Sally Chemosh placed her mug of coffee on the table and sat down with a sigh. The kitchen was back to normal after breakfast, and it was time to make a list for the coming week. Andy was on the school bus, and Gene had gone off to work. She sighed again, thinking about her husband. She wished she could help him. He was going through a hard time—and had been for many months now. He had changed so much. She thought about how, when they first met, he was so happy-go-lucky—always the life of the party no matter where they were. She had loved him from the very first and had few complaints about their time together. Of course she wished that he didn’t dislike her mother so much, but then a lot of people weren’t crazy about her. Despite all her mother’s qualities she did have a rather grating and dominating personality, Sally had to admit.
She took a sip of coffee and picked up her pen to write her list. After two entries, she put down the pen and allowed herself to reflect again. It was those hideous nightmares that had precipitated all Gene’s problems. She closed her eyes in a vain effort to refocus her mind away from them. At least he’d gotten some relief in the last few weeks. How lucky that Joe Denspot was helping Gene get past the nasty dreams. Sally rubbed her face with her left hand, sighing through her fingers.
But the nightmares—or the therapy sessions, Sally couldn’t tell which—had taken their toll. Gene just wasn’t himself these days. It wasn’t all bad, she admitted to herself. He no longer swore like he used to. That was good, she supposed, but she had married Gene just as he was—the crude med student who couldn’t say three words without swearing. And the man she’d married was no longer around. “I miss him,” she whispered, reaching again for her mug. “He has no right to change!” Her eyes smarted with tears, but she fought them back, wanting to figure out something rationally instead of giving into emotion.
He was different in other ways, too. He had become much quieter, which she supposed was OK, and he was more thoughtful than she’d ever known him to be. But more than anything else she noticed his preoccupation. It used to be that he’d come home from a day at the clinic and throw himself down on the couch for a few minutes while she fixed a couple of martinis for them to enjoy on the couch together or out on the patio. They would chat about nothing in particular and laugh over strange happenings at the clinic or something Andy had done. Sally had always looked forward to it. But these days Gene would come home and sit down, taking out his therapy card—or so he called it—and studying it. He’d even turned down a martini so many times that she’d learned to ask him first whether he wanted one.
And then there was the disquieting suspicion she had that he seemed to be more and more dissatisfied with his job. When the thought first occurred to her, she’d dismissed it; but she knew now that it was the case. Although Gene had never volunteered that he disliked his job lately, and always acted happy when he left for work, she knew him too well not to see past his façade.
The phone rang, and Sally picked it up.
“Good morning, Sally Anne.”
“Morning, Mom.”
“How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Well, I’m in a little bit of a dither. I called to make an appointment with Dr. Cromwell, and he has a cancellation tomorrow at eight o’clock. I’d really like that appointment time, but I don’t want to be in rush-hour traffic for two hours tomorrow morning to get there.” She paused, and Sally rolled her eyes in apprehension. “Do you think I could drive over to your place this evening and spend the night?”
“Sure, Mom. Do you want to come over for supper?”
“Well… Are you sure Gene wouldn’t mind?”
“I don’t think he can be here for supper anyway. I think he has a late staff meeting.” Sally knew Gene would find some excuse to be gone for the evening when she told him her mother would be coming.
“Well, OK. It would make things a lot easier for sure. Dr. Cromwell’s not more than ten minutes away from you, isn’t he?”
“Maybe fifteen in rush hour. It would be worthwhile to come over tonight. Besides,” she said, smiling, “Andy and I would love to see you. But don’t expect much for dinner. Hot dogs are already on the menu.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I have some shopping to do, and I’ll drive across town early enough so I don’t have to fight rush hour tonight. I should be there by four. Is that OK?”
“Sure.”
A moment after Sally put down the phone, it rang again.
“Sal?”
“Oh, hi, hon. What’s up?”
“Not a whole lot. Are you busy?”
Sally smiled. “No, not too busy to talk with my husband. How’s your day going?”
“Oh… fine.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
“Well, a job’s a job, you know.”
Sally twisted her mouth wryly. “You didn’t used to feel that way. You’ve always been so proud of your profession.”
“Well, I didn’t call about me. I was thinking we oughta go out on the town tonight.”
“Go out on the town? Ooh. How fun!” Sally exclaimed, then remembered her mother’s phone call. She sighed. “I can’t, honey. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t! Why?”
“Well, Mom called and wants to spend the night. She has an appointment with Dr. Cromwell at eight tomorrow morning and doesn’t want to have to drive in rush hour traffic.” Sally gritted her teeth and went on. “She really has to come over tonight. She has a hard time in heavy traffic.”
“Great,” Gene commented flatly.
“I know,” Sally said, wistfully, fully appreciating her husband’s disappointment. But then her own disappointment was replaced by an idea. “How about if Mom and Andy have supper together and we go out? They’d both like that.”
No response.
“Gene?”
“I’m here.”
“What do you think? That would work, wouldn’t it?”
“Probably.”
“Let’s do that,” Sally said.
“Well, I was just thinking… What had you planned for supper?”
“I told Mom we were just having hot dogs and that you probably had a staff meeting or something, so chances were pretty good that you wouldn’t be around much.”
“I never have evening staff meetings, Sal.”
“Well, I thought I’d better cover for you.”
“Mmm.” There was a pause. “What kind of Chinese food is it that your mom likes so well? I forgot.”
“Lemon chicken. Why?”
“How about if I pick up some egg rolls for Andy and lemon chicken for her from Szechuan Palace and then we go out together? Do you think she’d be offended?”
“Offended by our going out and leaving her with Andy? Oh, no. She’d love that, honey. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“I’ll try to be home by six with the food. Four egg rolls and lemon chicken.”
“Better make it five. Mom would probably like one, too.”
“OK, Babe. I’ll see you at six.” Gene’s voice was cheerful.
“Mmm. Let’s make it some place romantic.”
“And now ask me how my day’s going.”
“How’s your day going, love?” Sally asked in a breathy, suggestive tone, with a teasing smile on her face.
“It just jumped from a four to a ten.”
Sally laughed. “Good! See you at six?”
“OK. Bye.”
Sally hung up the phone and the smile left her face. This was a change. She had fully expected Gene to deride her mother as he usually did, or at least express his thanks for excusing him from an evening with her mom. And then to offer to pick up her mother’s favorite food? “What’s going on?” Sally asked herself out loud. She was truly dumbfounded. Her husband was changing in so many ways that it really was putting her on alert. She wouldn’t be all that surprised if come Sunday he’d start talking church.
……….
Around six-thirty Wednesday evening the phone rang as Marc sat at his desk at home. “Hello,” he said, waiting for some telemarketer to bend his ear.
“Hello, Marc.”
He instantly recognized Patrice’s voice, even in her obviously inebriated state.
“What’s up?” Marc replied, casually.
“No. I’m asking you, ‘What’s up?’”
“What do you mean?”
“You know very well what I mean! You wanted me out of your life. Fine. Then you send your secretary out to stalk me. I have half a mind to sue you.”
Marc took a deep breath but said nothing.
“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Marc thought momentarily before replying, “Nothing.”
“Nothing! You have me stalked, and you have nothing to say?”
Still Marc said nothing.
“You _______. Do you have anyone else spying on me besides your secretary and her best friend? You’ve got a lot of nerve. Well, we’ll see who gets the last laugh.” The threat would have had more punch, Marc thought wryly, if Patrice’s speech hadn’t been so slurred.
“No one’s been ‘stalking’ you with any hurtful intent, Patrice. And if you want to go back to your old neighborhood, no one will stop you. But you must know by now that Nancy’s your friend, not your enemy. You might hate me, but I don’t hate you. My meddling was only with good intention. And I know you know that.”
“Mind your own _________business. I can take care of myself. And I don’t need the Transton Twins to take care of me.”
“All right.”
“So you can tell them their case is over. The game’s up.”
“OK.”
“And I think you owe me the moving expenses to get me into an apartment away from you and your spies.”
“Fair enough.”
There was a click, and Marc got up, walked over to the couch, and flopped down full length, not knowing what to think. What had happened for Nancy—or Carla—to bare all? He knew he’d find out in the morning. After lying on the couch for a while, he got up and went back to his spreadsheet.
Within ten minutes, the phone rang again. “Mr. Garman?”
“Yes, Carla,” he answered, recognizing her voice.
“I’m sorry to call you at home, but I needed to let you know that Patrice knows about Nancy and me being friends.”
“Yeah. She called just a moment ago.”
“She’s really upset. Nancy and I are at the mall, and she wants to know what she should tell Patrice when she goes back home tonight, assuming she’ll be there.”
“Can you talk for a moment?”
“Sure.”
“Well, just tell her the truth, I suppose. She’s drunk, and she might even be asleep when Nancy gets home.”
“Will Nancy be OK? I mean, I don’t know Patrice, even when she’s not drunk.”
“I’m sure Nancy’ll be fine.”
“All right. But what shall she say? Like—shall she tell her you were concerned for her welfare—that she not become like her mom—or… or what?”
“Just have Nancy tell her the truth as she knows it. Patrice will only believe what she wants to believe, and we can’t do anything about that. But if Nancy really believes there’s a God, this would be a good time to pray.”
“OK. I’ll tell her.”
“Is Nancy OK?”
“Oh yes, she’s fine.”
“Well,” Marc apologized, “I’m sorry for all the hassle. And you—are you OK?”
“Yes, sir. A little ruffled, but OK.”
“Well, we tried. Thanks for your effort, Carla. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good night.”
……….
When Carla awoke Thursday morning, she showered and dressed, ate breakfast and drove to work, all the while thinking about what had transpired the evening before, and speculating about what would take place this morning when she and Mr. Garman talked. It was a worrisome time, and she was glad to be distracted with the task of returning messages as soon as she sat down to work.
Mr. Garman walked in at 8:45. Carla glanced up just as he set a coffee on the corner of her desk.
“When you’ve got a free moment, bring your coffee in and let’s talk, OK?” he said as he headed into his office.
“Sure. Thanks for the coffee.” She smiled. “I have one more message, and then I’ll be right in.”
When she walked into his office, Marc said, “Have a seat. Do you like the coffee?”
“It’s perfect.” Carla smiled appreciatively.
“We may as well have some coffee while discussing bitter topics,” he said, closing the door. “Have you heard from Nancy?”
“No, sir. But you said we didn’t have to worry, right?”
“She hasn’t come in yet?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Carla replied. “She usually stops by to say hi.”
“And it’s—8:50. Hmm… What time does she normally come in?”
“Eight o’clock usually. I have to admit I’m a little concerned.”
“Well, we’ll see. So what happened last night?”
“I drove over to pick up Nancy at 5:30. She was going to be watching for me from 5:25 on. When she hadn’t come down by ten to six, I decided to risk being seen and rang her bell. She said, “Come on up, Carla.” The minute Nancy opened the door, I knew something was wrong. She was crying. She said Patrice had just left, after accusing her of being a two-faced friend and a spy. Apparently Patrice began suspecting my involvement right after they moved, and she ‘cased the case,’ so to speak.”
“Had she been drinking?”
“Well, Nancy thinks she stops off at some bar every afternoon when she gets off work. She’s never seen her drinking in the apartment, but she says she often has liquor on her breath. Last night was no exception, I guess, and Nancy, not knowing of Patrice’s suspicion, called her on it.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s what ignited things, I guess. Patrice waged a ‘counterattack,’ in Nancy’s words. She said something about her having a drink was a lesser evil than being a sneak on your roommate. When Nancy asked what she meant, Patrice let her have it. Nancy was pretty devastated. She didn’t know what to say, because she didn’t know how much Patrice knew.”
“About my involvement, you mean?”
“Exactly. Finally, Patrice stormed off, vowing that she would never speak to Nancy again. Shortly afterward, I came into the building, but she must have left just before. It’s funny, though, because I didn’t notice her leaving the building, and I was watching the entrance—you know, waiting for Nancy.” She paused for a moment. “There is a back door, though. I never thought about that until just now.”
“Well, why don’t you see if Nancy’s here. If not, perhaps you should call her to make sure she’s OK. If she’s at home and upset, tell her not to worry about coming in until this afternoon. Or I’ll talk with her, if you want.”
“I think she’d appreciate that.”
“All right. By the way, Carla, I need that report from Comstock’s office by four o’clock tomorrow. Could you call and let them know that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please don’t call me ‘sir.’”
“I mean, yes, Marc.” Carla smiled sheepishly, feeling the color rise to her face.
“Thanks for all you’ve done in this little escapade. I’m sure there will be a few loose ends to tie up. Patrice will no doubt want to move, and I’ll help her with that. Then I’d like to take you to dinner, as I promised before.” He raised his hand to silence Carla’s protest and went on, as though unaware he’d even done so.
“What is Nancy’s extension? I’ll call her right now.”
“2136.”
“OK. Thank you.” He walked over to the door and opened it for Carla, who went to her desk and found herself sorting through a barrage of thoughts, at the forefront of which was dinner with Marc Garman.