Midas Touch (5 page)

“Why not?” Ms. Angelo exclaimed. “Sandra, you have a very unusual talent. You could…”

From the corner of her eye, Sandra saw Ms. Dysan reach out and touch Ms. Angelo’s hand and she fell silent.

Ms. Dysan placed the pad back on the desk before Sandra.

“I think your grades alone are good enough to guarantee you at least a partial scholarship, but what I’d like to do is enter your model in an architectural design contest. Of course, I would need your father’s permission to do so.”

Not able to follow the turn of the conversation, Sandra frowned.

“Nancy, explain it to her,” Ms. Angelo prodded.

“Every year the National Association for Women Architects sponsors a contest,” Ms Dysan began. “It’s opened to women between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. They are looking for young women who show promising architectural skills. First prize is a full scholarship to your choice of three very prestigious colleges.” She took a deep breath and smiled at Sandra. “We think you have a good chance of winning.”

Sandra felt a mixture of excitement and fear. She refused to allow herself to want this. Caring would cause her pain when she lost.”The deadline is January fifteenth,” Ms. Angelo continued,

“but your model is completed and I know we can get the paperwork ready in plenty of time.”

“It’s really up to you and your father,” Ms. Dysan added.

“I’m sure he will be pleased. How do you feel about enter-

ing the contest?” Ms. Angelo queried, placing a hand on Sandra’s shoulder. The jolt of pleasure shooting through her prevented Sandra from managing more than a nod. She had a vague feeling her father might not be as thrilled about the idea as Ms. Angelo was.As it turned out, Sandra’s father was more opposed to the idea than Sandra could have imagined. They had their one and only serious argument. Sandra held her ground and after two days of battle, he gave in.

Eight months later, Sandra hugged her father goodbye and climbed onto a bus with a full scholarship and the start to a career she never dreamed possible.

Laura’s hand on Sandra’s shoulder ended her reverie.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Sandra rubbed her face and glanced at her Rolex. “I’d better get home. Can you loan me cab fare?”

“I’ll drive you,” Laura said, reaching for her coat.

“No. Please. You hate driving in the city and you’ve already made the trip once.”

Sandra stepped out of the cab wearing Laura’s jogging suit and fuzzy, blue slippers. She approached her building acting as though there was nothing odd about her wardrobe.

“Good morning, Richard,” Sandra said, holding her head high and shuffling passed the curious doorman. She took the elevator up and stood outside her penthouse door wishing she could slip in unnoticed, but her house key was on her key ring.

She had no choice but to ring the bell. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the doorbell, knowing Carol would open the door since Margaret, the live-in maid, was off today.

Margaret and Carol were constantly at odds, but both un-derstood the other was there to stay, so they worked around their differences in an uneasy truce.
Margaret is probably enjoying herself
with her Canasta friends,
Sandra thought, and experienced a pang of mild jealousy at Margaret’s freedom.

What would it be like to have a group of friends?
She rang the doorbell again and waited as Carol took her sweet time in opening the door.

“Where have you been?” Carol demanded as she pulled the door open. Her face contorted in an ugly mask. “You made a complete fool of yourself last night. The phone’s been ringing all morning with those snide bitches trying to get the latest news.”

Sandra pushed past her, intending to escape to her office, but Carol trailed across the room after her. Not wanting Carol to follow her, Sandra stopped in the hallway. Sandra’s home office was her sanctuary, the one place she could retreat to and relax.

Releasing a ragged breath, she turned to face Carol. “I’m sorry about last night, and I don’t want to argue. Can we please not do this?”

“Who is she?” Carol demanded.

Sandra groaned. “There’s no one else. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Then where were you all night? I waited until practically everyone left, thinking you would come back for me. You made me look like a fool.”

“I went for a walk. Just thinking.” She would never tell Carol she spent the night sleeping in the park like a common vagrant.

She doubted she would ever admit to calling Laura, since Carol would blow everything out of proportion.

Laura and Carol disliked each other from the very beginning. After a couple of disastrous dinners, Sandra decided to keep them in separate areas of her life. She stopped inviting Carol along when she went to visit Laura and only invited Laura over when Carol was out of town.

“And where did you get those horrid clothes?”

Sandra looked down at the too short pants. How was she going to explain this without mentioning Laura? Carol would never believe there was nothing more than friendship between them.

Sighing, she gave up. Carol deserved to know what had happened. It was time to sit down and talk about what was going

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on between them. She started to motion to the sofa when a tall, vaguely familiar blonde strolled from the hallway. Sandra caught the look of irritation on Carol’s face.

“Beautiful bathroom,” the blonde purred, arching her eyebrows at Carol before turning to Sandra. After slowly taking in Sandra’s disheveled appearance, she smirked. “You must be Sandra. I’m Ingrid Bennington.”

She was the woman Carol had been laughing with at Lona’s party. Sandra turned to Carol for some hint as to why Ingrid was at the penthouse so early, but was shocked into silence by the look of cold fury on Carol’s face.
I’m embarrassing her,
Sandra realized.

“Excuse me,” Sandra said, and rushed down the hallway to her office. She tried to concentrate on a speech she was giving at a local high school later in the month, but she found herself returning to the window to stare aimlessly across the city. There had to be something more to life out there.

Makeup failed to camouflage the cut above Sandra’s eye. As she drove to her office, she worked on a plausible lie to explain how she had received it.

At eight sharp, Allison Kramer, Sandra’s senior project manager, walked in. A look of surprise crossed Allison’s face when she noticed the cut over Sandra’s eye, but in typical Allison-style she took a seat and began to review current projects. Sandra listened with only half her attention. The other half was busy trying to analyze her growing discontent.

“Sandra?”

She looked up to find Allison standing by her desk.

“Are you all right?”

“Uh. Yes. I’m sorry, Allison. I’m afraid I was thinking about something else.” She reached into her desk for the antacids she kept. All this worrying gave her heartburn.

“Is it something I can help with?” Allison brushed back a loose lock of her unruly red hair.

“No, but thanks.” Sandra felt restless, unable to concentrate.

“I just need some time. In fact, unless you have something urgent, let’s wait until after lunch to go over these deadlines.”

Allison began to gather her folders. “There’s nothing really pressing,” she said. She walked to the door and hesitated. “Sandra, if you need someone to talk to, I hope you know you can turn to me. I’ll never forget what you did for me and my family.”

Uncomfortable with the personal turn of the conversation, Sandra stood and tried to smile. “Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but really it’s nothing.”

Sandra saw the confusion on Allison’s face as she turned to leave. Realizing she might have hurt her feelings Sandra quickly added, “Allison, you’ve more than earned everything you have.

You’re a hell of a worker. I’ve never regretted hiring you.”

Allison’s face brightened. “Thanks.” She slipped out and left Sandra, already lost in memories, staring at the closed door.

Upon graduation, Sandra had received an internship with a major New York architectural firm. She worked hard and saved her money. Four years later, she returned to Dallas to start her own firm and be closer to her father.

As Sandra’s fledgling firm began to grow, she ran an ad for a personal assistant. Allison Kramer, a big-boned woman with flaming red hair, arrived with her resume listing little other than a business degree. Sandra interviewed other applicants with more impressive work records, but she felt an immediate liking for Allison’s straightforward approach. She hired her after the initial interview. She would later learn that Allison’s son, Brian, had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis at the age of two. A week after hearing the diagnosis, Allison’s husband went to buy a gallon of milk and kept driving. She faced the emotional and financial responsibility of raising Brian alone. Allison’s mother tried to help, but she was barely surviving on the small pension check her husband left her.

As Tate Enterprises grew, so did Allison’s responsibilities and compensation. After five years, she was able to hire a private nurse to stay with Brian and purchase a home large enough for her mother to live with them.

Sandra now depended on Allison for a multitude of things.

As such, Allison knew almost as much about the affairs and operations of the company as Sandra.

The telephone rang, jarring Sandra from her reverie. She let her secretary, Betty, answer it and turned her attention to reviewing project deadlines. Her concentration drifted and her thoughts quickly turned to Carol.

A typical day for Carol revolved around beauty appointments, charity events, and luncheons.

Carol’s father, Richard Grant, was the sole heir of the considerable Grant family dynasty. Unfortunately, he did not inherit the family’s knack of maintaining the wealth. Through a long series of bad investments and living well beyond his means, he slowly lost the inheritance that should have provided Carol with lifelong luxury.

Shortly after she and Carol became lovers, Sandra discovered the Grants were struggling to maintain the facade of an endless source of money.

Sandra loaned Richard Grant money several times at Carol’s urging. He made no offer of repaying the loans. Sandra’s generosity stopped when she realized she would soon be broke if she continued to support Richard Grant’s lavish lifestyle.

Carol became enraged when she discovered Sandra would no longer loan him money. She secretly gave her father money from the account Sandra established for her. It never occurred to her that Sandra reviewed the statements.

Sandra had established the generously funded account to allow Carol a sense of independence, and since the financial gifts remained within the allotted amount, Sandra said nothing.

During their first year together, Sandra sensed an underlying sadness in Carol. She tried to encourage Carol to find something she liked to do, even if it was volunteer work. She hinted that Carol might enjoy the sense of fulfillment work provided.

Carol’s response was anger and tears. She accused Sandra of trying to make her feel guilty about not working. Sandra gave up and left her alone.

A sharp pang of guilt stabbed Sandra. She did ignore Carol.

Project deadlines and last minute meetings kept her working late most days. In fact, she and Carol rarely did anything together.

She thought about the disaster at Lona’s party and cringed.

Appearances, both physical and social, meant so much to Carol.

The intercom interrupted her thoughts. “Yes, Betty”

“Mr. Carlton would like to see you. He says it’s important.”

Sandra groaned. Charles Carlton was a royal pain. She considered sending him away, but he was working on a major advertising campaign and the deadline was coming up. “Send him in.”
What’s he going to bitch about today?
she wondered.

Charles swept into her office in a cloud of expensive cologne and moved about as if the office was his own. He placed a stack of display boards on the sofa located on the far side of Sandra’s office. The sofa was the anchoring point of an informal sitting area where Sandra often held briefings. Today his obtrusiveness irritated her more than usual. She sat at her desk pretending to study the report in front of her.

He sat on the sofa for a moment. When it became obvious Sandra was not moving across the room to join him, he gathered up the display boards and placed them on a chair in front of her desk. Without waiting for an invitation, he settled himself in an adjoining chair. “Good morning,” he boomed.

She delayed a heartbeat longer than was courteous before responding.

“Good morning, Charles. What did you need to see me about?” she began, trying to cut off any chance of chitchat.

His eyebrows shot up as he let out a short whistle. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, pointing to the wound above her eye.

Her hand moved to touch the cut before she could stop herself. “It’s nothing. Did you have something you needed to see me about?”

He was on the verge of making another comment when she pierced him with the famous Tate glare. A flash of resentment crossed his face, but he hid it as he leaned over and retrieved the first of his boards.

“Here are the layouts for the Madison Medical Complex. I know we were going to review them at tomorrow’s staff meeting, but I wanted to get your feedback.” He held up a board displaying an extremely young woman who wore little more than a tool belt and held a screwdriver with its handle resting suggestively against her chin.

Sandra felt the burning in her stomach expand. She started to reach for another antacid, but stopped. She was taking too many. Suppressing her impatience, she asked, “Charles, what does this display have to do with doctors or dentists? Why have you brought these to me? You report to Gordon. You know everything should go through him first.”