You could tell just by looking at Melina Bliss that she would be hard to handle. Petite. Compact. “A mean machine,” one of her ex-boyfriends had called her, and it was an image she secretly nurtured. She was a luxury model, she would tell herself, turbo-powered. She moved in high gear, fueled by pure energy. Men saw her speed, felt the sparks she gave off, and thought her beautiful. Women, whose standards were generally stricter in such matters, took a closer look and saw otherwise.
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Louella told Janie as she helped her carry her books and art equipment up the stairs to her new office that following Sunday afternoon. The movers were coming the next day to transport the furniture and heavy boxes that the two women had carefully stacked in the center of the little room. “I mean, Melina’s sort of pretty, I guess. But she’s hardly beautiful … do you think?”
“She has style,” Janie replied, “and in some ways I think that accounts for more than just regular good looks. She knows how to make the best of what she’s got. And I guess—I mean I have to assume from the way all the men around here have been behaving—that she’s pretty sexy.”
“Probably gives it away,” Louella mumbled darkly.
“Oh, Lou, what makes you say that?” Janie asked, feeling sad. She knew perfectly well that Louella was still stung by Janie’s desertion the other night and that she resented the friendship that seemed to be springing up between Melina and Janie. It didn’t help that Louella was going to stay down on the old floor, while the two other women moved into the new, freshly painted and furnished offices.
“I hear things,” Louella answered evasively. “I keep my ear to the ground. All I’m saying is, well, I don’t know what the big deal is about her. She’s not a nice person, Janie, and I don’t trust her farther than I could throw her.”
Janie couldn’t help but conclude that Louella wished she had an opportunity to do just that. She chalked it off to petty jealousy and thought less of Louella for it. But then Janie had no idea of the high-handed way Melina treated Louella when no one else was around to hear.
“Get me Horizon Studios on the phone immediately,” Melina had ordered Louella that past Friday morning.
“Don’t you ever say ‘please’?” Louella asked at the switchboard, tears of hurt rimming her eyes.
“Only when I have to,” Melina retorted. “Now move it.”
Janie had been shown a different side of her the evening they had dinner together. They’d gone to a small Thai restaurant in Chelsea that Melina had discovered a few weeks before. Melina seemed to know all the latest in places to eat, drink, shop, and dance. And Janie had to admit that the food was delicious; the crowd was hip, well-dressed, a world away from the loud-voiced tourists who frequented the Mexican joint she went to with Louella.
“God, I still get so excited by this city,” Melina had confided with a contented sigh after they’d put in their order. “I’m still amazed by it all. I’m just a country hick, you know. A regular Southern cracker.” Janie found it impossible to square the sophisticated, elegantly dressed woman sitting across from her with a small-town upbringing—and she told Melina so.
“Thank you, honey,” Melina replied, smoothing back her hair. “Shows you what a ten-year subscription to Vogue can do for you. But, no, seriously, I grew up in a dirt-poor dusty little nowhere corner of South Carolina. My first conscious thought was: I’ve got to get out of here!”
Janie laughed. “Mine wasn’t much different, though the circumstances were. I come from New England. Uh, more or less middle class. But I was the young, dumb, ugly duckling of the family. Couldn’t do anything right. Still can’t, as far as they’re concerned.”
“Come now,” Melina said, as their bowls of spicy salad arrived, “surely they’re impressed with your career? Lord, the way Zach and Michael talk about you, I get the impression you’re the hottest thing on Madison Avenue since sliced bread.”
“My parents,” Janie said, sighing, “don’t entirely approve of advertising, you know?”
“Their loss, then,” Melina replied shortly, as they settled down to their meal. “They should be damned proud.”
They talked about the advertising world and Melina’s career thus far at two of the bigger conglomerates.
“That’s why Zach and Michael’s shop appealed to me so,” she confided, after describing the complicated hierarchy at her former agency. “I mean, it was like trying to get ahead in the Roman Catholic Church. I could see it was going to take me decades to make VP. Didn’t much help being a woman. I was amazed, thrilled really, when Zach told me they wanted me because I am a woman. I guess he thought I could help cool Madame Ramona’s hotter flashes.”
“I think you’ve already proven him right,” Janie said kindly. She liked Melina’s openness, the frank way she talked about her ambitions.
“I don’t want to ever have to worry about money again,” Melina told her. “That probably sounds so boring to you, so pedestrian. But when you grow up the way I did, wondering if you’d eat that night, if you’d ever get new shoes again, well, money just takes on a whole lot of significance.”
“Can’t you put some of that behind you now?” Janie responded. “You sure seem to be doing well.”
“It’s not that simple,” Melina answered, staring down into her water glass. “You see, I was an orphan. And no matter what happens to me, no matter how far I get … I guess I’ll just never get over the need for more…” Melina waved away whatever she was about to say. “Let’s talk about something else. Tell me about this glorious-sounding Chanson person. Is he really as handsome as they say?”
“Yes,” Janie answered, blushing, “he is.” She was grateful the restaurant was so dark.
“And filthy rich and single, too,” Melina added, sighing. “Almost makes me want to break my cardinal rule.”
“Which is?” Janie asked.
“Never get involved with someone at work,” Melina told her. “I’ve learned the hard way, believe me. Though, heaven knows, it remains the worst sort of temptation. Zach, for instance. What’s he really like?”
“He’s crazy and wonderful,” Janie answered easily. “A good friend. A hopeless romantic, too, I think. He seems forever in search of true love.”
“And he’s been breaking a lot of hearts along the way,” Melina told her, signaling for the check. “I’ve two friends who have been seriously burned by the man.”
“He’d never hurt anyone intentionally,” Janie responded. “He’s not hard-hearted. He’s just … an idealist, I guess.”
“And you’re defending him like mad,” Melina pointed out. “Don’t tell me you’re in love with him yourself?”
“No,” Janie said simply. “Not Zach.”
“Who then?” Melina demanded gaily. “There is someone, isn’t there? But you’re not going to say.”
Janie shook her head. “No, there’s no one.”
“Liar!” Melina cried, laughing. “I can always tell … it’s like a sixth sense with me. Just give me time, I’ll find out.”
“No, really…” Janie started to reply, and then stopped when she realized she was protesting too much. “And you?” she asked instead.
“No one now,” Melina told her, sorting through change from the check. “But, heavens, I hate to even say this. I did breathe something of a sigh of relief when you told me you didn’t have a thing for Zach.”
“What about your cardinal rule?” Janie asked, surprised that she wasn’t more pleased with Melina’s confession.
“The great thing about rules,” Melina replied, standing up to leave, “is that they can always be broken.”
“Oh, my God, I’m sorry,” Janie said, slamming Zach’s door as she stumbled backward out of the room, the image of Zach and Melina together on his couch throbbing in her mind. It was almost nine o’clock on a Wednesday night, a little under a month after Melina had started her job. Damn! Janie thought as she hurried up the stairs to her office. She knew it had been happening; she had just refused to admit it to herself. Now she had no choice. She cleared off her drawing board, gathered her trench coat and shoulder bag, and turned off the light. She was already pressing for the elevator when Zach came down the hall toward her.
“Sorry about that,” he said. She couldn’t look at him.
“I’m the one who should apologize,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light, “barging in like that.”
“Hey, Janie, I like the way you barge,” he said, touching her arm. “Please, hey, look at me.”
She turned. His hair was wild, his dark eyes bright. His face had lost its pallor. His lips were full, slightly bruised. His funny smile was full of chagrin. Janie looked away again, her heart filling with sadness.
“Come on, Janie,” Zach said, pulling her arm, touching her shoulder so that she faced him again. “It’s really not as bad as that. A little embarrassing for all concerned, but nothing we can’t put behind us. Nothing that should stop us being friends.”
“Right,” she muttered. Blessedly, the elevator arrived, and she hurried in. Zach followed behind her.
“Please, Zach, don’t…” she began. “What about Melina? Shouldn’t you be…”
“Melina can take of herself,” Zach answered simply. “I think we both know that.”
He flagged down a cab, got her address out of her, and then climbed in beside her.
“Zach, please…” she protested. “I’m not a child. I, too, can take care of myself perfectly—”
“Shut up for a second, okay?” he interrupted. “I want to take you home. I want to talk to you. I miss talking to you, dammit. Okay?”
Things had changed between them since Janie had moved upstairs. With Zach on the old floor, they saw each other less. And it seemed the evenings Janie worked late, Zach left early. Janie had told herself it was due to the move, knowing all the while that something else was at stake. Melina had remained friendly and open, though she hadn’t suggested another dinner, and Janie was too shy to instigate something on her own. But the two women worked well together. The clients they serviced were more than pleased, and recently even Louella had been forced to admit that Melina was no slouch when it came to her job.
“This is very nice, Janie,” Zach said, obviously surprised when she let him into her two-bedroom co-op in Chelsea. It was a rambling prewar building with mullioned windows and working fireplaces. In an attempt to downplay its grandeur, she’d furnished it with secondhand furniture she’d found on the Lower East Side and decorated the walls with her own paintings, cheaply framed.
“This is nice, too,” Zach added, standing in front of one of her paintings. It was a watercolor of a bouquet of peach-colored roses, overflowing a pewter vase. She had painted it at Baldwin over the summer before, preferring the stale heat of her old attic studio to the more stifling company of her family. “Actually, it’s beautiful.”
“Thanks. Those are my favorite roses. Aren’t they a wonderful color?” As she put her coat away, she glanced around the room, trying to see it through Zach’s eyes. Did he wonder how she could afford the stupendous view of the Hudson?
“Does that mean you painted it?” Zach demanded, turning to face her. When she nodded assent he announced, “It’s damn good, Janie. God, you have talent! Now, will you stop acting like a whipped calf,” he added as he collapsed without ceremony on her scratched-up leather couch, “and come over here and have a normal conversation with me?”
“Would you care for something to drink?” Janie asked, hovering by the kitchen door.
“Please, I didn’t come here so that you could play hostess,” Zach retorted. “I came to put the record straight, okay?”
“Zach, it’s none of my affair,” Jane answered. “You don’t have to explain anything to me … I mean, Melina is a beautiful, lovely woman. You have every right to…”
“Please, just listen, dammit,” Zach cut her off. “I don’t love her, Janie…”
“Zach, I really don’t want to hear…”
“I don’t care what you want to hear, okay?” he cried. He rose suddenly and walked over to the double windows. The lights of New Jersey beckoned across the river. “I just … want to talk to someone about it. About her. The whole stupid mess.”
“Okay,” Janie said, sitting down on the couch, catching something in his voice she’d never heard before. And it was something she knew all too well: loneliness. “I’m listening.”
“It finally hit me tonight,” Zach said slowly, still facing the river, “that I keep going after the wrong kind of women for a reason. You know, it’s not that life is dealing me a rotten hand … I’m the one who’s picking the cards. I’m the one who’s choosing women like Melina…”
“What’s wrong with her, Zach?” Janie demanded.
“She’s a bitch is all,” Zach answered simply. “Willing to do anything to get ahead. She had me fooled for about fifteen seconds.”
“I think you’re being incredibly hard on her,” Janie retorted. “She may be ambitious, but at least she’s honest about it. And she told me she cared about you … practically asked my permission before…”
“Before what?” Zach snapped, turning around. “You mean, you knew this was going on?”
“No,” Janie answered defiantly, “at least, not for sure. But what difference does it make? You can drop her, just the way you’ve dropped all the rest. Talk about calling the kettle black—look at yourself, Zach! Look how you go around hurting people right and left.”
“I know,” Zach said defeatedly, sitting down next to her. “I know. I hate it. But the problem is—I just don’t care about anybody enough. I don’t love anyone. I never have. Maybe … maybe I can’t.”
“Ever think you’re too hard on people, Zach?” Janie asked. “You should hear yourself talk. Especially about women. This one is a ditz. That one’s shallow. Now Melina’s a bitch. I don’t think you’ve given any of them much of a chance. What’s the average length of one of your … relationships?”
“A month,” Zach muttered. “Six weeks on the outside. But that’s not the point, Janie. Don’t you see? It’s my fault. I keep seeing women who are all wrong for me. I do it on purpose, I suppose. And then I think maybe I can change them, make them different, better. I don’t know.” He leaned forward, his dark hair falling over his forehead. “It’s all screwed up.”
Janie touched his shoulder. “You know who you’re the hardest on?” she asked him. His hand closed over hers, drawing it down to his lap. He shook his head, without looking up.
“Yourself,” she said softly, her heart going out to him. He was the caring older brother she had never known. She was touched—and disturbed—that he had turned to her for help. Until now, they had shared only a light, informal, bantering camaraderie. This evening added weight and seriousness to their friendship. The change made Janie feel wary; she wasn’t used to letting people come too close.
“I know.” Zach sighed, sitting back. He kept hold of her hand. “People used to tell me that I was born old. I grew up feeling somehow responsible when anything went wrong. And I’ve been one judgmental son of a bitch since I can remember.” Distractedly, he rubbed the inside of her palm with his thumb.
“So you don’t need me to tell you so,” Janie said, drawing her hand away. The Penrods were never a particularly demonstrative family, and Zach’s nearness bothered her.
“Oh, yes, I do,” Zach said, sighing and standing up to go. “You’re a good friend, Janie. And you’re also the most sensible woman I know.”
“Is that to be taken as a compliment?” she demanded.
“Certainly,” Zach replied, heading for the foyer. “In my mind, it’s not the meek but the sensible who shall inherit the earth.”
But what good is the earth, Janie asked herself later as she was getting ready for bed, when you share it only with other sensible people just like yourself? Was she doomed to spend her days with the Louella Muldriches of this world? She didn’t want to be sensible, she didn’t want to be practical if that meant she was going to stay forever rooted in her present life. Somehow, someday, she promised herself as she climbed into bed, Jane Millicent Penrod was going to cut herself free … float upward, drift on gossamer wings into the waiting arms of Alain Chanson.