Turn Back the Dawn (19 page)

But Ben seemed to be gone.

Kate couldn't be certain. There were over three hun
dred
people there, crammed on to the dance floor, spilling
over
the banquettes, packed six deep at the bar. But she
knew,
instinctively, that he was gone.

At
one point Kate saw Tommy Sullivan, Ben's art assis
tant.
He was drunk and almost hysterically happy, and
when
Kate asked him if he had seen Ben, he shrugged
wildly,
slapping a woman standing next to him in his drunken gesture. Kate smiled and moved on.

Pierce
was doing admirably, moving gracefully through
the crowd
with his gold mail pouch full of cards. He had

relaxed as time had gone on and the guests had had more to drink, and he was now talking and joking with many— especially the women—as he handed them their cards.

Kate made her way up to him and took him by the elbow. "You're fantastic," she whispered in his ear. "Just great. Keep it up and you'll be the star of the evening."

He smiled, but grew quickly serious. "What happened to Alexandra?" he leaned down and asked. "Is she al| right?"

"She's fine," Kate yelled. "Kurt just got her here late
that's all—for no reason other than that he wanted her to look good.'"

Pierce shook his head. "Bastard. But it's her own fault. Kurt doesn't chain her to his side. You've got to learn to take care of yourself in this business or you'll be eaten alive."

Kate nodded. "You're probably right. And keep up the good work, Pierce. You're dazzling the ladies."

"That's what I'm here for," he said, and smiled, waved a lithe hand, and moved off again into the crowd.

Finally, the evening began to wind down. Alexandra and Pierce were still going strong, charming all with whom they spoke, intriguing those they missed. But Kate surveyed the crowd and saw that most of the more important guests had left, and she decided it was finally time to leave. The music was too loud to talk above anyway, sd Kate went downstairs and got her coat, and went out into the cold night air for a taxi.

And then, once in the cab, she let her feelings come to the surface. And she was suddenly dizzy, almost ill with confusion, sick from the stale smell of smoke that had suffused her clothes at the party.

The party. She had worried about it, made it a focus of her life for the past few weeks; it had turned out very well, exceeding her most optimistic hopes; and she hardly cared.

For Ben was apparently content to break off communications completely, to leave things as they had been when
he
had walked out of Kate's apartment.

At the party he hadn't even looked into her eyes with anything except utter coldness; he had barely looked at
her
at all.

And Kate was suddenly swamped with regrets: What if
she
hadn't ever spoken up? What if she could have taken
back
her words?

But that would have only postponed the inevitable. For
she
would still be who she was; he would still be who he
was;
and nothing would have changed. Yet she hadn't meant what she had said to be a good-bye. . .
.

The next morning Kate awakened with a vague hang
over—
aching, fuzzy, slightly dizzy. For a brief moment
—
a
blessed moment
—
she thought her encounter last night
with
Ben had been a dream.

But with an unwished-for clarity she remembered the
whole
scene in a painful vision. And by the gray, drizzly
light
of the morning there was an inexplicable but definite
feeling
of finality to the
memory.
Last night the experience
had
seemed dreamlike, indefinite, from music that was too
loud
and drinks that were too strong; but now, it was all
too
clear.

Kate
got ready for work clumsily and inefficiently, her
body
grudgingly going through the motions of the morn
ing routine:
shower, get dressed, put on makeup, drag
yourself
out the door.

At the store everyone looked a bit drained and pale, just a little the worse for wear than yesterday. As Kate rode up in the crowded elevator, she accepted congratulations for the evening with a forced smile, and shut herself in her office with a cup of black coffee and the
Times.

Mechanically, she turned to the page on which fashion and society news appeared. And her heart skipped a beat as she began to read: "Last night bright lights of Seventh Avenue gathered to celebrate the launching of Ivorsen and Shaw's new and ambitious ad campaign. It was a glorious party celebrating a glorious store whose reputation has unjustly faded over the years. As one woman was heard remarking to another, The whole store is
divine
.' And indeed, judging by the swarm of fans there to celebrate, the world will soon be beating a path to those East Fifty- second Street doors once again."

Kate smiled. Lovely. She couldn't have asked for a more positive article. She picked up the phone, buzzed Linda, and asked her to be sure all board members received copies of the article by the afternoon with a memo she'd give her in a few minutes.

She hung up, and then, hand still on the receiver, hesitated. It would have been so natural to call Ben if this had been only a few short days ago—to share in the excitement, share the pleasure, enjoy a joint triumph. But now everything was different.

She went back to her work, composing a memo to the board that was positive without being overly self-congratulatory. The message had to be clear: Yes, gentlemen, parties like this do work, and our ad dollars were well spent. It would have been a simple memo to write—just a line or two—if her mind had been clear.

But now—now the tasic seemed Herculean.

She wished sfie could talk to Ben, wished she could turn back the clock and make all that had happened disappear.

She sighed, staring at the newspaper. And suddenly she
realized
she hadn't even given any thought to the future
of
the campaign: how would she and Ben work together
from
now on? Would she be able to look him in the eye knowing the warmth she loved was gone? Would she be able to pretend she wasn't being torn apart inside as she
listened
to that voice she adored?

She closed her eyes, trying to think. What would she
do?

And then she knew she would have to go on as well as
she
could, just as she had done last night. She would have
to
ignore and hide and suppress her feelings, and go on.

And perhaps now was the best time to start. For she
wanted
to tell Ben
—
the one she loved, not the "new"
Ben—
about the clipping; she wanted to try to share some
of the
triumph; and it would be among the easiest topics
they
would ever discuss
again.

She
dialed Blake-Canfield, gave her name and asked for
Ben,
and then tried to slow the beating of her heart as she
waited
for Ben to come on.

She
heard a click, then "Kate," in a voice that was
completely
neutral, chilling, devoid of clues.

"Uh, hi,"
she said. Suddenly she was swept with
fear:
why
had she called? It was too soon after last
night.
"I, uh,
thought
I'd let you know about the
Times."

There
was a pause, just a
beat.
Then: "Yes, I saw it,"
he
answered in the same unreadable
tone.

She
waited for him to say
more.
But there was no reply.

"Well,"
she muttered, "I
guess that's about
it." She

closed her eyes. God, why had she said that?

"By the way," Ben said, "you'll be working with a woman named Christina Casey for a while, Kate. I've decided to stay on in California for an extra three weeks— we have some business out there and I'm combining my time off with that." He paused. "I'll be staying at the Drake," he said, and gave her the address and phone number. "I don't know if—" He hesitated. "Well, there it is if you need it."

"Okay," she said, her throat closing over her voice.

"Well. I guess that about wraps it up," he said. "I'll be here the rest of the afternoon, and then I'm off."

"Right," she said quietly. "Good-bye."

She put the phone down and put her head in her hands. Now there was no question. It was definitely over. Ben was fleeing, putting as much distance between them as he could—and for as long as he could. Kate had spoken her mind; she had told him she wasn't happy, that she didn't want to go out west with him; and her words had been enough to make him end it completely. And it had ended as inevitably as all her other relationships had ended.

Kate closed her eyes.
Except Ben was different
, she said to herself.
God, how I loved him.

Yet she knew that this time, there was no way out—no way back in. This was no misunderstanding, no tragic error that could be reversed at the last minute. For no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise, Kate knew there was no solution this time. She had stood up for herself, rescuing herself at a very steep price from the most important relationship of her life. Yet if she hadn't done what she had done, it would have cost her—once again— her self. For no matter how she resolved the minor ques- tions, there would always remain a sobering and immutable fact: if Ben couldn't accept her as she was, she would be playing a role for him, perhaps for the rest of her life. And Ben obviously couldn't accept her for herself; he couldn't even accept the fact that she wanted to be true
to
herself. And so it was over forever.

Kate sipped at her now cold coffee and looked at the mass of papers on her desk. Insertion orders from newspa
pers;
magazines that didn't interest her a bit; a stack of
interoffice
memos
—
most completely without importance
—
that
seemed
a mile high.

At least she was good enough to do her job mechanical
ly
for a while, even if her heart wasn't in it. And she began
to
move through her work and through the morning
slowly
and surely, half her mind on the job and half on Ben. And gradually a new anger was born, a feeling much closer to what she had felt the other night. She may have been the one who had started the argument, but he hadn't
even
been able to fight. He had walked out, washing his hands of the matter as if it didn't exist. And it was over because of
his
stubbornness, his refusal to let her think and act and even feel as she wanted. He was the one who had
no
faith in her, who wanted to be analyst rather than lover,
critic
rather than partner. And she had made a choice she had never been able to make before: she had chosen to be
honest
with
herself
over all else.

Just
before
lunch Linda came in with some papers for
Kate to sign. "Oh,
you look awful," she
said.

Kate managed a wan
smile.
"Yes, well, I'm a little
hung-over."

"Do you want me to take over so you can
go
home? And what about the in-stores? Aren't Alexandra and Pierce supposed to do one tomorrow?"

"Yes. I have to call Alexandra. God knows what kind of shape she's in. And thanks, but I'll manage."

"Good luck," Linda said. "Let me know if you need anything." And she left the office and shut the door.

Kate dreaded calling Alexandra. She would have to lay down the law for her, and she wasn't completely certain of the best approach; for she didn't know how much of Alexandra's misbehavior and lateness stemmed from Kurt's destructive influence. She sighed. Perhaps Alexandra was simply a hopeless case, one of those talented, star-quality newcomers who every year and in every field fall under the influence of someone bent on destroying them. Perhaps she didn't have a chance as long as she was involved with Kurt. But perhaps she did. Kate simply didn't know how to make the judgment.