Seems Like Old Times Read online

  The hall was dim, but light blazed from her parents' bedroom. Judith, young and healthy, was leaning over the dressing table, close to the mirror, applying a fresh layer of pink lipstick to her full mouth.

  The crash of her father's fist slamming on the top of the vanity, shaking and rattling bottles of perfume and make up caused Lisa to shrink and bite back a frightened cry. A canister of talc fell onto the floor with a dull thud.

  Judith paid more attention to herself than to Jack's anger. She raised her arms up to fluff her whitish blond hair, then gave her head a saucy shake so that a couple of strands fell over her forehead. She plucked at them, making them lay just so, then squirted her hair with her cologne atomizer.

  Lisa hated Judith's dress. Bright pink, the front was cut in a deep heart shape so that it showed off her breasts. At one time, Lisa thought her mother looked like the movie star she had always wanted to be. But as she got older, she realized Judith's look was at least ten years behind the times--a Marilyn Monroe type in a world of Chers and Jane Fondas. She wished her mother would wear the loose, casual dresses and slacks that other kids’ mothers wore. Men never stared at other kids' mothers. Even at age six she perceived the uncomfortable undercurrents.

  Her mother ran her hands over the hips of her dress, smoothing the polished cotton, then practiced her pout in the mirror in between words about going to Hollywood to become a star. She was sick of wasting her life on a crazy old man and a squalling brat. She’d had it.

  Judith tossed her coat over her arm and picked up her suitcase. Lisa backed away as her parents walked out of the bedroom.

  Her mother was going away, but the most shattering, the most devastating, was when she heard her father say he was going, too.

  She could understand Judith leaving. Judith spent most of the time bemoaning not being a star. But her father...he wouldn't leave her. He couldn't. He told her he loved her.

  She remembered sitting all alone on the hall stairs, crying silently before her father came and got her. He picked her up in his strong arms and said he was taking her to Aunt Miriam’s. She clutched his neck and cried and begged him not to go. He had promised her he’d be back. He had promised....

  Lee twisted a lock of hair around her finger as she remembered her terror at being left that way. Why, she’d wondered? What had she done that made her mother want to leave her? Was she really so unlovable? Had she really been so bad? But she knew Daddy loved her. At least Daddy would come back.

  Lee bent forward to ease the burning ache in the pit of her stomach. That night, on the road to San Francisco, a drunken driver crashed head on into the car Jack Reynolds was driving. He was killed instantly, and Judith returned to Miwok, her pelvis crushed, her dreams of glamour and fortune shattered as completely as her hip.

  o0o

  Miriam didn’t return to Miwok until four o’clock Wednesday afternoon. She looked sheepish, yet floated about three feet in the air and bubbled with enthusiasm as she told her about the brave, dashing, handsome and exciting rodeo riders. When Lee asked about one particular handsome and exciting ex-rodeo rider, she was surprised to see Miriam grow flustered. Miriam soon went upstairs to lie down a moment--the ride back had been a long one. A half-hour later, Lee peeked in the guestroom and found her aunt sound asleep. Lee chuckled and pulled the door quietly shut.

  She spent Wednesday and Thursday discarding, recycling, and boxing clothes, appliances, dishes and so on for charity. She worked with Janet Lettice on which furniture should be kept, which discarded, and when the painter, drapes and carpet would arrive. In between, she spent hours on the phone with New York. She decided to skip the special about Moscow. It would have taken her away from the action for too long, and if she made the jump to Nighttime News, it wouldn’t be at all feasible to do a major report for the competition.

  Friday morning, Tony called and asked Lee to dinner with him before the dance.

  She thought she should check to see if her dress needed to be pressed. She’d brought a Bill Blass original with her. It was a smooth dove gray silk dress with thin straps and a jet-beaded bodice. Taking it out of the closet, she studied it a long time. It was too elegant for a dance at the gym...but it looked terrific.

  She sorted through the few clothes she'd packed, trying to decide if dressing one of them up, a scarf here, a new belt there, or a pin, or a corsage, or a jacket, would work. She remembered watching a rerun of Gone With The Wind and how Scarlett O'Hara make a gorgeous dress out of drapery. She eyed her bedroom curtains with mock desperation. Too flimsy.

  She tossed the clothes aside.

  She hadn’t brought--and didn’t own--anything befitting an oldies dance. Her clothes were too sophisticated. Hell, she was too sophisticated. What was she thinking, going to such a thing?

  Her angst grew. From a bureau drawer she took out the small jewelry box she'd brought with her and poured through it. Boring! Everything in the box was plain, practical--expensive--but boring. Now what?

  Shoes! She dived onto the floor of the closet. She'd only brought a few pair, and tossed them out to the middle of the floor, one by one. They were all pumps--stylish, business-like, but more for comfort than something one would wear to a dance--except for dark gray silk with four-inch heels that looked great with the Bill Blass dress.

  She sat on the floor. Shoes, jewelry, and clothes covered the carpet, the bed, and the bureau top. She was definitely losing it.

  o0o

  Gene Cantelli helped Tony carry the baseball bats and helmets to his car after the team practice. Gene wasn't an assistant coach because the hours his shop was open usually conflicted with games and practice, but he had a good arm and batting eye, and Tony welcomed his help working one-on-one with the boys whenever his schedule permitted. This Friday afternoon, though, the sun was bright and the air crisp and clean, Gene left his part time assistant minding the store and took off to find Tony's Bruins. He helped Ricky and Paul with batting, Jimmy and Bobby with throwing accuracy, and had a special fondness for Micah, a fatherless boy who needed help with every fundamental. If ever a kid might run the bases backwards, Micah was the one. But he had a big heart, guts, and a fantastic desire to learn. Gene gave the boy all the time he could.

  "Hey, paisan," Gene said to Tony as the boys ran off to meet parents and carpools for their rides home, "I heard you’re taking Lee Reynolds to a high school dance."

  "Yeah. So?"

  "What are you? Last of the big-time spenders?"

  "It’s not a date. It’s a charity thing. That’s the only reason I asked her."

  "Ah...charity."

  "Why don’t you come see for yourself?"

  "I would, but I’m taking Miriam to a play in San Francisco. Tom Stoppard. I want to show her that even us cowboys got some culcha."

  Tony eyed him. Gene and Vic had been friends a long time. Tony thought of him almost as a big brother. He’d never known Gene to care what any woman thought of his culture, or anything else. "You seem to like her quite a bit."

  Gene walked in silence a long time. "I’ll tell you a secret, Tony. For a long time I went out with girls a lot younger than me. I thought it’d keep me young. Instead, they were a constant reminder that I’m getting old. Miriam, though, sees my age as just fine. Around her, I can be myself. I really like it. I really like her. She’s smart, attractive, sexy as hell, and she’s got a great sense of humor."

  "Interesting," Tony said.

  "Yeah...that it is. No one is more surprised than me, paisan, let me tell you. Say, why don’t you come over to the saddle shop. I’ve got some new gear I’d like to show you."

  "I’d better not. I'm taking Lisa to dinner first. I can't go smelling like horse gear. That stuff gets in your pours and there's no getting rid of it. Besides, I'll have to pick up some clothes at the cleaners. They won't be ready until four-thirty, then the place closes at five, and if I'm late--"

  Gene gave a belly laugh. "I'm sure glad this date doesn't mean anything to you."

  o0o
<
br />   That evening, Lee’s hands shook as she put on silk stockings held up with a black garter belt. She poked a fingernail right through one leg. Nervously, she tossed the stocking aside and got a new one. Next, as she dabbed on Joy de Jean Patou perfume, her fingers slipped and a bunch of it splashed onto her cleavage. She put the perfume vial down and took several deep breaths trying to relax, but all they accomplished was to make her head feel light.

  This wasn't a date, she repeated. But who was she trying to convince? And why?

  o0o

  Tony couldn't find a decent tie in all fifty or so that he owned. Everyone he knew gave him ties for father's day, his birthday, Christmas. You'd think that at least one of all those people had good taste.

  He settled on a gray, brown, and rose print tie. He thought it would go well with his casually cut, soft tannish-gray Armani suit, and a white shirt.

  He shaved and nearly slit his throat. Wearing a piece of toilet paper to stop the bleeding--he sure hoped he remembered to take it off before he left the house--he began to dress. His tee-shirts were all wrinkled. As he set up the ironing board, he stopped and wondered what the hell he was doing.

  He put on his socks and noticed that one was black and the other navy. At least his shoes matched. He switched to two black socks.

  Luckily, the nick stopped bleeding before he put on his shirt. Then he tried to tie the damn necktie he'd picked out. His thumbs kept getting in the way. Maybe he should use a clip-on.

  He could imagine Lisa's face if he showed up with some dorky clip-on tie. She'd cancel the date right then and there.

  He sat on the bed. He hadn't even left the house and he was already exhausted.

  o0o

  The last time Lee had stood in her bedroom getting ready to go on a big date was the night of the senior prom. She remembered doing everything she could to make Judith happy with her, as usual. And as usual, nothing seemed to work.

  She was so upset over her difficulties with Judith, she had even fought with Tony. That made it easy, then, to say yes when Ken Walters asked her to the prom. She and Ken were like two peas in a pod. Their coloring was the same, their interests, their straight A grades. Judith was ecstatic. Ken was every mother's dream. Good looking, honor roll student and filthy rich. When Ken was accepted at Harvard, even Lisa was impressed.

  The problem was, when Tony found out she was going to the prom with Ken, he started seeing another girl. Lisa was consumed with jealousy.

  That situation lasted about a month, then Tony and Lisa got together again. Ken was furious.

  In retrospect, Lee couldn't blame him. Ken thought she’d broken up with Tony to go with him, when all she was doing, she realized later, was using him to make Judith happy. It was not one of her finer moments. She should have expected the trouble such deception would cause.

  Ken had gotten even, though. On prom night, he stood her up.

  She'd never forget her humiliation, standing at the window in her fancy prom dress, watching the empty street as the minutes ticked away. And Judith's outrage--at Lisa, not at Ken. Lisa had failed her again.

  An hour and half later, Tony showed up wearing a tuxedo, with prom tickets in his pocket and a gardenia corsage in his hand. Lisa burst into tears.

  Judith was beside herself with rage as Lisa walked out the door with him. It was the first time she had ever openly defied her mother. Always before Lisa had tried to please, to give in to Judith's wishes. Not this time, though. The end of her high school years had come and she had almost...almost...missed celebrating it with the one person who was more important to her than anyone else in the world.

  She paid for defying Judith, though. In a sense, the cost had been the life she'd known, because that was the beginning of the end.

  Now, she applied her make up with great care. Just a couple of minutes before six o'clock, she reached for her dress and slipped it over her head.

  Standing in front of the mirror in her old bedroom, the smells of make up and shampoo, perfume and bath oils mixed around her just as they had long ago.

  Her stomach jumped and twisted like a demented acrobat as she looked at the clock and studied her image again.

  Jewelry! She looked at the ugly holes in her earlobes with a shudder. Reaching for the box with her diamond stud earrings, she put them on.

  A small diamond pendant on a platinum filigree chain was perfect with the dress.

  She had just fastened the clasp when the doorbell rang. She froze, remembering prom night...hearing the bell and seeing Tony, standing in her doorway, looking more handsome in his black tuxedo than she'd ever seen him.

  I won't let Ken do this to you, Lisa. You're going to your prom, and you're going with me.

  Now, she slowly walked dawn the stairs. Taking deep breaths to compose herself, she waited a moment then pulled open the door.

  He stood in front of her, his expression wary. Then, as he looked at her, his face slowly crinkled into that old, familiar smile. Warmth filled her. She noticed the casual Armani cut of his suit, his tie, the way every hair was in place, the scent of Polo. She was relieved that he’d gone to this trouble for her. She’d have felt awfully foolish in her Blass original if he were in jeans. But then, Tony had always been a cool dresser.

  His breath caught as she stood before him, her sophisticated beauty dazzling in the understated elegance of her gray dress. From the wives of highly paid major leaguers, he had learned to recognize designer originals. That was one. He couldn’t believe she’d gone to such trouble tonight.

  "Hello, Tony," she said.

  "Hi."

  She realized she'd kept him standing in the doorway far too long. "Would you like to come in? Miriam already left for the city with Gene or she’d have loved to see you."

  "Well, if you’re ready," he said, gesturing toward his car.

  "Yes, I am." She grabbed her tiny purse, and shut and locked the door.

  His hand barely skimmed her elbow as he walked her to the Jeep Cherokee parked in the driveway. "My only other car's a truck that smells to hay and horses."

  "This is fine." She climbed in, and suppressed a small smile. If only her fellow newsmen could see her now, Lee Reynolds, star anchor, dressed in a designer original worth a few thousand dollars, riding in an SUV on the way to a high school gym. Somehow, though, it felt right. It felt comfortable.

  They drove to Miwok's finest restaurant, the Hillcrest Lodge, situated, appropriately, at the top of a small hill.

  After the waiter prepared and served their Caesar salad. Tony asked Lee about living in New York, and she told him about her job. He asked her about her friends, and she told him about the offer she was given to switch to Nighttime News from her current situation.

  "Your job means a lot to you, it seems," he said quietly.

  "I love my work."

  "That’s great."

  "That’s also why I’m hesitant to change networks, even though it’s the best way to reach the next level."

  He put down his fork and waited until he had all her attention. "Lee Reynolds can work anywhere she wants," he said. "You're one classy lady. Take your time. You should be happy and proud of what you're doing."

  His words warmed and filled all the empty corners of her heart. Tony had always offered unconditional support and understanding, and in a sense, he just did again.

  "I've been thinking about this a long time," she said. "The greatest pressure to change to what might seem to be a more prominent job comes from the outside--from other people’s expectations. I’m not convinced it’s what I want to do."

  "Then don’t move until you’re sure."

  "That’s what Miriam said."

  "And your, uh, friend in New York?"

  She dropped her gaze to her salad and pushed the arugula around with her fork. "He said, 'Go for it'." She saw the surprise on Tony's face as he quickly averted his eyes and concentrated on his salad. She tried to explain. "He's very much in favor of doing all one can to get ahead. He's a very successf
ul man."

  Tony reached for the wine to top off their glasses. "Successful. I wouldn't expect you to be with anyone who wasn't. Sort of a grown up Ken Walters."

  She winced at the memory of the boy she'd promised to go to the prom with. So Tony, too, must have been thinking of the last time they went to a dance together. She had trouble finding her voice a moment. "Much nicer," she said finally.

  "I should hope so."

  They ate in silence, then the waiter took away the salad dishes and brought their prime rib.

  She picked up her fork, then put it down again. "Let's forget about New York and business and all of that tonight. Let's just talk like friends--the way we used to do."

  "That sounds like a good idea." His megawatt smile sent all topics of conversation flying from Lee's mind. She had the girlish notion she could sit there all night looking at his smile. But then Tony began talking to her. He had a knack for conversing she’d always admired. He could talk to anyone about anything at anytime. He claimed it came from playing baseball--that he had to learn to spend long hours sitting in the dugout or at practices with a group of guys. They had nothing to do but talk and tell stories, and so they had to learn how to do it in a way that was interesting, passed the time and put each other at ease.

  Tony had been a good conversationalist when he and Lee were young. Lee had to learn to become one, learn how to soften up the elusive politicians, publicity-seeking celebrities, and distrustful citizens involved in newsworthy events with idle patter and simple questions, and then delve deeper, move to tougher questions, hard-biting comments. When she was "on," in other words, working, she was always verbally quick, and because of that was often invited to be a guest on one of TV’s numerous "talking-heads" political shows. With Tony she relaxed, without the edge caused by constantly being on her guard or trying to pierce through any subterfuge and double-talk. She let him carry the conversation, and he did, easily and entertainingly.