Abner was at his most charming, a sure sign he was otherwise engaged. Meredith surely sensed what his behavior signified. Nora could tell Meredith yearned for more of the sympathy she had once lavished on her. Nora kept her manner light and saw to it that exchanges between the two of them were firmly anchored in the superficial. Twice Meredith gave her hangdog, beseeching looks, and once seemed on the verge of speaking up, but Nora sailed on.
Finally, when Channing and Abner were off making fresh drinks, Meredith touched Nora’s arm and said in a woebegone tone, “We need to talk.”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“I don’t even know where to start. Maybe we can do a beach walk in the morning. Just the two of us. I really miss you.”
“Fine. Let’s see what the guys have in mind and maybe we can carve out some time,” Nora said brightly. Inwardly, she felt a little stubborn streak kick in. She didn’t relish the idea of an intimate chat with Meredith, and she would make sure it never happened. Really, it was time for Meredith to take responsibility for the bargain she’d made when she married the man. She was the reason Abner was unfaithful to his first wife so what did she expect? She should suck it up or move on. Wallowing in misery was self-indulgent, especially when her woes were those she’d brought on herself.
To Nora’s great relief, the weekend had finally wound to a close without the much-dreaded beach walk. When Abner and Meredith pulled out of the driveway at 1:00, Nora finally felt herself relax. Unfortunately, the rest of Sunday was cut short by a call from the office that came in just after the Lows left. Something had come up with one of Channing’s celebrity clients, and he would have to dance attendance. No explanation or apology was needed because Nora understood. That was the nature of the beast. Channing was an entertainment lawyer, and his roster of clients included the up-and-coming talent, along with the longtime players, in the industry. He’d made a fortune on the basis of personal service. Like a doctor, he was ready to roll, at any hour, if the phone rang.
Which meant that the personal matter she wanted to discuss was squeezed into the last few minutes of his visit, when he was literally packing files in his briefcase on his way to the car. What she’d wanted to clarify was the recent tiff she’d had with his personal assistant. Thelma (whose last name she had trouble remembering) had been with him two years, and while Nora had had trifling problems with her in the past, there was never any overt insubordination.
She’d met Thelma when she first came to work for him. Nora made a point of putting in an appearance at the office whenever there was a new hire on board. That personal connection, even if it was only once, ensured a better phone relationship. Nora seldom called the office but occasionally something came up about the house, or his twin daughters. Channing’s taste was consistent when it came to underlings. Secretaries, bookkeepers, administrative assistants, even housekeepers, were cut from the same cloth-women of a certain age who grew up during the Great Depression in an era of deprivation and want. These women were grateful to have well-paying jobs; they were schooled in old-fashioned values of hard work, loyalty, and thrift. His previous “girl,” Iris, had been with him for seven years when she suffered a stroke that forced her into retirement. Thelma was the exception, some twenty years younger, plain, slightly overweight, and ever so faintly officious.
Nora had talked to her on countless occasions since their first meeting, and there was never a suggestion of friendliness on the woman’s part. To be fair, Channing did discourage chumminess. He’d often complained about his ex-wife, Gloria, who was forever befriending the hired help, becoming enmeshed in their personal upheavals. The cleaning lady, a drunk, had taken to calling Gloria in the middle of the night, asking for advances on her salary. The gardener talked her into buying him new equipment when his was stolen from another job site. When the cook’s daughter got pregnant, Gloria was the one driving the girl to her doctor’s appointments because she was too sick to ride the bus. Channing thought it absurd that Gloria was at the beck and call of people on the payroll. With Nora, he’d put his foot down and she’d been happy to comply. She assumed he’d given Thelma the same stern talking to, which was why her tone of voice bordered on the chilly.
Thelma, either unsure of herself or obsequious by nature, insisted on consulting Channing when Nora made even a minor request. Now when Nora called the office to talk to him, she was greeted by a wall of cobwebs. Thelma was subtle about it, putting up a nearly imperceptible resistance that Nora couldn’t call her on. If Nora asked her to cut a check, Thelma would sidestep until she could clear it with him. The second time it happened, Nora complained to Channing, and he’d said he’d speak to her. For a while Thelma’s attitude had improved, but then she’d reverted to the same sullen behavior, leaving Nora in the uncomfortable position of saying nothing or having to object yet again, which made her seem churlish. Thelma refused to recognize Nora’s authority. Channing was her boss. Nora might be the boss’s wife at home, but not where Thelma was concerned.
Nora was ready to lower the boom. “Channing, we really need to talk about Thelma.”
“We can do that later. Right now, I’m trying to get to this meeting before the situation blows up in my face,” he said as he headed out the door. “I’ll see you Wednesday. Traffic probably won’t be heavy. If you’re in Malibu by five o’clock, it should give you plenty of time to get ready.”
Nora stopped in her tracks. “For what? I’m not coming down at all this week.”
“What are you talking about? We have the fund-raiser for the Alzheimer’s Association.”
“A fund-raiser? In the middle of the week? That’s ridiculous!”
“The annual dinner dance. Don’t play dumb. I told you last week.”
Nora followed him down the front steps. “You never said a word.”
He glanced back at her, irritation surfacing. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding. I have plans.”
“Well, cancel them. My presence is required and I want you there. You’ve begged off the last six events.”
“Pardon the hell out of me. I didn’t realize we were keeping score.”
“Who said anything about keeping score? Name the last time you went anyplace with me.”
“Don’t do that to me. You know I can never think of an example in the moment. The point is, Belinda’s sister’s coming into town from Houston. She’s here one day and we have tickets for the symphony that night. We had to pay a fortune for the seats.”
“Tell her we had plans and it totally slipped your mind.”
“An Alzheimer’s event and it ‘slipped my mind’? How tacky is that?”
“Tell her anything you like. She can give your ticket to someone else.”
“I can’t cancel at the last minute. It’s inconsiderate. Besides, you know how much I hate those things.”
“This is not meant as entertainment. I bought a table for ten. We’ve gone every year without fail for the last ten.”
“And I’m always bored out of my mind.”
“You know what? I’m tired of your excuses. You pull this shit at the last minute and it leaves me scrambling around, trying to find someone to fill in. You know how embarrassing that is?”