’ve had in over a week.”

“Has it been a week?”

“It has, but that’s only if you’re counting.” It was a week. A week today, as a matter of fact. Dory couldn’t be so caught up in her own world that she didn’t know or care how long it had been. The thought bothered him and took the edge off his excitement. Dory’s sexual appetites were as healthy and lusty as his own.

Their lovemaking was animal-like in its intensity. As he drifted off to sleep Griff felt vaguely cheated somehow. Dory lay wide awake. Why was it sex put men to sleep and awakened women? She lay quietly trying to decipher how she felt. Certainly not unloved. Griff had said the right words, done the right things, so why did she have to “figure out” how she felt? She should know. She should be feeling something, some afterglow, some invisible high that all lovers felt, that she used to feel. Instead, she felt . . . her mind sought for the right word . . . impatient.

Dory’s last conscious thought before drifting off to sleep was that she envied Pixie and her free spirit ways.

Griff roused Dory when he finished showering. “Don’t you have an early morning class today?”

“Hmmmmmm,” Dory replied.

“Up and at ’em, tiger, let’s go.” Griff jabbed at her playfully. “We all have to work. Remember that old adage, ‘He who does not contribute does not eat.’ ”

All semblance of sleep was gone. While his voice might sound playful, Dory caught the nuance that said it just wasn’t so. “All right,” she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her next thought came out of nowhere. “Griff, I’m going to take the shuttle into New York. There’s one that leaves around twelve or so. I’ll try to make it back tonight, but if I get held up, I’ll return first thing in the morning.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say she hoped he didn’t mind. Instead, she left it as the statement of fact she intended.

Griff paused in the act of tying his dark tie. “Great,” he said. “Have a ball and I think you should stay overnight. Don’t worry about me, I can get something to eat from Ollie’s Trolley on the way home.”

Dory refused to think about Griff’s exuberance as she showered. She would not think about it. No way was she going to touch that one.

D-Day. Red X day. Time to keep her word and get in touch with Lizzie. Time to speak to Katy. Time for a trip to Soiree. Time to drag David Harlow out of the dark recesses of her mind.

Two weeks till New Year’s. Two weeks and one day. The new year, a time to cast the old aside and bring in the new. Decision time.

An hour later the king-sized bed resembled a harem in disarray. Clothes and shoes were everywhere. Dejectedly, Dory sat on the edge of the bed. Nothing fit. At that moment she would have sold her body for a skirt with an elastic waist. If she started playing with moving buttons or half pulling zippers she would throw the line of the garment off. And her hair, God, what a mess. Freshly shampooed would do nothing for the old luster. How long had it been since she patronized a beauty shop and had a rinse, just for highlights? Ages. Lily’s home barbershop could hardly be called a salon. She was a mess. Lord, even some of her shoes were tight across the instep. That was from running around in scruffy sneakers all day.

Eyeing the confusion all around her, Dory felt angry . . . and impatient. Angry that she had allowed things to get to this point and impatient to be on her way to the city.

A curling iron might help. Her fox coat, if she kept it on, would certainly camouflage her weight gain. Makeup would be no problem. She did look a little puffy around the eyes, but by the time she was ready to leave the swelling would be gone.

Pixie should be halfway to Hong Kong by now. The thought made Dory smile. Go for it, Pix, because if you don’t, there ain’t no one out there gonna do it for you.

Dory had enjoyed the long talks she’d had with Pixie during her three-day visit. Not once had Pixie even attempted to tell her what to do. She listened and then prattled on about her own adventures and misadventures. Always her piercing gaze would lock with Dory’s to be sure she was getting her subtle messages.

It was another hour before Dory returned all the clothes to their scented hangers and piled the shoes back in their marked boxes. She made the bed and straightened the bathroom. Makeup was applied swiftly and deftly; the curling iron whizzed through her hair to create a slight curl, which she misted with hairspray. She wasn’t exactly like the old Dory but she could pass a quick muster.

Dory checked her purse for her checkbook, her wallet, and an ample supply of tissues. She wouldn’t take an overnight bag. If she decided to stay in New York she would take a quick run to Saks and pick up a few things. The Christmas-gift check from Pixie, which was almost sufficient for a down payment on a house, was folded carefully. Citibank would applaud her when she deposited the check. Pixie’s brand of security.

The thermostat was adjusted, all the lights off, the garage door open, the car warming up, the coffeepot unplugged. She felt an unexpected exhilaration as she closed the door behind her. Mechanically, she tried the knob to be certain it was locked.

Dory drove to the airport and parked the car, pocketed the parking stub and walked to the entrance. Standing in line at the ticket counter, she impatiently watched the round clock high on the wall tick off the minutes. If things didn’t speed up, she would miss the flight that was due to take off for New York in less than twenty minutes.

As the ticket agent completed arrangements with a traveler and the line moved forward, Dory suddenly became aware of someone watching her. Turning to her left, she focused on a tall, well-dressed gentleman, who was brazenly focusing on her. Dory felt a surge of sudden confidence. She knew the soft grays and silvers of the natural fox coat did wonders for her pale blond hair, and the bright raspberry silk blouse with its complementary wool tweed skirt offset the pink of her cheeks. Although her black Etienne Aigner boots were still feeling tight across the instep, they were the finishing touch to her outfit.

The man, dressed in a dark brown suit, with a luxurious overcoat of brushed suede, continued to stare approvingly in Dory’s direction. It felt good to be admired and she warmed to a flush in spite of herself. She knew she would only have to give him a glance of encouragement and he would approach her. Not in the habit of picking up men in airports, Dory forced herself to look away. Was she so desperate for approval that she would resort to flirting with total strangers? Still, there was something about this man she recognized; she had seen him somewhere before; she knew she had. Where? Through the advertising department at Soiree? At Lincoln Center? Skating in Rockefeller Center? A touch on her arm.

“Excuse me,” a deep masculine voice was saying, “I believe you dropped this.” He held up one of her slim leather gloves.

Searching through her pockets, Dory realized he was correct. “Thank you. I’m always losing gloves. I suppose I should pin them to my sleeves the way Mother did when I was a little girl.” Looking into his startlingly clear blue eyes, Dory felt her smile deepen. She realized with a certain alarm that this stranger was still holding the hand into which he had pressed her glove. He was tall, good-looking, and his obvious interest in her was flattering.

“By any chance do you have a few minutes for a cup of coffee? I feel as though I’ve been struck by Kismet.” The blue eyes captured hers, making her heart race with excitement. There was a certain confidence about this man, as though he could instantly recognize what he wanted and could unerringly set his course for it. The words “charisma” and “power” kept bouncing through Dory’s brain.

“I would like that,” she told him honestly, “however, my plane leaves in a very few minutes. I’m going to New York.” Now why had she told him that?

His disappointment was obvious. “Perhaps when you return to the capital then?” he asked, reaching into his inside jacket pocket to give her his card. “Please, call me. I’ve only just found you and you’re flying away.”

The ticket agent interrupted, “Can I help you? Miss? Did you wish to purchase a ticket?”

Flustered, Dory stepped up to the counter. “I’m sorry . . . I mean . . . I must go.”

“You have my card, call, won’t you?” A small salute and he was gone.

The ticket agent smiled warmly, noticing the situation between Dory and the handsome man who was now walking out of the terminal. In purchasing her ticket and rummaging through her purse for her American Express card, Dory never noticed that the business card he had given her had fallen to the floor.





On the forty-five-minute flight to New York Dory thought about her encounter with the stranger. It felt good to be admired. Just a bit of harmless flirting, she told herself, feeling slightly guilty about Griff, knowing that if she’d had the time she would have joined the stranger for coffee. Harmless flirting, she told herself. It was silly to keep thinking of the man as a stranger; he’d given her his card and his name would be on it. Suddenly, very, very curious about who he was and what he did for a living, she searched the pocket of her coat for his business card. It was gone. Lost. She had lost it, and some niggling fear told her she was losing her grip on more than just a card handed her by a stranger.