Sleeping Beauty (36 page)

Who could resist that?

Who would feel sympathy for Josh Durant? Even if the judge found a reason to be sympathetic, how long could he hold out against the tight web of Anne Garnett's arguments? How long would anyone lean toward a man who wrote that damned birthday note and then, two years later, told the lady he wanted her gone from his apartment? Who, hearing that and a hell of a lot more, would send a tearful Dora out of the courtroom with nothing, while Josh Durant kept it all?

A brilliant summing-up, he thought. He admired it, knowing he would lose to her. He admired her mind, he enjoyed watching it work, and he would have liked to understand it better, to understand her better. Of course it was ridiculous for her to speak of something going completely against his character; she didn't know a damn thing about his character. And of course she knew it was ridiculous; she was too smart not to know it. She was smart enough to know just how low some of her other points were, too, such as his building permanence with Baccarat—a tawdry, weak, and specious argument if he'd ever heard one, but clever and telling on first hearing. And she knew, and so did he, there would be only one hearing.

The scientist in Josh saluted the fine workings of Anne Garnett's mind, even as his anger grew. Because he was stuck. He had intended to settle out of court anyway—no one in his right mind would want the kind of publicity this trial would bring—but he'd thought he could get away with a small payment, just enough to make Dora feel victorious. Now he knew it would cost him much more, because it was clear to all of them that he would not save money now by letting it go to trial. He was stuck. If he'd been as quick as Anne Garnett, if he'd thought about this as intelligently in three years as she had in one month, he would have made a reasonable financial arrangement when he asked Dora to leave, and that would have been the end of it.

“Josh,” Miller said, “let's step outside for a minute.”

And that's it, Josh thought as he stood up. He and Miller walked from Anne's office into a labyrinth of secretaries' cubicles divided by low partitions and green plants, and he
thought, that's how the bargaining begins. Miller knew as well as Josh that they were stuck. They'd reach an agreement and he'd pay Dora a hell of a lot more than she ought to get and something less than she was asking. And Anne Garnett would oversee it, her face cool and impassive. Josh had no doubt of that. There would be no sign of triumph on her face; she would not even smile with satisfaction, at least as long as he and Miller were in the office. She might feel satisfaction or triumph—though he could not even be sure of that—but none of it would show.

I'd like to see how she looks when she feels that something wonderful is happening to her, he thought. I'd like to watch her mind work on something more joyful than dredging all she can for a client from the ruins of a relationship. But he never would; he knew that. They were enemies, of a sort, and after they reached a settlement sometime today, he would never see her again. Too bad, he thought, and then he and Miller found an empty office and went inside to plan their strategy of offers and counteroffers, to reach whatever amount he would have to pay.

*   *   *

Anne sat at her desk long after the three of them had left, Miller and Josh first, then Dora, who had waited, pacing and talking nervously, until she could be sure she would not run into them at the elevator or in the lobby downstairs. “It went fine,” she said. “We did really fine, didn't we? It's a good thing I kept that note; some people throw things away, but I don't; you never know what's coming, so you have to keep yourself covered. God, I'm glad it's over; I couldn't stand hearing his voice another minute. You were tougher than I was; you know that? I would have taken their first offer, as soon as I knew I'd won. God, wasn't that fantastic, knowing we'd beat them into the ground? Josh looked awful, didn't he? Miserable and mad and jealous because I had a better lawyer than he did. It serves him right. I wish I could beat him again, at something else; I really had a good time. Maybe now I'll go to Washington. My father's been pretty annoyed with me, but all I have to do is say I'd rather be with him than with Mother and he'll welcome me with open
arms. Oh, but he's not there; he's politicking in Colorado. Washington in August is not to be believed. Maybe I'll ask him to meet me in Tamarack. Or Europe. Or . . . something. I wish I knew what I want. Everything seems so uninteresting. I've got all this money coming from Josh; I ought to do something fantastic with it. Don't you think?” She looked at her watch. “Well, I guess I can go; they ought to be halfway to somewhere by now.” She went to the door. “You'll be in Tamarack, won't you? This winter or sometime? I'll probably see you then.”

Anne watched the door close behind her. That is a first-class bitch, she marveled, and was ashamed that it had taken her so long to see it; usually she saw things more quickly than other people. I would have, she thought, if she'd had any other father, or any other companion; I was blinded by that. She shook her head ruefully. It's a good thing I don't need gratitude; I'd atrophy, waiting for Dora to get around to it.

But Dora wasn't important; nothing was important except the fact that they'd won. We won, we won, she thought, exulting. Winning was what her life was about, being the victor, never the victim.

But I deserve some gratitude, she thought. Without me, those two men would have walked all over Dora. She was a full-time secretary and sexual companion, but she wasn't a wife and she never told him that's what she wanted. She never told him what she expected from that relationship. He could have argued in court that if she'd wanted more, she should have told him, instead of being coy with friends and her seamstress. Fritz had been taking that line, but I didn't give him a chance to follow it up. I got Dora Chatham a quarter of a million dollars and the house in Tamarack, worth a million and a half, and she seems to think it just happened.
It went fine
. It went fine because I made it go fine. And a simple “Thank you”—or how about a heartfelt “Thank you”?—was in order.

It's a good thing I don't need it, or even want it.

She lowered her head and rubbed the back of her neck. She was always more tense than she realized in these
sessions; it was only when everyone was gone that she felt the ache in her muscles. A glass of wine, she thought, and a massage and a sauna. That's what I need. And then dinner. The thought came to her that it might be pleasant to share dinner with someone and make it more of a celebration. But there was no one special to share her triumph. Dinner at home, she decided; she would call the chef in the French restaurant in her apartment building and have her meal delivered at about nine o'clock, after the masseur had left and she had had a sauna and shower. She would open a fine bottle of wine, and afterward she would watch a movie, a comedy; she would have one delivered at the same time as her dinner. And that would be a perfect evening.

She turned on the chime on her antique clock; she always turned it off when clients were coming for a long session. Almost immediately it rang four o'clock. They had been there most of the day. Nine-thirty to four, and no lunch. Maybe some food before the wine, she thought. Otherwise, I'll pass out in the sauna. She gathered the papers on her desk, and slipping them into Dora's file, realized Josh had kept his birthday note. Maybe it will teach him to keep his feelings to himself, she thought.

She put the file in her top drawer where it would stay until his check was received. A quarter of a million dollars and a house, she reflected. What a strange double life he leads: a professor with an international reputation, and a playboy who always has a gorgeous woman and buys Baccarat and can write a check for a quarter of a million dollars.

An interesting man. It was too bad she'd never know what he was really like; how many of Dora's tales were lies. Clearly there was more to him than the picture Dora had drawn; in fact, Dora probably never really knew him. Too busy worrying about herself to try to figure out the man she was living with. Well, there was no way of knowing. It was over; she'd never see him again. The main thing was that she'd won. Such a good feeling. The best feeling she knew. She stretched again. A glass of wine, she thought. A massage. A sauna.

Her apartment was a short walk away, in another part of
the Century City complex. She walked outside and was struck by a wall of heat, humid and heavy, that turned the white buildings gray and wavery, as if viewed through a screen. Pedestrians moved sluggishly, like swimmers wading through a deep surf. Anne walked across the plaza toward her building. It was easy to forget, in the permanent coolness of her office, that it was the hottest August on record. Better off inside, she thought as the doorman held the door open and she went into the lobby. She stopped as the icy air hit her. She shivered. From the tropics to the south pole, she thought. Are those our only alternatives?

She smiled to herself as she unlocked her mailbox and stuffed the letters and magazines into her briefcase. And she was still smiling as she turned to cross the lobby to the elevator, and saw Vince standing before her.

“Hello,” he said softly.

She stood still, all feeling draining from her, frozen in place in the cold air swirling around her. Her briefcase dragged on her arm, suddenly so heavy she could barely hold it.

“I have to talk to you.” He turned toward the elevator. “Which floor are you on?”

He had not changed. She could not believe it. Everything in her world had changed, but Vince was the same; his voice, his arrogant assurance, were the same; he looked the same. He was a little heavier, his chin a little sharper, but his blond hair and angelic looks were exactly as they had been. He smiled at her, charm radiating from his white teeth and crinkly eyes. She could feel his hands on her, pushing her, turning her, forcing her.

She ran across the lobby, through the service door, and down the back hall to the janitors' washroom, and barely had the door closed before she was sick.

When she lifted her head, she was gasping. She knelt on the cold tile floor, resting her arms on the edge of the toilet, until her breathing slowed. Then she went to one of the washbowls and rinsed out her mouth. There were speckles of vomit on the lapel of her white silk suit; she wet her handkerchief and rubbed them until they were gone. She
looked at herself in the small mirror, composing her face. Each feature was smoothed out, molded to neutrality. She could do nothing about her haunted eyes, but for the rest she looked in perfect control. She stood for a moment with her hand on the doorknob. She could take the service elevator to her floor. But he had found her once; he would again. She would have to face him, today or another day. Today, she thought. She held her head high, her shoulders back, and opened the service door to return to the lobby.

He was waiting for her a few feet from the door. “Is everything all right?”

She turned and walked to a group of chairs, and sat in the farthest one, in the corner. With a small shrug, Vince followed, and sat facing her across a small glass coffee table, his back to the lobby. Anne looked past him at the people coming in from work and stopping at the mail room on their way to the elevators. She liked knowing they were there. She held herself tightly, every muscle locked in place, and made herself look at Vince, hating him. She sat still, gazing at him steadily, hating him, saying nothing.

He was the one who looked away, but he did it smoothly, almost carelessly, glancing over his shoulder at the lobby with great interest. “Who would have thought it,” he said lightly, turning back to her. “Little Anne, who never even combed her hair, living here, a lawyer, winning palimony suits. And a gorgeous woman. My congratulations; it seems running away was just what you needed.”

She looked at him, her eyes blank.

“I'm sorry you left; I missed you,” he said. “It's hard when a family is denied the pleasure of seeing a young girl become a woman. We would have liked to share that with you, and help you, when we could. Where did you go when you left?”

Anne was silent.

“Well.” Vince sighed. “We all worried about you, you know. Every time we picked up a newspaper there was another horror story about young girls who ran away and ended up on the streets, drug addicts, prostitutes, murder victims; it kept us up nights, worrying. Especially Ethan.”

He went on smoothly, about a detective, two detectives, but Anne barely heard him. He smiled and talked and gestured with his hands as if he were quite comfortable, as if there were no consequences to anything he had done in the past. And perhaps that was his experience in the twenty-four years since she had last seen him. He had come from that time to this, untouched.

“This isn't the best place for a private conversation,” Vince said as people walked past them to the elevator. “Your apartment would be better.”

“No,” Anne said flatly.

“Well, then, coffee? There must be a restaurant in the building, or a coffee shop. Shall we go?”

“We'll stay here.”

He looked around again. It was the end of the workday and a steady stream of people walked through the lobby. He inclined his head, gracefully giving in. “If you'd prefer.” He settled back in his chair. “I was waiting for Dora today when she left your office; we're having dinner later. Of course she calls me regularly—I'm sure you know that—and she had told me the discovery session would be today. I thought it would be a good time for me to come in, to give encouragement, maybe comfort. But she didn't need either one; she said you did fine. I assume that means you were extremely good; Dora is very slow to give credit. A quarter of a million, she said, and the house. Not bad, considering that you didn't have to go to court for it. And you kept the media out of it. I appreciate that; it was good of you to consider my position. Dora told me she'd talked to you about it.”