Part 10 (1/2)
”You left CIN of your own free will?”
”Isn't that what I just said?”
”So what are you doing now?”
”I'm taking a break,” she said. ”Visiting my family and considering other offers.”
”Are you still dating Stone Seymour?” he asked.
She hesitated a tad too long. His pointy rat nose quivered. ”Ahh,” he said. ”The plot thickens.”
”Oh, sweet Jesus,” she said. ”Stone and I are still dating. I just don't see how that's any business of yours, either.”
He stiffened. ”You always thought you were better than the rest of us,” he said. ”Do you really think you would have ended up at the network without your family connections, Vivien? Where do you think you'd be without the Gray name?”
She could have told him that she'd made it there despite her parents, that in fact, they'd done everything possible to prevent her from exposing a political ally, that her quest for the truth had never been anything but inconvenient and slightly embarra.s.sing to them. But she could see in his little beady eyes that he'd never believe her. He'd rewritten her history in a way that made him feel better; that allowed him to compare his achievements to hers and still find a way to feel they were on even ground. She looked him up and down, taking in the cheap blue blazer, which he'd paired with khaki pants that didn't quite cover his k.n.o.bby ankles, and all thought of censoring herself evaporated in the heat of her anger. Where would she be without the Gray name behind her? The word that sprang to mind was simply, ”free.” But he'd never believe that, either.
Once again she ignored the unwritten rules on which she'd been raised and said, quite stupidly, ”If I weren't me, I guess I might have ended up slinging c.r.a.p every day in the Atlanta Journal-Const.i.tution. But I sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't be bragging about it. Especially not to someone who would understand what a pitiful little job it is.” Vivien turned her back on him and strode out of the building. For the second time that morning she hummed the theme song from Rocky under her breath and lifted her fists in victory toward the late-morning sun.
14.
ON WEDNESDAY NIGHT Vivi answered the doorbell to find Clay Alexander standing on the welcome mat, briefcase in hand, beautifully dressed and impeccably groomed as always.
”May I come in?” His practiced smile seemed a bit frayed around the edges and the tiny web of lines at the corner of his eyes cut deeper.
”Is Melanie expecting you?”
”Yes, Vivi,” he said when she finally moved out of his way. ”I take the kids out once a week. It helps me stay in touch with them and gives Mel a night when she doesn't have to worry about making dinner.”
He took in the sweatpants and baggy T-s.h.i.+rt she'd taken to wearing and winced slightly. ”I came a few minutes early because I need something from J.J.'s desk.” He said this as if he had every right to go through J.J.'s things without asking.
Vivi had been waiting for her opportunity to go through J.J.'s desk, too. Unfortunately, she had no idea what she would be looking for, while Clay obviously did.
Vivi was loitering around the office doorway pretending not to watch him, when Melanie came downstairs. ”Is Clay here, Viv?”
Vivien nodded. ”He's looking for something of J.J.'s.” She watched Melanie's face closely to see if this was unusual or objectionable, but all Melanie said was, ”Oh, okay. Can you get the kids up here? Trip's in the bas.e.m.e.nt and I think Shelby's upstairs.”
Vivi would have preferred to look over Clay's shoulder and listen in on his and Melanie's conversation, but she did as she'd been asked. After they waved Clay and the kids off, Vivi started up to her room where she intended to hide, er, read until Melanie left for the Magnolia Ballroom.
”Hurry up and change, okay? I'd like to get to the studio a little early.”
Vivi turned to face her sister. ”Well, actually . . .”
”I need you, Viv. One of the s.h.i.+pley sisters did something to her ankle. Without you, the cla.s.s will feel too small. And if anyone else doesn't show up, the students who are there will feel like the studio isn't taking the cla.s.s seriously.”
”Mel, I . . .”
”You said you wanted to help me however you could.”
”I meant with the kids. Or the house. Or . . . whatever.” Vivian felt, and undoubtedly sounded, like a trapped an imal.
”Sincere offers of help don't usually come with exclusions,” Melanie said.
Vivien didn't answer, but if she had been that trapped animal, she would now be gnawing at her leg in an effort to get out.
”I haven't pressed for the real reason you're here. Or asked why you've been riding all over east Cobb with me, even though I know you must be bored to tears.” She held up a hand to stop the objections she saw forming. ”I figure if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me.”
Vivien stopped imagining her escape. ”All right, Mel,” she said. ”I'll do it. But I don't think I'm destined for the Middle Eastern nightclub circuit.”
”Fair enough,” Melanie said. ”I'll give you fifteen minutes to *freshen up.' ” She glanced pointedly at the sweatpants and baggy T. ”I appreciate it,” she said, as Vivi went upstairs to change, though she had no idea what she was supposed to change into.
She barely managed to zip up her favorite black pants and the black camisole stretched so precariously over her gargantuan b.r.e.a.s.t.s that modesty forced her to wear her black-and-white-striped blouse, which was unb.u.t.ton-able, over it. Every part of her seemed to be expanding exponentially. Even her feet bulged over the edges of her lowest-heeled pumps. She felt like a sausage ready to split its casing.
In the bathroom Vivien brushed her teeth and gargled with mouthwash in an unsuccessful attempt to rid her mouth of the ever-present metallic taste, then dotted concealer under her eyes and on the blemishes that had sprung up. Her hair lacked l.u.s.ter and felt coa.r.s.e and springy under her fingers. She'd always heard that pregnant women took on a ”glow,” but her hormones seemed to have reverted to adolescence. There was no glowing going on here.
Taking a tissue from the counter, she tried yet again to blow her nose clear, but the stuffiness remained. According to What to Expect When You're Expecting, nasal congestion and even occasional nosebleeds were not at all unusual. It seemed completely unfair to Vivien that even her ability to breathe had been impacted. Although she didn't look blatantly pregnant yet, there was virtually nothing about her that remained as it had once been.
They arrived at the studio a good fifteen minutes before cla.s.s was scheduled to start. Ruth Melnick was seated at the sign-in table and seemed surprised to see Vivien, as if she'd somehow a.s.sumed that she would have already upped and disappeared. Melanie slipped into her office to take care of some paperwork. Spotting Angela Richman at a table near the dance floor, Vivi walked over to join her.
The young redhead once again wore baggy black workout clothes that swamped her body, but her smile of welcome was bright. So was the diamond, probably about three carats' worth, that sparkled on her finger.
”When's the wedding?” Vivi asked as she sank into a chair.
”April nineteenth.”
Just a week after Vivi was due to become a mother, this girl would become a wife. ”You say that as if it surprises you.”
”Oh, it does,” Angela said, her smile rueful. ”I feel like I'm starring in some fairy tale. You know, one minute I'm cleaning out the garret and taking abuse from the ugly stepsisters and the next I'm dancing with the handsome prince at the ball.” She laughed. ”Not a bad thing, of course. Just not what I was expecting.”
Vivi thought she'd prefer Angela's surprises to her own: young and about to be married versus old and about to become a single mother. But there was something in the younger woman's tone that reminded her of her own amazement each time Stone said he loved her; how hard it was not to come out and ask him, ”Why?”
”So he's not the kind of guy you were used to dating?”
”Hardly,” Angela said, her tone wry. ”James is . . . not even in a ballpark I thought I'd ever play in.” Her smile softened. ”On the surface we have almost nothing in common. Sometimes I look at him and I just can't figure out how we ended up together.”
”It's funny how things work out, isn't it?” Vivi asked once again, thinking about her own relations.h.i.+p. She and Stone weren't exactly two peas in a pod. They came from very different backgrounds and upbringings-Stone's was decidedly midwestern and middle cla.s.s; she'd pretty much grown up in a modern rendition of Gone with the Wind. Yet both of them had focused almost exclusively on their careers, and both of their careers had been built on their compulsion to discover and share the truth.
As always when she thought the words ”truth” and ”Stone” together, Vivien cringed inside. Her dishonesty was a burden that she carried with her at all times; no matter how many times she told herself she was keeping her pregnancy secret for Stone's own good, she knew he'd never see it that way.
Pus.h.i.+ng the uncomfortable thoughts aside, Vivien turned her gaze to the dance floor where three private lessons and one small group cla.s.s were in progress, each an island of activity unto itself. Vivien and Angela watched in silence as one obviously advanced couple glided through the intricate steps of a carefully ch.o.r.eographed waltz.
”I love the way they move together,” Angela said as Ruth walked over to join them.
”That's the Millers,” Ruth said. ”Dolly and Bruce. They've been married almost as long as Ira and me.”
The Millers danced by, their movements in perfect synch. Ruth turned her head as if she couldn't bear to watch. ”My husband prefers business to dancing. Actually, he prefers business to pretty much everything.”