Decidedly Married

Chapter Four

Julie slipped out of bed, put on a soft-sounding jazz CD and lit several fragrant candles on the bureau In the muted, flickering light, the room looked romantic, inviting, as she hoped she, too, looked in her silk negligee She knew it would be a minute or two before Michael came upstairs. He would walk around the house and check the stove and the windows and doors; he might pour himself a glass of juice and glance at the mail or scan the newspaper headlines if he hadn’t already read the paper at work.

But soon—any minute now—she would hear his familiar footsteps on the stairs, and she would be here waiting. Sitting on the side of the bed looking the way he remembered her from their youth. He would come over and kiss her, and their closeness would spark old yearnings and desires. She would search his eyes and read the unspoken truths. In his arms she would feel reassured of his love for her, and they would be together again in a way they seldom were these days.

She soon heard his footfall on the stairs, and moments later he entered the room, his tall, rugged frame filling the doorway. Already he was loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He stopped a few feet from the bed and gazed quizzically at Julie. “What’s going on, hon?”

She forced her voice to sound casual. “What do you mean?”

He gestured toward the candles. “The moonlight and roses bit. What gives?”

“Nothing…everything. I felt lousy all day, so I’m pampering myself tonight.”

“Oh.” Michael pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the sofa across from the entertainment unit, then unbuckled his belt. He had a solid chest and abdomen, and yet he possessed a graceful leanness through his waist and hips, an athlete’s agility as he strode across the room to the dressing area. She heard Michael brushing his teeth at one of the twin oval sinks in the powder room, then he returned moments later in silk, maroon pajama bottoms.

He leaned over and brushed a kiss on the top of her head, then reached for the alarm clock on the bedside table. “You don’t look sick, Jewel,” he noted as he set the timer. “You look like you’re ready to party.”

“I didn’t want you seeing me with my red nose and my ugly menthol hanky around my throat,” she admitted.

He sat down beside her on the bed and looked directly into her eyes. She could smell the lemon scent of his aftershave, or did she detect the hint of another fragrance—another woman’s perfume perhaps? “Really?” he said with a baffled chuckle. “You got fixed up like this for me?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I—I guess I am. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. It’s just—well, it’s been a while since we’ve spent some time together.”

He nodded. “That it has.” He studied her, as if to say, I know there’s more to it than that. What aren’t you telling me?

She waited, maintaining a small, cryptic smile, tracing his features as she often did unconsciously—the long, distinctive nose, the high forehead rising to a brush cut of thick, coal-black hair, the generous, sculpted chin that showed a five-o’clock shadow even when he had just shaved, and the thick brows arching dramatically over those insightful blue eyes.

Everything his face says comes out in his eyes, she realized. The rest of his face is understated, the expression subtle, stony, inscrutable, as immovable as a mountain, but his eyes say it all with a deep, direct, unflinching, disarming power.

“So what’s this all about, Julie?” he asked seriously.

She felt her mouth go dry. She couldn’t escape those probing eyes. What was she supposed to say? I’m competing with some mystery woman named Beth in hopes that I still have a marriage to salvage? She groped for words. “It’s no big deal, Michael. I knew you were closing an important deal tonight, and I just wanted to—I don’t know—share the moment with you. If that sounds lame, I guess I—”

He ruffled her hair playfully. “No, it sounds very thoughtful. Thanks, Jewel.”

“So tell me about it,” she prompted. “How did it go?”

“Fine.”

“That’s it? Just fine?”

“You’re surely not interested in the mundane details.”

“Maybe I am. You said you were working with another Realtor.”

“Yeah. It went like clockwork. The client’s happy. We got the price we wanted, and you know how amazing that is these days.”

“Then you two worked well together—you and this—Beth?” She struggled to say the word without an undercurrent of hostility. But the way Michael looked at her she feared she had allowed more meaning to creep into her question than she had intended.

His icy blue eyes drilled hers. “It’s late. Why all the questions, Julie?”

“No reason.” She looked away. Somewhere at the core of her spine she was trembling. She knew she couldn’t let this moment pass without answers. If necessary, she would force the issue and make Michael tell her the truth. “It’s just—I had a strange feeling about this deal tonight, this other Realtor—Beth, whoever she is—like maybe there’s something more important here than you’ve told me.” She looked at him, afraid to read the truth in his eyes. “Is there something more, Michael?”

His gaze remained steady, clear. His lips curved in a provocative half smile. “Looks like you’ve found me out, Jewel. You always did have good instincts about these things. How’d you know?”

“About Beth?” she asked in a small, pained voice. Was he going to force her to say the awful words aloud?

“You must have talked to someone at the office today, right? They told you?”

“No, nobody told me a thing.”

“Then how did you know about us bringing Beth aboard?”

She stared at him, perplexed. If he was confessing to an affair, he had a strange way of phrasing it. “What are you talking about, Michael?”

Now he looked as baffled as she felt. “I thought you just said you knew about Beth.”

She forced her voice to remain steady, controlled. “Maybe you’d better tell me yourself, Michael.”

“She’s leaving Consolidated. She’s accepted a position with Ryan and Associates.”

Julie waited, unmoving, her breath caught in her chest. Had she heard right? “What are you saying, Michael?”

“Good grief, Julie, is this a riddle or what? You sounded like you already knew. I’m telling you I’ve brought Beth Chamberlin into our camp. She’s working with me now. She may be young, but she’s a crackerjack agent. A real go-getter. If she’s as successful with us as she was with Consolidated, we’ll triple our sales in six months.”

Julie crawled under the covers and slipped over to her side of the bed. She felt dazed; her head spun. Had she been enormously mistaken about this woman named Beth and her fragrant, little blue note signed with love? Was she truly just a new colleague of Michael’s? Was their interest in each other purely professional? Or was Michael a better liar than she had ever given him credit for?

“What’s wrong, Julie? Hey, sweetheart, what just happened here?” Michael climbed into bed beside her and pulled her close. His fingers moved over her face and neck to her shoulder and slipped under the spaghetti strap of her gown “Come on, Jewel. Aren’t we going to celebrate? I know the perfect way to wrap up this evening. How about it, sweetheart?”

She pulled away and turned over, her back to him. She felt herself freezing up, her mind and body turning numb and cold and impenetrable as a glacier. I’m sorry, Michael, I can’t. I can’t!

“I thought you were ready to celebrate. What is it this time?” he demanded. “You’re not in the mood anymore? What is it? Talk to me, Julie. What’d I do wrong? In the name of heaven, Julie, say something!”

At breakfast the next morning Julie sensed that Michael was still irritated with her, but he had the good grace to act as if nothing was wrong around their daughter. Katie, oblivious of any undercurrent, monopolized the conversation, raving to her dad about her new boyfriend, Jesse. “He’s so cool, Daddy. He can do impressions. You should hear him do Jay Leno and Tom Hanks. And the president. He sounds just like him. You’ll totally like Jesse, Daddy.”

Julie looked up from her yogurt and granola and said quietly, “He has hair past his shoulders and wears an earring in his ear, Michael.”

“Half the guys I know have long hair and wear earrings, Daddy,” protested Katie. “That doesn’t make him bad. You just don’t like him, Mom, because he dropped out of school.”

“I never said I didn’t like him,” said Julie, knowing she had already lost this round.

“I’d like to meet him,” said Michael. “Invite him over, Katie. How about Sunday? We’ll throw some steaks on the grill and swap some impressions. I do a pretty convincing Robin Williams, if I do say so myself. Isn’t that right, Julie?”

Ignoring the question, she stood up abruptly and started clearing the table. She had no desire to involve herself in such foolishness. Why do you always do this to me, Michael? she wondered with a stab of resentment. Instead of supporting me and urging Katie to date decent, college-bound boys, you encourage her by inviting this young hooligan over to the house. You always rubber-stamp her choices, no matter how foolish they are, and leave me looking like the bad guy!

“Where are you going, Mom?” asked Katie as Julie reached for her purse.

“Where do you think?” Julie shot back with a hint of acid in her tone. “Your dad and boyfriend do impressions. Well, I do a great disappearing act. I’m going to work.” She gave them each a perfunctory kiss and was out the door before either could protest.

They have more fun anyway when it’s just the two of them, she told herself as she headed for the freeway onramp. They always laugh more together than when it’s the three of us. I cramp their style. Spoil their fun.

Before she settled into a pity party of one, Julie reminded herself that her husband and daughter needed her to keep some balance in their lives. I keep them on track. I bring them back down to earth so they don’t soar away forever like helium-filled balloons. I give their lives stability and direction.

But somehow that knowledge didn’t comfort her. She knew her husband and daughter shared a special bond she could never break through. She would always be the outsider looking in; that seemed to be the quintessence of her life.

And now she had a feeling her relationship with Michael was growing even more strained and distant. Why couldn’t she respond to him the way he wanted her to last night? She had set him up. Why had she turned away, freezing him out? What was wrong with her that she couldn’t surrender to the sweet abandonment of loving her husband?

She wanted to blame her problems on a stranger named Beth, but maybe the real problem was Julie’s own irrational fears and feelings of inadequacy. I’ve got to meet this Beth, she decided. That’s the only way I’ll know if she’s a real threat to my marriage.

After work Julie stopped by Michael’s office with the pretense of suggesting a dinner date to make up for last night’s fiasco. His real-estate office, Ryan and Associates, occupied a quarter of the ground floor in a modern, three-story office building in a thriving, commercial section of Long Beach. The large suite of rooms was tastefully decorated in classic white antique furniture and upholstered armchairs, accented by ornate gold-leaf mirrors, bold, bright Cezanne prints and plush ivory carpets. It was an office that looked and smelled of success. Michael had a knack for making everything he touched seem wonderfully luxurious and appealing; no wonder he was a natural at selling houses.

Julie walked straight back to Michael’s private office with the deliberate, self-assured stride of a woman who knew she had every right to be here. After all, her husband owned the place. This was in a sense her company, too. She had a stake in it, a right to be here. That’s what she told herself every time she came in, every time she found herself feeling ill at ease in the midst of Michael’s perfectly ordered world.

Rose Gibbons, Michael’s secretary and girl Friday, stopped Julie just short of his door. “Hello, Mrs. Ryan. How nice to see you!” Rose was at least fifty, but she dressed stylishly and carried herself like a much younger woman. She had a wonderful smile and a way of making people feel she was genuinely interested in them. “Your husband’s out with a client, Mrs. Ryan, but he should be back anytime. Do you want to wait in his office?”

Julie looked around, hoping to spot the new girl in Michael’s office—and maybe in his life. “Michael told me he hired a new agent. I thought I might just say hello, welcome her to the firm, you know?” Did her words sound as lame to Rose as they sounded to Julie herself?

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Ryan. Miss Chamberlin has the office right next to your husband’s. Go right on in. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

Julie nodded and started across the wide expanse of carpet toward the cubicle next to Michael’s. Sure enough, Beth Chamberlin’s name was already on the carved oak door. Julie felt her ankles weaken, and her heart skipped a beat. What was she doing here? Spying on her husband? Trying to make something of nothing? Would this woman see through her and guess her real motive for wanting to meet her?

Julie was about to turn, walk away, and forget the whole thing, when Miss Chamberlin’s door opened and a tall, willowy brunette emerged carrying a stack of file folders. She met Julie’s gaze and flashed a radiant smile, showing perfect white teeth.

“Miss Chamberlin?” Julie inquired.

The young woman’s amber brown eyes glinted with recognition. “Yes, and you must be Michael’s wife. I’ve seen your picture on his desk. You’re Julie, right?”

“Yes, and you must be—Beth.” Outwardly, Julie was smiling, but inwardly she groaned over Beth Chamberlin’s classic good looks: a glowing, porcelain complexion, high cheekbones, a healthy mane of raven black hair and a perfect figure for her formflattenng silk blouse and short skirt.

“I’m so glad to meet you, Mrs. Ryan. You have a great husband. He’s really taken me under his wing.”

“Has he?” Julie’s tone was chilly.

Beth seemed not to notice; she was still beaming. “Oh, yes, he has. I’ve learned so much from Michael in the short time we’ve been working together.”

Julie winced at the cozy way Beth said Michael. It was the very tone she had used in her perfumed note. “But I thought you just joined the company, Miss Chamberlin.”

“Yes, officially.” Beth’s tone was buoyant. “You see, Michael and I worked on several deals together while I was still with Consolidated. When we discovered how well we worked together, he asked me to come over here to Ryan and Associates, and of course, I couldn’t say no. It’s such a wonderful opportunity. Michael runs a marvelous operation. There’s so much room for growth and advancement”

“And with all your energy and enthusiasm, I’m sure you’ll go far,” said Julie, trying not to sound snide.

Beth shifted the folders in her arms. “I hope so. I just don’t want to disappoint Michael—and, of course, everyone else here.”

“I’m sure you won’t be a disappointment.” Julie felt a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach. If she stood here another moment talking to Miss Sugar and Spice, she’d have a diabetic reaction. “I’d really better go. Please tell Michael I stopped by. I’ll see him at home.”

Beth’s bright eyes took on a sudden, keen shrewdness. “Mrs. Ryan, I’m looking forward to getting better acquainted in the days ahead. We have so much in common!”

Julie blinked with bewilderment. “We do?”

Beth broke into light, lyrical laughter. “Yes. We have Michael! Your husband and my colleague and mentor. He’s very important to both of us.”

Julie’s throat constricted, leaving her with nothing more to offer than a polite nod. She took an awkward step backward, then swiveled around and strode wordlessly out of the office, her breathing ragged, her mind reeling

As she climbed into her automobile and shakily turned the key in the ignition, she had the sensation she had just been attacked. But by what? An assault of sweetness? Youthful exuberance with a Doris Day smile? It was an irrational feeling, but she sensed the battle lines had been drawn. She was in for the fight of her life with an angel-faced beauty with the cunning of a snake.

Chapter Five

On Saturday Julie telephoned her father, Alex Currey, in Crescent City, two hours’ drive from Long Beach. Since her mother’s death last year Julie had telephoned her father once a week to check on him and make sure he was okay. In some ways it was an empty ritual, for Julie always had the feeling her father wished she hadn’t bothered to call It was as if he were saying, We never talked when your mother was alive…what do we have to talk about now?

Still, she phoned him every Saturday at noon, as regular as clockwork. Her questions were always the same: Are you feeling okay? Are you eating right? Have you gone anywhere? Have you seen anybody? Do you need anything?

Her father always answered with one-word, often one-syllable replies: Yes…no…sure…nope…can’t…dunno…why?… nothing…nobody…nowhere. All dead-end answers, conversation stoppers, as if he deliberately wanted to keep communication with his only daughter nonexistent.

Julie always felt dry-mouthed and tongue-tied when she called her father. No matter what she said to him, he had a way of making her feel stupid for having said it. It often took her days to recover her self-esteem after one of their conversations. That’s why she limited the calls to once a week; that was all she could handle.

Not that her father was an ogre or even mean-spirited; it was just that they had always been on different wavelengths, coming at each other from separate planets, aliens of the heart forced to live together all those years under one cramped roof. She had never understood him; he had never understood her.

Alex Currey was a solemn, private man, a former aerospace engineer who had been forced to retire during the massive layoffs prompted by the recession several years ago. He still lived in the same small, stucco, frame house where Julie had been born and raised. He seemed to her as changeless, invariable and eternal as the house itself.

The only time her father’s low, melancholy voice took on a lilting note was when Julie mentioned Katie. Then her father would suddenly come alive and declare in a startlingly cheery tone, “Let me talk to my girl, Katie! Tell me, what’s that granddaughter of mine up to these days, anyway?”

This time, Julie had the irresistible urge to reply, “Your darling granddaughter is dating a high school dropout with long hair and a ring in his ear. He’s a grease monkey in a garage and lives on the wrong side of the tracks. That’s the good news; the bad news is that he could be a gangmember or on drugs or having sex with Katie or who knows what all? And dear Michael has invited him to a family barbecue tomorrow!”

But Julie quickly edited her comments, telling her father only that Katie had a new boyfriend who was coming over for a Sunday barbecue. Why worry him? Let him think life in the Ryan household is idyllic and problem free.

And, as always, after a few minutes of abbreviated conversation, her father droned, “Well, this call is costing you money—you’d better go.” Knowing this was his way of saying he had talked long enough and wanted to hang up, she always promptly ended the call without argument, but she was often tempted to say, So what? It’s my money and I’ll spend it the way I please. I’ll talk all day if I want to!

But, of course, she never said such a thing; it was painful enough to know her father apparently found not the slightest pleasure in talking with her. After hanging up, she was often left with an odd melancholy feeling, as if something had been stirred up again for the umpteenth time and not resolved; never resolved. And what this thing was she had no idea, except that it was like the flaring up of an old toothache; she had probed the sensitive core of some deep-set need just enough to remind herself the pain was still there, buried somewhere beyond reach.

Julie spent the rest of her Saturday painting watercolors—two bright, churning seascapes taken from her own photographs of the Pacific Ocean off Laguna Beach at sunset, and a rather prosaic still life of garden flowers in an antique ceramic vase.

Painting was another of Julie’s weekend rituals, like the phone calls to her father. The calls were made out of a long-standing sense of obligation, but painting sprang from Julie’s deepest yearnings to express creatively all the multilayered feelings in her heart for which she had no words. Painting was tied to Julie’s innermost nature; it was as much a part of her as breathing, and just as necessary.

In college she had dreamed of receiving her degree in fine art and then studying painting in Europe for a year or two before launching her professional career in New York, perhaps even in New York City’s Greenwich Village. She had hoped to work possibly as an illustrator for a national magazine, or more likely to freelance, conducting workshops and exhibiting her own one-woman shows until she found a prestigious gallery to represent her. She had known it would take years of dedicated hard work to build her name and reputation as an artist, but she’d been willing to endure whatever it took.

But that was all before Michael and Katie. Seventeen long years ago. After learning she was pregnant and agreeing to marry Michael, she knew his education would need to take top priority. So she quit college and got a nine-to-five, bread-and-butter job to pay the bills, and her art career became “the road not taken.” She had accepted her fate and taken solace in being a weekend painter, but always at the back of her mind was the nagging question, What would I have accomplished as an artist if Michael and I had never—She never finished the question—at least not in so many words, for it seemed somehow a betrayal of both Michael and Katie.

And if there was one thing Julie was, it was loyal. She loved her husband and daughter and couldn’t imagine life without them. Surely they were more precious than any imagined career success. Seventeen years ago she had chosen the two of them, and she would make the same choice all over again, without hesitation. And yet, in spite of her commitment and loyalty to her husband and daughter, in spite of what she had given up for them, lately they both seemed to be slipping away from her…irretrievably away.

As usual on Sunday morning Julie and Michael attended services at Bethany Chapel, where they had been members for more years than Julie could recall. Katie was there in the congregation, too, sitting a few aisles away with Jesse. It was the first time she had brought him to a morning service. She was obviously ready to let the world know she had a new boyfriend.

From the corner of her eye Julie could see the two of them whispering together, Katie touching his shoulder and his hair in the intimate, possessive way women let others know they’ve found their man. Be careful, Katie, Julie wanted to shout. Don’t throw away your future on this boy. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life!

But there’s nothing I can say, Julie realized. The distance between us is too great, in every way.

“She never sits with us anymore,” Julie whispered to Michael, as if she expected him to offer a consoling word.

He merely gave her that look that said, What do you expect? She’s a teenager!

Julie knew, of course, with or without Jesse, Katie would be sitting elsewhere with her friends; it had been years since she had sat in church with her parents. She was too old now, she would insist, practically an adult. Julie never argued with her about it. And as Michael was quick to remind her now in a confidential whisper, “You know how it is, Jewel. Teenagers don’t like to be seen in public with their parents unless it’s absolutely unavoidable.”