Spa Page 11

  “I guess I do. Pretty much, anyway. That’s why we came here. I think I hate her, and we’re supposed to be taking time out to fix our relationship. Fat chance.” Regina glanced guiltily at Cathy. “Sorry about that. Anyway, the only thing she wants is to have her own way all the time. She treats me like I’m still a baby and I’m sick of it. I wish she’d just bug off.”

  “Such a way to talk about a mother!” Maxine was incredulous. “If I ever thought my Bradley felt that way about me I’d be devastated. He’s my life. One day you’ll have children of your own. You’ll find out.” She wagged a warning finger at Regina.

  Cathy nodded in agreement. Regina looked at Joyce, who shrugged. It was one of those moments that mark a very clear division between women and mothers.

  “How old is your son?” The girl made an attempt to mollify the obviously upset Maxine. Even though she was still young, her instincts told her that she had struck a raw nerve. Mothers certainly were a touchy lot.

  “My Bradley is twenty-two, nearly twenty-three.”

  “And do you still try to run his life for him?”

  “A mother’s love goes on forever,” sniffed Maxine in defense.

  “Love? Huh! “Possession” is more like it. I’m almost twenty and I can’t even go out on a date unless Mother approves, and even then I have to be home by eleven so I can get a good night’s sleep and not look like some kind of a droid in the morning.” Regina pouted. “Sometimes I wish I could just be normal. You know, like everyone else?” She looked around the group to see if anybody understood. Her eyes landed on Joyce and begged for her agreement. She sensed, somehow, that this woman probably understood how she felt better than the others.

  “Why don’t you just tell your mother how you feel?” It seemed such a trite thing to say, but Joyce, who was suddenly distracted by Cliff’s arrival, knew she had to say something to appease the begging eyes, and so took the easy way out.

  “How I feel isn’t important. It’s only how I look that counts. I’m the center of her little empire, don’t you know. That’s all she cares about. It’s all she’s ever cared about.”

  “Maybe you’re not giving her a chance.” The platitudes were running thick and heavy now. Cliff, spying the group of women around the couch, nodded at Joyce and headed straight for the french doors that led out onto the patio.

  “Look, if this is going to be one of those ‘After all she’s done for you’ speeches, I’m off.” Regina went to get up.

  “No. It’s just that you have your point of view and she has hers. If you want her to see your side of things you have to try and meet her halfway.” Joyce thought she’d heard that somewhere before. Anyway, it sounded like pretty good advice.

  “That’s what Michael always says, whenever we disagree, and then he shows me why he was right: ‘I have my point of view and now you have my point of view too.’ Isn’t that cute?” Cathy started to laugh but, seeing that none of the others thought it was funny, she quickly clamped a pudgy hand over her mouth.

  “Oh.”

  “God. You really are married aren’t you?” Joyce shook her head in amazement. Michael sounded like a real jerk.

  Regina yawned. “Look, why don’t all you married ladies talk about your husbands or whatever. I think I’m going to go and raise Mother’s eyebrows an inch or two.” She unfolded herself from the couch and stood up. “If I get anywhere near an M.A.N. Mother breaks out in hives. I’m not sure whether she’s worried that he’s after me for my money or my body but, either way, it drives her up the wall.” She winked at them conspiratorially and then slowly sashayed across the room and out onto the patio, making sure that Belle noticed her leave.

  “There goes a mother’s nightmare,” said Maxine, nodding at the departing girl. She was thinking about Bradley. Young people today seemed so confident. So independent. So unlike her generation.

  “Oh, she’s just growing up,” interjected Joyce, who was wondering why she found it necessary to defend the girl.

  “She’s so lucky.” Cathy had watched her leave the room with envy. “So graceful, so self-assured.”

  “Is she? Lucky, I mean. I’d say she has a pretty warped existence for a young girl. Probably lonely as hell.”

  “Not at the moment,” said her mother’s voice.

  “Lonely? How can she be lonely? She’s always going to fancy parties and exciting places. I know I see her in People magazine all the time. She has thousands of fans. She met the President!” Cathy practically squeaked the last sentence.

  “There’s different kinds of loneliness.” Maxine sounded like she was talking from experience.

  “Maxine’s right. It can be very lonely out there, believe me,” offered Joyce, much to her own surprise.

  “How can you both say that? You’re married.”

  “Well, I … um. Actually, I’m getting a divorce.” Joyce thought she was getting so good at making things up she should write a book.

  “A divorce!” Maxine perked up. “Really? But what will you do when you’re on your own?”

  “The same things I did when I wasn’t on my own. Get up, go to work, eat, sleep. The usual. Life isn’t measured in marriage, Maxine.”

  Maxine looked shocked. “I.…”

  But the doctor joined them before she could reply. “I hope you ladies enjoyed your dinner and are having a pleasant evening.” He beamed down from above them like a full moon on a fall night. “As for myself, I am going to retire. My bedtime is ten o’clock precisely. It is necessary to adhere to a strict routine, if one is going to maintain one’s youth. We all have to get our ZZZZZZ’s.” He flashed a smile. “Gute Nacht.”

  Joyce looked past him and watched as Belle crossed the room. With all the stealth of a lioness stalking her prey, she moved out through the french doors and into the scented darkness.

  “Uh-oh,” said Joyce, under her breath. “Here we go.”

  But, in a few moments, mother and daughter came in from the patio and, single file, walked wordlessly across the drawing room and out the door. Joyce wondered what had happened out there and why Cliff hadn’t come back inside. Perhaps she should wander outside and.…

  “God, I’m soooo hungry,” Cathy whined for the second time since dinner. “Think I’ll go up to my room and forage around in my luggage. There has to be something to eat in there.” With effort she lumbered off the couch and out the door.

  Maxine stretched. “I think I’ll go call Bradley. I hope there’s no trouble with the phones here. Dialing long distance, I mean.” She looked for reassurance to Joyce, who thought for a minute that Maxine was going to ask her to dial the number for her.

  “I’m sure you won’t have any problem. If you do, you can always get the operator to place the call for you.”

  “Operators. I’ll be lucky to get one that speaks English.” And gathering up her purse and her sweater, she left the room.

  Chapter 18

  As soon as Maxine had left, Cliff came in from the patio.

  “What were you doing, waiting for everyone to leave?”

  “Not everyone.” He came over and sat beside Joyce on the couch. She felt a tingle of excitement course down the leg he had brushed against earlier. Get hold of yourself, for God’s sake, Joyce, she pleaded silently.

  “I was going to sit with you when I came in after dinner, but I just couldn’t face an evening of women-talk.”

  “Neither could I, but unfortunately, when you’re a woman, people expect it of you.” She changed the subject. “Anyway, I’m sure that things were much more exciting out on the ole patio—especially after Mother arrived.”

  “You can say that again. I was sure The Lady in Red would be out to see what we were up to. Such a charming woman,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “And were you up to something?” asked Joyce matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, I was up to about here.” The tone of his voice changed and he edged a little closer on the couch and took her left hand in his. “I thought Dr. Voight calle
d you Mrs. Allan, but I don’t see any ring.” He ran the ball of his thumb over her third finger and she shivered slightly at the touch.

  “Pretty perceptive, aren’t you?” She moved back, trying to put more space between them; her head was beginning to swim from such close proximity.

  “Am I making you nervous?” He looked amused and vaguely sinister at the same time.

  “Me and fifty million other women.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip. “Look, uh Cliff, uh.…”

  “You’re not married, are you?”

  “Does it matter?” She could feel his pulse throbbing through her fingers.

  “It never has before.”

  “I … I … suppose I might as well confess. You’re right, I’m not married, but it seemed that it would be easier if I said I was, in case anyone recognized my real name.”

  “Ah, a woman of intrigue. Sounds right up my alley.” He was stroking the side of her wrist now, with his index finger. “Now, let me see if I can guess who you are.” He thought for a second. “Let’s see, long tapering fingers, short unpolished nails.… “He was running his finger down the inside of each of her fingers. It was a gesture designed to set her pulse racing, and it worked. “I’ve got it. You are a famous European pianist on the run from her brutish lover?”

  “You’ve been seeing too many movies on the Late Show.” She tried to sound blasé, but her voice was shaky.

  “I’ve been seen in too many movies on the Late Show.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She tried to pull her hand back, but his grip was firm.

  “Nothing, forget it. Now where was I? Oh yes, you were about to tell me who you really are.”

  “Well, actually … I’m a … a … writer from New York.” She tried a laugh, but it came out more like a nervous twitter. “On assignment from her brutish editor. And the long tapering fingers that you won’t let go of are for typing, not piano playing.” He had her off balance now, and they both knew it.

  “Ah, a member of the fourth estate. Then I must watch my tongue, mustn’t I.” He slowly ran his tongue over his lower lip and then smiled slightly. The tips of two perfectly pointed incisors glinted hungrily in the lamp light. Joyce watched the performance, mesmerized.

  He spoke again. “Which magazine are you with?”

  “Uh.… Dentistry … I mean Destiny.” She felt her face grow red.

  “I’ve heard of it but, and don’t take this the wrong way, Joyce …?”

  “Redmond.”

  “Joyce Redmond. I don’t think I would have known who you were if you were wearing a name tag and carrying a copy of last month’s issue under your arm.”

  “That’s alright.” Joyce relaxed a little. They were finally talking about a subject with which she felt comfortable, and he had stopped caressing her fingers. “But the others might have known who I was, especially Maxine.”

  He looked deeply into her eyes and murmured. “Why especially Maxine?”

  She felt herself melting under his gaze. “Uh, Maxine is Harry’s wife. Harry is … ah my … ah.…” She was having trouble concentrating. “Harry is my editor. I’m supposed to be here writing an in-depth piece on the real reasons why you have all decided to come to a spa and.…”

  “And is there something between you and this Harry?”

  The question shocked her out of her reverie. “Good Lord, no! The only thing between Harry and me is two spaces on the masthead.”

  “Is that so?” interjected her mother’s voice.

  “Then you aren’t involved with anyone at the moment?” His other hand was now busy stroking her right shoulder. Up and down. Up and down. It paused briefly as it slid past the curve of her breast.

  “Involved … I.… No. It’s difficult with my job. I travel a lot, if you see what I m-mean,” she stammered.

  He leaned forward then, his breath hot against her cheek. “What I see is a woman who has very beautiful eyes.”

  Very beautiful eyes! That did it. It was the oldest line in the book. She had already heard it a couple of thousand times, and hearing it again restored her perspective.

  “And I see a man who’s misinterpreting a little friendly conversation.” She placed one hand on his chest and tried to push him away. But he remained solidly in place.

  “And I see a woman who knows what she really wants but is afraid to let herself go in case she gets it.”

  She took a deep breath. “Look, before we go in for another round of “I Spy with My Little Eye,” can I just say one thing?”

  “Of course. Say away. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I am not about to bowled over by your movie-star charm, so stop pouring it on, O.K.? If you want to talk, fine, but stop the great seduction routine or I’m going to bed right now.”

  He was running his fingers along the back of her neck, tangling them lightly in the soft bounty of her hair.

  “That’s fine with me. We can skip the preliminaries and get right down to the action.”

  “I meant I’m going to bed alone.”

  He let go of her hair. “You really know how to ruin an evening, you know that?” he said flatly. “I was just getting into the mood.” Moving his arm from behind her neck, he slumped back against the couch. Then his eyes wandered around the room.

  “And speaking of moods, mine could use a little elevating. I wonder if they have any booze around here?”

  “I doubt it. But you could always order a ‘cocktail’ and pretend,” said Joyce with a hint of sarcasm. She had never seen a man who could switch it on and off so fast.

  “No thanks. I’ve done enough good for my body for one day. Besides, I’m evidently not that great an actor.”

  “Oh I don’t know about that.…” She sought for something to say that would cancel out the change of mood she had so recklessly invoked, but nothing came to mind. She was quiet for a minute.

  “Listen, Cliff, I’m sorry if I spoiled things. But I … I’m just not the kind of woman who falls for all that seduction stuff. ‘You have very beautiful eyes.’ It’s so corny. I mean, how many times have you said that to a woman?”

  “I don’t keep score, but it might occur to you that in your case I meant it. You do have very beautiful eyes.”

  “Please. I don’t like playing these kind of games.…”

  “I’ll bet you’re a real fun date, you know that? If a man gives you a compliment on this dress, you’d probably ask him why he doesn’t like that dress. No wonder you’re not married.”

  “That was a low blow.” She felt a lump of anger rising in her throat. Who was he to comment on her life? “I’m not married, because I put my career ahead of playing stupid sexist games with men like you.”

  She stood up and turned to go, but he grabbed her hand.

  “Joyce, wait a minute.”

  She yanked her hand away. “Will you let go of me!”

  He let her go. “O.K. O.K. But wait a minute, will you?”

  “A minute is sixty seconds, and I’m counting.” She folded her arms over her chest.

  “You’re right. You’re right. I shouldn’t have made that crack about you not being married. And you’re also right about this being a game.” He shrugged. “I’ve played it so often it’s like second nature. Sometimes I’m halfway through the thing before I even know I’m doing it. I think I go on automatic pilot or something. It’s nothing personal.”

  “Thank’s a lot.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.” He heaved a sigh of exasperation. “You really are touchy, you know that? A little game of “hide the banana” is probably just what you need. Calm you right down.”

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve.” She balled her hands into fists.

  He noted the gesture. “See, what did I tell you? You’re tense. Very tense. Joyce, you need to let your hair down.”

  “My hair is down, and your minute is up!” And she turned and started toward the door. But he caught up with her.

  “Look, O.K.
I can take a hint. Maybe you’re not into guys.”

  “What?” She swung around to face him.

  “Gotcha! It always works.” He was grinning.

  “You … you..…” She stumbled to find a word that would express her opinion.

  “Snake?” he suggested, still smiling.

  “Lower than a snake.”

  “Lower than a snake?” He looked stricken.

  Then Joyce couldn’t help herself. The whole business had gotten so ridiculous she burst out laughing. Cliff seized the moment.

  “Do you think that you could let someone who is lower than a snake walk you to your door?”

  “You really are something, you know that?” said Joyce, smiling and shaking her head.

  “I know.”

  He followed her out into the hall. The moonlight was casting pale shadows through the stained glass window, poor successors to the adamantine glory of the afternoon.

  As they were crossing the gallery into the long hall where the guest suites were located, they both heard raised voices coming from room number three.

  “I think that’s Regina’s room,” whispered Joyce, straining to catch what the voices were saying without seeming too interested.

  “Her mother’s probably giving her shit for talking to me.”

  “Really? I wonder why. Well, here’s my door.” She stopped outside of number five and fished the key out of her pocket. Then she turned, her heart thumping wildly behind her breast bone.

  “Look, Cliff. I’m sorry I called you a snake.”

  He corrected her. “Lower than a snake.”

  “Alright, alright. Don’t make this any harder than it is. It isn’t that I don’t find you attractive. It’s just that, well, you did come on a little strong tonight. Maybe under different circumstances.…”

  He placed one hand on the door behind her head.

  She looked up into his face. “You never give up, do you?”