The Secret Lives of Housewives (24 page)

Angie buried her face in Tony's hair and finally let the tears flow.

An hour later, when Tony finally walked out of the emergency room, both his brothers, Cait, Monica, and Eve were all waiting. Hugs were exchanged and introductions made. Finally everyone made their way to the exit. “Angie,” Frank said, “Linda and I will keep the twins tonight. You guys go home and hold each other like I know you need to.”

“We're here, too, in case you need anything,” Monica said.

“I'll drive you guys home,” Cait said. “If you want, we can drive past the school and pick up your car.”

They settled on arrangements and eventually Angie and Tony were together, alone at home, sharing a pizza. “I love you, you know,” Tony said, a slice of pepperoni between his teeth. “Very much. I'm so sorry about Jordanna. I was blind and a dope.”

“I should have let you know how I felt long ago. Swallowing all this was dumb on my part, too.”

“Let's start this thing all over, and this time, it's just us in this marriage. Right?”

“Don't forget the twins.”

“How could I forget the twins?”

 

Later that night Tony and Angie climbed into bed. Tony had declined to take the pain medication the doctor had prescribed and had only taken two over-the-counter pills. He lay propped on several pillows, watching the end of the TV news. His shooting had been one of the first local stories and he watched in fascination as his students told interviewers what a great teacher he was. “I'm amazed,” he said to Angie, who lay beside him, “to hear what they think. Of course, most of it is for the benefit of the TV cameras but I must mean something to them, don't you think?”

“Of course you do. You're a great teacher and your students really like and respect you.”

“Makes me feel like hot shit.” Tony wrapped his good arm around his wife's shoulders.

“How do you feel?” Angie said, her palms sweeping over his chest and belly.

“Is that a leading question?” Tony asked.

“It's leading wherever you want it to.” Her hands stroked his good shoulder, then down his arm until she could link fingers with him.

“I'm not good for much,” Tony reluctantly admitted. “When I move it still hurts like hell.”

To Tony's amazement, Angie said, “I could do all the work.” Angie had never been the aggressor, and here she was all but propositioning him, but she wanted him badly. He merely raised an eyebrow as Angie's fingers slid to his belly, then down to his growing erection. “God, Angie, what are you doing?”

Angie pulled her hand back as if she'd been burned. “I'm sorry. I just…”

“Don't apologize. It's wonderful.” He used his good hand to guide her back to his cock. “Touch me. It's the best medicine there is.”

“Are you sure?” she said, suddenly unsure of herself again.

“Baby, I'm more than sure. I love the feel of your hands on me.” He stretched his good arm across the bed. “Have your wicked way with me, woman. I insist.”

Grinning, Angie began to explore her husband's body. She touched, petted, and stroked until he was ready for her. Tony handed her a condom and she capably unwrapped and unrolled it. Then she straddled his hips and slowly lowered herself onto him. For several moments she just sat and watched Tony revel in the feeling of her slippery pussy surrounding his engorged cock. When she started to move, he clenched his muscles to try to keep from coming, but it was no use. He was well past the point of no return, and with a long, low moan, he came.

Later Angie lay beside him again. Drowsily he said, “You didn't come.”

“I got my pleasure from you. Now go to sleep.”

Grinning, he turned and wrapped his good arm around her waist. “Bossy woman.” Then he was asleep.

“M
onica, we need to talk.” Harrison Conroy, the now semi-retired senior partner, closed Monica's office door behind him, then settled into one of her office chairs. It was several days after Tony's shooting, and according to her phone call with Angie the preceding day, he was recovering quickly. “How are you doing?”

“I'm fine,” Monica said, totally puzzled by his unexpected visit. Although he'd cut back his hours at the firm to one or two afternoons a week several years before, as senior account executive she met with him occasionally to go over details of account relationships and presentations, discuss prospective opportunities, and go over billing issues. Those meetings had always been either in his office or in the conference room, however. Rank had its privileges. He seldom arrived in her office, especially unannounced. “What can I do for you, Mr. Conroy?”

Who sat down first was always an issue, so now that he'd seated himself in one of her two leather-upholstered side chairs, she settled in her buttery soft black leather chair behind her granite-topped desk in front of the wall of windows. The office was set up to impress potential clients, so in addition to her kick-ass desk—as she often called it—and side chairs, there was a deep burgundy seating group around a walnut coffee table, covered with magazines. Prominently displayed on her walls were matted and framed layouts of some of her more successful campaigns. A fully stocked bar was cleverly hidden behind the false front of one of the shelves in her wall unit and a small refrigerator in the corner held ice, soft drinks, and bottled water.

“Harrison. It's Harrison, or even Harry. We're better friends than that, Monica. I shouldn't be Mr. Conroy to you, especially in private.”

They weren't friends at all and she'd never been invited to call him by his first name before, but Monica let that go. She'd always thought of the “Mr. Conroy, Monica” name thing as a hierarchy issue. He could call her by her first name but she was expected to address him by his surname. Maybe there was a gender component, too. After all, this was a man's world, or at least a man's company. “Okay, Harrison.” Harry sounded too diminutive for such an overpowering man. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Interesting question, Monica.” He cleared his throat and balanced one ankle on the other knee. His tasseled black loafers gleamed with fresh polish. She looked at him seriously for a moment. He was in his mid-sixties, very attractive, with wings of silver in his chestnut brown hair and deep creases around his intense gray eyes. His light blue shirt was heavily starched and serious diamond cuff links twinkled on gleaming white cuffs. His carefully pressed slacks draped neatly over his legs. He steepled his fingers. “I'm sure you've figured out that you're up for a partnership.”

“I don't know how to answer that, Harrison, so I'll be honest. It's supposed to be a secret but nothing's truly secret in this office. Yes, I know and I'm very excited about the prospect of joining you.”

“You know that I will make the decision. Of course, it's up to all the partners, but they will pretty much do as I say.”

When Monica remained silent, unsure of where this conversation was leading, he continued, “I've been talking to a few of your clients and I've caught inferences that you will do special things for some of your best.”

What was he leading up to, she wondered. Was he upset that she did sexual favors for a few of the biggies? A few of the not-so-biggies, too? She found it difficult to believe that he'd care how she kept her billing up, since it added to the firm's bottom line. She still said nothing. Let him explain himself.

“I just got to wondering how much you want this partnership.” He let the sentence hang in the air.

Shit. Monica couldn't believe he meant what he was implying. The guy was pulling out the casting couch.
Fuck him and get the partnership. Don't and you can kiss it good-bye.
He said nothing more, just uncrossed his legs and stood up. “Stop by my office anytime and let me know how you feel about this.” Without another word he crossed the thick carpeting and closed the door behind himself.

How much did she want the partnership? It was really important to her—more money, more prestige in the industry. She'd be the only female partner of Conroy & Bates, quite a coup for someone who had worked her way up through the ranks. Her face would be on the cover of
Advertising Age
, maybe even a mainstream magazine like
Time
or
Newsweek
. What would she be willing to do to get it? She rubbed her jaw in front of her ears, the first place she always felt tension.

In the past she wouldn't have hesitated for a moment. She might have even suggested it herself. But now? Since she'd been with Dan she hadn't wanted to be with anyone else. Shit!

She could scream sexual harassment, and that was certainly what Mr. Conroy—she couldn't call him Harrison—meant by his comment, but it wouldn't float. She had no real proof of anything threatening and he'd merely deny that he meant anything untoward by his comments. She could wear a wire as they did in the TV crime shows, but what good would it do? C & B would toss her out on her ear, whistle-blower laws or not, and her name would be mud in the business, even if she were right.

What would Dan think? She could just not tell him, of course, sleep with Harrison, and be done with it, but that would be cheating. What would she do?

She'd think about it, and for several hours she thought about little else.

“Monica Beaumont,” she said into her phone at work later that afternoon.

“Hi, Monica, it's Eve.”

Monica unhooked her earring and cradled the cordless phone against her ear as she crossed her office and closed the door. “Hi, Eve.” Strange. Eve had never called her at work before. They'd chatted occasionally in the evening but this was a first. “What's up?”

“I've got a little problem.”

From the tone of Eve's voice, Monica suspected that it was more than just a
little
problem. “What can I help you with?” she asked, settling behind her desk and swinging her chair around so she could look out over the Hudson.

“You seem to be pretty knowledgeable about doctors.”

“Not much more than you are, I'm afraid.”

“You had a cardiologist. I remember you talking about your visit with him and your need to relax. How did you find him? Or is it a her?”

“It's a him, and my internist recommended him. I looked him up on the Web and was satisfied with his background, so I made an appointment. Have you got heart problems?” Eve had never struck her as a high-stress person so why would she need a cardiologist at her age?

“It's not that,” Eve said, a catch in her voice. “I went to my gynecologist this morning.”

Monica interrupted. “You're not pregnant?”

She could hear Eve's chuckle. “No. That's not it. Somehow I wish it were. Pregnancy would be simpler. The doctor found a lump in my right breast.”

“Shit.” Monica swallowed hard. She tried to calm her racing heartbeat with the thought that not all lumps were cancer.

“Yeah. Don't tell Angie or Cait. Not yet. Everyone's so happy that Tony's fine now and everything.” As an incentive not to sue the New York City schools, he'd been offered a desk job in the administration building until a job opened up in a better school. The union was also talking about a lawsuit because of the lack of protection for its teachers. “I need to know whether the oncologist my guy recommended is any good.”

“I can certainly look him up on the Web for you,” Monica said, her hands shaking. “Then, when you decide on someone, we can go together.”

“That's not necessary, Monica. I'll go by myself.” She heard Eve's voice crack.

Monica's jaw tightened. “What part of ‘we'll go together' didn't you understand?” Monica listened as Eve wept, then said softly, “It's okay, Eve. It's probably nothing. Something benign. A fatty cyst or something. One of the women at work had a lump that turned out to be nothing. Odds are—”

“It's okay, Monica. You can stop with the pep talk. My doctor told me that the odds of it being something terrible are small, especially at my age with my lack of family history, but it's difficult to hear about anything that might be cancer, however minuscule the chances. Help me find someone, will you? In the city, maybe, since we're both down here every day.”

“Of course. Let me do a bit of research and I'll call you back.” Monica took Eve's cell phone number and spent the next hour bouncing from one Web site to another, amassing data on breast cancer and oncologists. When she called Eve back, she rattled off statistics, then mentioned the names of three well-respected specialists.

“The second one you mentioned,” Eve said, “is the one my doctor referred me to so that seems good enough for me.”

Respecting Eve's wishes, they didn't discuss her problems the next day at lunch with Cait. It had only been five days since the shooting, and since Tony couldn't really lift much with his sore arm, especially a wriggling baby, Angie had dashed home right after class. The other three had met for lunch, feeling incomplete. They had each talked to Angie on the phone and knew that Tony was doing very well and preparing to go back to the city in a week or so. He hadn't yet decided whether he'd go back to teaching or take the desk job the administration had offered. They marveled at the fall colors, now at their peak in Westchester County, shared some gossip about a celebrity, but the group felt alien without Angie. Monica told the other two that Bonnie was adjusting to life without Jake and the kids were settled in at school. Jake was still talking about moving back in but Bonnie was still not sure what she wanted to do. He was, thankfully, visiting with the children several times a week. Eve was noticeably silent, but told Cait that it was just some problem at work so she wouldn't get too curious.

The following week Monica sat in the waiting room while Eve talked to the cancer specialist, trying too read the latest issue of
Newsweek
. Frightened was far too small a word for what she was feeling. Her palms were sweaty, her heartbeat rapid. What if the news was really bad?

She'd gotten Eve's permission to tell Dan and he'd been completely supportive. “You know I'm there for both of you.”

“I know, Dan. I'm just so scared.” She held him closer. “It really puts everything in perspective. You're what's important to me. Not my job, not anything else. You and my three good friends and my family head the list, then everything else comes lots farther down.”

“I love you, you know.” Dan had said it before but never in the serious tone he was using today. “I've said it lightly a few times, and when I did, you've always shied away from the subject. Now I'm saying it for real. We've only known each other a few months, but when something's right, it just is, and I've known it for a while.”

She took a breath but he put his finger across her lips. “Don't say anything. Think about it for a while. Let it percolate through your brain and see what you think later.”

“Dan, I don't have to let it percolate, as you put it. I love you.”

“With one of your best friends in trouble the way she is, and just after Tony's shooting, this isn't the moment to make lasting pledges,” he said. “Relax and let's see where this all leads. I merely wanted you to know how I feel.”

Now, sitting, waiting, she knew that she really did love Dan. He was right, of course, not to let this really emotional experience with Eve color her thinking, so she wouldn't tell him anything more about the way she felt, nor would she do anything differently, but she knew. It wouldn't change. Should she tell him that she was giving up the clients she'd entertained? She thought about Mr. Conroy and knew she wouldn't consider his proposition. She had to tell him that, but not right now.

Eve emerged through a wide wooden door, pulled her coat off a hook, and whispered to the receptionist. Then she motioned to Monica and they left the office. “So?”

“I have some tests scheduled next week. The doctor examined me and told me that he couldn't tell much from an exam and the X-ray and sonogram I brought from my regular doctor. It would have been nice to know when this thing started to grow but I don't do a self exam as often as I should.” She smiled ruefully. “Read for that, never. So the only indication we have is that my gynecologist didn't find anything a year ago.”

“What kinds of tests are they going to do?”

“The main one is something called a needle biopsy and it will show whether it's benign or not.”

There was a catch in her voice and Monica noticed that she'd never actually said
cancer
. She remembered her terror when her cardiologist had first used the word
coronary
. She'd be with Eve every step of the way, no matter what. “When are the tests, and where?”

Eve named a hospital, then told her the tests were scheduled for the end of the following week. “I wanted to do everything as quickly as I could but she said a week, or even a month, wouldn't make a difference. It probably doesn't make a difference to her, but to me, it seems like an eternity. Unfortunately, next Friday was the first appointment I could get with the radiologist she wanted me to see, so I wait.”