Midas Touch (3 page)

“The silver Jag,” she shouted to the nearest valet.

“Which silver Jag?
”
he queried, looking at her with both confusion and suspicion.

Sandra started to yell at him when she heard Carol’s voice calling her name.

The hell with it,
she decided.
Carol can drive herself home.
Sandra

turned away from the valets and sprinted down the walkway, across the street, and into the safety of darkness.

Several minutes later, still moving in an awkward shuffling run, she crossed a road and staggered into a park. The streetlights grew farther apart as she ran deeper into the park. Darkness closed around her like a protective cloak. She should go back to the party and apologize for her rudeness, but she was unable to stop.Sandra moved deeper into the park, the night as dark as her mood. A sprinkler system installed along the sidewalk hissed and soaked the nearby ground. She continued to run, until she smashed into a tree and fell. The dampness from the wet grass soaked through her thin gown. Unable to manage anything other than short hard gasps, she was incapable of inhaling enough oxygen. She wondered if she was dying of a heart attack and tried to fight off the numbness engulfing her. She was not ready to die. So many new experiences awaited her. Her last conscious thought was that she never accomplished the one thing she most wanted in life. She wanted to know her mother.

Birds sang overhead as weak rays of light poked their way through the treetops. Sandra’s body ached from lying on the cold, damp ground. Her face burned with shame as the events of the previous night came back to her. How could she have lost control? Never in her life had she let her emotions get so out of hand. As realization of her current situation came to her, fear mobilized her frozen limbs. She was alone in the middle of a park. She needed to leave before someone found her. A thousand scenarios filled her head. None of them appealed to her.

She pushed herself up and took a tentative step. The ankle she twisted coming down the stairs was tender, but nothing seemed to be broken. Her bare feet were bruised and sore. Dried blood caked her left elbow, which protruded through a rip in her jacket. She limped to a bench and tried to get her bearings. She was positive she was still near Lona’s house.

How was she going to get home? There was no way she could

go back and face Lona. Carol would have driven the car home.

Would anyone be looking for her? She cringed at the thought of her photo appearing on the front page of the newspaper. The headline would scream: prominent architect goes berserk and flees lesbian party. She clutched her head in her hands, thanking God the police required a twenty-four hour waiting period before a person could be declared missing. At least, she would avoid that embarrassment.

She did a quick perusal of her appearance. Jagged runs in her stockings spread like spider webs about her legs. Her gown, covered with dirt and grass stains, was beyond repair. The original mid-calf side slit now extended all the way to her hip.

The jacket had a hole in the elbow. A button dangled on a shred of torn fabric. Given the current condition of the jacket, Carol’s concerns of Sandra stretching the material out of shape were now laughable.

She ran icy hands across her head and encountered a tangled mess of leaves and twigs. Using her fingers, she tried to comb the short brown strands into some semblance of order.

She winced as her palm brushed over a knot above her left eye. That must have happened when she collided with the tree.

What possessed her to go tearing out of Lona’s like a crazy woman? When had her life gotten so out of control? A cry of frustrated exhaustion tore from her throat. She tucked her cold hands under her arms and forced herself to calm down. The right planning and determination could put her back on track. The most obvious change needed was to cut back on her hours and stop working so hard. She would schedule a few days off. She and Carol could take a vacation.

A mental image of her calendar for the next several weeks popped into her head, and she reluctantly pushed the vacation idea away. There were too many things going on. It would be impossible for her to leave. She would simply have to get control over her emotions.
I’m probably going through menopause,
she rationalized. Thirty-seven was young, but anything was possible.

Maybe it was nothing more than a hormone imbalance.
Maybe,

maybe, maybe,
she mumbled to herself.

She took a deep breath and tried to reassure herself.
I’m
just
tired and under a lot of stress. It’s time I stopped trying to do everything
on my own. I’ll let someone help me. When I get home, we can talk this
out, and we will start spending more time together. I’ll start leaving the
office earlier,
she promised the cold, gray dawn.

A violent chill ripped through her, prodding her to get out of the park before she caught pneumonia, or worse, someone recognized her. Hobbling on her sore feet, she located a phone booth at the edge of the park. With frozen fingers she punched in the long string of memorized numbers from her calling card.

There was only one person she felt she could count on—Laura Mendoza.

She and Laura had met during their freshman year at college.

They were working in a large Mexican restaurant. Laura was working to help pay her way through college, while Sandra was there on a full scholarship and working for spending money.

They became best friends. The resulting friendship endured through the years.

Laura’s sleepy voice cut into Sandra’s reverie.

“Laur…ra,” Sandra’s teeth chattered loudly.

“Hello?”

“Laura, it’s…San…dra.”

“I can’t understand you. Sandra? Is that you?”

“Laura, I need help. Can you come and get me?”

“Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Sandra looked down at her ruined clothes. “I’m near the corner of Medford and Lane, by the park.” A chill ripped through her causing her to fumble the telephone. Grabbing it up she continued. “Could you bring a coat and some shoes, please?”

“Coat? Shoes? My God! Sandra, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“I’ll explain later. Just hurry please.”

Luckily, not many people were out this early on a Sunday morning. Sandra moved back farther into the trees where she

would be concealed from the casual passerby, but could still watch for Laura. She sat down and leaned against a tree wrapping her arms around her body, knowing it would take Laura at least an hour to reach her.

Forty-five minutes later, she spotted Laura’s brand new canary yellow Volkswagen Beetle running a red light and streaking toward the park.

Watching the car race down the road, Sandra realized how much Laura and her car had in common. Both were small but strong and dependable. The little car was just as feisty as its owner.

Sandra stumbled to her feet, ran out, and waved her hands.

The Volkswagen skidded to a halt. As she approached the vehicle, Sandra saw the shocked look on Laura’s face.

Sandra opened the door to the passenger side after Laura leaned over to unlock it. A blast of delicious warm air engulfed Sandra as she scrambled into the vehicle.

“Christ, Sandra. What happened?”

“Coat.” Sandra’s teeth chattered unmercifully. She had never been so cold in her life. Laura grabbed a coat from the back seat and helped Sandra struggle into it.

“Are your hurt?” Laura asked, staring at Sandra’s torn clothing and shoeless feet. “I’m going to drive you to a hospital,”

she insisted.

“No! I’m not hurt. Just a little worse for wear.”

“Your feet?”

“They’re all right. They look worse than they are. Did you bring shoes?”

Again, Laura leaned over into the back seat and retrieved a pair of fuzzy house shoes.

“They are probably a couple of sizes too small, but I thought you could just slip your toes into them,” Laura said.

Sandra wiggled her toes into the warm fuzzy slippers. Nothing had ever felt so good on her feet. Shivering, she pulled the coat tighter around her. She felt foolish. How could she explain her bizarre exit from the party? She had no idea what sparked her

panic and caused her to flee. “I’m freezing,” she said weakly.

Laura switched the heater fan on high.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Laura looked unconvinced, but conceded. “Then I’ll drive you home.”

“No! I’m not ready to face Carol.”

Laura hesitated before asking. “Is there somewhere you want to go?”

Sandra turned to stare out the window. “There’s no place to go,” she replied softly.

“As long as I’m here, you’ll always have a place.” Laura reached across the seat and gently squeezed Sandra’s hand.

An hour later they walked into Laura’s small cottage. Sandra let the calming effect of its cheerful colors and homey atmosphere wash over her. The cottage contrasted drastically with Sandra’s penthouse, which Carol had insisted on having decorated by Marvin Dolman, the current guru of interior design. The result was a red velvet and chrome monstrosity Sandra secretly thought of as Whorehouse ala Chez. Of course, Carol loved it. Sandra tolerated it for Carol’s sake. She was rarely there anyway.

Laura’s warm brown eyes studied Sandra. “You look exhausted. I’m going to run you a hot bath. While you’re relaxing, I’ll find you something to wear. Then we can eat and talk.”

After starting the bath water, Laura removed her coat and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. She was still wearing her yellow and white checkered pajama top tucked into her jeans.

Sensing Sandra’s stare, Laura glanced at the top and shrugged.

“What can I say? You scared the shit out of me.”

Touched by Laura’s concern for her, Sandra swallowed the

lump in her throat.

“Would you like to call Carol, to let her know where you are?”

“No.” Telling Carol she was at Laura’s cottage would only make the situation worse. Carol was unreasonably jealous of Laura and Sandra’s friendship.

Laura looked as though she wanted to say more, but instead shook her head and started down the hallway. “Come on. Hop into the tub before you catch pneumonia.”

“You don’t catch pneumonia from getting chilled.”

“Oh yeah. Well, you explain that to my
abuela
Mendoza.

Now, get in the tub. There’s some first aid supplies in the cabinet if you want to take care of that.” She pointed to the cut over Sandra’s eye.

Sandra entered the sunny yellow kitchen wearing a black with white trim, fleece-lined, jogging suit two inches too short and the blue fuzzy house slippers. Greeted by the sweet smell of something baking and fresh coffee, she took a deep breath. Some of the tension eased from her body.

Laura had traded her flannel pajama top for a creamy white pullover that complimented her bronze skin.

If the fashion police could only see you now,” Laura teased as she tossed her waist-length ponytail over her shoulder.

“There’s already enough for everyone to gossip about. What I’m wearing won’t even matter.”

Laura pulled a pan of muffins from the oven. She placed two on a plate in front of Sandra. “Sit down. Try these cranberry and apple muffins. It’s a new recipe, so tell me what you think.”

Laura wrote cookbooks and acted as a menu advisor for one of the largest restaurants in Dallas.

Sandra pulled a muffin apart, inhaling the fragrant steam before taking a bite. She closed her eyes in appreciation as the delicious morsel melted in her mouth. “Better than sex,” she moaned as
she swallowed.

Laura sat a cup of coffee in front of her. “My dear woman,

thank you for the compliment, but if you truly believe that, you’re doing something wrong.”

Sandra gave a sour laugh and sipped her coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Laura said, reaching for her hand. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I’m not sure I know myself,” Sandra admitted, pinching off another piece of muffin. It no longer tasted as wonderful as it had.”Talk to me,” Laura coaxed.

“Nothing feels right anymore. I spend my days running from one meeting to the next. In between meetings, I’m on the telephone setting up more meetings. I can’t remember the last time I actually designed a building. My personal life is non-existent.” Her voice rose. She took a deep breath and shoved the plate aside.

Laura pushed it back toward her. “Eat,” she commanded.

“You’re skin and bones.” She waited until Sandra began to nibble again. “It sounds like you need a vacation.”

Sandra snorted. “I don’t have time to scratch my butt. How am I supposed to take a vacation?”

“I haven’t heard that awful expression since we were in college,” Laura said, walking to the counter with their coffee cups and refilling them. “You’re the boss,” she said, placing a cup back in front of Sandra. “You could get away if you truly wanted to.”

Sandra heard the added emphasis to the latter part of Laura’s statement and started to protest, but a small nagging voice stopped her. Laura was right. There were plenty of people at Tate Enterprises who could carry the workload while she was gone.

Why was she hesitating? Frustrated, she ran her hands over her face. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t know what I want.”

“Have you talked to Carol?”

Sandra stood abruptly and began to pace. She vaguely noticed the worn red-and-white rag rugs lying before the sink and beneath the antique, unfinished walnut table. The scratches and stains on the table’s top read like a hieroglyphic testament of its decades of use.

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Glass-fronted cabinets revealed a treasure-trove of mis-matched dishes gathered from the innumerable garage sales and flea markets Laura haunted. Nothing matched, yet everything fit together with a sense of completeness Sandra could not explain.