Thursdays At Eight (3 page)

She got up and removed her jacket, placing it on a hanger. Then she unfastened the top button of her white silk blouse and rolled the long sleeves past her elbows. Picking up a piece of paper from the desk, she fanned her flushed face and paused to look out the sixth-floor window to the parking lot below.

“I can see I've cornered you at a good moment.” It was a deep male voice, one Liz immediately identified.

“Dr. Jamison,” she said in a crisp, professional tone. He was rarely at Willow Grove Memorial. Most of his patients were admitted to Laurelhurst Children's Hospital, where he worked primarily with premature infants. Sean Jamison was an excellent pediatrician but he had a well-deserved reputation for being demanding, impatient and arrogant—an arrogance that found expression in his womanizing behaviour. Liz couldn't fault his medical skills, but when it came to dealing with staff, he could use a few lessons in emotional maturity.

“Come now,” he said, his voice seductive, “we know each other well enough for you to call me Sean.”

Liz stepped behind her desk and resumed her seat, motioning for him to sit down, too. “How can I help you?”

“This is more of a social visit.” He claimed the closest chair and struck a casual pose, crossing his legs and balancing one ankle on the opposite knee. He relaxed, leaning back as if he was settling in for a long visit. “I stopped by to see how you're doing.”

“I'm busy,” she said quickly, thinking he might have time for chitchat but she didn't.

He ignored her lack of welcome. “How was your New Year's Eve?”

So that was it. He'd asked her out—well, sort of. What he'd
done was propose that they get together, the invitation flavored with sexual innuendo, and she'd promptly refused. Although she'd been a widow for six years, Liz rarely dated. Opportunities were available, had she been interested. For the most part, she wasn't.

“I had a lovely night. What about you?” From Sean's reaction she'd realized it wasn't often a woman turned him down. Liz had certainly heard all the rumors about Dr. Jamison. He was tall, sandy-haired and craggy-faced, with an undeniable presence; comparisons to Harrison Ford were regularly made—by women from twenty to sixty. Sean possessed the ageless appeal of a man who was smart, handsome, wealthy and single. The hospital was full of gossip about him, and more than one of the female nurses had fallen under his spell. Divorced for ten years, Sean Jamison seemed to consider himself a prize to be caught. He never dated anyone for long and Liz disliked his arrogant approach in romance as much as she deplored his indifference to staff relations.

Liz and Steve had met in high school, and other than the normal ups and downs that were part of any longstanding relationship, they'd had a good, solid marriage. She wasn't interested in a fling, no matter how handsome or wealthy the man.

Sean's attention confused her, although she'd never allow him to see that. From what she understood, he generally went out with women several years younger than he was. While Liz kept fit and watched her diet, she wasn't a trim thirty-year-old. With loving humor, Steve had suggested that her hourglass figure had begun to show an hour and ten minutes. She still smiled whenever she thought of that.

“Stayed home New Year's, didn't you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, and crossed her arms, letting him know
she wasn't open to a discussion involving her private life, “but as I said, I had a perfectly lovely evening.”

“All alone?”

“I happen to enjoy my own company.” Standing, she braced both hands on the edge of her cherrywood desk. “I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“I'm willing to give you another chance to go out with me.”

“No, thanks.”

He grinned, dismissing her rejection as though it was her loss, not his. Then he stood and turned away, ambling toward the door.

“Sean,” she said, shocking herself just a little.

His smile firmly in place, he raised his eyebrows. “Change your mind?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” she said, knowing that for some reason she didn't want this conversation to end the same way the others had.

“No?” He arched his eyebrows again, affecting a look of mild surprise.

“This is the second time you've stopped by my office to ask me out.”

He didn't comment.

“I've turned you down both times,” she reminded him. “And I'm wondering if you've asked yourself why.”

“It's self-explanatory,” he murmured. “You're afraid.”

“It's more than that.”

He shrugged carelessly, and she could practically read his response.
No big deal.
Plenty of women willing to take him up on his offer.

“It's your attitude.”

For the first time in their lengthy association, Sean appeared to be at a loss for words.

“I'm not some bimbo you can schmooze into bed. This might
come as news to you, but there's more to a relationship than what happens between a man and a woman in the bedroom.”

He stared at her, as if daring her to continue. “I happen to think you're one of the finest pediatricians in this state,” she went on. “I respect your diagnostic and medical skills, and I've seen the way you are with the children. My regard for your professional abilities is immense. But your manner with most people in this hospital leaves a lot to be desired, and frankly I'm not impressed.”

“Is this the long version of why you're not interested in dating me?” he asked with barely disguised disdain.

“Actually…I'd like to get to know you.”

His look implied that he wasn't sure he should believe her. “You have an odd way of saying so.”

Despite his apparent indifference, she knew this couldn't be easy on his ego. “I suspect there's more to you than meets the eye.”

“Great. Your place or mine?”

Liz wanted to groan out loud. He hadn't heard a word she'd said! “Neither.” She held the door for him and added soberly, “When you're ready to see me as an intelligent, mature woman whose professional interests are compatible with yours, let me know.” She leaned against the open door. “Otherwise you're wasting your time.”

“I doubt that,” he said as he stepped past and paused to touch his lips to her cheek. “Give me a call when
you're
ready for some excitement in your life.”

Liz rolled her eyes.
Forget it, Doctor. I have enough excitement just dealing with all the staff complaints against you.

Some people never learned.

KAREN CURTIS

January 1st

I
woke at noon, nursed a tall, half-caff/decaf, double-sweet mocha latte for breakfast. Nichole phoned and wanted to hang out at the mall so we did. I ran into Jeff, who's working at Body and Spirit Gym, and we talked for a while. He's wasting his life teaching Tae-Bo classes to a bunch of over-weight business executives who don't care about anything beyond their corporate image. I found it really hard to hold my tongue. Jeff is letting his talent go down the drain and it upsets me.

Jeff and I made a vow to one another in high-school drama class that we wouldn't give up the dream. It was all I could do not to grab him by the shoulders and remind him.
It's too soon to throw away the future
, I wanted to tell him. Although I kept my mouth shut, I could see that Jeff was eager to make his
escape. Hanging with me made him uncomfortable; it forced him to face what he's doing.

What bothers me most is knowing Jeff isn't the only one who's given up; Angie and Burt did, too. Last I heard, Sydney and Leslee had regular nine-to-five jobs. So did Brad. Out of the seven of us who made up the acting ensemble, there's only me left. I refuse to surrender to the mundane. I refuse to take second-best. I am an actor. Currently a starving one, but that's beside the point.

All right, I'll step down from my soapbox. God forbid, my biggest fear is about to become a reality. I'm beginning to sound like my mother, the Woman Who Always Knows Best. Now there's a thought to send me screaming into the night.

She and Dad insisted I get a college education. I disagreed, stood my ground, fought the good fight, but then—during a period of below-poverty-level existence—I caved. Hey! They might've won the battle, but the war's all mine. Since the day I was born, my domineering mother has attempted to run my life. From the moment I enrolled in college, she's demanded I be a teacher. A lifelong occupation, she said. A good job for a woman. Give me a break!

Well, I have that precious degree, but it's in history with a minor in education. I have no intention of using it, except where it'll aid my acting career. Fortunately I've found a way in which to do that. Oddly enough, it also means my mother's kind of getting what she wants. But that's just a by-product. The important thing is I'm getting what
I
want.

You see, I'm a substitute teacher. Temporary and part-time. Due to the severe teacher shortage currently happening in southern California, anyone with a college degree—and it doesn't matter in what—can be hired as a substitute teacher. Isn't that incredible? I can have a degree in basket-weaving and
qualify as a teacher for a whopping two-hundred-and-fifty bucks a day. Now, I don't mind telling you that's good money for part-time work. What's so fantastic is this: I can pick and choose the days I want to teach.

If I can fit subbing into my schedule, I spend two or three days a week in a classroom. Three at the most. That way, I still make enough money to support myself. On the days I don't work, I can audition for whatever's available.

Before the holiday break, my agent sent me out to audition for a TV commercial for a new kind of toilet brush. The district called first thing that morning and without fear of losing my job and without so much as a twinge of guilt, I said I had other plans. No problem; they simply went to the next name on the list. I headed out the door, knowing there'll be a job for me another day, if I want it. Sadly, I didn't get the commercial, but rejection's the name of the acting game.

As soon as school starts up after the holidays, I'll be ready to go back to substitute teaching. With so many days off, I have to admit I'm experiencing a bit of a cash-flow problem. Christmas didn't help, and neither did the cost of the one-day acting workshop last week. In fact, Jeff bought my latte for me today. But never mind, I'll survive. I always do, despite my mother's dire predictions.

I know I'm an embarrassment to her. She can't brag about me to all her society friends the way she does Victoria. My sister had the good judgment to marry an up-and-coming attorney who raised our family's social standing an entire notch. As far as I'm concerned, Roger is a twit, but no one's asking for my opinion. Good thing, too, because I'm not afraid to give it.

One positive aspect of Victoria's brilliant marriage is that Mom and Dad's attention is now focused on my sister and her first child instead of on me (although I do have to admit my nephew's a real cutie!). Basically Mom's been leaving me alone. Thank God.

I once heard a psychology professor say that the females in his class should take a good look at their mothers because in all likelihood we'll be just like them as we mature. Heaven help me—say it ain't so!

Mother means well. I can't fault her there. It's just that I'm such a bitter disappointment to her. Mom's so…so sterile. So predictable. There's no passion in her soul. I'm nothing like her, so I don't know how Professor Gordon could categorically state that in a few years I'll resemble her.

If anyone's like Mom, it's Victoria. To her, what people think and say is of ultimate importance. Social standing. Appearances. Money. None of that interests me. Well, maybe the money part, but only enough to get by. Unless I earn it doing what I love, and that's acting. I guess I'm a woman who needs an audience. As a kid, my first word wasn't Mom or Dad but
look
.

When Mom heard I'd tried out for a role in a toilet-brush commercial, she freaked. The very thought of her daughter appearing on national television and admitting she cleaned toilets would have mortified her. However, I was thrilled with the part and devastated when I learned it'd gone to someone else. But that's all part of the business… And as Dad keeps saying, I've got a university degree to “fall back on.”

Liz, Clare and Julia are three surprises that came out of me finishing my credits to get my degree. I love these guys and I'm thrilled we've decided to keep meeting, just the four of us. Me and three smart, professional women. I don't know what exactly I offer the group. My guess is comic relief.

The only reason I took that journal-writing class was because I needed an easy credit, and from the course description this was a simple way to raise my GPA. From the time I was a kid, I've kept a journal. There must be twenty spiral-bound notebooks tucked away in my bedroom closet, and they document
my entire life. I signed up for the class, convinced I'd be bored out of my mind, and became friends with three of the most fascinating women I've ever met.

The English professor who taught the class was a real ditz. I knew more about keeping a journal than she did. But I didn't miss a single session, and that's only because of Liz and the others. They've kind of adopted me and I'm grateful. What I like is the perspective they give me, being older and all. Liz is the sort of person I wish my mother could be. Hey, if my mother wants to change me, then I should be granted the same privilege. If I'm a disappointment to her as a daughter, then she should know she's not my picture of the ideal parent, either.

Unlike Mom, Liz has been nothing but encouraging about my acting career. I know what the chances are of actually making it, but I can't allow unfavorable odds to dissuade me from trying. This is my dream. My life's ambition. If I don't go after it now, I never will. I honestly don't understand why my mother can't support my choices.

Enough already. This entire journal is turning out to be about my mother instead of me. I'd prefer not to deal with her today, or any day. Besides, Liz gave us an assignment.

I need a word before we meet next Thursday. We're all selecting a personal word. It's supposed to have special significance in our lives. Maybe I should use this as an acting exercise, do some free association.

Actually, I rather like that idea. Let's see. Acting. Goal. Audition. Wouldn't it be great to audition for a TV show like
Friends
? Friends. New friends. Liz, Clare and Julia. What I love about them is that they're so accepting of me. I love that they laugh at my jokes and make me feel a real part of the group. If only my mother were half as accepting…

That's it. I've got it!
Acceptance.
I want my parents to accept
me for the person I am. I might not have turned out the way they envisioned, but I'm a good, decent, honest person. That should count for something. If my parents can welcome a twit like Roger into the family, they should be able to cope with a daughter who wants to act. And no, Mother, I don't think performing in a toilet-brush commercial is beneath me. I was emotionally wiped out for a week when someone else got the role.

ACCEPTANCE.
I've got to be me.
Ol' Blue Eyes really knew what he was talking about. Acceptance. I like it. My hope is that one day my mother will accept me for who I am and be just as proud of me as she is of Victoria.

 

Fresh from her first audition of the year, Karen excitedly wrote in her journal, sitting at her usual window table at Mocha Moments. The upscale coffee shop was bustling as customers moved in and out. She'd been the one to recommend the place to the breakfast group and felt good about the way they'd applauded her suggestion. Two summers ago she'd stood behind that counter, concocting lattes and serving up fiber-filled bran muffins. Despite being fired for repeated absences, she maintained a friendly relationship with the manager and often stopped by. She did almost all her journal-writing at this very table.

She was about to leave when Jeff slid into the chair across from her. “Whatssup?” he asked.

“Hey, Jeff.” It was great to see him. One advantage of teaching those fitness classes was that he looked positively buff. His shoulders were muscular and his chest had filled out. He wore a winter tan so rich, it must have come out of a booth.

“Thought I'd find you in here,” he said, flashing a smile. Oh, yeah, he was the California poster boy, all right, with his gorgeous white teeth, whiter than ever against the tan, and his sun-streaked blond hair.

“You were looking for me?” Her ego wasn't immune to having this hunk seek her out, especially here, where everyone knew her. They'd been together some in high school, but nothing serious. Her mother's generation called it dating, but all Karen and Jeff had really done was hang out together. They were part of the acting ensemble, and their commitment had been to that, which left little time for anything social.

“I've been thinking about what you said.” Jeff leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I'm impressed with your determination. You believe in yourself.”

“Jeff, you've got as much talent as I do. You can make it, I know you can.”

“Yeah, I know, but it takes more than talent.”

Talent was cheap, Karen knew that; she ran into it everywhere. And as Jeff said, it wasn't enough. What made the difference was drive, determination and plain old-fashioned stubbornness.

A slim strawberry blonde with her hair tied back in a ponytail came into the coffee shop and walked up to the counter, where she placed her order. Jeff's attention drifted from Karen to the blonde. She wore navy-blue spandex and a matching sports bra, her face glistening with sweat. It was obvious that she'd recently been at the gym.

“You know her?” Karen asked.

“She's in one of my classes, along with her sugar daddy.”

Karen stared. It couldn't be, could it? She'd once been at the mall with Clare, meeting for lunch, when a pert blond woman, younger than Karen, had emerged from Victoria's Secret. Clare had pointed her out. Could this be the woman Clare's husband had dumped her for? Miranda Something? Nah. The world got smaller all the time, but it wasn't
that
small. “What's the name?” she asked.

“Miranda.”

“No kidding! What about the sugar daddy?”

Jeff frowned as he mulled over the question. “I don't remember.”

“It isn't Michael, is it?”

His eyes widened. “I think it might be. Yeah, I think it is. You know him?”

“Of him,” she muttered, checking out the other woman. So this was Miranda. Clare had told her a bit of the story; Liz had told her more, and over the last few months, Karen had picked up a few of the nastier details.

“He dumped his family for her.”

Jeff's attention went back to Miranda. “She's not bad-looking,” he said thoughtfully.

“What's Michael like?”

Jeff frowned again. “You interested in him?”

“No.” She wanted to clobber him for being so stupid. “He was married to a friend of mine. Tell me about him.”

Jeff seemed to be at a loss. “I don't know.” He shrugged. “Personality-wise he seems all right, but he's not much of an athlete. He had trouble keeping up with the class. Must've dropped out because I haven't seen him around lately.”

“But you've seen Miranda?”

“Oh yeah, she's there.”

“Really?” Karen's gaze narrowed as she studied the other woman more closely. “What do you think she sees in him?” she asked Jeff.

“The sugar daddy?” Jeff said. “What they all see. He's got money to burn.”

Karen shook her head. “There's got to be more than that.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don't. I told you, it's just that I know his ex-wife and I'm curious.”

Jeff raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Miranda's okay, I guess. I don't know why she hooked up with this older guy, but as far as I'm concerned, to each his—or her—own. It's not exactly unusual, Karen. I see this sort of thing at the gym. The older men come in and hit on the younger women all the time. It's part of life in the fast lane.”

“That doesn't bother you?”

“Me?” Jeff laughed. “Hey, I get more attention than I can handle. I'm happy to share the wealth.”