"If I can swallow my pride enough to come here, the least you can do is ask me in."
"Your pride?" She felt her temper rise. A bad sign, she knew, when only a few words had been exchanged. "Fine. Come in."
He glanced at her bags as he stepped through the door. "You went home for Christmas, then?"
"That's right."
He laid his coat over the back of a chair. "And your family's well?"
"Hale and hearty, Marshall, and I'm not in the mood for small talk. If you have something to say, say it."
"I don't believe this is something we can resolve until we sit down and talk it through." He gestured to the sofa. "Please."
She shrugged out of her coat and took a chair instead. She linked her hands firmly in her lap and waited.
"The fact that you're still angry with me proves that there's an emotional investment between us." He sat, resting his hands on his knees. "I realized that trying to resolve things right after the incident was a mistake."
"The incident? Is that what we're calling it?"
"Because," he continued, calmly, "emotions, on both sides, were running too close to the surface, making it difficult to compromise and vent constructively."
"I rarely vent constructively." She smiled then, but her eyes were hot. "I don't suppose we got to know each other well enough for you to realize that under certain circumstances, I have a nasty temper."
"I understand." He was pleased, very pleased that they were communicating again. "You see, Deanna, I believe part of our difficulties stemmed from the fact that we didn't know each other as well as we should have. We share the blame there, but it's a very human, very natural inclination to show only your best sides when developing a relationship."
She had to take a deep breath, had to school herself to remain seated when the urge to spring up and strike out was churning inside her. "You want to share the blame for that, fine — particularly since I have no intention of ever moving beyond that stage with you."
"Deanna. If you'll be honest, you'll admit that we were creating something special between us." As a good therapist, he kept his eyes steady on hers, his voice mild and soothing. "A meeting of intellects, of tastes."
"Oh, I think our meeting of intellects and tastes took a sharp division when I walked in and found you and Angela groping each other. Tell me, Marshall, did you have the brochures for our proposed Hawaiian tryst in your jacket pocket at the time?"
His color rose. "I have apologized repeatedly for that lapse."
"Now it's a lapse. Before it was an incident. Let me give you my term for it, Marshall. I call it a betrayal, a betrayal by two people I admired and cared for. Deliberate on Angela's side, and pathetic on yours."
The muscle in his jaw began to twitch. "You and I had not fully committed to each other, sexually or emotionally."
"You're saying that if I'd gone to bed with you, it wouldn't have happened? I'm not buying it." She sprang to her feet. "I'm not sharing the blame for this one, pal. You're the one who thought with your glands. So take my advice, doctor, and get the hell out of my house. I want you to stay away from me. I don't want you knocking at my door. I don't want to hear your voice on the phone. And I don't want any more calls in the middle of the damn night where you can't even drum up the guts to speak."
He stood, standing stiffly. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't you?" Her cheeks were flaming.
"I only know that I want to make things right. My eyes have been opened during these months since you cut me out of your life, Deanna. I know you're the only woman who can make me happy."
"Then you're in for a sad life. I'm not available, and I'm not interested."
"There's someone else." He stepped forward, gripping her forearms before she could jerk away. "You can speak of betrayal when you so casually, so easily move from me to someone else."
"Yes, there's someone else, Marshall. There's me. Now take your hands off me."
"Let me remind you what we had," he murmured, pulling her against him. "Let me show you the way it could be."
The old fear returned, making her tremble as she fought free of his grip. Struggling for air, she braced herself against the chair. Cornered, she was cruel. "You know what would make an interesting topic for my show, Marshall? Try this on. Respected family counselors who harass women they've dated as well as seducing underage girls." She wrapped her arms tight around her body as his color drained. "Yes, I know all about it. A child, Marshall? Can you imagine how that revolts me? The woman you were seeing while you were supposedly developing our relationship is small change compared to that. Angela sent me a little package before she left for New York."
Cold sweat pearled on his brow. "You have no right to publicize my private life."
"And no intention of doing so. Unless you continue to harass me. And if you do—" She trailed off.
"I expected better than threats from you, Deanna."
"Well, looks like you were wrong again." She strode to the door, yanked it open. "Now get out."
Shaken, he picked up his coat. "You owe me the courtesy of giving me the information you have."
"I owe you nothing. And if you're not out this door in five seconds, I'm going to let out a scream that'll raise the roof on this building and bring the neighbors running." "You're making a mistake," he said as he walked to the door. "A very big mistake."
"Happy holidays," she told him, then slammed the door and turned the bolt.
"Great show, Deanna." Marcie wiped at her eyes as Deanna walked back into the dressing room. "It was great to have all those families of soldiers over in the Gulf on together. And those tapes from over there."
"Thanks, Marcie." Deanna walked over to the lighted makeup mirror and removed her earrings. "You know, Marcie, it's New Year's Eve."
"I've heard rumors."
"It's that time for "Out with the old, in with the new."" Pushing a hand through her hair, Deanna turned in front of the mirror, critically studying left profile, right, full face. "And Marcie, my friend, I'm feeling reckless."
"Oh yeah?" Marcie stopped arranging her makeup case in preparation for Bobby Marks. "What kind of reckless? Like going-out-and-picking- up-strange-men-at-cheap-bars reckless?"
"I didn't say I was insane, I said I was reckless. How much time do you have free before Bobby comes in?"
"About twenty minutes."
"Okay, that should do it." Deanna boosted herself into the swivel chair, then spun it away from the mirror. "Change me."
Marcie nearly gave in to the urge to rub her hands together. "You're serious?"
"Deadly. I had a nasty scene with a former relationship a few days ago. I don't know if I'm going to have a job much less a career this time next month. I may just be falling in love with a man who spends more time out of the country than in, and in two weeks we could be at war. Tonight, New Year's Eve, I will not be with the man I think I may be falling in love with, but at a crowded party socializing with strangers because socializing with strangers is now part of my job. So I'm feeling reckless, Marcie, reckless enough to do something drastic."
Marcie clipped the knee-length bib around Deanna's neck. "Maybe you'd better define "drastic" before I get started."
"Nope." Deanna inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. "I don't want to know. Surprise me."
"You got it." Marcie picked up her spray bottle and dampened Deanna's hair. "You know, I've been wanting to do this for weeks."
"Now's your chance. Make me a new woman."
Little tangles of nerves formed in Deanna's stomach as Marcie snipped. And snipped. She watched with a faltering heart as tresses of ebony hair hit the tiled floor at her feet.
"You know what you're doing, right?" "Trust me," Marcie told her, as she snipped some more. "You're going to look fabulous. Distinctive."