Midas Touch (2 page)

A shiver of revulsion ran down Sandra’s back as she stepped

into Lona Cromwell’s ballroom. The room left Sandra feeling cold and depressed. What kind of mind conceived such decor?

Sandra focused on the vibrant hues of the women’s gowns deriving a small sense of warmth from them. The two hundred or so women invited tonight were the creme-de-la-creme of Dallas’ lesbian society. They held positions ranging from fashion model to national-level political seats.

In her element, Carol transformed into a smiling, bubbling socialite. Anyone seeing the long, endearing glances she directed to her lover, Sandra Tate, would assume theirs was the perfect relationship.

As they stepped into the room, Lona Cromwell’s tall, willowy frame floated toward them. Sandra felt an almost irresistible urge to lift the train of Lona’s black silk gown to see if her feet ever touched the floor. She shook off the thought, reminding herself to behave.

Lona bent to embrace Carol’s petite five-foot-three body.

Listening to their exclamations, a stranger might think they were best friends, when in reality they barely tolerated each other.

Their social circle required they remain civil.

Lona was a classic beauty and a product of old Texas money.

Her family’s roots went back to Stephen F. Austin’s original settlers. The Cromwell name was as familiar in the oil fields as it was in the hallways of the Capitol building in Austin. Lona held degrees in corporate law and chemical engineering, but never used either of them. She held token positions on the board of directors of two major corporations in which her father had gained a controlling interest.

She spent her time flying off to one tropical paradise or another, always in the company of at least one beautiful woman.

It was seldom the same woman.

Lona turned to Sandra. “I’m so glad you came tonight. You’re always missing my little affairs.” She brushed a kiss on Sandra’s lips as silky strands of her long, black hair trailed along Sandra’s arm.”Sandra insists she has to work twenty hours a day or the day

is wasted,” Carol said with a short laugh.

Sandra heard the harsh edge in Carol’s laughter.

“You should be grateful she cares enough to work so hard for you,” Lona admonished, never taking her eyes from Sandra.

Seeing the flash of anger in Carol’s eyes, Sandra stepped forward and took her arm. “We were on our way to get something to drink,” Sandra said.

A new group of guests swept in on a wave of noisy laughter.

Sandra used the distraction to whisk Carol away. At the bar, she ordered Carol a scotch, and a club soda for herself. She seldom drank alcohol, not liking the loss of control it produced.

Sandra tried to focus her attention on the activities around her. The waitstaff moved smoothly among the milling guests with trays weighed down with beluga caviar and a variety of other delicacies. In the far corner, an all-woman band performed an old Stevie Nicks song. Sandra became so engrossed in the music, she flinched when a husky voice whispered in her ear.

“There you are.”

Before she could respond, tentacle-like arms encircled her waist.

A flicker of irritation flashed in Carol’s eyes. Sandra knew she would hear about this later.

“Hello, Janice,” Sandra replied, maneuvering away from the clinging arms before turning to kiss the proffered cheek.

Janice Knight was one of the hottest models in New York.

Even without heels, the African American goddess towered over most of the women in the room.

Sandra met Janice the previous year at a fund-raiser for the battered women’s shelter. Before the benefit ended, Janice made it quite clear to Sandra she was available for anything, any time Sandra chose to call. Sandra moved farther back as Carol stepped between them.

“Janice darling, you’re looking so much better,” Carol oozed.

Janice’s startling blue, contact-enhanced eyes narrowed at the mention of her recent near disaster. In the middle of a

photography session for a new cosmetic line, her face began to swell in frightening proportions. The allergic reaction left her skin blotched and chafed for several days. Fortunately, the reaction caused no lasting damage. Rumors suggested the pending lawsuit would be more lucrative than the original seven-figure contract.

“Carol, why don’t you drop by the studio next week?” Janice said as a small smile curled her lip. “Perhaps one of the consultants can help you with some of your skin problems.”

Carol’s back stiffened as she inhaled sharply. Deciding the two had drawn enough blood for one night, Sandra again took Carol firmly by the arm. “Why don’t we go say hello to Joan and Sarah? We’ll catch you later, Janice.”

“Why don’t you come back alone?” Janice whispered as Sandra brushed past her.

“Did you hear what she said to me?” Carol wailed when they were out of earshot. “And did you see that horrid turquoise rag she was wearing?”

Sandra glanced at Janice’s gown. She would never consider herself an expert on fashion, but even she recognized a Versace.

Discretion kept Sandra from disagreeing with Carol, but she thought the gown looked stunning on the pencil-thin model.

“She’s jealous,” Sandra lied to reassure Carol.

“What did she say to you?” Carol demanded as one hand flew to her hip.

Exhaustion settled over Sandra like a shroud. Carol’s jealousy was more than she could handle right now.

“She’s trying to take you away from me,” Carol whined, glaring across the room at Janice. With a defiant toss of her head, she drained her scotch and whirled to confront Sandra.

“Have you been seeing her? Is she the reason you’re never home?”

Sandra felt her self-control slipping. She had been working twelve and fourteen hour days for the past two weeks. Operating a business the size of Tate Enterprises required more work than Carol could ever imagine.

“When do you think I have time to see anyone?” she whis-

pered, trying to curb her growing irritation.

“You leave at dawn and don’t come home until midnight.”

The music ended abruptly and Carol’s comment was loud enough to attract the attention of a group of women. They stopped their conversation to stare, eagerly awaiting the ensuing drama.

To their disappointment, Sandra led Carol onto the balcony.

The night air was growing colder, but neither seemed to notice.

“Carol, I don’t intend to go into this again. Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carol insisted as

she turned away from Sandra and stared out over the city.

“You know exactly what I mean. You insist we come to these things and then you make a big scene the first time some woman looks at me.”

You flirt with other women,” Carol sniffed.

“No, Carol. Other women flirt with me,” Sandra replied. “I am so tired of your never-ending accusations. I’ve done nothing to justify your jealousy, but you never seem to understand. You knew how it would be from the beginning. It’s the money. That’s all they’re interested in.”
Just like you,
she finished silently. “If I worked at Wal-Mart they wouldn’t give me a second glance.”

Sandra flung her arms in frustration, sending a splash of club soda over her hand. “Damn!” She set the glass on a table and wiped her hand with a napkin.

“You don’t love me anymore,” Carol said, her sniffs growing louder.

“Please, don’t start. I’m tired and…”

Carol whirled to face her. “You’re always tired. If any of those bitches in there knew what a lousy lover you are, they wouldn’t be so hot for you!” Without waiting for Sandra’s reply, Carol stormed across the balcony and disappeared inside.

Stunned, Sandra turned her attention to the city lights. A remnant of the old thrill ran through her as she sighted one of her designs, the Strauss Building, her first major project in Dallas.

She gazed at the structure as a mother would a child. It had been a long, hard process, but she had been involved in every step of

its creation. She recalled the joy she once felt in designing a new building. How she had thrived on creating beautiful buildings that would survive the rigors of time. At some point in the last few years, her work stopped providing the same thrill. When had it all changed? When had she lost her enthusiasm for her work? All she wanted was…
was what,
she wondered? What did she want?

Exhausted, she leaned her back against the cold stone wall for support. The French doors swung open and Sandra groaned as Lona Cromwell stepped out. Too late, she realized she should have followed Carol back inside. If success had taught her anything, it was that money was the world’s most powerful aphrodisiac.

“Are you okay?” Lona asked. She stopped short of actually touching Sandra.

Sandra tried to move away, but the corner of the balcony trapped her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve been working too hard.” She attempted to edge past, but Lona placed her hand on the wall blocking her way.

“You need a woman who understands you,” Lona whispered, pressing her body against Sandra. She ran her hand along Sandra’s cheek. “I know what you need. I could make you happy.”

Sandra pushed Lona away. “What I need is none of your concern.” She sidestepped Lona and returned to the party.

The room was much more crowded than it had been before she stepped outside. After the bracing cold of the balcony the room felt overheated. Sandra searched for Carol in the swarm of over-dressed women. She heard Carol’s laughter from across the crowded room. How odd it was to hear Carol laugh. She seldom laughed anymore. As Sandra drew closer, she saw Carol talking to a blonde who looked familiar.

The band struck up a rousing rendition of “Proud Mary” and Sandra groaned.
Did every band in the world know that song?

Women were beginning to dance. A short heavy-set woman Sandra recognized as a district judge, bumped into her. Sandra

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felt the judge’s drink hit her arm and looked down in time to see a dark, sticky stain begin to spread across the front of her gown. The woman was apologizing, but Sandra waved her off and continued to make her way toward Carol. The heat and noise pressed down on Sandra. She tried to focus on a single individual or conversation, but the multitude of smells from the food, alcohol, and dozens of different perfumes wrapped around her like sheets of cellophane wrap. She struggled to keep her breathing regular as the tightness in her chest grew. The short, sharp pains plaguing her during the past week came back. There was not enough oxygen in the room. She turned trying to make her way back to the balcony, but Lona stood at the door waiting for her. Sandra stumbled toward the kitchen. With these women, the kitchen would be the safest room in which to hide. She was nearing her sanctuary when she spied Janice cutting her off.

Sandra whirled around and pushed her way back across the floor.

Carol was still talking to the blonde, but Sandra no longer cared about protocol. The only thing important was escaping the crush of the room.

“Let’s go,” she insisted, taking Carol’s arm.

Carol’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “I’m not ready to go.”

The noise level continued to grow around Sandra. The bass guitar’s pounding beat went straight to Sandra’s brain. She tried to block the guitar out. A smirk played across the blonde’s lips as she began to tap her nails against her glass. The sound grated in Sandra’s ears.

“Carol, I really need to leave,” Sandra urged, looking desperately around the room. There was not enough air to breathe, and the room was closing in. The mirrors began playing tricks on her. She was reminded of the House of Mirrors she and her dad had gone through when she was nine. The grossly distorted images cast by the mirrors had rendered the young Sandra immobile. Her father had to carry her from the building.

She was feeling the same overwhelming sense of confusion.

Everywhere she looked, she found a reflection of herself staring back. Voices thundered in her ears. The air filled with swirling

red dots. The pain in her chest grew. Her heartbeat accelerated until she was certain it would burst through her chest onto the blonde’s immaculate white gown. She had to escape. A blur of surprised, angry faces greeted her as she shoved her way to the door. She heard Lona calling her name, but nothing was going to stop her from getting out. She pushed through a crowd standing in the doorway and made her escape into the hall.

Lona called her from the doorway and Sandra ran. She raced down the staircase, oblivious to the startled faces of the women coming up. She heard people calling her name, but it only served to make her run faster. As she approached the first landing, her ankle turned. The heel broke. A sharp stab of pain sliced through her ankle. She was falling. The sensation seemed to last an inordinately long time. She slammed against the wooden railing.

Sandra clutched at the cold railing and regained her balance. She rotated her throbbing ankle until the pain began to subside. The only real damage seemed to be her shoe. The broken heel rested against the bottom step. Brand new shoes ruined because of her carelessness. Growling in frustration, she ripped the shoe from her foot and flung it against the wall.

A young woman in a black tuxedo appeared on the stairs in front of her. “Ma’am, let me help you.” She reached for Sandra’s arm.Sandra pushed her aside and rushed down the stairs. The remaining heel made it impossible to run. She kicked it off and ran barefooted. As she burst off the stairs, she came face-to-face with the startled staff at the doorway. Someone reached out to her. She slapped his hand aside and rushed out the door, onto the brightly illuminated porch. A group of surprised valets sprang to life as she charged out.