Carole Page - Decidedly Married

Rose Gibbons, Michael’s secretary and girl Friday, stopped Julie just short of his door. “Hello, Mrs. Ryan. How nice to see you!” Rose was at least fifty, but she dressed stylishly and carried herself like a much younger woman. She had a wonderful smile and a way of making people feel she was genuinely interested in them. “Your husband’s out with a client, Mrs. Ryan, but he should be back anytime. Do you want to wait in his office?”

Julie looked around, hoping to spot the new girl in Michael’s office—and maybe in his life. “Michael told me he hired a new agent. I thought I might just say hello, welcome her to the firm, you know?” Did her words sound as lame to Rose as they sounded to Julie herself?

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Ryan. Miss Chamberlin has the office right next to your husband’s. Go right on in. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

Julie nodded and started across the wide expanse of carpet toward the cubicle next to Michael’s. Sure enough, Beth Chamberlin’s name was already on the carved oak door. Julie felt her ankles weaken, and her heart skipped a beat. What was she doing here? Spying on her husband? Trying to make something of nothing? Would this woman see through her and guess her real motive for wanting to meet her?

Julie was about to turn, walk away, and forget the whole thing, when Miss Chamberlin’s door opened and a tall, willowy brunette emerged carrying a stack of file folders. She met Julie’s gaze and flashed a radiant smile, showing perfect white teeth.

“Miss Chamberlin?” Julie inquired.

The young woman’s amber brown eyes glinted with recognition. “Yes, and you must be Michael’s wife. I’ve seen your picture on his desk. You’re Julie, right?”

“Yes, and you must be—Beth.” Outwardly, Julie was smiling, but inwardly she groaned over Beth Chamberlin’s classic good looks: a glowing, porcelain complexion, high cheekbones, a healthy mane of raven black hair and a perfect figure for her formflattenng silk blouse and short skirt.

“I’m so glad to meet you, Mrs. Ryan. You have a great husband. He’s really taken me under his wing.”

“Has he?” Julie’s tone was chilly.

Beth seemed not to notice; she was still beaming. “Oh, yes, he has. I’ve learned so much from Michael in the short time we’ve been working together.”

Julie winced at the cozy way Beth said Michael. It was the very tone she had used in her perfumed note. “But I thought you just joined the company, Miss Chamberlin.”

“Yes, officially.” Beth’s tone was buoyant. “You see, Michael and I worked on several deals together while I was still with Consolidated. When we discovered how well we worked together, he asked me to come over here to Ryan and Associates, and of course, I couldn’t say no. It’s such a wonderful opportunity. Michael runs a marvelous operation. There’s so much room for growth and advancement”

“And with all your energy and enthusiasm, I’m sure you’ll go far,” said Julie, trying not to sound snide.

Beth shifted the folders in her arms. “I hope so. I just don’t want to disappoint Michael—and, of course, everyone else here.”

“I’m sure you won’t be a disappointment.” Julie felt a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach. If she stood here another moment talking to Miss Sugar and Spice, she’d have a diabetic reaction. “I’d really better go. Please tell Michael I stopped by. I’ll see him at home.”

Beth’s bright eyes took on a sudden, keen shrewdness. “Mrs. Ryan, I’m looking forward to getting better acquainted in the days ahead. We have so much in common!”

Julie blinked with bewilderment. “We do?”

Beth broke into light, lyrical laughter. “Yes. We have Michael! Your husband and my colleague and mentor. He’s very important to both of us.”

Julie’s throat constricted, leaving her with nothing more to offer than a polite nod. She took an awkward step backward, then swiveled around and strode wordlessly out of the office, her breathing ragged, her mind reeling

As she climbed into her automobile and shakily turned the key in the ignition, she had the sensation she had just been attacked. But by what? An assault of sweetness? Youthful exuberance with a Doris Day smile? It was an irrational feeling, but she sensed the battle lines had been drawn. She was in for the fight of her life with an angel-faced beauty with the cunning of a snake.

On Saturday Julie telephoned her father, Alex Currey, in Crescent City, two hours’ drive from Long Beach. Since her mother’s death last year Julie had telephoned her father once a week to check on him and make sure he was okay. In some ways it was an empty ritual, for Julie always had the feeling her father wished she hadn’t bothered to call It was as if he were saying, We never talked when your mother was alive…what do we have to talk about now?

Still, she phoned him every Saturday at noon, as regular as clockwork. Her questions were always the same: Are you feeling okay? Are you eating right? Have you gone anywhere? Have you seen anybody? Do you need anything?

Her father always answered with one-word, often one-syllable replies: Yes…no…sure…nope…can’t…dunno…why?… nothing…nobody…nowhere. All dead-end answers, conversation stoppers, as if he deliberately wanted to keep communication with his only daughter nonexistent.

Julie always felt dry-mouthed and tongue-tied when she called her father. No matter what she said to him, he had a way of making her feel stupid for having said it. It often took her days to recover her self-esteem after one of their conversations. That’s why she limited the calls to once a week; that was all she could handle.

Not that her father was an ogre or even mean-spirited; it was just that they had always been on different wavelengths, coming at each other from separate planets, aliens of the heart forced to live together all those years under one cramped roof. She had never understood him; he had never understood her.

Alex Currey was a solemn, private man, a former aerospace engineer who had been forced to retire during the massive layoffs prompted by the recession several years ago. He still lived in the same small, stucco, frame house where Julie had been born and raised. He seemed to her as changeless, invariable and eternal as the house itself.

The only time her father’s low, melancholy voice took on a lilting note was when Julie mentioned Katie. Then her father would suddenly come alive and declare in a startlingly cheery tone, “Let me talk to my girl, Katie! Tell me, what’s that granddaughter of mine up to these days, anyway?”

This time, Julie had the irresistible urge to reply, “Your darling granddaughter is dating a high school dropout with long hair and a ring in his ear. He’s a grease monkey in a garage and lives on the wrong side of the tracks. That’s the good news; the bad news is that he could be a gangmember or on drugs or having sex with Katie or who knows what all? And dear Michael has invited him to a family barbecue tomorrow!”

But Julie quickly edited her comments, telling her father only that Katie had a new boyfriend who was coming over for a Sunday barbecue. Why worry him? Let him think life in the Ryan household is idyllic and problem free.

And, as always, after a few minutes of abbreviated conversation, her father droned, “Well, this call is costing you money—you’d better go.” Knowing this was his way of saying he had talked long enough and wanted to hang up, she always promptly ended the call without argument, but she was often tempted to say, So what? It’s my money and I’ll spend it the way I please. I’ll talk all day if I want to!

But, of course, she never said such a thing; it was painful enough to know her father apparently found not the slightest pleasure in talking with her. After hanging up, she was often left with an odd melancholy feeling, as if something had been stirred up again for the umpteenth time and not resolved; never resolved. And what this thing was she had no idea, except that it was like the flaring up of an old toothache; she had probed the sensitive core of some deep-set need just enough to remind herself the pain was still there, buried somewhere beyond reach.