Anything You Can Do

chapter 7



"Power suits!" Bailey exclaimed as she threw the third one onto her bed.

She'd never noticed until she started dressing that Monday morning how austere most of her wardrobe was. Other than the suits, several pairs of blue jeans, and a rack of T-shirts from competitive runs, all she had was the dress her mother had given her for her last birthday, the one she'd worn to Gordon's on Saturday night.

Samantha vaulted onto the bed and sniffed the pile. "However, severe colors and somber lines are necessary for the old career, and that's what's important. Right?"

Samantha pawed daintily at a navy blue pinstripe lapel, tilted her nose into the air then curled into a ball on the jacket.

"Nobody likes a know-it-all." Bailey pulled out an old faithful black suit. If she left the top button on her blouse open, maybe it would lessen the severity.

She donned the outfit and studied her image in the dresser mirror. Eyes and hair sitting atop a black tube. Lips and face so pale as to be almost invisible.

Except—she peered closer—for a couple of freckles on her nose. Damn! The sun made her hair redder, but did it give her face any color? Not unless you counted the freckles.

A few minutes in the bathroom with her limited supply of cosmetics helped a little. The foundation was so old, she had to add water to be able to use it. The freckles still seemed to stand out, and the blusher made her look like a clown. She washed her face.

"Paula!" She charged through the door to find her friend sitting at the dining room table, holding a cup of coffee in one hand, her head cradled in the other.

Paula peered at Bailey through half-closed eyes then broke into a sleepy but smug grin. "Good morning. Did you have pleasant dreams last night?"

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

Paula shrugged. "I can see you."

"So what can I do? I look terrible."

Paula sat up straight, took a drink of coffee, and studied Bailey for a moment, then shrugged again. "You look like you always look, except your blouse is unbuttoned.''

Bailey threw her arms into the air. "So I always look awful, is that what you're saying?"

"Oh, now I get it," Paula drawled, staggering to her feet. "Come with me. I've got just the thing for you."

Thirty minutes later, hair fluffy from electric curlers, a brightly patterned scarf lending color to her suit, and soft shadows and mascara making her eyes large and bright, Bailey studied herself in the hall bathroom mirror.

The makeup was okay. She still looked like herself, but like the new, improved version. Trouble was, she felt like the same old Bailey inside. If she looked prettier, shouldn't she feel prettier?

Paula appeared in the mirror behind her, straightened the scarf, and draped an arm around her shoulders. "Now you just need to act more like a lady and Austin will be bowled over by your new look and new outlook."

"What makes you think this has anything to do with Austin?" Was she so obvious?

"Oh, just coincidentally the morning after you make love with a man, you suddenly start worrying about your appearance."

Bailey's leg muscles seemed to wilt, and she sank onto the edge of the bathtub. She was being blatantly silly. This wouldn't do at all. She had to regain control, approach and deal with this strange attraction in a rational, intelligent manner.

She stood, leaned over the sink, turned on the water, and grabbed a bar of soap.

"What are you doing?" Paula snatched the soap away from her.

"Getting ready to wash my face so I can go to work."

"Bailey, what's the matter with you? What's so horrible about being in love? I always enjoy it myself, even if it only lasts for a few minutes—until I get to know the guy with the great smile who turns out to have the personality of a cardboard cutout."

"Don't be absurd. How could I possibly love a man who argues with everything I say?" Bailey started to brush past her friend, to go to her own bathroom and wash her face, but Paula grabbed her arm.

"Right. Making love with men you don't care about is something you do on a regular basis. Bailey Russell, you seem to forget you're talking to someone who remembers you from pre-training-pants days. So cut the garbage."

Bailey sighed then shrugged, deciding to admit to half the truth. "I saw myself in the mirror this morning and I didn't like it. Maybe I'm having a midlife crisis a little early, that's all. As for being in love, you, of all people, should know that's something I don't do very well."

"You haven't practiced much, that's for sure." Paula plopped onto the side of the tub, patting the area beside her. "Sit here and talk to me."

Reluctantly Bailey joined her. "What's to talk about? I think I've always been a realistic person, capitalized on my strong points, worked around the weaknesses. While I'm a fairly good attorney and a decent runner, I'd have made a lousy opera singer. We all lack abilities in certain areas. Relationships with parties of the opposite sex is one of my areas of deficit."

"And just why do you suppose that is?"

At least Paula hadn't come across with any reassuring cliches.

"How do I know why? Why don't I have a voice suitable for the opera? Why can't I dance?"

"Think, Bailey. Use that brain you're so proud of. Consider that you're a beautiful, successful, bright woman."

"Okay, now you're getting into the con job. If I'm beautiful, how come men never ask me out? No, Paula, I'm not pretty like you, and I don't know what to say to interest a man. I gave up trying a long time ago, and I will not make a fool—a bigger fool—of myself with Austin. Now, I'm going to wash my face and go to work, and the subject is closed."

She stood up, but Paula's voice stopped her from leaving.

"No, you're not pretty like me. I'm cute. You're drop-dead gorgeous in spite of the way you dress and chop your hair. The reason men don't ask you out is because you're obnoxious."

Bailey whirled in amazement. “I am not!"

Paula shrugged. "Okay. Will you settle for competitive and intimidating? What man could possibly feel like he's a match for you except maybe Austin?"

"Austin and I are natural enemies. We can't be together five minutes without fighting."

"Not quite true," Paula disagreed. "What you two do is compete, something that's as natural as breathing for both of you. But lighten up a little. Try to hold it down to ninety percent of the time. Play nice once in a while."

Bailey stood in the doorway, trying to take in what Paula had said, to decide if any of it had validity, if it mattered.

"Go on and wash your face," Paula finally said, waving her hand dismissively. "The makeup isn't integral to the situation, anyway. Only if it makes you feel different about yourself."

*~*~*

Austin leaned across the conference table. "Right here in Article Three," he said, pointing with his Montblanc pen. Daniel Lewis, sitting at the other end of the table, scowled.

Sitting next to him, Stafford Morris nodded slowly. The man actually seemed to be considering the merger offer. At least he hadn't rejected it outright, and he hadn't blown smoke in Austin's face even once.

Morris flipped through the papers then folded them and stood. "I'll read through your offer," he promised, "and submit it to the other partners for consideration."

Austin nodded agreeably. "Certainly. I think you'll find it advantageous for both firms. You have some good attorneys, some old-line clients, but you're not taking new ground like we are. The legal field is changing. It's a business, has to be run like a business. We plan to be so large that we'll handle all our clients' needs, have a department for everything. One-stop shopping."

Stafford listened quietly then took a cigar out of his shirt pocket and lit up. Squinting through the smoke, he grinned around the rolled tobacco, leisurely took it from his mouth. "I'll look it over. Daniel—" He nodded to the older man. "Good to see you. Give my best to Rose."

At the elevator Daniel Lewis was distracted by another associate, and Austin seized the opportunity. ''This merger would be very interesting for me," he told Morris. "I applied for a position with your firm when I got out of law school. Gordon and I came in together."

"I remember," Morris said evenly. "You were all wound up and ready to conquer the world. A lot like the young lady I'd just hired, Bailey Russell. I knew one of you was enough, and I was right. It takes Gordon to balance with her."

Austin wasn't sure he was hearing right. "You're saying you hire lawyers on the basis of personality?"

Morris blew smoke just to the right of Austin's ear.

The man was smiling, not with his mouth, but with all the rest of his face. "A law firm's like a family. Everybody has a different role, but they all have to work together. It's not a machine you can plug available parts into." The elevator doors opened and Morris stepped on, turned, and lifted one hand in a wave to Lewis, but his words were for Austin. "You were too damned pushy then. You're still too damned pushy."

The doors closed. After several seconds, Austin blinked, turned, and headed back to his office.

He had lost out on the job because he would have clashed with Bailey, because Morris considered him as pushy as she was, not because he wasn't bright enough or didn't have enough honors or good enough grades. He had been rejected because he tried too hard. He needed to think about that for a while.

Slumping into his chair, he pulled up to his desk and stared sightlessly at the papers in front of him. It was not, he believed, possible to be "too damned pushy" in the legal field. Morris was wrong about that. Anyway, the man was as pushy as they came. He apparently just had a problem with perception.

Austin leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet to his desk. So he hadn't really lost on getting that job. Morris had made a judgmental decision based on his skewed perception of the problem.

Maybe not so skewed after all. Morris was right about one thing. He and Bailey couldn't seem to get along. But that had to be her fault, not his. The other women he'd dated hadn't acted like her. They didn't argue with him every time he opened his mouth. They didn't try to win at every game or sport. They didn't have some smart answer for everything. They didn't make him feel vital and alive. They didn't have big green eyes, soft, full lips, fiery hair, a sleek body—

Austin caught himself smiling. Okay, so Bailey wasn't a typical female, and he got pretty irritated with her sometimes. Nevertheless, there was definitely an attraction. And, damn it, he knew she felt it too, in spite of her inexplicable actions after the most incredible lovemaking he'd ever experienced, actions that had kept him awake half the night trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

He flipped forward in his chair. If he was pushy, then so be it. He'd call Bailey and ask her outright what the problem was. He snatched up the phone and dialed the number for Hoskins, Grier. But when the receptionist answered, he swallowed twice then asked to speak to Gordon.

Well, that should prove Stafford Morris was wrong. He couldn't even push himself into a confrontation with Bailey.

"Busy for lunch?" he asked when Gordon answered.

The three of them at lunch, that would be a safe situation. He could work up from there.

"I'm trying to get a brief put together, so I guess I'll just have my secretary bring me a sandwich today."

Austin hesitated then laughed. "Very funny. You working on a brief? Ha ha. How about we go over to the hotel and have a leisurely lunch? I guess your prickly friend will be there too. Bailey, I mean. And that's fine. I don't have a problem with that."

"Austin, I'm not making a joke. This thing's been on my desk forever, and I need to finish it. It's time for me to get serious about my career, make something of myself. I'm thirty years old and what have I done with my life?"

Since it was unlikely somebody was holding a gun to Gordon's head to make him say those things, there must be a logical reason. "If you're worried about the merger, don't be."

"I'm not worried about the merger. Look, you've always worked this hard. It's about time I got started. Anyway, when Paula finds out her Prince Charming is not only an attorney but an unsuccessful attorney, she may not be very charmed."

The man was serious. Since Austin had been preaching to Gordon for years about buckling down, he couldn't understand the bleak feeling that settled over him, as if he'd just lost a friend.

"Good for you," he said, though his words sounded phony even to himself. "So how about a few drinks after work?"

"I'll probably be staying here late. Maybe another time. "

Austin hung up the phone, feeling suddenly alone. He drummed his fingers on his desk, shuffled a few papers, then decided to wander over to the deli at lunch and see if Bailey was there. Maybe check out a couple of the other local places if she wasn’t at the deli. An accidental meeting would work.

*~*~*

Bailey couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd finally found Gordon in the library, taking notes from a law book. That was strange enough, but then he'd actually told her, with a straight face, that he was going to work through lunch.

Of all days for him to have a psychotic attack! She'd worn the bloody makeup to work and even received a few scattered compliments, but if Gordon wouldn't help her get within Austin's viewing range, how would she ever know if he approved? And how could she possibly be nice to the man if she couldn't get within speaking distance of him?

"I'll help you with that work later," she offered. "Let's go eat. I'm starving. And you need a break. You can't work continually. Wears your brain out."

"You're one to talk! How many times have I tried to pry you out of your office? Now it's my turn. Go away and let me concentrate."

He returned his attention to the legal tome in front of him, and Bailey moved away from the door.

"You look nice today," he called after her.

Great, she thought. I look nice today. But it's a cinch this blasted makeup won't last through the night and into another day.

Maybe she should treat this like any other incident in her life and take the bull by the horns. Call Austin and see if he wanted to…what? After last night, even asking him to go for a run might sound suggestive. A noon date, with its connotations, was clearly out of the question.

She marched back into her office, slumped in her chair, and ground her teeth. Okay, so she couldn't count on Gordon to help. How else could she arrange for an accidental meeting? Maybe she could kind of wander through the area restaurants at lunch, and if she saw him eating, he might ask her to join him. If he didn't—and he might not after the rude way she'd acted the night before—well, she'd cross that bridge when she came to it. No point inventing problems before they arose.

*~*~*

Half an hour later Bailey stood in front of the counter at a deli down the street from her office, ready to give up her quest. She looked from the prepared sandwiches, squashed in their cellophane wrappers, to her reflection in the mirror behind the counter. The sandwiches pretty much reflected the way she looked and felt, except they were cool in their refrigerated case and she couldn't recall ever having been hotter.

She'd never before realized there were so many places to eat within walking distance of the office, and not a sign of Austin in any of them. Just as well, she thought, staring back at the creature in the mirror, the one with a shiny, flushed face, flattened hair, and raccoon eyes.

"Chicken salad sandwich," she told the clerk as he approached her. Accepting the shapeless lump, she gave the man a ten-dollar bill.

"Well, hello."

Bailey jumped at the sound of the voice behind her and whirled to see Austin. He looked cool and crisp in his white, short sleeved shirt, tie loose at his throat, jacket draped over his shoulder. She felt frumpy and disheveled.

"Hi, yourself. Out for a little lunch?" Great conversation, stupid, she berated herself. What else would he be doing in a deli at this time of day?

"Yes," he answered politely. "Care to join me?" They both looked down at the sandwich she was clutching so hard her fingers were making indentations.

"Your change, ma'am," the man behind the counter announced, extending a pudgy hand beside her face.

"Oh!" Distractedly she folded the dollar bills and the sandwich and dropped everything into her shoulder bag. Only when she saw the puzzled look on Austin's face as his gaze followed her actions did she realize what she'd done.

This wasn't going at all well. She had to get out of there. "Well, got to run," she stammered. "Nice to see you again."

Proud of herself for at least remembering her manners, she stretched her dry lips into a smile. In an attempt to maintain some semblance of poise, she wheeled away from him in a ballerina-type twirl, but somehow both feet ended up in the same spot. She staggered forward, caught her balance on a table, and race-walked toward the door, afraid to look back.

"Bailey!"

Austin's voice was the last thing she heard as she plunged out the door. The steamy heat slapped her in the face about the same time she realized her polite gesture was meaningless since she hadn't even replied to Austin's invitation. In addition to being a total klutz, she'd been unconscionably rude—again. She definitely had no business trying to play this boy-girl game. She'd best get on with the things she knew how to do or, at least, was capable of learning.

But even as she beat a retreat to the sanctuary of her office, an irritating thought niggled at her, a thought that she wasn't going to give up. Whether running, swimming, or making love, the way Austin set all her senses spinning, made her feel she'd just conquered Mount Everest, was enough to keep her trying to win at this game she knew nothing about.

*~*~*

The incessant ringing of the telephone finally broke into Bailey's concentration, and she realized it was the night number. She switched the "ring" selector on her phone to "off." She had better things to do than play receptionist.

"Why doesn't somebody answer the damn phone?"

Bailey started at the unexpected voice.

Gordon drooped in her doorway.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Did you fall asleep in the library?"

"I've been working. Are you aware that the phone has been ringing forever?" He leaned against the doorframe, a familiar pose, except now he looked exhausted instead of casual.

"The receptionist goes home at six," Bailey informed him. "If the noise bothers you, either turn your phone off or answer the blasted thing. Those are your choices. Hanging around and complaining is not on the list."

"I tried to answer it, but all I got was a dial tone."

"Punch in seven-two. It came out in a memo when we got the new system three years ago. I think it's quit ringing, though, so your question is moot." Bailey closed the file in front of her, and her voice softened. "You look terrible. I don't believe I've ever seen you tired before."

Gordon shoved his hands into his pockets and smiled. "I think I've found out what makes you so grumpy. Work. Come on, I'll walk you to the parking lot. That way, if anyone attacks us, you can save us. I'm too weak. "

Bailey stood and took Gordon's arm. "Let's go, old buddy. I'll keep you safe from the monsters."

As they left the building, it occurred to Bailey that if she and Gordon were there, Paula was home alone. "How about we stop by my place and have a couple? I'm sure Samantha and Paula would love to see you."

Gordon brightened momentarily then shook his head. "I'm dead. All I want to do is make it inside my front door and pass out on the carpet."

Bailey paused beside her car. "What brought all this on, Gordon? Did Stafford come down on you? His ire has never bothered you before."

Gordon shrugged. "It's time I made something of myself."

Bailey stretched up to kiss his scratchy cheek and surprised herself by saying, "There's nothing wrong with the old Gordon. I kind of like him. Don't force yourself to be something you're not."

Gordon shook his head. "I wish you people would make up your minds," he grumbled. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, "Tell your roommate—tell her I'll see her tomorrow."

Well, Bailey thought as she turned her ignition key, I'm not the only one having an early midlife crisis.

She arrived home to find Paula and Samantha watching television. Paula was polishing her toenails and had just finished Samantha's, as Bailey discovered when the dog leaped into her arms and lay back, feet in the air, showing off her pedicure. Obviously this midlife crisis was contagious, an airborne microorganism likely.

Paula immediately muted the sound on the television. "You got a phone call," she sang out.

"Good. That means they haven't turned off my service." Bailey grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, kicked off her shoes, and joined Paula on the sofa.

"Austin phoned to see if you wanted to go for a drink. I told him he could probably catch you at the office. Did he get you before you left? You ought to call him back if he didn't."

Bailey hated herself for the surge of delight she felt at Paula's news. "Did he say I should call back?" she asked, keeping her attention focused on rubbing Samantha's tummy.

"Not exactly," Paula admitted, "but it's a perfect excuse."

"If I wanted to phone Austin, which I don't, but if I did, I would simply do so. I don't need an excuse to call someone."

"Suit yourself." Paula turned the sound back up on the sitcom unfolding on the television screen."

Bailey reached for the remote control and muted the noise again. "What, exactly, did he say?"

Paula turned to face Bailey, her eyes dancing. "First he asked for Gordon, but I could tell it was just a ruse."

"How could you tell it was just a ruse?" Bailey interrupted, her happiness fading at the knowledge he had really been calling to find Gordon.

"He sounded unsure of himself. That's not like Austin. "

"No," Bailey agreed, "it's not like Austin to be unsure of himself. But it is like Paula to read in things that aren't really there."

"Not so. Anyway, to continue, hopefully without interruption, I told him Gordon wasn't here, then he said if you and I weren't doing anything, maybe we'd like to go for a drink. I told him you weren't here, but he should try the office, and I gave him the night number."

Bailey thought of the ringing phone she hadn't answered. The delight came surging back.

"I'll treat for dinner if you'll do my makeup tomorrow," Bailey offered. Just in case he called again.

Paula leaned back on the sofa, laughed, and wiggled her red toenails in the air. "We never grow up, do we? We just get older." She turned to Bailey. "Let me paint your toenails, too. Men love painted toenails."

Bailey jerked her feet up under her and held Samantha protectively. "You're crazy. Go put your shoes on or I won't be seen in public with you."

But when Paula left the room, she stretched out one foot and tried to imagine it with crimson toenails, tried to decide if men—one man in particular—might find them appealing.

Nuts, she chided herself. You're losing your mind and all sense of decorum and going totally nuts.

*~*~*

When Bailey arrived in her office the next morning, the first thing she did was turn the ring switch of her phone back on. A few minutes later when it shrilled at her, she jumped involuntarily then snatched it up.

"Bailey Russell."

"You sound awful damn happy for this hour of the morning," Stafford Morris growled. "Come see me."

The connection was broken.

Probably another lease for Larry Haynes. Doing that man's work ought to be worth a partnership if she did nothing else.

She stopped by the kitchen for a caffeine refill then moved on to the big corner office. Paula looked up from a document she was proofing when Bailey came by.

"I've been summoned to the lion's den," she said in answer to Paula's questioning look. "If I don't come back, take care of Samantha, but leave her toenails alone."

She knocked on the door, then opened it and entered.

Just as she was closing it, he growled, "Close the door."

This could be serious.

When she left fifteen minutes later, she had to do a visual check to be sure her feet were touching the floor. Winking at Paula, she floated on down the hallway.

She was being offered a partnership at the end of the month. The official announcement would be made at the fiscal-year-end party, but she was unofficially invited to attend a special partners' meeting before work the next morning. Stafford Morris had actually said he valued her input and wanted her to be involved in the meeting. Words of gold!

When the phone rang again a few minutes later and she heard Austin's voice, her already intense excitement spiraled skyward.

"I thought maybe we ought to get together and go over certain aspects of the Candy Miller case," he said, his tone distant.

"Sure," Bailey agreed, feeling a little confused, her excitement whorling away. Was that the reason he had tried to call her the night before? "My office or yours?"

"Actually, I thought we might meet somewhere neutral. How about Reilly's?"

"Good," she agreed, smiling to the ceiling. Meeting in a bar didn't sound very business-oriented. She allowed her mind to linger on Sunday night, on the wild, ecstatic feelings his touch, his lovemaking, had evoked in her, and for the first time, she dared to anticipate those feelings again.