Going Back (2 page)

“No,” Daphne said much too quickly.
She swallowed and forced a smile, hoping her companions hadn’t
detected her tension. “There are a million real estate brokers Brad
could go to,” she pointed out. “He can choose whoever he
wants.”

“He ought to want you. You’re an
old friend.”

“
We were never really friends,”
Daphne argued. She rarely went to such lengths to hide her feelings
from Andrea and Phyllis, but this time she felt it necessary. As
far as she knew, only two people were aware of what a fool she’d
made of herself one ghastly night during her senior year of
college: Daphne herself, and Brad Torrance. Just because Brad
happened to be planning to transplant himself in New York didn’t
mean Daphne was obliged to fill her friends in on the embarrassing
mistake she’d made so long ago.

“We were all friends,” Andrea
declared grandly. “We were one big happy family in school. And
since nobody else from that family happens to be selling real
estate in the New York area these days, I think you ought to get
Brad’s business.”

The last thing Daphne wanted was
Brad’s business. “I only know about housing in Jersey,” she argued.
“I don’t know the first thing about what’s going on in
Manhattan.”

“Sure you do. You’re a hot-shot,
Daff,” Andrea said, dismissing Daphne’s modest claim with a wave of
her hand. “You know all the markets around here. But that’s
irrelevant. Brad told Eric he doesn’t want to live in the city. He
wants the ’burbs. And there you are, located in lovely, suburban
Verona.” She smiled, inordinately pleased with herself. “This,
ladies, is what they mean by networking. Old college friends become
new business clients. Thank me, Daphne, for sending a potentially
huge commission your way.”

“Maybe it’ll be a small
commission,” Daphne countered. “Maybe he won’t buy anything I show
him. Maybe he’ll prefer Westchester.” She wondered if her friends
could detect in her voice the faint hope that such a possibility
might come true.

“How many real estate brokers does
he know in this area? Daff, he’s yours, and if he doesn’t realize
it, I’ll whip him into shape.”

Don’t do me any
favors,
Daphne muttered under her breath.
But she knew the battle was lost. Andrea was constantly whipping
people into shape. If Brad Torrance had the decency to reject
Andrea’s advice that he begin his search for a new home by visiting
Daphne’s real estate office, Andrea would harass him, cajole him,
torture him—whatever it took to win his
compliance.

So Daphne had to expect him to show
up at her office. They’d be forced to smile at each other and
exchange small talk, and they’d feel clumsy and bashful. Neither of
them would risk alluding to that hideous night eight years ago.
They’d behave politely, spend an afternoon looking at houses in New
Jersey, and breathe deep sighs of relief once it was over. Then
they’d part ways, go home, and pray they’d never have to endure
such an ordeal again.

Or maybe it wouldn’t be an ordeal
for Brad. Maybe he didn’t even remember his encounter with Daphne.
Maybe it had been a mere blip on the radar screen of his life,
something that had made absolutely no impression on him. “Do I
remember that night?” he’d ask if she finally found the nerve to
tell him why his presence made her so tense. “And what night might
that be, Daffy?”

Maybe what had been the most
humiliating experience in her life hadn’t even registered in Brad
Torrance’s memory.

“Well, I don’t
know about you guys,” Phyllis said, motioning toward the waiter,
“but some of us have to go back to work.” Phyllis was a credit
specialist at a midtown bank a few blocks away from the Indonesian
restaurant. She had a prestigious, powerful position, one result of
which was that she spent vast amounts of her time reading books
with titles that all sounded some variation of
Why Wonderful Women Fall For Deplorable
Men
.

The waiter delivered the check,
and, as usual, an intense debate ensued concerning about how to
split it. Daphne always favored dividing the total into equal
thirds, but Phyllis and Andrea refused to do that. “You never have
a drink,” Andrea claimed. “It’s not fair that you should be paying
for our liquor.” Daphne had convinced her friends that the only
reason she never requested a cocktail or a glass of wine with her
meal was that she didn’t want to return to her office in a muddled
mental state. The few times she got together with her friends in
the evening, she generally ordered wine and pretended to enjoy it,
discreetly managing to avoid swallowing more than a sip or two.
Such a charade was easier than admitting that she no longer drank
liquor—and then being badgered to explain why.

Brad Torrance
could explain why,
she thought grimly. Brad
Torrance could explain, from personal experience, what happened to
idiotic young women who couldn’t hold their
booze.

Once the bill was settled, the
three women left the restaurant together. The early April afternoon
was slightly overcast and the air had a nip to it, but spring was
definitely moving into the region. The daffodils and tulips Daphne
had planted in the flower bed in front of her house were beginning
to sprout, and she hadn’t bothered to bring a coat into the city
with her.

She and her companions strolled
together as far as the bank where Phyllis worked. “Here’s an idea,”
Phyllis proposed before saying goodbye. “Why don’t we have a party
to welcome Brad Torrance to town? You and Eric can host it,
Andrea.”

“Thanks a heap,” Andrea grunted,
although she was grinning, clearly able to figure out the motive
behind Phyllis’s suggestion. “If I had this party, you’d have to
bring Jimbo with you. He’d never let you go to a party without him.
And if he’s there, how are you going to flirt with
Brad?”

Phyllis produced her cute pout
again. Then she smiled. “All right. If I can’t go after Brad
Torrance, Daffy can. How about it, Daffy? I’m giving him to
you.”

Daphne understood that, coming from
Phyllis, this was an extremely generous offer. Nonetheless, she had
no desire to accept it. “No, thanks,” she said as breezily as she
could. “Brad Torrance was never my type.”

“Brad Torrance was everybody’s
type,” said Phyllis.

“Daphne’s type is safe,” Andrea
pointed out. “Brad Torrance was never safe.”

“You’re right,” Daphne swiftly
agreed. “So if you’re going to have this party, Andrea, do me a
favor and invite some safe men. Or else count me out.”

“Bo-ring,” Phyllis
muttered.

“Okay, ladies. I’ve gotta get back
to showbiz,” Andrea said, taking a northbound turn onto Seventh
Avenue. “As soon as Brad gets his bearings, I’m going to send him
along to you,” she warned Daphne. “And please, Daff, sell him a
house or something. I’m looking forward to seeing him, but I don’t
want his search for a home in the area to turn into the endless
summer.”

Daphne shaped an overly bright
smile. “I’ll do my best,” she promised, not bothering to finish the
sentence: she’d do her best to behave maturely and courteously if
and when she had to spend any time with Brad Torrance. She’d do her
best to pretend that that horrible Saturday night eight years ago
had never occurred.

***

“NO, MOM, it’s all right,” Brad
said into the phone. Christ, he hadn’t even unpacked yet. He’d
barely had a chance to put down his bags before Penelope Torrance
had phoned his cell.

“You keep telling me it’s all
right,” she said in a lofty tone, “but I don’t see how it can be
all right for you to be spending time right here in New York City
and not be staying with your own mother.”

“Mom,” Brad said
as calmly as he could, “Eric is my friend. He and Andrea have tons
of space here...” He heard Eric snickering behind him when he said
that. So maybe they didn’t have
tons
of space. Brad would sleep on
their fire escape before he’d consider staying at his mother’s
apartment.

“Space isn’t the issue. The issue
is, you have a home in New York, and that’s where you
belong.”

“I don’t have a home, yet, but I
plan to buy one,” Brad said, his voice becoming hoarse with
fatigue. After a wearying flight out of Seattle, with delays during
take-off and landing and a screaming toddler seated just two rows
behind him, he didn’t have the stamina to deal with his mother
right now. His composure slipping, he tugged off his jacket and
draped it across the back of a chair. Andrea picked it up, and Brad
watched her carry it toward the coat closet. Distracted by a
magazine she glimpsed along the way, she dropped the jacket onto an
end table, lifted the magazine and wandered in the direction of the
kitchen, reading as she went.

Living with Eric and Andrea wasn’t
going to be as easy as staying in a hotel would have been. But it
would be much more fun than living with his mother—and it wouldn’t
be for long. As soon as he found a new house, he could return to
Seattle and close up his condominium there.

“It’s because of your father, isn’t
it,” his mother charged. “You’re going to move in with
him.”

“No, Mom, I’m not,” Brad said
wearily. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Eric
presenting him with a cold bottle of beer. Brad took it and nodded
his thanks. “I’m not staying with either of you,” he said back into
the phone. “I’m staying with Eric and Andrea for a week or so, and
then—”

“Do you know what housing is like
around here?” his mother interrupted. “You aren’t going to find a
place so fast.”

“I’m not going to live in New
York,” he explained, certain that he’d had an identical
conversation with the woman less than a week ago, when he’d called
her from Seattle to let her know what day he’d be arriving to begin
his house-hunting. “I don’t want to live in the city. I’m sick of
city living. I’m going to find a place outside the city,
and—”

“Do you know what housing is like
in the suburbs?” his mother again cut him off.

“I’m willing to learn. I’ve got to
go, Mom. When things calm down a little, I promise I’ll call you
and we’ll get together. I love you. Good-bye.” He hung up before
she could speak.

“Welcome to New York,” Eric said,
grinning and lifting his own bottle of beer in a mocking
toast.

Brad trudged across the living room
and collapsed onto the couch. He used the toe of his left foot to
pry off his right loafer, then reversed the process. Once both
shoes were off, he propped his feet up on the coffee table and took
a long drink of beer. “Maybe I should change my cell phone number,”
he said.

Eric sat on the leather easy chair
across the room from Brad. “Even if you do, you’re going to have to
give her the number.”

Brad sighed. “Yeah. And if I gave
her the number, I’d have to give it to my father, too.” Another
sigh, and he allowed himself a reluctant laugh. “I really
appreciate your putting me up. It’s bad enough having to talk to my
mother for five minutes on the phone. If I had to stay with
her...”

“Your mother isn’t any worse than
most mothers,” Eric argued. “I met her at our graduation, and she
seemed okay to me.”

“She is okay,” Brad conceded.
“She’s better than okay. She’s a lovely lady, and I really like
her—most of the time.”

“She’s a looker, too, if I remember
correctly,” Eric remarked.

Brad grimaced. Until recently, he
had been quite proud of the fact that he had a great-looking
mother. He used to love it when, in grammar school, he’d bring his
classmates home to play and they’d comment on how little like an
actual mother Penelope Torrance looked.

His mother’s appearance hadn’t been
a concern of Brad’s until recently, when it occurred to him that
men other than his father might find her attractive, and might
choose to act on it. If another man entered the picture—if another
man hadn’t already entered the picture—his parents marriage might
be beyond salvation. “The thing is...” He sighed yet again. Merely
thinking about his parents affected his respiration, making him
feel oddly asthmatic. “At the moment, they’re kind of
split.”

“Your parents are divorced?” Eric
looked properly concerned. “Hey, man, that’s too bad. When did it
happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“They aren’t divorced,” Brad
corrected Eric. “They’re split, separated, going through some sort
of weirdness at the moment. They live in two apartments these days,
but they get together every few days, either to bicker or to screw
around in bed. Then they go their separate ways again, and bitch
about each other to me. If I stayed with my mother while I was in
the city, she’d spend the whole time telling me how awful my father
is. If I stayed with him, he’d hand me the same lines about my
mother.”

“So they’re living apart,” Eric
summed up.

Brad nodded. “The whole thing is
incredibly extravagant. I know what housing costs are like in
Manhattan. It seems like such a waste to be spending their money
paying for two apartments.”

“They can afford it,” Eric reminded
him. “They’re rich.”

“That they are.” Brad nodded and
took another sip of beer.