Midas Touch (6 page)

The Madison Medical Complex was a cluster of historic buildings Sandra discovered on one of her routine scouting drives. Whenever she had time or needed to get away from the office, she took random drives around the city looking for sites or buildings that appealed to her. Occasionally, she would discover a hidden jewel like what was to become the medical complex. The buildings were located near one of the larger hospitals and after renovation, Sandra planned to market them as office space for doctors and dentists.

Sandra studied Charles, wondering if he would ever change.

Tate Enterprise hired him last year fresh out of college. He often irritated co-workers and showed weak customer skills, but he held promises of being Dallas’ next advertising genius.

Unfortunately, Sandra had soon discovered most of Charles’

advertising ideas revolved around subtle and sometimes not so subtle sex.

“Sandra, sex sells.” He flashed her a smile meant to charm her, but it only served to irritate her more.

“Not at Tate Enterprises it doesn’t. I’ve told you this is not the image I want portrayed. What else do you have?” He held up three more boards, all as bad as the first. Again she pushed her annoyance down, and caused her stomach a new wave of pain.

“Have you even shown these to Gordon?”

Gordon Wayne was the vice president of marketing. Charles

should have taken the boards to him for approval.

“Yes, but you know how old fashioned Gordon is. I wanted to show you the designs. I knew you could better appreciate the need to sell.”

“They won’t do!” Sandra snapped, harsher than she intended.

Anger flushed his cheeks. He started to protest, but she held up her hand to stop his comment.

Have something more appropriate prepared for the staff meeting tomorrow. You know what I’m looking for.” She rose to signal the meeting was over.

He snatched up the boards. “I won’t have time to work up new layouts by tomorrow.”

Sandra leaned across her desk, her voice dropping drastically. “You knew what I wanted, and you’ve had two months to produce something. I want a new series of appropriate layouts by tomorrow. They are due to the printers on Monday morning.

And Charles, if you want to continue with Tate Enterprises, I suggest you start listening.”

He stormed out of her office without replying. As the door slammed behind him, the pains hit her, sharper and more intense. She fell back into her chair and clutched her chest. She struggled to breathe, fighting the fear gripping her. Slowly the pain subsided. She was chewing the last of the antacids when Allison came in.

“Sandra, I have the proposals…” She stopped in mid-sentence and ran to Sandra’s desk. “What’s wrong?”

Sandra shook her head, reaching for a tissue to wipe the sweat from her face.

“Should I call a doctor?” Allison reached for the telephone.

No. It’s just something I ate. I’ll be fine.”

Allison looked at her doubtfully.

“I’m fine,” Sandra insisted, her voice growing firmer. “It’s only heartburn. Charles just left,” she added, as if that should explain everything.

“You don’t look
fine
,” Allison replied. “I think you should see

a doctor. You’ve lost weight and you eat antacids like they were candy. You look tired, Sandra.”

“It’s nothing.” She tried to straighten the papers on her desk, but her hands shook noticeably.

Allison reached over and removed the papers from Sandra’s hands. “I can’t afford a dead boss. Either you agree to go to the doctor, or I drive you home where you can rest. Which will it be?”Sandra was too tired to argue. The latest attack scared her.

“Home,” she relented, “but I can drive myself. I need you to sit in for me at the ten o’clock briefing with Dunbar. He wants to discuss some structural changes required before we can receive city approval. Andrea is the designer and she will be there. I was only going to make an appearance of goodwill to show the firm is willing to incorporate any changes they deem necessary”

“Let me get someone to drive you.”

Sandra stood. “I can drive myself,” she stated. Her tone was sharper than she intended. To soften the words she patted Allison’s arm and said, “I won’t die on you.” She took her purse from her desk. “At least not until we’ve met all our deadlines.”

She gave a weak smile and left.

Sandra drove straight home, and was surprised to see
Carol’s car in the garage. She assumed Carol would be gone to whatever she did during the day.

Mondays were Margaret’s shopping day, so she would be out most of the day.

Sandra let herself in with her key and removed her jacket. She thought about working in her study for awhile, but was suddenly too exhausted. She had not slept well the previous two nights.

All I need is a few hours of sleep,
she reasoned as she headed down the hallway to the bedroom she and Carol shared. They had not spoken since their brief encounter yesterday. Carol had disappeared after Sandra escaped to her office and not returned home until after midnight. They spent a long silent night clinging to their respective sides of the bed. Carol was still sleeping when Sandra left for work.

If she’s in, perhaps we can talk,
Sandra thought.
We have to clear
this up. After I’ve rested for an hour or so, we can go somewhere for
the afternoon and maybe even share an
early dinner.
Sandra opened the bedroom door gently, in case Carol was still sleeping. She stopped short at the spectacle before her. Carol sat in the middle of their bed, with her head thrown back, moaning in ecstasy. A blond tangle of hair spread out from between her legs and across the bed. A cry began and died in the back of Sandra’s throat.

Carol’s eyes flew open. A look of sheer terror crossed her face. Sandra felt her feet weld themselves to the floor. She could only stare at the woman between Carol’s legs. All the times she tried to get Carol to let her touch her came back in a flash. How long had she been seeing this woman? Was she the first or were there others? Was this how Carol normally spent her days?

“Sandra, I can explain,” Carol said, crawling across the bed toward her. Ingrid Bennington sat up and tossed her mane of wild hair, her lips still wet with Carol’s excitement. She flashed Sandra a triumphant smile.

Carol grabbed Sandra’s hand. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Sandra looked down into Carol’s face. She had been such a fool! “You have exactly five minutes to get out. Get dressed.

Don’t bother packing.”

“Sandra! No!” Carol began to cry. “Please, let me explain.

Ingrid is a photographer. She came by to take my photo and…

and…”

“Four minutes,” Sandra said, feeling made of stone.

“You can’t do this! You can’t make me leave. This is my home, too.”“You signed away your title when you let that bitch crawl between your legs,” Sandra spat. “You’re down to three minutes.

Unless you want to walk through the lobby as you are now, I suggest you start dressing.”

Ingrid slid from the bed and began to dress with slow deliberation. Sandra tore away from Carol and crossed the room to where Carol’s purse sat on the dresser. She began to dig through it.

“What are you doing?” Carol demanded.

“I’m taking my car keys and my credit cards.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Carol wailed.

“You can either crawl back to Daddy, live with the love of your life there,” she said, pointing to Ingrid. “Or you can get a job.” She glared at Carol, who stood naked before her. The initial shock was wearing off, and Carol’s anger was building.

“You can’t do this to me,” she insisted. Her voice shook as she continued. “I’ll sue you for everything you have.”

“No, you won’t. You’d have to admit you’re a lesbian. What would Daddy do then?”

Carol’s arm swung up to slap her. Sandra caught it and pushed it aside. Carol grabbed a suit from her closet and began to dress.

As soon as
she pulled the skirt and blouse on, Sandra threw the purse to her.

“Get out of my house and take your trash with you,” she said, tilting her head to indicate Ingrid.

“You’ll be sorry” Carol hissed.

“I’ve been sorry for years,” Sandra countered. She waited until she heard the front door slam before she reached for the telephone and called the building security guard.

“Hello, Richard. This is Sandra Tate. Ms. Grant no longer resides here. She should be leaving the building in a few seconds.

She’s not to be allowed back in under any circumstances.”

It took Sandra three telephone calls to get Ingrid Bennington’s address. An hour later, a moving crew arrived at Sandra’s penthouse and packed Carol’s things. Sandra gave them Ingrid’s address and signed a check, which included a hefty bonus for their willingness to arrive on such short notice. A separate courier arrived to transport Carol’s jewelry.

Sandra systematically canceled Carol’s credit cards, charge accounts, and bank accounts. After the last call, she forwarded her calls to the answering service and allowed herself a rare shot of Scotch. She carried it to one of the guest bedrooms where she stripped and crawled into bed. She pushed all thoughts of Carol from her mind, downed the Scotch, and was soon asleep.

0

Sandra opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room. Disoriented and bewildered, she looked around the darkened room and moaned as the events of the past few hours slammed back. Her throat constricted as the look of ecstasy on Carol’s face came back to haunt her.

Why was I never able to put it there?
she wondered.
Carol was
right. I am a lousy lover.

For years, she had held onto her belief that Carol’s lack of interest in sex caused their problems. Now, she knew it was not Carol.

She was the problem.

Sandra tried to analyze her feelings for Carol, but they were too complicated and clouded. Had she ever loved Carol? Yes, in the beginning, before she discovered Carol tricked her and used her as a money tool to help her father.

Sandra glanced at the glowing digits on the clock beside the bed. It was already after ten; she slept the entire day away.

She pulled the blanket from the bed, wrapped it around her, and walked aimlessly around the room. Unable to corral her thoughts, she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the dark balcony. The late February temperatures were brisk, but Sandra craved its freshness.

She curled into a chair and deliberately avoided thinking about Carol. At some point she would have to come to terms with her, but the wound was still too raw. She focused her thoughts on work until the cold drove her back inside.

Chilled, she slipped on a bathrobe and headed to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.

“Ah, there you are, lass. Will you be wantin’ to eat now?”

Startled by the voice, Sandra jumped. “Margaret. What are you doing awake? Its almost midnight.”

Margaret started working for Sandra about a month after Sandra and Carol got together. Carol insisted they hire a maid.

Sandra had been hesitant to let a stranger into her home, until one of Carol’s friends mentioned they were moving back to London and their housekeeper refused to go with them. The woman assured Sandra that Margaret was discreet. Sandra soon discovered the reason Margaret so calmly accepted her employer’s lesbian lifestyle: Margaret was a lesbian herself.

An immediate bond developed with the stout, no-nonsense woman who even after several years of living in the States still spoke with a strong Irish brogue. The bond flourished, and a deep sense of respect and caring developed between the two women.

“I thought you and your Canasta buddy, Minnie, were going to a wedding tonight.”

“So we were, lass, but Minnie was feeling poorly and we decided not to go.” She pulled bowls from the refrigerator.

“Margaret, I’m not hungry. I came out to get a cup of coffee.”

Margaret looked at her critically. “You’ve not had your supper, I’ll wager.”

“I’m really not hungry.”

Margaret was about to protest, but Sandra shot her a warning glance. Never one to be intimidated, Margaret anchored her hands on her hips. “Ms. Grant won’t be liking your drinking coffee at this hour.”

Sandra suppressed a groan. Somehow, Margaret must have already heard the rumors and canceled her plans with Minnie to make sure Sandra was all right. She was now waiting for Sandra to confirm the rumors.

Sandra plopped onto a stool and rubbed her hands over her face. It would be days before Margaret stopped saying “I told you so.”

“Ms. Grant doesn’t live here anymore and quite frankly never gave a damn what I ate or drank when she was here.” Sandra watched in surprise as a kaleidoscope of emotions danced over Margaret’s face. She knew Margaret disliked Carol as much as Carol disapproved of Margaret.

Carol accused Sandra of treating Margaret like family. Sandra had laughed and told her she wished Margaret were family. The statement caused an unpleasant scene, and Carol only resented Margaret more.

“Are you okay, lass?” Margaret asked with such concern a lump formed in Sandra’s throat. She swallowed several times, fighting to regain control of her emotions.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It should have ended years ago. We’ve both been dragging it out too long.”

The intercom buzzer from the security guard interrupted them.

“Now, who would come calling at this hour?” Margaret scolded as she went to answer. Sandra followed.

“Ms. Cromwell is here to see Ms. Tate. She says it’s urgent,”

Arnold, the night security guard, informed them in what Sandra secretly called his Humphrey Bogart voice. In his early sixties, Arnold was always ready to tell anyone, who made the mistake of lingering within hearing distance, about his golden years in Hollywood.